Cherry || b.barnes

26 || Betrayal

Two hours before D.W.A.R.F.'s attack is planned to take place, I find myself in a hotel room in Las Vegas. To be more specific, we're in the North of the infamous town, a good distance from the troublesome casinos and lustrous nightlife. Not that we have night already, it's late afternoon while I'm sitting more or less upside down on the little couch in the room beside my bedroom, feet dangling off the lean.

As soon as we had arrived and one way or the other greeted one another, Natasha ordered me to sit this one out in the same breath she told Barnes to be ready on call. She received a curt nod in response, that was all, and I wondered how exactly James has been in his younger years, when he truly was that soldier getting commands that he had to take no matter what.

Maybe that's where his need to be in charge now comes from.

However, I knew I had to get more information in order to lead Hydra on Christmas into the lion's cave. My mother probably would have run after me with a cooking spoon raised, and even if she didn't, I still feel bad for having picked the date that is supposed to spread love and romance and bring families together.
Well, somehow it would bring families together.

I should be indifferent about what others think of me at this point; people will hate me, and I don't think there's any more emotion to add to that after I took their precious marionette, no matter the date.

So, trying to figure out how I could possibly gain more knowledge about the freaks' plans on Christmas, I had taken a pen and a paper lingering around on the small desk beneath the window, and found the lamp illuminating the major part of the hotel chamber pretty interesting to draw. It was some sort of muster, the ranks of flowers one would usually find on old stone walls, raking about a square meter in the center of the room in the ceiling. There was a big circle in the middle, making the tendrils seem like wavy sun rays. The longer I looked at it, though, the more uninterested did I become. Turns out my imagination does very little to real details. So – as mostly – I just let my thoughts subconsciously control my fingers, staying in the surprisingly comfortable position.

A knock came after what was maybe half an our, popping the bubble I carefully blew and hid myself in. So, here we are again with me having the need to hide my art, but completely forgetting about it as soon as I stand.

Sighing, I wonder who'd eventually show up now and somehow both hope and hope not that it is James. Hoping it is him because as soon as the thought came to my mind, my insides began to prickle, chest warming in a tingle that is both exciting me and calming.
And not because the more time I spend with him, the harder it would get using these damn words on him, and the rougher would be the blow once he knew who he has in his front. Not concerning my surname, but concerning who I really am. Because I am the bad girl, whether he's willing to believe that or not. Just because I melt in his touch doesn't mean the puddle I am ain't boiling still while on the ground, threatening to burn him should he even think about getting too close.

But no sandalwood reached me, no paradox scent of sweet whiskey when I come close to the door, left hand hidden in the hoodie I'd found on the bed. It is plainly beige, more into the brownish direction like stone but too sun-kissed to be grey, really, and a blue pair of jeans. I really have no idea where they got my size from, but I also don't really care.

No, what faintly creeps into my nose from the other side of the hard wood is the scent of lilacs, mixed with expensive perfume. A heartbeat not as strong as a super soldier's, but strong for the common human nonetheless, telling me of a stark will to live. As soon as I open the door, my assumptions verify, revealing a red-haired woman with an hourglass figure in a tight, black leather suit. Guns and knives hang on her belt, low around her hip, as my gaze goes up to Natasha's pale face, almost wintry blue eyes.