Cherry || b.barnes

22 || Opportunity

Sunday and Monday are passing relatively fast. As soon as I arrived back in the flat, both boys seemed looming behind the door, waiting to question and turn me into Swiss Cheese. From the weapons used over the suit in my handbag and what it actually was that I needed to do, I explained briefly and objectively what had taken place, of course, leaving out everything that happened with Barnes. I'm afraid I wouldn't even tell a best friend if I had one, because it's not only my mission that's at stake, but also his unnecessarily bad reputation that could form into a nightmare, more so than anyways. And it could cost his job.
Ergon and Jason seemed disappointed that I wasn't involved in any real fight I could tell them of, but I certainly was and still am not. I hate to hurt people, no matter mentally or physically, and I can only pray for this period of non-violence to keep on going for a long time. Until the inevitable end of Captain America, that is. Then, I will never lay hands on a weapon again. How, anyways? Either they sent me into prison, or they hang me directly.

My new week schedule luckily differs from the former one. With my first daily appointment, namely training for keeping flexibility and fighting routines and whatsoever, starting at eleven in the morning, that means I can sleep a little longer. Other than that, there's merely the course of Russian, and a course of hacking for me twice a week each, which is much more relaxing than the hustle of the first time I lived in here.

I haven't seen James within the last days since our arrival, and I must admit, I'm pretty grateful for this. Physical distance helps my mind to get clear again, with his presence intoxicating my senses each and every time, and the more time I spent without him, the better.
It must've all been some poor attempt of ours to not be alone anymore. With him having nothing and nobody else but Steve Rogers, living a life rather by himself than being valuable to anyone except my father, he surely felt the same urge to fight loneliness as I did. It just has been opportunity, the heat of tingling feelings; pure nature, pure instinct. Biology taught me people always search for partners that fit, for women searching in men a sort of protector, for someone stimulating them in mind and body terms, keeping guard. Barnes did that for me, so what happened is simply and merely to elaborate with the impact of instinct. Of course, he'd choose me, too. After all, I'm a Super Soldier just as he is – although one doesn't really think that when first looking at me -, and that clearly makes me more suitable than others. And if he really meant what he said, he would've come visit me already, wouldn't he?
Although the latter somehow makes me stumble over each time this poison of a thought creeps into my consciousness, surprises me with the sudden clenching around my heart, the knot in my throat, I shove it into the direction of pride. I'm a very proud person, meaning, that's a sensitive spot of mine. Naturally, rejection would affect me negatively.

On Tuesday morning, I'm up early. Before sunrise, actually, I stand in the canalization of New York City's periphery, my olive-green jacket tightly pulled around my upper body. The streets outside are frozen, cars skidding, breaks squeaking before the metallic bang of two vehicles colliding echo through the relatively quiet neighborhood then and now. Some of the lamps don't even work anymore with the wires malfunctioning, and down here, I can see my own breath more than on the surface, a temperature that would probably become recognizable even to me rather sooner than later. The thin air smells of feces and urine, of rotten rat corpses and other animals' leftovers, and I wrench my nose with every corner that I take, the smell even getting worse with me sinking deeper into the maze below the surface.

I didn't bring my phone, afraid someone might track me, and neither any other electronical devices. Once more, I'm almost happy for the serum in my veins, enabling me to see without any light turned on, merely the little slits above me letting in the moonlight reflecting the wet, muddy ground I'm walking on. Grabbing the harder edge of my cap and tugging it deeper, I discover the faintest sign of yellowish light from around the far corner on the opposite end of the corridor. No voice recognizable, I therefore hear three heartbeats quietly thrumming through the labyrinth, none of them syncing with another but all of them racing, despite the deep breaths of their owners in an attempt to calm down. One of them is heavier than the others, making me think it has to be Rider himself appearing at this first meeting, the weight resting ponderously on his bones.