Haven [Marvel | Bucky Barnes]

Chapter 3

Chris was gone the next day and Iris found the envelope with its hastily stuffed rent payment shoved beneath her door when she got home from her shift that afternoon. She couldn't help but laugh as she fingered the crumpled bills before her thoughts shifted to her mystery—and now only—tenant. As she hip-checked her door wider to get through with her full hands she ran over the previous day's encounter, replaying the memory over and over. She never would have expected the nameless man to stand up for her like that, or to such an extreme extent. She supposed it should have frightened her, how scared Chris had been at just a look from the man. But when it came to Chris, Iris was hard pressed to muster any sympathy anymore; he's been a thorn in her side for weeks.

But instead her thoughts were easily getting sidetracked by the way he'd moved to almost shield her from Chris, or the way his muscles had visibly bunched and flexed appealingly, even through the loose material of his faded canvas jacket. He'd looked better than that first day, looking like he'd gotten at least a little sleep in addition to cleaning up and shaving, though there was still an enticing shadow of stubble that Iris had always found rather attractive in men.

Her thoughts were only interrupted when she very nearly dropped the takeout container balanced precariously on her arm as she kicked her door closed behind her. With a quick shrug and shift she managed to keep her dinner on her arm, but it sent the bag of groceries clutched in her other hand swinging painfully into her knee.

Swearing softly, she managed to wrestle her armload onto the nearest counter of the kitchenette without too much trouble. Letting out a sound of relief as the pressure on her hands and arms from her different bags eased and blood rushed back to her cramped fingers, she pushed the groceries aside to get at the take out. Free leftover chicken parm from work; it was a perk that Iris happily took advantage of. Food that she didn't have to pay for meant one less thing she needed to spend her money on, after all.

But as she flipped the Styrofoam lid open her eyes fell on the bag of groceries sitting slumped and spilling on her cheap laminate counter. Unbidden, the image of her nameless tenant and his mostly empty bag of food reappeared in her mind's eye. Though the scent of the pasta and chicken, even cold, was making her stomach grumble, her appetite had quickly diminished at the memory of her mystery tenant standing between her and Chris and the nearly empty grocery bag.

The pang of sympathy from the day before renewed its insistent press.

Nearly without deciding to do so, she was snatching up the takeout container and popping back out of her apartment. Within moments she was down the stairs and standing in front of her mystery tenant's door, hand raised to knock. It was only then that she hesitated. The man was very obviously incredibly private; he hadn't even given her his name for Christssakes. How was he likely to feel about her appearing at his door, even if she was bringing food?

But before she could reconsider, the door had inched open, revealing the suddenly very tall and very intimidating man she had come down to thank and—hopefully—feed. He looked down at her with an unreadable expression, the shadowed bags under his shuttered eyes that she remembered from the first time she'd seen him seeming even deeper in the dim light of the hall. Swallowing thickly as a bout of nerves sparked through her she struggled to think of something to say to break the suddenly tense silence.

As those steel-blue eyes bored into her hazel ones she thrust the takeout container in her hands in front of her in offering.

"I thought you might like something a little more—um—well, something a little nicer than dinner out of a can." A faintly quizzical light flickered in his eyes as he continued to watch her, not even bothering to glance down at the food she was holding out to him. After a moment she huffed, starting to feel rather self-conscious when he wasn't saying anything.

"I'm all set, thanks," he finally said quietly before taking a small step back, obviously intending to close the door.

"Wait," Iris blurted, nearly dropping the container as she reached out one hand as though about to grab at the door. The veiled look coming over his expression again, he paused, though not before she caught a trace of curiosity there. For a moment she turned a few options for what to say over in her head before giving up with a frustrated sigh and just letting the words spill out.

"Look, I wanted to thank you for what you did yesterday. I didn't do a very good job of it at the time and I feel bad about that. You didn't have to do anything, but you did anyway. And, well, food. I, uh..." the words stumbled to a halt as his brow suddenly furrowed. At first she thought it was in annoyance, but after a moment she realized it was confusion. He hadn't been expecting her to thank him, or to be grateful for what he did. That elusive lost look that she'd caught a glimpse of when he'd first shown up at her door reappeared and, just as she had then, she wondered what his story was. She cleared her throat to get her brain back on track. But then she frowned as a thought struck her.

"Wait, how did you know I was out here? I hadn't knocked yet." He blinked in surprise at her sudden change of subject, the mask of indifference falling away. After a moment he shrugged, surprising her a little as he answered.

"I heard you," he said simply. Iris was taken aback at the confession. The corner of his lip twitched. "The stairs up to your apartment creak...a lot." At his explanation Iris found her cheeks flushing. She should have guessed that; she'd been very aware that the old steps were irritatingly noisy. She grimaced.

"Sorry about that," she mumbled, "you're not the first one to complain about it either. I'm sorry if it bothers you." He frowned again, a dimple forming between his eyebrows as the confused look returned.

"I wasn't complaining," he said, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"Oh." Now it was Iris's turn to be surprised again. They were just trading surprise back and forth, weren't they. She cleared her throat again, switching back to her reason for bothering him as she remembered the container in her hands.

"Anyway, food. I brought you food. Think of it as a thank you." She thrust it toward him again, knowing very well that there was now an eager look on her face. It was an expression that had always made her aunt snigger at how silly it looked but had almost always given into anyway. This time he did glance down to the container, his nostrils flaring as though trying to determine what it was from scent alone. But he didn't reach out for it. In fact, he looked downright wary. She held back a giggle.

"It's not going to bite," she teased, wiggling the container at him a little. But her grin faded at the stricken look in his eyes as he looked back up at her. She could feel the blood leaving her face at the realization that he was wary of strange food...and not because of something as banal or commonplace as allergies or dietary restrictions.

What had this man gone through?

"Sorry," she muttered, "it's just chicken parm from the restaurant I work at." With a terse but still apologetic look he reached out, tentatively taking the container from her.

"Thank you," he said quietly back. Shooting him an apologetic smile of her own she took a half-step back, fiddling with the enameled flower on her necklace.

"No problem," she replied, waiting for him to retreat back into the apartment she was renting him. When he didn't move to close the door, she cast about for something to say to fill the awkward silence and bring the odd conversation to an end. Something she found she was abruptly reluctant to do.

"Sorry for interrupting—err, bothering you. And thanks again." Nodding absently to herself, she turned, heading for her noisy set of stairs.

"Buc—James." She froze, spinning to face him at the sound of his voice. There was something almost uncertain to his tone, and he looked sheepish as he looked up at her from the Styrofoam container still clutched in his gloved hands. "I'm James." It was an endearing look, and it broke through the grim cast of his features, bringing a friendly, charming light to his face. She couldn't help the smile that came to her face at the expression.

And as her final surprise of the encounter, he smiled back.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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