I watched the arrow soar through the air, pinning the quail to the stump with a dull thud. I smirked to myself, trudging over to my kill and pulling the arrow out of the stump, stuffing the quail into a sack. My stomach growled at the thought of frying the bird up, the smell filling the cabin.
I swallowed, though it did very little to combat the saliva flooding my mouth. The sun was starting to hide behind the mountains, so I decided to head back. The frogs were starting to sing, fireflies drifting around near the grass and springing up as I passed them.
The soft warm glow coming from the cabin's windows set me on edge. I had been gone all day--there shouldn't be a fire. I silently set my sack down, withdrawing an arrow and knocking it.
I readied the arrow, drawing back the string and silently opening the door, whipping around the corner and aiming my arrow at the perpetrator.
Barnes.
"Oh, hey, Tanya. I was wondering when you'd show up," he stood, stoking the fire a little more as I relaxed my bow.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, suspicious.
"I can't just...drop by, see how my friend's doing?" he asked.
"Who else is here with you? Rogers? Wilson, maybe? The Prodigy?" I accused, holding my weapon up again.
"It's just me. I promise," he said, holding up his hands, the metal one reflecting the soft glow of the fire.
I let out a deep sight, before resting my bow against the wall next to the door, pulling my quiver off from around my torso and hanging it on a peg.
"Nice place you've got here. How'd you find it?" he asked.
"I renovated it. Run-down, abandoned," I said, crossing over to the fire and pulling out the quail. I started plucking it, Barnes watching as I did.
"You catch that?" he asked.
"No, it walked up to me and dropped dead at my feet," I said snarkily.
"Where are you coming back?" he asked suddenly, and I paused, my muscles tensing.
"I'm not going back," I replied, my voice strained.
"Why?"
"...you saw the footage," I deflected.
"You're deflecting," he accused.
"I...it's hard to put into words. The Elves didn't exactly focus on teaching me how to properly communicate," I admitted.
"I know how that feels. Here, sit," he gestured to the old, raggedy couch I had fixed up. I sat down next to him after setting the quail down.
"When Steve asked you to stay, what was your first reaction?" he asked slowly.
"I was...scared, I think. I thought that they would all find out who I was and they would abandon me again, just like everyone else in my life," I confessed.
"Well, they like me, and I don't have the greatest track record," he pointed out.
"You're special. You're Steve's friend. Who do I have? My long-dead mother? My more recently dead father? My dead best friend?" I asked.
"You have yourself. You have Steve, you had Romanoff when she was still alive. These people want to help you--you just have to accept it,"
"They never let anyone help me. If I asked for help, they would hit me. Over and over until I never asked for help again,"
"No one's going to do that to you. They're gone, and they can't hurt you anymore," he stood up, heading towards the door. "Anyways, I have to go before the others get suspicious," he said, opening the door.
"Wait. Can you stay? Just for tonight? I just...I don't like being alone,"