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"Give me a week, and I'll give you a final answer."

-Ros, in response to Aimsey offering a place in their faction again

stillness had consumed the winter soldier for more than a minute — in his mind , every second is counted with or without him. time , whether james had defined it as his , theirs , or noone's , marches with every tick of the far clock of the kitchen where he stays , head rested in the palm of his right hand. beneath his left hand rests a small stack of redacted papers he had retrieved some months ago from the kingpin's residence. the stack of reports marked with his name have barely been looked over itself , nothing more than a few pages into the reports did james fall quiet into the half-folded position he sits himself in now.

and despite his withdrawal into his own mind , he is still aware of miguel's steps closer. the warmth and gravity of the other man shifting his thoughts. around him , time bends , for james finds no time to school his face into something more neutral when he feels the brush of hair , a gentle knock of his forehead to his temple. james turns then — towards , always towards — miguel , eyes fluttering open. body turned towards the other , hand brushing his wrist. one second passes before he finds himself able to meet his gaze.