There Was No Undoing What Had Happened To Them, The World Or Fate Or Simply The Harsh Reality, Was That

it was easier to be present when the city's heartbeat pounded all around them. the distant call of sirens, the buzzing of florescent lights, the rolling of engines and other strangers burning the midnight oil. the city always felt somehow more real at night. or at the very least, bucky felt comfortable occupying the spaces of the city at night. bucky tipped his head to one side, curious as she asked incredulously if he thought that their night-time book club was a one time deal.

he watched her out of the corner of his eye. beside him at first, slipping easily into place as if they had done this a hundred times before, then slightly ahead. there was an intensity to the way she spoke and the way she moved that gave away how determined she was to make this into a habit. it was . . . unexpected, but not unwelcome.

❝ you'd be right about that, ❞ bucky said carefully, ❝ feels wrong not to finish something you've started, no matter what it is. ❞ he smiled when she flashed him a daring smile, all sharpened edges and intense eyes. ❝ you talk a big game, palamas, but i've got stamina. you're the one who's gonna need a nap between chapters. ❞

kara stepped out first,  the hush of the abandoned library fading as the pulse of the city greeted them — distant sirens,  the occasional murmur of voices carried on the wind.  she cradled pride  &  prejudice against her ribs like a secret worth keeping,  letting the weight of it settle as she glanced toward him,  eyes sharp,  knowing.  ❝oh,  you think this is just a one-time thing?❞ she mused,  the corner of her mouth curving as she slipped into step beside him,  easy as breathing.  the night stretched before them,  quiet  &  endless,   &  she had already decided — this wasn’t just a single evening’s indulgence,  a fleeting moment swallowed by the city’s restless hunger.   

she moved ahead,  just enough to make him follow,  her voice drifting back to him like the echo of something inevitable.  ❝two books,  barnes,❞ she reminded him,  tapping pride  &  prejudice against the spine of a tree grows in brooklyn where it still hid in his pocket.  ❝that’s at least a couple of nights.   &  i don’t think either of us are the type to leave a story unfinished. ❞ the words carried a weight beneath the teasing,  something unspoken yet understood.  they had both left too much behind,  too many pages torn out,  too many endings they never got to choose.  maybe this,  small as it was,  could be different.   

she shot him a look over her shoulder,  dark eyes glinting with challenge,  with invitation.  ❝better pace yourself, ❞ she warned,  all playful arrogance now,  half-daring,  half-taunting.  ❝wouldn’t want you losing steam before we even get to the good parts. ❞ then she turned back ahead,  leading him toward the rooftop,  the city’s glow stretching out before them like a world of stories waiting to be told. 

SEBASTIAN STAN as THE WINTER SOLDIER CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER (2014)

im actually so tired of fixing other people's problems while my problems are like gnawing on my bones

so . . . that was the game. a challenge made—she leaned into his knife, reckless and with no fear of injury, nor pain, nor death—and answered. he reached, cybernetic fingers wrapping like a vice around her wrist and forced the sai's fang away from his neck. ❝ you're not my target. ❞ he made no motion to stab her, but nor did he remove his knife from where it lingered against her stomach. ❝ and if i was yours, you wouldn't waste your time talking. ❞

The blade kissing into her skin elicits a grin from the assassin. She anticipated such a reaction. She had never been face-to-face with the Winter Soldier before, but she was not unaware of him. It was a matter of time before the top assassins for Hydra and the Hand found themselves atop the same rooftop. "The same could be said for you. You left my heart beating." She pulls herself into his blade, feeling the cold metal cut a little further into her skin. The assassin doesn't flinch. Her expression as cold as the Soldier's.

Elektra is no stranger to death. Death is a second home with the first being far beyond reach now.

❝ now that, i don't believe, ❞ bucky said. he'd never really had the eye of a creative, he couldn't write or draw or mold things into something new and extraordinary, creation had never been his wheelhouse. ❝ you should try it out again. ❞

bucky studied the abandoned library as it towered over them. worn and shabby, neglected by the city and easily overlooked in the endless repetition of the day to day. there were many like it scattered all over, foreclosed, forgotten, lost. ❝ then you might like the velveteen rabbit, ❞ he said.

for a moment he lingered outside, eyes flicking up the ruined façade of the library before settling on her silhouette in the doorway. the way she touched the metal—like it meant something—made his jaw tighten. he'd spent too many years breaking into places like this, never invited, never looking for anything as simple as a book.

❝ we gonna take bets on who finds the best reading material? ❞ he asked as he followed her. inside, the air was thick—paper dust, mildew, and the ghost of old knowledge left to decay. it smelt of wet wood and something faintly metallic.

kara let out a breath that was almost a laugh,  quiet  &  fleeting,  as if it had slipped past her defenses before she could stop it.  ❝i tried,❞ she admitted,  tilting her head slightly as they walked.  ❝nothing worth remembering. ❞ a lie,  maybe.  or maybe just a truth she hadn’t quite decided how to hold.  words had once come easily,  before they were twisted,  before she learned that even language could be taken,  repurposed,  rewritten until she could no longer trust the sound of her own voice.  but she liked the thought of it — him,  a soldier at war with the world,  holding onto stories like they might ground him.   

the library loomed ahead,  dark  &  forgotten,  waiting like a relic of another time.  she glanced at him then,  watching the way the past played behind his eyes,  flickering like old film,  something just out of reach.  ❝ tree grows in brooklyn,❞ she mused,  her voice softer now.  ❝that one makes sense.❞ a story about survival,  about finding something worth holding onto in a world that never made it easy.  ❝i always liked the ones about lost things, ❞ she admitted,  as if that,  too,  explained something.   

she hesitated at the door,  fingers brushing against worn metal before she pushed it open,  the scent of old paper  &  dust greeting them like an old friend.  ❝come on,❞ she said,  her voice lighter now,  an invitation rather than an instruction.  ❝let’s see if we can find something worth reading. ❞ there was something in the quiet of the place,  in the ease of conversation that had found its own rhythm between them,  that almost felt like a reprieve.  maybe even something close to peace. 

he watched her as she studied him, expression unreadable, eyes sharp but not unkind. bucky couldn't be certain what it was that she saw when she looked at him but she looked at him like he had the answer to an unspoken question. maybe he did, and maybe he didn't. the blood at their feet was already beginning to set, thick and dark, and it would stay there for a while longer but eventually, it would disappear as all unclean things did.

bucky nodded, stepped past her and over the body, out of the shadows and into the cold, neon-lit street. he led the way out of the crime scene, keeping a casual pace and walking through side streets and back alleys as if it were second nature. they walked for a long time before his destination came into view.

the diner was nothing special—chrome-rimmed stools, and faded vinyl booths—it smelled like burnt coffee and cheap bacon grease, but bucky liked it for the same reason most people overlooked it: it was steady. real. a pocket of normal.

he slid into a booth near the window with a clear line of sight to the front and rear entrances. ❝ what d'you see? ❞ bucky asked when she joined him, nodding to their surroundings with an expectant glance.

kara exhaled slowly,  watching the blood spread into the cracks of the concrete like veins beneath fractured skin.  it would dry,  flake away,  be washed into the gutters until only the memory of it remained.  but the act — the choice — would linger,  another mark upon a soul already worn thin.  she had spent years telling herself that she was beyond redemption,  that the things she had done,  the things that had been done to her,  had calcified into something immovable.  but then bucky spoke,   &  the certainty wavered,  just slightly,  just enough to let in the smallest sliver of something else.  try.   

she turned her gaze to him,  searching for something she wasn’t sure she would recognize.  he knew — knew what it was to be made into something unrecognizable,  to wake up in the ruins of a life he could barely call his own.   &  yet,  he stood before her,  not unbroken,  but whole in a way she had never believed possible for herself.  if he could come back from it,  then maybe — maybe — she could too.  the thought was terrifying in its own way.  it was easier to be a blade,  a weapon with no need for softness,  no need for hope.  but hope,  she realized,  had already taken root the moment she had let him pull the gun from her hands.   

her fingers curled into fists,  then released.  there was no erasing what had been done,  no undoing the ghosts she carried,  but perhaps there was more than just this.  more than the endless cycle of blood  &  consequence.  when she spoke,  her voice was quiet,  but steady.  ❝then let’s start. ❞ not surrender,  not absolution — but a step.   &  for now,  that was enough. 

he watched the scene unfold below, the flashing red and blue lights bouncing off the steel edges of the city. it was a familiar sight, one he'd seen in different lifetimes, different wars, in different cities. he should've felt something—satisfaction, maybe—but all he got was the dull ache of knowing it was never really enough.

bucky turned his focus to the woman beside him as she weighed the moment. he recognized that weight, the hunger to do more, to make it mean something. her words aren't unkind, but they were edged with the exhaustion of someone who couldn't remember why they were fighting, but kept fighting anyway.

❝ no, they don't, ❞ he agreed, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. he doesn't say what he's thinking—that soldiers don't mix with anything. not politics, not peace, not with the kind of life that doesn't have bloodstains on the edges.

he feels her question before she asks it. instinct, not obligation. a stocked medkit, a place to come down from the night, a moment to breathe. she's killed for the right reasons, but she still wanted to save something. ❝ nothing serious, ❞ he said, ❝ but i'm not saying no to the scotch. ❞

it's  all  bittersweet,  a  feeling  familiar  like  the  ache  from  fading  adrenaline.  VIOLENCE  WITH  A  JUSTIFIED  MEANS  TO  AN  END,  but  it  never  ends  ─  not  really.  sisyphus  and  a  boulder  actually  worth  something,  pissing  off  every  white  suit  that  holds  themselves  as  gods  but  never  lifts  a  finger  to  make  a  change.  reflection  caught  in  her  gaze,  the  swarm  of  humans  corralled  like  animals  finally  tasting  freedom  after  who  knows  how  long.  IT'S  NOT  ENOUGH,  SHE  WANTS  TO  DO  MORE.

she  was  never  meant  for  it.  soft  innards  of  a  poet  armoured  up  and  made  a  weapon.  ❛  soldiers  and  politics  don't  mix  anyway.  ❜  it's  a  spark  of  wryness  chuffed  out.  ❛  a  drink  sounds  perfect,  i  owe  you.  ❜  a  hollow  grin  holds  so  much  warmth  at  the  edges,  eyes  that  start  from  his  feet  and  assess  her  way  up  to  his  eyes.

❛  you  hurt?  ❜  that's  a  glimpse  of  true  nature.  the  reflex  of  wanting  to  do  more  good  than  all  the  wrongs  she's  ever  committed.  ❛  the  gym's  a  few  blocks  away  and  i  keep  a  full  stocked  medkit  with  a  side  of  scotch.  ❜

i just think bucky deserves the john wick treatment

he took in the sight of her, all sharp lines and lethal elegance, a predator carved from shadow and scarlet. the gleam of her sai caught in moonlight and neon, but she wasn't aiming to kill. not yet. he let the distance between them close, let her blade kiss his throat—just enough to break skin.

she's good, but he's been in the game too long to be caught unprepared. his own knife presses against her stomach, sharpened point cutting through fabric just enough to touch skin. ❝ don't start something you can't finish. ❞ he said, voice like gravel, words edged with something sharp and unrelenting.

he tipped his chin back, daring the scarlet assassin to make a move. to step in or out, to attack or defend, it mattered little to him. either she was a nuisance, or an obstacle, but he was prepared to go through her if he had to.

Something hadn't felt right from her peering through the shadows out the window of her hideout. A light reflecting onto the window in a way unexplainable based on what could easily be perceived by the surrounding sources.

Her target asleep. The assassin vanished from the safehouse to the mysterious glimmer reflecting on the window. Feet silent on the way up to the adjacent rooftop. Her sai spin silently in her hands in preparation for the threat she finds herself about to face.

The door opens in silence and Elektra's movements are swift. Eyeing her new target down, assessing his features and their surroundings. She knows of this man if a man is what he could be called. Could she even be called a woman in this state?

After her analysis, the assassin slips behind the soldier. Her sai points into his throat, lightly puncturing the skin near his windpipe. "I'd be careful of your next moves, Winter Soldier."

she was a walking, talking contradiction. all softened edges and harmless eyes, but the way she said they, as if she wasn't tethered to them, like she wasn't still reading from a script handed to her in some cold room lined with glass and clipped words and invisible chains, and always with that look—like she knew him. like she understood.

❝ they never are. ❞ he said dryly. he'd lived through countless conflicts and they were always the same. led by men and women with too much power sending other people to die so they can get more. ❝ you can tell whoever sent you here, i'm not done either. ❞

he watched her watch him, two oposing forces pushing and pulling against each other. whoever she really was, and whoever she really worked for, bucky didn't think it mattered in the long run. ❝ you say you're not here for a weapon, but you talk like you're taking inventory. ❞ the bracelet. the carefully measured breath. the way she looked away right before the real line—i don't want to be next. that was the hook. the hunted always made the best bait. ❝ if that's true, what's stopping you from taking care of the problem yourself? ❞

clea didn’t flinch.  the edge in his voice didn’t faze her;  it was familiar,  expected.  she'd read the file,  sure — but it was the man in front of her she’d come to see,  not the myth.  the myth didn’t smirk like that.  the myth didn’t ask the real questions.  she leaned back,  slow  &  deliberate,  the corner of her mouth tilting just slightly — not a smile,  not exactly.  something more like recognition. 

❝of course you could walk out, ❞ she said easily,  her tone light,  but not dismissive.  ❝ &  they know it,  too.  that’s why they sent me instead of someone with a badge  &  a speech about cooperation.❞ her fingers brushed the bracelet at her wrist again,  idle,  thoughtful.  ❝they,❞ she echoed,  with the faintest lift of a brow,  ❝are like the ones you already suspect.  the ones who like their monsters behind glass.  same people who tried to own you,  rewrite you,  leash you.  they're not finished.❞

her gaze held his,  steady,  even as her voice softened,  dipped just enough to shift the rhythm of the room.  ❝&  no,  i don’t need you to kill anyone.  or topple anything.❞ she paused,  letting that land.  ❝i’m not looking for a weapon. ❞ another breath.  ❝i’m looking for someone who understands what it means when the wrong people start collecting ghosts like us. ❞ she looked away,  briefly,  as if it cost her something to say it out loud.  ❝you want to know what’s in it for me?❞ her eyes returned to his,  sharper now,  more honest.  ❝let’s just say … i don’t want to be next. ❞