Hallowed (B. Barnes)

Prologue

Bucky's only been in Bucharest a couple of days the first time he sees Sydney Winchester. It's June in Bucharest, on the warm side, the sun shining in the sky. She's sitting outside a small coffee shop, headphone in her ears, sunglasses over her eyes. Her jeans torn and ripped along the legs, her shirt hanging loose, jacket folded over the back of her chair. Her heel taps against the chair leg to the beat of her music. And he swears he's never seen anything so beautiful. His heart actually stutters in his chest and it's never done that for a single woman before. Never. Well...according to the memories he has anyway. And Hydra never had anything like her there. He might have stayed with them if they did. That's a twisted messed up kind of thought. She barely pays any attention to her surroundings instead more interested in the journal she's writing in, her eyes flickering between that and the laptop screen beside her. She flexes her fingers as she sets her pen down, her eyes shifting to her latte as her free hand lifts it to her lips. No lipstick. Actually, if she is wearing any make-up at all it's very minimal. He watches her from where he sits, a newspaper held in front of his face like it hides what he's doing. It's so cliché. He's an actual trained spy and this was the best he could come up with. He's such a pathetic mess. It's not like he planned to sit and watch her. He'd been passing by on the other side of the street when he'd seen her reflection in the window. And the next thing he knew he was sitting at the table across from her. The first time in a long time that he's just wanted to sit and stay still and watch the world pass by. To watch her. It's the first time he's stopped in months, city to city, country to country, fleeing from his past. Fleeing from everything. He's pulled from his thoughts when he hears her chair scraping against the floor as she pushes it back. She slides the laptop back into her bag before she stands and gathers the rest of her things. His eyes track her movements. Each one of hers seems flawless, effortless, graceful. The way her hair moves with her, the way her fingers curl around her journal before it joins her laptop in her bag. He sits up straighter a little as she pulls on her jacket before sliding her bag up along her arm to her shoulder. She tidies the table a little before she turns and walks away, Bucky leaves himself a few moments before he's up and following her, his steps sure behind her.

..........

Bucky follows her to an old building a few blocks away from the cafe. Music emanates from the dive bar on the ground floor. A few patrons stand outside smoking and laughing. Bucky watches as she passes them and stops just at a door on the other side. She pulls keys from her pocket and opens the door stepping inside before closing it again. Bucky can't follow her now. And now he's free of her he realizes just how stupid he is being. How creepy and perverse. Following and watching the attractive woman down the street. He closes his eyes and mentally scolds himself. What was he thinking? He sighs and then looks around, checking out the neighborhood, he needs to find somewhere to stay himself because he doesn't particularly want to sleep on the streets again. It was too high risk even for only one night. He can move on again in the morning. He takes a breath and heads off down the street to find a hovel to hide in. 

............

Sydney sets her bag on her dining table along with her keys before moving to look out the window. Her eyes instantly finding her stalker. She watches him walk away as she pulls off her jacket. She's been followed before, others of her own kind, demons...hunters. But he doesn't seem like any of them. He doesn't smell supernatural but he's not 100% human either. She'll see what happens. Check her wards just in case. She turns from the window and sets her jacket over the back of the couch before moving back into the kitchen, she toes off her heels as she goes leaving them behind her. She takes a deep breath and lets it out as a sigh. Dinner for one. Yet again.