For morethanashield

[disassembling]

Who: James "Winter Soldier" Barnes & Steve "Captain America" Rogers
When: Months after initial capture
What: AU - Both Steve and Bucky fell from the train. Both were captured and forced into service of HYDRA as their weapons to shape the world.
Warnings: Maybe violence?


The pain was momentarily numbed, though it would return along with his orientation of his surroundings now that the days experimentations were over. For the first time, he was stable enough to be moved from being trapped and monitored in the medical wing (he assumed it had a name though didn't know it) and shifted to the cells where only a guard was required to keep watch over numerous subjects in their small cages side-by-side. The room was kept colder than normal to prevent them from moving around much or thinking too hard about escaping.

His head was fuzzy and his vision wavered as he was settled down in the middle of his new cell. There were whispers (always were), but his head was too drained of anything to grasp onto any one detail. This was a test apparently. Perhaps to see if he could survive the rigors of the illusion of freedom in a small cold cage left to his own devices. They left, clicking the door shut with too much noise that he twitched where he lay.

At first he lay on his right side just drinking in the air, orienting himself on one aspect of his surroundings before adding another. He allowed his ears to focus next, the sounds of moaning prisoners, the mutter of a disgruntled cold guard making rounds, the shuffle of cold experiments trying to find that one warm place that didn't exist. His sense of touch was next, feeling the rough cement under his arm, and the cold wash of sensation from the left side of his body where heavy bandages covered some recent modification to where his arm should be. At last, he allowed his eyes to pick out things, but it was the current weakest of his senses, fallible and blurry as he dragged himself across the floor.

He didn't know where he was going, didn't know he was being watched keenly for what direction he chose to go when there were four options for him. One had no other prisoner, the other three did. He pulled himself towards the right, and though he didn't know it, towards where they were all very excited that he would go. To him. He nestled against the bars in the corner, breathing hard from the excursion but slowly curling up. There was a source of familiarity nearby. He chose to be close to it.

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[morethanashield]

The makeshift bed was certainly more than he'd been allowed for himself in...possibly ever. Certainly as far back as his memories extended. The closest he could ever remembering coming was the operating table, and they were always in a haste to make sure he spent as little time there as possible. The longer he spent getting repaired, the less time he could spend improving his skills. He even found himself spending a moment just rubbing the material of the blankets through his fingers, almost wonderingly. The material was threadbare and rough, to be certain, but it was warm. It was something.

It seemed...strange, out of place, to expend this much effort on a weapon that was not only broken and wounded, but must have disobeyed or otherwise displeased their handlers. The signs of maltreatment and punishment, above and beyond the surgery, were evident to his eyes from long practice observing and experiencing. The bed certainly couldn't be for his sake - his only purpose here was to observe, or so they told him. His comfort in doing so was irrelevant, especially since he was unharmed.

Still, the man was...glad, of this allowance, especially as he sat beside the man with the metal arm and watched him slowly settle. He sat beside his newfound companion, unconsciously positioning himself between the other weapon and the cameras, the better to allow the wounded man to keep his back safely to the wall. He knew the other weapon would probably prefer that - he certainly would.

In an absentminded gesture, some lingering trace of muscle memory, he reached out to run his fingers gently through the other man's matted hair. He paused only briefly at the question, strange though it was.

The right answer, of course, was "no". He did not require sleep. He was permitted sleep. The ice was not the same thing. And yet, speaking like a man creeping over thin ice, he found himself saying. "I...only recently returned from a mission myself. It would probably be...best, to save my energy now."

With barely a darted glance at the cameras, he moved to do just that, stretching out next to the other man on the bed that proved to have a fair amount of room, especially to two men trained to take up as little space as they had to. No one came to stop them, so he could only assume that this was allowed, and that was...good.

[disassembling]

The foreignness of the palate with real blankets was one of the reasons that he had stayed away from it, but now that he was settled on it, he wondered why he had resisted at all. It wasn't soft or silky either, but it was more padding then he was used to, and it eased the ache of his wounds because he was putting less pressure on them. He was still tense as if the blankets might hold some sort of adverse effect to him, like this sort of comfort would be taken away because he had made use of it.

There was no pillow, but the blanket was enough as he shifted to the most comfortable position that he could find, keenly aware of how the other weapon settled in such a way to protect him most from the cameras view. It was no doubt done purposefully, and it gave him the sensation of rightness that this man would do such a thing for him. It allowed his abused healing flesh to soften as he stared at the other weapon with an avid interest that he showed nothing else.

The touch to his hair was not expected, and he stilled when it gave him the sensation of warmth rather than a precursor to pain. In response, he shifted closer, lining up their bodies so that the bed was not the only unique aspect of the current experience, his thighs pressing in and his metal arm finding its way subtly around the blond's waist.

"Yes, conserve your energy now for training when you are removed from here," he said softly, his blue eyes finding that of the other weapon. He had... never felt warm like his before, not that he remembered anyway. As close together as they were, it would have been easy to pull part of the blanket over them both, but he didn't take that step. It seemed too risky. "We are the same, you and I."

[morethanashield]

He was somewhat surprised, but not displeased, when the other man pressed in closer. By rights, he knew he should protest, or push away. It was unsafe, a bad habit, to allow anyone this close to him without anticipating an attack. Even the scientists kept as much of a distance as they could, clinical and cool as they fixed him back up. Like this, the other man could easily have driven a knife into half a dozen vulnerable spots.

But that...didn't seem likely, and after a second he relaxed. He wasn't sure what sense gave him that impression, but it was a powerful one, and he was happy to comply with it. This was close, and warm in a way that seemed to go above and beyond body temperature.

It was...nice. That was really the only word for it, even if he didn't think it had applied to anything else in his life so far. He certainly couldn't remember anything like this before.

So he settled into the closeness, wrapping an arm around the other man's waist in turn, bringing his other hand up to continue gently carding through his hair. Gentleness, even faint fussing, seemed to come easy, like some previously unacknowledged instinct, where this man was concerned. Normally, he treated everything that was set before him with a professional air and a careful detachment, from people to food. But not this man, and he even reveled in the sense of warmth, just a little.

"Of course we are. We're both weapons, made to serve Hydra."

But that...didn't seem to be what he'd meant.

[disassembling]

Tucked in as he was and his head settled on the padding, the Soldier waited for the companionable situation to be stripped from him. He waited for the door to open and for them to be pulled apart, and the idea alone scratched at an old scar. He thought that if he didn't move, if he was very small and hidden in the other weapon's greater width, this situation would not be taken from him and the old scar wouldn't be itched to irritation again. Never mind the fact that he had an arm curled around the other man; never mind that the man had an arm around him.

Injury dictated that in any kind of battle, he would lose. There was an ache in his flesh that he was ignoring, but when he considered the danger of being close to this far more deadly weapon, he would not stand much of a chance. He couldn't say that he would even fight back, not with the warmth of companionship and the trivial warmth of their bodies pressed together.

Yet, he simply tipped his head a little more forward at the fingers that pressed through his hair, smoothing out tangles and brushing the tops of his ears. The words were what was needed to be said, but they didn't ring with him as the normally would.

He raised his flesh hand between their bodies, his fingers smoothing over the curve of the other weapon's jaw. It was strong and hard, but the flesh was warm and smooth, and they traced features as his eyes followed the motions. "We are not alone," he whispered softly where only heightened ears could pick it up.

[morethanashield]

Logically, he saw no reason for them to be pulled apart. He was obeying the orders he had been given - to monitor the other weapon for signs of further damage, and otherwise to simply make sure he was healing well. That was what he was doing - in fact, pressed this close, he was made all the more aware of signs of pain and discomfort that had previously been masked even to him.

And they were...distressing. It wasn't just that he didn't want this man to be damaged further. He found himself caring, worrying about, whether he was comfortable, wanting to do what he could to aid his comfort in whatever small way he could. He felt sorrow, something keener than the usual disappointment of a failed mission, that the other man had been damaged. More than that, he felt sorrow that he hadn't been there to help.

There was no logical reason that they should be pulled apart - and yet, as he also grappled with this rush of unfamiliar feelings that at the same time were so familiar he couldn't breathe - it was a fear he also shared.

"No, we're not." Whispered back just as softly. They never were. They were always under surveillance, always being monitored somehow, in the base or in the field. They were doubtless being watched here. It was just...a fact of life, if what they had could be called a life.

He shook his head, trying to chase that thought away, but it clung like a burr. Still, he at least tried to focus on the task at hand.

"...you should sleep. I'll stay here."

[disassembling]

His fingers still traced the contours of the other man's face set before him, his eyes following each motion of his fingers even as they caressed shapely eyebrows, rubbed on temples and glided over the smooth expanse of the other weapon's forehead. His fingers eventually dropped back down the slope of the blond's nose and traced lips as he peered up into those eyes which seemed more alive with emotion than he would have thought for a weapon like him.

It should have alarmed him how easily he could settle like this, ignore the unfavourable discomfort from his healing body and just bask in a familiar presence. He didn't think he had ever had an opportunity to do so before, and he certainly wasn't currently opposed to it. In fact, there was a strange twist of greediness at the fact that he had the other weapon to himself, despite them no doubt being observed.

It seemed strange to him that he hadn't reasonably known the other weapon existed, yet he had no memory to state that he should have. When they met like this, he had the sensation that something had been taken from him and it was not alright for that to have happened. "We have each other," he whispered softly.

He should sleep. It was logical that with his current injuries, he needed the rest. "I don't feel it is yet a requirement when you are here," he murmured, his arm tightening around the weapon's waist. "I just want to be here with you and warm for now."

[morethanashield]

"...okay."

He pressed his lips to the other man's forehead for a moment, before settling more comfortably against him, settling his arm more comfortably around him. He knew he should insist - the Soldier needed to rest, had been ordered to rest. By rights, that should include sleep.

But he didn't. The other man had made his choice. They didn't have choices, not really, beyond how best to obey. But when it was just the two of them, here, what was really the harm? The fact that he had made this choice, expressed a want, seemed inexpressably important, something that should be honored rather than stamped out. Maybe only because he didn't have the authority to order that. They were...equals. Not just in strength, but in being, in existence. That seemed to matter, here and now, far more than it should.

They...had each other. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he liked the sound of it.

So he settled in for as long as he would be allowed, smiling faintly, fondly, as the other man apparently tried to memorize his face by touch alone. It was more touch than he thought he'd ever experienced before, but it was nice, that someone wanted to remember him.

He just held the other man, one arm around his waist, the other hand pressed against the back of his head. He hummed a melody that wasn't quite tuneless but that he didn't properly remember, and there they would be allowed to stay for a little while.

((ooc: Interestingly enough, it seems like Bucky's remembering easier than Steve does - maybe he's the reason they get out, ultimately. What do you think?))

[disassembling]

They weren't pulled apart. In fact, he was closer to this man than he had ever been to anyone, not that he remembered all those moments. This warmth was something that piqued his interest but also eased a part of himself that was always on guard for some form of punishment, some part of him that could never ever relax. This weapon would not abandon him or bring him to harm unless ordered to do so, and if that happened, he knew he wouldn't fight back against that order, especially cuddled up and nestled in as he was. There was no need to fight. He was warm and even cozy.

Yet, it was the tune or an attempt at one that had his eyelids drooping and then shutting out the rest of the world. He nestled his face into the other weapon's chest, metal arm still tucked tightly to hold him in place as the last of his guard dropped and he went to sleep. He breathed soft and slow, but he didn't dream for any of the time that he was unconscious and resting. The closest thing to a dream was his mind occasionally reviewing skills and nothing more.

He woke slow and warm and comfortable in the same position that he had slept in, but when he shifted to nestle more into the warmth in front of him, pain flared dully along his frame. He inhaled sharply and cracked his eyes open to peer up at the young face that twinged something deep inside of him.

(OOC: It does seem that way! When do we want them escaping and running away?)

[morethanashield]

((ooc: I was thinking after the (modified) events of TWS? Maybe they both go down with the helicarrier, and Bucky refuses to let them go back to HYDRA after its all over and done with because they'll both obviously be killed for their failures, even if they can still only mostly manage to care about one another rather than themselves? But I was thinking maybe they could wind up on a mission together, first? Or forced to punish one another for their disobedience. One horrible thing or the other.))

By the time the Soldier awoke, he had shifted slightly where he lay, but only to a more relaxed, more companionably, and slightly less desperate position. In the span of those few hours, he had slowly come to let himself believe that this arrangement would be allowed to last without being abruptly ended, and so he had settled in accordingly. Now he lay on his back, the other man's head resting on his shoulder, that same arm curled around his shoulders, the other hand crossed over his stomach to rest lightly on the other man's hip. His companion's breath was warm on his neck, the sounds deep and slow and gratifying.

So he felt it immediately when the other weapon started to stir, to wake. Yet he only continued to lay there peacefully, moving only to run his fingers along the Soldier's cheek to coax him fully into waking. His reasons were the same reasons that probably left the other man wincing.

"Hey. Come on, try to stand up. You've been asleep too long - you need to stretch out a little."

It was a practice he remembered plenty of times from his own surgeries and repairs. So he would gently go to work helping the other man back to his feet, the better to help him work out muscles that might have been left cramped and sore by sleep and healing.

[disassembling]

(OOC: I can definitely see an alternate ending, though who the heck would be able to stop both Cap and WS from winning over the world? I also see them being sent on a mission together to see if they are capable of working together well. There is nothing wrong with horrible.)

He had not expected to change the position in which he slept and not realize it until he came awake. He normally wasn't allowed to move at all, contained with restraints or not on anything large enough that was safe to move too much. It was very novel to know he had gone to sleep on his side and ended up curled up on his belly, his face warm and pleasant when resting on the other weapon's strong shoulder.

The hold on him was secure, arms tucked around him to keep the new position, and his metal fingers flexed against the waist that they had lazily been settled on. He still grudgingly opened one eye at the caress to his face, surveying the other man but making no motions to remove himself at the present time.

He stretched his legs and bit down a noise at his stiffness, and it was really only the blond that coaxed him to move. He was slow and awkward as he normally was fresh out of cryofreeze, but he managed to get to his feet and slowly stretch his arms and back even when the motions pulled at the healing surgery lines on his body. "Was I unconscious for long?"

[morethanashield]

((ooc: I figure Fury would have a slightly better idea at just how badly outmatched SHIELD would be and would arrange for some or all of the other Avengers to be called in - or maybe Sam, who was probably made an Avenger in Steve's stead, calls them in. And later on tries to find them both and points them towards the Smithsonian.))

"Maybe a few hours?" He didn't sound entirely certain, however, because he wasn't. This was because, as he admitted with an almost sheepish smile: "I think I may have slept for a time, too." Normally, that would have been an unforgivable lapse in focus, a wavering in his attentions when he was supposed to be keeping guard. But no one had come in to wake him. Maybe the punishment for that lapse would come later, but it hadn't, yet, and so he found himself enjoying these moments and this impromptu rest all the more.

Moving almost without thinking, he moved to help the other man work out the aches of hard sleep. He had an intimate knowledge of every pressure point on the human body, but when he dug the fingers of one hand into the muscles on the Soldier's back, it wasn't for the sake of causing pain, but helping ease it.

"What matters most is how you are feeling now."

The other man would need to eat and drink, soon, if he was to continue healing. If the wait dragged on much longer, he would have to seek out a meal for him.

[disassembling]

(OOC: That's very true and having a Hulk in your arsenal kind of makes everyone else moot too. LOL they will probably camp in the Smithsonian. XD)

His expression shifted at the sheepish look, surprised to see such a human expression on another weapon. Again, his hand reached out to trace it, to touch where he was unable to respond in kind just yet. Yet, his expression softened as he gazed almost fondly at the other weapon, despite the fact that he was stiff and uncomfortable when he moved. For some reason, that aspect mattered little to him when compared to the blond in front of him. "Perhaps you required the rest as much as I did."

He stood for the aid in getting his muscles to loosen up and stretched into the other man's skilled hands, even releasing a small groan as he found he was able to move easier. The surgery sites were still sore, but he could ignore them. "I can move easier and more freely then when I woke up." He shifting his shoulders side-to-side before turning to regard the other weapon. "Less warm now that we are not laying together."

His stomach gave a noisy contribution to the conversation, and he rubbed a hand across his abdomen. "My blood sugar may be dropping as well."

[morethanashield]

"It seems likely. You've been without food for a while, now." A momentary flicker of concern passed over his face, before he managed to smooth it away. "If it's much longer, I'll go and find you something to eat." They couldn't protest him doing that, could they? After all, the Soldier would need to eat to heal, even given how rarely they were permitted to eat in general. They could function on very little food, but that was under carefully controlled circumstances. Injuries like these could only be controlled so far.

Still. For the moment, at least, he would coax the other man to sit down on the mattress again, and he would sit beside him with his arm around his companion's shoulders. The other weapon could lean against him without fear of loss or punishment...for a time, at least.

Because when food finally did arrive, it arrived only for the Soldier, and they were pulled apart at last. All for the sake of allowing for some cursory but purposeful physical examinations, and as a result, it was declared that he was recovering well enough not to need to be watched quite so closely anymore.

He felt...a deepseated, near physical pang of loss, at this. He even tried to speak up. "I could stay with him a little longer. It doesn't matter." But it did matter, it mattered to him, and he didn't want to be anywhere else."

But what he wanted never mattered, and for him to speak out so brazenly was unacceptable. But why should they dirty their hands disciplining a malfunctioning weapon when there was another one in the room?

Without looking up from his clipboard, one of the other doctors ordered the Soldier to hit him.

[disassembling]

There was an innate knowledge that he would be fed, that perhaps his new wakefulness was the precursor to being provided nutrients that would fuel his body to heal faster. He hummed softly and didn't put up much of a fight to sit down again, cuddled up against the other weapon's warm side and his cheek shifting over to rest on the broad muscled shoulder nearby.

It didn't seem to him that he was resting there long before the door opened and a meal had arrived, though he noted there was enough only for one. He still pushed himself to his feet and padded over where he was directed to in order to be checked over briefly and then ordered to eat in the relative isolation of the corner of the room. It wasn't more than a thick drinkable substance, but it was apparently formulated for him.

Once fed, there was another small cursory little exam that determined he was capable of being left alone. He dropped his eyes to the floor and said nothing against it, though he felt the impending loss more keenly than he would have thought. He would had preferred to have more time with the other weapon, to be warm and comfortable, but he had been trained early on to keep his mouth shut.

At the order, he looked over at the other weapon before shifting a step and hitting the blond with enough emphasis for it to be a blow but reigning in his strength. He made certain that it sounded hard even if it wasn't that bad where it impacted in the other weapon's side. It was also a very easy excuse to stay close to the blond.

[morethanashield]

He was already bracing himself for the blow when it came. Protesting was unthinkable, wouldn't have accomplished anything but getting him and possibly his companion into deeper trouble. When it came, the hit was hard enough to send him staggering, ears ringing, trying to shake his head to clear it. But he could tell, after a moment's self-assessment, that it had done no more than bruise.

Yet, in that moment, there was no immediate way to tell that he'd gotten off easily. He shouldn't have - by rights, the hit should have drawn blood. But it hadn't. That had to be deliberate.

He looked at the Soldier for only a second. He gave no acknowledgement of that small mercy, because to do so would have been to invite further punishment for them both. Yet for just a moment, there was a flicker of gratitude in his eyes, meant only for the other weapon, and fortunately seen by no other.

All that done, he dropped his eyes docilely down to the floor, otherwise standing at attention and ready to be directed. The doctors were pleased by these twin displays of obedience, and he was ordered out without any further difficulties.

The next time they encountered one another would be over either side of a comm line.

[disassembling]

The Soldier spent the next thirty-six hours alone, his injuries monitored as well as his behaviour now that he had been separated from the other weapon. He was even plied with questions about his association, why he had slept, how had he felt, who was the other weapon present. They pressed him to answer, and whatever he said appeared to please his team. Bonded and secured to one another but not with the added troublesome memories that would cause resistance.

He was put back into the cryofreeze when the stitches were removed, and time passed before he was thawed and given a mission. He was to take out a terrorist cell in China funded by the government and was apparently distinctly against HYDRA. The cell had fifty high-level members and their guards in together for a meeting, and he was to take them out.

Only the need to make the destruction complete and a presentation of the might of the hidden organization, he would not be working alone. He was being sent with the Commander, a weapon much like him but more advanced in running missions and able to achieve maximum destruction where he was more subtle in his workings. He was to follow the lead of the Commander, he being assigned as the Soldier.

He parachuted to the drop zone and read the mission debriefing once more before doing an equipment check. He set the communicator into his ear, hidden under his lengthening hair that now hung to the bottom of his ears and had a distinct shaggy look. He flexed his shoulders in his uniform and settled to wait for the arrival of his Commander.

[morethanashield]

The night air was warm and the air was clear, though his vision was blocked past a certain distance in any direction by the cloud cover. That had been chosen deliberately, of course. Though maximum destruction and total annihilation were the goals tonight, stealth would be key in the hours leading up to that.

Still, it felt as though his muscles were loosening even further, though of course he had been carefully prepped and given time to properly thaw before being sent off on this mission. He parachuted down from the plane into the drop zone, all the equipment he would need loaded up, including and most importantly the shield on his back - perfectly round and painted silver, with a single red star in the middle.

A drop like this at this time of night could never be executed perfectly, however. While he landed within an acceptable range of the target, he landed out of sight of his companion - a man his superiors only referred to as the Soldier, a weapon like himself, loyal and obedient and vicious as a starving dog when pointed at the right target.

After a look around to confirm that he was alone, after slinging his shield off his back in preparation for any sudden attacks, only then did he fit his communicator into his ear and turn it in to their chosen frequency.

"Come in, Soldier. Were you able to note my position during the drop?"

[disassembling]

The night was enough where anyone without any measure of heightened senses or someone not looking for signs would have missed the arrival of the Commander. He did not, and his eyes followed even as he remained in position further along in his own drop zone. He settled and waited, keeping an eye out to see signs that anyone else in the area might have noticed, but there was nothing. It was all too perfectly executed as usual.

When his communicator came to life in his ear, he reached up and turned down the volume before he formed any reply. There was something about that voice that settled him more than the idea of an upcoming mission itself. That was strange; he lived for the mission and nothing more.

His eyes continued to scan the area. "Soldier, reporting. I have visual on your drop point, Commander. Instructions?"

[morethanashield]

"Confirm your location. I seem to be closer to the west side of the mansion. If you're near the east, we should make our initial incursion from either side, establish initial contact in the guard house." They'd both seen the plans, they should both know about the small guard house that was located just off the front gate. Neither of them would be taking the gate, of course. They'd both been trained of any number of ways to get up and over walls without being seen...or at least, without leaving survivors.

"Sound good?" He didn't know why he asked that. Didn't know why this man's opinion should matter. But he asked it anyway, maybe as nothing more than a verbal tic. Though even those were discouraged as inefficient. "Otherwise, I'll come to you."

His unsteady landing aside, it felt...better, being in touch with his companion. His "teammate", for lack of a better word. He could have accomplished this alone, he knew, just as the Soldier could likely have done so. But it felt...better, doing this together, and not just for efficiency's sake. Suddenly, the task seemed not only necessarily doable, but simple.

[disassembling]

"My position is the east side of the mansion, over looking the guard rounds as required," he reported without hesitation. His eyes knew where Steve was, and he only needed a little run down the hill and then up and over the wall to disable the guards that were doing sloppy rounds. There would be no alarmed raised while he was on the east side.

He was just as surprised to have his opinion on the plan asked, even if it might be a courtesy. He turned his gaze towards where he knew that his Commander was hidden, and he felt warm and settled more than he ever had before in a mission. "Roger that, Commander. The plan is sound."

He eased from his position and ghosted down the embankment to the wall at a run. He jumped the distance and caught the wall with his metal fingers before pulling the rest of him up slowly and peered over the edge. He was up and over before even a shadow of himself could register and disappeared into the shadow of a tree. "I have infiltrated, Commander. Proceed with the elimination?"

[morethanashield]

Though they were across a distance of dozens, perhaps even hundreds of yards, they moved as almost perfect mirrors of one another. He also moved up the hill towards the mansion on his side, swift and silent and tireless despite the incline.

Upon reaching the wall, he wasn't quite agile enough to scale the wall all in one bound. But he was tough enough, strong enough, to catch himself halfway up, digging his fingers into whatever scant handholds the wall might provide. When necessary, he used his superior strength dig into the plaster a little harder to make more of a handhold. It barely necessitated missing a step in his ascent to do so, and within seconds, he was peering over the edge, left then right, poised to act at the first sign of any other bodies.

None so far.

On the Soldier's end, there would be a delay of two seconds as all of this was done and thought before the reply came. "Roger that, Soldier. Proceed."

And he would do the same - staying on the walls, for now, forcing his way into close quarters and close combat where the guard's black market rifles would be all but useless against his shield. But most of them would barely get a chance to fumble for their weapons before a flash of silver was the last thing they ever saw.

Bloodied but barely out of breath, he would meet the Soldier in the guard house on schedule.

[disassembling]

His eyes moved along the shadows, picking out the rotation of guards, but he didn't move towards them until he had the go-ahead from his Commander. HYDRA was very strict to enforce that he was not in charge of this mission, to see if he would bend as easily to the Commander as he had to for his handlers. If anything, he responded better to his Commander, eager and pseudo-pleasured to work.

He slipped off amid the shadows to draw closer to the rotating men. He slit their throats or knifed them quietly, not allowing them to make a sound. Only the last caught the smell of blood before he arrived, but there was still no alarm as he gutted the man and left the body in the bushes before moving to the rendezvous point to meet his Commander.

The Soldier emerged from the shadows of the guard house and prowled up to his Commander, his eyes darting down the other weapon for signs of injury. Once it was clear that they were both running on optimum, he bowed his head slightly to show respect of command and willingness to be sent off to wherever was necessary.

A foreign warmth twisted in his guts when he was close to the Commander, and he had no knowledge of it happening before. It had, but those sensations had been wiped away. Each time they met, he experienced a warm acceptance of his situation because he wasn't alone. Instead, his gloved flesh fingers reached out and brushed against the Commander's hand before caressing the side of the blooded shield.

[morethanashield]

He saw the Soldier as a deeper shadow in the darkness before he came fully into view, bloodied but moving steadily, in no way betraying injury not even to his trained eye. The Commander found himself with the foreign but powerful urge to sigh with relief, for reasons that were not just practical or efficient, but strangely emotional, too, in a way he could never remember feeling before. He even felt a rush of something like pride at the sight of his companion, strong in a way they could only ever be out in the field, free to wok Hydra's will.

He couldn't look at this man, this Soldier, and believe that the mission had a chance of being anything but a complete success now that they were together.

He shifted his body against the other man's almost curious touch, acknowledging and accepting it. "Good work." He didn't have to ask if he'd been spotted or seen. No alarms had gone up. The mansion across the grounds remained silent. Their presence must, therefore, remain undetected.

"I'll go into the building and sweep it for targets. I'll try to barricade any other ways out on what sides I can. That way, any who get away will be funneled out straight to you. Think you can manage that, Soldier?"

[disassembling]

He was well aware that the mission parameters stated that two advanced weapons were required to complete it, but for the first time, the mission meant a little less than being able to just stand here for these brief moments with the other weapon. He reached up and his thumb wiped away a droplet of blood from the blond's cheek, and even though his expression remained frozen in neutrality, his eyes moved over the other man's face with great fascination.

"I am told me work is always good," he replied simply. Unless he failed, but he didn't remember those times, just the agony that came on the heels of it. "You are as effective as you were debriefed to me of being." It was the highest compliment that he could pay.

He inclined his head to the side to acknowledge the plan and slipped his sniper rifle from his shoulder and pulled a silencer from his fatigue pocket, screwing it into place with deft hands. "The mission objects will be completed without fail," he said simply before he stepped aside to find a high point on top of the guard station. He paused before climbing and looked back at his Commander. "When all targets are eliminated, we could watch the stars together, yes?"

[morethanashield]

The incongruousness of such a suggestion, in light of what they were preparing to do, did not even occur to the Commander. More surprising was that his companion might have ideas for actions above and beyond what he was ordered. And yet...

"We could. We're even a little ahead of schedule. We'll probably have some time before we're due to be extracted." It was a pleasant night, though he did not normally think in such a fashion. The weather or the clearness of the air should only concern him as far as its effect on tactical matters. Yet he was very rarely permitted out of the facility, even for missions - he was too valuable to waste on "trivial" matters or goals. If they fulfilled their mission as ordered, surely some time together would not be punished.

"But. Only after all our targets are eliminated." His tone was stern, but only a little, and there was a smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth and lit his eyes. Without thinking of anything beyond that it felt right to do, he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair out of the other weapon's eyes. Without thinking of anything beyond that it felt right to say, he murmured just loud enough for the Soldier to hear: "Be careful."

He shouldn't have needed to say that. By rights, this wasn't even that dangerous a mission, especially now that they had secured the area outside the house itself. But, well...he knew better than almost anyone, just how well the tables could suddenly turn. All too often, he had been the thing that turned the tables.

But that said, he found that he had it in himself to turn away and set off towards the house at a swift, silent run. The front door was locked. He simply broke it, and slipped inside like a wraith.

Three minutes later, targets would start pouring out the open front door.