Soul Stealer ~ (A Bucky Barnes Love Story)

Till The End Of The Line

We docked in Brussels three days later.  I'd never been so thankful to be back on dry land.  I almost kissed the ground when I stepped off the ship, but a stern look from my traveling companion squashed that idea before it could really take shape. 

"Say it again," he demanded and I fought urge to punch him in the solar plex.

"How much for the clothes?" I repeated, doing my best to not butcher the Dutch language.

He corrected my pronunciation, again, and I huffed.  "Your Dutch is terrible."

"Go to hell."

"Better," he grinned, "Should have known you'd nail the bad words."  I was going to nail something else if he didn't stop harassing me.  "Remember what I said, keep your head down but your eyes open.  There is a store two blocks away where you can buy clothes."  He shoved a handful of Euros in my hand.  At this point I wasn't even vaguely surprised he'd found the time to do a currency exchange.  "Once you're done get some food and meet at the rendezvous point.  Don't speak to anyone you don't have to, avoid cameras..."

"We've been over this, repeatedly," I interrupted. 

He glared at me, pushing us further into the alley to avoid the crowd growing on the already busy streets.  "If you even think someone is following you head directly to the secondary extract point and wait for me."

"Yes sir," I answered, throwing him a sloppy salute.  He didn't look convinced I could pull this off.  In fact, he looked downright terrified which was a strange look on the Soldier.  "It'll be fine.  I'll be fine."

He exhaled harshly, pulling me to him and warping his arms around me.  My head fit perfectly in the crook of his neck and I turned it to the side, closing my eyes and enjoying the feel of his steady heartbeat.  Without warning he pressed a chaste kiss to the top of my head and then released me, striding in the opposite direction without another word.

Bucky's mood swings were so severe they gave me whiplash.  It was obvious he wanted to protect me, but sometimes, it seemed like there was something else, something more, between us.  Shaking my head I shoved those feelings away, pulling the brim of my hat lower.  I didn't have the time or the mental acuity to unpack that sentence.  We were two elderly, barely functioning people on the run.  The "maybe there was something more than friendship" brewing between us hardly seemed like a priority. 

The streets were crowded despite the early morning hour, a low murmur of voices mixing together as people rushed about their morning.  I envied the people with their ears glued to phones who hardly noticed or interacted with the world or those in it.  It was so normal and I carved normality, something I'd never experienced.

Shaking myself out of my stupor I shoved my pity party into the same closet I was stashing my unresolved feelings for Bucky.  That closet was packed so tight it couldn't be healthy.  One day old demons were going come spilling out onto the living room floor and it was gonna suck.

Shoving my hands deep in the pockets of my oversized jacket I mulled over our "disguses", if you could call them that.  Yet again they consisted of nothing but muted, oversized clothes and a hat pulled low to obscure our face.  I wasn't sure what I expected the dress code to be for a wanted fugitive, maybe something a with a little more je ne sais quoi, but Bucky assured me the secret to hiding in plain sight was to keep it simple.  It didn't get more simple than stuff we'd stolen off a drying line.

I ducked into the corner store as instructed, smiling politely at the woman behind the counter who greeted me warmly.  Ducking my chin I scurried off, not bothering to return her cordial greeting, my confidence in the language sufficiently rattled.  Until about 20-minutes ago I thought my Dutch was pretty good.  Now I was scared to speak for fear HYDRA would pop out of the dressing room.