BATTLE BORN ; Bucky Barnes

two ;

Scout cleaned up after yet another day at work. It had been two days since the assassination and she was feeling alright. Fury had yet to tell her weather she was back off desk duty, so she had been playing mechanic by fixing some of the Quinjet engines. She began to wash her pale face in the basin of the changing rooms, she studied herself in the mirror. She used to have long blonde hair as a child and teenager, and flawless skin and deep brown eyes. Then as she grew older, her hair darkened until it became a very dark brown colour, and her eyes lightened until she had hazel eyes, with flecks of gold and green winding their way into the brown. Her completion changed too, from flawless and smooth, to teenage acne ridden, to smooth, but with scars from the acne and other events, as well as freckles dashed across her nose and cheeks forming constellations. She used to have chubby cheeks and baby-fat, but from all the fighting and training she did, she had lost it, and her face became harsh and sharp, all high cheekbones and defined jawlines. There was once scar in particular that she traced with her index finger, the one that ran from her ear to her lip on the left side of her face, it was barely there and faded, but it was still a little raised and it became very visible whenever her face went red, be it from blushing or working out. Scout didn't hate the scar, no, it was a reminder that if she lost it again, bad things would happen. She always traced along it when she was nervous or apprehensive. Although aware of the little tick, she made no attempts to stop it from happening. She needed to allow herself some sort of weakness. As far as other markings go, she only had one tattoo. It wasn't her choice to get it, and she always kept it covered with a watch or high-coverage foundation. Scout had no other traceable identifiers, she was like a ghost, she'd go undercover for months, disappear into thin air and crop up at her next mission. She liked to work alone, but also with Strike Team Delta, which was her, Natasha and Clint. She was forced into it, but that didn't mean that she didn't end up liking it.

There was a knock on the door and Scout turned around to see Natasha stood there, leaning against the frame.
"Tasha."
"Scout, do you want the good news or bad news."
"I'll take the good news first." She said, turning away from the mirror to look at her friend face-on.
"You completed the mission, no trace to SHIELD, you're officially off desk duty."
"Oh thank God. I don't think I could stand one more day of desk duty or I would have gone mad." She said, elated that she could finally go back to being a full member of Strike Team Delta, the fun and games training with Clint and Nat, the missions and banter, but the excitement was short lived when Natasha interrupted her.
"Bad news. Fury's dead."
"Dead." Scout repeated, her blood running cold. Who the hell could've killed Fury, that man seemed invincible.
"Do you remember that mission we went on a while ago, almost five years?" Nat asked. How could she forget? That mission went horribly south and ended with Nat almost dying in Scout's arms. A shiver went down her spine.
"I remember it; why do you bring it up now?" Scout asked, all of a sudden it seemed like the temperature had dropped several degrees, the water that was still dripping out of the faucet turned into ice. The sound of one hitting the metal sink echoed around the room.
"You remember the shooter? Metal arm, incredibly fast? Strong?" She described him. Scout had never forgotten him. The mental image of him was scarred into her brain.
"How could I forget? He almost killed you." Scout said, the temperature dropped until it hit freezing in the room.
"It was him, he killed Fury. We need to get to the Captain before he does." Tasha said, nodding towards the crumpled white suit on the floor, "get changed," she said, and the temperature started to creep back to normal.
"I'll meet you in the garage in 10." Scout said. She pulled on her jeans and a tank top over her white catsuit, she covered herself in a hoodie. It was a little creased, but it would have to do.

Ten minutes later, Scout and Natasha were in the weapons room, they pulled out the smaller guns, ones that could be hidden easily. Natasha was also in her casual clothes. They were masters of disappearing into crowds. Loaded with whatever weapons they could get their hands on, the girls took off on Scout's motorbike.