James Buchanan Barnes isn't a killer. He isn't merciless, or cunning, or evil.
But something in him is.
*****
A wrapper crinkles, fabric shifts, and a small, open hand jerks in front of my face. The smell of powdery chocolate and oats meets my nos...
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"Seems stupid, don't you think? Waiting for the other player to move his piece first?" Mila asks through mouthfuls of sticky looking salad. She'd whipped up a bowl before I'd even stepped into the dining room, and had even offered some to me. I'd declined. Naturally.
"Can't shoot without knowing where to aim." I offer, pacing by the large, leaning window at the table's front. The grassy clearing of the compound stands behind the glass, along with a parking lot full to the brim with bikes, cars of every shape, and large, black trucks.
She rolls her head, pondering. "I just don't understand what's so different now. Nearly everything's the same - the scepter, the team, Barton getting the sack-"
She pauses. I glance at her over a shoulder and she flushes.
"I didn't mean it like that. He's... what I meant-"
"I know." I say indifferently, my eyes sliding back to the glass.
She takes in a breath and returns to her food. Within seconds the bowl empties, and Mila leaves to toss it into a nearby dishwasher. I wait for my stomach to grumble at the sight of all the eating and food, wishing for its own share.
It doesn't.
I keep pacing at the window, eyes drenched in the green of the forest not too far away. My heart warms at the memory of walking through a similar forest path, Steve at my side, a rifle in my human hands, and a battalion of nearly broken men at my back. I remember the men smiling and cheering for the Captain, for the country, for me.
The memory shatters at the image of a curving rail, mounds of snow, and the wind tearing at my eyes as I fall.
Down.
Down.
Down-
I stop pacing as Mila walks up to stand at my side, crunching something between her teeth. My eyes remain on the expanse of the compound's backyard.
A wrapper crinkles, fabric shifts, and a small, open hand jerks in front of my face. The smell of powdery chocolate and oats meets my nose in a heavy waft. I lower my gaze to her palm, upon which a small, snapped off slice of a protein bar rests comfortably. It's brown, drizzled slightly with some sort of even darker coloured syrup.
I take it hesitantly in a metal hand. "It's different."
She folds back the wrapper in her hand, eyes peering at the brightly coloured writing. "Cocoa and Coffee; a delectably sweet artificial cocoa bean grain, drenched and drizzled in sugar free coffee flavored syrup." She takes another bite with a hum. "Not my favorite, but the chocolate's great."
I throw it back with a steady palm, and my mouth bursts with a comfortably familiar taste - coffee. I chew the sticky grain and swallow with a slight lick of my lips.
Mila leans in around me, expectant.
My eyes dart, and I brush my hand against a thigh. "I like this one better."
