Cherry || b.barnes

50 || North Star

The flight itself takes two hours, tops. It became pretty quiet at some point, me finding a seat next to James after the conversation with Yelena, none of us really having anything to say when so many ears are listening. It's strange to sit beside him and not touch him, not drive my hand through his soft hair or rest my head against his shoulder, but I believe it would be even weirder if I did it, so I just let it be. For the moment, his scent, this sandalwood and sweet whiskey mixture is enough to console me, calm me down just as his mere presence.

It is amazing how a single human can do that. All these years alone, years in which I didn't even dare to dream about falling in love for that hasn't been my goal in life. And then, just a single person has to come into your life, one of billions, to turn your world upside down. In our world, where fantasy is reality and we have witches and sorcery and men flying around in metal suits; so many pages that are real, and still, love is the most magical thing for me to exist. There's nothing mightier, nothing more tender yet more cruel. It's a curse as well as it's a blessing, and James is the angel that made me believe.

Half an hour before we land, the team starts getting through the plan again. Tony seems pretty exhausted, but refuses to lay down just for ten minutes and instead continues repairing his suit. The noise of his smith-activities rather sooner than than becomes a constant, but since it's not for long, I keep my mouth shut about its annoying nature. 

James lands the Quinjet on a large meadow in the middle of a forest. The grass is already flat from the previous resting place of the airship, and I can just hope that none of Hydra's soldiers came along here before for a picnic, or else we might lose our flight back. However, when I suggested searching for another place exactly due to that, – what a surprise – Tony spurned listening to me, and Belova and Barton threw so many curses around that Stark asked Steven whether or not he got dizzy from all the bad words. Must be some kind of insider among them. 

Other than that, I changed into one of Natasha's fucking tight suits. She's shorter than me, which is problem number one, freeing my wrists and leaving more space than it should uncovered on my lower legs. Problem number two is that I feel like ripping the thing with every step I take. I fear when I crouch, I have to legs but no entire trousers anymore. The only good aspect is James's eyes raking over me when I put it on like I was a piece of art of DaVinci.

It cost me everything to keep my thoughts buried. Especially, since he's still in his suit and that's so damn appealing, why ever. The black leather, black trousers that emphasize thighs I would kneel for. Dark hair, dark lashes underlined by his clothes. A face so beautiful it would make Aphrodite beg him to take her throne. Shaking my thoughts off, I'm just able to escape a pleasant pull in my lower abdomen when I'm reminded what this skilled tongue can do.

The air is moisty when we walk down the stairs, the grass wetting my toes through the dark sneakers. It's surprisingly cold, even for this time of the year, and I count myself as very lucky to inhabit the serum once again for not freezing immediately. Otherwise, the smell of forest is so thick around us that it makes breathing hard for a second. It's like walking out of the jet and right against a wall.

I don't hear any animals, though, and that's kind of unnerving. I've been in forests often enough in my life to know the pattern; the shuffling of leaves from a deer or a wild cat, the little veins on the ground in cause of working ants, the songs of birds brightening the shadows beneath the trees. None of it is here, no sign of life whatsoever, and that concerns me. Something about this place seems very wrong from the beginning.

»Here« a deep voice looms behind me, the smell of sunflowers in my nose before I even turned around entirely. Steven stands there, the gold of his hair a shade less striking beneath the enormous layers of grey clouds covering the sky. From the looks of it, it might just begin to rain again every second.
»Take it«, he goes on, his shield stretched out into my direction. It's shining; the silver star in the middle as well as the rows of red and blue surrounding it. The symbol of a nation, born in the hell of the Second World War.

When he gets that I am hesitating, my gaze flickering from his to the shield and back to his, he steps a little closer. His entire posture is built up, ready for the invisible danger of a surprising attack. I wonder, speaking of fighting, if there's anything that this man is not prepared for. After Jay, that is. »Please.«