Revenge Turned Sweet

Chapter 43: The Terminator

It's quiet. I don't like how quiet it is when normally I prefer it over anything else. The asphalt grinds against the tires, and my forehead gently bumps against the cool window with every divot in the road. The streetlights seem to be going slower and slower, fading into a haze. Bucky hasn't said a word since we left the bar... I think. I don't trust my hearing at the moment. All I know is that I don't want the night to end like this. This can't be the story of our first date. It needs to end on a high note rather than this dismal one.

"Nadya?" Bucky's voice echoes in my ear, and it feels as if all the cotton has dissolved, giving me back my hearing. I take my head away from the window and glance at him, offering him a soft but tired smile. "Did you hear a word I said?" He asks with a concerned look plaguing his face.

I stretch my arms out in front of me, feeling as if I had dozed off sometime during the drive. "Sorry, no, I didn't," I mumble, trying to shake the tired feeling from my body.

"I asked if you're all right," he responds, a hint of anger lacing his tone.

I nod a few times. "I'm fine. I'm just tired." I let out a long breath and lean over the center console, laying my head on his shoulder and hugging his muscular arm. "Are you okay?" I ask quietly, feeling the anger vibrate off of him.

"Are you really asking me that?" He answers my question with another question.

I sigh against him and tighten my grip on his bicep. "You just seem angry. You don't need to be-"

"I wasn't there," he interrupts me, and my brows furrow. "If I was there, none of that would have happened."

I huff out a breath, understanding where he's coming from but also not wanting him to feel that way at all. "But everything's okay. No need to be mad," I mumble. Movement catches my eye when Bucky tightens his hand around the steering wheel, clearly still upset. "It wasn't your fault." I purse my lips and lean back into my seat.

He scoffs and I roll my eyes. Why does he always feel the need to place guilt onto himself? "Where are we going?" I ask in a monotone.

"The compound," he replies, his voice just as flat as mine.

I sigh and stare out the window, watching the trees pass by along with the orange of the streetlights. Aside from the unfortunate ending of our date, it went well. As I'm peering out the window, an idea pops into my head that might put a highlight on this wasted night. A small smile forms on my face as I turn to look at Bucky, who does not look happy whatsoever, I intend to change that.

"Can we make a quick stop?"

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Pins and needles gather up my arms as I grab as many bags as I can carry out of the trunk of the car. The plastic begins digging into my skin as I grab more. Before I can grab the last few, Bucky swoops in and steals them. "Hey!" I huff, irritated at his action.

He cracks a smile at me for the first time since we left the bar. "You've got enough," he says through a smirk as he shuts the trunk. He tilts his head to the elevator. "Let's go."

I jog after him, carrying the heavy bags filled with ingredients for a better end to our date. I enter the elevator after him and push out a breath, regretting my choice in shoes tonight. "So," I breathe, "where's Sam tonight?"

He shrugs. "I think he's with Sharon doing some kind of preparation."

I nod and chew on my lip at the mention of Sharon. I'm hoping she's being sincere with them considering she could easily rope them into whatever operation she has going on since they've known her considerably long. The elevator sounds, telling us we've reached our intended floor and Bucky extends an arm for me to walk out first. "Why, thank you, Mr. Barnes," I laugh as I walk onto the hardwood floor leading to the kitchen.