I didn't sleep the rest of the night. My mind was a mess, spinning through a thousand ways to do this. What to say. How to say it.
Should I bring Mira with me? What if his reaction is bad? I don't want her to see that.
We're a reminder of everything he went through with Hydra.
He's probably just moved on.
Do I just knock on the door and say:
"Hi, remember when Hydra bred us? No? Well, here's the product of the thing you don't remember."
Yeah. Definitely not that.
Maybe I should talk to him somewhere neutral, somewhere he won't feel ambushed. But showing up while he's out could feel like an ambush anyway. So could appearing at his apartment.
And if he asks how I found him, what am I going to say?
"Oh, I broke into a federal building, torched it, hacked your pardon paperwork, and ran."
Great. That'll go over well.
God, there's no good way to do this.
I've been pacing so much I'm about to wear a hole through the floor. My social skills were never stellar to begin with, and I certainly didn't improve them in Madripoor.
Probably best not to mention that place either.
"Mom?"
Mira came out of the bathroom in her little rainbow unicorn pajamas, rubbing one eye and yawning. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows.
"Hey, honey. Want to get breakfast?" I asked, kneeling down.
"Yeh. I want pancakes," she mumbled through a yawn.
"You got it. Go get dressed."
Once she was ready, we headed out to a nearby diner. I just had coffee, probably a bad idea considering how jittery I already was.
She dug into her pancakes while my brain refused to quiet down. Thoughts ricocheted in every direction, anxiety making my heart pound and my leg bounce under the table so hard I could have made a small earthquake.
I looked over and saw a family nearby, mom, dad, and a little boy, maybe Mira's age. He had a rubber-encased tablet in his hands and oversized headphones clamped over his ears. His parents were fighting, but he didn't seem to hear, or care. His eyes locked on that thing.
"Excuse me," I asked our waitress as she dropped off the check. "What's that thing the kid has?"
She glanced over. "That? Kid's tablet. Only plays cartoons and games. You've got a little one, she doesn't have one?"
I shook my head.
"They're great. With the headphones, they can't hear a thing. Good for keeping them occupied while you handle adult stuff."
"Where can I get one?"
"Electronics store on the corner should have 'em."
I paid the bill and we went straight there. The place had tablets in every color with bright designs and bold letters promising "complete parental control." Whatever that meant.
"Which one do you want?" I asked Mira.
She looked unsure what this was, but she liked purple to much to say no to anything that color. She snatched the purple one, and I grabbed the matching headset off the top shelf.
The total came to $200. It nearly cleaned me out. I need to find work. Soon.
"Can you set it up for me?" I asked the clerk.
He helped after I told him I'd been raised without tech, said I still lived like that. He gave me a pitying look.
The '40s weren't that bad, kid.
We survived fine without this shit.
He showed us how to load shows and games. Mira caught on faster than I did. The battery lasted seven hours, apparently. That's… a lot.
Once we were done, I made up my mind. No more stalling. We headed for Bucky's address.
On the subway, Mira asked about the tablet and whether we were going to see her dad.
"Sort of," I told her. "We're going to talk first. Then you'll meet him. Grown-ups need to sort some things out before kids get involved."
Seemed like the most mature way to handle it. Tossing a four-year-old at him without much explanation didn't feel right.
When we got off and started walking, I spotted him across the street.
He hadn't aged much. His brown hair was longer, brushing his shoulders. A little bit of a beard now too, no more scruff. But his eyes… those clear blue eyes. Mira's eyes.
He was walking fast, hands in the pockets of his black jacket. Black jeans. Combat boots. I guess some habits die hard.
We hung back and followed. Mira was distracted by the city, still in awe. She hadn't noticed him.
He went into a building with a list of names and office numbers, all therapists.
Well. That's… healthy.
People talk about their feelings now. That's supposed to be a good thing, right?
I had two options, wait out front, or go to his place and wait. I didn't want to corner him here. Not in public.
So we doubled back.
A neighbor held the building door open for us, that worked out since he lived in a locked down building, people seem to drop their guard when they see a kid. I slipped inside and headed up to his apartment. Picked the lock, careful not to be seen.
For someone with his past, the locks were surprisingly easy. Then again, who would be stupid enough to mess with him?
I eased the door open, cautious for traps. No alarms. Mira followed me in.
The place was plain but clean. One bedroom. One bath. The bed looked untouched, no sheets or anything on it. Beside the couch was a folded white sheet and thin blanket, small pillow. Looked like he slept on the floor.
I used to do that too.
The kitchen was sparse. One of everything: bowl, plate, spoon, fork, mug, glass. He was really prepared to live by himself I guess. The fridge had takeout, beer, and milk. The cabinets held oatmeal, cereal, and protein bars.
The thought occurred to me to stop snooping, buuuuut, no.
I set Mira up on the bed with the tablet and kept going. Best she stay distracted when he got home.
The closet was empty except for one hanger. His dresser held the basics, T-shirts, jeans, socks, boxers. All dark colors. Like he never left the military.
I found a few weapons stashed around, less than I expected. A couple knives. Two guns. I unloaded them all and tossed them into the dryer.
Nobody ever looks in the dryer.
I didn't want him shooting me before I could say a word. He probably still had one on him anyway.
Once I'd had my fill of recon, I grabbed a beer from the fridge and settled on the couch.
Time passed. Mira fell asleep. I turned off the show on her tablet and closed the bedroom door. Hopefully she just turns it back on when she wakes up and doesn't hear us.
And then.
I heard footsteps.
I knew those steps. I'd memorized them at Hydra. He still walked the same, quiet, calculated, careful not to make the floors creak. But he's big. Heavy. He can't completely hide from trained ears like mine.
He paused outside the door. Probably noticed the lock.
"Come in," I called out from the couch. "We have a lot to talk about."
A long pause.
Then the door opened.
He stepped inside slowly. His frame filled the doorway, his eyes fixed on me, piercing, guarded, calculating.
Leather-gloved hands at his sides.
He closed the door behind him.
Shit.
No going back now.