Winter's Touch

Winter's Touch; Chapter Six

Six; Unveiled.

{A Winter Soldier Fic}

You stood up and walked slowly and silently over to the table where he sat and took the food from the bags. In typical white styrofoam containers were eggs, bacon, biscuits, grits, anything of a typical breakfast sort, you name it. He got up and walked over to the fridge and opened it to grab the milk as you sat down, eyeing your meal hungrily. Your stomach grumbled again and your cheeks turned red with embarrassment. He turned back and lifted an amused eyebrow.

"Hungry?" You nodded slowly and picked up your fork, but didn't start. You stared at him. How can he eat with that mask? Just as you were going to ask him, he brought his hands up to his jaw and started pulling carefully. But it wouldn't budge. "Damn it..." He whispered to himself. He tried harder, but the black material seemed to act as a vacuum to his face.

You set your utensil down and got up carefully. He stopped his ministrations and eyed you-still defensive, like a stray dog who hadn't gotten used to a smaller, more frustrating animal. You gave a small, reassuring smile (you weren't quite sure if it was more for yourself or for him) and walked with fleeting steps over to him. Gently reaching up as his hands drop, he's still eyeing you when your fingers curl around the material on both sides. You breathe in an anxious breath, not sure what you might see behind the mask. He gives no warning-only a small rumble from his black-clad chest. Somewhat startled, you pull your hesitant hands back slightly and watch him-study his face for a sign of rage. But you find none, so you proceed. With about two strong but gentle pulls, the mask gives a click and loosens. Your breath becomes more shallow and restrained. Like pulling off a band-aid, you softly pull the black muzzle away from his jaw and are utterly surprised by what you see. It is not charred or burned, like your arm. It is not missing skin like a zombie might in one of the shows you watched back home. It is not horrifyingly terrorizing, not causing you to flinch in fear of what you see. It is just a face, one with normal features. Normal lips, that peak and fall, surrounded by normal stubble that twists and turns around his jaw and mouth. A normal nose that leads up to the most beautifully blue eyes that they just might not be normal. After you realize you're staring, heat rises to your cheeks and your lips pull into a thin line. You step back tenderly and set the mask down beside his container of food. He watches you intently in a low gaze, curious what you might do. But when you return to the business you left off from, he returns to his. But every now and again you look up and catch him staring. You two do this for as long as you can remember before he speaks up. Its a strange sight to you, to see him talk without a curtain in front of his lips. When you find yourself staring at them, you shake yourself mentally.

"Why are you so calm?" He asks. You stare at him and your face must give off confusion, so he presses on.

"I shot you last night. I kidnapped you three days ago. I'm on my way to murder someone. I have murdered people. Yet you're not hiding in a corner, mumbling deranged things like a schizophrenic." He tilts his head and you shrug, digging back into your food. He lifts a questioning eyebrow and stops everything, leaning back in his chair. This makes you stop as well. You're both staring at each other for a few more moments before you speak.

"I'm far from calm," you said. He stared at you, waiting for you to continue. "And you grazed me. There's a difference." You tried to go back to your food, but the intensity of his gaze made you swallow and press on. "In my opinion, it would be stupid as hell for me to act like a mental patient around you. I don't know you, and therefore I'd have no clue if or when you'd get annoyed to the point where you'd snap and press a .45 to my face,"  You paused and watched him for any signs of hostility. But he only clenched his jaw. "I'm trying to keep my brains from getting blown out," You almost regretted what you said. It sounded a bit too smart-assy and you started to glance at the cutlery on the table, aware of its closeness to you, and you hoped to God his hand didn't get twitchy. But he didn't reply. Didn't give any smart remarks. Didn't stab you with the fork that was mere inches away from your hand. You could've said more, but decided to drop it before you got yourself into deeper shit. You both sat in silence for about twenty minutes before he stood up, your eyes following him.

"Finish your food. We're leaving soon." He stalked off down the hall, leaving his own food unattended. You did what he said and waited for him to finish doing whatever it was he was doing-sharpening his knives, cleaning his guns, polishing his metal arm.... You smacked yourself on the forehead.

Stop it, you thought. He's a murderer. You had to remind yourself.

He emerged from the back rooms and stood there in all his mysterious gloom and waited for you to grab your things. After you put your shoes on and gathered your jacket, you both walk out of the door and start off again-down the road and into the early morning of Tennessee.

*

Screaming. Muffled, high pitched, crazed screaming. That's all you could hear. When you opened them, your eyes were glazed with sleep, but you had a feeling it was not induced by weariness. You felt limp and useless as you attempted moving around, dragging yourself up and falling again. You couldn't feel your legs. It was like they were numb, or gone. Suddenly, it felt like you were flying. You felt the tight grasp of hands around both your arms as someone lifted you up. Your vision was still blurry, still useless when someone's out of shape figure appeared in front of you. Behind the curtain of glaze in your eyes, you could make out familiar features.

'Dad?' You heard yourself say. The man in front of you was wearing a singed and tattered lab coat, from what you could see, and took heavy, massive breaths. You heard him say something incoherent to whoever had a hold of you, and then turn his attention back towards you.

'You need to get out of here,' He rasps out at you. You shake your head, a million different questions going through your mind and tears flowing from your eyes.

"No, dad, not without you!" You cried. You tried to free yourself from the grip of the people who held you, but your strength again had failed you.

He muttered something to those who held you, and he began to drift away as they were carrying you to safety. You couldn't hear it, but you knew your throat had released a scream of pain and torment. You had lost a parent when you were young, but this was different. You were watching your remaining guardian be devoured by the flames around him, but you felt as if it were you instead. Searing pain flooded your head, and your eyes began to blur more drastically than before-the few visible things to them now was the faint glow of the roaring embers and the heavy black smoke that climbed like a horrible creature into the white sky. You wished you could treat this image as thin air, but it was all too difficult to hide something that was too real behind a curtain of hope. This was no strange nightmare. It was a memory reminisced.