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capkinkmod ([personal profile] capkinkmod) wrote in [community profile] capkink2014-02-11 08:29 pm

Prompt Post 1

Remember to title your comments, use appropriate warnings (or "choose not to warn"), and be civil. Embeds are not allowed.

At least one of the characters in your prompt must have been in Captain America: The First Avenger or Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

As of May 3, 2014, the spoiler policy is no longer in effect.

Update, April 22, 2014:
For fills, please use the following format:
Fill: Title
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SPOILERS Fill: Голубка [My Dove] {2A}

[personal profile] twinkats 2014-04-18 03:12 am (UTC)(link)

It took two days before boredom set in and the Soldier decided he'd better go and requisition a new rifle to replace the one he'd mangled. He'd put it off for two days, surveyed his target for two whole days and he felt pretty confident that even if he disappeared Nick Fury wouldn't leave his not-SHIELD base. So he slipped out of the tree, scooped his bag of supplies up, and bit back a curse when his leg throbbed furiously at him because he put too much pressure on it.

The Soldier made his way into downtown DC, searching out a phone booth of some kind to make the call to his equipment handler, another HYDRA agent he didn't know by name but by face and voice like the one who gave him missions and told which group of armed guards to punish him for whatever infraction he'd committed this time. He didn't carry any sort of communications devices on him accept for a single pager which would give him a number to call but they rarely paged him when he was on assignment. Everything HYDRA told him to do was first vetted and quadruple checked before he was sent out to work. The Soldier was their efficient killing machine, after all.

He pulled his bike up to rest next to the first phone booth he came across. Slipped off his seat and limped into the box. He didn't bother hiding himself because for some reason nobody really noticed the odd guy in leather and kevlar as long as his arm remained wrapped up, which on most missions it did. With his right hand he picked the phone off of the hook and dialed in a familiar code to bypass the need to pay, and then a familiar number.

He waited, patiently, until the familiar voice picked up. Stuffing the feeling of (awkward) standing in public for a work related call into the recesses of his mind like everything else.

“There had better be a damn good reason you are calling me.”

The Soldier licked his lips. “Мое оружие со сбоями. Я нужна замена.”

“How many times do we have to tell you to use English?”

The Soldier bit his lip but repeated himself in English. “My weapon malfunctioned. I need a replacement.”

“Which weapon? And what the hell did you do to it?”

“My rifle.”

“That thing is top of the line, what did you do, fuck it?”

“No,” the Soldier said. He grit his teeth, ground them together at the simple thought of—of—what did that even mean?

“Tell me why, exactly, your goddamn rifle doesn't work. That thing is worth more than you to replace.”

The Soldier pursed his lips, tried to find the words. “Хотите, я продемонстрировать, как я молол в металлолом? Руки бы сделать хорошую замену.” He kept his voice even, complacent, but couldn't help the sharp grin of all teeth and how his eyes narrowed, blood burning in his veins. Normally he wouldn't even dare say something like that, too familiar with his place at the bottom, as nothing more than a tool to be used. However he remembered this voice didn't known Russian, couldn't speak it, and he remembered—remembered—he didn't like this voice, this face.

He didn't like any of them. He wasn't allowed likes. The Soldier bit his lip, forced the pain to bring focus, and waited.

“English you pitiful fuck.”

“My weapon malfunctioned. I need a replacement,” the Soldier repeated.

“You know what? I don't want to know how you screwed your own rifle. A replacement will be waiting at the facility, and you better be prepared to make this up to me.”

The Soldier said nothing, waited for the tell tale click to signal the end of the line, and hung up. He stared at the phone for a minute, before with a snarl shoved his left arm straight through it like butter. He flexed his fingers, stared at the bits of the phones inner workings as they tumbled away. He scowled.

What did it mean?

It took two days before Nick felt comfortable in letting Steve go, and even then it only came about because he threw up his hands and gave the Director of SHIELD what for, tired of this overreaching paranoia. Nobody had attacked, Nick was still alive, and Steve had a life to live.

“Two days, two days Nick!” Steve snapped. “Do you think HYDRA won't notice a two day absence?”

“It's SHIELD,” Nick reminded him, weary. “And you're on assignment.”

“The hell I am!” Steve said, punching his fist into the wall. “I get that you are a paranoid bastard, but jesus fuck Nick, it's like you don't even want to try and make this work! If we want HYDRA to remain in the dark we can't let them know we're on to them!

Nick exploded with fury, and Steve had to shove down the bad pun before it escaped his throat with a snicker.

“I don't want this to work? Of course I want it to fucking work!” Nick snapped, bursting up, arms shaking, until he was face to face with Steve and his lips pulled back into a snarl. “SHIELD is my baby, Rogers. I want nothing more than to get rid of the rot inside her!”

“Then let me do my job,” Steve spat back, brow furrowed. “Let me go home, let me act like life is normal, peachy keen, and give me an assignment, send me out to work. There's nothing more I can do, especially if I stay here.”

“And what if they come for me?” Nick demands. “I'm the most likely target standing in their way, I'm the Director of the fucking agency.”

“You're not the only one at the top,” Steve pointed out.

“You mean Secretary Pierce?” Nick scoffed and turned away. “The Security Counsel? None of them would listen to me in this matter. Hell some of them are probably HYDRA!”

“Because you don't trust anyone!” Steve pointed out. “You don't open yourself up for trust!”

Nick licked his lips as he turned around with a snarl of, “I sure as hell trust you, don't I?”

“Then trust me to do my job,” Steve said sharply. “Trust me to know what works.”

Maria and Natasha stand off to the side. They watch the match like it is a game of ping pong, heads bouncing from one combatant to the other.

“Steve's going to win this one,” Natasha pointed out calmly. Maria gave a slow, “Yup,” in reply. Even she can see when Nick is beat, and Nick is beyond beat now. He's also terrified, not that he'd admit it, and that makes Maria sigh and shake her head and want to slap him over the ear and knock sense into him.

Finally Nick yelled, “Fine! Have it your way!”

Maria and Natasha exchange a glance as Steve hollered back, already on his way out, “About damn time!”

They split up when Nick looked in their direction and scowled, “What the hell are you two lookin' at?” at them. Maria with a repressed smile and Natasha with this look that made Nick just sigh and shake his head. “Oh fuck you Maria,” he added in an undertone.

“I'm not your wife,” Maria replied.

“I don't have a wife, woman!” Nick snapped back. “And a good thing too since you nag like one!”

Natasha snickered, and then slipped out of the bunker-base that Nick wanted to use. She caught Steve standing just outside the treeline, next to the road, scowling.

“How are you going to get back, big guy?” Natasha asked, leaning against a tree. Steve glanced at her and began to stretch out his legs.

“I'll run,” he said calmly. “I could do with the exercise.”

Natasha's lips curled and she shifted her gaze up and down his form, somewhat appreciatively. “Don't wear yourself out, cowboy,” she said, pushed off from the tree, and then headed inside.

“I'll try not to,” Steve shot back, stretched his back one last time, and then took off with a breath.

It happened while he was on his way back to the facility. He sped through the lanes, curved over his bike, trying to refrain from cursing as his leg throbbed and reminded him that the vibrations were the worst thing possible for it now, but that didn't matter because he had a job to do, and further damage meant nothing because he healed far better than any other living thing ever did. The Soldier sped through the streets, so focused on his destination, that he didn't notice the familiar man in blue not in blue until he pulled right up next to him, looked over.

“So, where you headed?” the man not in blue shouted. The Soldier could see at his back rested the Shield, painted red silver and blue, and let out a curse. He swerved left, out of traffic, nearly crashed before he pulled the bike to a halt and unholstered one of the smaller guns that sat just inside his jacket. He took aim, a scowl forming beneath his mask and started to fire.

The man in blue not in blue immediately raised his shield, deflecting most of the bullets and forcing the Soldier flip backwards in order to dodge. The Soldier snarled, tossed the gun, and with his left picked up his own bike and hurled it in the others direction with a yell.

The bike, the shield, and the other went tumbling one after another. A car swerved into two others in an attempt to miss the iconic hero who pulled himself up out of the rubble with a groan. The Soldier was already moving by that point, racing in with a mechanical arm enhanced punch that was dodged. He followed it by a swipe of one of his knives, blocked by the shield. They exchanged blows, parried, got a few hits into one another.

“Is this any way to respond to a question?” the man in blue not in blue asked, dodging around another knife swipe and responding with a rather forceful shield thrust. The Soldier snarled and lashed out with a kick, not his best idea at the moment but it did its job never mind the flare of pain that tore a quick scream from him. It worked as a good distraction though, forcing the other to pause with a furrowed brow and a muttered, “You're injured.”

The Soldier backed up, licked his lips. He liked the feel of adrenaline that surged in his veins. His lips pulled into a wide grin, full of teeth, hidden underneath the mask he wore protectively around his face. He pulled out another knife, flipped it around, and stalked forward. He had the thought that this was better than sex (what?) as he dashed forwards, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg, the way his head rang.

They were back into a series of blocks, parries, misses and hits. The other grimaced, his face pulled tight with some sort of emotion than the Soldier just didn't care about. He liked this feeling, this rush, this fire. For the first time in a long time he felt more alive than ever, more than just a weapon. For the first time he'd found his match because he knew if he was in prime condition the man in blue not in blue and he would be even, going toe to toe, instead of the other only half-focusing on the fight because the Soldier's work was sloppy.

“If you keep doing this you'll injure yourself further!” the other said.

“Shut up!” the Soldier snarled back. His eyes widened a second later when he realized he was too slow, didn't see the raised fist that knocked him flat onto his ass. He turned the blow into a backward flip, landing and then nearly collapsing when his leg started to give out under him. He settled into a half-kneel, breathing heavily.

There was wind on his cheeks. The Soldier reached a hand to touch his face, surprised to see his mask gone. His gaze darted about, and there it was just two feet to his left. He stood, slowly.

“You okay?” the other asked.

“You're good,” the Soldier said. He glanced slightly back at the man in blue not in blue. He took a deep breath but didn't move, neither did the other. “Why do you hesitate? An injury is a weakness. You could have taken me out over a dozen times.”

“Maybe I just don't like to hit a guy when he's down,” the other said with a shrug. The Soldier let out a laugh.

“That,” he said, “will get you killed.” He shifted over to his mask, bent down and picked it up, and carefully secured it back in place. He kept his face away from the other, some part of him, some part of him didn't want the man in blue not in blue to see his face.

It felt wrong somehow.

“Better men have tried,” the other pointed out.

“And failed, yes, I can see that,” the Soldier replied, turning around to look at the man in blue not in blue's face. His took in the lines of his jaw, his cheekbone, his eyes, he felt that spark of something and the fire wanted to burn. He wanted another round, but not to kill, which was wrong. A fight was always about the death of the opponent, right?

The other stared at him too, brow furrowed and lips narrowed. Confusion, the Soldier thought. That was what the emotion was, right?

“So you don't kill me here, when I've lowered my guard,” the Soldier said, raising his arms and then letting them flop to his sides. “You won't kill me when we're fighting, despite the obvious holes in my form because of an injury. What sort of enemy does that make you?”

The other pursed his lips. “The kind that doesn't want to make enemies.”

The Soldier tilted his head. “Make peace, not war?” he scoffed, looked off to the side, and then back at the man in blue not in blue. “Another time, then.”

The other stepped forward, picking up the discarded shield. “I can't let you go that easily,” he said.

The Soldier paused, mid step, and then smiled. “You won't have to.” He raised his hand, in it was a small remote. He flicked a switch and his bike, discarded with the others own, just not even a few feet away from him, exploded into a shower of debris and fire. The man in blue not in blue cursed and pulled his shield up and around himself in time to guard himself from most of the blast, giving the Soldier time to escape.

He still had a rifle to retrieve after all. A glance back at the debris, the crashed cars, and the man in blue not in blue frantically searching for him also hit home that he had another thing to discuss that his masters wouldn't like. The Soldier winced, but pressed on.

Edited 2014-04-18 07:53 (UTC)
twinkats: (Default)

Re: SPOILERS Fill: Голубка [My Dove] {2B}

[personal profile] twinkats 2014-04-18 05:51 pm (UTC)(link)

Somehow Steve found himself back at the bunker-base, sitting in a chair, with an ice pack held up against his face while Natasha stared at him with this look and Sam, who gave him a ride, stands awkwardly behind him as Nick glares with a scowl on his face.

“So I ran into the Winter Soldier again,” Steve finally said, if only to quit the round of awkward staring. Natasha arched her eyebrow at him.

“And how did that go?” she asked, playing along calmly.

Steve gave a wry smile. “I think I actually provoked him.”

Nick sighed and shifted his gaze from this stranger in his base without permission to Steve. “Alright Rogers, I'll bite. How the hell did you bait the worlds foremost assassin that nobody believes exists?”

Here Steve gave a sheepish grin and rubbed the back of his head. “Well...” he drew out the word. “I was on my way home when I actually pulled up right next to him. I don't think he even noticed me until I said something. Next thing I know there's a hail of bullets, then a bike, a lot of punching, kicking, and an explosion.”

Nick breathed out slowly and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Care to elaborate?” he asked, trying not to grit his teeth.

“Short end of the stick, I need a new bike,” Steve said.


Steve shot a look to Natasha, who smiled and walked around to Sam.

“So, you're Sam right?” she asked, grabbing his arm lightly. “Why don't you come this way and you and I have a little chat about how you know Steve.”

“Is this like the reverse big brother act or something?” Sam asked. “Cuz I gotta tell you I don't swing that way and I have no designs on your boys purity.”

They got quieter the further away they went, which Steve was thankful for because that wasn't awkward at all. He felt rosy cheeked all of a sudden and coughed. Nick sighed.

“What happened,” he said. “From the beginning.”

Steve nodded, set the ice down, and started to talk. He explained how he was on his bike, intending to visit the Smithsonian to which Nick stared at him for a second and then shook his head with a sigh and motioned for Steve to continue. Steve explained how he literally passed the Winter Soldier by and, remembering the last time he saw the assassin, figured at least he could try and see where the other was going.

“Without back up?” Nick demanded.

“I went toe to toe with him for five minutes last time,” Steve pointed out, “half-blinded by smoke and got away relatively unscathed.”

Nick shook his head, muttered something about heroes, and motioned for Steve to continue. Steve explained that he just intended to catch the guys attention, that he hadn't planned on being recognized but then, he'd had his shield at his back because some of Nick's paranoia had rubbed off on him and he was a little leery of running into HYDRA unprepared. He gave as best a blow by blow of the action as he could, how the Winter Soldier escaped by detonating his bike, on top of Steve's, guaranteeing Steve would have to deflect the blast or get badly hurt. Not to mention the civilians who where loitering, gaping at the combat like it was a side show.

“The thing is,” Steve finished, “he was injured. His leg was at the least sprained if not outright fractured. That type of injury he shouldn't have been out and about doing anything stressful.”

Nick frowned. “Strange.”

Steve nodded, pursed his lips. “You think something might have changed?” Nick shrugged.

“I don't know. Keep an eye open just in case,” he said. “And at least return here once a day now that we have confirmation that he's active in DC.”

Steve nodded and got to his feet, intending to hunt down Sam and Natasha before permanent damage could be done to his reputation.

“Oh, and Rogers?” Nick said. Steve paused. “Next time don't bring unknowns to my base, are we clear?”

Steve nodded. “Crystal, sir.”

The Soldier stepped into the facility hours later. He limped through back roads, out of sight of people as often as he could. Sometimes he'd hear whispers about his fight with the man in blue not in blue, hear a name he can recognize, but he can't understand its meaning. The Soldier knew his face would be all over, picking a fight in a public place like that, but he doesn't care. He liked it.

The second he past the first gate in the facility, still running from a high from that fight and so unfocused on his surroundings, the but of a gun is slammed against the back of his head. He goes down, twists to kick back up at his attacker who took the second before he could raise his legs to stomp down on the one that is fractured. The Soldier screamed, eyes snapped open wide. He caught sight of one of his handlers, the one he contacted earlier.

Rumlow stepped around the Soldier until he could slam his leg down over the young man's neck with a sneer on his face. The Soldier struggled, tried to take in breath, and with his shiny, metallic arm—a gift from HYDRA to make their weapon more efficient—reaches up and grasped Rumlow's leg. The Soldier squeezed, applying enough pressure until he can tug and toss Rumlow into the far wall.

He pulled himself up, reached back into his belt for his knife and stalked forward, ready to slice into his attacker handler, master, owner or no.

“Stand down!” the words are sharp, bitten out, and instantly the Soldier went still. He licked his lips, breathed heavily through his nose. His leg throbbed something fierce as his gaze darted over to see Pierce standing there, furious.

He missed Rumlow getting up on his feet and decking the Soldier solidly across the face. He only realized it happened when he was back on the ground again. Rumlow stepped forward, ready to provide a sharp kick to the Soldier's ribs when Pierce raised a hand, frown across his lips.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded. The Soldier licked his lips.

“The pain clouded my mind,” the Soldier bit out.

“That's not what I'm talking about,” Pierce said coldly. “The fight. The one that has gone practically viral?”

The Soldier grit his teeth, ran his tongue along them in an attempt to wipe away the fresh touch of blood. He said, “He recognized me. From before.”

“From where exactly,” Pierce demanded.

“My previous mission,” the Soldier said. “He is also in the way of my current mission.” Those words were bit out, ground out sharp like shards of glass.

“And your rifle?” Pierce continued. The Soldier grit his teeth, breathed out heavily, and answered.

“I had a malfunction in my arm. Squeezed too tight, rendered the rifle into scrap metal. Left it behind, it was useless.” Pierce scowled, arched an eyebrow, and the Soldier added, “Two days ago.”

Rumlow narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth to say something but a look from Pierce quieted him immediately. “Get up,” Pierce said sharply and the Soldier pulled himself to his feet. He swayed, his leg in a much worse state now than it was before. “Go to the back, have your arm checked over. I don't want a repeat of this again.”

The Soldier nodded and hobbled his way back past the second and third gate to his chair.

Rumlow scowled, stepped forward and demanded, “You're just going to let it get away with that?” Pierce shot him another look.

“Any more damaged and he'll be of no use,” Pierce said. “Like it or not he has a job to complete, and in order to continue ahead with Insight Fury needs to be out of the picture. Permanently.”

“We should wipe it then, as a precaution,” Rumlow said.

Pierce shook his head, “No. He's shown no signs of deterioration yet. If he starts to become problematic, though, maybe.”

Rumlow scowled, looked back at the Soldier sitting in the chair, staring into nothing while the techs checked over his arm, worked through each piece with precise care.

“It attacked Rogers in the middle of the city, without orders,” Rumlow pointed out.

Pierce sighed and said, “A regrettably understandable situation that confirms what I had already thought. Nick's pulled Rogers in as protection detail for whatever he's scheming up this time.”

“That'll decrease the likelihood of success then,” Rumlow said and Pierce smiled coldly.

“Not as much as you'd think,” he said. “At least not once he's healed up enough. You're little exchange there pushed back his timetable, so any lack of success can be laid at your feet. Am I clear?”

Rumlow lowered his gaze, muttered a short, “Yes, sir.”

Pierce nodded. “Good. Make sure he's ready, provide him with whatever he needs, and then send him out. He knows what to do.”

Edited 2014-04-18 19:24 (UTC)
twinkats: (Default)

Re: SPOILERS Fill: Голубка [My Dove] {2C}

[personal profile] twinkats 2014-04-18 07:24 pm (UTC)(link)

He grabbed a shitty motel room, dropped his bags full of equipment and medical supplies geared to speed up his recovery beside the bed, before he sat gingerly on the edge, scowling at his leg. What had previously been a hairline fracture, readily healing, now turned into a near full break. The bone wasn't snapped in two, if it was he wouldn't even think of walking or riding all the way to the motel on the edges of DC. As it is his masters don't even know he's here, and not sitting outside Fury's bunker watching and recording everything of note.

The Soldier didn't care. What his masters wanted his masters wanted, and while normally he'd be right on it, at the moment he is nothing more than a liability. He'd rather sit here, with his broken mind, replaying the fight with the man in blue not in blue, replaying the thrill and the heat and the fire that burned in him, that caught his attention, than attempt surveillance that will ultimately get him caught and dead.

The bed was soft, the Soldier realized as he pulled himself up onto the mattress more. It wasn't too soft, but it was softer than he'd ever been used to from what he could remember. On the days where he'd be out for more twenty-four hours the Soldier slept on a cot, or on the hard tile. When a mission required him to be out for more than twenty-four hours he'd sleep in a tree or on a ground or not at all. This mattress, shitty motel or not, felt like a rather lumpy cloud of marshmallows. The Soldier scowled.

He looked at the bedside table, lifted the remote from where it rested beside the clock. He stared at it, a bit confused, and hit the obvious power button. He'd seen televisions, remembered them somewhere in a half-daze, but the Soldier never had time to just let himself watch. It, like so many other things, was taboo. Disallowed. He stared at his leg, remembered Rumlow, and gave a cruel parody of a smile.

Despite knowing that the West was a horrible, horrible place—he'd been told this over and over and over every time he woke up from the freeze and the cold, every time he came back from a wipe—the Soldier figured he could at least absorb some of what they wanted to say.

He knew the West lied, that they claimed to be prosperous but weren't. There were so many poor here, so many destitute. He'd heard practically everything from the streets were filled with gangsters and killers and thieves, to the soldiers would eat the dead children of their enemies. Some, the Soldier figured, where illogical and meant to scare weak minded men. He wasn't weak minded, merely a blank tool to be used and molded as his masters pleased, and when it rusted to be wiped clean and start over.

A part of him called for the wipe now, wanted it, craved it to cut out the cacophony of sounds in his own head. These surges of strangeness, the flashes, the yells, things that were indistinct and half-remembered, half-forgotten. The longer he was awake, out of the freeze, the more they became distinct, real, remembered. The more erratic he could, would, and had become the further along he'd be away from the ice and the machine and his chair. The Soldier grimaced, pursed his hips together.

At the same time, he didn't want to lose this new found discovery of liking things, of independence and ignoring orders. He pushed the channel up button, browsed until he found some mindless drivel that caught his attention and at the same time utterly disgusted him. He couldn't look away, couldn't even think.

The Soldier was surprised to find a reprieve in this 'Real Housewives of New York'.

Pierce sat at his desk, hands clasped up against his mouth as he stared out at Rumlow and his STRIKE team. He looked deadly serious despite the smile that raised to his lips as he moved his head down with a sigh.

“Insight is delayed until we can get rid of Fury,” Pierce stated. “With Fury still listed as the Director we'd need his approval to launch. Unfortunately we have nothing to make the council doubt Fury's still on board with SHIELD, which means assassination is our only option.”

Pierce leaned back in his chair, look at each member and then staring hard at Rumlow. “We've already put our best asset on the job,” he said, “despite some...minor...setbacks.” He took a breath, continued. “The problem we are facing now is that Fury has gone to ground and take Black Widow and Captain America with him. All of his ops will of course go through SHIELD itself, which means we can see what they will do and plan accordingly however.”

Here Pierce leaned forward, clasping his hands again just below his chin.

“However I believe that Fury has unearthed something he should not know,” Pierce continued. “I believe he either strongly suspects HYDRA influence in SHIELD, or already knows about us and is merely biding his time gathering proof.”

Rumlow nodded and said, “Which is where we come in.”

Pierce smiled coldly. “Precisely. Your STRIKE team will be heading to every known data center we have, as I know Fury and those will be the first places he checks, and remove anything pertaining to or hinting towards HYDRA. Now, I do not expect resistance, and honestly this is a job Sitwell could do easily enough if he had full clearance, however. On the off chance that your current assignment matches up with Captain America and Black Widow, I'd trust HYDRA's chances with the STRIKE team in play.”

Rumlow nodded, looked back to his boys, and then back to Pierce.

“When do we leave?” he asked.

“Sitwell is generating you a list of data centers for you to access,” Pierce stated. “Further on that Agent Coulson and his team will be flying in, in two days. You are to covertly pull whatever you can from the agents Coulson has, and from his transports on board systems as well.”

Rumlow nodded. “Should be a piece of cake. We already have an inside man.”

Natasha handed over the cash to the front desk, accepted the key to the room she just paid for, and turned down the hall. The tab said 104, close enough to the entrance of the building, yet also with a quick back exit. Perfect for the time being until Clint showed up from who knows where and they got this 'stop Hydra' ball rolling beyond Nick lamenting that there was rot within SHIELD.

She had a small bag of the essentials strapped to her back like a backpack, her per-prepared knapsack for when she had to move locations, filled with the equipment she most used. Such as her garrote wire, her bracelets loving called Black Widows Bite, and her handguns with ammunition. She'd just pulled out the key to her room when someone limped heavily past her.

Natasha paused, turned to look. She swore for a minute that she recognized the person, that she knew them, when she looked again as the figure stopped two doors down at 106, she couldn't figure out where she thought she saw them. He had a bag of food clutched between his teeth, another under his left arm, and was opening the door one-handed with his right give or take a bit of a struggle.

She watched as he almost dropped his food, let out a muffled curse as the bag in his mouth threatened to fall, before he got the door opened and limped inside, leg wrapped tightly in a brace. The door slipped shut behind him, she could hear two loud thumps of the bags being dropped and then the familiar sound of that drivel Clint liked to watch, muffled through the walls.

Natasha sighed, opened her door, dropped her bag off. It must have all been in her head. He didn't actually look like anyone she knew, dressed in a dark blue hoodie with a thick black leg brace where his leg was obviously broken and still healing. If she were even perfectly honest with herself it most likely was a passing resemblance to someone she'd killed.

With a sigh Natasha turned on the radio, sought out a channel that she could listen to, and turned up the volume. Not too loud, because she could get into trouble, but loud enough to drown out the drivel from down the hall.

One week. It took one week before Nick felt like they had a plan, that they were going somewhere. Coulson and May were debriefed on the situation and on board with the plan, although Nick had to drag Coulson off alone when they showed up to even get him to cooperate. He rubbed his shoulder in remembrance, lips tugged down into a frown.

That meeting reminded Nick what shame felt like. He pushed the thoughts down, focused on the plan at hand.

“We need more intel,” he said to Natasha, Steve, and Maria. “So I'm sending you to on a continuous op to each of our major DC data centers. Barton will be checking our overseas centers. Coulson and May will be working to gather intel on what centers may be compromised--”

It sounded like a car backfired. The noise reverberated, echoed around them. Nick, in his seat, jerked back, his good eye snapping wide. One hand jerked up to his shoulder and came away red with blood.

Natasha and Maria immediately ran to Nick's side, Maria calling for medical back up. They had doctors on standby, ones vetted out fifteen times to be certain they weren't HYDRA. Steve looked around, searching for the point of entry. The entire base was meant to be a bunker, surrounded on all sides by concrete. This area was at its thickest, which meant the shot couldn't have come from outside but inside.

Steve caught movement out of the corner of his eye and dashed after it.

“Steve!” Natasha yelled but Steve waved her off, racing after the intruder, grabbing his Shield as he passed it by.

Steve burst through the door seconds after the intruder, swung his arm back and tossed his Shield towards the back of a dark head of hair. He couldn't tell as easily in the dark who it was, but Steve had a good guess. The Soldier dove to the left, rolled, and came up with his rifle aimed at Steve. The Shield impacted and buried itself into a tree off behind him.

They stood like that for a few seconds, staring at one another in silence. The Soldier slowly got to his feet, Steve noted that he was favoring his leg still, and pointed his rifle down towards the ground. Steve's brow furrowed as he couldn't shake that there was something he was missing here, something familiar.

“Do I know you?” Steve asked, figuring maybe that was why he kept seeing the Soldier lately.

The Soldier looked down, then said, “No.” There was a moment, and then, “I am not here to fight you.”

Steve frowned. “Sure as hell a way to get attention, then.”

“He's my mission,” the Soldier shrugged. “Until Nick Fury is dead, HYDRA cannot launch Insight.”

“So you're HYDRA,” Steve said, clenching his fist.

“I am a weapon,” the Soldier corrected. “A tool. HYDRA merely uses me.” The Soldier licked his lips. “I. Liked the fight.”

Steve looked baffled, completely at a loss of what he was hearing. “What?”

“Fighting you,” the Soldier reiterated. His lips pursed beneath his mask. “I liked fighting you.” He licked his lips. “I want to fight you again. When I'm...repaired.”

“What?” Steve shook his head, completely confused. “What was this, then? Some sick way to get me alone to tell me all this?”

The Soldier grimaced. “No. Nick Fury is my mission.” He clenched his fist. “I will not fail my mission. However. You. Are not my mission. I.” The Soldier shook his head.

Steve took a concerned step forward, he couldn't help it. The Soldier looked, he wasn't sure what it was but it tugged at Steve's heart.

“You okay?” he asked.

The Soldier raised his gun the minute Steve started forward, stopping Steve in his tracks. “This was not a declaration of intent,” he said clearly. “This was not an attempt at getting your attention. Nick Fury is my mission. I will complete my mission. I merely...want to fight you again. Soon.”

With that said the Soldier fired his rifle, forcing Steve to dodge not that he would have hit the other man anyway, and used the distraction to disappear into the darkness of the trees.

Steve rolled back up onto his knees and looked around. He pushed himself to his feet, cautiously, and made his way over to his Shield. A second later he rolled to the left, tugging his Shield out of the tree and up, but he needn't have bothered. A knife lodged itself into the tree, a letter attached written entirely in Russian.

Я хочу реванша до окончания моей миссии, так что я буду воздерживаться от убийства вашего директора на данный момент. Борьба вас было лучше, чем секс.

До следующего раза, голубка.

annakas: (Default)

Re: SPOILERS Fill: Голубка [My Dove] {2C}

[personal profile] annakas 2014-04-18 09:21 pm (UTC)(link)
This fic is fun.
Steve will be in for one heck of a surprise when he finally actually sees the Winter Soldiers face.
twinkats: (Default)

Re: SPOILERS Fill: Голубка [My Dove] {2C}

[personal profile] twinkats 2014-04-19 12:14 am (UTC)(link)
Yes he will.