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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"Okay, what the hell is going on?" Stark mutters, a hand to his collarbone, the other perching him up in the bed. The dim glow of his chest piece hovers in the barely lit infirmary.
Romanoff's hold on the gun doesn't loosen. "I'd like to know the same thing." Her scowl deepens. "Barnes?"
Mila falls still beneath my hands and knees. I glance down at her, but find nothing familiar in her stare.
Not even the blue of her eyes is as it should be.
"It's Loki." I mutter. At my words the compound shudders again, and cold seems to creep through the very walls.
"I've gathered that much." Romanoff simmers. I notice a tiny trail of blood dripping from a wound above her brow. It's turned a murky, near-black red. "Everyone else is already getting a piece of the action."
Stark presses himself up from the bed and onto a pair of shaky legs.
"Steve sent me to wake up Stark." I say.
The agent's face turns wholly red. "Then why are your hands wrapped around the throat of my trainee?"
I swallow, and Mila's body tenses beneath mine. Her gaze is watchful, attentive.
"She's under the scepter's control." I breathe. Dark hair scratches against my sweat lined neck. Its texture feels like a slimy second skin.
Romanoff lowers her gun an inch, but her hands remain coiled around its hilt. Her eyes drag from mine, to Stark's, to Mila's on the ground. Slowly, gun still raised, she lowers herself down the staircase and towards us. With every step she takes my heart beats thrice.
She dips her head down to Mila's and I catch her expression falter. Mila simply stares at her without any sign of recognition. Stark steps up to Romanoff's knee, and I meet his eyes from beneath him.
His gaze moves down to Mila's form, but mine remains on him.
A killer doesn't need a motive.
Bewitched, those were his words. About me. Even though that was Loki talking, not Stark, I find myself wondering if - even enchanted - he was right.
Leather clicks as Romanoff returns her gun to its holster. I readjust my position as Mila starts shuffling cautiously beneath me.
Romanoff looks up to Stark. "You need to get up there, right now."
His arms cross. "I'd say I'm a pretty important part of this conversation."
"Stark." She grumbles, but I sense a hint of lightness to her tone. "It's a war out there."
He immediately nods, any humour gone from his expression in a heartbeat. His eyes tip down to mine briskly as he says, "You're sure?"
Romanoff waves a hand at him dismissively. "Go play with your toys, Tony."
