Chapter Nine
"You want me to what?" Bucky stammered.
"Move in with me. It's not that difficult of a concept. Your apartment is small and less fun than mine. I have the room. It'd cut done the travel between our places, and you'd be safe." Steve repeated calmly, scrubbing blood off the floor with a rag. "I thought we could move your stuff tonight."
"Hold the fuck up." Bucky shook his head sitting against the back of the couch. "You're offering me rooms, plural, here-" He gestured at the view. "All because ... because you want me to be safe? Are you worried I won't keep my promise?"
"No. I trust your word." Steve answered immediately. "Earlier, I mentioned I get this suite for free. It's because I've placed my protection over this whole building." Bucky stared at the reddish stain left on the floorboards. Steve was protecting this building? "My world is full of things worse than those three you saw on my cameras. You need nonmortal guarding, and I can offer that."
"Why would they go after me?"
"To get at me." Steve answered quietly. "You'll be percieved as something valuable to me, especially with our link. Leverage. And I won't have you used as a sacrificial pawn to get me to make a move. If you don't want to move in with me, that's fine, but we're putting up every ward in your apartment tonight."
Bucky thought of the cheap, dirty, and depressing hole he lived in, and looked around at the spacious and clean place that was Steve's. He didn't know how he felt about having a room mate, but considering the circumstances, he'd rather have a room mate than be in danger. He gritted his teeth. He wasn't safe, it seemed. He's known it. He wasn't safe and that hurt and the flickerings of fear and - Steve was talking.
"You'd get your own bathroom, bedroom and miscellaneous room if you move in." He sounded uncertain. Bucky checked in with his expression and realized he was scowling heavily.
"Could I bring some of my stuff?" He asked.
"What? Yeah, of course. Yeah. You mean - I guess -"
"I'll move in." Bucky decided.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Warn me!" He yelled, wrenching free of Steve's arm around his waist. "Please, God, warn me before you teleport us!"
"Sorry." Steve muttered before someone banged on the wall at the noise Bucky had made. "Alright, what do you want to take? Bed? Couch? Let's start gathering."
It turned into a long, intensive cleaning session somewhere along the way, but Bucky finally stood in a moderately clean living room with a pile of things he wanted to take. There were two suitcases of clothes. Three boxes. His journal and a few books. His weapons. His uniform. Pictures. His computer, which Steve made fun of. His TV and sinfully comfortable reclining armchair. A quilt bundled up with odds and ends like toiletries and headphones and a mug Becca had painted for him back in highschool. His shoes. He stood in front of the pile of things on and around his armchair and frowned. His life had so little. His mom had a garage full of things she would have found necessary to bring, and a houseful of things she would have wanted to bring. Him? He had an armchair of stuff.
"You sure you won't overexert yourself?" Bucky checked. Steve snorted.
"I know I've given you little reason to believe it, but I am strong. Honestly, e type of strength I possess is hard and dangerous to drain."
"That brand -" Bucky started.
Steve interrupted. "You've just seen me at two very rare occasions. With the boost fresh blood gives, I could transfer your entire apartment." He rubbed absently at his chest where the brand lay. "I'll actually probably vaporize what you don't take, so we don't have to deal with it. You okay with that?" Steve checked. Bucky shrugged.
They teleported back into Steve's apartment, to a room with a bed and a dresser and thin black curtains over the window. Suitcases and boxes went against the wall. Journal and computer went atop the dresser, weapons and pictures under the bed, his uniform in the closet. He and Steve slid the armchair over to the corner of the room opposite the door, leaving the TV nestled atop it.
"You hungry?" Steve queried as he propped his hands over his hips and looked around the room. It was big enough that Bucky felt like he could breathe, and the wooden floor shone
"You just ate." Bucky said with a wry glance at Steve.
Steve made a face. "That was like an energy drink. Or a very delicious smoothie."
"You calling me a smoothie?" Bucky sat on the bed, amused again. His life was weird. But strangely good. Something crackled and he froze.