Thread: In Search Of One Man [Defiant x Temptationist]

He was slightly amused with how she asked for the glass he'd drank from, he couldn't blame her though. He was sure most of the world had an idea of what type of human he was. But he didn't want to be that. Not anymore. His hands were stained with the blood of the innocent people he'd murdered. The people who'd fought for good and had gotten on Hydra's radar in a bad way. He'd thought drenching himself in the blood of Hydra would erase the guilt but it didn't. It didn't do anything. I'm not going to hurt you, he assured, handing her the glass. And if I wanted to, I don't think poison has ever been my forte, he pointed out and was about to turn from her to grab himself a new glass but paused when he saw the change in her facial features. Metal fingers clinked against the glass as he caught it when it slid from her fingers and he set it on the counter by his right side. His blue eyes never left her face as he tried to get a read on what was going on. Her fingers touching his, her running her hands along the wall to get a feel for the people who'd lived there before, years ago. He'd figured she was seeing something from his past. And considering the way she's been when tapping into the child, and figuring out what had happened in his life, her demeanour hadn't changed then, but now. Now she looked as though she was seeing the part of his life which had come after the fall. When her eyes met his he searched her gaze. A gift and a curse, there's a very thin line between the two, he said quietly and reached out to touch her shoulder then hesitated. He didn't want to make her see something from his past again and cause her more distress. Why don't you sit? he motioned towards the chair by the table. He would offer a seat on the sofa but he didn't have one. Never bothered with it. There wasn't a TV or anything else to make the place really feel like a home. He picked up the glass of orange juice and set it on the table, the one already filled with juice which he'd taken a drink of and caught when she dropped it. He grabbed another glass from the cupboard and filled it with juice as well then took a seat at the table and looked to her. What'd you see? He asked, raising the fresh glass to his lips and took a few sips before setting it on the table and let the fingers of his flesh hand run of the simple design. The glass was now cool from the juice. He was curious to what she saw. So much of what he could remember, the flashes he saw and the random memories were depressing and most made no sense yet. But sometimes he woke from a nightmare, he'd walk through a mission. See the people he'd killed and hear his handler's voice in his head, whispering and instructing. But they were never good. He wasn't at the point where he could remember anything before the train. Even though he used the computer to try and read up on James Buchanan Barnes. Nothing jogged his memory, no clear memories anyway. He just wanted something happy to remember. When he dreamt of the train, it was the hardest. He knew what was coming and he could feel the cold air ripping breath from his lungs as his fingers, numb, reached for Captain America. Desperate, he was so desperate and scared. And then he was falling and he just wanted to feel the grip of Captain America, keeping him from plummeting to the ground but it never came. Instead ice and cold and metal and fear became his life. If he'd only reached a little further... but it was never enough. And he knew what his future held when he had the dream. But he could never change it.