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MARCH 24TH, 2017
"SHOW ME WHAT you do, darling," John said, and Cynthia looked up at him, breathing heavily.
John believed Cynthia shouldn't eat as much as the normal, healthy human should.
John believed that Cynthia belonged to him.
Arching her hands, and bringing them upwards, Cynthia created a sword out of fire. Her fire allowed her to create whatever she wanted, and allowed her to hold the object she created if she wanted to do so. "Beautiful, darling," John said, his eyes studying her sword as she took it into her hands.
About a month before, John decided he was tired of her blonde hair. "It reminds me of that damn failure of you becoming a soldier," John had seethed, cutting her hair and dying it brown. Cynthia had locked herself in the bathroom later that night, sobbing as she tried to stay strong, try and deal with the loss of her old life.
John still didn't care how miserable she was—he was happy, so she should be happy, and they hadn't even started their electric shock yet. He had given her the power of fire. She could spark flames between her fingers and hands, John always making her paint him as a "portrait of her affections," yet she always loved it the most when she made it melt onto her fingers.
The only things she thought about when she had time to, was the image of Jamie. What his voice sounded like, and that he was her only innocence that she had left. She loved Bucky with her entire being as well, but it was a mistake not wearing her ring that day.
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Cynthia's apartment was so empty when it was just him here.
Jamie looked around at the shelves he had been keeping clean. Everything was spotless, just in case his mother came back. Rylee was currently at the grocery store, once again trying to buy foods to convince Jamie to eat.
Ever since his mother had disappeared two months before, with the man that had terrified her every movement for twenty-one years, Jamie knew she hadn't gone willingly, unless he had threatened to kill someone close to her . . . Like him. Or unless she'd been trapped by him, unable to leave no matter what.
Because of this event, it caused Jamie and Bucky to grow closer, and develop an even stronger bond than before—Bucky helped Jamie train, helped Maisie train, while Millie struggled to find out where Cynthia was taken.
Vision felt responsible. And so did Tony, no matter how many times Jamie told them it wasn't their fault. Everyday, Bucky wore his and Cynthia's rings on a chain that would hang down from his neck, as a reminder of the woman he loved so, so much.
Bucky hadn't stepped foot into Jamie's new apartment yet—instead, he stayed in his and Cynthia's old one, paying the bills, and refusing to leave whenever Steve or Millie tried to come and convince him to leave. Rylee was coping herself, always turning to Jamie whenever she felt sad, yet Jamie struggling to do the same to her. And it wasn't anything because of her; it was because he was so used to having his mother there to turn to, and now that she was gone . . . So was he.
A soft knock came from outside the front door, and a muffled curse. A knock then came to the door, and Jamie got up from the couch, looking through the peephole, and then opening up the door in relief. "Hey dad. Forget your keys?" Jamie said, and Bucky nodded silently in response.
Coming inside, Jamie closed the door behind Bucky, and the two sat down on the couch. "How have you been, son?" Bucky awkwardly tried to ask, and Jamie sighed, saying, "Same old, same old. You? Has S.H.I.E.L.D. found anything yet?"
"I feel . . . The same. Kind of empty. And I wish I had news, but I don't. I think the person to ask that question to is your aunt." Bucky replied, scratching the side of his face gently. "I did find more of her photo albums, though. If you'd like to see them. I'm surprised she kept so much of her old life in a storage shed, instead of just burning it."
"I have most of our stuff from our home in England. Like her journals that she kept, and our photo albums. Along with the same sort of stuff from New York." Jamie explained, getting up and going to the bookshelf next to the TV. He slid one of the photo albums out of the bookshelf, and brought it over to Bucky.
"Mom and aunt Millie lived in England together until I was in my third year of college. By then, Maisie and I were living together, and then mom had come back here. Aunt Millie started living somewhere closer to her job, and we would all get together at mine and Maisie's place for hangouts or holidays." Jamie explained.
As Bucky flipped through the pages, he felt as if he could have done more for Cynthia. Better. He should have helped them more. He shouldn't have let HYDRA find her, that was for sure. Rylee texted Jamie then, and then called Bucky to see if she and Jamie could join him for dinner. "I want you guys to eat tonight," Rylee said, "I'm making tuna casserole, so you better eat."
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The clothes John had chosen for her made her question his sanity. He had started dressing her up in clothes that were in the style of the sixties. "Are you even with HYDRA anymore?" Cynthia asked John at dinner.
"Not, really, no." John shook his head, swallowing his food. "They fired me because they thought some of my ideas were too insane, according to them."
Cynthia nodded quietly, taking another bite of her chicken. "And they didn't like the amount of test subjects I'd had." John said again, looking at Cynthia from across the small table. "But, they don't matter. It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is now I have you, and I can give you powers I've dreamed of someone having."
"Why don't you give the power of fire to yourself, then?" Cynthia asked, then took a drink of her water, in which John replied, "Because I needed someone to test it out on, first."
"And I was the person you had in mind? Why are you so obsessed with me?" Cynthia demanded, slamming her palm down on the table. Neither of them said anything for a moment, and John's gaze could have sent her aflame in anger.
She needed to calm down—and fast, because she knew she would burnout if she wasn't careful. "Thank you for the chicken," Cynthia coolly told John, "It's a nice change from salad."
"Well, I figured it was time we changed our diets for just a couple nights. Besides, I can't have my pet becoming weak." John smiled at Cynthia, and she gave a cunning smile back. If she managed to leave him, she knew she would be really messed up, for a long time.
And if she did leave him . . . God help John if she managed to burn this house down.
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these next few chapters will switch from Clara's POV in Ireland, to Jamie/Bucky in New York, and how everyone is dealing with stuff
