[Quiet in the Chaos]

~11~

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                                 ~11~

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WHEN DANIELLE jolts awake, she can't pinpoint what exactly woke her. She sits unmoving on her bed, blinking quickly, attempting to adjust her eyes to the darkness.

She waits a few moments until she's almost certain she's imagined whatever noise brought her out of her slumber. Until she recognises a cold draught against her exposed face.

Swiftly, but silently, she moves out of the bed, slipping her hand into the rug sack at the bottom of her bed, retrieving the small handgun. She holds it securely in her grasp, almost certain her heartbeat is audible to anyone anywhere near her.

She steps down a few of the stairs as carefully as she can manage, pausing on the fourth from the bottom. She presses her lips together as she guides her vision along the sitting room, at least what she can see of it through the railings.

Even in her sleep ridden state, the ex assassin's training kicks in instantly, her breathing barely there as she patiently awaits any other sound or movement.

None comes.

Readying herself again, she steps down the last few stairs, pressing herself against the corner of the wall. The very slight movement of a shadow catches her eye and she snaps her gun up to eye level, aiming at a large figure by the door.

She blinks, the figure aiming his own gun at her head in an instant. Neither assassin moves, neither speaks. The pair stare at the darkened, almost camouflaged silhouette of the other.

As slowly as she can manage, while still holding her gun on target, she reaches over to the wall with her left hand, her fingers sliding along it until they find the light switch.

The flick of the switch seems excruciatingly loud, echoing for what seems like an eternity. Her cautions ease slightly, recognising the face of the man Steve called Bucky. Still, her gun remains steady.

The man's expression is impassive, his cautious and maybe even fearful gaze settled on her own. Her eyes flicker to the gun in his hand. He hasn't shot her yet.

Well, that's a start.

She doesn't allow her eyes to stray from his, noticing his slight change of attire. He adorns the same black cargo pants, his vest is striped with stabs from a blade and tears across the thick material.

"I didn't think you were coming," she manages eventually, her voice quiet, but not soft, afraid she might scare him away if she speaks too loud.

He studies her, his forehead creasing fractionally. His blue eyes settle on her gun. She raises a hand up in surrender, slowly lowering her weapon against every screaming instinct she has. But she knows she will have to be the first to do it.