Secretive - Bucky Barnes

53 || The Key

[Nova]
With a last deep exhale, I open the double doors in one go, the flash suppressor and pipe looming above my shoulder. I can feel his presence in my back, in my mind, both physically and mentally spreading the amount of warmth I never knew I needed in such a situation. The support and belief he has in me is like a new kind of ignition, and even before we enter the room, I can almost feel the switch unlocking.

It feels a little like coming out of the shell, like peaking a balloon with a needle and all the power spreads outside at once. Like last time has been yesterday, the fire inside me flames up in golden tongues, and since I am still in control - for Lord's sake -, I relish in it. It is almost something like comfortable.

Especially with the knowledge I can protect James even better with being who I am, inhabiting all this power.

Hopefully the plan I have in mind works.

Hopefully.

Otherwise, this all could become really, really nasty.

James's reaction to my obvious change of power-state is nothing more than an inner, proud chuckle; complete pokerface next to me on the outside, not even his breath hitching, just as he has been trained. And me, too. Always concentrating on whatever danger might be waiting around the next corner.

Step by step we walk into the room along the white wall right on our left. My eyes, ears; all of my senses roaming everywhere, trying to find possible threats or anything else that could harm us.

Bright daylight pours in from the huge windows; they are dirty; dusty dots on them, dead insects on the low white window-sill on the far end of the room. The last one looks like someone throwing a stone against it to break it, and suddenly, I do not need to wonder anymore how they got in here with the front door intact.

I turn, facing the wall of weapons, the wall of death, or where it should have been. There is nothing harmful left in this room; even some of the sport machines are gone, leaving the room as empty as it never has been before.

And yet, so full of memories. 

My dad introducing me to this life. Before that, mum, forbidding me to even glance through the keyhole. The day-long try of finding the weapon that suits me. The treasure of the Shuriken. My first throw. Endless lessons of fighting face-to-face, with weapons, without. Gun firing. Machine gun firing. Axe throwing. Knife aiming. Ballet for balance. Theory of programming. Of the human body. Of »How to turn everything into armour«. Of the most effective ways to kill. The longest. The most painful. The shortest. Of torture. Of becoming numb.

And then, there he is, leaning on the wall.

The dark angel that once has been my brother.

Just like nothing has ever happened, like nothing ever has been wrong. The smile of his stolen face is so friendly, I almost believe it. Almost.

He is not even close to what he has been once. His physical form perhaps, but definitely nothing else. His red hair is pitch black, just like mine is, but without the gold. It is styled, on his head longer than on the sides. His pale face seems almost paler as I am used to, his veins striking in blue like there were small icy rivers floating underneath his skin instead of blood. Even his eyes changed; the beautiful green gone, left by a colourless grey, almost white. Inhuman. 

Almost what I thought Kaz Brekker would look like if he was real, just that this version of my brother has no love for his sibling left, nor do I believe any Inej could affect him as much as the original one does the leader of the crows. Plus, he has no walking stick.