Familiar Soldier, Do you know Who I Am?
“Are you still moping around?”
She didn’t intend to be mean. All the opposite really. After everything that happened and the people wanting her head on a platter, she knew Wanda needed friends, and while they’d never bonded the way friends did, the familiarity in which they talked to each other remained strong, especially in shitty situations just like this one. Dominique watched her shift on the white perfectly folded bed, her sleeves stretched so much it doubled the length of her hands. Who knew how much time she spent pulling at those poor sleeves for them to look like that. Days probably.
“You’re here,” Wanda pointed out, not once removing her eyes from the news on the TV. “I’m surprised.” It wasn’t exactly resentment what she heard, but a kind of a silent warning. A bite. Dominique had never backed off from a hook hanging so deliberately in front of her. But this was bad enough. A fight wouldn’t help anyone. And Wanda did have a point. Dominique rarely spent her days in the compound.
She stepped inside the bedroom, eyes gazing over every big, small, weird and mundane piece, smelling lavender on her way in. She had been in Wanda’s room a few times but each time felt like the first, since the room changed notoriously every week. She couldn’t even remember where the bed used to be the last time she was here. That bed might have met every inch of the wall to this point. Other than that, the things inside the room were the same. Just a normal eighteen years old bedroom with pictures of people she loved.
“It was my fault,” Wanda muttered, motionless. Dominique looked at her. “Steve keeps saying it wasn’t. And Vision thinks the same, but–“ she breathed, gathering her thoughts. “It was my fault, wasn’t it?” And the young woman with the red undertones stared in her direction, waiting maybe for an affirmation, looking for a sign that this was just a matter of black and white facts, and all this fuss was unnecessary when the truth was right in front of their faces.
Dominique crossed her arms, coming to stand in front of her and blocking the TV, “It’s not that easy, Wanda.”
“The building literally fell on you, Dominique.”
“Because Steve got distracted.”
“Steve didn’t explode the building. I did.”
She turned her back on her for a second, reminding herself to breathe because she clearly forgot how easily they both heated up at the slight smell of a fight. And there was a lot of that here. Dominique let her arms fall to each side of her waist, turning back, annoyed, “I’m not saying he did, Wanda. But he’s not free of guilt. None of us are. You saved him and it came with its consequences. We can’t do anything about it now. Just sit tight and pray they don’t lock you up.” The truth was crude but she wasn’t sure somebody had said this to her and someone needed to, whether that made her feel more guilty or not.
“I just wanted to do something good,” Wanda muttered, low, downing her head. Those hands pulling at the sleeves again. Dominique understood that feeling, when she hurt people and Tony told her how to help, she wanted to do everything she could to make up for her actions in the past, anything to make the guilt stop, anything to prove she wasn’t the antagonist the news claimed she was back when they first met. “They hate me now. I ruined everything,” Wanda said. “I’m not even sure I deserved all the trouble the team is going through for me.”
“It was an accident, Wanda. A very unfortunate and horrible accident but an accident nonetheless,” Dominique replied, familiar with these thoughts, and for some reason, getting upset over them. Wanda was so stubborn, why couldn’t she just admit this for what it was?
Wanda was quiet for a moment, shifting uncomfortably on her bed before she raised her head and stared at her with those green hazel eyes. “Are they saying something about you?” She asked.
Her jaw clenched, “That’s not important.”
A huff, “Right. Not only I made them scared of me but I dragged you through the dirt too.”
“Yes,” she answered, only because she was getting tired of this conversation. She wasn’t even supposed to be here. No one was supposed to be here. “You’re right.”
Wanda frowned, disbelief showing in her pale face, “Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you,” Dominique spat back, eyes indestinctibly acquiring the black veins for a millisecond around them. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head before the veins disappeared. “I worked so hard for this to never happen. And you go and do it and I get blacklisted for your mistakes. So yes, fuck you.”
They held each other’s gaze, both irradiating anger for different reasons. She’s having a bad life, Dominique reminded herself, she doesn’t know what to do or what’d happen to her. Sighing, exhaling trapped air in her lungs, Dominique rubbed her face, breaking the killing gazing game. “It was an accident, Wanda. Now we have to let this play out so we can know our next move. The best thing you can do right now is stay out of trouble and wait.” She hoped Wanda at least understood this, that there couldn’t be more trouble, not only from her and herself but the whole team. They were walking on thin ice and if they kept playing over it, it would break and drown them.
“They’re going to fear me either way,” Wanda mumbled, resigned. “I just want this over with.”
“I bet.”
Dominique walked closer, arched a brow in question. Wanda gave a small nod and she sat down next to her on the edge of the bed, “We’ll fix this,” she tried to sound as credible as possible because they had to fix this. There was no other choice.
“I hope you’re right,” Wanda replied.
There was a pause as they watched the news, putting behind this awkward conversation and focusing on the shield getting thrown almost hitting the camera. Dominique frowned. Wait, the shield? As if realizing the same, Wanda turned the volume on incredulous to what they were seeing. Steve on his knees, hands behind his neck next to…
“What the fuck?”
“Oh my god,” Wanda brought a hand to her mouth. Sam was there, too. And another man in a black suit. All of them surrounded. “What happened?” Wanda was asking but she could barely pay any attention to them.
Dominique widened her eyes. She blinked a few times, trying to understand the image, her throat began to close at the same time her chest rose and fell drastically fast, the lack of air clouding her head. Narrowing her eyes a little, she stared at the broad black-haired man being arrested next to Steve by the authorities. She swallowed. The long hair, the hostile look, the backpack on his back, that clothes. He looked a lot like..
“Oh my god,” Dominique ran a hand down her hair. “Oh my fucking god.”
James.
She moved out of pure reflex and the next twenty minutes were nothing but a blur in her head. She tried to call him a million times, each of those calls saying the same thing: Out of service. How? Three days and everything went to shit so easy? There was no reasonable explanation for this. One thing she was sure of was that he didn’t kill anyone and he was arrested at the worst moment in history. They really couldn’t catch a break. Calling Tony, she told Wanda to stay put and left the compound, leaving Vision to supervise the young witch. Tony didn’t answer. Fuck, this was bad. This was so bad. She didn’t even try calling him again, knowing he must be very busy dealing with…she honestly didn’t know the things that had to be dealt with all of this happening. James. What’s going to happen to him? Where the hell is he anyways? She didn’t stay long to see where the news was taking place.
“Fuck!” She hit the wheel, making herself flinch in the seat. The quinjet didn’t have to suffer from her anger. She passed a hand over the wheel, gently, “Sorry, baby. This isn’t your fault.” And as time passed, his mind was flooded with bitter questions. What if he’s hurt? What if they hurt him? Her heart skipped a bit at the only thought of him in pain. He should never be in pain. He was supposed to be in Bucharest, safe and harmless and feeding Alpine. Oh my fucking god. Where was Alpine? She didn’t see the white ball of hairs in the news. But to be realistic here, after watching Bucky getting arrested, it was hard to pay attention to anything else.
She grabbed her phone and searched for Tony’s location. If the man couldn’t answer, then she’ll find him. Though, if she was honest, Berlin sounded about right. She kept staring at the phone and cursed. She was going to Berlin.
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Dominique could feel her heart on her throat, attempting to get out and catch some of that fresh air, given that her lungs refused to acknowledge they needed any. For a second, she hid under her hands, the recent events too much for her to relax and regain the normalcy that came with sitting still and just be. “Doesn’t ‘innocent until proven guilty’ applies to him?” She said, her voice muffled against her palms before she removed them.
“It does.”
Tony kept tapping the table with that ugly pen and gazing around the crystal room, eyes definitely looking for something. Or someone. He spun on the chair and faced her. “They have him on video,” he said. “Which makes this nearly impossible.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, “I don’t think Steve is going to take a no for an answer.” Easier to pull the truth through Steve’s name than to voice the real root of her intentions. Besides, Dominique wasn’t lying. Steve was a hard-headed man and the government would be damn if they tried to stop him from doing what he wanted. She only hoped it wouldn’t bring more problems. They had enough for a decade already.
“It wouldn’t be Rogers if he did,” Tony rested back, sunglasses hooked on the front pocket of his jacket. “Which is why I made a plan B, and C, and D. And you get the idea.”
“Do I want to know?”
“It’s a deal. Just until the accords get settled.” A pause. Tony placed her elbows on his knees and entwined his hands, raising his head to look at her. There was some sort of concern disguised in curiosity, an expression she often got from him. “You’re planning on signing the accords, right?” He asked, causing her to tilt her head, and wonder how this was actually a question. The team was somewhat in a dispute and he was paranoid but she didn’t think there were any doubts about where her loyalty fell at the end of the day.
“I trust you,” she said. “I thought that was evident.”
Tony hummed, nodded and rested back on the chair, “Just making sure. Having to convince mister perfect teeth is bad enough.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she grinned, the corners of her eyes wrinkled, giving an extra spark to the gesture.
Tony huffed, rolling his eyes, though a smile was beginning to show as he spun the chair so she couldn’t see him. It was so easy to annoy him with anything related to the blonde man in the starry suit. While she didn’t do it nearly enough, those comments and jokes were private and only between a few people. It was a silent agreement. That didn’t mean those two never received some teasing from the team, who were worse than herself if she had any say.
In the silence they had immersed in for the past few minutes, Tony’s clock beeped twice and both flinched, stared at the little screen on his wrist, and before he got out of the room, Dominique stretched her arm out and grasped at his hand. “Don’t do or say anything crazy, Tony.”
He arched a distinguished eyebrow, amusement on his rich features, “It’s like you don’t know me at all, kid.”
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The first thing he felt when coming back from unconsciousness was the pounding headache in which he was aware of his own heartbeat on any part of his body, aching and itching as the sound of doors sliding open and the vibration underneath his feet began to bring him out of the hazy clouds over his eyes. He tried to recall the minutes after the arrest, though those minutes were clearly erased by the needle inserted on his neck and his instant tiredness. How long he was out seemed a mystery though he doubted it helped his situation, no one would care to know some man from the authorities knocked him out, not when it was the right and smartest decision.
When he could feel his limbs again, one little pull and realized he was restrained, from his mouth to the sole of his shoes. He focused on the things he was apparently allowed to move and ended on his fingers. That part of his body was free. It wasn’t a lot but something was something. The restriction around his stomach seemed a bit excessive but he didn’t blame them for being too careful. That didn’t mean this didn’t remind him of the trapped, helpless and scared man he once was when strapped to a chair. All he could think was, again, he was there again and everything he lived, experienced, remembered, and loved in these two years was doomed. Where would he end up this time?
The distant voices registered in broken sounds. Words barely made sense. Anything he caught didn’t tell him about his whereabouts and in his frustration and confusion, his eyes started to open, closed at the small implication of light and opened them a little more again, adjusting to the artificial lights over his head. He blinked, pushing back the rest of the haziness swimming in his mind and finally after a few more tries, he was able to see his surroundings. He was able to see that he was inside a cell made of glass and moving. The gray hallway with windows at its sides was endless and he made note of the ten guards walking around him, escorting him, guns on their hands, fingers on the trigger.
Why? He thought, why did it have to happen when things were great? He thought he could escape his horrors and crimes but this just proved how wrong he was. He could never escape no matter how much he ran, could never live without punishment.
He went back to his apartment, just moments after he left Alpine with Kelen and saw Steve standing in the middle of the room, shield in his hand and looking at his journal.
“You pulled me from the river, why?”
The question haunted him. He didn’t know the answer and he also didn’t know what kind of answer Steve was expecting. Sometimes he felt like the day Shield fell was a dream and the blonde man a product of his imagination. And other days, he had that sense in his head, a sense of familiarity that he couldn’t explain with words.
“You know why.”
But it didn’t matter.
It ended in a fight. It got him arrested and he might never come out to feel the air outside. He deserved it. Everything he did was still in his hands, and he would finally face the consequences of his actions, of the lives he took. It didn’t matter how he got here. The outcome would be the same. And even though he was okay with that, he wasn’t okay with the terrifying thought of never seeing Dominique again. He often imagined he would live in solitude but that was before he met her. And now that he had her name engraved in his heart, they might as well be tearing another limb off of him because that was exactly how being away from her felt.
Where is she?Had she been notified of this already and chosen not to even show up? Did she think I killed that man like the rest of the world did?
He gazed upfront as they entered a giant entrance, filled with different ranks of security and people in suits walking one way to the other, quick and busy. Not so far away from where he was being moved, he saw Steve talking to a man with gray hair and scowled expression. The blonde man looked more than annoyed, and upset. Whatever he was hearing, he didn’t like it. He also noticed that Steve wasn’t wearing the suit, and had changed into civilian clothes. Somehow, he looked more like the Steve he remembered than the man who broke into his apartment.
For a moment both men stopped talking and looked in his way. The brainwashed assassin being transferred in silence could not hold their gaze long, for the cell kept moving and the restraint didn’t allow him to move his head. The facility was very unfamiliar and his anxiety was kicking in, strongly. He knew how to control every piece of skin on the surface, his face turned stone cold showing nothing but the bite in his eyes, and he could go days and days looking emotionless, but on the inside…In the inside he could barely breathe. The restraint around his chest didn’t help much and he tried miserably to remain in absolute calmness. And as he tried to inhale some air to escape the feeling of suffocation slowly building up inside his windpipes, the cell turned and his eyes caught two figures inside a conference room with crystal walls.
He stopped breathing.
The rich looking man in a black suit was standing with his back to the wall, his face out of reach but Bucky noticed he seemed to be arguing by the way his hands moved and his head shook before lifting it again to keep talking. And the reason for his breathing failure was there as well, wearing that long black leather coat he was used to seeing her with. He had half expected to see Dominique here. If Steve was in the middle of something, and Dom was part of the team, it was likely she’d be here. It had been only three days since they parted ways with the promise of a phone call every night and he’d already missed her. Her hair waved as her head turned left and she caught his gaze, locking their eyes. Her face visibly changed from exasperated to shock and helpless longing.
He tried to tell her what he couldn’t with words. I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill anyone. He swallowed. Please believe me.
One small nod and he felt relief wash over him, air to his lungs, and even if this turned out the wrong way, he at least knew Dominique believed him. He held her gaze for as long as the restraints allowed and lost her when he was too far, the guards around him moving the cell to a different block, leaving behind the only people he was familiar with, closing the doors to his freedom.
The room where they left him was a four brick wall, the roof about twenty-four feet of height and very spacious, too much for just a man like him. He was in the middle, still inside the glass, and he saw, a few meters from him, there was a desk with one folder on it and a single chair behind. He didn’t know how long he was there alone, his thoughts the only company tormenting him, the memory of victims playing over and over again distancing him from the reality happening right in front of his eyes.
He didn’t move, or speak or breathe when the door opened and a pair of steps filled the room, one after one, confident yet slow, careful yet determined. “Hello Mr. Barnes. I’ve been sent by the United Nations to…” the rest had muffled into white noise, and Bucky had no idea if he did it in command or his body genuinely decided to block the man’s voice without notifying him. He heard the chair being dragged and the person sitting behind the desk, pages flipped with purpose, an uncomfortable silence settling on the air.
The man asked him question after question; his name, and his whereabouts, or if he knew where he was. Bucky answered none. Not only because he actually didn’t know where this place was other than it should have to do something with the avengers since Steve and Dominique were here. Besides, he had learned in Hydra before that if he didn’t have the desired answers, not to speak at all. A rule he was beaten into learning. This had been easier with Dominique. But he knew Dominique. He didn’t know this man.
“I can’t help you, if you don’t talk to me, James…” and his name spoken by that man in glasses sounded strange, forced and ugly. He looked at him from over his glasses, and Bucky tensed, his metal arm twitched in reflex. The way he stared at him alarmed him in ways only enemies often did. “Tell me Bucky, you’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you? You feel like if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop…” he didn’t answer and the man continued with a cold hearted smile, “Don’t worry, we only have to talk about one.” He began to pull something from his jacket making the restrained man wince. “Why don’t we discuss your home? Not Romania. Certainly not Brooklyn. No…” He showed him a faded red book with a black star on the cover. Bucky’s heart stopped. Memories of that book being in every one of their handlers’ hands flashed as color drained from his face. The horror he felt watching the strange man opening the book couldn’t be hidden.
He opened his mouth, and the first word left the man’s lips, “Желание.” No…Please, no. “Ржавый.” His mind began to shift, getting blurry and darker. “Семнадцать.” His arms clenched, the blades recalibrating and failing to do it correctly at the restraint pulling him back. He remembered Dominique. He couldn’t lose her. Not after everything. He tried to focus on her, on her voice, her hands, anything to ignore the pull on his head by the words. “Рассвет.” He slashed out, breaking instantly the restraint around his arm and proceeded to free himself from the rest of his body. As the words fell from the man’s lips, he threw the first hit to the glass. “Печь.” His metal arm recalibrated before the glass shook with another fist, his head threatened to stop the resistance against the pull, which grew and grew getting his head foggy, the image of Dominique crumbling, fading with the rest of his fearful thoughts. “Девять.” He lost his focus, making him hit the glass harder. The little voice in his head quieted. “Добросердечный.” His mind began to pull him back, and as his arm responded by pure instinct, he felt the world around going black. “Возвращение на Родину.” Every one of his desired actions disappeared. “Один.” The last swing broke the glass door. He stumbled to the ground, clinging to the last fading name flooding his brain. “Товарный вагон.”
The asset stiffened and straightened in place, ears sharpened at the same time eyes fell on the man in front of him. The room wasn’t the same place where he was usually woken but his job wasn’t to ask questions. He did linger his gaze on the cell made of glass next to them.
“Солдат!” The command was far too easy to respond to.
The asset snapped his head toward the handler as he answered with the familiar words he was taught to say, “Я жду приказаний.”
His handler walked closer, watching him determined and rather cold before he leaned in and whispered, “Mission report. December 16th, 1991.”
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The three people inside the crystal room appearing to have a normal conversation did nothing but put her on edge. Perhaps it was the quick, almost nonexistent glances Steve threw around, or Sam’s serious manner, or the fact that Sharon had the reputation of following Captain America’s order in the best and worst scenarios. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them, it was that with James getting evaluated, the slight possibility of something putting that on risk had her loyalty on this people in a temporary out. Whatever it was being discussed in that room, it meant trouble.
Tony was nowhere to be seen, which didn’t help her nerves. Her hands fidgeted harder than ever and she was glad she chose to bring her gloves to cover the evidence in case the black veins decided to make an appearance.
“Losing your mind already?” Natasha said, coming to stand by her side. “It’s barely two o’clock.”
Dominique huffed, “Funny.”
They watched the room in silence, both with arms crossed and calculated glares with different intentions behind. In her head, Dominique never stopped thinking about why the team seemed to be dividing itself, and the reasons for those occurrences. She understood why they didn’t want to give up control to the government, given that those guys in fancy suits in chairs had never fought against aliens and evil robots, but…there was always a but. Wouldn’t it be better if they had the government on their side while they shaped those ugly accords to a different direction? No one liked the accords. She didn’t like the accords. Tony himself didn’t like the wording. But knowing Tony, she was sure the genius would find a way to turn this in their favor, he often did. So why the lack of faith? Why won’t Steve let him handle this? Why won’t anybody trust Tony to make it happen?
Unfortunately, this had to wait because the focus had shifted and now James was on the game. And much to her annoyance, he was in the hands of a government who wanted him locked up for the Winter Soldier’s crimes, and also, as if things weren’t bad enough, a crime he didn’t commit.
She followed Steve with her eyes, a determination in his figure as he straightened, his mouth moving though she couldn’t know what words fell from his lips. The frustration made her grunt, gaining the slight display of attention from Natasha. “They’re planning something,” she mumbled under her breath, eyes glued to the room.
“I know.”
Dominique tipped her head towards her, kissing her teeth in the process, “Do you know what?” She asked.
“I’m not in there, am I?”
“Is that a no?”
Natasha gave her a pointy look which she held with no problem. Dominique feared lots of things; the widow’s glare wasn’t one of them. She did try to avoid getting the look though. An angry Natasha benefited no one.
“Where’s Tony?” Dominique asked, changing the subject and looking ahead.
“I came here to ask you the same thing.”
“I never know where Tony is.”
“No these days, no.”
The tone robbed her the wrong way. Every time she talked with Natasha, it felt like a game more than anything, only that Dominique didn’t know the rules, or the pieces, or that there was a game at all. The redhead had the ability to undress the truth with the wrong tone and right words, and right now, right now she was trying to make Dominique bite. Because once those words were out, all that she could think was, what does she know?And why does she want to know more? It was hard not to wince when you noticed those attempts. And after living with her for a couple of years in the tower, you learned to see the different approaches the widow took. Dominique eyed her, watching the neutral expression playing on her pale face. Not a single feature moved. She wondered sometimes, if Natasha practiced in front of a mirror, if she had to fight against herself not to show any emotion. She wondered if Natasha ever showed the same vulnerability she often saw in James.
Natasha turned her head, arching a brow. The challenging gaze with the million questions crossed her eyes and Dominique knew that whatever she was going to say, it wouldn’t be welcomed.
“You’re not as present as you used to be, did you know that?” Natasha said, her red hair getting brushed behind her ear. She gave a quick look to the room, making sure nothing crazy was about to happen and turned her body, resting her shoulder against the wall, facing her. “When you are, you seem alleviated. I wonder what changed.”
“Yoga.”
Natasha grinned, “I see,” she said, “Yoga finally managed to keep that temper of yours under control. Why didn’t we ever think of that?”
“You really want me to answer that?” Dominique asked, tasting the conflict in her tongue as she spoke. She could name hundreds of reasons why, and they all had something in common, something it was better to leave alone than to bring it to this conversation. Natasha didn’t answer, probably thinking the same. “If you want to know where I’ve been, why don’t you just ask?”
She narrowed her eyes, “Would you tell me the truth?”
“Of course not. But wouldn't it be better to be frank than to deceive your intentions?” And she was being the biggest hypocrite, thinking about what she just did in the room with Tony, trying to conceal her own intentions from the man.
“Do you know nothing about me?”
Dominique smiled, “You’re not just a spy, you know that.”
Natasha stared at her, the neutral expression slowly changing and falling into a suspicious yet curious face, “Where have you been?”
“Bucharest.”
The widow rolled her eyes, completely discarded the possibility she might actually be telling the truth, “You made me go into a midlife crisis for that?” She said, “Shame on you.”
Dominique shook her head, the smile on her lips widened when Natasha elbowed her ribs playfully and a tiny smile of her own began to break into her face. The both of them had had a rocky month in terms of friendship and work because of the incident in Pennsylvania, but the issue had been thankfully talked between them, not wanting to hold any grudges for situations that didn’t happen. Natasha didn’t apologize, and neither did she, but came to an agreement satisfying enough for them. Dominique was glad. The redhead had been her friend for years now, and she didn’t want it to end.
They went back to their staring game upfront, noticing the tension had vanished with the conversation and as Dominique saw the altered state of Sharon and Sam, and Steve getting out of the room in a fast paced, the electricity shut down, the emergency lights and alarms went off in the building.
Natasha stiffened by her side, poking wildly around them as the place became alive with the security.
Dominique stopped one of the guards running towards the same hallway Steve had gone seconds ago, “What’s going on? What happened to the electricity?”
The guard grabbed his gun tightly against his chest, as if the reason was too terrifying to name. Dominique swallowed, feeling her gut twist. The man under her strong grip fixed his throat, trying to hide his fear, “The soldier has escaped,” he notified.
The soldier.
James.
She let the guard go.
The next ten minutes happened fast as they searched for the soldier with the metal arm. Some guards actually looked for the man, others ran the other way praying to see their families at the end of this nightmare. Dominique on the other hand, walked the hallways of the second floor, an earpiece around her ear sharing communication between her and who knew how many more people. Natasha and her separated at the beginning of the incident, though she couldn’t be far. Natasha Romanoff was never far from the fight.
Dominique searched the halls desperate. Her hands twitched, warning her to slow down and breathe before that anger turned into something much worse. She opened the door to a room full of cleaning equipment and closed it again, resuming her search as she entered another room. She cursed under her breath, annoyed at how long this was taking. The more time passed without finding James, the angrier and frustrated she got.
“Anything yet?” Steve’s voice traveled to her ear.
“No,” she answered, turning a corner.
She was angry but slashing out helped literally no one, and Steve just wanted to find James as much as she wanted. But
What exactly happened? What the fuck happened? One minute he was being evaluated and the next he went all full winter soldier. And the only way to bring that guy to the surface were the words. Those forsaken words. She didn’t know who she was going to blame for this but someone was going to be blamed. It was only a matter of seconds when they shut the place down. Nothing goes in or out. I need to find him. As in ten minutes ago.
She pushed the doors open leading to the cafeteria, immediately acquiring a stiffened state. The sound of struggle clear to her ears as she walked faster to the source with big steps. She turned at the end of the hall and entered a big space full of tables. Her mouth opened in disbelief when she spotted James throwing Sharon over a table in full strength. “Jesus Christ,” she mumbled, horrified. How was it possible that he looked much taller? Much broad and angry? The way his shoulders stood out as he moved with purpose, deadly and merciless. In the distance, she heard Steve’s voice in her ear, demanding things Dominique couldn’t understand, her attention far too deep on the black-haired man with unforgiving fists. Walking towards the cafeteria, she took the earpiece out and threw it somewhere in the way. This was not the time to listen to Steve’s orders.
Inside, Dominique winced at the sound of another table breaking against Sharon’s back, the blonde agent fell unconscious on the floor and as if James could hear her breathing, he turned around, showing the anger irradiating from the face she often kissed in Tuesday’s mornings. Air caught in her throat. Nothing prepared her for the state of James completely out of himself. There was no emotion in his beautiful eyes but the rage of the soldier he was forced to become.
In her shock, James charged toward her, tall and fiended.
“James, listen to me,” she said, backing off. “This isn’t good for our relationship,” James threw a punch and she dodged it before striking his left cheek. He went lower and kicked her knee, causing her to bend and raise her arms to her face anticipating the fist. Dominique stumbled to the ground, and rapidly stood on her feet. She straightened, waited for James to make the first move and elbowed his jaw hearing the slight gasp he made. The man barely flinched. He looked angrier though. If that was even possible.
Dominique was running out of ways to keep him here without inflicting any kind of serious pain while also avoiding his strikes for his set of skills were insane. She saw and felt the very reason why he was HYDRA’s weapon. No emotion, just orders to follow and a crazy amount of durability.
But It’s not him, she reminded herself, it’s him but not really him. It’s not her James. It’s not the man she spent over a year with. It broke her heart. This was what he feared. What he had countless nightmares about. He wasn’t in control.
Her legs strolled backwards as he followed, eyes falling on the knife in his hand. Immediately, she palmed her waist and belt where her knife was supposed to be attached. Oh, fuck. She swallowed. James pursued after her, quick swings to her sides, stomach, even her face. He didn’t hold back, and when she kicked the hand with the knife, his other fist flew at the same time Dominique caught it midair.
James looked at her in a moment of bafflement, “James, stop,” she demanded.
He grunted, used the closeness to his advantage and grabbed her wrist brutally. She gasped. His arm pulled her around and her back hit his chest with such force her breath got stuck. James pulled her hair back. Without really knowing what was happening, her free hand flew to her throat before a knife cut through her skin, just over her fingers.
The burn made her throw her elbow back and struck him on the face. He stepped back. “Going for my throat? Really, James?” Dominique looked at her hand, bloody and cut open, it wasn’t that deep but she would need hours to heal.
When she looked up, Natasha got in between them. The soldier’s focus changed and Dominique prayed this wouldn’t end badly as it began. She cleaned her palms on her jeans, ignoring the burning coming with the action.
Natasha wrapped her legs around James’ neck and used her elbows to strike him on the head, once, twice. And he threw her over a table, his metal hand going to her throat and squeezing. Hard. Natasha’s eyes rolled back as her mouth gasped for air.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Dominique ran and pushed him out of her letting Natasha recover. She struck him again on the cheek, and again, and again, again. A kick on the torso, another on his hip. Until he wrapped her throat with a hand. Dominique gasped, air leaving quickly her windpipes. She struggled to release herself from his hold, afraid of using her powers to get out of this and hurt him in the process. They locked eyes, and it downed on her, that if he killed her, there wouldn’t be any remorse from him whatsoever.
“James…” she muttered and the hand hardened around her neck silencing her. She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t. The hand that had caressed her cheeks and fondled her body under a starry-night, was the same trying to kill her. And her head was repleted with memories of him, enough to know that she could never hurt him. Even with the pressure, blocking the air to her lungs, she couldn’t. Not like that.
Natasha managed a single punch on his ribs before he used his other hand on her throat. “What are you doing?” Natasha struggled to get the words out, hands trying to remove his arm and failing. “Get inside.”
“I’d hurt him,” Dominique whimpered. She raised her arm and hit him over his grip. His hand loosened. She grabbed his hand, twisted it and raised her other arm to get Natasha out. The red head threw a punch at his face as Dominique used her knee to push him backwards. Both women took a step back, ran and struck his chest with their feet. He stumbled back strongly, breaking a glass and falling out of the cafeteria.
Catching her breath, Dominique looked at him as he stood up and got away. She turned around, witnessing the black widow still trying to regain her breath.
“I know this is Steve’s friend, but we needed your mojo, Dominique,” Natasha said, touching her throat and wincing in pain at the soreness he’d probably left.
“What if I had made it worse?” She replied.
Natasha didn’t answer.