Yesterday, Tomorrow, Today

Rose stood in the hallway in front of the open bathroom door. Inside, Bucky was checking behind the shower curtain and running an assessing hand over every crook and crevice. He closed the sink base cabinet door, stood, and gave as stiff nod. 

“Clear.” 

“Thanks, Bucky.”

Rose squeezed past him into the bathroom and set her bundle of clothes down by the sink. She turned to shut the door but Bucky was still hovering in the doorway. She sighed. 

“Bucky, please. You already checked everything. I’ll be okay in here.” 

His eyes narrowed a millimeter as he scanned the edges of the room once more. Seemingly satisfied, Bucky nodded and stepped out of the bathroom. Rose shut the door and locked it, knowing full well that when she opened it again he’d be stationed outside.

The days following Rose's mugging had been...interesting. 

After Bucky had put her to bed that night she'd slept fitfully for 11 hours. The following morning she began the arduous process of replacing her credit and debit cards, replacing her ID, getting a new apartment key, and trying to remember what else she'd kept in her bag. There was no saving the twenty dollars in cash that she kept in her wallet for emergencies, but it was a small price to pay for still being alive and relatively unharmed.

And all the while Bucky was dutifully at her side, though she couldn't quite say whether it was Bucky permanently hovering a half-step behind her or the soldier. Since the mugging he hadn't allowed her to leave his sight for any period of time longer than a shower—and even then he checked every corner of the bathroom before allowing her inside. It was equally fascinating and horrifying to witness. The Soldier was very much at the forefront of his behavior, Rose could see it in the dead focus of his eyes and the harsh line of his clenched jaw, but glimpses of Bucky, of kindness, snuck through.

Rose couldn't tell exactly what caused his behavior to shift. It seemed unlikely that he was just so worried for her safety that he revereted back to himself, given that he had no real reason to care about her. Regardless, it was a step up from trying to strangle her, so Rose wasn't complaining. At least...not at first. 

After four days of hiding in the apartment and recovering from what she assumed was a mild concussion—and four days of having Bucky constantly watching her—Rose needed to get out. No matter if his surveillance was a form of protection, Rose was going insane. Anyone would. 

It wasn't that Bucky—the soldier, whoever—just stared. No, he watched her with an intensity that should be reserved for diplomats, saints, and carnival claw machines. 

That is to say, he looked at her like she was important, valuable even, and that unsettled something in the deep recesses of Rose's brain. She couldn't comprehend being looked at like that. And she just needed a few hours to feel like nobody again.

With more than a bit of reluctance, Rose turned off the shower. She watched the water swirl around her feet and disappear down the drain. She wished she could go with it.

But instead, she shoved aside the curtain and grabbed her towel. Admittedly, she stayed in the bathroom even after she was dry and clothed, just for a moment longer spent alone. And she was glad for that extra moment of solitude, because when she finally opened the bathroom door Bucky was stationed outside. With feet planted firmly at shoulder-width apart and arms held behind his back, looking down at her from his impressive height, Bucky looked very every bit the soldier that he was. 

Rose bit the inside of her cheek and slid past him into her bedroom. She pulled on some socks and clipped up her wet hair while Bucky hovered in the doorway. And when she went out to the living room he was still a half-step behind her.

Rose pulled on her shoes and grabbed her new keys and tote from the hooks by the door. Her key chain felt light without all the charms she’d collected over the years. Bucky moved to pull on his boots. 

"No!" Rose said a little too loudly.

He looked up at her, the laces of his left boot half done.

"I...I won't be gone long...and I need to go alone.” She backed towards the door. “So...please stay here.”

Bucky watched her go, frozen with the boot laces between his fingers.

"I'll be back soon," she assured him and dashed out the door. She ran down the stairwell, though more carefully than the first time she'd been eager to escape his company.

Out on the sidewalk, Rose took her first deep breath in days. The relief it brought was sweet and thick and too brief. All too soon a tense awareness settled heavy on her shoulders.

It was broad daylight, people were mingling around the sidewalks, grabbing coffee and going to work. But still, Rose decided not to put on her headphones as she usually would. The chatter of tourists and passing of cars was overwhelming. But Rose reminded herself that she’d rather be aware of her surroundings, no matter how distracting they were.

She'd barely made it three blocks from home when the back of her neck prickled. She rounded a corner quickly, completely putting herself off course, and ducked into the first shop she saw.

“Welcome in! Let me know if I can help you find something." The lone employee in the little herbal shop greeted her.

"Thanks," Rose mumbled.

She headed for the furthest corner of the shop and faced the back wall, pretending to examine the litany of dried herbs on the shelves, when in reality she was watching the shop window from the corner of her eye.

She must have been there a while, absentmindedly running her hands over the glass bottles and little wooden boxes lining the shelves, because the employee eventually came over. 

“Can I help you find anything?"

Rose jumped, her attention flitted from the empty window to the cashier. She swallowed. 

"Oh um, I'm just looking for...potpourri," she spat out the first thing she could think of.

"Lovely! We have some ready-made mixes, or you're welcome to make your own combination.”

Rose glanced at the window. A shadow in the shape of a man hovered over the door. Her blood turned cold. But she blinked and the shadow was gone.

"I think a custom mix would be great," she chocked out. 

"Right this way, then." The employee smiled and led her to another corner of the shop where large apothecary table stood against the wall. 

"Here's a bag." The cashier handed Rose a gauzy sachet. "Everything is priced the same and we price by weight, so mix as much as you like and just let me know if you need anything!"

Rose mumbled her thanks as the cashier headed back to the register. Rose took her time, opening each carefully labeled drawer, smelling the herbs inside, and closing it. She had no idea what she was supposed to look for and she certainly didn't know what she was supposed to do with potpourri. In her parents’ house her mother had kept potpourri in decorative crystal bowls scattered throughout the expansive rooms, but it had always seemed useless to her.

After opening every drawer twice, Rose finally decided it was time to leave this shop. She stuffed the sachet she'd been given with a few of the prettier herbs she'd seen—fern leaves, rhododendron, and blue violets—and went to check out.

"This is a beautiful mix!" the cushier beamed at her.

"Thank you," Rose mumbled and took the little bag with the shop logo that was handed to her.

At the door, she quickly surveyed the surrounding street before leaving the shop. Rose walked briskly down the sidewalk, constantly keeping an eye on the shop windows across the street to check whether she was being followed, just like she'd been taught to. But there was no one behind her. And after a while, Rose began to relax, even though the back of her neck still prickled with awareness.

She chalked it up to paranoia and ducked into one of her favorite thrift shops. A big-band tune played over the speakers and the two men behind the register glanced up when she entered. They nodded in greeting and returned to their conversation.

The older of them was in wheelchair and sported stark white hair. The other man, a couple decades younger, stood behind the counter, pointing at something in an old photo album he held.

Rose knew from her previous visits to the shop that they were a father and son. They kept to themselves and didn't bother her as she browsed but were always polite when she came up to make her purchases.

She was between clothing racks when the shop door opened and shut. Rose didn't see who came in. Her fingers skimmed over the clothing hangers in front of her, her heart beating a little quicker.

A minute passed and she didn't hear or see anyone else walking around the shop. She clutched her new tote bag close and continued browsing. The tall wooden shelves that lined the little store made it feel like a labyrinth, which Rose had always loved. It felt as if she could get lost between the racks, it was something she desperately needed today.

Rose was turning a corner when she spotted a baseball cap on one of the upper shelves. The army green cap sat proudly atop the shelf, it’s front embroidered in gold with the words World War II Veteran.

Rose bit her lip to keep from breaking out in hysterical giggles. It wasn't funny—it really wasn't—but the thought of Bucky wearing the cap brought a deranged laugh to her chest.

Just as she reached to grab it off the shelf, a harsh voice spoke behind her. 

"The hell you think you're doin’?"

Rose whirled around, ready to apologize for whatever it was she did wrong, but instead of coming face to face with the shop owner, she was met with a broad back covered by a leather jacket.

"I won't ask again, son. What the hell are ya doin’?" The shop owner barked.

The man in front of her didn't move. He was dressed head to toe in black, right down to his boots. Brown hair poked out from the back of his baseball cap.

"Have it your way," the shop owner said. "Pa! call the cops."

At the front of the shop the older man wheeled himself behind the counter and grabbed the phone. 

"Sorry," Rose said, moving forward gingerly, "what's—"

An arm darted out in front of her. The man in black blocked her path to the front of the store. Cold fear crawled up her spine.

"What's happenin’ is that I caught this fella followin’ you ‘round the store.” Back at the front of the shop, the older man hung up the phone. “Don't worry now, we'll get this settled."

She stumbled back a step.

The man in black turned his head just enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye. All the air left her lungs.

"Bucky!" she gasped.

The owner's brow furrowed. "You know this fella?"

Rose nodded quickly. "Yes, yes. I'm sorry for the confusion, he wasn’t supposed to be here."

She stepped forward and laid a hand on Bucky's still outstretched arm. "Bucky, I asked you to stay home," she said miserably.

His hand curled into a fist but he kept his attention fixed on the shop owner.

"Please sir," Rose begged, "we don't need police, I just need to get him home."

The owner glanced quizzically between the two of them. "Alright," he said hesitantly, "If you're sure."

Rose nodded fervently. "Yes, thank you. I'm so sorry for the trouble. Come on, Bucky." 

"You're no trouble, sweetheart. Come back in soon."

The man moved forward, his hand outstretched, maybe to pick something up, maybe to pat her shoulder. Rose didn't find out. The second he'd stepped into reach Bucky grabbed the shop owner by the throat and slammed him against a shelf.

Rose screamed. The owner's father shouted "Put him down!” and cocked the barrel of a shotgun, pointing it right at Bucky.

"No, please!" Rose jumped in front of Bucky and grabbed the arm he was using to hold the owner aloft. His metal arm. 

The man was turning blue.

"Bucky stop!" She yanked at his arm to no avail. "Please, Bucky, please stop! Put him down! " 

She slapped at his shoulder and chest, tears pouring down her face, as the owner's father yelled for her to move aside. She didn't. Rose planted her feet, her back to the barrel of the gun now pointed at her, and pleaded with Bucky once more.

"Bucky please! Please let go!"

He ignored her. Rose clawed desperately at his arm and through her mind. And then it came to her. The shock from the toaster, his sudden coldness, the thing he'd called himself.

"Soldier!" Rose shouted.

Bucky's attention snapped to her. 

"Let him go," she barked the order.

He hesitated a moment but lowered the shop owner to his feet.

The man doubled over, coughing horribly as Rose rushed forward. She grabbed the man's arm, helping him upright and pulling him away from Bucky as he regained his breath and the color in his face. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. We'll leave, we'll go right now. I'm so sorry," she babbled frantically.

"Back away, boy!" The man with the gun yelled, still keeping the barrel trained on Bucky.

Bucky cast a cold glare at the old man and Rose jumped in front of him, taking his face in her hands.

"Look at me, Bucky—soldier!"

His eyes snapped down to her face. 

"Go outside. Wait for me. Don't speak to anyone or touch anything. Do you understand?" 

His laser-like focus followed the path of a tear that trailed down her cheek. 

Rose shook him gently. "Do you understand?" The stubble on his cheeks scratched her palms.

He nodded. Rose sighed and let him go. He didn't need to be told twice. Bucky marched outside and posted up there. The shotgun barrel trailed him the whole way out. The air seemed to relax when the door shut behind him.

Rose slumped as soon as the tension eased. "I'm so sorry," she said miserably. "I told him to stay home. I didn't think he’d follow me…” 

The owner coughed again and rubbed at his throat. "Put away the gun, Pa," he called to his father.

The older man grumbled but flipped the safety on a tucked the shotgun under the counter.

"He’s a vet?" the owner asked.

"Y-yeah," she chocked out. It wasn't a lie.

The owner nodded. "The shell shock can get pretty bad." His voice was hoarse. "My Pa dealt with it for a long time, still dealin’ with it, really." He sighed. "Go on and get your man home, sweetheart. Lord knows dealin’ with the cops won't make him any friendlier."

Rose gaped at him, relief and guilt swirling in her chest. 

"Go on now," he ushered her to the door. "And be careful with that one. It don't look like he wants to hurt ya, but a man don't know his own strength sometimes." 

He held the door open for her as Rose shuffled through it in a daze.

"Take care of yourself too, and come back sometime soon so I know you're alright."

"I—thank you." Her throat felt thick. Rose sniffled and tried to keep another flood of tears at bay. 

The man nodded. "Get on home, sweetheart."

The shop door shut behind him and Rose was left staring at her reflection in the glass. Bucky stepped forward. She felt his eyes on the side of her face. Rose swallowed hard, scrubbed at the dried tears on her cheeks, and held a hand out to Bucky. He looked at it for a moment before warm fingers twined around hers.

"Let's go home," she said to him.

They started down the sidewalk and rounded a corner just as red and blue lights flashed at the opposite end of the street.

Walking home in silence, her hand wrapped his, the soldier thought of only one thing. When the shop keep had told Rosemary to take her man home, she had not corrected him.