bygone (avengers)

три : 3

Sluggish wisps of smoke dissipating into the air, the stench of cigars tearing at her throat, it burned — but not as bad as the heat of her face, lit up mauve in the dazzling lights overhang. Gloved hand in hers, the touch of his fingers to her spine, feathery but present.

She was fearful.

Her father, a KGB operative to rue her dreams, to rip out her precious organs— make her question her worth as a woman..

to be a powerful Soviet assassin.

She wanted to grind him under her heel all over again, but she was hiding the petrified feeling well.

Even more scared to be arms length away from the man who trained her, the soldat. Beat her bloody and kissed every wound when the dusk rose — the lover she never truly got to have all of. It made her chest tight.

Meticulous and true. They are so careful. So skilled. Deftly and with a swift and sure hand. They were their most skilled, til he was gone.

He left her behind to rot, to serve them til her death, his best girl. For that, she can never forgive.. never trust that man.

It's as if, after an eternity; in an instant it is there infront of you. What you have been looking for, but now you question its worth.

The pressure behind her eyes swells and her window of opportunity is closing, this is her chance; to end this all, never let Ivan get his hands on another, and yet she knows.

Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.

"You need to get up there." Matt cues, he is breathing hard, focused immensely on the rate. "His heart has picked up, he's speaking to someone in clear Russian, I can't translate."

She waltz, nails digging into the pads of his blazer with a smooth dip, surveying the room: watching him leave those doors.

"Matty, he's left the perimeter."

Bucky narrows, eyes thin, scrutinizing the nickname given.

"I'll take care of it."

She rolls up, containing the bubbling anger in her core, smoothing out her dress and quickening a pace to the crimson entrance.

"No. He's mine."

He is on her tail, his voice breaking through the earpiece. "You'll blow your cover if you do this in daylight."

"Well, it's a good thing it's eleven o'clock at night then, oi?"

She shifts the slit of her dress, tugging the gun from the holster and Buck is quick to catch up, eyes wide behind the frame of brown locks.

"Nobody suspects the blind." Matt reminds and she can see him, the horns of his mask the only thing glowing in the dim streets. He is hunched, just inches above Ivan, her prey.

Her kill.

She raises the gun, right there on the pavement, finger to the trigger.

"I deserve to see his last real breath."

Buck throws his entire body weight at her, careful to cradle her from the sharp grit of the asphalt, but enough to knock the gun clean from her small palm. "Take the target." He orders, and she sees the red figure leap into her peripheral, hears the scatter of feet, the Russian grunts.

"I had him." Anastasia shrieks, brows set in a furrow, she was fuming, hand smacking about trying to find the metal. And respectfully Bucky rises, snatching the gun before she can even get a grip.

"Sorry," He yelps, rushing in to assist, and she nearly tears the hair from her scalp, the sounds of bullets cascading, metal to the roads, blowing up her eardrums.

"You absolute moron." She mutters, standing tall, nearly collapsing again with the gust of wind flurrying past her. "Who the hell is that!"

Matt is nearly gasping for breath, stomping over the skull of a partner to Ivan. "Captain America."

She takes in the wings, the suit, the gore of the shield slicing through.

"Sam." He corrects, flipping overhead her, tossing a rifle to her empty arms. "How's the show gorgeous, get moving."

And she contains the drop of her jaw, strutting clean through the chaos, eyes trained to the head of grey. Ivan was her target.

"Watch what you say to my girl."

The hair on the back of her neck stands straight, goosebumps ripple with a cock of the weapon.

"Matthew." She chastised, and though he can't see she shoots a grimace, she knows they all heard. James doesn't appear ridden in confusion but the vein that grows stiff in his forehead remains throbbing.

He has no right.

Relationships in this line of work don't work, whether ex assassin, current assassin, the secretary, etc. Just didn't look right.

She aims the scope, upping pace as he turns a corner, standing tall and broad. She can kill him, in permanence.

And the click of the trigger rings, but it's not her own. She collapses without awareness, pressing a manicured nail to her own weapons grit and letting it ring out as well, but with the heaviness of her eyes she knows she hasn't hit a vital organ with his own fall.

She doesn't rest, tightening her grip round her hip and hissing through teeth, letting it clatter to the ground beside her. Matt is to her side, listening closely to the drum of her heart ease.

"You're a tough one to crack." He chimes, feeling at her jaw, sheltering her in his chest. "Is he dead?" Anastasia grunts, curling up and nearly belting over to vomit.

"No." James takes a once over, and it's like looking right into the Winter Soldiers eyes all over again. Tall, dark & homicidal.

She shivers, whimpers at the shooting pain through her hip. "Bullet, pull it out." And Matt, yanks her from the dust, bridal style.

"Come on."