(ง •̀_•́)ง ･ﾟ✧ ╾ ᵃᵖᵎ

lost.  she could understand that.  honestly, she’d be lying if she said that she wasn’t as well, even now  —  but was she ever truly in control, knowing exactly where she was, what she was doing?  from what she could remember about her life before, she felt safe and happy, but didn’t ever fully know her purpose ;;  maybe hydra managed to give her that much.  maybe they tried to force her into a role she wasn’t meant for.  illana didn’t know, and she never would.

❝ it’s okay.  there’s…  no rush, with anything.  you’re allowed to be lost. ❞  he was allowed to be anything he wanted to be, but she knew that those words may seem a bit too heavy, a little too scary.  having the freedom to be anything, anyone, to not fall into a premade role…  it was a lot to deal with.

but he was here now.  holden was here, he didn’t look hurt, and she’d make sure to keep him safe.  illana knew that their situations were different, that their pasts before hydra couldn’t have been the same, but she believed that they all deserved some sort of protection, so long as they weren’t wholly lost to hydra’s mantras.  even then, she thought the assets deserved another chance.

a hand almost reaches out, before she remembers that not everyone is comfortable with touch, her then moving over on the couch, silently offering him a place to sit.  ❝ half the time, i don’t know what i’m doing ;;  it feels as though i’m going through the motions, but it doesn’t fully help. ❞  offering a small smile, some sort of reassurance for the other.  ❝ is there anything that helps you feel less lost?  something that helps ground you? ❞ 

you’re allowed to be lost. somehow these words are immediately comforting --- as if she’s the one writing the book for their assimilation into modern society. she’s doing better than he is. she’s gotten farther, somehow. he trusts her words --- trusts her experiences and struggles for what they are. for so long he’d avoided the concept of being. being alive. being a person. being himself. being holden --- or at the very least, what holden was now. a mess, by any other name. holden’s brain was scrambled and chaotic due to the resets and all kinds of undiagnosed trauma. as people, they had seen and done too much. he knows this. there are nights where he remembers having a gun put in his hands at the fragile age of eight --- the faces of his parents lost but HYDRA’s influence engrained --- stuck in his very marrow. how is he supposed to get away from something that has always been apart of him? he doesn’t know. can’t bring himself to ask out of fear of her answer. she knew many harsh truths and he wasn’t ready for any of it --- wasn’t ready for the hand offered or the space on the couch meant for him. still, he moves. being next to her is ... also comforting. it’s the closest he’s gotten to her since they initially met. since his threats. the asset was missing, now. stuck under layers of confused holden. it’s almost nice to be like this, to have a connection. a friend? is that what she was? again, he doesn’t know.

It was like a punch to the stomach–something sudden and jarring. Leo hadn’t even considered the possibility of any of the others being alive–to him, it was impossible. His teeth ground together, hands clenching into tight fists at his side…if he had just paid more attention…

It was the past. It was done. Move on.

The irony of the thought was not lost on him.

He dodged the question–didn’t even acknowledge it. The answers Leo wanted swept aside for that damned BOOK. Burn the fucking thing when you get the chance.

“No.” Not for lack of trying. “It disappeared after–” After Siberia, the murder of their comrades. He scowled–both at the memory, and his own failing for allowing the book to be taken. “–whoever has it is remarkably good at covering their tracks.”

The disappointment is immediate; shoulders slumping a bit and his head turning away to glare at nothing. He should have known better --- if HYDRA had one last chance to anything it would be to keep that damn book out of any of their hands. Anger coils in his stomach at the thought of it being lost --- or worse, destroyed. Holden has wanted the book since the moment his eyes opened --- since his own thoughts started forming in his muddled brain. HYDRA wasn’t something that he held any feelings for but the resets, the spaces in between --- oh, they were like a drug and he was itching for a fix constantly.  He hasn’t done well on his own. He hasn’t adapted to being more than a social outcast. Being human --- being anything other than a weapon was difficult and he didn’t know the steps to take.

“Something not bland.” She just gives him a look, “How else am I supposed to react?” 

It’s not a bad question, but it puts Holden in a standstill. It’s awkward --- he’s awkward, like this. Standing in a kitchen of an apartment that’s almost the size of a napkin, his offering of food being scrutinized. Buttered toast and boiled eggs wasn’t something offered in restaurants and he realizes now that it probably has everything to do with the label of ‘bland.’ Food wasn’t something he’d experimented with much since his waking. As an asset, there was no desire for anything beyond what would simply sustain him and now? Well. He hadn’t really thought about good choices in food being a part of his freedom.

“You may be right, but… We could still hope.” 

Hope. Now there’s a word he hasn’t considered in a long time --- even before his long sleep. It’s enough to make him pause, the silence following a moment to search his own heart for any such thing. The conclusion is quick enough; he doesn’t deserve to have hope, to wish to be normal. Not after the life he lead. Not after the things he’s done.  That didn’t mean they didn’t have a chance, though.