8-1-0-9

Chpt. 17

I wasn't sure how or when it happened, but as we walked along the bridge to Madripoor, my right arm looped around the Soldier's vibranium arm. He didn't say anything, I didn't say anything, and we didn't even look at each other. It was as if it was the most natural thing to occur, but if I was to get asked what we were doing, my excuse would be that I knew him longer and that I needed something to do with my hands. However, I did notice something that I failed to see earlier whenever we made contact.

The soft hum in the back of my neck intensified to a low, delicate buzz once my skin touched the cold material of his metal arm. The sensation slowly worked its way down to the tips of my fingers and further to my toes, gradually relaxing the ache these blasted heels were giving me. It felt like the constant thrumming of an engine that buzzed the whole vehicle. Whatever it was, it had the same if not stronger effect than my bracelets, and slowly eased my nerves until they faded into the background. It made me wonder if that's what my bracelets were made of; vibranium, and perhaps if that specific metal somehow had an effect on me.

     "We have to do something about this," Sam suddenly spoke up, his tone sharp with distaste as he pulled at his suit coat. "I'm the only one who looks like a pimp."

Zemo didn't miss a beat. "Only an American would assume a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp," he deadpanned. "You look exactly like the man you're supposed to be playing." The Sokovian pulled out his phone, handing it over to Sam. "The sophisticated, charming African rake named 'Conrad Mack'. AKA the 'Smiling Tiger'."

     "He even has a bad nickname," he grumbled, accepting the phone regardless. I leaned forward slightly so I could watch his reaction for whatever he was looking at. His brow raised. "Hell, he does look like me, though," he muttered, returning the phone to Zemo.

The latter lifted his chin slightly after accepting the device. "You smell this?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, what is that? Acid?"

     "Madripoor," Zemo answered, and my gaze zeroed in on the car that was pulling up towards us, slowing down so it could make a half turn on the bridge. The reply was vague, but with my own experience, I could only agree that the city has its own distinct, rancid stench. "No matter what happens, we have to stay in character," he went on before turning to me. "Gale, you will remain by my side to keep you inconspicuous. We can not reveal your colors unless absolutely necessary." He faced forward again. "Our lives depend on it. There is no margin for error." The car came to a stop, a sleek black vehicle with the passenger side facing us. Zemo glanced to his right with a small nod. "High Town's that way."

     "Not a bad place if you wanna visit," I muttered, and the Soldier gave my arm a faint squeeze.

The Sokovian made a short hum as he looked to me in slight approval, opening the passenger door for himself as Sam continued around the nose of the car. "But Low Town's the other way."

James opened the rear door, gently tugging me forward and adjusting his grip until our hands locked. The cool of his metal hand relieved the burn in my fingertips I hadn't realized had occurred until the heat contrasted to the cold. I guess my nerves were getting the better of me. I accepted his gentlemanly help into the car, releasing his hand and feeling the intense sensation from before disappear. I settled in the middle seat, exhaling slowly to calm the beating of my heart as it was a little faster than normal. The Soldier sat on my right, letting out a breath as he shut the door. His left arm pressed against mine, but with the fabric of my sleeve in the way, the affects the metal had couldn't come alive.

He glanced at me and I at him, and with a shared frown we nodded at each other. A silent reassurance.

     "Let me guess," Sam said sarcastically as he opened the other door, "we don't have any friends in High Town."