𝗗𝗜𝗚𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘

Going Under

AEI: i was complaining abt this chapter on tiktok like 'guys it's so bad' and just generally whinging, but i read it through and it's actually only mediocre so ignore my dramatics 😭

anyways, complete chaos in my household at the moment so updates are coming slow, but they're still coming!!! i live in fear of those people who abandon fics. 

ANYHOW, ENJOY!

Isabell knows Sam Wilson's sister.

Sam Wilson's sister knows Isabell.

Sitting in his kitchen and peeling potatoes for some sort of community lunch that she's been told to help with, Isabell is very much pretending not to.

According to James, they were only dropping by to give Sam the very mysterious 'No, Isabell, You Don't Need To Know What's Inside It' briefcase, but now, they are apparently helping to fix a boat. And feed an entire town.

Isabell just wants to go home.

She's tired and grumpy and hungry, and she would much rather just curl up on James' couch and watch TV with him forever. However, Louisiana sun and Sam's face are things that make him happy, and Isabell has been trying to be more open-minded lately, so she isn't protesting.

As a reward, she's been given a 'You're an angel, doll', a hug from Sam and a mountain of potatoes.

And Sarah Wilson.

Who knows her. And knows James. And is keeping it a secret, but Isabell knows she knows, because she winked at her outside. It was a very telling sort of wink.

An 'I remember when you were in my house ten years ago and I fed you' sort of wink. An 'I know you were an assassin on the run back then' sort of wink.

A wink that Isabell very much doesn't like. She's beginning to hope that a potato peeler is an adequate weapon.

Across the room, Sarah is putting something in the oven and trying to direct two young boys out of her cooking space. However, when she catches Isabell staring at her, she simply smiles back serenely.

Isabell does not trust calm people. The people she grew up with tended to kill first, ask questions later. Calm people think things through.

She is not familiar with that.

So, Isabell keeps her distance and instead, she watches Sam and James out of the window. They're laughing together, half-bickering over something to do with the stupid boat, and she hates herself for hating them.

The inner, trapped child of Isabell's brain still thinks that James is hers. That nobody else is allowed to breathe near him, and that if they do, she'll fucking skin them.

Back in HYDRA, ownership was everything. The men owned her and she owned her team, and whatever scraps you had control over, you'd kill to keep. Isabell had seen limbs broken over literal crumbs of food, any clothes a little less raggedy than the rest.

James was the first thing that ever really felt like her own. Something special, precious, shiny; fragile in her shaky hands like a heart made from gold.

The urge to own him still comes back occasionally; rearing its ugly head in a hungry, primal sort of way. However, ever since Steve, Isabell has been learning how to share.

She hates it, of course, but it's tolerable.

She can cope.

Sort of.

Isabell's eyes narrow as she watches James' grin widen, and with her attention off the actual task at hand, the potato peeler slips and slices straight across the soft flesh of her hand. She hisses as blood starts spilling.