Thank you for all the follows and favorites. I appreciate it:) I know it seems to be slow and at the moment, but the storyline will be picking up in the next few chapters. You just have to bare with me for a bit:) Without further ado- here is the new chapter!:)

"I'm not going to ask you again!" He hollered above me.

"I'm sorry!" I cried out as he shook his wrist causing me to rattle along with it,"She doesn't live here anymore!"

"Where did she go?"

I stared up at him. How could he have known my grandmother? She died when I was fifteen. The way he had said her name was as if he was in love with her. He doesn't look too much older than me. Maybe twenty seven or even thirty, but-

"Answer me!"

His anger had reached a boiling point and I saw his hand inch closer to my throat. I needed to get him away from the thought of strangling me to death. I panicked and screamed out the first thing that came to mind.

"She's dead, you fucker! She's been dead for twelve years!"

He shuddered and his eyes stilled on mine. His lips were moving, but nothing was coming out and I realized he was counting. I squirmed beneath him and to my surprise his hold had once again went slack as he retreated into his mind. I quickly shuffled back away from him, the heel of my hand hit my glasses and I put them on to watch him mentally shut down in HD. I had pressed my back against the wall and watched him.

His eyes were obscured by his dark wavy hair, but I could see his lips were still moving. They were plump and wet as his tongue darted in between them. Finally, his head lifted and our eyes met from across the room. I swallowed hard and tightened my hands into fist ready to fight if I had too. Only he just looked at me. His face wasn't of anger or rage, but of pure despair and loss. He was upset.

"Thirty-five," He said.

"Wh-what?"

"She was thirty-five when she died?" He asked. I could tell he was unsure and I shouldn't have answered so quickly, but I didn't care.

"No, she was eighty four. She died in 2002," I told him.

His face hardened and I watched the anger bubble up again. He let out an angry cry, standing up. I jerked back at his quick movement and could only watch as he threw the door open running into the darkness that had set hours ago.

What the fuck just happened?

I'm not sure how long I sat on my floor hugging my knees to my chest, crying my eyes out as I stared into the dark outside my door. I could feel the temperature drop. I could hear the bugs committing suicide as the bug zapper zapped. I had somehow gotten enough wits back to close my door, lock it and make my way upstairs to my room, to my bed. I was still laying in my clothes underneath the blanket, but I welcomed the sleep that came. My night was filled with terrors of the man with dead blue eyes. He was chasing me through the woods, screaming for Thelma. I know I was moving fast, I was willing myself too, but nothing ever good came from it. I was always strangled to the brink of death, my vision clouding, his face strained and blurred. Nothing ever good came from me shutting my eyes.

A delicate hand on my shoulder caused my eyes to snap open and I had thought that he had found a way back in, but Bethany stood shocked, slack jawed, staring at me-no, at my hand. I glanced down to see a butcher knife clutched in my left hand. I had forgotten that I had taken this from my kitchen last night.

"Nadene? What the hell?" She had stepped back her hands raised cautiously as she eyed me.

"I'm sorry," I choked out tossing the knife to the floor. It clattered loudly and I ran my hands over my face.

"Are you okay? I came to check on you after you didn't show to work yesterday. You didn't get any of my calls?"

"No, I haven't," I responded shuffling past her picking up the knife to set it on my desk by the door.

"What happened to your door?" She asked following me downstairs when I decided to put the knife back.

An image of the outraged man shoving his fist through the door shot through me and I shuddered as I placed the knife in its drawer.

"Nadene!"

Bethany's voice was blunt and alarmed and I looked up at her shocked that she was yelling,"Are you even listening to me? God, what the hell happened to you? Are you going through one of those depression things? If you are, I have no time for your mood swings," She complained sitting at the stool at the counter. Her lanky arms rested on their elbows as she set her chin her hands, watching me.

"No, I'm not. Something happened yesterday," I started to speak, but her shrill ringtone bounced off the walls and she pulled out her phone, holding up a finger.

"Yeah?"

She talked rapidly into her cell and I fidgeted on antsy feet. Only a few more seconds until I can spill my day to her. I waited patiently, but her phone call soon grew longer and longer and I picked at a hang nail on my thumb suddenly engrossed in my peeling skin. After ten minutes of mindless rambling to who I assumed was her boyfriend she hung up spinning to me and I plastered a strained smile on my face. Bethany reached for her purse on the counter, slinging it on her shoulder as she sighed.

"Sorry about that. I have ten more minutes before my lunch date with David- spill," She ordered with a stern look.

I stared at her with pursed lips.

"Uh, I'm not depressed. There was an-," her phone buzzed again and I stared blankly as she checked it. Her fingers tapped quickly across the touch screen as she responded to a text, glancing up when she finished.

"I'm so sorry, but David is really insisting I get there now- something about the damn reservations," She sighed running her hand threw her dirty blonde tresses. Bethany smiled awkwardly at me and groaned again as her phone beeped. She didn't even look at it,"Nay, I really have to go-I'm so sorry. I would stay and listen to you explain why there's a gaping hole in your door and you've been AWOL for a day and a half, but David is being really persistent. Just promise me you're not depressed before I walk out your door, okay?"

I knew why she was bailing. She had an inkling that David was planning on proposing to her. A few weeks ago when she had answered his phone it was someone saying that his ring had gotten in. He of course, didn't know that that was the call-she played it off as some unknown number. I could see it in her eyes that she was eager to leave more than she was eager to stay to see if I was actually depressed. Even though I wasn't it still hurt.

I shook my head,"I'm not, I promise. I just got angry and decided to wreck my...old door," I BS'd.

"I'll call you after the lunch. No more angry she-hulk moments, okay?" Bethany's hand was on the door handle before the sentence was even out of her mouth and the door was swung open with her half out the door by the last word of it.

"Got it. Go get your ring," I responded hanging by the door to watched her stride to her car. I waved goodbye to her as she pulled out and she hollered out her window at me.

"This is it! I can feel it,"

And then she was gone and I was alone again. I rested my head on the wood and wavered a moment before shutting it. I locked it and set the dead bolt then went to each and every door and window and secured them all. I wasn't hungry or even thirsty so I wrapped up in my quilt and sat cross legged on the couch in front of the TV with my bat across my knees. I was flipping threw the channels when a news report in New York caught my eye. It was bad camera footage taken by a bystander of the attack that happened last month. Something about SHIELD and planes- I didn't follow much of it, but the footage had me frozen, my eyes locked in disbelief.

There on my screen was a figure of a man with shoulder length hair and an all black military ensemble stalking through a neighborhood a few towns over. The news cast said the footage was taken a week ago by a teenager. The video shifted in an urgent matter as the person holding the phone ducked behind a wall after being spotted. After a few tense moments the camera moved from its place behind the wall and the figure that was further away was now closer. Close enough that I could see the face of the man.

It was him.

I gawked at the screen and watched him step closer- he was agitated and unresponsive to the owner of the video as he tried to talk to him. His brow was furrowed and his lips were mumbling. They were moving in all familiar manner that left me speechless. I could make out just what he was saying over and over again.

Thelma.

A/N:

A bit of a background on Thelma and Bucky. (not much- just a bit) I don't want to reveal anything, but their ages.

-Thelma Whitmore was born in 1918. She was twenty-three in 1941- the year she met Bucky. Died in 2002, she was eighty-four.

-James Buchanan Barnes was born in 1915 and met Thelma when he was twenty-six. They met while he was on leave before he was shipped out during WWll. He "died" a year later. Technically, he is ninety-nine, but looks twenty-seven.

-Nadene Wilson was born in 1989. Her grandmother, Thelma, died when she was fifteen.

It is 2014, twelve years later, and Nadene is now twenty-five.

I centered Bucky's age around the fact that in CA:TWS, Steve or someone, mentions that he's almost a hundred(technically) and they're fighting ninety year olds. I can't remember who said it exactly, but that's why Bucky is(realistically) so old and I wanted him older than Steve by a few years because I got the bigger brother vibe from their friendship. And I'm sure his actual birthday is somewhere, but this works for my AU.

Hope that wasn't too confusing! Please leave me a few thoughts on this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it:)