James Buchanan Barnes isn't a killer. He isn't merciless, or cunning, or evil.
But something in him is.
*****
A wrapper crinkles, fabric shifts, and a small, open hand jerks in front of my face. The smell of powdery chocolate and oats meets my nos...
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For the rest of the afternoon, time passes by in a haze. It was startling at first - how calm the world seemed to stay for about the fourth day in a row. Sat cross-legged on the floor of Mila's bedroom, hands stiff and fluttering through a quickly lessening array of puzzle pieces, I don't even notice as the last fragment fits into place. I go to sweep the floor absentmindedly for the next piece, but my search comes up obviously empty.
I don't think I'll ever stop marveling when joy seeps over Mila's face. Over the spread part of her mouth, over the curling of her nose, and the wrinkles in either far corner of her eyes. It's contagious. Half the time I'm with her I find myself doing the same - to a smaller extent, naturally.
Mila throws her back against the side of her bed, and her arms fall loose against the floor, palms up. I wave a hand over the fit together puzzle, and my eyes tumble over the expanse of yellows, blues, and whites that make up its majority. One thousand pieces, finished in two days.
She bends her head up to me. "I'd say a good eighty percent of that was me."
My face scrunches. "Eighty? You did a treeline and a guitar, I'd hardly call that eighty."
"And what did you do then, Puzzy?" Her eyes sharpen to almonds.
"Pretty much everything else."
"How noble of you."
"I aim to please."
My answering smirk sends her blowing air through pouty lips. I keep my focus on her as her eyes circle. Her hands crinkle in the mess of her training shirt and she curls a lip between her teeth. My hands heat at the motion.
She looks at a small, angular clock on her bedside table. Her gaze holds on the glowing red numbers before she turns to me.
"Quarter to one. Did Steve say he had any other plans for meetings today?" She asks.
"Not to me." I answer.
Fire glints in the blue of her eyes, and my stomach knots at the image.
Mila props herself up with two palms and stands. She offers me an open hand, and I take it. She pulls me up before her.
"Well I did have plans to grab a few things from Safeway to make lunch, but..." She gestures to the tight, still dampened clothing coating her form, "This doesn't really seem like a shopping kind of outfit."
I offer an impartial humph in return.
She straightens a hand to her waist and leans her torso into it. "Okay. I'm going to go shower in that bathroom," Her features turn comical, eyes wide and mouth turning slowly. She lifts an arm to a door further down in her quarters. "And you're going to do the same in yours."
"I'm fi-"
"Fifteen minutes and I'm either barging in or leaving without you." She calls over a shoulder, already headed in the direction of that door.
