NO TIME TO DIE ~ b. barnes

two~

and when you go away, I still see you
sunsets on your face, in my rearview
sunsetz; cigarettes after sex

Diana woke up the next day to the smell of fruit and coffee, her stomach rumbling. She rubbed her eyes, sitting up in the uncomfortable bed. The sun beam reflecting from the window burned her face, causing her to turn to the kitchen, facing the ghost man.
"Goodmorning." He chuckled as she stretched dramatically.
"Morning." She yawned, approaching him.
"How do you feel?"
"Side hurts still, but it's getting much better." She lifted up her shirt, showing him the stitch. He touched her porcelain skin gingerly, feeling the bruise. She grimaced, closing her eyes.
"Sorry." He removed his calloused finger.
"It's alright." She took the coffee cup he was handing her. She sipped it slowly, instantly rejuvenated. Her insides trembled with warmth. Her long blonde locks were unruly and matted from not having a brush. She takes through it with her fingers, trying her best to get the knots out. He watched as she tied her hair into a loose French braid, keeping it away from her round face. He handed her a waffle and a bowl of strawberries. She sat on the floor in front of the couch, eating quietly.
"What's your name?" She asked him.
"Confidential."
"Just tell me. I told you all my confidential information." She batted her eyelashes, her signature move. He sighed, unable to resist.
"Bucky. Bucky Barnes." She almost spit out her strawberry.
"Holy sh*t!" She gasped. He laughed a little.
"You're like, a murderous celebrity!" She set down the bowl. His smile faded.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't know you didn't like to talk about it."
"Just, don't bring it up. I'm not proud." That made her rethink everything. She stayed quiet for a while after that. The words were simple, meaningless. But to her, it seemed like a house crashing down on her. She wasn't necessarily proud of her work, but she had never been ashamed. She didn't kill innocent people. Should she have been ashamed?
"I'm gonna run to the store, anything you need?" He asked her.
"'Mm, yeah. Ok. This is gonna be difficult. I need...tampons. Just the regular ones. Should be relatively easy to find. And some soda. I'm starved of it." She told him. He froze. He had never bought feminine products. He regretted asking her. He nodded, shouldering his backpack. She closed the door behind him, sitting on the floor once more.

She wasn't much of a snoop, but granted, she hadn't been in many other people's houses. She didn't want to soy, just see how dangerous this man was. She opened the few drawers and cabinets he owned, rummaging through. A couple different id's, some spare cash, change, a watch, compass, a picture of what she assumed was a younger version of him, and a journal. She opened it, reading the contents. It summarized his kills, victims, anything he could remember in between memory wipes. She had researched him before, so she knew most of it. She found one entry, titled 'Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow'. She stopped, reading it. Her heart began to beat faster. She realized she didn't know if Natasha was even alive. She hadn't talked to her in years. She always assumed she was alive. She read it quickly. 

Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow) 10•29•09
Attacked in Odessa. Car went under, Widow pulled passengers out. Fought until her ankles were slashed. Left her in the desert. Caught up to me hours later. Slashed my ankles, scarred my cheek, stabbed my foot. Ran when pedestrians saw.

She was relieved to hear that her friend not only survived, but outsmarted the soldier. She realized how uncomfortable she was in her bloody jeans. She opened his closet, pulling out a tee shirt and shorts, both way too big on her thin frame. She decided she would run up to the dollar clothes store tomorrow for something of her own. She rolled the shorts over 4 times, letting the shirt hang loose. She was fixing her hair when she heard fighting in the street. She looked out the window. Bucky was there, standing over top of a large guy, punching him in the face recklessly. Another man was approaching him from behind, ready to lunge. Diana thought quickly, reaching for her dagger. She sprinted out of the house, jumping in the man's back. She stabbed him ruthlessly in the neck, continuing until Bucky realized what she was doing.
"Diana, stop!" He screamed. She ignored him, kicking the man in the spine, twisting his arm until it snapped.
"Enough!" Bucky pulled her tiny arms away from the man's bloody body. She tried to fight his grip, but he was too strong for her.
"You have to get a hold on yourself!" He shook her shoulders. Her eyes blurred. She looked down. Nobody had ever talked to her like that. Normally after a kill, she would walk off victoriously, not take a lecture.
"Stop it." She shoved him off of her.
"You can't attack everyone who-"
"Oh yeah?" She whipped around, her dagger still tight in her hand. He stepped back cautiously.
"Why can't I? Hmm? What's stopping me?" She asked.
"Go inside." He pushed her into the house, slamming the door behind him.
"Don't you dare speak to me like that." She spat.
"You're filthy. Take a shower." He opened the bathroom door for her.
"Don't boss me around." She barked.
"Why are you so stubborn? Why can't you just do it?" He asked.
"Fine!" She turned away from him, slamming the door in the process. He sat on the counter, drinking one of the cokes he'd gotten for her. He listened to the steady rhythm of the water hitting the floor of the shower, her soft humming filling the house.

She wanted to cry, standing alone in the scalding hot water. It burned against her snowy white skin. It was silent in the house, aside from the water running and her soft humming. She hated the quiet. She would much rather be surrounded by bustle and noise. The silence forced her to tap into her own dreadful head. She went through the motions quickly, washing her long, blonde hair as fast as possible. She dried off, realizing she'd forgotten clothes. She wrapped the thin towel around her weak body, walking right past Bucky, right to his closet. He appeared behind her. Pointing at a blue shirt.
"Smallest one I have." He shrugged, handing her some red shorts. She nodded, returning to the bathroom to change. She caught the reflection of herself in the mirror, making her do a double take. What happened to her? She was thinning out by the day, her eyes were losing color along with her face. The circles under her eyes had gotten darker. Her lips were practically purple. She watched as a lone tear dropped from the corner of her eye. She wiped it away, sniffling loudly.

Diana changed into the clothes, braiding her wet hair. She exited the bathroom, steam pouring out behind her. He watched as she bent over her backpack, digging through it. She pulled out a carton of cigarettes. His eyes followed her as she left the house, sitting on the steps leading off the porch. The door was cracked open, letting the sound of cicadas mixed with city traffic flow in. A small light illuminated the side of her face as she lit the cigarette held between her teeth. She inhaled slowly, letting out a cloud of smoke, holding the cigarette between her two thin fingers. He approached her, empty can in hand. He sat beside her, setting the can on the step. He took one of the cigarettes, holding it in his mouth. She leaned forward, lighting the end for him. He blew out a ring, impressing her slightly. She dropped her burnt cigarette in the can, resting her head on her kneecaps. They sat in silence, both minds wandering. The two didn't need to talk to connect. They connected in every other way already.