salvation ; 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 , 𝟐

020. run and rescue

"DOES THIS THING ever run out of gas?" 

Nat shrugged at Cara's question. "Don't ask," she dismissed, "I couldn't explain Wakanda's tech-related antics even if I wanted to." She peered out the window at the front of the aircraft, sighing. "Shuri just told me how to work it, not how to fix it."

Cara tilted her head. "Fair enough," she conceded.

We'd taken off as soon as we could, which was luckily right away. With a several hour trip ahead, it seemed our team was beginning to run out of things to talk about or do. Cara had given up on learning how to successfully throw knives as well as she could shoot a gun. That didn't mean she'd completely lost her stubbornness, though; she was still avoiding Steve at all costs. 

I guess this rescue mission was taking longer than she thought it would. She was no doubt feeling suffocated by his presence all the time. But I still didn't know why. I didn't know if I ever would. 

"I'm going to grab some food, care to join me?" I turned to see Wretton approaching me, his eyes lifted in hope. When I nodded, I could see the soft relief in his eyes. 

We walked together, leisurely, to the part of the jet that was cordoned off for food storage. Thanks to Sam's and Steve's particular intelligence about hiding from the law, they advised us not to raid the food, for we had no conceivable idea of how long we would actually be here, on the search for Bucky. 

Two weeks had gone by, and we were still going strong with the food supply, even with seven grown adults. 

I picked through the packets of snacks, opening a bag of salty chips. Sitting down in one of the chairs that surround a dining table, I cocked an eyebrow at the motionless Wretton. "What?" I asked. "I assume you want to talk about something. Spill it."

He broke out of his trance, glancing at me once before he cleared his throat and fumbled with the packet of food in front of him. Wretton began softly, "I think you're really brave, you know."

My eyebrows came together in a furrow of confusion. "Um, thanks? I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"I mean," he sighed, though it looked like he wasn't sure what he meant either, "you're...inspiring, Elda." Somehow I could hear the difference in the way he said my name this time compared to the countless others. Before, he'd only said my name because I'd asked him to, and after that it was when he was exclaiming my name in exasperation. 

Now...now it was like he was...well, saying it as a friend. 

"Huh," I chuckled, "I don't think I'd go that far, but...I'll take the compliment. Thanks, Red."

He rolled his eyes at the nickname, albeit playfully. "I'm serious."

"I know you are," I nodded, "that's all you ever are. You need to take that stick out of your ass, Red. It's starting to cause some real damage."

Wretton snorted into his food, evoking a coughing fit that had his face blushing red. "You're the first one to make me realize that," he said softly. "You remind me sometimes, Elda. Of what I could have had if I hadn't chosen this life."

I paused, letting his words sink in. "You wanted a family?"

He scoffed, smiling wistfully. "Like nothing else in this world." He sighed again. "But I was young, and I didn't realize that moving myself into this job, the ambition I would get, would leave me no room for that family." Wretton cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. "I wouldn't go back and change it, but..." his eyes held a certain kind of childish glow as he hummed, "I just wish I could have lived both lives. Experienced them both. Just for a day."