five
"how ungodly"

A blip greets Lusine when she wakes.  Though no terrors had come to her that night, she still found that familiar unease bobbing in the pit of her stomach. A mighty ship battered by the writhing seas, never resting easy, never plain sailing.

Not wanting to slip into sleep again, she slides out of bed, grabs her bag and enters the bathroom to freshen up. The dress she'd bundled into her bag looks worn as she pulls it out and holds it up. Something about the purple was duller. Tired. It bleeds into her blurring vision as she curls her hands into its fabric, purple swirling into the bathroom tiles, violet ichor staining her palms as she tears the dress in half and lets the shreds fall around her bare feet.

For a moment, she stares down at the mess she's made.

Then she hides it away in her bag, never wanting to have to explain herself for the impulse that had rocketed through her in that moment.

Lusine pulls on a button up shirt and tailored trousers and exits, unable to bring herself to put more effort into her appearance.

When Steve offers her food, she politely declines and opts for a mug of tea instead. A little while later, they leave for their day of training and the rocking ship only gets worse. Now, crew members were panicking, some tumbling from the deck into the famished waves never to be seen again. Asleep with the fish, they would lie upon the sands for all of time.

"Steve?"

Just the way she says his name snags his concern. In so few words, she is reduced from the mighty to the small. Or that's how she imagines herself as she reaches out for help, the movement tipping the crown from her head, shattering it on the marble into millions of glittering pieces, tears dotting the white and gold.

How ungodly.

Even the way he turns to pay attention to her renders her with inconsiderate weakness.

"Is everything okay?" He asks, though he knows that expression well and knows that everything is definitely not okay.

"I don't know if I should –I don't know if I can do this," She admits, coming to a halt on the stairs leading down into the bustling city streets. "I think it's a bad idea. No, I know it's a bad idea. With all due respect, Steve, I don't think Director Fury knows how dangerous this is for them and for me."

"You're in control," Steve tells her, moving back up a step to provide a comfort for the distressed woman. "You're not going to hurt anyone."

"But what if I do?" She questions quietly, her face the picture of a woman painted with blood. "I don't think –I don't know if I'll come back if I lose control again. I'm a threat to everything you stand for and more." The blood seeps and rots as she speaks her mind, leaving a sour taste in the recipient's mouth.

Steve swallows and extends a hand to her. "I don't believe for a second that you'll lose control today or any other day, Lusine." Her fingers close around his hand, delicately and yet surely. As if all she'd needed was to know at least one person believed in her. "You've come too far to go back now."

To his relief, she begins walking with him again, showing no signs of releasing his hand and bolting back into the apartment to lounge away the day with wine. Though she does appear to be deep in thought for the entire walk, barely noticing when Steve has to pull her out of the path of a cyclist or jogger.

When they arrive, she slips her hand from his, pushes her hair back from her face and holds her head high. A glimmer of silver light flashes as they walk through the entrance and, when Steve glances to her to say something, his words get caught in his throat at the sight of her.

The scars, layered away behind walls of magic, are invisible and no longer does she wear clothes that are oversized. Instead, she's taken a leaf out of Natasha's book and donned the same training gear she'd been given on the day she'd met Agent Radcliffe. The material hugs her body, the ring zipper pulled just high enough for decency and practicality and her hair bound into effortless curls compared to the strangled messy bun it had previously been collected into.

"Don't look at me like that," Lusine mutters, glancing over to him with a straining expression. "It'll be easier if I just keep appearances up."

"You know you don't have to," Steve says, wishing he could soothe whatever insecurity plagued her, but, ultimately, he knows it's going to take a lot more than him to settle her mind into acceptance of her new form.

"I want to," She replies stubbornly. Places like this, weakness had to be hidden. If found, it would be exploited to no end. Used for blackmail. She would not be manipulated. "They're never going to respect me if I show up to train them in old trousers and a shirt. Like this, maybe they'll think twice."

"They'd have to be stupid to challenge you," Steve shoots back, doing his best to soothe her 'worst-case-scenario' mentality she had an overarching habit to slip into.

Her mouth turns into a smile, twice as deadly as the devil's. "You'd be surprised. I think Fury is going to give me the stubborn ones. Maybe he thinks I'll scare them into obedience, but they're the kind of idiots who would challenge an Asgardian." She tucks her hair behind her ear a she shakes her head. "They're just lucky the only Asgardian here is at her weakest."

"Your weakest is still dangerous," A familiar voice says, perfectly digging the shovel right under her skin.

"Well," Lusine pushes her smile wider, ripping the mask to her ears, "it's good to see you again too, Romanoff."

"Why is she here, Steve?" Natasha asks, completely ignoring the jab sent in her direction.

"Director Fury has asked Lusine to help with training," He answers, attempting to remain as neutral as possible when pushed between two women who, very evidently, didn't enjoy one another's company.

"That's probably the worst idea he's ever had," She complains, clearly bewildered as to why he would be okay with bringing in a woman who'd very nearly killed one of their own.

Lusine takes a step forward, which immediately makes Natasha tense every muscle in preparation for defence. If Lusine notices this, she only grins in that offset way that sends most opponents into spirals of doubt and questioning.

"He gave you a second chance, didn't he?" Is all she asks. And it's enough to set Natasha's jaw tight. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." Lusine strides past her and down the corridor, Steve following close behind.

When he catches up, the grin she'd expertly crafted from shards of ice is replaced by a face like thunder and eyes even more clouded than the snarl across her mouth.

"Please just help me get to where I need to be," Lusine says, her voice wooden where it had once been light and wrought with air.

"Okay," Steve replies, complying to her request.

Little was said in the short walk to the training room where Olea and Florian would be waiting for her arrival. While Steve burns with a multitude of questions he couldn't bring himself to ask, Lusine focuses on the sound of her boots clicking against the tiles, centres her breathing, pushes the pulsating darkness back into its cage and locks the door.

"Well," Steve says with a heavy sigh, coming to a stop at the door, "this is the room."

Lusine offers a wobbling smile to him. An olive branch where distance had grown. "Thank you," She replies quietly.

Where her hands wind together, the inky lightning bolts stain her skin. If he could've reached out and smudged them away, he would've.

"Stop looking at me like that," She scolds, but there is little force behind her words as her mouth curls into an odd, lopsided smile. "If you're not going to tell me what's on your mind, don't look at me like that, Steve."

"I'm sorry." He scratches the back of his neck, glancing his eyes from the woman he knew could bring rage raining down at any wrong move. Though he trusted her endlessly, she was still unpredictable, especially when freshly wound up by a sour taste.

Her jaw clenches as she sighs through her nose. "No, I'm the one who should apologise. I suppose I'm already on edge and coming face to face with someone you'd rather not see doesn't help me to keep balance."

Lusine grits her teeth and places a hand on the wall. The glittering silver magic consumes them into its illusion, whispering as it cracks and folds its lies into shape. With fingertips of one still on the wall and a flickering of indigo in her magnetising eyes, Steve reaches out to her, no longer afraid she would shatter beneath his touch. Not that he thought her fragile in the slightest. No, he wouldn't dream of the thought, but he knew when she was close to being dragged beyond the only line saving her.

"Illusions have always been my speciality," She tells him with a smile that wasn't flooded with the happiness that should've been its honourable companion. "I don't want you to worry about me snapping into that... monster just because Natasha has made it known she doesn't value my company. If I didn't like you so much I'd almost find it insulting."

Steadily, her hand slides from the wall and, quietly, she is thankful she doesn't stumble through the strain she can already feel tugging on her.

"But, I want to be very honest with you, Steve." Lusine's eyes, impossibly, flicker a shade darker as the self-proclaimed monster sharpens a claw along the searing light. "If she makes an attempt on my life, it will be the last thing she ever does, friend of you or not."

Her laugh is low. Rumbles through her body as if it were a quake tremoring the Earth itself. Low and dark. Fractured by time and far, far beyond repair. Its owner cradles the shards, slices her hands, drinks in the blood and smiles a crimson smile. Red teeth fit for the demon.

"You don't need to kill to defend yourself," Steve tries, taking a step towards her, which she allows for, but makes no attempt to mirror.

"Oh, I know that, but you mistake my control for a cure. I cannot be cured. Do not forget who I am." She takes two steps back, the illusion shattering into a million stars around them and scattering around their feet. "Maybe Agent Romanoff is wise to mistrust me. I would too."

She looks down, smoothing out her clothes as the cogs click into place for Steve. As he reaches his realisation, she turns and slips into the room, not giving him a chance to ask the new question that he knows will echo inside of his brain for the rest of the day.

Shouting into the void with no answers coming back, only the sound of his own voice hitting a wall he couldn't even see.

-

1894 words
4.11.18

i have essays im sorry