Cherry || b.barnes

27 || Ice

After successfully preventing D.W.A.R.F. from killing at least two dozen innocents, I flew back with the others to New York. James didn't really get hurt, but Natasha was wounded a little rougher, getting medical treatment in the Quinjet. Tony, for his part, stayed a little longer in Vegas for whatever reason, meaning that I never faced Iron Man to now.

Days go by, and soon enough, I find myself two days before the operation. Coping with that wasn't and isn't easy; my nightmares came more frequently, and repeatedly seeing the fire and smoke devouring our house, all our possessions, my mother's life wasn't good for my nerves. I must've looked as a corpse alive, walking around zombie-like, as Ergon described. I'm so glad they made the bedrooms soundproof.

But it's not just about the ghosts haunting me, tripling their numbers and with that, the claws hawking into my mind and not letting go, letting me bleed constantly. It's also James.

During the last week, we met about three times. And with met, I mean having dates. Well, at least something like dates. He'd asked me out after scaring the crap out of me when suddenly appearing in my bedroom again, going for sandwiches on a nearby stand for lunch.
The second time, he'd convinced me to join him into the cinema, because there was this documentary about Nikola Tesla he really, really wanted to see but didn't want to go alone, and Rogers was still gone. I couldn't really bring any interest concerning that topic, at least, not interest that would've been enough to pay the ticket for the movie should I have no other occasion, but the spark in James's eyes throughout the ninety-five minutes warmed my heart enough, and entertained me more than anything else ever could. By the time the credits were scrolled on the huge screen in our front, it felt like twenty minutes had passed in which I merely stared at the ex-assassin next to me, cherishing every little detail of his appearance with my attention.
The third time was visiting the Christmas market, something I haven't done in a decade. My favor for roasted almonds relived, and James had to buy himself a new package because I ate my own, and three quarters of his, too. There were a few minutes in which he feared for me getting diabetic coma, but then he reminded himself I was a super soldier, too, and that I could probably eat three whole packages and not even flinch at the sugary rush.

The whole time, he hasn't asked me once about anything related to the serum or my former life again. I guess he used the same tactic I did concerning his past; waiting until the other would stumble across the topic, eventually, and all by their own. No pushing, no urging. We mostly shared anecdotes from the time we haven't known each other, shared things we liked and things we disgusted. We even went ice skating once on that Christmas market, and to my surprise – and my counterpart – he was exceptionally good at it while not merely once catching me before I hit the frozen ground.
There were kisses now and then, mostly when he had brought me back to my room and only when we were completely alone. Nothing more, which I was thankful for. At least, my rational part. Because sharing more than just minds, sharing bodies again would equal the raise of an impossible intensity raise, and I couldn't have that.
It was hard enough to agree to come with him and yet there was no way around it, hard enough to look him in the eye and pretend that I wasn't going to destroy his life.
And the harmony in between us made it all worse. We shared the same humor, mocked each other nearly around the clock and made the other blush. I relish in his small touches, his hand slipping to the lower part of my back and guiding me or his arm laying around my shoulder, his fingers brushing mine in the public as if he wanted to take my hand but knew it wasn't time for that yet, knew it wasn't something we should simply blow out into the world's knowledge.

All of this made my mind race whenever I wasn't with him, when I successfully fought the nightmares late in the night, or even during class. I tried and tried to find another way to deal with him, tried and tried to come up with something that wouldn't involve the trigger words until I got headaches, but there was nothing. And it was impossible for me to proceed spending thoughts on it; after all, I had not only James to worry about, but also the others.