Death.
You had never really thought about how you were going to die. Being an assassin, you were supposed to be the killer, not the one who was being killed.
You fell to your knees, gasping for air. Falling to your back in the wet grass, you stared at the night sky. You brought your hand up and wrapped it around the hilt of the black dagger that was protruding from your chest. If it wasn't you lying on the ground, you would be superbly impressed with the accuracy. It was a critical hit. You dropped your hand back down to the ground. You closed your eyes and made a mental checklist of your stats.
A lung was collapsed for sure. Breathing was becoming more and more difficult. You tasted the metallic tang of blood in your mouth. Internal bleeding, most likely from your esophagus being nicked. It was also worrying that you couldn't feel the blade in your chest. The area around the wound was numb. Come to think of it, you couldn't feel your left arm at all. You told your brain to move it, but nothing happened. You slowly rolled your head to the side and opened your eyes. Well your arm was still there, so you had another bad sign to add to the list. Numb limbs.
You coughed and watched as bright red blood spewed out of your mouth. You turned your head back to look at the sky again. The stars were pretty tonight. The moon was also extremely bright. Looking back, that is probably how you were seen. The moonlight probably reflected off the various weapons strapped to your body as you ran through the field.
The blade had hit you out of nowhere. One minute you were running back to the safe house after completing your task at hand and the next minute, you were stopped dead in your tracks by an exploding pain in your chest. Ha, dead… poor choice of words.
You were fighting to keep your eyes open. You just wanted to slee… No! You needed something to think about…
Bucky.
You two had grown close over the last year. Too bad you hadn't gotten the chance to tell him how you felt. At first, you and he couldn't stand the sight of each other. After he had come out of cryo, he struggled with his emotions. You had always seemed to get the anger portion. One day, you both were running on the treadmills in the training room in comfortable silence. Then he had looked over at you and pressed the button to up his speed on the machine. Not to be outdone, you increased yours. This little competition went on until he finally called uncle and stepped off the belt. He had smiled at you, you returned it… a friendship had been formed.
You, Steve and Bucky had become a unit. The three of you could communicate on missions without even saying a word. The captain, the soldier and the assassin.
You blinked rapidly as you felt the tears forming in your eyes. Funny that you weren't crying over dying… you were crying because this was going to be hell for Bucky and Steve.
A sound broke the silence of the night. Your brain was getting hazy, but you were pretty sure that was helicopter blades. You slammed your eyes shut as a blinding spotlight landed on you. The darkness behind your eyelids was welcoming. You tried to pry them back open when you heard yelling, but found that you just didn't have the energy too.
"Cap! Is it her?" a man's voice shouted over the blades whooshing in the air.
You felt a hand on the side of your neck, pressing into the pulse point below your ear.
"Please be alive… please be alive," you heard Steve chanting above you. You desperately wanted to give him some indication that you were but your energy was fading fast.
You had been trained to not fear death; to welcome it. But in that moment, as you surrendered yourself to the darkness that was consuming you…
You didn't want to die.