Here it is: a mixture of detail and pacing. Let me know what you think, please. Not sure if I've gotten the exact balance so feedback is greatly welcome!
Hope you enjoy.
MedStar Hospital Center
2100 hours
Natasha Romanoff sat up straight, tossing behind the sheets that covered her sore body. She slowly leapt off of the hospital bed, shoving her feet into the slippers that lay beside it. Her body was still sore, yet her mind was …Hearing Steve's voice on the other end of the line had given her a jolt—like an unwanted yet oddly welcoming blast from the past. Still, a part of her found it to be unsurprising, considering the levels SHIELD would go to, to protect one of their best assets—in this case, the good Captain. He had made some small talk on the phone, asked her about her injuries; yet his serious tone relayed a more pressing issue that seemed to latch onto his mind.
Grabbing her mug from the side stand, she hurriedly downed the last of her drink, simultaneously fitting in 2 tablets of aspirin. The warmth of the chocolate enhanced its sweet flavor, diminishing the sour taste of the pills. Pulling her hoodie over the hospital garb she was wearing, she grabbed her bag and headed towards the hallway. Before she left, she snuck one final look around the room that had helped heal her. Civilian. She opened the door to the room, heading down the dimly lit hallway and into an open elevator. Silence kept her company.
The black SUV at the drop-off point near the hospital was still running, its headlights flickering off and on towards her, twice now. SHIELD, she knew, as she made her way to the vehicle, hopping in the back seat. Natasha hadn't bothered to check out, simply waltzing past the front desk—the thick of her hoodie covering most of her face. The attendants were busy with the phones and her vibrant red hair was nowhere in sight. Even if they missed her, they'd never follow up on it. They wouldn't be able to—she had checked in under yet another alias.
Closing the door of the SUV, she uncovered her head and looked directly at the reflection in the rear-view mirror. Despite the darkness, Natasha recognized the jagged, unflinching gaze of the figure in the driver's seat—an eye-patch covering one side. The SUV made its way onto the main road and Natasha smirked knowingly at the figure in the mirror.
"Good to have you back, Agent Romanoff".
"Good to be back, Nick".
For what felt like forever, Natasha Romanoff found herself still sitting in the back seat of the SUV, the vehicle gradually veering along the almost deserted road. Wherever they were taking her was a place she'd likely never been to before, her surroundings only serving to confuse her. She hated long drives like these simply because the silence they bore, forced her to contemplate upon her past; forced her to reconcile with her less than ethical choices. She had no time to live in the past.
Finally, the SUV veered off left into a side street that ended in a cul-de-sac. It came to rest in the driveway of a small brick and tile, surrounded by a black metal fence and featuring a neatly manicured lawn—the smell of fresh cut grass still lingering in the air. Obviously another safe house made inconspicuous by the cover of Suburbia, Natasha thought, getting out of the car.
"Well, you guys have certainly upgraded," she said aloud, her sarcasm taking the form of words.
"Who said anything about this being under SHIELD?" came the reply.
An arched eyebrow later and Natasha followed Fury into the house, the cover of darkness rendering them both, invisible.
Upon entering the house, Natasha was taken aback by the apparent normalcy it bore. She half expected it to be an empty vessel over run by agents, stripped down to accommodate everything SHIELD. Contrarily, pleasant peach coloured walls, covered in photos and vintage artwork met her gaze and curiosity got the better of her; she walked over to examine them. The first frame she saw was faded, its edges marred by small cuts; it was obviously an old family photo showing two young girls, sisters perhaps, arms around each other's shoulders in a sideways hug. Natasha did not recognize either of them.
"Nice touch with the photos by the way, Fury", she said in continued disbelief, following him farther down the hallway.
It was only upon entering the main living area of the house, that Natasha realized her judgment had been wrong. The place was fully furnished with a personal touch—one, that turned a house into a home. There were more frames covering the walls, in addition to two large mahogany showcases placed at opposing points within the lounge area; the ornaments and trinklets they held served to enhance their own uniqueness, as well as the overall décor of the place.
Natasha made her way to the wooden dining table, removing her slippers and placing her handbag on the floor beside her. She let her eyes wander around the home once more—this time, paying closer attention to certain pictures in their frames. One of them, an 8 by 12 portrait on a side table caught her eye and she moved towards it, picking it up and examining it. Her expression soon turned to one of recognition as she continued to stare at the picture.
"Hill," she said aloud, turning around to face Fury. "This is Hill's place?"
"One and only," came the reply, as Fury approached her, a cup of strong black coffee in his hand. He handed the drink to Natasha then made his way to a seat at the table.
"After the helicarriers, we've had to amass all of our resources; unfortunately, because of Hydra's role in all of this, we've had considerable losses, including access to many of the safe houses we originally thought were under SHIELD. For now, this'll have to do," Fury replied, nodding at the surroundings.
"Nice of her," Natasha replied, referencing Hill, "We could have been followed you know. There isn't…"
"Relax Agent Romanoff," Fury interrupted, "We damn well made sure to dot our I's and cross our T's. Where do you think this place is located?".
Natasha raised an eyebrow then got up abruptly from her seat, making her way to a window nearby. She looked out, peering into the dark of the night. Despite the houses scattered around and the tall buildings lining the main road, she could make out the dim glow of the sign she'd been looking for. MedStar Hospital Center. Natasha's eyes widened, realizing the implication of Fury's earlier comment.
"So…you spent almost two hours driving to a place that's about 15 minutes away from the hospital? Nice"
"We had to make sure we weren't being followed. 'Sides…a detour ain't so bad. Gives you time to think," Fury smirked, taking a sip of his own coffee.
"That's exactly what's so bad, Nick. Time to think," the red head smirked, turning back to the window.
"Hill and Steve are on the way, by the way. You might want to get comfortable".
Natasha didn't reply; instead, she just continued to stare at the scene outside, hypnotized by the neon lights and the faint buzzing of traffic amidst the now dormant metropolis. She wondered about her future, as a slight tension arose in her mind for the first time in a long time.
She had great expectations going into SHIELD…going straight, yet the events of the recent past made her question the very basis of her morality. She wondered how different her path would have been, had she stuck to being a spy. Probably colder…more secure, she thought, as she took another sip of her hot drink. Working for the KGB was tough business; still, it gave her a strict degree of efficiency through their constant emphasis on detachment. As a result, it made her question, somewhat, her decision to defer from her original path.
The on-coming sound of wheels on pavement pulled her out of her trance, and she turned around to face the entrants, a slight tingle in her abdomen. Seeing Steve after…well, after his apparent death, was sure to be an interesting way to end the day. The only thing that bothered her was the fact that she hadn't cried upon learning of his passing; at least, not in the way she'd done so for Nick. It had haunted her for days after.
The door of the house opened and the sound of footsteps made their way to the dining area, bringing with them two visitors.
Hill was first in the dining area, a large duffel bag in her grip. The dark-haired woman made her way to Fury, giving him a light hug and setting the bag on the floor. Natasha was surprised somewhat by the rather explicit display of affection between the two agents, but chalked it up to the inevitable sense of camaraderie encouraged by an organization like SHIELD. Hill turned to nod at Natasha who returned the gesture with a tight smile.
"Good to see you Agent Romanoff. How are you feeling?"
"Not bad, Agent Hill," the former spy lied, "Can't complain when you're still living, right?"
Natasha received a friendly nod from Hill.
Finally, the second entrant made his way to the dining room and despite the dim lighting, Natasha could make out the tall, broad-shouldered man walking towards her. He had worn casual attire—a fitted hoodie and dark jeans and his head was covered in a baseball cap. A hero on his day off, Natasha thought as she looked up to meet his gaze. The composed demeanor she usually upheld vanished amidst the onset of a wide smile on her face. She disliked having to acknowledge her obvious admiration for the Captain. She was almost envious of him at times; he was pure, honorable—things that were inapplicable to her own inherent nature.
"Back from the dead, I suppose," she quipped, still grinning and making her way to the Captain. He returned the smile—a warm, genuine one that seemed to overpower the chaotic aura clinging to their current predicament. Then again, this was Steve, a man who believed in hope against hope. He drew her into a light hug and Natasha closed her eyes against his shoulders, before pulling back and returning to her seat.
Hydra base
2130 hours
"Strip him then chain him. Douse him with the hose"
The Winter Soldier came to consciousness, still weakened by the shock that had engulfed his body mere moments before. It had torn through his ligaments, a powerful surge of white hot current that had numbed his form; turning his limbs into butter under a hot knife. He had collapsed soon after.
He opened his eyes to examine his surroundings and realized he was in a strange area—one, not accessible under his security pass. His eyes squinted around the…room? No, it did not look like a room. More like…
The area resembled the shower n' shave quarters of an army base—open cubicles covered in white tiles, a layer of dark grime turning the white into a pale green. The air was cold within and a series of dim, blue tinted bulbs evoked an eeriness, only surpassed by the soldier's anxiety over the events to come. It was a holding area—one that was used for interrogating suspects and containing hostiles. The soldier knew.
Containment, he said under his breath, slowly recognizing the place where he'd been a willing participant in, many times prior. He had inflicted horrific levels of pain upon his unfortunate victims…literally strangling the truth out of them.
One of the four guards roughly pushed the soldier towards the cubicle before him, and the soldier realized why he had been particularly disabled as he tilted his fingers to feel the metal clasps of the handcuffs around his wrist. Vibranium. Of course; anything less and he could have easily torn through the steel like it was paper. Reaching the cubicle, he was shoved roughly against the side wall and surrounded by three of the guards, their rifles trained firmly onto his form—one at his head, two on his chest. The fourth guard pulled out an army knife from the side of his boot, and flicked it open. He used the sharp end to cut through the hoodie covering the soldier's chest—diagonal gashes revealing bare skin underneath. This was repeated for the bottom part of the soldier's attire, following a swift slash of the blade.
The Winter Soldier now stood naked before the guards, and the cold air clung to his skin. He knew what would inevitably follow having been aware of this form of torture, albeit more so on the executing end. The soldier gritted his teeth and braced himself, as the guard with the knife chained his already handcuffed wrists to the back wall of the cubicle. He was exposed now, the skin of his bare back meeting the cold tiles of the wall…meeting dirt and gunk, sending shivers of disgust up his spine. The whole process was a method of dehumanizing the prisoner, degrading them as sub-human…expendable. They would strip you first to humiliate you, to reduce you down to the core of worthlessness. Then…
The soldier looked on, as the guard with the knife joined his comrades against the wall facing the cubicle. One of them reeled in a thick hose and turned on the pump, his eyes gleaming…taunting the soldier who returned an unflinching glare. Soon, the water came rushing out, bringing with it the cold and the force of agony as it lashed against the soldier…the prisoner.
Hill Residence
Sometime after midnight.
"What exactly are you insinuating, Steve?" an inquisitive Natasha questioned, seated in her chair yet teaming with slight frustration.
Following the short-termed reunion, Fury had gotten down to business, relaying his plans to re-build Shield. The journey so far detailed the recouping of clean agents, and the "strategic embedment of Shield within Hydra" as Fury so eloquently pointed out; just like Hydra had once done to Shield. Taste of their own medicine.
"Moles?" Natasha repeated in continued irritation, "It's never going to work, Nick. If Hydra corrupted Shield so meticulously and without raising any suspicion, they've probably considered the possibility of Shield doing the same. They'd smell a rat a mile away".
She got up from her seat in frustration and started pacing around the dining area. Steve simply looked at her frenetic form.
"We wouldn't be considering this possibility if it hadn't already been done, Natasha," Steve said, eyes resting on the red-haired woman.
Natasha looked up in surprised at the implication. Had they…already infiltrated Hydra?
"Shield's already intercepted Hydra? When? How?" Natasha questioned, incredulous at the apparent delay in filling her in on the development. What else were they keeping from her? Was this yet another excuse for Fury to "compartmentalize" his work without any accountability? The thought made her irate as she looked to them for an explanation, a raised eyebrow emphasizing her distaste.
"Not…Shield, per say," Fury replied this time, "At least, not any of our ranked agents. Natasha, we were …lucky that things developed the way they did. It was coincidence but we're taking it as it is" the former director of Shield continued, sliding a brown folder across to her.
Natasha picked up the file and opened it, her eyes scanning the pages within. Fury continued.
"One of our lower level recruits—started out on bodyguard detail for the higher-ups of Shield; planned to work his way up," Fury explained, watching Natasha as she sussed out the information before her, "After the helicarrier incident, he'd infiltrated one of Hydra's bases alongside a few other agents; the whole unit got taken out, except for him. Somehow, he'd managed to evade them. The last message he left was through a line monitored by Shield".
As he said this, Nick Fury reached into his pocket and drew out a USB; he attached it to the laptop on the table and opened one of the files stored on the device. It was an audio recording, and despite the mild interference of static, Natasha could make out the faint voice…a message, conveyed through the recording. It was from the recruit who had survived.
Tracker one, one, five, two; respond? Location, Washington Federal underground. FUGAZI. Reporting contact and engagement with hostiles, five known casualties for Shield. Enemy casualties, unknown.
Natasha looked on, recognizing the distinct use of jar-head slang. FUGAZI; Fucked up, Got Ambushed, Zipped In. The voice on the recording continued, gradually increasing in intensity.
This is Roj, clearance level 2, Shield recruit. Remaining, known survivor of Shield Unit Five A, taking a WAG and tailing enemy. Going Native, rolling out; over.
WAG, the term struck Natasha; Wild-ass Guess. This guy was definitely ex-military.
The recording had subsided as the room filled with the grey sound of static. Fury removed the USB and pocketed it, turning to look at Natasha.
"This means nothing Nick," the red-haired woman said, "For all we know, he could be dead right now".
"…except, he isn't," It was Steve's turn. Natasha turned around to face her comrade, "Shield issues its recruits with tracking monitors—not to verify location, but to keep tabs on heart-rate…vitals. Don't worry, its optional, Natasha" he added, seeing the look of concern on the former spy's face.
Steve continued, "Roj…his monitor is still blinking. He's still alive. We don't have the exact whereabouts of his location but we may have an idea as to what happened after the recording"
Natasha raised an eyebrow, skeptical in her outlook. So, a shield recruit had started tailing the Hydra unit that had ambushed them. So fucking what? How could he possibly embed himself without anyone being the wiser? And yet, the apparent persistence of his tracking monitor served to destroy any illusions she held regarding the recruit's capabilities. Could he really have gotten that far?
"Shield monitored his heart rate post ambush; normal indication generally—what we call a sitting rate. A few spikes occasionally, consistent with short bursts of moderate activity—fairly mundane. That might not convey much, but we found something interesting," Fury stated.
He slid a piece of paper with an image of a heart rate reading.
"About 20, 25 minutes post ambush, the monitor picked up a sharp spike in his heart rate activity. Around 160 beats per minute. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out its pretty damn high, right?"
Steve continued, "A spike that high is usually an indication of significant cardiovascular strain, consistent with sprinting, or…sparring; combat. Shield had already monitored Roj's highest sprinting rate during training—it came in at 191 a minute; way too high to fit the current bill. That leaves the possibility of combat"
"Slight possibility," Natasha interrupted, still skeptical.
"It's something we're willing to follow up on. We think he may have cornered a Hydra agent, engaged with him—which is what set off the spike—then assumed his cover"
Natasha laughed—a haughty, mocking tone coating her display of disbelief. This was ridiculous, the assumptions they made based purely on circumstantial evidence. Steve was obviously interested in the prospect of initiating a rescue operation to liberate his friend; his former friend who likely had no memory of the Captain. It was a futile sentiment—something that Natasha personally made every effort to disregard; the burden of saving another person's life only served to obstruct your own. She knew this all too well.
She shuddered slightly as her mind briefly reverted back to an incident in her past—one that saw her in Steve's current position, one that dealt with a comrade…a man she once knew…
No…she wouldn't cry over split milk, even if that meant burying the burden of her past transgressions. Of what she did, once upon a time...to him…or didn't do.
NO!
She wouldn't cry over spilt milk. Natasha never cried.
"Natasha?"
She quickly shook off her trance, turning towards Fury this time. Looking him in the eye, she stated her case.
"So, suppose our mole did assume a cover. How do we use it to our advantage? We don't know his location nor do we know whether he's still alive", Natasha pleaded, "Him breaking into Hydra six days ago doesn't equal him still being alive! They could've found it. He could be…"
"There is something else," Fury added, "I think this may change your mind".
Fury reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone, unlocking it. After scrolling some, he found what he was looking for. He handed it to Natasha who examined the small screen before her.
"The last message he ever sent on a SHIELD issued device; we haven't been able to get a signal since," Fury relayed.
It was a message, sent around 5 days ago—the day after the ambush. Natasha squinted at the screen, trying to decipher the text therein. Only, it wasn't text; it contained a series of numbers. An IP address!, she realized. Roj had somehow gotten access to a computer, saving and sending the IP address to Fury. Below the numbers, was another succinct line—a date and a time. He wants to chat.
"We're working on finding an open port to the IP; it may give us a brief window before Hydra's firewall kicks in. The date specifies the coming Monday—0900 hours, which is what our guys are working towards," Fury continued, sipping his coffee, "That gives us a little over 48 hours, Natasha"
The red-haired woman simply listened, her once irate expression subsiding into a mild curiosity as to the turn of events. If they did in fact establish contact, the game would change. The door to her past—the one she had taken such careful precaution to weld shut—would eventually become unlocked. They would know—Fury, Rogers, Hill; they all would know. Natasha couldn't have that.
"He'll die you know," Natasha countered, referring to Roj, "As soon as you establish a line, if at all, they'll find out. It will be flagged. They monitor their hired hands too, you know. Once they find a blip on their radar, once they come across any inconsistency, however small, they'll shut down the base and declare damage control. They'll trap the rat, Nick. They'll kill him".
The former spy pressed on—the manipulative tactics she had learnt from way back when, aiding her in her conquest. She slid the brown folder back to Fury. The cover was open, revealing the front page within.
"Could you let that happen?" She asked nodding at the open folder, "He's a rookie, Nick. Considering his inexperienced background under SHIELD, I think it's best if we leave it for a few weeks. Let him settle in properly before he can try to reach us again. Let him retain some security, bond more with the people he's fallen in with".
Fury contemplated upon the proposal for a few moments, his gaze wandering to the open file before him. The front page detailed some general background information on the recruit—Roj; his vitals, his past experience in the military, his specific expertise.
A small black and white photo was pinned to the top right-hand corner—displaying his ID photo. Fury eyed the picture; the man was young—23 years old, with remarkable green eyes and close cropped blond hair, jarhead style. An overlap from his days as a grunt. His face bore an unexpected innocence, inconsistent with the fatigue of war.
Fury's face betrayed reluctance and Natasha masked her satisfaction with concern.
Hydra base
Fifteen minutes under the harsh force of ice cold water lashing out at you…hitting every part of your body; the cold—cutting through your core, similar to the feeling of being stabbed repeatedly by the sharp end of a knife. Fifteen minutes, yet it felt like a lifetime.
After the torture he had endured, the Winter Soldier found himself being led to another area on the floor. He was half naked now, the replacement pair of pants covering his lower frame doing a poor job of keeping him warm. The vibranium handcuffs were still enclosed around his wrists, rubbing harshly against his skin. The cold was damning…penetrating, yet his body rejected the onset of its chill as his core fought to retain any and all heat from the rest of his form.
He was angry too—livid that they had subjected him to the exact same agony he once specialized in administering. The soldier stayed silent in his animosity and they led him into a dimly lit room, seating him on an uncomfortable chair. They soon left, and he found himself alone.
As he waited in silence, the chained man found himself contemplating upon the memories that had surfaced within the previous days. His experiences with the man on the helicarrier, as well as his apparent fight with the red-haired woman were of particular significance. They, Hydra, were obviously not telling him everything, and it was highly likely that following up on the Captain would lead to a dead end. For now anyway.
Then, there was the case of the woman. If the experience he'd just endured was any indication of an actual memory, it was likely that he had come across this woman sometime in his past. He had fought against her, that was evident, yet there was something of a familiarity that had latched onto his recollection; as if, the memory was one of many and her presence exceeded that of just one occasion.
Fought with her…against her…alongside her?
Did he know her?
His folder contained briefings on all of his missions, yet they were not as detailed as he'd hoped. Pierce would give him what he needed.
In doing so, perhaps her supposed role in his past would become clearer.
Hill Residence
"Can you really do it? Do you really only see it as sacrificing a pawn to save the King, Nick?"
Natasha wasn't budging. Fury sat in silence alongside Steve and Hill.
"The thing you have to realize, Natasha, is that whilst his death is a possibility, it's not a guarantee. That would depend on the skills he picked up in training to evade them again. Chances are, we'll find out the location before they even get near him. Shield agents…"
"…recruits, Nick. Roj isn't a full-fledged agent yet, only a recruit…," countered Natasha, sipping her coffee, the bitter taste settling on her tongue.
"Agent…recruit…the janitor who works the graveyard shift, the point is Natasha, every affiliate of SHIELD comes to the table knowing full well that casualties are a part of the job. You out of all people should know this".
"If he wasn't sure…if he wasn't ready, he wouldn't have relayed the final message, Natasha," Steve spoke this time, his warm eyes trying to search for the Natasha he once fought alongside with, "We're going to have to act accordingly. It may give us more info on the whereabouts of Pierce, not to mention the possibility of rescuing Bucky".
"We're not operating on full power but we're gradually increasing our resources," Fury said, "We could use all the help we can get. We could certainly use someone with your skill set, Agent Romanoff"
Romanoff turned to Steve, her gaze holding his own. Something about her was different, Steve noticed.
"Your friend…Barnes," the former spy retorted coldly, "He's gone".
Hydra base
About a half hour later, the door opened and the soldier met the gaze of Pierce. The older man was alone and he made his way to the chained man at the centre, his face evoking a sinister look.
"You put one of the guards in an induced coma, soldier," Pierce began sternly, "the force of your arm… your other arm, caused severe internal bleeding in his brain. Hemorrhaging. Not a good way to die".
The soldier did not reply, neither did he look at Pierce, simply choosing to gaze coldly ahead.
"The other guard suffered a broken arm. They'll stitch him up…he'll heal. It will be painful though, extremely so", Pierce continued, taunting the soldier with an imposing guilt, "Certain actions have consequences, son. Punishment is nature's way of restoring balance. Karma. You understand that, don't you, son?".
The soldier winced at Pierce's use of the term 'son'. He was doing it again—trying to purposely initiate some false connection with the soldier so as to keep him under obligation; to command submission. In fact, the more the soldier interacted with Pierce, the more aware he became of the man's manipulative tendencies. For a brief moment, he felt remorse for the damage he had unwittingly done to the two guards. This however, soon faded, when he reminded himself that they were associated with Hydra, and that they were loyal to Pierce; the man he had come to hate.
He ignored Pierce's remarks, choosing to touch upon something different.
"My file," the soldier started, "How accurate is it?"
The question startled Pierce who was not expecting it.
"We've done the best we could, son", Piece countered, "We can specifically confirm the events stated in the file, as those that were a part of your past"
There he goes again, the soldier thought, jaws tightening.
"What about the man on the helicarrier?"
Pierce was caught off-guard once again.
"What man?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"The man…Captain America…he said he knew me, he knew my…"
"He was lying to you, soldier," Pierce interrupted, irritation in his voice, "The man lied to you. He was your enemy for God's sake. Of course he would have said anything to throw you off guard".
The Winter Soldier looked skeptical and Pierce pressed his case.
"I had a brief word with the psychiatrist, son. Your memories—they're fickle. It's a part of the healing process. Your mind is a hotbed of confusion right now; in its quest to piece together a broken past, sometimes, it creates new memories…false ones. It's your mind's futile attempt to form a timeline; to make sense of the senseless"
As Pierce said this, he approached the soldier, coming down to meet the chained man at eye level. The soldier simply ignored this, choosing to stare ahead.
"You have to trust our ability to help you with finding out about your past…James"
The utterance of that word…that name; it did not serve to invoke any empathy from the soldier. Pierce patted the younger man lightly on his back, then reached around and unlocked the vibranium cuffs himself. The soldier was surprised at this display of bravado by the man. There were no guards in the room, no one to watch over the old man. If the soldier wanted to, he could have killed Pierce on the spot, right here and now with none the wiser. And yet, he was momentarily stunned at Pierce's reference to him by his real name—one that bore an indescribable feeling; one that was hard to place.
Pierce turned to approach the exit, but before walking through the door, the older man stopped to relay one final word to the now unchained man.
"We have a mission tomorrow. Nothing complicated, just an extraction so you won't have to get your paws dirty," Pierce grinned, "Mission brief will be at 0500 hours; Rumlow will take the lead. I expect you there on time, James".
"Don't call me that," the soldier said sharply, looking straight at Pierce, "That name—James; don't call me by that name. I'm not him".
As if to illustrate the seriousness of this request, the soldier stood up from the chair, all 6 plus feet, all 260 pounds of his solid yet lean frame and approached the area where Pierce stood. The older man was shorter, reaching slightly above the soldier's bare chest. The soldier came to stand before Pierce and for the first time, he thought he detected a hint of fear in the man before him; perhaps a creeping sense of intimidation…of being the prey instead of the predator.
"I need further details of past missions," the soldier spoke, looking Pierce stark in the eye, "Every unit I was in, every comrade I worked alongside, every enemy I fought against; I want all of it". It was brief and stern. No room for negotiating.
It almost sounded like an order, Pierce thought, something completely unexpected on the soldier's part. Perhaps they were wrong about him.
Pierce nodded, "Of course, son. We'll organize it for you as soon as possible", then, "0500 hours, soldier. Better get some rest".
The Winter Soldier ignored the man, brushing past him. He made his way to the guards waiting at the elevator to escort him to his room.
On the way to his quarters, the soldier saw something that caught his attention; the guard walking in front of him had a rectangular-shaped card strapped to his belt—his security pass. It was different to the soldier's own pass, however, in that, it had an additional green stripe across the front. The soldier had noticed this peculiar feature on several other guards and higher ranking personnel operating within the facility—their access cards often taking them to areas restricted by his own security pass. He made a mental note of this, giving a brief nod to the guards before closing the door to his room.
Alexander Pierce looked on as the soldier was led away to his quarters. A few moments later, he made his way to the elevator himself, pressing the button for level 8—the floor housing his office. On the way there, he made a phone call, one that went straight to the point.
"What's the status update on the machine?"
What made a normal heart? What was 'normal' anyway, apart from being grossly overrated?
Natasha Romanoff never put herself in a position of compromise, especially where relationships were concerned. Sure, some short-termed engagements with her comrades during missions did not bother her; it had allowed for a taste of normalcy. Still, their benefits lay in the fact that they were merely temporary. In that period, she was loyal to the core; anything after and…well, she never stuck around to find out.
She had learnt a long time ago that her life was far from conventional and as such, her path did not require her to conform to the conventions of typical social relationships; or romantic ones, for that matter. You get close to people, and soon there's an unspoken obligation to uphold some kind of sentiment on your end. It was almost contractual. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Whereas, you keep them at a distance, and you won't feel so bad when it comes time to suddenly sever all ties with them; to drop them unexpectedly…or perhaps even kill them. Like that time when Natasha put a few bullets in the back of one James Buchanan Barnes—her fellow comrade. Of course, back then, he was known by a different name.
So when they'd asked Natasha Romanoff to be a part of the new mission against Hydra—one that would help thaw out The Winter Soldier—she had politely declined.
Thank you for reading/commenting.