•This chapter is not mandatory to read! It has a bit of information in it, but nothing you'll miss out on if you skip it! I just wanted to add more to Nadya and Bucky's relationship before she was abducted. Also, I changed the way I make the mood boards. Let me know if you like this style or the other way better! Happy reading!•
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During one of the many sleepless nights I had at the compound, I would usually be wandering the halls. But this particular night, I was inclined to go to the living area on the first floor. I pushed the door open and found someone was already in there, watching something on the television. "Sorry," I mumble, turning to leave the room.
"No, it's okay," a voice I could only identify as James rings in my ears. "I was just about to head upstairs, anyway."
I glance at him, seeing his hair messed up, the dark skin under his eyes darker than usual. In the bright light of the television, he looks different. But in the dark, it startles me that I can still make out his frame and where his eyes were looking. He seems panicked, like he had just been in a street fight, and is trying to wind down from the adrenaline. His silver hand catches my eye as he folds down the blanket he was under.
"You don't need to leave." I walk into the room, determined to make this transition as peaceful as possible. I sit awkwardly on the opposite end of the couch, avoiding the stare I know he's giving me. My eyes narrow at the screen, and a slight smile forms on my lips. "Are you watching a horror movie?"
I gasp when something soft hits my shoulder and falls onto the couch beside me. He grins at me, and I purse my lips. "Only thing that's scarier than reality," he remarks, "and the fact that there was nothing else on." He shrugs, and I pull the blanket over my body, relishing in the warmth it brings with it.
"You know you can use Netflix, right?" I joke, tilting my head at him.
He looks at me with wide eyes, looking incredibly clueless. "What's Netflix?"
I wave my hand in front of me and glue my eyes back to the screen. "Nevermind. I'll tell you about it some other time."
"I can change it if you want," he adds, but my eyes stay glued to the carnage unfolding on the screen. It looks old, the gore seems fake, and the wounds look pitiful.
I shake my head. "It's okay," I mumble. We sit in silence, neither of us minding the others' company as the horror unfolds on the large screen. "Is this that one about the camp where the killer drowned?" I ask, trying to think of the title but coming up blank. I was never that into scary movies when I was a child, but I had seen my fair share. Besides, I think everyone knows the tell-tale soundtracks to the killers.
"Friday the thirteenth," he chuckles slightly, and I hum delighted my guess was correct. "God knows they've made enough sequels to sell them."
I point to the screen with furrowed brows. "Is this the uh... the second one?" I ask, turning my head slightly to look at him.
He glances at me and nods. I wear a proud smile as I snuggle back down onto the couch, taking his words into account. Horror movies are scarier than reality. Well, this one sure isn't. What's keeping me awake is sitting three feet away from me making small talk about a cheesy sequel with a killer that targets those who've had sex. It's comical when you think about it.
Getting a bit uncomfortable in the silence with a bit of screaming coming from the TV, I turn back toward him. "Who do you think is scarier, Michael Myers or Jason?" I ask, trying to make any sort of conversation with the only two killers I know anything about.
He hums as if in deep thought before he looks at me. The shadows from the TV dance around his face, and every time the room is flooded with light from the screen, his eyes light up too. Reminding me just how blue they really are. "In what sense?" He answers my question with a question.
"What do you mean?" I scoff as I sit up, leaning into the back of the couch. I thought it was a pretty straightforward question.
He gestures to the TV, seeing Jason standing off in the woods silently with the low breathing soundtrack behind it. "Well, scarier as in which one do I think could kill me? Or scarier as in which one I think is..." his eyes flutter closed for a moment. "Scarier?"
"Both," I answer quickly with narrow eyes.
He clicks his tongue and looks back to the screen. "Personally, I think Jason here could kill me just because he's not always walking." I giggle at his answer and act like I don't see the broad smile that splays across his lips. "However, Michael Myers is scarier. He just never dies," he concludes and I nod, a valid answer. "And the walking thing kind of freaks me out, too."
I can't help but laugh at his comment, no longer feeling like I'm watching a movie with a man who haunts my nightmares. But feeling like I'm just watching a movie with James Barnes, an Avenger. "What about you?" He asks, and my focus diverts from the film back to him.
"What about me?"
"Which do you think is scarier?" He asks.
I chew on my lip for a moment. "Do you want me to answer in your way or the way I intended to ask?" I raise my brows at him, and I see a slight quirk on his lip. "Honestly, I think either of them could kill me. I'm sometimes prone to idiocy." I look back at the movie. "But, I agree with you that Michael Myers is scarier, but I find them both pretty scary."
"Fair enough," he says, nodding his head in approval.
I pick at the frayed ends of the blanket, debating with myself whether I really want to ask this question. "Are you still having nightmares?" I ask, not looking away from the screen.
He sighs. "No." I nod at his answer, knowing it's a lie, but I wasn't sure where I would take the conversation from there. "Is that why you're still awake?" He asks, steering it back toward me.
My eyes narrow as I shake my head. "Not nightmares anymore, really," I mutter, "I just find it hard to sleep in general." I shrug and pull the blanket under my arms.
"Why's that?" I hear him ask.
I push a breath out and lean further into the couch, allowing me just to roll my neck to look at him. "I don't really know," I say truthfully. "It might be because I'm scared I'll have another one or being in a new place. Or both." I smile lightly, trying not to weigh down the atmosphere. "I've never really adjusted well to living in a new place. I always wish I could just be in my bed."
A pained expression takes over his features, and my heart drops. I didn't mean it to be a passive-aggressive dig or anything to make him feel less of a person. "It makes sense," he says in a low voice. "I used to be that way, too." I tear my eyes away from him and look back at the screen, seeing yet another brutal yet very cheesy kill made by Jason.
"Can I ask you something?" He asks, and I hum in response, feeling a bit of fatigue wash over me. "What's your worst fear?" My eyes widen at the question and the randomness of it.
It's odd that without having to read his mind, I know why he's asking me something like this. He's not a man of many words, that I've found to be true during my stay here, but I don't mind. The quiet is welcome and gratifying. "Truthfully, if you would have asked me that same question three weeks ago... I would have said you," I answer and see his eyes drop to the couch. "But now, I don't know." I smile at him when he lifts his eyes to mine, seeing his face not filled with anguish any longer.
"I'm terrified of trains," he blurts out, and my mouth falls open. The super-soldier assassin is afraid of... trains? Of all things?
"Trains? Like actual trains?" I ask in disbelief, and he nods, looking incredibly serious. "Like not the ones with the faces on them?" He shakes his head, and a smile pokes through his stone-cold features. "Wow, big bad wolf is afraid of trains. I'll have to keep that in mind." I smirk at him when he gives me a quizzical look. I pull the blanket off of me and stand from the couch, stretching my arms out.
"Are you leaving?" James asks, and I look at him to see he's worried, worried that I may actually leave.
I shake my head and point to the door leading to the kitchen. "I was just going to make some tea or grab a snack." I smile when I see the tiny breath of relief escape him. "Any requests?" I ask as I walk back towards the door.
"Whatever you're having," he says with a smirk, and I hide my own smile by turning around and exiting the living area. Now feeling calmer than I did before as I sneak some of the candy I've caught Sam hiding in the kitchen and boil water in the tea kettle on the stove. I look at my surroundings as I chew on a piece of chocolate.
This place could really be a home, my home, if I'm careful enough. I wouldn't long for my bed anymore because I would be sleeping in it. And if I can't sleep, I guess I could always just watch movies with the terminator. I smile to myself at the nickname. Hope gleams inside me in ways I haven't felt since I lived in Russia.
I think I could make a home here.
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