ADORE ↠ b. barnes [III]

one

       NADENKA BARNES- LJÓS GREW UP WITH stories about her parents. She'd be told of the charming, funny, handsome man who flirted with women in the nineties, but would never dare disrespect any single one of them. She'd be told of her brilliant, fierce, beautiful mother, who would've ruled Jupiter in a way never seen before and with excellence.

       She grew up hearing of their success, their talents, their abilities, their strengths and their passions. She grew up hearing about the people they loved and the people who loved them— and when she wasn't talking to them with her abilities, as nothing more than a shadow in their minds, she would find herself staring at the pictures of them in Romania, and appreciating how simple yet perfect they were to her.

       But it was still James Buchanan Barnes and Allura Ljós she was hearing about. So pain, tragedy, and danger weren't uncommon nouns to hear whenever she asked about her mamma and her pabbi. It wasn't odd to be told of how much they had gone through, and how throughout all of that darkness, they managed to create the single bit of light with one another.

       She was never lied to. So even if she tried to put the blame of their absence on herself, she knew that they had decided to go into cryo freeze. She knew it was their choice to fix their minds so that they wouldn't mess up hers. She knew they had chosen to stop putting people at risk, no matter the personal sacrifice that they would have to make.

       That Nadenka would have to make.

       She grew up in a battlefield. Not only were she and her family on the run from the government, but she also had to control the one ability she possessed that made her different from the rest. The one thing that made her more powerful than the rest.

       It was so simple yet so complicated.

       At least that's what her multiple handlers and instructors always told her as she trained, the dangerous purple mist escaping her hands and taking over her ocean blue eyes.

       But personally, Nadenka found it beautiful. That's why she put up with their mistreatment, their harsh words, their strong punishments and the permanent brands on her shoulders. It was a price to pay, but it was completely worth it.

       And it's not like she had been hurt and enslaved for seventy years like her parents, no. But she was still a child and she grew up differently than the others... and faster, but the eighteen year old never really minded that part. As a matter of fact, she preferred it; rather than to remain clueless on everything happening around her and being dependent of everybody else.

       Her uncle Steve liked to make sure she was alright, of course. Sometimes a little too much, but she still appreciated him dearly. He was the physical father figure that she never had, and she wouldn't trade him for the world— but if she could ask for something from the world, it would be her parents being with her, and not having to go see them to Wakanda whenever she wanted a proper conversation with them.

       Details, details.

       The blonde girl moved the baton between her fingers, the movement so perfect it looked as if she wasn't moving anything at all and only making patterns with her fingers.

       But the sound of the weapon showed that it wasn't the case, and as Nadenka did a roundhouse kick with a jump, landed smoothly on her feet, ducked and pretended to throw a punch at an enemy that wasn't there; for now, she tried to concentrate as much as she could on not losing control.

       Suddenly, she was interrupted from her thoughts by the man who was coming out from their shared bathroom in Ireland with only a towel around his waist, his toned abdomen on display and his hand going through his black hair.