𝗗𝗜𝗚𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 - 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗹

Glorious Machines

Isabell is completely, utterly and unbearably dirty.

The feeling is destroying her.

From her scalp to her toes, she is encrusted in blood; some her own, some not. Half her face is an open wound, her ribs grind and flex below her skin, and the crack down her skull feels like all of her sanity is spilling out.

That is to say nothing of the general filth.

Grime wedges itself below her nails, deep into her pores, entwined in the crooks between her fingers. There are flakes of paint in her hair from where she has physically tried to climb the walls, and from boot to knee, she is drenched in river water.

It turns out, trying to pull an unconscious, water-logged body from a river tends to result in falling in. Halfway, anyway.

For now, she is sitting like her skin is an ill-fitting piece of clothing, hunched over and aching in the corner of some abandoned warehouse. Behind her, there are Sam and Steve, and in front of her, just James.

James. Jamie.

He's knocked out. From what Steve has said, they both fell from a helicopter into the river, and he's been like this ever since. Propped up on an empty crate, his vibranium arm jammed in a clamp. It's useless, really.

If James wakes up still being The Winter Soldier, nothing is going to stop him.

He'll kill her. He'll kill her, and she'll lose everything she has ever loved.

Isabell swallows.

Dirty. You're dirty and wrong and you should've let him kill you. You can't fix this. Dirty. There has to be a reason why this hurts so much. Karma, maybe? Dirty. James won't love you if he sees what you let him do to you. You should've stopped him. Dirty.

She doesn't feel like herself. No, there's something twitching in the back of her brain, something yearning to be bruised, to have her hair pulled when she cries and to then have those tears beaten out of her. She needs order.

She needs orders.

Isabell stares at James. Asleep. His foot jerks a little. Asleep, but not for much longer.

Some part of her seems to slip away. Or rather, something else takes over. Whatever It is, It forces her to her feet, stares at her filthy hands and turns to Steve and Sam.

"I'm leaving to watch the perimeter." It announces. Neither of them seems to know what to say.

Isabell slips out of the door without another word.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

The first thing James sees is Steve.

The first thing he thinks is Isabell.

In his dazed, blurred state, only one thing actually bursts through the barrier of understanding.

"Steve."

The way his head snaps up is so attentive, so utterly Steve, that James wants to cry. Another part of him, tired and fuzzy, wants to kiss him so badly that his whole body hurts.

Then again, that might just be from being thrown down a staircase.

He tilts his head back and gulps in sweet, sweet air as Steve rises to his feet. He leans against the wall, one eyebrow raised.

"Which Bucky am I talking to?"

Bucky. How funny to hear that again, to listen to it properly. Warm, tinged with white-hot memory. James hasn't been Bucky in a long time.