* starter for @cryoforged !
beneath crystalline facade lays natalia romanova , buried under years of anguish and running from her own revelations . when she stands before a mirror , the reflection she sees is nearly unrecognizable . fiery locks frame doll-like features but there’s a weariness beneath unrelenting eyes , hard and calculating . there’s a falseness to cherry lips pulling into the signature natasha romanoff grin , almost robotic in the way charm was programmed into her . a spy first and foremost ( that’s all she can say she’s ever amounted to ) but behind that was a woman , a human who has loved and lost . dear god , does she know it .
there’s one thing that reminds her of her humanity and that is james buchanan barnes . he seems like a ghost ; only appearing in the memories engrained into her mind , playing on loop to torment her in the most unforgiving manner . she doesn’t know why ( or she won’t admit to herself ) but she’s felt crippling need to find him . now , when the world is in complete chaos and in the hands of a villain far worse than anything she’s ever faced , she needs to find him .
why ? to ground herself ? or to torture herself ? to remind herself that she’s only human ? or to remind herself that he was her weakness ? — she doesn’t know .
all she knows is that he’s a piece of her . he’s the one thing that kept her sane during those years in the red room , the one thing that kept her driving forward . he’s what makes her human . for she learned that her emotions could get the best of her — when he was taken away , this was bitterly proven . ( she’s gasping , drowning , desperate for breath / please don’t take him from me )
it’s taken time . he knows how to hide better than anyone . but she’d always find him . she promised him that much before he was taken away from her . and she’s failed in the past but she refused to fail once more . she won’t knock . this was natasha romanoff . she’ll crawl through window into tiny apartment ; an evidently good space for hideout . “ james . ” her voice is quiet but it cuts through deafening silence . she can nearly hear how fast her heart is beating . she’s no fool to think he’s unaware of her creeping presence ; she was good , the best even , but he was the one who trained her .
「★」— PERSPIRATION PLASTERS DISHEVELED strands to pallid attributes. silver vibranium reflects the surface of steel blue, cautionary eyes. the WINTER SOLDIER’S crimson star has been vanquished by molten, WAKANDAN contours. but it feels no different; its metallic caress remains diffused with sensory suffering. decades of torment eagerly auger’s his cerebrum, seeks out what is cured and administers bane. fixed, the soldier ruminates, you will never be fixed. and he’s certain of the candor within the notion, as the victim’s of the assassin will ethereally cease to be healed. and that is equitable.
every fugitive harbors a tomb. perhaps it’s no longer required — his charges have been acquitted ( publicly, while private bounties tally the barrels of rifles sighting for his cranium ). apologies, however, forgiveness, cannot redirect an existence preserved by self secretion. and why should he apologize ? no one has apologized for the misdeeds dealt to him; for the ruination of his vitality.
there is a crater in the plaster of and ill-hued wall. the panel has received a fist-molded cavity. what does not crumble cracks, veins of fragmented architecture stretching outward. distorted lines extend like the shrapnel of his mental cache, but fail to pinpoint desired recollection. there is a step, undetectable for those not of his serum-induced calibre. the unsanctioned visitant is lithe, agile, hushed. the WINTER SOLDIER ascertains the intruder immediately, but JAMES does not.
he glimpses vermillion concrete; his pristine bullet piercing chocolate leather, imbruing both flesh and textile. she sprints ! he chases ! the ashen-haired captain apprehends ! how much easier it would be to disassociate, rather than recollect triggering disorder. her russian tinged cadence hums familiarity which he unsuccessfully comprehends, but he is unsurprised that it is her that has unearthed his province of despondency — it’s the why which perplexes him.
no one has dispatched her — no one can — the BLACK WIDOW has earmarked him of her own volition. jaw sets, lips purse. a voice rough from misuse imparts: ❛ what are you doing here, NATALIA ? ❜