Hιԃԃҽɳ Wԋιʂρҽɾʂ || B Bαɾɳҽʂ

Six Months

I have rEtUrNeD!

Apologies, that was an long hiatus yes I know but I'm bAcK now.

Also you know the drill, bold is for Russian, italics for thoughts-

Six months.

Six months since she had reappeared in an empty warehouse, the last thing she could remember being seeing her hands turn to dust.

Six months since she was found out that Hydra was no more, and that they no longer could control her.

Six months since she killed that old, rich white man, and taken residence in his luxurious, modern mansion.

Six months of her trying to turn her life around, and live like a normal person would.

But normal was never her style.

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The night was quiet, no sound coming from outside, the only sound coming from the hard punches Verena was throwing at the bag, and the slight rattle of the chain as it swung back an forth when she hit it harder. 

She could feel her mind settling, clearing out, all the flashbacks and memories being pushed to the back, and that's how she liked it. At the back of her mind, for as long as possible. 

The hours passed, she kept punching, and before she knew it, the sun was rising, and sunlight was streaming through the window.

She looked at the red stained on the bag, her knuckles bloody and bruised, and sighed, turning around and walking out the room and down the stairs, to the kitchen. As she washed the blood off, and wrapped them, so that they'd heal in a few hours, she walked to the living room and sat herself down on the couch, grabbing the remote and turning the T.V on, the first channel being a news one.

"Today is a somber day for all of New York," The anchor began, his face solemn and serious, "for yesterday was the funeral of Steven Grant Rogers, our very own, Captain America."

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Drink away the pain.

That's what he was doing right now, sitting in the corner of a small bar, drinking bottle after bottle, glass after glass in a hope to diminish the pain.

'Stupid serum...'

He downed another drink.

'Doesn't even let me get drunk..'

He passed the hours there, sitting at that small table, downing drink after drink, and letting himself wallow in his sadness, eyes brooding, mind racing with thoughts and memories.

'One more-?' the waiter asked him and he solemnly nodded, before watching him walk away, sinking back in his seat, when the sound of the bar doors opening caught his attention.

And then he saw a woman with long red hair, and amber eyes that looked so damn familiar. 

Could it-?

But he couldn't be sure.

What if..

He scolded himself- she was gone, that's what they told him. And he hadn't seen her in more than five years- surely that proved it.

But what if it is-

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She walked into the small bar, and she could immediately feel a pair of eyes trained on her- it was second nature by now- she turned to look at the person, her eyes locking with his, and she froze.

Steel blue eyes.

Steel blue eyes which looked so familiar she could have sworn it was him- but she couldn't come to that conclusion without proof.

But the more she looked at him, the more familiar he looked, the more he looked like him. And then she noticed the eyes glint off something- something metal- and her eyes widened, when she noticed the little space where his leather jacket ends, and the gloves began.

The arm.

And that was all the confirmation she needed.

'James-'