Secretive - Bucky Barnes

55 || Team || slightly 🌤

[Nova]
Five hours. Five hours have passed with Hydra flying away with James like the Reaper took him personally, and we have not gotten a single step forward.

It did not take long for Steve to be with me. He has heard whatever has happened through James's headphones, run away from his hiding place but has been too late. When he saw me standing there, crying the most expensive tears this world has to offer and otherwise a living creature becoming a statue more and more, unmoving, unfeeling. Just staring to the black spot on the sky that soon was to be erased, swallowed by clouds and distance, I could hear his shouts and accuses even before he opened his mouth.

Now, we are sitting in my old living room all together, trying to figure out what to do next. I have not said a word, not about what happened or how they have been able to catch James. I did not say a word since James was gone. Nobody of them needs to know about the men a floor up, at least as long as their blood is not dripping through the ceiling. By the pure amount, this soon should be the case.
Nonetheless, I am no fool. They all smell the piercing scent of dry blood, so metallic it makes me want to wrinkle my nose, hovering like the Sword of Damokles in every centimetre of this building.

»You know, it would be a whole lot easier if you finally chose to tell us exactly what happened.« Tony states annoyed, glancing out of the window into the huge garden of the mansion. »You have no idea what they could do to Barnes. You don't know him in... well, as the Winter Soldier himself. So how about you for once stop being so secretive and trying to pull of this egoistic, stoic behaviour. You could talk to us instead, you know. With the thing in your mouth you snog Barnes with, usually.«

Rolling my eyes, I exhale deeply. Of course, I could tell them, but what was the point? They can sense death hovering in the air like a summer breeze, they know they got James. They also know any enemy there is would not be able to even get close to James if we were together, so why can they not put two and two together?

»Is there anybody who survived, who could tell us where they were heading?« Bruce asks, a little more nicely than Tony, and a lot more terrified. His middle-pitched voice shakes slightly, and when I raise an eyebrow at him, crossing my arms as if to say What do you think?, he blushes slightly before glancing away.

For five hours it is that I try to figure out a plan to get James back, but these idiots around me simply will not shut up. While Tony still faces the garden, Natasha, Sam and Steve sit opposite to me. They colour the modern-styled, white-grey living room with Nat's red hair, Sam's white and red suit and Steve's shining shield. Next to me, Bruce is seated with a very good amount of space in between us.

I myself cleaned my face before the others arrived with the water of the lake our genius slash billionaire sticks his visual focus on; surely, electricity and water in here is not going all too well, if at all. Maybe I cannot be sick, but I have some sense of hygiene anyways.

»You know what really confuses me?« Natasha starts, not really vocal during the whole meeting. It is her fifth, maybe sixth raise of voice. »Why Nova isn't already out killing people for answers. Torturing them to get to him. Trying everything humanly und inhumanly possible to get her lover back.« Her red hair falling forwards into my direction with the movement of her head, the question mark seems to be written in capital letters all over her face. She is not mad, though. Her eyes are not cold. They have something ignited, something awakened in them. I would say curiosity. But no mad emotion, no anger.

Opposite to Steve, whose risk to lose it all increases by every passing second. He is completely nervous, several times already having walked up and down the length of the room in front of us. His head and mind trembling over possibilities what has been, what could have been, what could be incoming and how we are able to solve this misery. Eyes long gone from the summer ocean into a forceful, chaotic, dark sea.