𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 - 𝓑𝓾𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼 [1]

24. {Cabin Fever}

Barnes' cabin mirrors the one that briefly served as your sanctuary, save for the tense addition of concealing your recent fatality beneath the sheets, ensuring you and Bucky elude detection long enough to decipher this train's enigmatic puzzle.

Your mind circles back to the mysterious key, an object the stranger fervently claimed was yours. You furrow your brow in contemplation as you settle into the snug embrace of the small armchair tucked away in the corner. Bucky's movements fade into the background as he meticulously stows your luggage beneath his bunk, his attention now fixed on retrieving a fresh shirt from his own bag.

You and Barnes have embarked on this mission in pursuit of a target, yet an unsettling intuition gnaws at you as you endeavor to unravel the enigma before you. Could there be a connection between the elusive target and the mysterious key? Was the individual you collided with initially the intended mark, or does their association with the stranger and the key hint at a more intricate web of intrigue? A deluge of inquiries floods your mind, threatening to overwhelm your senses with their relentless onslaught.

You blink, drawing your gaze towards Bucky, acknowledging that navigating this labyrinth of uncertainty alone proves futile. As he retrieves a fresh shirt from his bag, you find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from him. The warm hues of the setting sun filter through the window, casting a soft glow over his features, accentuating the contours of his rugged jawline and the subtle flex of his muscles as he moves.

"So," Bucky disrupts the serene silence that had enveloped you both, rising gracefully to his feet as he nudges his bag under the bed. With a single fluid motion, he reaches behind him, deftly peeling off his blood-stained shirt. "Are you implying that there might be a number of adversaries lurking on this train, beyond just our primary target?"

Your gaze lingers on him, tracing the lines of his body with an intensity that borders on obsession. The warm glow of the setting sun bathes him in a soft light, accentuating every curve and contour, every sinewy muscle flexing beneath his skin.

Unconsciously, you lean forward in your seat, drawn inexorably towards him by an invisible force. The rhythmic movements of his hands as he discards his blood-stained shirt are mesmerizing, a hypnotic dance that holds you captive in its thrall.

But it's not until he reaches for the fresh shirt, his arms poised to pull it over his head, that you realize you haven't heard a word he's said. Caught off guard, you blink, tearing your gaze away from him and meeting his eyes with a sheepish expression.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" you stammer, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you struggle to regain your composure.

Bucky's expression softens as he looks at you, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I asked if you think there might be more than just our primary target on this train," he repeats patiently, his voice tinged with amusement.

You swallow hard, your mind racing to catch up with the conversation. "Right, um, yes, I mean, it's possible," you reply, your voice sounding uncharacteristically uncertain. "The stranger, the key... it all seems connected somehow, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

But as you speak, your eyes betray you once more, drifting back to Bucky as he pulls the fresh shirt over his head with practiced ease. The sight of him, shirtless and unguarded, sends a surge of heat coursing through you.

Bucky senses the lingering intensity of your gaze, and with a knowing smirk, he pivots away, engrossed in donning his fresh shirt. "You know, sweetheart," His words draw you back to the moment, and you blink, focusing on the back of his head. "If you'd take a picture, it would last a lot longer." His tone carries a playful edge, and you can almost imagine the self-satisfied grin that likely adorns his face.