ϟ ¦¦ Скорпиус

                    she fidgets beneath his meticulous stare and the asset notices everything. the girl unconsciously ( and no doubt unwillingly ) reveals a lot about herself without really doing much. it is her SILENCE however that betrays her the most… the myriad of fleeting ( yet powerful ) emotions that flash across her guarded face are brief && sudden, but each flare shares the same rippling shadow of barely contained animosity. it is subtle, the signs of her DISCOMFORT, but the soldier has been trained to notice every small detail placed before him. although her reaction to his words and actions are guarded, they are still compelling && strong enough to crack the mask she thinks is strong enough to hide the dark secrets hidden beneath. he has PUSHED too far, overstepped a line that he shouldn’t have crossed, but privacy is not a privilege granted to killers and spies. it never would be – not in their line of work. they are trained to UPROOT the secrets of the world and expose them, USE them as weapons against their enemies. covert recon isn’t a specialty of his, but he is a ghost and when he requires information, he unearths it. he never asked questions when he was with hydra - and if he had, all he can remember is the BURNING pain of punishment that resulted from pesky CURIOSITY. shield was different ( in some ways ). they scolded him when his actions displeased them, but they never physically punished him for it [ not yet. ] regardless, the soldier remained close to the shadows ( where he was comfortable ) as he stole secrets shield tried to hide. they certainly have plenty of dirty baggage, but nothing has particularly DISTURBED him yet. ( although, he isn’t exactly the best JUDGE of good character ) —but compared to hydra, shield is almost saintly. 

                       bucky barnes isn’t like steven rogers. maybe, at one point in time, they might’ve been ( LIES ), but that man ( the gallant, selfless WAR-HERO ) is nothing more but an old story meant for the history books. the person he is now is SELFISH && unsympathetic, d e s e n s i t i z e d. as long as coulson didn’t make a move against him or his friend, he would do as they ORDERED asked. MORALITY isn’t exactly his prerogative. leave the HERO stuff to captain america and the other avengers. not everyone is meant to be a superhero or a figurehead. no, they are the sad TRUTH shield tries to deny. the weapons hidden in the shadows; the BLOODIED hands ( the cruel unspoken REALITY ) of a formidable machine. he doesn’t bother with manners or politics. shield does not REQUIRE this from him. he is a WEAPON titled agent to help guise the truth ( to appease steve && make the winter soldier seem more HUMAN ) but barnes is well aware of his PURPOSE here. he knows what he EXCELS at - and it does not require DELICACY or DECENCY. to deny his full potential would be FOOLISH. to strive to be someone he is NOT ( a GOOD MAN ) would only be a formula for disaster. this is what he is now, who he has CHOSEN to become, and while it isn’t glamorous ( nor does it deviate too much from the demands of hydra ) it is still the only thing he knows. 

                      …he could try – he could try until he lost what little sanity he had managed to preserve, but the truth is unavoidable, ABSOLUTE. barnes is far too scarred, too DAMAGED… there is no recovering that which was BURNED away. they had…scrapped and scrapped and scrapped; peeled back the flesh, exposing the MAN beneath, and then reached deep inside his body and pulled out everything they couldn’t MANIPULATE. they thought they had been successful too; thought they had successfully managed to ERADICATE everything that made him HUMAN, but they had FAILED to realize that a piece of james buchanan barnes would always belong to steven grant rogers. it had been the only thing that had SAVED him. but the end product is something ugly && disfigured. what remains is the RESULT of extensive dehumanization mixed with the fading echo of forgotten MORALITY. it is a TWISTED combination, unstable && dangerous, but james barnes is reserved for only a select few. the rest of them get the LOOMING shadow of the winter soldier. 

                      her file follows the same GRUESOME pattern he has seen many times before. yet another VICTIM hydra coiled itself around. like his own grisly story, the details in her file are vague more often than not. years of information are completely missing, obscuring and hiding certain details of her past, but the specifics of her ABUSE are unimportant. he knows all too well what hydra is capable of. he honestly doubts anything can surprise him anymore. all he cares about is the result —and she…she is not what he expected to say the least. jackqueline nikolic seems CONTROLLED by her emotions, swayed easily by their pull and it’s strange because hydra’s victims normally emerge as nothing more than SHELLS of their former selves: DAMAGED and HOLLOW, but she is surprisingly different. it fails to keep his interest for long though. the story behind her programming is not a concern of his. all he wants is to complete his mission and destroy yet another hidden branch of hydra. ( funny how he fails to notice the horrible truth. that once again, the soldier RELIES on hydra to give him PURPOSE. ) vehement emotions that darken her piercing gaze are far too complex for the soldier to differentiate between, but they all share the same LIVID intensity. empathy is not an insight he wishes to learn. steve gets concerned when bucky fails to behave ‘properly’ and DISTURBED when the man REVERTS back into something far simpler, so he does his best to be more aware when he is around his friend - but while in the presence of everyone else, he is eerily BLANK; able to separate himself from the dictation of risky sentiment that could otherwise SABOTAGE carefully calculated behavior. it is dangerous, RECKLESS, far too revealing - leaving room for VULNERABILITY. 

                                                                                          ….and that is unacceptable. 

                      the mouthy agent settled across from him struggles to find this same composure and barnes wonders if she is envious of his ability to be so unaffected by such useless whims. she does her best to recover, but he can see the cracks ruining her armor. – – – –and then suddenly, she ADAPTS and the life vanishes from her face, bleeding pale along with the color of her cheeks. he is left looking back at a person whose BLEAK eyes eerily resemble his own. the evidence of hydra’s influence becomes apparent in the HOLLOW emptiness of her dark gaze. the words thrown back at him aren’t surprising, not really. they are expected, but her DISMISSAL is….aggravating to say the least. for a long, drawn out moment, the ex-assassin does not move - content to simply stare back with the same unimpressed ( && CHALLENGING ) stare, but after a minute he sighs and looks away - BORED. ❛ gladly. ❜ he goads, standing up from the chair and silently stalking out of the room. he leaves the gruesome file behind; he doesn’t have a need for it anymore…

                      barnes doesn’t understand why he can’t just do this ALONE. or hell, partner him with steve. they are a DEVASTATINGLY efficient team with a one-hundred percent success rate. a few days later, when bucky finds himself standing in front of coulson yet again, he brings it up - but for whatever reason phil remains stubborn, insistent in his plan to pair up the two LEAST compatible agents shield has to offer. he reminds coulson that these team building experiences aren’t really necessary; that they certainly don’t affect his ability or performance, but the director only offers him a polite smile. he informs the soldier that this mission requires jac’s skills && talent and that he has spoken to her regarding her UNWILLINGNESS to cooperate. bucky doesn’t argue. he could do without the DRAMA though. certainly doesn’t appreciate the delay, especially when the cause of it is a CHILD’s temper tantrum. he spends a few days preparing, hoping time will knock some sense into the stubborn girl, but eventually he grows AGITATED. against advisement, he seeks her out, bristling with impatience. 

                      he finds her sweating out her frustrations, beating LETHAL fists into an unfortunate sandbag, wrapped knuckles undoubtedly bruised beneath white bandages. his foul temper has him tense && restless, but as he draws closer, the weapon begins to notice a few things that pique his interest. he finds himself ABSORBED by her movements, strangely fascinated by the way she fights. her technique is DISTURBINGLY familiar and an echo of HORROR - quick, faint, but powerful - shudders through him. [ a forgotten memory ] —but it’s gone before he can interpret it and he ignores the tremble of apprehension that presses down on his shoulders. the girl notices his presence quickly without needing to turn around. tension forms between her shoulder blades and her muscles grow stiff with unease. the soldier takes that as a sign to approach. he doesn’t want her to catch him staring, and he also wants to avoid making her feel like a CORNERED animal. it isn’t empathy or kindness. he simply wants her COMPLIANCE. but her words produce FRICTION, and barnes struggles to keep blank face empty. eyes darken with a ferocious, unspoken WARNING. he doesn’t appreciate others BARKING orders at him. she is not his MASTER. she is not his HANDLER and she is certainly not in charge, despite what her massive EGO might be telling her. she is NOTHING, and he struggles to smother that sudden FLARE of animosity back down.  

                    ❛ Я не беру мои заказы от вас. ❜ they are weapons SOLDIERS, but he hasn’t seen anything yet that convinces him that she is CAPABLE of being one. it reminds the soldier of himself. he makes no indication of moving any closer, but certainly doesn’t step away either. expression loses some of the HOSTILITY from before but his mood is already shot; any RESISTANCE from her is only going to make it worse. he stares for a long moment, tilting his head as he brows lift mockingly.  ❛ although, you are quite good at BARKING them. ❜ it is an INSULT, and his voice is dripping with SCORN. the message is clear: you sound like one of them. he says it just to HURT her, and he is cruel, because some part of him wants it to HURT. the frightening emotions DIE quickly, draining from his face when he remembers he hasn’t come here to fight. he is wiped clean, blank once again - HOLLOW, empty. he manages to do it with such efficiency.  ❛ coulson said he talked to you. …i want to get this done and your attitude is delaying movement. ❜ he doesn’t have to say the rest. his face is emotionless but his unspoken words pack enough of a punch: PULL OUT OR GET OVER IT. 

                                                            the soldier is getting impatient.

                    his PATHETIC attempt at getting under her skin is futile. she’s unfazed                     ( ᴜɴᴄᴀʀɪɴɢ );  && even the slightest indication of arousal is only but an                     undeserving  sliver   of   accomplished   effort  on   his   part   before  it                     diminishes                                                                                   entirely.                     she turns to face him;    gaze lecherous as it were venomous.   if looks                     could kill,        pretty boy steve rogers would be planning a funeral right                     about                                                                                                now.                                                                         ❛ — — — careful how you talk to me; ❜                     elbows out;                     a loud RIP! echos between them;       fingers tearing away at the velcro                     holding her gloves snug in place.        she pulls them off one-by-one —                     hazel orbs fixed to beautifully blue hues;    her confidence magnified by                     his need to maintain authority ( control ) in her presence.    he might be                     able to fool others,   but she can see right through him.   he’s all smoke                     && mirrors; fragile.                                                                just like her.                     A FRAUD     — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —                                 ❛ Я могу сделать гораздо больше чем кора, любовь. ❜                                          ( i can do a whole lot more than bark, love. )                     war torn boots shuffle forward;         closing the distance between them,                     she tilts her head — examines him.     but her interest is severed by an                     overpowering sense of disinterest.     it’s impossible to mistake && she                     feeds on it by choosing to step around his tall,        brawny form to walk                     over to the bench;            her small shoulder connecting with his in one,                     rough                                                                                              shove.                     one step. two steps. three.                     ❛ coulson lies — — — a lot. ❜                     back turned;   an inhuman sense of awareness becomes heightened in                     the presence of an artfully skilled assassin.   she isn’t stupid; not hardly                     enough to let her guard down around him.      but she isn’t so unnerved                     that she feels the need to keep her eye’s on him at all times,        either.                     no — he is far too unworthy of such attention;    of such 🅒🅞🅝🅒🅔🅡🅝.                     she  wouldn’t  dare  bother  with  giving  him  the satisfaction of  getting                     under her skin  — — — — — of making her feel AFRAID as he has so                     desperately tried with her in the past.            his position of power ends                     right here;                                                                                 right now.                     finally, she faces him again, but she isn’t looking at him;  she’s focused                     on her hands. white bandages stained both by dirt && blood;          the                     corner of her mouth twists upwards;              amused and irritated with                     herself all  at once    — — — — — —  all of which happens equally as                     fast as she begins unraveling the  cloth that clings to bruised knuckles.                     the edges of her eye’s crinkle as she gets closer to skin. it isn’t painful,                     but it isn’t painless,                                                                        either.                     the sting    —      much like him    —    is more annoying than anything.                                                 ❛ pay attention ‘cause i’m only gonna say this once; ❜                      she places her gloves down;                      leans back on the table and crosses her arms.

     “hey, I’ve done plenty for you– will you just listen for a moment?”

   she pauses to scratch her the back of her head with her pointer && middle finger; thick brows laced together in mild frustration; the last remnants of a blunt she’d lit thirty-minutes ago dangling from day old, crimson stained lips. she hadn’t washed off the make-up she wore the night before. dry mascara caked at the corners of her eye’s in littered specks just beneath thick lashes; hair wavy and somewhat messy from the nap she'd taken an hour or so ago. it's clear she wasn’t expecting company. but it was also ana and she cared very little about what she thought, so the effort of making herself look presentable by any means was pretty much out the window.

     “I need to ask you for a favor.”

counted seconds tick by &&. when her refusal of his offer has manifested , his own indulgence is satisfied by the pool of ( burning ) auburn. god , it’s gotten to a point where it no longer burdens consequence: where the body has become accustom to the senses. but never the taste ——– fuck no.       jaw tenses: muscles twitching as it travels down his throat. ( he can never get used to that bit. )   

❛  why : y’not happy to see me ?  ❜  granted at 6am it was doubtful that anyone would exhibit joy upon his unscheduled appearance.  ❛  because that would be incredibly hurtful &&. i’d have to start questioning this friendship of ours.   ❜

       would it seem rude and inconsiderate of her to say no?

          it certainly wouldn’t be uncharacteristic;  she’s hardly happy to see her own reflection in the mirror most mornings then she is to see other people.  especially those lingering around her condo UNINVITED ------ but she’s not pointing fingers or anything.

                    ------------ that is, she isn’t pointing fingers yet.

          she tosses him a quick glance over her shoulder as she makes her way into the kitchen  ( face full of disapproval and exhaustion ),  then focuses her full attention on grabbing a mug to pour her coffee in.

   IT’S WILDLY inappropriate for him to laugh, especially under his dire circumstances, but he does. the tremors make their way through his shoulders and all the way down to his abdomen, before he comes to a gradual stop– until there is nothing left. just the tick, tick, ticking of the clock. 

    “you should’ve been there, at the conference room. woulda gotten a real kick out of what the  secretary of state was proposing.” he pauses, and switches up his last word. “…enforcing.”

or, on second thought, perhaps it was best that she was absent. even with her snarky, yet justifying remarks, stark would have still sided with ross without hesitation, just to get on the guy’s good side– since when was iron man ever patriotic? was he not opposed to selling the secrets of his suit when the government once demanded them? what made handing over identities any different?

        his laughter is a breath of fresh air ( && there isn’t a single part of her that doesn’t miss hearing it ), however, she can’t help but still feel agitated. this is their reality, and whether or not they like it, it was time for them to face it. they were practically being forced to at this point, anyways.

                    the lighter and unlit cigarette drop from her hand && onto the table.                     the clunking and thumping of both dying just as soon as it is heard.

          she slouches back in her chair a little further;           slowly succumbing to the stupid ( yet ironic ) inconveniences life keeps throwing at her.

          a hand reaches upwards; two fingers ( thumb and index ) brush against her bottom lip. her thoughts process quickly. so much that her eye’s nearly rattle as they dart back-and-forth; still focused on the stack of papers in front of her. she’s still desperately trying to wrap her head around all of this, and while she shouldn’t be surprised, it’s ridiculously hard to swallow right now, for some reason.

          she’d spent eighty-years fighting off people and organizations wanting to control her ( to control them ) just for it to circle back around to the same exact bullshit. a repeat of a seemingly neverending hell, so she gets it. really, she does. but was she foolish enough to have believed it was ever actually going to stop? even for someone like steve rogers? someone that was better than her in every way, shape, or form?

                            probably.

          finally, she looks back up at him.           suddenly, she’s fearful of the decision he may have already come to.

          she hadn’t thought to ask before, but now it’s all she can think of.

    “WHAT DO you think?” 

a voice, once accustomed to control and order, quivers just enough for her to notice. he swallows to suppress anger that threatens to boil over his last ounce of patience, which, to his disadvantage, isn’t much. the chair creaks as he leans back, groaning profanity that refuses to spill from his own mouth. there’s no need for him to say any more than he already has- his distressed posture speaks volumes. a cup of coffee would be helpful– if, you know, his blood didn’t dissolve the effects of caffeine so quickly. he decides to make himself one anyway, just for the bitter taste. and perhaps a bit of distraction. 

        she’s about as intelligent as they come; could probably give stark a run for his money if she really wanted ( if she t r i e d hard enough ), but this ------ this, she cannot wrap her head around.

          the look on his face seems to match hers.           though she isn’t as hurt as he seems to be.           while he’s upset ( angry, perhaps ), she is irritated.

          she leans back in her chair;           taps the lighter she’d been holding against the table.           an unlit cigarette limp between index and middle.

          she’s no superhero. she’s done more harm then good in her life, that’s for sure. so the obnoxious stack of papers she has spent the last ten, twenty, thirty ( or so ) minutes flipping through doesn’t necessarily effect her in any way, but she can see the toll it is taking on him ------ && she doesn’t like it.

          at some point you have to wonder just exactly how far is too far,

                                           and she thinks she may have finally found it.