Winter's Veil || BUCKY X FEM!OC

*CHAPTER 8*

A/N: merry chrysler motherfuckers.

I was abruptly woken up, somehow managing to drag myself away from the luxurious bed and force myself into the even more luxurious shower. I had roughly half an hour before I needed to leave for their weird communal dinner, and my nerves were on fire. It had been a while since I'd had a proper conversation with someone, let alone to a group of very intimidating superheroes.

The scalding water cascaded down my starved body, the stench of liquor and sweat somehow embedded into my skin. I had been standing under the shower for 10 minutes rubbing my skin raw and trying to burn away the sluggish remnants of alcohol from my brain. Luckily, most of it had dissipated from me once I woke up from my exhausting sleep.

As I was rinsing off the remnants of conditioner from my long hair, contemplating ways to avoid answering their questions, a voice boomed throughout the bathroom.

"Dinner is in 10 minutes, Miss King."
I shrieked as I curled in on myself, expecting to see an assassin waiting to kill me beyond the glass door. My blood roared in my ears as my damp skin prickled with anticipation.

"Who's there?" I shout after a few beats of silence, voice breaking as I pull my arms up in front of me. Fear pulsed through my veins, leaving my hands shaking.

"I apologise for scaring you Miss King, I am FRIDAY, an AI of Mr Stark's creation. I am here to help you with any task, just call my name out when you need me." The monotone female voice replied politely.

I flitted my dark eyes around the unfamiliar bathroom once again "Oh. okay, um thank you?" I said, unsure of how to reply to a disembodied robot. The bathroom became uncannily quiet as the absence of a reply filled the room, only the water propelling out of the shower and splattering onto the tiles could be heard.

I eventually looked down at my fisted hands, unfurling them as the uninterrupted minutes passed by. At that point, my fingers were sufficiently pruning, and I was soaked to the bone, finally clean. I carefully stepped out of the shower, double-checking there definitely wasn't someone else in here, before wrapping a fluffy blue towel around me.

The soft azure towel engulfed me in a velvety bliss, my heavy eyelids fluttering closed for a few heavenly moments. I was used to the cheap scratchy towels which were rarely washed, but this weighed me to the floor, somehow draining my shoulders of unnecessary stress. A deep sigh left my lungs as I inhaled the fresh cotton scent of the towel. I turned to leave until I caught a glimpse of my face in the enormous mirror above the sink.

My bones jutted out of my face like ravenous mountains, complementing the shadows collecting under my eyes; I curled my lips in disgust at what I saw. This wasn't who I was, but it is what made me. I had learned to love my old life, a life I had painstakingly built from the ground up, finally enjoying the present and forgetting the past. But then SHIELD snatched that away from me before I could breathe, forcing me to flee to Romania where I had to get a job with crappy pay to stay under the radar. The stress of living in a new country with an unfamiliar language, currency and laws gradually consumed me, taking its toll on my body. It wasn't long before I discovered alcohol, it numbed my thoughts that were screaming at me for screwing up my life, my own torment becoming muted.

I stared into my soulless obsidian eyes, they were as empty as a black hole, a constant reminder of my powers and how they wiped away my freedom, sucking in any hope that strangers offered me. They were the reason people were after me, who wanted to use me for their own sick gain. They were the reason I had to abandon my old life, and now they were the reason I had to join this stupid team.

I pressed my lips in a thin line before readjusting the towel around my trembling hunched shoulders and stalking out into the bedroom, trying to distract myself from the resurfacing thoughts that were wildly fizzing, eager to corrode my composure.

I turned to have a look in the dresser for clothes more suitable for dinner, rather than my grubby work uniform now lazily strewn across the bathroom floor. My eyebrows rose as I peered in the drawers, which were neatly organised into leggings, jumpers, tops and the essentials, all expertly folded and colour-coded. Something chipped away at my cold exterior, lodging itself inside me and rendering me breathless. Nobody had ever even taken the time to buy so many clothes for me, let alone waste half their day lovingly colour-coordinating and folding them. Tears began to swim in my vision so I quickly grabbed some leggings and a jumper, adamant to not spend any longer peering inside a wooden box.

I ignored the hues of blues, purples and reds smattering my body; they seemed to hurt the more I focussed on them, instead, I slipped into some plain black leggings, socks and a matching oversized jumper, choosing comfort over a good first impression. I rolled my shoulders that were used to the weight of my heavy leather jacket, it was still at my shitty flat back in Romania. A sinking feeling scratched at my heart, hollowing it out in the memory of that jacket, I had no idea why I was so attached to it, it was always with me though, until now.

I looked over at the clock on my bedside table which told me I had 3  minutes to spare. I anxiously strolled over to my door, pushing it open a fraction to see if the coast was clear.

"-I know you used to love meatloaf, it'd be nice if you came for dinner to meet everyone," Captain America was practically pressed up against the door adjacent to his own, I froze, curious as to why he was talking to a door. He waited for a few beats before continuing in a calm voice, "I'll make sure to bring some back for you Bucky."

Who is Bucky? Is it that mystery guy from the plane?! --UGH why does my brain only decide to work when guys are involved??

Before I could begin to comprehend who Bucky could be, the Captain twisted away from the door, striding towards mine with a scary amount of conviction. I quickly whipped my head away from the tiny crack I made in the door, hoping he didn't see me lurking in on his intriguing conversation.

I paced around my room, trying to slow my racing heart that was shooting nervous jolts around my body. It had now set in that I was going to be trapped in a room with a group of highly trained glorified killers, and I had already stolen from one of them.

I almost didn't hear the soft knock on my door because of my spinning mind. Jumping out of my anxiety-ridden state, I went to answer the door, strutting straight out of my room and not stopping to look at Rogers as he quickly caught up to me into the lift.

As soon as the doors closed he told FRIDAY to take us to the common room and then faced me, concern written all over his face. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms defensively over my chest, "What?" I shrugged, looking away from his intrusive blue eyes. He towered over me now I had taken off my ridiculous heels.

"You know, they're not that scary once you meet them, Tony is just a drama queen and likes to intimidate newcomers." He said lightly as if he could see straight through me to the bundle of anxiety entangling with my body. I could tell he was trying to ease the knot of nerves rolling around in my stomach. I scoffed and he reclined against the wall, unphased by being in an enclosed space with a possibly dangerous stranger.

"Yeah, because I'm totally not worried about being confronted by the billionaire I just stole from." I retorted, fear creeping into my voice. I hoped that would be enough to get him off my back.

"Tony has so many glasses he won't notice a pair missing, he'll probably blame it on Barton when he eventually realises." He chuckles to himself, lowering his head to hide his smirk. My shoulders slowly deflate at his words as the writhing ball of trepidation in my stomach begins to unravel. He pauses for a beat, deep in thought before looking back at me and adding solemnly "Just don't steal his favourite glasses."

"And how do I know which one is his favourite?"

"Oh, don't worry, you'll know..." Rogers contemplates. I opened my mouth to ask him again, but the doors dinged open, revealing a blur of red rushing from the kitchen to the table, frantically setting it for 8 people.

All 5 other heads simultaneously turn to the door, pinning me under their scrutinising gazes. I sunk back into the wall, turning my own apprehensive gaze once again to the floor.