James had fallen asleep.
No sooner had I finished stitching his cuts and applied bandages on his warm skin, he had passed out. I had briefly turned around to close the lid of the medical kit, only to turn around mere seconds later to find out that he had slumped back, his eyes lids fluttering as he slept peacefully. I had initially felt dumbstruck at the sight, not quite believing that he had fallen asleep as quickly as he had. But a small and hesitate poke to the side of his large arm revealed that he had in fact fallen in a deep slumber. Not wanting him to freeze, I had grabbed the blanket I had been sleeping under an hour before and had thrown it over him, pleased that once the soft material had settled against his skin that he hadn't woken up.
I began to move quietly about the apartment, packing up the medical equipment and whiskey, placing them back in the cupboards from which I had grabbed them. Then, upon seeing that the front of my white shirt and jeans were absolutely soaked with James blood, I had peeled off the bloodstained clothes and had a quick shower to remove the still remaining red liquid from my skin.
After I had hid the gun of course.
Don't get me wrong: I didn't believe that James would shoot me after I had helped him. But despite the fact that he had decreased his hostility towards me, I still didn't fully trust him. Hiding the gun meant that I didn't have to constantly look over my shoulder in the shower to make sure that he wasn't sneaking up on me to shoot me when I had my back turned.
It seemed I had nothing to worry about however, as when I had returned to my living room, I discovered that James was still fast asleep. Unlike before however, he had shifted in his sleep and was no longer sitting up straight, but curled up on the couch, emitting the soft snore here and there. A smile graces my lips at the sight, but I only shake my head and move towards the window from which I had seen him through. I had the intention of closing it once more, though I find myself freezing the moment that my hands wrap around the edge.
Lying on the fire escape where I had first seen James huddled against earlier tonight, was a half mask. It was black, making it almost impossible to see when I had first looked at it, though it was there: covered in James blood which starkly contrasted against its dark coloring. It hadn't been there earlier this evening, so concluding that it was James, I had quickly gotten a telekinetic hold on the mask and with a simple flick of my wrist, had it flying through the air towards me.
Once I had it in my hands, I bought the mask closer to my face for a more proper inspection. Had James been wearing the mask, it would have covered the lower half of his face, with the mask coming to a stop just over the bridge of his nose and stopping just short of his cheekbones. Whatever it was made off I didn't know, though I noted that it was quite hard as I ran my hand over it. Frowning, I can't help but wonder why exactly it was that James would have a mask like this. But with him being asleep, I decide to gently place the mask on the kitchen counter and ask him about it tomorrow.
Whether it was the fact that there was a strange man sleeping in the room next to me, my insomnia kicking in or being so on edge from moving, I couldn't seem to fall asleep. I spent many countless hours tossing and turning in my soft, comfortable bed, but it eventually became apparent that I wouldn't be sleeping that night. So huffing in frustration, I had grabbed my laptop and moved out into the living room once more, still in my pajamas. Noting that it was too early in the morning to wake James up, I had plonked myself down on the opposite couch and looked into some possible new cases sent by Fury.
After a couple of hours of searching through them, James began to stir from his deep slumber. Not bothering to look up as he groans from the opposite couch, I call out to him, "Morning sunshine," as my fingers continued to tap away at the screen in front of me. "How did you sleep?" I ask, sparring him a glance. Too my surprise, he looked utterly confused as he stared around the room, one side of his hair ruffled from where he had slept on it. His blue eyes squinted as his head turned, though they widened when they landed on me sitting across from him. Almost instinctively, his metal arm flies to his still bare chest where I had patched him up the night before, breathing in sharply when his fingers graze over the bandage.
"Don't touch them!" I immediately scold him, staring at him frantically as he immediately drops his hand to his side. I stare at the bandage anxiously, fearing that he may had reopened the wound. Thankfully however, I discover that this isn't the case when his bandages remain a clean white, rather then becoming stained with crimson liquid.
"How long have I been out?" He asks, his voice cold.
"Not long. You sort of passed out right after I stitched you up last night," I admit, shutting my laptop shut as I do so. Now that he was awake, I figured it would be impolite for me to continue my work and ignore him. Ah well- I can always worry about S.H.I.E.L.D missions later. "How do you feel?"
"Fine."
"How do you really feel?" I press, not quite believing him the first time.
"I just told you, didn't I?" He asks, sounding bored with the conversation already. Yet his eyes continued to study me, as he seemingly analyzed everything that I say and do. It was as if he was trying to predict if I would attack him or not. Is he always on edge like this? I can't help but wonder, not having enough nerve to ask him the question out loud.
Instead, I shoot him an unimpressed look. "If you continue to be rude and uncooperative, then you're only hurting yourself. I have some painkillers I thought you might like to have, but I'm not going to waste them on you if you're feeling 'fine'."
A brief silence hangs in the air between us, conflict written across his face as he considers my words. I reopen my laptop and decide to wait his stubbornness out, continuing on with my work. It appears that I didn't have to wait that long however, as after a couple of moments of typing away at the keyboard, he grudgingly states, "There's a little pain."
Without looking up from my laptop, I raise a hand and put towards the kitchen just behind him. "Third drawer down beside the sink, you'll find some painkillers. Glasses are all over the place just because I haven't had the chance to properly settle in. Just find and use whatever you can."
I hear rather then see him move up from the couch, also hear him making a strangled noise as he does so-moving about or at least lifting himself up seemed to still hurt him a bit. I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt at this, though I continue to look straight ahead at the screen in front of me. I can hear him moving towards the kitchen however, his feet padding cautiously against the wooden floors until he comes to a sudden stop. Assuming that he had reached the drawer that I had told him to move towards, I think nothing of his abrupt stillness and I don't even look up from my laptop. At least, I don't until he mutters, "You found my mask."
I glance up at that to see that he had the mask that I found last night in his hand, his eyes staring down at it with an unreadable expression on his face. "Yeah-I found it out where you first were," I explain, my eyes also on the mask. "Looks pretty cool. I'm guessing that you don't wear it to keep your mouth warm though, huh?"
He doesn't answer however. Instead, he asks, "Where's my gun?"
"Somewhere safe."
He shoots me an icy glare at this, visibly straightening up a little to appear taller. It was then that I properly noticed that he was still without a shirt, leaving his broad chest uncovered for me to see. Quickly diverting my eyes away from his body before he see's that I was looking, I refocus on my screen in front of me. One way or another, he was going to have to get a shirt on soon...
"I want my gun back," he demands lowly, a hint of frustration underlying his tone. Yet if he was trying to make me feel intimidated, I found that I didn't feel so in the slightest.
"And I want nothing more than for Dean to get his well-deserved pie on Supernatural, but I guess the world doesn't work like that," I reply absentmindedly, feeling his eyes bore into the side of my head in what was most likely confusion. Knowing however that my words were most likely provoking him, I let out a small sigh and close my laptop, shifting on the couch so that I could properly face him. "Look, trust me when I say that the gun isn't going anywhere. It's somewhere safe, but in all honesty, I'd rather not get shot by you today." When he opens his mouth at this, I can almost guarantee that he's going to argue back, so I beat him to the chase. "It's a safety precaution and nothing else, alright?"
"If you were really concerned about your safety, then you wouldn't have let me in your house in the first place."
"Well, I wasn't just going to let you bleed out on my fire escape," I reply dryly. "I figure that if you did try anything, then I would have more luck defending myself against you rather than a bullet." Even though I could probably move it with my telekinesis. I don't say this out loud to him however. I had a feeling that he would most likely think that I was lying, which could potentially anger him even more. So instead, I add, "While you get the medicine, did you want some breakfast?"
He blinks, surprise flickering across his face at my sudden change of the conversation, the glare vanishing all together. He doesn't say anything in response to this, as he instead thinks to himself. However, when he sees that I was staring at him, patiently waiting for an answer to my question, he ever so slightly gives a nod of his head.
"Great," I declare with a small clap of my hands, startling James as he flinches at the noise. Shoving my laptop on the couch beside me, I stand up and stretch my arms out in front of me quickly, before then trudging towards the kitchen. I'm aware of James watching me like a hawk as I move, and despite the fact that I was beginning to grow slightly uncomfortable under his constant gaze, I try hard not to let this show. So instead I move towards the kitchen, announcing over my shoulder, "I haven't got much, sorry. I haven't really had the chance to go and buy proper food with moving and everything..."
He only grunts in response, too preoccupied with rummaging through my drawers looking for the painkillers.
Not wanting to distract him from finding them, I simply begin to pull out the food that I had that he could eat for breakfast. I hadn't been kidding when I said that I didn't have much: all I could offer him was a box of honey nut cheerios and some toast with strawberry jam, butter or Vegemite. I hesitated over the last one, not one hundred percent sure that he would like it. After having completed a mission in Australia a few months back, I had managed to bring some back with me, as it was something that I loved to have on my toast. However, I knew that some people didn't like it's bitter and salty taste, meaning there was a chance that James may not like it. I eventually give in however and pull it out of the cupboard with the jam as well, as there was a possibility that James may actually like it.
After having his painkillers, he carefully watches me placing each item on the kitchen island which he stands next too. Simply pointing towards the stools on the other side of the kitchen, indicating that he should sit down, I move away to grab the toaster. Once it's in my arms however, I turn back around and place it on the counter. James, who was sitting across from me now, stared at the machine curiously.
His curiosity for the machine between us had me sending him a bewildered smile. "What? Never seen a toaster before?" I ask lightly, reaching for the black cord so that I could plug it into the power point. I keep my eyes on him as I do this, expecting some form of sarcastic response. I find that this ins't the case however, and my smile slowly fades away as he gives a small shake of his head, a frown seeping onto his face the longer he stared at the toaster.
I blink, completely dumbstruck at what I had learned. He had never seen a toaster before? Surely he was just messing with me.But the confused look that he still wore on his face suggested to me otherwise...
"It just cooks bread," I inform him slowly, keeping my eyes trained on him to see if there was any visible sign that would tell me that he was just joking. I find my eyes darting towards the toaster in my hand once more however when he looks up to lock eyes with mine. After clearing my throat I announce to him, "Um, I'll put two pieces in for you for starters, OK?"
He just continues to stare at the appliance, traces of wonder mixing with the confusion on his face.
Doing as I had said, once the bread is in the toaster and cooking, I slide into a stool of my own, making sure that I was still sitting enough distance away from him, so that I could prepare myself in case he tried to attack me. "So...I know that I've asked you this quite a bit, but I still haven't received an answer."
"Then you should take a hint and drop it," he murmurs darkly just loud enough for me to hear.
Shooting him a lopsided smile at this, I reply, "Well, I'm never one to give up easily, so...do you want to tell me what you were doing last night, that got you into this state?"
"I told you, I was stabbed."
"Yeah, but why?" I ask, throwing my hands up slightly as I do so so that my palms were raised questioningly towards the ceiling. "You said you were attacked, but I find that very hard to believe, considering how big you are. If I were a mugger, for example, you'd be the last person I want to stab-"
I lean in closer towards him, so that I was practically resting the upper half of my body against the cool metal of the table between us. He seemed a little uncomfortable and taken aback by my sudden proximity, though he says nothing as I further explain, "She told me that you're one of the few people that actually come in and out of here constantly. Which means you know a way out."
He tears his gaze away from me, to look down at the food on his tray in front of him. "No one leaves this place," he informs me coldly, his face void of any emotion. "No matter how hard they try."
Not feeling satisfied with this answer, I tilt my head down to try and level myself with his gaze. When our eyes lock once more, I reply earnestly, "Well I'm not giving up that easily. I don't belong here-and I sure as hell don't want to be here. And something tells me that I'm not the only one either."
He shakes his head at this, causing his dark locks to fall across his face. Reaching up with his metal arm to brush the strands to the side, he diverts his eyes away from me and focuses on his food once more, his mind working like clockwork behind his ocean orbs. I sit patiently waiting for an answer, praying silently that he would just do as I ask and tell me what it was that I wanted to know. I was fast running out of options, and he was one of my few remaining ones. If what Riley had said was true, then he was one of the few test subjects that actually left the compound and may have a vague idea about where exactly we were. Which meant that he was the only person that could help me-
The sound of glass shattering has me jumping in my seat and tearing me from whatever state my mind had found itself in. Blinking my eyes rapidly to get a bearing of my surroundings to see that James was glancing down towards the floor, looking at something that I couldn't see from where I sat on the other side of the kitchen island. Standing up quickly, I move around and peer over the edge of the island, to see that he was staring down at a pile of broken glass and spilt water,. Putting two and two together, I conclude that he must've knocked his glass off the counter.
Still feeling a little dazed after whatever it was that my mind had endured, I fling my arm out as he goes to move off the stool. "Uh, just-just stay there," I say to him, staring down at the broken glass but without really seeing it. My mind was too busy trying to wrap itself around whatever the hell I had just seen.
Like last night, whatever I had seen-whatever vision that had suddenly appeared in my mind, it had had him in it. Though unlike the first vision, this one didn't involve us fighting: we had simply been talking. The vision had been so quick that I hadn't been able to pick up on every little single detail, so while I knew we had been talking, I hadn't seen where it was that we were talking.
But it had been him in it again. I had spoken to James. This man-this stranger, who, up until the previous night, I had no clue existed. He had been in both of my visions: why though, I had no clue.
I can't help but furrow my brows in confusion as I continue to stare down at the glass, trying to figure out what exactly these two visions meant-and why the hell they had occurred. I wasn't entirely clueless however. I gathered that James' unexpected arrival had something to do with them. He had after all been in both of them...
But what did they mean?
Feeling his gaze lingering on me right now, I blink a couple of times before then adding, "Just, um...you're, you're not wearing any shoes, so you may step in it." Once the last word has left my mouth, I simply fling a hand towards the water on the floor, watching as the spilt water flies up in the air. Directing my hand towards the sink, I watch as the water follows suit before disappearing down the drain.
Still a little dazed and confused about what had just happened, I don't bother going to search for a shovel and brush to clean up the glass and simply fling my hand out once more, watching as the broken shards going flying through the air towards the bin. Once they've disappeared from sight, I turn to find that James' blue eyes practically pop out of his head as he stares down at the bin in shock, his lips parted ever so slightly as he clearly tried to work out how exactly the bin had moved by itself. When he sees that I had my hand still raised and pointed to the bin however, he seems to put two and two together as realization dawns on his face. As he does so however, his eyes narrow in suspicion. "How did you do that?" he demands harshly.
"Long story short, I was experimented on," I explain with a simple shrug of my shoulders, deciding that being honest with him was probably the best thing to do right now. "The experiments gave me certain abilities like being able to move things, which is how I made the bin move to you just then. And how I made your gun fly threw the air towards me last night as well."
He only nods at this, the shock disappearing from his face to instead be replaced with a thoughtful expression, indicating to me that he was thinking about what I had just said. Deciding to keep the bin where it was, I move back towards my stool, settling down in it once more. "So..I answered one of your questions. Could you possibly return the favor and answer one of mine?"
Silence is my response. He only continues to stare down at the bin. Though judging my the way that he glanced at me from the corner of his eyes, I could tell that he had heard me and that he was simply choosing to ignore me. Not willing to give up that easily however, I ask, "What exactly are you? Or what is it that you do?"
He stills at my words, though once again he chooses to ignore me.
"I have my suspicions," I inform him evenly, crossing my arms over my chest as I do so. Not bothering to wait for a reply from him on this as I knew it was more then likely that I wouldn't receive one, I continue, "They're just suspicions, and even if they were right, you'd probably just deny everything or say nothing."
He finally looks up at me at this, his face settling itself into his usual hard glare, one of his brows raised, as if he was silently daring me to tell him what exactly I had on my mind. And not wanting to keep him waiting, I do just that.
"You have a special uniform. A mask, which would cover half of your face when you wear it, making it hard for someone to recognize you or get a good look at who you really are. You also happen to carry a gun-which you'll get back when I'm one hundred percent sure you're not going to shoot me in my sleep," I explain to him, watching as he frowns at the mention of his weapon. He grumbles something in what I'm assuming is Russian under his breath before he then goes quiet once more, seemingly waiting for me to continue.
"You show up on my fire escape covered in scratches and blood-which I now realize may not be entirely yours..." I trail off, the thought having not hit me until now. In the short time that I had known and helped him, I never once considered that the blood that was streaked across his skin and soaking the shirt of his uniform wasn't his. That I had been cleaning someone else's blood from him last night: someone that he may have hurt.
My stomach churns with unease at the thought, as I silent remind myself just how dangerous this guy may be. Tugging at my bottom lip nervously, I glance up at him through my lashes to see that he was watching me no longer with the glare on his face, but instead was looking at me with a hint of curiosity and wariness in his face, seemingly a little concerned about where I was going with this. Concerned that I was close to figuring him out...
Not that he had to worry too much however: I don't think that I could even come close to figuring him out: at least, not at this stage anyway.
"You said that certain people call you 'Asset,'" I add faintly, recalling how he had mentioned this to me last night when I first stumbled on him on my fire escape. "That they don't call you by their name. You're also secretive. I mean, every time I've tried to get you to tell me the truth about you, you either lie to me or you simply ignore me or tell me to drop it."
"You also...well, I've seen you're arm," I add quietly, my eyes traveling down from his face to the left side of the chest, where they land on the jagged, scarring skin where his metal arm met with the rest of his torso. When my eyes land on his metal shoulder however, I see something that I hadn't quite picked up on the previous night when I had been stitching his cuts. Printed on the gleaming metal of the arm, was a bold, red star. It was no bigger then the size of a hand, though the red paint was faded slightly, suggesting to me that it had been painted on some while ago.
Which probably meant that he had had the arm for quite some time now. Exactly how long, I didn't know however.
"It's pretty high tech...and from what you've told me, can be used as a weapon. So after said points mentioned above, I'm going to take a wild guess and say that you're something along the lines of a mercenary," I say, flickering my gaze back up towards my face to see that he was watching me carefully now, his icy blue eyes piercing my brown ones. Despite the intensity of his stare, I continue to stare back however, trying not to show just how intimidated I was under his gaze.
"So are you?" I ask. "A mercenary, I mean."
He doesn't even blink. "Something like that."
The sound of the toast popping up from the toaster has both of us jumping where we sit, having forgotten that I had put the two slices of bread in there in the first place. Shaking my head, I manage to draw my eyes away from him to look down at the golden slices, waiting to be plucked from the appliance.
Casting any thoughts about him being a mercenary to the side, I push myself to my feet and reach for a plate. "Seeing as you've apparently never had toast before, I recommend trying both the jam and Vegemite on each piece," I advise him, as I remove the toast from the appliance and place them down on the plate. He watches my every move cautiously, once again leading me to believe that he didn't trust me in the slightest and was looking to make sure that I didn't slip anything poisonous in his food.
Once I've spread the Vegemite and jam on his bread, I slide the plate across the island towards him, watching as he comes to a gentle stop right beside his arm. He eyes it suspiciously, a frown forming on his face, as I place another two pieces into the toaster to cook. Once I've settled in my seat once more, I return my attention to him to see that he has feebly picked up the piece with darker spread on it, holding it up closer to his face for a closer inspection.
"It's Vegemite," I inform him slowly, watching as he continues to stare at the brown spread on his bread. "I'm personally a massive fan of it on my toast, but some people ha-"
I find myself cutting off halfway through my sentence however as he takes a relatively large bite of the toast, placing the remaining of the food on his plate once more. I watch him carefully as he begins to chew his mouthful of food, his expression thoughtful as he ate.
The first sign was a grimace. Then, he ceased chewing altogether. But eventually, his face turned red as his face twisted into a look of disgust, looking almost helplessly up at me as he kept the food in his mouth, silently begging me for help.
Lurching up from my seat, I quickly rush towards the sink where it had a box of tissues beside it. Quickly grabbing it in my hands, I twirl around and toss it through the air towards him, watching as he quickly caught the box with his metal hand and ripped a piece of the soft fabric from the box, quickly holding it up to his mouth so that he was able to remove the food from his mouth as quickly as he had shoved it in. Once removed, he turns his head around, clearly looking for a place to put the tissue, causing for me to lift my hand and point towards the bin beside his feet.
"That's disgusting," he mutters, his face still scrunched up in discuss as he throws the tissue into the bin, reaching up with his flesh hand to wipe at his mouth, no doubt trying to wipe any remaining taste of the salty spread from his mouth.
I can't help but chuckle at this, earning a glare from him in the process. Raising my hands up almost defensively, I say in between chuckles, "Sorry. I tried to tell you that it's not for everyone, but..." I trail off with a final chuckle, reaching for the cheerios and a bowl, before pouring some in. "If you really want something to wash the bad taste away however, have some cheerios." When he shoots me a skeptical look at this, I add candidly, "Trust me, you'll like it better then the Vegemite."
"If you say so" he murmurs, glancing dubiously at the cereal that I had poured in the bowl. Once the milk has been poured as well, I slide the bowl across the island towards him, before also reaching towards the top drawer beside me to grab him a spoon so that he was able to eat the food. Not bothering to reply to this, I decide to sit back and watch him as he tried the cheerios, wanting to see his reaction to this food.
It appears however that he enjoyed the cheerios-or, he liked them better then the Vegemite anyway-as no sooner had he taken the first mouthful, a look of surprise on his face. At this point however he wasn't grimacing in revulsion, nor was he desperately reaching for a tissue to spit it out of. In fact, he was having another spoonful, his eyes cast downwards towards the golden cereal in the bowl.
"Good?"
He only nods his head ever so slightly, causing for me to shoot him a smile that he doesn't see. "I'm glad you like it. But I've still got some questions for you."