A Reckless Soul | Captain America ✓

BROKEN BEAUTY

HER brokenness was a beauty he found attractive, even when the characteristic unhinged his feelings for her in ways that scared him to death. He wasn't supposed to feel this way over a criminal—this wasn't supposed to be. And perhaps whatever he felt for her, whatever seed she unintentionally planted within his heart, now choked by his shock and burned up by his anger at her, was gone.

He would have been thankful for the defect in his physical attraction towards her, so that he could once again be himself around the assassin, if it were not for the startling news she gave him. But now his heart hardened against her. Only because of some staggering disclosure. News that she knew where, all this time, his friend was.

He choked her powers out like snuffing out a candle, while he quite literally choked her. He roughly slammed her against the nearest wall and closed his fingers around her slender neck, tightening his grip as he had. "You knew all this time and never thought to tell m—Fury."

By means of the pain his fingers shot down her neck, she blinked back a comment. She tried to breathe but his vise like grip wouldn't allow her to dare. "Y-yes," she spluttered out with little air in her lungs.

Angry, glacier eyes stared down at her. His dark blonde eyebrows drawn together formed a triangle in the middle of his forehead, whilst his lips snarled words at her. In one fleeting second Steve had the veil of death upon his eyes. The soldier could have blatantly killed her right then and there without feeling a smudge of guilt about the murderous deed. That very twisted and malicious reverie cleared his vision.

Steve blinked out of a dreadful trance, breathing out heavily. His grip on her had finally ended when he heard her try to suck air into her lungs. Steve, who invariably held his composure, coiled away from her as if she were a disease. He deliberately gave his back to her, swept a hand through his short cropped blonde hair, and stared at the ground wide eyed and in a fit of distress.

"How could you?" he whispered, eyes still trained to the ground. When she hadn't answered he turned around, eyes blazing at her. She held one hand to her sore naked neck where he nearly crushed her windpipe, and the other to her stomach. "How could you!?" he shouted, once more repeating the question.

In two angry strides he made it to her and slammed both his fists between her head. Audrey flinched at his sudden outburst but hadn't cowered away. The assassin blinked up into his eyes, then down to his mouth where a row of his bottom white teeth protruded through in a snarl. "I...I'm sorry," she whispered.

He drew away from her once more. The apology only seemed to have fueled his rage. He desperately needed to get out of this room—away from her before he did something horrible, something slaughterous.

Confusion and grapes of wrath still running fresh in his veins, he ceased his pacing and stalked up to her. Steve saw a glimpse of Audrey brace for another wildly unexpected blaze of his temper, he almost felt satisfaction from her fear, but rather than exploding on her again, he roughly jerked the key inside the notch on her collar and turned, locking the device.

Immediately an invisible force rushed out of her and she once more felt hollow, numb, where the feeling of her power should have been residing. Steve caught a slight gasp escape her parted mouth, but had easily ignored the sound and pain she might have experienced for his own at the moment.

"You must know this has been hard for me to tell you. I've been trying to figure out how to even tell you," she blurted, voice a little hoarse. She daringly stepped forward where he stepped back from her. Water sprung to her eyes, filling the bottom rim. She swallowed and failed to down the lump slowly forming in her throat.

His head gradually lifted; slowly did he meet her eyes. She shivered at the sight of them. "How long have you known him?"

"Too long." Albeit it was anything but that. Hardly did she know him for a year, personally speaking, but knowing of him was a different story wherein the novelty of it lied with the Englishwoman uprooting information about the Winter Soldier, and tracking him for too long. Even, dramatically speaking, being in his presence for five minutes had been to her like eternity.

"Why did you keep this from Fury, from SHIELD even?" He was hardly interested in why such news was concealed from SHIELD or the director, rather he was bothered with the fact that she'd decided to never tell anyone about the Winter Soldier. Least of all him, and when they're relationship—if one could label it as such—was gradually developing into something more than a hate and kill kind. He sensed that she had trusted him as the days progressed.

She most definitely had the nerve to finally be forthright about his friend. Steve knew he shouldn't be so harsh on her, but for selfish reasons he didn't want to let go of the anger that clung to him like his suit. Especially in the heated moment.

"Why would I tell Fury about him?" she asked. "I was a criminal myself on SHIELD's radar, and besides, all the buzz around here was about getting back blueprints that my father stole, not about Winter."

His ears perked at the, I was a criminal statement she made instead of I am. Had her perspectives changed? He dismissed the comment until further opportunity arose to discuss it in greater length, instead he probed her on his best friend. "Where is he now?"

He wanted to switch the lights back on as they were in near darkness, if not for light filtering in through the room's open doors. But he was paralyzed by this whole moment in time.

He felt the desperate need to immediately go in search for Bucky once the location of where he was, slipped out of Audrey's mouth. But he knew such hasty actions were absurd while his team had larger enigmas to solve. Once again his selfishness bubbled up and for a split second he cared not for his priorities at SHIED. Bucky was now at the for front of his mind.

Without another word, he stuffed the key back in one of his suit's pockets, turned violently on his heels, and headed out the training room's doubled doors.

____

The English assassin approached a plain wooden door with a black knob. Increasing apprehension crippled her hand from knocking on its surface. What would she say when he opened the door? What will be his first reaction? Would he attack her thinking she was the enemy? A handful of questions pricked at her mind, making her all the more desperate to flee and never return to this place.

She apprehended without a doubt, knocking would do her no good. She suspected he already was aware of her entering his territory, most likely right from her boot print when she first set foot on his driveway.

"Are you waiting for something, or just waiting for the door to magically open on its own?" Faintly did each corner of her mouth curve upward. She hadn't heard that deeply raspy voice in a while; flashbacks were brought back to the Englishwoman. Defeated and knowing now that she had no choice but to face the bitter cold, her head fell.

Gradually did she turn around. Her face hadn't quite lit up in seeing him. Too much sadness interwove between shock, interest, and conflicting emotions. "Hey." Her voice was small. No energy accompanied her tone. As if she traveled a long journey and now at her destination, desired rest instead of a conversation. She watched him with tired eyes until she said, "We need to talk, and...I've brought a friend of yours. Hope you don't mind me crashing your little cabin party chap."