haven ; 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 , 𝟏

013. an unwelcome surprise

THIRTEEN—AN UNWELCOME SURPRISE
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BUCKY FROZE. SLOWLY flicking his eyes to mine, he brought a finger to his lips, making sure to keep me quiet. His lips moved, but I couldn't decipher his silent message, so I just stared at him with my eyebrows knitted in confusion. "What?" I whispered, so quiet I could barely hear it myself.

He shook his head, giving up on trying to communicate with me and instead leaned in, his dark hair swinging in front of his face. His movement was quick, nothing but pure business; simply an attempt to relay a message, nothing more. But I couldn't help the jittery flip of my stomach as his blue eyes came closer to my brown ones, blinking in practiced steadiness. He'd obviously been forced into a situation much like this one, knowing exactly what to do when unwanted guests knocked on your front door.

When Bucky's eyes met mine, he looked at me pointedly. "Don't move," he whispered, his hot breath fanning over my face from one side to the next; his lips hovered above my ear. The mere sensation was almost enough to make me want to close my eyes and just revel in the deep, rumbling tones of a—

Dammit. Not again, I groaned inwardly at my instinctive responses. Just because it's been awhile since anyone's been so close like this doesn't give you the right to start acting up, I scolded my hormones. Swallowing roughly, I met Bucky's eyes and nodded slowly.

Rising silently from the couch, he stalked through the kitchen and towards the guest bedroom—which I guess I could have started calling it Bucky's bedroom, since there was no end in sight to his visit. I hovered on the couch, hardly breathing as the world fell silent around me. It was earsplitting, the silence; it tore into my eardrums and ruptured every nerve in my body, prohibiting the rest of myself to process time passing. Time was at a stand still, the fog of nothingness settling over my seated position for what felt like three hours but was probably only three seconds.

When Bucky returned, I almost broke my promise of not moving. My shoulders jerked in response to seeing him hefting a handgun in his right hand. As he glided swiftly across the wood floor, all the while staying out of sight of the front door, I caught a shining glimpse of metal in the belt loop of his jeans.

A knife. Smaller than the ones I had in the kitchen, but probably large enough—and sharp enough—to carve an eyeball out of someone's skull. If needed.

"Wh—where did you get those?" I hissed as quietly as I could. He only flicked his eyes to me for a moment before moving them back to the task at hand, sliding into place behind the front door's hinges, effectively invisible when the door would open.

He dipped his chin towards me, then tilted his head to the door. Now that I didn't have to read anyone's lips, I understood the message clearly: get up and answer the door.

I rolled my eyes. Of course I would act as bait. What other purpose did I serve otherwise?

Steeling myself, I gave Bucky one last glare and stood up. Another knock came on the door, this time longer and louder. But for some reason, no one on the outside was saying anything. For the CIA, I have to say that I was expecting something a little more Law and Order-ish. But then again, I only had limited experience with federal law. More than enough to last a lifetime in my opinion, but still limited to a gray-walled room, sitting across from a coffee-drinking agent who would rather buy hair product than actually save lives.

My footsteps were loud against the wooden planks of the floor, seeming to echo throughout the front room. My hands were clammy as they reached out to grab the doorknob, trying to open it swiftly, as if I weren't hiding an assassin in my house, as if nothing were out of the normal.