Distressed // Steve Rogers

3 - Taunted

When she entered she walked with an air of mystery and confidence. She was silent and her steps were slow, precise. Her eyes danced over the faces that turned to her, assessing the smirks and stares as she flicked her hair back over her shoulder and ran her eyes over the closest man to her. She laughed as he licked his lips, running his eyes over her body; his gaze lingering over the deep cut of the black t-shirt that clung to her shape. How predictable, she thought, biting her lip as she slowly turned away from him.

Her handler nodded to the corner furthest from them and she did as she was instructed, slowly parting the sea of men before her, like a porcelain witch manipulating the minds of those around her with a single look.

The Winter Widow leaned back against the wall, absentmindedly inspecting her nails as the men around her began to move again and someone approached silently. Her handler, always so possessive, stepped forwards and gripped the man's arm with enough strength to leave a mark.

"Not another step," he growled as her eyes flicked up to the dark gaze of the man now being held back.

Her head tilted to the side as she smiled coyly.

"I was just going to offer the lady a drink." The man smirked as she appraised him.

"The lady," her handler pushed him back, "is fine. Thanks."

She shrugged with a self-satisfied smile and returned her gaze to her nails as the man backed away with a disgruntled complaint.

"You know," she murmured as her handler moved towards her, "I'm not your property."

"No," he turned to her with a sardonic smile, "but you are property. And it's my job to make sure damage isn't done."

She rolled her eyes and waited for the fights to begin.

*

Bucky watched from the small bar that he leant against, careful to not draw attention to himself as she stood glaring at the man who stood beside her. He knew there would be no getting close to her tonight. Tonight was about information and information alone.

"Steve?" He held his glass to his lips as she approached the ring, her eyes dancing with excitement as the men pummelled each other with brute force and aggression.

There was no answer. Steve couldn't bring himself to speak. His eyes never strayed from her as his chest tightened and the air became too thin to breathe. When the man had approached her on her arrival he had seen the cool countenance with which she regarded him and the subtle show of her irritation at her companions interjection. He had watched as she casually returned to her disinterested stance and ignored the commotion of the men vying for the first fight. He watched her now as she drank in the techniques used by the men who fought, analysing every step as if to understand her opponents. He watched and he waited and he could not tear his mind from her. He couldn't think of anything but holding her.

"Steve," Bucky grunted into the coms, his tone marred by bitter annoyance, "focus. I know right now you want to go to her but you can't. You know that, right?"

Steve shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his control. "I know. I'm okay."

"You sure?" Bucky sighed as he glanced up to the hidden figure. "You don't have to be here Steve."

"I just -" He paused, unsure of how to finish his sentence.

"Want to look at her for a little longer?"

"Yeah," he choked out, giving in to the pain of seeing her so close and yet so painfully far away.

*