Falling for the Enemy || Captain America || Book 1

Chapter 12: Title of Your Sex Tape, Ha

 EDITED :)

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         "No. Bad idea."

         "No, Golden Boy. There are no bad ideas; there are only good ideas that end horribly wrong."

          Subtlety and secrecy; something that may be hard to picture when one visualizes yours truly, and yet, I am an assassin. One that has avoided captivity for many a year before Earth's Mightiest Heroes decided to become a mighty pain in my ass and interfere.

          Without Rogers' shield, and with the both of us in no state for a strenuous fight – because would you look at that, I'm bleeding out, as if someone shot me with a goddamn arrow – subtlety is our only hope. Yet, physically, even if we were to take out a Nazi or two along the way, it would still remain to be rather debilitating. Between my concussion, severe bruising across the jaw and right side of my face, the cut in my lip and the arrow injury in my thigh, I'm not precisely in fantastic shape, and neither is Captain Kill Joy. Being a super soldier, he undoubtedly has a higher tolerance than I, but the unpleasant laceration across his face and bullet wound in his abdomen have been bleeding out for quite some time. I have half a mind to cauterize the wound, just so he doesn't lag behind and slow me down, but the likelihood of him trusting me enough to come anywhere near him with fire is astoundingly low.

          More than once I've struck an arm out, preventing the World War II Grandpa from turning a corner seconds before someone has entered the hall. Weak disturbances in the air molecules are easily detected in an environment with no wind to disrupt, and despite my range not being as extensive as it could be right now, it's far enough to suss out a hallway without poking my head around the corner in a ridiculously obvious manner.

          I mean really, how does no one ever see that? Do all bad guys just have horrible peripheral vision? Is that part of the terms and conditions of being a bad guy? It can't be, because I'm bad, but I'm not fucking blind. No wonder they all have bad aim; they can't see what they're even shooting at.

          A handful of guards require a little subduing along the way, but overall, it's suspiciously empty for a building holding two of HYDRA's most notorious enemies. Could be a plot convenience, or the fact that the both of us are pretty badly injured and as a result convinced them drop their guard. Knowing that the Nazis have a proclivity for hiring dumbasses, it's probably the latter. Maybe both.

          The author says it's both.

          The last agent we took out managed to give us some very helpful directions towards the security surveillance room, which in turn should direct us to the room holding the esteemed Captain's Frisbee of Freedom. I've been overheating the cameras that could give away our position along the way, and the fact that no one has come down to check on them yet is astounding. Whoever is monitoring them is evidently either asleep, eating or watching something else far more entertaining, because the lack of resistance met so far truly is staggering.

          With Rogers a couple feet ahead of me now, it's getting harder to see past him, because his shoulders are so goddamn broad. How the hell does that Dorito ratio torso fit through a freakin' doorway? And he's got the waist of a Disney Princess. Considering the fact he took a seventy-year power nap of epic proportions, I have half a mind to start calling him Sleeping Beauty.

          "Nightshade."

           Except, you know, instead of a spinning wheel putting him to sleep, it was the Arctic.

          "Nightshade."

          Would that make me Maleficent? Hell yeah I get to be a dragon. All I need to do now is sit on the Avengers and Sleeping Beauty and my problems are all solved.