Cherry || b.barnes

11 || Poisonous

I didn't think it would actually work, but Barnes has left my room after a particular cold stare almost an hour ago, and I haven't heard of him ever since.

I refuse to think about him for now.

Instead, I got myself new food from the kitchen, and thought about what I might could use the rest of the afternoon and the evening for, until I eventually decided for something very helpful. Which is why I was out buying make-up with the last money lingering in the pockets of my winter jacket and put in on as soon as I was back in my room. It's a natural look, far from what appeared to be me having fallen into the palette when I had the mission in the burlesque club, and still, I'm satisfied with the result. Hoping it will be enough, I let out a small sigh.

It's not exactly that I liked fooling people, or that this whole thing was a picnic. I had doubts at times, had the feeling I wasn't good enough for such a grand operation. Numerous people with far better chances, with more men in their back or an actual plan that didn't involve casualties and chances tried to get to Captain America's throat. What would make me different than them?

As this question comes, there always comes the strong reminder of the promise I gave. The vow of vengeance binding me to this task with hot iron, and sadistically, it's no force but my want that cuffs me tighter. Either I will be his end, or he will be mine.

Looking into the mirror, I take one last glance of myself before I continue on a matter so personal it feels like carved into my bones. I have a lot of my mother; high, sharp cheekbones and jaw, the dark, not too dominant yet not too thin brows above my now even darker lashes, and eyes that almost seemed colorless except for that little, cerulean-mint ring around my pupils. One of the few things I actually inherited from him. Other than that, though, all I got from a certain someone are damn dimples when having a good laugh, ruining the excitement before it can unfold in all its glory. Oh, and of course, the way I smile when I don't pay attention. My mother always told me I had it from him, too, leaving no sign of my choice without his faint remembrance; tucking up the left side a little higher than the right, cleverness, sarcasm and humor glistening in my eyes. I'm pretty sure I had asthma as well, if things went out differently. And scarlet and rheumatic fever. High blood pressure. Heart trouble. Easy fatigability. Hell, that man would've cursed his children before they were even born with this shitty DNA.

Long nose, rather thin and hair falling in a side parting, my neither thick nor thin, yet full lips are a little more colored than usually. They are tainted in a fainter, lighter shade of the red of the suit I stole on the way – blazer in the same hue as a good wine atop a white top, trousers in the same tint as the jacket, and black heels. Flipping down the black sun glasses with a nick of my head, I look like a business woman – perfect for the plan.

I'm not stupid enough to think people would not recognize me; that isn't my goal, not directly. But as long as I don't draw attention into a wrong direction, there will be no need for anyone to look after me, will there? How lucky I am I have been clever enough to filch the S.H.I.E.L.D.-ID of whoever is missing it now, thinking it lost. All I will need is the emblem to be let in, hopefully, and a good story that surely will come up in my mind spontaneously.

A few minutes later and glad for the night already having taken the guard from the day, I hang down the most silent part of the building. The rope I got from our training room isn't long enough to reach eight stories down, leaving me tangling at the third and cursing when I tug on it harshly, to make it fall down with me. Surprisingly, though, I land on both feet safely in the dark street on the back of the glass-building, hesitating just a second to secure the environment. With no one appearing, no lights inside suddenly switched on and heads peaking out, I put the rope behind a nearby trashcan, rearranging my style. Told you I could do anything better than you, Barnes. Even in heels.