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November 15th 2002; 0526 Hours
She was better than him.
She was better. He could accept that. He didn't like it, but he could accept it.
It wasn't that she was better at combat than him. Yes, she had magic (and fuck but wasn't that an eye opener. Her powers are beyond anything he can ever remember encountering before), and in most circumstances he knew it was more than enough to eliminate her opponents, but her moves in combat were too raw- too unrefined. Whoever has trained her had been good, but not diligent (though at least they had taught her the benefits of ruthlessness). The Asset could see her openings- little vulnerabilities here and there that would be fatal were they enemies.
But the Morrigan was better in other ways.
A better asset. She did not have free reign- not within the Hydra facility, at any rate- but her guards were relaxed and apathetic of her presence, as though she didn't pose a threat to them. It spoke of past good behaviour- of a docility and obedience that he fundamentally lacked- even when his mind was stripped to the quick. Part of him wonders- as he watches her conjure tiny lights that flicker around her hands in the small hours of morning (at first he had been concerned, but she had promised him that they were only visible to the two of them)- if they'd ever even had the need to stick her in the Chair.
It's in the collar, he suspects. He's caught here more than once running her fingers across the torque of silver, her eyes empty and dead. He's certain she's not even sure of what she's doing. Part of him envies that level of surrender.
He breathes through his nose to settle himself and turns to look out the window of the attic they're holed up in. it's still pitch black outside; the sun won't rise for a few hours yet. He prepares for the daylight. They are not allowed to kill in the darkness… the first days had been easy, but now those who were left were the smart ones. The dangerous ones. They would prove the true challenge in their mission.
"You should rest." The Morrigan says suddenly. Her voice is soft, with the lyrical twist on an English accent.
"Sleep is not necessary." It is a default response, but true. Sleep is not needed for this mission, even if his eyelids feel dry and uncomfortable.
She hums- almost silent- an puts out the lights on her hand. The room is enveloped in darkness once again, "I did not say sleep. Though that is good too."
"I am… resting." He is unused to speaking this much. It is odd how much she likes to speak. Talking led to punishment, when words were given without permission. There are the faint memories of this lesson being burnt into him, but they have faded with time. The learnings remain though.
She eyes the plethora of weapons set in front of him. Most have been cleaned a number of times already this night. There is not much to do in the darkness but wait for the faint possibility of being discovered by their targets. It had taken two days for their prey to realize they were being hunted; now their nights are spent in hiding from their targets, waiting for dawn to break and the abandoned suburb to become theirs again. Sleep is a dangerous pastime.
"You should rest." She says again. He glares at her. The Morrigan purses her lips- a faint creasing around the mouth- and looks away. The fairy lights are re-conjured. He turns back to his weapons.
They wait in silence once more for the sun to rise.