BOOK 4 of the ORPHIC Series
DISENTHRALL
/ˌdisənˈTHrôl/
set free.
~~~~~
When Lucille 'Lucy' Opal Baker starts adjusting to a world without Captain America and more government therapy sessions...
Prompt: When Lucy and James separated, we never got to see exactly where James went. This is a one-shot, featuring James visiting Rumlow– in regards to that time he was forced to kneel in gravel.
In other words, pure angst.
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"Don't regret what you've asked for."
Queens, New York October, 2015
HE SHOULDN'T BE HERE. James knew that like the back of his hand. He shouldn't be here, at the hidden cottage he knew the Commander was living in. He shouldn't have looked for him, shouldn't have walked here with nothing but his duffel bag and himself. He. . .he shouldn't be here.
But he was.
And he couldn't back out now. His feet wouldn't let him. His body wouldn't let him. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he gazed at the broad cottage, eyebrows furrowing. He could neither leave nor step forward, stuck in place and time. He was scared—he would be stupid not to be. The Commander wasn't always dangerous, only when he wanted to be; only when he wanted to make him hurt.
But James deserved that, didn't he? He'd killed so many people– he'd hurt the only person who ever mattered to him in the past decades and all he did was– what, repay her with fear and consequences? Bruises that he should have never left?
He swallowed the guilt and disgust, these newfound feelings that burned in his gut. He hated it– hated how he had to feel things and understand what emotions were. There had been a time it had all been second nature to him.
Now it was nothing but a fleeting, foreign thought.
He marched up to the front door, steeling his nerves. The goats and cows he'd seen last time were further down, but he could feel their stares. They were probably curious– why was he back here? Didn't he remember them? Sure, he did– sure he knew he'd been here before, with Schaffer and the Weapon, right after the fall of the Triskelion.
He remembered.
But what did it do? What was the point of it? Remembering all these painful memories were excruciating and unfair and– oh but he'd killed all those people, hadn't he? He'd killed– how many? Could he ever remember them all?
He raised his fist to the door in front of him.
Whatever happened was everything he deserved.
Before he could knock, the lock to the door clicked.
