The next day is filled with keeping Mira busy, as she is beyond antsy about the holiday, excited to open her presents. We elect to take her to the park to stop her from shaking the boxes anymore. Hopefully Bucky didn't get her anything fragile—or worse, alive—because otherwise they're broken or dead by now.
He and I watch her sprint around the playground. We sit side by side on the cold metal bench, keeping an eye on her. My mind works overtime again, spinning through all the uncertainties we're going to have to face. All the things we've basically pushed aside until after Christmas. A very large part of me wishes the issues would just solve themselves.
But God help me, they never do.
I watch as Mira starts talking with another girl wearing nearly an identical purple puffer jacket, except hers is adorned with little stickers all over it. Watching her like this reminds me she's still just a child—and sometimes I'm lucky enough that she acts like it.
She's still only four, almost five. None the less, just a baby. The kid she's talking to is at least seven based on her size, but they have no problem chatting away.
Four-year-olds should be saying gibberish. Reading books about farm animals that are ninety percent pictures. Being scared of the Grinch like she was yesterday.
But not my girl.
Should I consider myself fortunate that she's so damn smart? Sharp as a whip. Strong. Fierce.
No. If anything, I'm petrified.
Knowing not only that her fate lies in the hands of all-powerful stones I barely understand, but that for the rest of her life she will always feel like an outsider. She hasn't shown it yet, but I know someday it will eat away at her as she steadily finds fewer and fewer people she can talk to. Already Bucky and I are out when it comes to what she's reading.
Damn it!
Without warning, Bucky is on his feet. His eyes wander, scanning.
Finally knocked out of my head, I feel it too.
The same thing I did yesterday.
Eyes on us.
A faint bloodlust lying just beneath it.
I could ignore it when it was just me yesterday—but not with my family here.
No one comes near my family.
"Get Mira," Bucky whispers.
Knowing we both feel it and there's no use negotiating, I move quickly, swiping Mira up into my arms. She briefly protests being torn away from her next turn at the slide, but her eyes land on my hardened expression and she goes still.
Quickly she relaxes into me and waves goodbye to her friend.
I move back beside Bucky, whose eyes are still methodically searching for the threat. My head stays on a swivel, ensuring Mira is tucked close to my chest so if a shot goes off, I'll be the only one hit.
Bucky and I move in sync, getting out of the park. Careful not to run. Not to draw attention.
But whoever this is, they for certain know we're aware of them.
And they're good.
I see the frustration on Bucky's face at not being able to spot them, not even a shadow or the sound of footfalls.
Neither can I.
Not now. Not yesterday.
A terrifying thought.
We're sitting ducks, unable to spot danger clearly riding our asses.
"Split up?" I whisper.
"No. I'm not leaving either of you," he replies under his breath.
"If you take Mira and get out of here, I can handle this."
"No." He almost growls.
A small smile tugs at my lips. It's sweet how he tries to protect me. I'm not used to it. It isn't needed.
But still…
I like it.
We move through countless alleys before ducking underground into the subway. We don't need to take it, but we will to avoid whoever this is following us back to his apartment.
Bucky moves ahead of me. Without a word, he grabs my hand and weaves us through the crowd. Courtesy of his large frame, people easily make way for him.
Once we're a good distance in and buried in the crowd, we stop. He pulls me into position behind him, and we both watch the stairs with bated breath, waiting for whoever this is to follow.
Two trains come and go. Swarms of people move around us.
Mira's grip on my jacket tightens as I pull her closer with one arm, my other hand twitching at my side, eager to grab my gun. Bucky's hands are buried in his black jacket. I can tell his gun is already in hand, ready.
But nothing.
The bloodlust fades.
The watchful eyes dissipate.
Another train pulls in to our left, the loud announcement of its impending departure blaring overhead.
Without another thought, I grab Bucky's arm just as the doors begin closing and shove us both inside. His jacket gets nicked by the doors, but we make it.
We both let out an audible sigh of relief as we stare out the windows, grime-covered underground stone whizzing past.
"Who was that?" he whispers.
"No clue. Who did you piss off?" I whisper back.
He pinches the bridge of his nose.
The answer is obvious.
We both pissed off a lot of people in our lives.
And we have no clue who this could be.
Merry fucking Christmas, I guess.