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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I've learned to love the feeling of being happy. I think I've even learned to love stretching my lips to smile. It felt so strange, at first, to have someone care. To have someone look at you and think that maybe, just maybe, they'd spend their life with you.
A crackle of lightning blurs through glass, metal, wood, and bone. The roar of a Hulk tumbles through the white compound hallway, and Mila's hold on my hand tightens with every treble of the ground beneath us.
She curls her fingers tighter in mine as quiet, steady breaths simmer from between her lips. Her skin is soft against the callus of my own - and warm, so very warm.
My breathing remains controlled as we pace quickly down another turn and towards a set of shattered glass doors. Bare sunlight crests the compound exit and shimmers off cement and into my eyes. I squint, and I glimpse Mila do the same.
The two of us step slowly into a mid century war.
A hive of black and coiling blue swarms the front courtyard of the compound. Hundreds of soldiers like those we'd seen in the parking garage claw and shoot and race into every speck that is an Avenger on the grass. Steve tassels with a group of twenty or so soldiers. His shield glistens beneath the heavy daylight as it shovels through piling bodies at a wicked speed.
I glance up to see two Iron Man suits whipping through the air above - one clad in gold and red, and the other, a mix of various shades of grey. Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes.
Mila's grip loosens on my hand, and I turn to see her prop up a pair of pistols she'd stopped by to grab on our way out. I unbuckle my own gun from its holster against my spine and take it between two palms.
Metal and flesh.
Together.
Flashes spark from somewhere to our right and my head whirls to catch Thor, hammer flat against the ground, eyes blazing in a brilliant white light, just like they had in the first attack.
"Mila!" Romanoff's arms engulf the trainee in a frighteningly strong grip. Her brows stitch together above the bridge of her nose, and her eyes find mine over Mila's shoulder. She doesn't say anything, doesn't even part her lips, but the flick of her eyes over my features says it all.
Thank you.
I offer a small, curt nod and lift the gun up higher against my chest.
Mila's eyes drift worriedly over the battle before us. "Is there a plan?"
Romanoff flicks back a curl from atop her cheek with a quick twist of her neck and chews on the inside of her lip.
"Don't die's all I got." Her mouth creases in a faint smirk.
Mila throws back a similar expression, but I don't miss the lines of worry in her skin. I do my best to hide my own.
I tip my eyes up to Steve, where he grapples with that same group of soldiers - now a significantly smaller group. He throws down the last man, and the bulk of his chest begins to heave. He slinks up a hand to his ear and his lips move with words I can't decipher. Romanoff's expression darkens as her hand weaves into a small device planted in her own ear.
