[complete!]
"𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔."
𝐌ace Wilcox had a heart full of revenge. For almost her whole life. Because when the person she loved most was killed, her life was turned upside down. She was turned into a killer.
Sh...
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Barnes never had a choice. He didn't get to choose who he wanted to be, what he wanted to do. He died fighting. And then he didn't. He didn't even get to do that. He was made into a killer. Forced to be a killer.
Mace did get a choice. She chose to be a killer.
"We're the same, Barnes," she began. "I noticed that when looking at your files. But seeing you for real — the real James Buchanan Barnes... we couldn't be more different. You're a hero, James. You fought in a war. Died doing it. Then were forcefully brought back to life, and made to do bad things. But you're making amends for them. Me... I chose to do these things."
Mace sat back down on the couch and was quiet for a couple of seconds. She looked at the ground and thought about what she had just admitted. Tears began welling in her eyes.
"You know," she continued, her voice stuffy, "I used to rectify all my actions by telling myself it's what my mother would have wanted. I'd convince myself that she would have wanted me to avenge her just by killing you." Mace swallowed. "But she would never have wanted that. And I can't kill you. Because she never wanted me to be this way. That's why she kept me away from the Red Room. But I did it anyway. And I didn't let anyone hurt me, just like she said."
"But you hurt yourself in the process," said Barnes.
Mace sniffed and nodded.
"And now I'm sitting here, in your apartment of all places, crying. It's funny — I haven't cried in years, and now I've done it two days in a row."
Barnes sat down on the chair just next to the couch. He didn't speak — he knew he was really there to listen.
"I think I know why I came here," she said. "Because I knew you were good. Somewhere in me, I could just tell. I want to make amends. And I need your help. Because I don't even know where to start."
"I'll help you," he said. "On one condition."
"What's that?"
"Maybe I can't be redeemed... but could you try to find it in you to forgive me?"
Mace looked him in the eyes. His stormy, blue, caring eyes. There was no cold there anymore.
"Because I'm sorry, Mace. I am."
Mace looked at the floor for a second. And James waited for her answer, quietly, because he knew making a decision like that wasn't easy. And maybe she still wouldn't forgive him. He'd understand that.
"Okay," she said, finally. She looked up at him. "I'll try."
— —
Mace had never liked quiet. It made her think. And if too many thoughts came into her head, emotions might find their way in, too.
Tonight, as she laid on her bed in the hotel, wide awake, she let her thoughts in.
She didn't want to kill James Buchanan Barnes anymore. The Winter Soldier was already dead. Barnes had done that. Now, she wanted his help. Because in all her revenge, in all her emotion, her anger... she had never stopped to think about what the cost was. And now she was paying. Her conscience finally got to speak. Well, more like lecture.
Do you even know how many people you've killed?
Do you know how many people you hurt?
The horrible things you did just to get information?
Just to get your revenge?
It's not what your mother would have wanted.
She would have wanted you to be a good person.
Why did you ever even consider doing things like this?
Hurting yourself like this?
How could you ever make amends for the things you've done?
Mace had dreams — nightmares — of a metal room, no doors, no windows, and only a single light, all four walls closing in on her. She heard voices — her own, mostly, shouting at her. Telling her she wouldn't be good enough.
Mace woke with a start, sweating. She got up and got water and some aspirin, breathing heavily. Head pounding. It felt so real.
She had never really been a Black Widow. She didn't know what she was. She had told herself most of her life that she was a girl with one goal — to avenge her mother.
It wasn't really avenging, though. It was revenge. And when the time finally came, she couldn't do it. She didn't want to anymore.
She wanted to be good. She wanted to try. Because now she knew — that's what her mother would have really wanted.
— —
Mace threw a beanie over her head, long gray coat on, and a scarf around her neck and went out into the cold January day.
James had told her to meet him at a coffee shop nearby her hotel. Mace wasn't so sure about discussing her past in public, but he had told her it was the first step. He had to take it not too long ago, actually. He had always been so caught up with other things in classified places. Never had time to put himself in public.
She saw the back of his head at one of the tables near the wall, and walked over. She took her hat off and ran her fingers through her hair, hoping it looked fine.
"Afternoon, Barnes," she said, pulling out the chair across from him.
"Hi," he greeted.
"So," she said immediately. "What do I do first?"
"First, we order some coffee." He motioned a waitress over to their table.
"James."
"What? I just woke up."
"It's 12:30 in the afternoon."
"Correct."
Mace rolled her eyes.
"Fine." She turned to the waitress waiting by the end of their table, smiling. "Hi, can I please have a coffee? Black?"
"No milk or cream, ma'am?" asked the waitress.
"No, thank you."
Mace looked at James and raised her eyebrows as if to say happy?
He half rolled his eyes at her and ordered a coffee with almond milk.
"Almond milk?" she questioned, as soon as the waitress went away. "How the hell do you milk an almond?"
"I have no idea," he said. "But it's really good."
"Yeah, okay," said Mace. "Now. Where do we start?"
