Her Eyes The Sea And His The Storm | Bucky Barnes

36 | Something In Me Loves

Blue and gold and ivory light drip over my fingertips, and I throw the broken weapon to my feet. My eyes whirl as groans envelop the air around the compound, and thuds sound throughout the clearing. One by one soldiers begin dropping to their knees, hands clutched against their ears and spines hunched over in pain. Blue mist dwindles around each of their frames. It rips from underneath helmets, tears from inside fabric and iron and skin.

Azure flames swirl upwards and into a steady stream above the clearing. I bring a hand up to my nose as the fire turns to smoke, and the smoke curdles into a shimmering wind. It narrows towards the hilt of the discarded scepter like an arrow nestling into its quiver. The golden lining nearly vibrates at the intake of energy, and the two small stones stuck in its centre buzz.

Loki's eyes widen beyond what I thought was possible. His brother stares grimly at the shattered remains of the scepter. Then, Thor's eyes rove to me.

A small hand encircles mine to my left. Its metal warms beneath what I know is Mila's touch. I break our hold only to reach the arm up over her shoulder. She leans into my side and onto a leg. My brows lift to inquire about the injury, but her eyes fall down as she presses a cheek against my shoulder. Her fingers graze lightly around the wound beneath my abdomen, shaking with concern. I circle my hand over hers and bring it down to rest against my thigh. Our eyes meet, and I smile as if to say I'm okay too.

Slowly, the Avengers gather like falling leaves. Heavy breathing mingles with hints of drying blood, sweat, and dirt. I catch Romanoff helping a wounded soldier to his feet, his arm draped over hers heavily.

Something in me tugs at the thought of having injured, or even killed so many of these people. People that didn't know what they were doing. People that'll blame themselves for what Loki made them do for years to come. People like me.

Romanoff's gaze snaps to mine, and she shakes her head solemnly from side to side.

At the centre of the steadily forming circle, Thor reaches a hand to his brother's neck. Without so much as a word, he lifts Loki from the floor, a fist clenched beneath his chin. Instantly Loki's eyes bulge, and his hands scrape at the large knuckles around his neck. He croaks.

"I should throw you off Bilrӧst for all you've done."

His hammer gleams dangerously against his hip.

Loki groans, skin reddening, and strains against his brother's grip. Thor grunts and unceremoniously manages to throw him down.

Stark props open his scratched iron mask and looks to Loki. "See it'll be like that but, I'm assuming, farther. Bridges are tall in Aptard right?"

Thor simply grumbles, eyes dark and lusting for violence.

Loki lifts himself to his knees, hands around his throat, and breathes hungrily through his teeth. Thor hauls him up with a hand beneath his shoulder, and Loki sways on his feet. The gold of his horns lies discarded a few feet from his heels. The change in his demeanor turns almost comical.

His eyes meet mine, red and bulbous and teeming with hate. "All this effort. All this strife. And even still, you remain a lap dog."

It's Mila that answers in a cracking voice. "To who?" She burns her eyes through his. "To whom is he a dog?" She repeats furiously.

Loki smiles through bloodied teeth. A small smile, not nearly as savage as his earlier grins. I curl a fist.

"Isn't it obvious?" His voice breaks, and he barks out a haggard cough. I hear his lungs wheeze. "To y-"

I don't let him finish as my fist meets his chin, and sends him reeling onto his spine. My knuckles strain as I roll them in and out of my grip, and my chest heaves. Loki crumples onto the paved ground and his body goes wholly lax. Somehow still, he manages to breathe.

A large, heavy hand lands against my shoulder.
"You had only managed that because I had weakened him for you." Thor says without looking at me. At least six pairs of eyes roll.

I offer him a nod, and turn back to Mila. I nudge her wounded body further onto mine. She sighs, and the weight of her limbs warms me through fabric. I crane up to press my lips to the crest of her head when nobody seems to be looking.

Steve's eyes and knowing smile say otherwise.

Thor grips a hand around Loki's wrist and begins to tug his body away.

"Where do you think you're going with that?" Steve asks suddenly.

Thor cranes his neck back. "Returning my brother - adopted brother - to the depths of Asgard's deepest prisons."

"Right, because that worked so well last time." Stark offers.

I hear Romanoff scoff in something like disbelief.

Thor leans back on a heel. "I assure you that whatever you may offer pales in comparison to the dungeons of-"

"The dungeons that couldn't keep him locked up for more than a month?" Stark asks. "Those dungeons?"

Mila's body stirs against mine with light laughter. I lower my eyes down to her as I cradle her body against my own. The weight of her, the feel of her continues to warm me. Her eyes slip closed like petals, and I trace my own over the soft perfection of her features - the thick bridge of her nose, the dusted peach of her skin. The dark iron of her helix ring glistens beneath the heavy daylight, and I let my eyes wave over it as if it was the rarest jewel I could find. I relish in the beauty that is Mila Novikova. I relish the feeling of her body against my skin.

I relish in the wonder of her being mine.

And of me being hers.

Without a passing glance to Steve, to Romanoff, to Stark, without a second thought of the lost and placeless soldiers standing bewildered on the clearing grass, I turn away. Perhaps just for this once, I can leave the fight for someone else. It isn't mine anymore.

I coil either arm beneath Mila's figure and push her body into my arms.

I don't look to anyone but her as I walk towards the shattered remnants of the compound doors.

I don't dare look away from the bright, sea blue that rims her eyes, or the brilliant bay hair that hoods them.

All I see is her. All I think about is her.

Mila Novikova. The trainee that melted ice, barreled through winter, and found a place in the weaved mess I call a heart.

I walk slowly, ears clear of noise and eyes free of distraction, Mila in my arms. Her body nestles into mine like a jewel in stone.

Her heartbeat thumps through fabric and against my skin. It meets my own heart like a rivalling melody, and something in me relishes in it.

I suppose, too, that something in me smiles.

As we walk from the clearing, hands entwined and bodies close, without really anywhere to go, I let myself breathe. Each breath feels weightless, as if the very air itself is nothing. My heart hums as if finally, after decades of silence, it's thawed and started to beat.

Something in me closes its eyes and basks in the warmth, the ease, the light.

Together, our steps echo on the muddied stone.

And for the first time in a long, long while, something in me loves.