Drawing Lines
When Clint emerges almost two hours later, he’s got tears in his eyes and Nat can see there’s regret filling them. Her mind fills with questions as she watches him hold the door open for her. It is not often she sees Clint in a state of remorse and she wonders what you could have said to make him that way. When he entered the room, it was to confront you and demand answers. He was there to attack and break you with his anger. Yet, now it is clear he’s been the conquered one.
“Go on in, Nat.” He croaks and then coughs to clear his throat. “She’s good. We’re good. After you’re done I want to talk to Fury about getting her out. She doesn’t deserve to be locked away like this.”
Nat pauses and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Clint chokes out a laugh. “Not really, but I’ll be okay. (Y/n) is worth a few tears. A monster she may be but I trust her.”
“Okay,” Nat squeeze his shoulder, then she goes in.
The cage is much like she remembers Loki’s being, except you sit in this cage instead of him. You’re sitting twisted like a pretzel on the floor with eyes closed and a serene expression.
Your eyes open to see her standing before you with her arms crossed. “Natasha Romanov, it is lovely to see you even with the circumstances being what they are.”
“You’re looking good for being in a cage, girlie.” Nat moves closer to you and grins. “Never thought I’d be visiting someone in a cage and not breaking them out.”
“You’re welcome to break me out.” You respond with a shrug. “I don’t recommend it considering your boss wants me trapped, but it would be a sweet gesture.”
Nat walks over until she stands directly in front of the clear wall separating the two of you. “What did you say to Clint? He’s forgiven you and was crying.”
You grimace and rise to your feet in an effortless move. Gliding across the few feet between you, you stand eye level with Nat. “I told him about how much I love Laura and the kids. How to me they’re family and I hope that someday he can forgive me for lying. I told him about how when I was trapped in that prison those scientists kept me in I watched the world go by and craved to be part of it. I told him about my hopes and dreams. About the fears that still haunt me. And about how much I love microwave popcorn. I told him as much of the truth as I could. The kinds of things that people like Nick Fury don’t think to ask. And I shared with him the fact that I’m not here to destroy the planet. At least, not anymore. So, let me ask you – what would you like to talk about?”
For a moment, Nat isn’t sure what to say. How does one respond to a speech such as that? She trusts you. For whatever misguided reason, she looks at you and doesn’t see evil. A monster you may be, and if Nat is certain of one thing it is that you have done horrible things and can do them still. But, she sees a spark in you. Something that makes her feel that you’re not good because you have chosen to do bad things for a reason. She recognizes someone who has a plan and will execute it no matter the cost. Whatever you’re reasoning, she knows it is what you consider the best course of action… even if it is not the “good” one.
“I found recipe for s’mores cakepops I’m dying to try, but you know what a terrible baker I am.” Nat reaches out and places a hand against the wall. This is her peace offering. An olive branch in the form of an outstretched hand. If she could Nat would break you out, but she can’t. Not while things are still so uncertain. You’re still shrouded in mystery and shadow still cloaks you, and Nat knows this. She is well aware that you’re not a song bird, you’re a crow and if you felt inclined you’d peck out her eyes and devour her flesh while she screamed in agony. Carrion birds are the strongest, the scariest, and the darkest.
You smile wavers as you hold out a tentative hand. “Really? If I ever get a chance I’ll make you some. I’m an excellent baker, if you recall those amazing cinnamon cookies I made…” Pressing your hand flat against hers with the wall between you, her pulse radiates through the cage and into you. Meeting her gaze for a brief moment the two of you become one. The assassin and the crow of darkness.
Nat shivers as she feels shadows slide over her. It isn’t a comfortable feeling, but it isn’t bad. She feels hidden, sheltered. The darkness doesn’t trap her it embraces her. Suddenly, she understands that this embrace is you.
~
Bucky sits in the middle of an abandoned field. The air is clear and there’s not even a single cloud in the sky. Here in the light without a soul in sight he feels safe. There are no people, cameras, or shadows. The grass is cut nice and low so that he can see everything. Secrets can’t linger in the sunlight.
Laying back, Bucky rubs his fingers together the words you spoke to him playing on repeat in his mind.
No ink.
No ink.
No ink.
Reclining back until he’s laying down, Bucky stares at the sky. He holds up a hand and examines the veins he can see running beneath the skin. They’re dark and thick, like rivers of ink flowing beneath this skin. He imagines his body filled with tainted blood as dark as night and thick as tar. In moments like this Bucky feels infected with darkness. Bitter that you’re not how he expected. For some reason he wanted you to be lost in darkness like he was. Craving sunlight in a world that shunned the moon in a dark sky, but you weren’t straining for light like he was. He wanted to be good and light. You, however, seemed to embrace the night with open arms. You claim to be darkness, and he believes it. There’s no disputing the emptiness in your eyes. The crimes from his past haunt him. Even though he knows he couldn’t control himself, Bucky still feels the guilty. That guilt fills his thoughts and clouds his vision like the darkness takes yours. And that guilt is an ugly, twisted thing.
A loud squawk breaks through Bucky’s tormented thoughts. Blinking he realizes he’d shut his eyes and dozed off for a moment. He sits up and feels his mouth run dry as he takes in his surroundings.
“What the hell?” Bucky’s gaze is filled with black. The field of grass that seemed so much like paradise when he arrived is filled with crows. Loud and angry they fluff their wings and scream at each other. Heaven has become hell and Bucky is trapped in their midst. None are close enough to crowd him, yet he’s encircled completely. It might be his imagination but Bucky feels as if he can smell death in the air as he starts to stand.
When he is on his feet he can see just how far the blackness stretches. The crows take up all available ground between him and any sort of escape. In fact, for as far as he can see is black bodies of screaming, squawking, carrion birds. They mock him with their beady eyes and loud obscene noises. Each of them seems to be laughing at how they’ve enclosed him in their ranks, seemingly claiming them for their dark mistress. And he knows who that is. He knows these birds belong to you. Knows that if they’re here mocking him it is on your behest. You, who he sees as the queen of crows.
“GO AWAY!” He roars.
The birds go silent and a stillness settles over everything for a moment.
Bucky’s chest is heaving as he takes gulps of air and his eyes travel over everything wildly. The moment stretches endlessly then suddenly darkness moves. The birds take flight in a giant wave of movement, sweeping up and all around him. He is incased black as they swirl everywhere him and block out the sun. Only darkness can be seen.
Only darkness.
“NO!” Bucky’s voice is hoarse and filled with fear as for a moment he feels as if he’s back in that hole in ground where nothing but darkness ruled.
Then the birds clear and he drops to his knees, head tilted back to see the blank sky. No birds in sight and the light has return. Yet, the light feels tainted now. There is no peace to be found in a world that moves so fast and burns with a brightness that hurts. The light hurts and he knows it.
Closing his eyes, for the first time in months Bucky lets the tears come. They come fast and furious and run down his cheeks like streams of pain. Bucky hunches down and digs his hands into the ground. He clutches the ground to anchor himself in the world of light.
When he finally reopens his eyes, he sees black droplets. Wiping his hand over his cheeks, he stares at liquid as black as ink staining his hand.
Now, he laughs. Loud and frantic as he stares at his tainted hands.
“I guess she was somewhat right.” He muses as he speaks to no one. “I don’t bleed ink but I do cry it.”