In Your Eyes // Steve Rogers

46

Shortly after I hit the pavement, Barnes' ruthless attacker revealed his identity: King T'Challa of Wakanda. It took a true world history buff to know of who he was.

The mantel of the Black Panther was passed from generation to generation within Wakanda. He served as a skilled warrior and the protector of a great country. Until T'Challa wore the mask, public eyes had never before been laid on any Black Panther.

I hadn't known much about him personally, other than the fact that he wasn't content with suffering, even for a girl who protected the man he was after. Each time I whimpered, his head turned minutely, then the clinking of his handcuffs would reach our ears. They served as a reminder that he was unable to aid me.

I didn't care that Steve, Sam, and T'Challa were forced to listen to my crying. I rejoiced in the fact that no one else was being physically harmed. Emotional pain was all General Ross could target them by.

I, on the other hand, suffered from both, with time. I rocked in my seat, my hands gripping the hair at the crown of my head, aiming to inflict pain elsewhere than at the base. I stopped screaming. I hadn't quit sobbing. When the chain wasn't sending an electric shock through my brain, it vibrated, at a high enough frequency to make my eyeballs themselves shake.

"Sam," whispered Steve mournfully. "We can't...?"

"I tried, Steve. There's no way to get it off other than Stark himself," said Sam.

The van rolled to a stop. The doors slid open. T'Challa was escorted out first.

I was ordered to follow. I stayed still; moving wasn't an option. All of the muscles in my body trembled when I attempted to move them, even an inch.

"She can't," defended Sam.

"Move," ordered the guard. He trained his gun on me.

"Hey," snapped Steve.

"Clara Blake--"

I took one step from the vehicle and collapsed on the pavement.

"What did you expect her to do?" snapped Steve, climbing out of the van quickly.

Through my vibrating vision, I saw his hands reach out for me. His fingers danced across my forehead softly. He flicked my hair from around my face. My temple fell against his chest. I didn't bother to move my eyes from a certain spot on his jacket.

I faintly noticed the shield and the wings being carried away from us, the horrified look from Sharon as we passed, and T'Challa splitting paths from ours. I didn't focus on any of it. Any movement by my eyes brought a sharp gush of pain to my brain.

Natasha's face appeared in my view. She looked to me, to Sam, to Steve, then her face dropped entirely from a smirk to a stoic look. It was automatically clear Tony and Rhodey didn't let her in on the tactic they were going to use to apprehend me. She marched to the front, leading us to Tony.

"What the hell, Stark?" she asked.

Tony, back facing us, held up a finger. "No, Romania was not sanctioned by the Accords... Colonel Rhodes is supervising clean-up... Yes, there will be consequences... Obviously, you can quote me on that. I just said it... Goodbye."

"Consequences?" asked Steve flatly, absent of emotion.

What was happening to me broke his heart. His hands clenched where he held my body. It took everything for him to avoid hitting the person responsible for my pain.

Tony turned. His eyes faltered for a brief, almost non-existent second when he noticed my trembling body in Steve's arms.

"Secretary Ross wanted you three prosecuted. Had to give him something," he defended.