After far too much wandering, I return to the apartment with four perfectly wrapped presents. I might have stopped and gotten Mira some books to add on top of everything else.
I enter the apartment, struggling to keep the bags and large box in my arms while opening the door. While they aren't heavy, it's still an awkward thing to hold, and the glossy wrapping paper is doing me no favors. Thankfully, the oversized box is lifted out of my arms as I cross the threshold. I look up to find Bucky walking off with it and placing it by the tree.
The damn thing is bigger than the tree. I chuckle under my breath at the sight. I lock the door and place the remaining boxes underneath it as well. We seriously did all this under the wire, Christmas is the day after tomorrow.
The soft patter of bare feet has me turning to find Mira running right up and colliding into my leg, hanging onto it like a baby monkey.
"Wow, there are more now! Can I open them?" she says in wonder.
"Nope, not till Christmas. Then you can tear the wrapping paper right up," I reply, walking to the couch. Her grip doesn't falter, so she becomes a little ball and chain on my leg as I fall back onto the couch, tossing my baseball cap onto the coffee table.
"What are these?" Bucky asks.
I turn to find he's opened the other bag filled with the kitchenware.
"You needed more stuff in your kitchen. We've been living off one set of everything for to long."
He furrows his brow as he looks over at me. "That's perfect. Then you just wash your stuff when you're done and can use it later."
I hate doing dishes, but I have no desire to explain that. Instead, I just give him a placating smile that seems to incline him not to push further as he puts all the new things into the dishwasher and starts it before joining me on the couch.
He flicks on the TV, goes to one of the streaming services, and selects The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. Some fuzzy green weird thing is on the picture.
"What is that?"
"A Christmas movie. I was told to watch it," he says, leaning down and pulling Mira off my leg and up onto the couch between us. He swings his arm up and over the back of the couch, relaxing back, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
Mira leans back into Bucky's side under his extended arm, settling in for the movie. I pull her tiny curled legs over my lap and lean back, my head resting on Bucky's forearm.
I hear the movie begin to play, but my attention is on anything but the screen as I stare at the two people beside me—the man who suffered under the same cruelty as me, who pulled me back a little from the darkness and seems set on saving my soul for whatever reason—and the tiny human he and I brought into this world. While her making might not have been filled with love and rainbows, she is loved far more than I think she will ever know.
Bucky leans on his fist, his elbow resting on the arm of the couch, eyes locked onto the screen. His stubble has returned, forming a nice shadow across his sculpted jaw. Through those perfectly blue eyes, I can almost see the reflection of the screen.
My heart races. My palms becoming clammy. A weird feeling rests in my stomach like a stone pulling me into the water, drowning me, stealing my breath.
What is this?
My eyes dart around the room, scanning for threats. Glancing out the open blinds for a sniper, or threat.
But nothing.
Why do I feel this sense of dread, fear?
I'm fine. Everything is okay.
I mean, I had that little scare, but it was nothing. Nothing happened. I might have just been paranoid, for all I know. Hydra is gone. Bucky saw to it. Hell, I even made sure throughout my time in Madripoor. That stupid shit about cutting one head and three more growing in its place isn't happening, because we burned every head we found.
I clench and unclench my fist, desperately trying to control my breathing. But it isn't working. I sound like a water buffalo.
I slide Mira's legs off and scurry out, carefully stepping over Bucky's legs as I slip into the bedroom. I shut the door behind me, pressing my back against it. The room encases me in darkness, gentle beams of yellow covering parts of the hardwood from the streetlights outside. I pace the length of the room—mind you, it isn't very large, so five steps in and I'm quickly spinning back around to repeat endlessly.
What the fuck, why is this happening? I CAN'T FUCKING BREATHE!
Oh fuck, did I get poisoned or something while I was out? Is something killing me?
I mean, it's fine. My system will get it out soon enough. But what the hell is it, and when did it happen?
I quickly strip off my now sweat-stained black T-shirt and shimmy out of my black jeans, discarding them to the side, leaving me in nothing but my black bra and matching panties. I search my flesh in the mirror, tracing everywhere with my fingers for some sort of dart or needle prick. Anything. Shit, it could have been airborne.
A knock at the door jars my attention.
"Yeah?"
I try to answer as calmly as possible, but the clear squeak in my voice gives me away.
"Everything okay?" Bucky's voice filters through the door.
"Yeah, I'm… fine," I rasp through uneven breaths.
"Can I come in?"
I probably should let him in. If this is some kind of poison, I need him to take Mira somewhere to get checked. She touched me, so if this was a contact poison, those usually dissipate quickly—but I don't want to risk Mira having been exposed in any capacity.
"Yeah."
The door opens slowly. He slips in without a word and shuts it behind him before looking at me. His eyes widen before quickly darting to the other side of the room to stare at the dresser in the corner.
"Sorry. I thought you said yes to come in," he murmurs.
What is he talking about? I did.
My breath feels more erratic now, that damn stone in my chest, vomit and bile building in my throat. I've never had a poison like this one. Then again, I haven't been poisoned in years.
"I'll wait outside till you're done."
Turning on his heels, he grabs the knob. That's when I realize I'm still in my bra and underwear.
"It's fine. You've… seen… me… naked… before…" My words barely come out as I lean forward, bracing my hands on my knees.
"What's wrong? You okay?"
"Poison… when… I was out…" I manage between shaky breaths.
Before long, I feel the warmth of his flesh on one shoulder, a shiver running down my sweaty body at the touch of cool vibranium on the other. He guides me to the side and sits me down on the edge of the bed. The mattress squeaks under my weight, the only other sound in the room besides my desperate pants.
"What kind? How? When?"
Like any good trained assassin, he stays on target. Good job, because my brain can't right now. Maybe it was that old lady. I didn't sense any bloodlust from her, but she may just be good at hiding it. She could have been an ex–Red Room assassin or something. I'll hunt her down after I heal.
"Don't know… No marks."
Bucky does a once-over, checking my flesh as well for any signs of entry or rashes to tell us what this is. He presses two fingers to my pulse point.
"Any pain?"
"No. Weight… in chest."
"Nausea?"
I nod.
"Did it hit when we were on the couch just now?"
I nod again, focusing on getting my breathing under control—which somehow is coming a little easier. Maybe my body is handling the poison faster than usual.
"I don't think you were poisoned," he says matter-of-factly, as if this could be anything else.
I glare up at him, still focusing on my breathing, letting my eyes convey, well what the fuck else is there?
"I think," he says carefully, "you're having a panic attack."
The fuck did he just say?!