New chapter! This story will kind of swing between the past and present for the first few chapters, but will focus more and more in the present as time goes on.
Thank-you to everyone who left a review!
WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS IMPLIED SEXUAL ASSAULT. PLEASE SEE END OF CHAPTER FOR NOTES IF THAT AIN'T YOUR THING
November 12th 2002; 1745 Hours
"Get up," a voice growls. Deep. Disdainful.
He complies, though his muscles scream at the movement. He feels lethargic. The cold lingers in his bones painfully; like ice crystals that have yet to melt. He ignores the weapons pointed his way. Previous experiences have taught him that resistance is met with beatings. Or worse.
For a moment he searches his memories- tries to recall what he had done the last time they had let him out. He must have done something wrong; all that he can sense is the gaping void of burnt-out memories and the shrieking pain of the chair.
He settles on the task at hand.
"You will be working with the Morrigan," the nameless handler says. In English- though the accent is American.
The Asset blinks. He's never worked with someone before (not that he can remember, at any rate); not in the truest sense of the term. He knows better than to question this.
The handler gives him the paper file; it's in Cyrillic. It's not the first time he has just been handed the file and brief for a mission, but it's not exactly a common occurrence either. Most of his handlers choose to just tell him what was expected. Something to do with restriction of information. He knows better than to say anything.
He takes the file and the handler moves back. There is a look on his face that speaks of disdain and disgust. It's not the first time he's seen them on a handler. Unlikely to be the last. A part of him- the weak, recalcitrant voice that rears its head rarely- wants to test him.
He bows his head in obedience instead.
A smirk appears on the handler's face, "Stay here," he orders, and leaves. His armed guards stay behind.
He waits in silence, the sound of paper turning and quiet breathing the only noise to interrupt it.
It was a training exercise. He and 'The Morrigan' were to be released into a small, abandoned military facility. They were to eliminate a long list of targets- mostly criminals; armed- within seventy-two hours with minimal damage to the environs. An exact number of targets were to be killed each day- failure to comply would be met with unspecified penalties. It means covert operations; limited fire power. Easy enough, with two people. Even with the unknown entity of 'The Morrigan'.
He eyes the notes on the Morrigan. Age and name are unspecified. Her talents are listed simply as 'magic/non-rational; covert operations'. If he could, he would probably be curious about that, but as the matter stands, he's certain he's going to find out about it sooner or later. He lingers on her short, but involved history. Over twenty missions in the past four years; more than he's probably done in a decade.
Not that he can be sure of that; time tends to run in stops and starts for him; it is rare for him to get a hold of a date. But her work is nothing if not thorough; her success rate is almost as infallible as his, though he can see that there are large gaps of time between her few failed missions and her next. Any history prior to 1996 is not mentioned.
The door opens quietly, but the sound of heavy, booted footsteps had preceded it by several minutes. The handler re-enters first, and a trio of men follow behind him. A girl stands between them. She is a head shorter than himself. Her footsteps are silent amongst the heavy sounds of combat boots.
Fragments of a red room flash through his mind. Of little girls forced to fight and kill. This girl is not one of them, he is sure. He blinks away the memory.
"You will be working with the Morrigan," the handler repeats unnecessarily.
He blinks again. She is younger than him by perhaps a decade, though her eyes- flat and cold- look far older. He takes in the clipped short hair, the willowy figure and the light brown eyes. She wears black combat pants, with reinforced knees and a vest similar to his own. He can see the glint of something silver wrapped around her throat, hidden somewhat by the leather of her collar. Her arms below the elbows are left bare- lightly scarred. He lingers on her right forearm; a strange, woody growth extends along the flat expanse of skin. It looks as though it's a natural part of her.
"Morrigan," the handler addresses the girl. Her eyes snap over to him, turning wide and guileless. She looks almost innocent in that moment.
"Master," she intones. The breathy quality of her voice is unnerving.
"You will work with the Asset on this mission. At 0400 hours both of you will be released on ground level. You both know your instructions." Her gaze slides over to him, only now paying him any attention. Her eyes hover over his left arm, but no expression shows on her face.
"And Morrigan," her attention flips back to their handler, as though tugged there by an unseen force, "Do not forget your secondary objective."
She bows her head, "As you wish, Master."
The handler smiles- a twisted, ugly thing- and leers at her, "Indeed." He sneers. He motions between the two of them, "Acquaintances made. Morrigan, come with me. You will remain here, Soldier. Do as you wish."
"Yes, Master," the girl replies and moves over to him, all sweet and unthinking compliance.
He leads her out of the room with a sun-spotted hand resting on the small of her back.
The Morrigan doesn't so much as flinch.
RIGHT, SO.
Yes, there is implied sexual assault in this fic. I'm not gonna lie- this is gonna be a dark and angsty fic, designed to explore the implications that Hermione's appearance will have on the Avengers team, and those that loved her before she was lost (I meam, she lost an eye, if that wasn't clear enough in the previous chapter).
But WITH THAT SAID, PK isn't going to really be focusing on the implied sexual abuse of Hermione, so much as her recovery (and Bucky's). So I mean, if sexual abuse ain't your thing, but you're okay with it remaining implied, and NEVER explicitly described, then by all means carry on reading. Especially if you enjoy angst.