Cherry || b.barnes

24 || From Heroes and Villains

At lunch, I give my best not to look all too tired. Natasha's glance was scolding enough for me being fifteen minutes late, and since James has been wherever this night, I don't want to irritate her even more with my obviously shadowy adventure. Not that I would tell her, but I bet she's not the kind of person to easily lay back when there's clearly something in the bush. 

Neither do I really want her to believe James and I fucked the whole night, because first of all, we didn't, and second of all, it isn't very appealing to have your boss - or anyone, at this point - know this.

James awaited me, too, but the warmth in his glance was gone again. He'd look at me almost nonchalantly, merely a spark when he sighted the silhouette of the poppy necklace, and throughout the whole conversation about how I get into the gala, with whom exactly I needed to talk, about more questions that they prepared for me and about my styling, he was completely quiet. Barely looking at me, I feared his lips might've knit together, the grey entirely dominating his stormy eyes. All he did was greeting me politely, the heat in between us extinguished by the cool of his movements.

If he got something of my plan, finally? Felt it in the air? I cannot help but let my gaze rake over him from time to time, having him tensing with my observation, shifting in his seat in the curve of the diner's bench. Unnoticeable though, probably, for everyone but another super soldier, who hears the soft thud of a fly landing on a glassy surface from five meters ahead if only focused on it. With his eyes rested on Natasha, he leans back next to me, having a safety distance, its purpose something I can't quite put my finger on. In the end, Romanoff knows – and even if I wouldn't snuggle onto him, he could at least sit as close as normal people would, and not like he feared I might turn around, bite him and give him rabies. 
Simultaneously, he doesn't really seem to be extremely bothered or more nervous than usually when he's around me. What the hell is going on within this guy's mind?

Absentmindedly, the fork slips out of my fingers while I scrutinize Barnes from the inside out. It is the clattering when it hits the ground that I first realize the space between my fingers is empty, just the second James uses his baritone, pleasant voice as an exception within this talk. »I don't think we should be doing anything else.« he says, while I bend down below the table's surface to reach for the piece of cutlery. »It's her first mission alone, after all, and I'm not sure she's ready to be completely alone in something as major.«

Rolling my eyes about this, I grab what I've been looking for, just to come up with the fiery tips of incredulity tingling the insides of my mind and hitting my head on the edge of the table. Well, I would have hit my head on the edge, and it surely would have hurt, but when I turn around, I see a gloved hand wrapped around the sharp corner to prevent just that. Meanwhile, Barnes continues as if nothing has happened, and he moved his hand into this position of protection around of the table automatically, without thinking. »Not that I think Cherry couldn't do it alone in the building, but I think we should stay in the hotel instead of already flying back. Just in case.«

»We'll be late in Vegas if we do. She has a couple of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents around her, too. I think she'll be just fine.« Natasha replies dryly, picking up a French fry with her fork before dipping it into the red sauce.

Barnes rolls his eyes, laying down his own cutlery while I find my seat, and retreats his arm from the table. »You're going to let loose a super soldier without anyone in here to step in should something go wrong?«

»I believe her the type of girl to not let anyone step in in the first place.« the red-haired answers, hand in front of her mouth to avoid others seeing the chewed inside. »We have eyes on her all around the clock. Don't you trust her?«

Although even a little flattered by the Black Widow's words, I can't help myself. »Could you please stop talking about me while I'm clearly sitting on the same table as you do?«