Lost + Found [Bucky Barnes] ✓

Chapter 31

"Chloe," Bucky's voice pulls me out of my sleep. "We're nearly there."

My head is slumped to the side, resting on Bucky's metal shoulder, and I struggle to force my eyes open. Everything feels hazy - my head is pounding, my body aches, and Bucky's voice sounds distant - but I manage to push myself upright, exhaling shakily as my shirt tugs on my injured side.

"How long have I been asleep?" I ask, rubbing my temple.

Bucky glances out the window before looking back at me, "About three hours."

Damn. I didn't mean to sleep the entire time - I didn't mean to fall asleep at all - but after what happened back there, I'm exhausted. No doubt the blood loss isn't helping, but that's not something I want Bucky to know. Not yet, at least. He's got enough to worry about, between keeping us safe and avoiding his own capture, that I don't want to add to his burden.

"Sorry," I mutter. "I, um...didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

The corner of his mouth turns upward, "It's fine. Not like you cut off my circulation or anything."

"True," I reply. "You make a surprisingly good pillow."

As soon as the words slip from my mouth, I can feel my cheeks burning and based on the smirk Bucky is giving me...he can tell. I turn away from him, opting to stare out the window rather than face those perceptive blue eyes, and force myself to exhale slowly.

Blood loss makes you say stupid things. Don't say stupid things.

The bus creaks to a stop, and passengers begin to pile out. I can see a few travelers waiting outside the bus next to the brown and red building, and there appears to be a tiny shop and a cafe in the building. Bucky still hasn't moved, so I glance at him and see that he is facing forward, his hat pulled low over his eyes. Once everyone has passed us, he stands and beckons me to follow him outside.

It's warm out, and a gentle breeze is blowing in from the water across the street. The Ionian Sea ripples blue in the sunlight as I step off the bus, blinking as I adjust to the blindingly bright sun. My body is less cooperative than I thought, I realize as I grip the railing tightly, and I'm far weaker than I should be. Bucky turns to me just as step off the bus, my knees buckling once my feet hit the pavement, and his arm wraps around my waist right before I fall.

Hissing in pain from where his side bumps my wound, my hand covers the injury as he holds me upright. A few of our fellow passengers are watching us carefully, so I bite my lip to prevent any further sounds from escaping and feign a twisted ankle. The people staring at us accept it, quickly turning away for more interesting things, but Bucky frowns at me.

Looking up at him, I slowly move my hand away from my side and show him my blood-stained shirt. A fresh trail of crimson stains my palm, the movement tearing the fabric away from where it has crusted into my skin. His blue eyes grow wide at the sight, but the fear is quickly replaced with determination as he uses his other hand to gently push my palm back into the wound.

"I'm sorry," I say, wincing.

He looks away, nodding at one of the waiting taxi drivers, before growling, "Just keep pressure on it."

Giving the man an address in Greek, and what I assume to be an explanation for my appearance, we climb in the back of the maroon Toyota taxi. Bucky says nothing, his arm still wrapped securely around my waist, during the ten minute ride until we arrive in front of a cheery yellow building with green shutters. Handing some Euros to the taxi driver, he slides out of the car - careful not to bump my wound - and helps me stand once more.

"Where are we?" I ask him, staring up at the building.

He guides me to the door of the building, unlocking it swiftly, and pushes the heavy green door open.

"Patras," he says, leading me inside to the elevator. His thumb jams against the button, and he sighs.

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal an empty interior. Stepping inside, Bucky presses the button for the floor above us, and the doors close once more. It's completely silent in the elevator, save the sounds of our breathing, and I'm afraid to look at Bucky. He's gone quiet, only answering in short sentences, and I can't read the expression in his blue eyes. It's nerve-wracking and a bit terrifying, having no clue what he's thinking, so I keep my mouth shut instead as he helps me exit the elevator and takes me to one of the doors.

We step inside an empty apartment that is modestly furnished. A small wooden table sits immediately to our left, and there is a tiny kitchen complete with a stove and refrigerator straight ahead. A tiny bathroom to the left of the kitchen and a bedroom to the right complete the apartment, and - while furnished - it appears to be completely unlived in.

"What is this place?" I ask, allowing Bucky to steer me into a chair while he digs around the kitchen cabinets for medical supplies.

He returns with a first aid kit, kneeling in front of me, "A safe house."

"What about Steve and T'Challa?"

We never saw them after the skirmish broke out in Athens, and I was more concerned with preventing those men from taking Bucky than anything else. In hindsight, I feel guilty. Steve and T'Challa might have been hurt, taken, or killed, but at the same time...I couldn't let them take Bucky. Not when it was my fault that he was there to begin with.

"We have a security protocol in place," he explains, gently helping me out of my jacket. "They already know the mission was compromised. Once we don't show at the rendezvous point, we'll hear from them."

I wince as he lifts my shirt, the fabric sticking to the wound, and Bucky frowns.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" He asks, grabbing a pair of scissors and cutting through the fabric to expose my side. "You could've died."

I shake my head, trying to avoid watching him work as he uses water to loosen the fabric before peeling it away from the wound.

"I didn't want to worry you," I admit, hissing as he begins disinfecting it. "It was just a graze. I didn't want you to stop because of me."

Bucky sighs, pulling out a piece of gauze, and uses it to clean up the dried blood, "You don't need to protect me, Chloe."

"I know," I reply. "It's just..."

He looks up at me, blue eyes meeting brown, and I pause. I can already tell that I'm going to say something stupid again, and the heat floods to my cheeks in anticipation. I could stop myself, but - if I'm honest - I don't want to stop. I want to tell him the truth.

"You were only there because of me," I tell him softly. "I...um...I've already lost my sister. I don't want to lose you too."