SHOULD THERE BE REVERANCE in the way she handles the cowl barely shielding the man beneath? Should she defer to the insignia on his chest while seeking the expanse of broken skin moving like seismic patterns? Belief has always come in what could be held down firm by two palms and breathed in on lazy Sunday mornings ——- mornings that, preferable, did not leave her ears ringing.
( Still, affection is trapped in the name for him, the one that preceded all others the one that rolls easily even off a tongue jammed up to the roof of her mouth after heaving him where she could see. ——- Admittedly, white suits him better than red ever did. ) <“ My star, what am I going to do with you? ”>
Warm water waits for the final barricade to fall, pieces of his uniform discarded with just enough thought for later collection. It’s easier to bend knees to this, to him, to work laid before her and her ring still pressed close to his chest as a new sort of talisman. This, Natasha thinks, has always been worth putting faith in. The triage of near-catastrophic wounds on the same person always offers a unique challenge, but priority lies in the sweep of her eyes to his.
“ ——- Don’t you even think about going quiet on me now, James. ”