Burn

Chapter seven: Nescience

Hola amigos.

This chapter is very long and I realllllyyy love it. A lot of Bucky\Addie (Baddie?) action and some mysteriousness so enjoy.

Nescience means lack of knowledge or ignorance. Applies to this chapter

At seven the next morning, Addie was standing on the hill facing the valley where the shooting range was. The horizon was orange, a sweet glow of sunshine sweeping across her eyes. The wind brushed through her lose strands of hair, sweeping it gently over her shoulders. The air was humid, heavy with the remnants of last night's rainstorm. Addie felt through the thin layer of skin, the weak bolts of electricity still lingering in the air. A sheer layer of mist settled over her shoulders and on the top of her hair, the cool air making her breath steam out of her mouth.

Bucky watched from the living room window, his movements stopped as he was caught off guard by the sight of the girl on the hill. His hand was outstretched for the door knob, fingers flexed as his eyes found the little black dot that was Addison. She was pacing back and forth, her dark green hoodie pulled over her dark locks. She was fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, her bottom lip caught under her teeth. Whenever she'd pace facing him, he'd get a glance of the worried look in her honey-colored eyes. His shoulders tensed when her eyes searched for him, going from the house to the shed and back, but never seeing him through the window. He was a born assassin, the techniques of stealth inbred in him.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her.

The red and orange glow of the rising sun was casting a beautiful brilliance on her flesh. As Bucky stepped outside into the morning air, he took a minute to breathe in the humidity and roll his shoulders back. He had chosen a dark red hoodie that was way too small for him and grey sweatpants, which quickly got soaked at the hem because of the wet grass. When he glanced up at her, she was dressed better than he was, and she wasn't wearing a shirt too small for her. With her dark green hoodie, she had black jeans with holes at her knees and her little black boots were laced sharply up her ankles.

He made his way slowly up the little hill, a breeze lifting his hair up and out of his eyes. When her eyes landed on him, the beating of her heart took a dangerous road and sped until her breastbone was sore. She could feel her pulse in her throat.

His face was torn between anger and disappointment. He hadn't wanted or expected her to show up.

"You showed up," she said, a bit breathless. "Late." She saw him flex his hands into fists and the level of electricity slowly increased.

"Shut up," he growled. He barely made eye contact with her, his caustic blue eyes wandering from the shed to the range to the grass. She was squirming, he could feel it. She went from foot to foot, her fingers digging in the skin of her palms.

"Stop squirming," he said, his voice laced with acrimony. His brows were furrowed, his jaw taunt. He didn't like it when she was squirming and scared and her eyes round and glossy. She stopped and stared at him with those doe round eyes of hers, her heart-shaped lips parted in question, thick eyebrows pulled into a tight frown.

Abruptly, as if someone kicked him in the ass, he breezed by her and marched his way to the little shed where they stored all the weapons. He heard her small feet trying to catch up behind him, the grass whooshing under his own shoes.

"What are we doing?" she asked, her voice trembling as the slop of the hill declined.

"Getting the guns," he grumbled, his hand finding the lock of the shed door, effortlessly unlocking it and opening the door quite roughly. He stepped inside the dark room, his eyes adjusting immediately to the darkness.