Rosalie Kasten is out of luck and out of time. For the last two years, she's been living on borrowed time. After her involvement with the death of Edwin Pierce - Alexander Pierce's son - it's only a matter of time before Hydra comes for her.
James...
𝐑𝛐𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐭𝛐𝐫 up to the hundred and sixteenth floor. She unlocks the door and stumbles in with the duffel bags in her grasp. Light is still pouring in through the massive wall-window overlooking the streets of Manhattan behind the couches and chairs in the living room. James has dropped the blazer from his suit and rolled up the sleeves on his black dress shirt. He's pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the minibar right next to the kitchen.
Rosalie watches him for a few seconds while leaning against the wall. It doesn't feel like her place to ask, but it seemed serious. And honestly? She's curious.
"Have you met Loki before?" She asks, crossing her arms over her chest and sauntering over to him.
James looks up at her, glancing down her body before he goes back to the glass. "Something like that."
"Why don't you pour me one as well?" She asks, putting a hand on his right forearm.
He glances at her again, gaze on her for just a moment longer than it needs to be, but he grabs another glass and begins filling it with Whiskey. Rosalie smiles as he hands it to her, and she walks past the small wall separating the bar from the kitchen. From the fridge, she grabs two ice cubes and drops them into the glass.
"Want ice?" She asks.
He's leaning against the doorway with one arm crossed over his strong chest. His hulking figure is blocking out most of the light from the living room, and he takes a calm sip from the glass.
"I'm good."
She nods and closes the fridge. She has to ask. Right now, she's just trying to buy herself time and work up the courage. Rosalie walks back up to him, but he doesn't move out of the way immediately. Her eyebrows rise while he continues staring down at her. There's something tense about the situation, something she can't really put her finger on. Her pulse picks up accordingly.
James lazily tilts his head and moves to the side. She passes him and moves over the carpeted flooring to the couch, draping one leg over the other and waiting for him to join her. He walks in after her, keeping his eyes locked on her. They definitely need to talk. He doesn't sit down as she had expected, but stays standing in the middle of the room, gazing down at her.
"What's the Winter Soldier?" She asks after what feels like ten minutes of no words being spoken.
"What?" There's no emotion in his voice. Like always, it's flat, and his face is the same. He really does look tired. She's almost sure he hasn't always looked like that.
