Back to Barnes // the winter soldier

4: mark of the enemy

I set my hand on the control panel and sighed. "I forgot to put you back in the cuffs last night, didn't I?"

He nodded, twisting his arm.

I squinted, opening the doors and stepping in. He didn't look up, but his shoulder jerked to the bench behind him, as if motioning for me to sit in his little glass home. With him busy mumbling and fidgeting, I sat down and opened the backpack. He continued to mumble to himself and yank on his arm, ignoring me as I threw the clothes down beside him. I tossed the bag down and fixed his hair from the day before, as it had fallen almost completely out of the knot.

I ran my hands through his silky albeit dirty hair, dazed by my conversation with Fury and the hum of the captives words sliding and slotting together. My eyes unfocused as I played with his hair, and he didn't seem to notice. He grew increasingly frustrated with his arm, then began talking to me.

He had already been speaking for about ten seconds when I hummed in response.

He turned around, resting his forearm on my lap. I froze for a second at the gentle contact. "What did I just say?"

I refocused my eyes and looked at him, my hands still in his hair. "What?"

"Were you even listening to me?" He quipped.

I scoffed. "No, I had better things to think about."

He sighed and turned back around. He remained quiet, studying his arm again. I absentmindedly began braiding his hair.

"I just want that gone, you know? It's like the mark of the enemy, but not a battle scar. A battle scar is something to be proud of ... I'm not proud o' this." He huffed, the heel of his palm rubbing his bionic shoulder.

I leaned to my left a little. "Want what gone?"

He pointed to the red star on his shoulder. "That."

"Oh," I lifted one of my hands from his hair and rubbed it against the fading edges of the star. It looked like a nice paint job over his silver arm. "I- ... I could ... Hold on." With one hand still in his hair, I reached for my backpack and opened the front pocket. From it, I pulled a never-used silver Halloween eyeliner and showed it to him.

"Whas'at for?"

"It's eyeliner. Just- Look." I bit the cap off, steadied the side of my hand on his shoulder, and began scribbling over the star. The pen was watery and turned the star pink, but it hid the fading edges.

His lips turned up in the slightest smile. He hummed in approval as I put the pen away.

"Maybe I'll get better paint someday; help you with that thing," I stated, going back to tying his braided hair into a knot above his head. I stood up, grabbed my bag, and stepped through the doors. "Get changed. I'll be back." The doors shut and I was back in the halls again. Again. I think I was walking somewhere in those halls more than I was in my own room or office.

I jogged down until I was back through Banner's office (ignoring Fury and Steve) and into the locker room showers. It was mostly for the agents without board on the ship, but I used it occasionally. An hour later, I was pulling my hair into a ponytail when Steve came in and dug through his locker. He glanced at me, no identifiable emotion was evident. I applied mascara as he closed the locker and locked it, freezing and looking at the stuff in his hands.

"Look," He spoke up, causing me to look at him. "I'm sorry if you feel any tension between us ... Um, I- ... "

I shot him a tight smile, pumping my mascara, and looking at him through his reflection in the mirror. "No problem."

"I, uh, just miss him." He muttered, shifting the clothes he held.

I looked over at him. "Were you two some sort of ... "

He shook his head. "No. He was just my best friend ... Does he- does he talk about me?"

I felt a twinge of guilt, unsure of what to say. Well, yes, but only because he wanted to kill you. "No. No, he hasn't."

Steve nodded, sighing, and leaving without looking at me.

I finished what I was doing and took the same path until I was with the captive. He commented about how his shirt covered the eyeliner, but didn't say anything else. I couldn't help but smile a little. He sounded almost delighted, in a gravely, brooding way.

I sat down next to him and pulled out my phone, setting it next to me so I wasn't sitting on it.

"What are you wearing?" He asked, clenching and unclenching his fists. I looked at them pulse, wondering what he was thinking about.

"Clothes." I mumbled. 

 He was talking about my sweater and jeans, complete with a stuck-out-like-a-sore-thumb pair of heels, but I wasn't really sure of what else to say. He hadn't seen me in anything but suits and skirts.

"Hey," I looked back at him, and he looked at me. Maybe now was a good time to talk. "Do you- are you- you said you weren't proud of the star. Do you, like, wow. I don't know how to phrase this."

He cleared his throat, forcing down a laugh.

"What I mean is: do you regret working for them? What made you think that? You only came here a few weeks ago, you can't be that deprogrammed." I rephrased it, sitting forward on my hips. Shit, I was bad at this.

He pursed his lips, thinking. "It was routine for me to be wiped. I don't know ... I think it's wearing off."

"What, the assassin stuff? So you're naturally a softie who lets strangers play with their hair?" I smiled.

He laughed. His laugh was pretty. I laughed back as a reaction.

"You? You smile?" He settled his laugh, smile falling back into a straight line.

I bit my lip to keep the laughter in. "No, not really. I just find you amusing, Winter."

We fell silent and averted each other's gaze. I felt vulnerable after laughing, it was strange. I had no dark, horrible, comic book back story that made me hard, and no real reason to feel that way, it just felt weird. I had established a reputation as a "bad" girl with a straight face and knife in her bra strap and I liked it that way. I shouldn't be giggly, especially around a person who is supposed to respect me.

I sighed and fumbled with my hands for a few moments. I grew tired and looked up to tell him I was leaving, only to see him passed out on the floor. I felt bad. He slept like that every night while I had a bed with pillows and blankets and a soft mattress underneath.

But, I tried to convince myself, he's an assassin. He deserves it. Yeah.

I stood up and walked out, making sure the locks were set on the door, but leaving him out of his cuffs. Just for tonight. He deserves that, too.