Hell Bound

Thirty

Bucky spent the rest of the day going through the book. He didn't bring up what we talked about earlier. Probably because he was afraid of my reaction. Maybe he thought I wasn't handling it well. Which wasn't entirely off the mark. While they were sitting there with their books, I sat on the couch thinking about Russell.

I had a strong memory of my first real mission. I remembered him trying to cheer me up and assure me everything would be okay. I remembered thinking his smile was like my mom's. I didn't think I meant it literally. Just that it was comforting and genuine. But now I wasn't sure that's what I thought at all. Maybe it was my mom's smile, and I just refused to believe that.

His eyes were like hers too. Such a dark shade of brown that they were almost black unless you saw them in sunlight. I always thought I had her eyes. Slightly different in shape. Hers were narrower, and mine were wide. "Innocent eyes" is what she called them. But they had the same color. I looked enough like her that my parentage was never questioned. But now I wasn't sure. Because Russell definitely had dark eyes. Narrow. Almost black. Except in direct sunlight.

My dad's eyes weren't wide or "innocent" either. I never thought much about it before. I'd always been told I favored my mom and never questioned it. But now it was nagging me. I wanted to see what this Beata woman looked like. I wanted to see her face and prove that I wasn't her daughter. I just didn't know how to go about that. If her history was as full of holes as mine was, it was possible there weren't any pictures. And what if it had the opposite effect? What if I looked at her face and saw myself?

I tried watching TV and keeping my mind off it, but I couldn't focus. I'd been sitting there most of the day, staring at the screen but not knowing what was happening. My attention didn't really come back to the living room at all until I noticed Bucky looking at me from the corner of my eye.

"Maybe you should get out of the house for a while," he suggested. "So you can think." I shook my head. Thinking was the last thing I wanted to do.

"No, I just need to stay busy," I told him. "Sitting here while you guys read isn't exactly fun."

Then I got up to find something to do. My house was never very clean, but never really dirty either. I usually cleaned up as I went, and I rarely had guests. I just didn't have anything better to do. So I thought cleaning was at least productive.

Graham came into the kitchen once or twice to offer his help, but I kicked him out every time. I told him to go back to his books, and the silence since both of those things seemed to comfort him. After a while, he stopped asking.

The only problem is that I finished too quickly. I finished the kitchen in record time and then sat down at the table to meticulously polish the silverware my grandma sent me. I never had a use for it, and Clara was probably the better recipient of family heirlooms. But my grandma wanted me to have something that had been brought over from Sokovia. So I kept them stuffed in a cupboard in the kitchen.

I heard Bucky before I saw him this time. His steps were still quiet and almost unnoticeable. But I heard him touch the wall to keep himself upright. The sound of his fingers on the wood made a hollow noise that was metallic and unnatural. He appeared in the entryway a moment later.

"Hey, are you hungry?" I asked, scrubbing away at a silver spoon. "It's a little too early for dinner, but we never had lunch. I could probably make something, but there's nothing good anyway. I could order something from that sandwich shop. How does that sound?"

"Jo," he said softly, leaning against the back of a chair. I looked up.

"Hmm?" He pulled the chair out and took a seat. He had his back to the hallway, and it must have taken a lot of effort to trust Graham not to come racing in with a knife.