James had fallen asleep.
No sooner had I finished stitching his cuts and applied bandages on his warm skin, he had passed out. I had briefly turned around to close the lid of the medical kit, only to turn around mere seconds later to find out that he had slumped back, his eyes lids fluttering as he slept peacefully. I had initially felt dumbstruck at the sight, not quite believing that he had fallen asleep as quickly as he had. But a small and hesitate poke to the side of his large arm revealed that he had in fact fallen in a deep slumber. Not wanting him to freeze, I had grabbed the blanket I had been sleeping under an hour before and had thrown it over him, pleased that once the soft material had settled against his skin that he hadn't woken up.
I began to move quietly about the apartment, packing up the medical equipment and whiskey, placing them back in the cupboards from which I had grabbed them. Then, upon seeing that the front of my white shirt and jeans were absolutely soaked with James blood, I had peeled off the bloodstained clothes and had a quick shower to remove the still remaining red liquid from my skin.
After I had hid the gun of course.
Don't get me wrong: I didn't believe that James would shoot me after I had helped him. But despite the fact that he had decreased his hostility towards me, I still didn't fully trust him. Hiding the gun meant that I didn't have to constantly look over my shoulder in the shower to make sure that he wasn't sneaking up on me to shoot me when I had my back turned.
It seemed I had nothing to worry about however, as when I had returned to my living room, I discovered that James was still fast asleep. Unlike before however, he had shifted in his sleep and was no longer sitting up straight, but curled up on the couch, emitting the soft snore here and there. A smile graces my lips at the sight, but I only shake my head and move towards the window from which I had seen him through. I had the intention of closing it once more, though I find myself freezing the moment that my hands wrap around the edge.
Lying on the fire escape where I had first seen James huddled against earlier tonight, was a half mask. It was black, making it almost impossible to see when I had first looked at it, though it was there: covered in James blood which starkly contrasted against its dark coloring. It hadn't been there earlier this evening, so concluding that it was James, I had quickly gotten a telekinetic hold on the mask and with a simple flick of my wrist, had it flying through the air towards me.
Once I had it in my hands, I bought the mask closer to my face for a more proper inspection. Had James been wearing the mask, it would have covered the lower half of his face, with the mask coming to a stop just over the bridge of his nose and stopping just short of his cheekbones. Whatever it was made off I didn't know, though I noted that it was quite hard as I ran my hand over it. Frowning, I can't help but wonder why exactly it was that James would have a mask like this. But with him being asleep, I decide to gently place the mask on the kitchen counter and ask him about it tomorrow.
Whether it was the fact that there was a strange man sleeping in the room next to me, my insomnia kicking in or being so on edge from moving, I couldn't seem to fall asleep. I spent many countless hours tossing and turning in my soft, comfortable bed, but it eventually became apparent that I wouldn't be sleeping that night. So huffing in frustration, I had grabbed my laptop and moved out into the living room once more, still in my pajamas. Noting that it was too early in the morning to wake James up, I had plonked myself down on the opposite couch and looked into some possible new cases sent by Fury.
After a couple of hours of searching through them, James began to stir from his deep slumber. Not bothering to look up as he groans from the opposite couch, I call out to him, "Morning sunshine," as my fingers continued to tap away at the screen in front of me. "How did you sleep?" I ask, sparring him a glance. Too my surprise, he looked utterly confused as he stared around the room, one side of his hair ruffled from where he had slept on it. His blue eyes squinted as his head turned, though they widened when they landed on me sitting across from him. Almost instinctively, his metal arm flies to his still bare chest where I had patched him up the night before, breathing in sharply when his fingers graze over the bandage.
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The Seventh Avenger
أدب الهواةLydia Hathaway never asked to be kidnapped by an unknown organisation. She also never asked to be experimented on and granted elemental abilities before she was finally rescued. After a year of torment and pain, Lydia returns home and quickly finds...