Chapter Six

Bucky

I sighed, my frustration mounting. "So you're supposed to be a... what now?" I asked, glancing at John, who just shrugged in response, his nonchalance only making my irritation grow.

"Well," John began, "I think the new options for Captain America aren't that great either." He said it like it was no big deal, but I could tell there was more to it. The way his eyes flickered to Fiona, and the tension in the air told me something deeper was brewing.

Fiona, beside me, let out a low, rumbling growl, her head low as she sniffed the ground, her keen nose tracking something—probably the direction the truck had gone. It wasn't lost on me how much she was still on edge, still trying to figure out who could be trusted.

Lemar, sitting on the ground near her, raised an eyebrow, seemingly unbothered by Fiona's silent threat. He wasn't backing down, though his eyes remained cautious. "How come the murderer of the Lockwood Mansion is still loose?" he asked, breaking the silence. "Last we heard, she was cornered with a dinosaur skull."

The mention of the Lockwood Mansion hit like a slap. My gaze darkened at the memory—more questions, more shadows I didn't have answers for yet. Fiona's ears flicked at the mention, and I could feel her stiffen next to me.

"She's not the murderer," I said, my tone sharp. "But you're right about one thing—she's dangerous. That's why we're here, trying to keep tabs on things." I shot a glance at Fiona, unsure of where she stood with the people in front of us. She was a mystery in so many ways, and I knew I couldn't explain everything. Not yet.

John raised an eyebrow. "A dinosaur skull?" he repeated, almost as if the idea was ridiculous.

I shot him a look. "You have no idea what you're dealing with," I muttered. But deep down, I knew none of this was ever going to be easy.

Sam came over, approaching Fiona carefully, his voice soft as he spoke to her. He was trying to make some kind of connection, his tone almost like he was speaking to an old friend. Fiona, for her part, seemed to respond, her head tilting slightly as Sam crouched beside her, speaking in low, soothing tones.

John cocked his head, watching the interaction with a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Why do you talk to her as if she understands you?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

I shot him a look, one that carried more weight than words could. "Can't you hear her talk?" I said, my voice low and irritated.

John just laughed, sharing a knowing glance with Lemar, who was sitting nearby, keeping an eye on the surrounding area by the abandoned warehouse where we were resting. The air was thick with the tension of not knowing who was watching or if we were even safe here.

"What, no," Lemar said, shaking his head. "We can't."

I stared at them for a moment, the reality of the situation sinking in. Fiona wasn't just some animal or thing that could be ignored or dismissed. She had her own voice, her own way of communicating, even if it wasn't obvious to everyone. To me, it was as clear as day.

Sam stood up from his crouch beside Fiona, glancing back at us. "She's not some beast," he said quietly, though his tone wasn't confrontational, just matter-of-fact. "She understands more than you think."

John looked between us, still skeptical, but something flickered in his eyes—an understanding, perhaps, that this wasn't as simple as it seemed.

Just then, Fiona came over and gently laid her head in my lap, her massive form making me smile despite everything. There was something about the way she looked up at me, her eyes soft and trusting, that made me feel warm inside. It was strange how comforting it was, the weight of her head in my lap, the steady rhythm of her breathing.

She was big, sure—definitely not something you'd expect to find curled up like that—but it didn't bother me. Not really. In a way, she reminded me of a big dog, loyal and protective. And for all her strength, she had this quiet gentleness that made her presence feel... safe.

I scratched behind her ears, and she closed her eyes, giving a contented little rumble. The simple act of caring for her, of being close to her, felt grounding. No words needed to be exchanged; it was enough just to be there in that moment.

John and Lemar exchanged glances, but I could tell they were still trying to wrap their heads around the bond we shared. Fiona wasn't just some creature to me. She was family. And that was something I wasn't about to explain.

"Are we gonna go after the supersoldiers?" Fiona asked, her voice low but firm, her tail flicking with impatience as she looked up at me, awaiting my response.

I nodded, the weight of the decision pressing down on me. "Yeah, but we can't just run after them blindly, you know."

Fiona's eyes glimmered with determination, and she shifted her weight, her massive form tensing as if she were already preparing to spring into action. "I'm a hunter. I can go after them..."

I cut her off, my tone sharper than I meant it to be. "No, you're not going on your own. We've talked about this, Fiona." I could see the flicker of frustration in her eyes, but I wasn't about to back down on this. "That girl—she nearly beat you. She hurt you."

I clenched my vibraim fist, the knuckles tightening as the memory of that fight resurfaced, a knot forming in my chest. "I can't let her do that again."

Fiona didn't growl or snap back this time. Instead, she lowered her head slightly, a rare sign of understanding. It wasn't that she wanted to be reckless. She just wanted to protect us—she always did.

But I couldn't afford to let her face that kind of danger alone. Not after everything she'd been through. Not after everything we had been through.

I stroked her scarred back, my fingers lingering on the rough, worn edges of her fur. "Please," I said quietly, trying to convey just how much I meant it. She huffed, a sound that was almost a sigh, and lowered her head, resting it on her tail, her eyes flickering with a mix of frustration and reluctant acceptance.

"Oh, fine," she muttered, her voice laced with annoyance, but I could see she wasn't going to argue any further. She curled up tightly, her massive form looking deceptively calm, though I could feel the tension still rippling through her.

John stood up then, his posture shifting as he pulled out his phone, ready to make the call. "Well, I'm calling our ride. You two can do whatever you want, but either you're coming with us..." He paused, his gaze shifting to Fiona. "Or your pet..." he trailed off, his words sharp and almost mocking as he nodded toward her.

Fiona's ears flattened, and she snarled in response, a low growl reverberating in her chest. It was a sound that didn't need translation. She wasn't in the mood to be spoken to like that.

John seemed unfazed, his gaze firm. "...and be put in animal shelters." His words hung in the air like a threat, heavy with the implication that he could have her taken away, like some stray dog.

Fiona's eyes flashed with fury at the suggestion, her lips curling back in a silent warning. I stood up quickly, stepping between her and John, my fists clenched. I could feel the heat of the moment building between us.

"Don't push her," I warned, my voice low but firm. Fiona wasn't just an animal—she was a fighter, and more than that, she was family. No one, especially not him, was going to treat her like a threat to be neutralized.

John didn't seem to care about the weight of my words, though. He just shrugged, looking at me like it was no big deal. "You've got a choice. Either come with us or she ends up where she belongs." His gaze hardened, and I could see the challenge in it.

I glanced at Fiona. There was a tension in the air, something that made it clear this wasn't just about the mission anymore. This was about trust. About proving that we didn't need to be threatened into sticking together.

"We're coming," I said finally, my voice resolute. It wasn't a choice anymore—it was just what had to be done. For Fiona, for all of us.