BOOK 3 of the ORPHIC Series
CHURLISH
/ˈCHərliSH/
marked by a lack of civility.
~~~~~
Lucille 'Lucy' Opal Baker finds herself in the 21 century sporting the title of Aunt while lugging along h...
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"Meeting death is better than trying to ignore it."
Bucharest, Romania March, 2016
LUCY CLIMBED THE FIRE ESCAPE to their apartment, tired from walking the four miles it took from the quinjet garage to her only home. Her hand curled around the edge of the window sill, knocking on it in a familiar pattern. A tuft of brown hair moved in the darkness and Lucy's lips settled into a relieved smile as James unlocked the latch, pulling the window open. She crawled inside, pulling her leather jacket off her shoulders, momentarily missing the warmth and familiar smell. But the real deal was standing right behind her, shutting the window, and Lucy wouldn't replace that for anything else.
James stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling softly as he held gently to her. Lucy chuckled, reaching back and placing a hand on the back of his head, fingertips threading through his hair.
James huffed as if her question was ridiculous. Of course he missed her–he never wanted to spend an entire day without her. He could never help the worry that would claw at his heart when she ventured out. Not only because of the prospect HYDRA may snag her, but also because he could see the burdens on her shoulders, the stress and responsibility of being in control of so much, yet so little.
"What did they say?" He asked, his voice muffled in her hair.
Lucy hummed, the soft sound of Alpine's paws padding against the ground distracting her for a moment. The cat nudged her face into her leg, rubbing her ears against her affectionately. She pulled her hand away from the back of James's head, wrapping her hands around his instead.
"They were upset, reasonably, but they understood." She exhaled. "I was overwhelmed."
There was a pause of silence, the sound of the fridge running filling the air. She could hear a couple a few floors down, shouting at each other, a group of kids laughing with each other, music booming from the building across from them.
There was no true silence in Bucharest.
Something was always moving, someone was always singing.
"Are you ever overwhelmed, James?" She whispered, shutting her eyes.
James leaned his chin against her shoulder.
He knew what it felt like to be overwhelmed, he knew he cried far more than Lucy did, his ability to tolerate memories of murder–of killing with his own barehands, muttering words HYDRA had put in his mouth, prideful with the blood coating his hands, dripping like a faucet trickling, not on, yet not fully off.
