𝗗𝗜𝗚𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘

Obsessions

James is vaguely aware of hands pulling Isabell off of him, but what really snaps him into focus is the way she screams.

A proper, guttural howl like somebody's trying to skin her alive, and he barely has time to process this before somebody slams him face-first into the ground.

James doesn't try to fight. It won't make the situation any better, they'll most likely sedate him, and that'll make Isabell feel even worse. The best way to stop this situation from escalating is to not give these people any more material for prosecution, keep her calm, and hope she doesn't try to kill anyone else.

Unfortunately, she looks more than enthusiastic about the prospect of second-degree murder. Angry Isabell is not a girl anyone should want to mess with, and James considers warning somebody about it.

On the other hand, they want to take him away and kill him. Maybe this could be fun.

Resting his chin on the grating pavement, he keeps one firm eye on Isabell. She seems to have wrestled off any soldiers and is now stood in the middle of the highway; gun in one hand and blade in the other.

There are crack-like scars across her cheek from where the skin has had to hurriedly stitch itself back together, and a nasty sense of realisation settles low in James' gut.

That bomb he threw? It blew half her fucking face off.

A horrible image enters his head; Isabell with her head caved in, lying lifeless and bloody in the middle of the highway. How long was she like that? How long does the HYDRA serum take to kick in? Is it as terrifying as it sounds, being dead? Does it hurt?

He forces himself to look back at her; the alive but very much deadly Isabell before him. Her eyes are black with hatred and intention.

Oh, Isabell. Oh, sweetheart.

James can't move, can't fucking breathe with this stupid police officer pinning him to the road, but he can keep his eyes on Isabell if he cranes his neck just right.

Everybody is just standing there, unsure of what to do. They can't gun down a nine-year-old, certainly not in front of him, but she's a threat anyway. She's an assassin. She certainly means to kill them, and if anybody steps any closer, she will.

James stretches his gaze out further.

From the back of the soldiers' ranks, one man edges forward. He's right behind Isabell, out of her sight, and he'd have somewhat of a chance if it wasn't for James' interference.

James raises his chin off the ground and makes a soft noise, somewhere between a click and a whistle, and it echoes through the silence toward Isabell. They used to use it in some of their old missions; usually the ones that were too risky to involve verbal communication.

The noise can mean many things, but in this situation, there's only one real message.

Look out.

Isabell's head whips around like a puppet and just as the policeman reaches out to her, she grabs his wrist, pulls him in, and cracks his neck all the way around. He doesn't even have time to scream.

There's a silence, only broken by twelve more rifles cocking in her direction. Isabell doesn't blink. Pale, bloody little hands, twisted tight around her weapon like it might fly away from her if she loosens them. She's staring down at least fifty snipers and goddamn Captain America, and yet she seems so self-assured that she almost has James fooled.

Almost.

Maybe if he was someone else. Maybe if he was someone else, he would've missed the tremor in her little finger, the salty tears stirring behind her eyes. The tight draw of her shoulders.