#warwidows

@warwidows || meme reply || yoooo!

oh my god, you look.. like crap.

slouched against the root of a tree that's doing nothing to keep his ass comfortable in the slightest--soldier boy looks up as the woman saunters towards him and offers up the greatest compliment she could muster. yes. that's fucking sarcasm.

blood sticks to his face. the stubble on his jaw. dirt mixed in with that. barely a spot on a freckled forehead and neck that isn't covered with muck of various degrees. eyes are slightly hollow. for someone who isn't supposed to be able to tire? he looks fucking spent. the rubble in the distance and his aching chest might be the reason why. call it a nuclear bomb that needs a chance to recharge. you blow that shit and everyone in it to ground zero and come out looking fine? yeah! don't think so! fuck you VERY much!

green eyes shift to a sardonic glare. one he has mastered beyond perfection. one that is solely and uniquely his because that shit? is so palpable, you can feel it. she's not looking that great herself. gaze combs over her frame. not as worse for wear as him. leaves him wondering what kind of trouble ran into her on the way here. from the looks of it? only one of them walked away if there was anyone to get in her way. good for her. even though she's a total twat for bringing up the obvious.

"don't look that hot yourself, toots. so kindly keep your opinion trapped nside that maybelline painted blow hole of yours and fuck off." cigarette offered kinda contrasts the fuck off part. and the annoyance stamped on his brow. okay. so that's his usual face. but the tiniest curve of the corner of his mouth?? if you catch it?? and that offered cigarette. is a big hint.. of an underlying not so fuck off.

metal fingers drum against the steering wheel, eyes locked on the long stretch of asphalt beneath the headlights. the answer's four days ago — she knows, she was there. tangled up with him in some motel off the interstate, cheap sheets twisted around their legs, her cheek resting against the flesh of his arm. he doesn't sleep right when she's not around. even on a good night, sleep never really comes easy for james. WAR SHAPED HIM THAT WAY, and russia made sure the habit stuck to his tired bones like rust. rain hammers the windshield, wipers clawing the glass. he can feel her gaze on him without looking over.

" few days. why ? do i look that bad or somethin' ? " he exhales with a smile before his eyes drift back to the road. but nat doesn't buy it. not for a second. she sees right through it: the clenched jaw, the tired eyes, all that tension held in his frame. it's instinct more than anything — keeping people out of it, not wanting her to think about it too much. not when there's a job ahead of them. shield wants it clean: IN, AND OUT. grab what they came for and disappear before anyone knows they were there. and then it's on to the next one. another task, another problem, another voice telling them the world can't wait five damn minutes for them to breathe. that's the way it works for people like them. not much room in it for anything soft. still — there's this road. this quiet before they have to get their hands dirty again. hand slides off the wheel, and settles on her thigh.