Steve Rogers' POV

Ice. No other word in the English language could describe them. For that matter, no word in any other language could describe them. Whatever the word is for ice in French, German, or Spanish it just doesn't cut it. No offense, they're all lovely languages (Well, except for German) but those eyes are one thing and one thing alone. Short and to the point like a falling icicle yet somehow drawn out and elegant, like the way one melts. There they were, two snowflakes gazing out from beneath a horrifying mask, skull-like and blood red. The man probably didn't need a mask, I'm sure his face already betrayed the stone-cold signs that revealed the mind of a cunning, killing, psychopath. It was his eyes that should have been hidden, if only something could obscure those maniac yet chilling slits. Those eyes were evil, and insanity, and they were trained on me.

The ice was a sharp contrast to the fire that billowed forth around me, blocking out any chance of escape. The flames exploded from flamethrowers held by four HYDRA soldiers and they reflected on their masks. The twisting tails of orange and gold licked towards me and I raised my shield knowing full well that it would not protect me. The wily tongues of flame would simply around the edges. I was effectively trapped in a ring of fire but I knew exactly what would have me in the end. Ice. Those eyes were smiling, laughing even and at the moment I wanted more than anything not to be at that madman's mercy but, obviously, I didn't have a choice in the matter. Even burning to death is a better way to go than frostbite.

Okay, I am changing the rating and it's just for this next chapter. Uhh… I hate saying this but… Slash to follow.