Bucky Barnes ★ The Winter Soldier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
therightagent) wrote2014-10-16 08:21 pm
therightagent) wrote2014-10-16 08:21 pm
(no subject)
Various HYDRA personnel in charge of the Winter Projects have considered different ways of handling the Assets. They have been wiped of their memories time and time again, sent out separately, together, removed from list of active assets and rewritten in. The two of them together are more dangerous, more likely to see cracks in their programming, but they are also better, deadlier together. It proves much more effective to assign them their missions together and use the bond even HYDRA can't erase against them. If one steps out of line, tries to become something more than a tool, the other will be made to suffer.
They're waiting. Much of her work is waiting - waiting for the perfect time, the perfect target. She can spend hours perfectly still, looking at the world through the end of a scope. They've fulfilled their orders and are waiting to be told what they're supposed to do next. The Soldier's gaze keeps slipping towards him (the Captain, they call him, which she understands to mean he is her superior even when nothing else about their missions indicates as such), holding hard against a jittery, confused need to check him over, assure herself that all the blood he's spilled belongs to others, not him, to lecture him about going into fights on his own.
It's an anomaly, a malfunction. Her fingers tap against her leg, a nervous habit that is not characteristic of someone who could barely recognize the emotion. Malfunctions should be reported. But in between confused thoughts when she thinks she almost remembers patching him up after fights (which doesn't make sense, they are trained to stay as intact as possible but HYDRA handles their injuries), she feels the sharp memory of pain and doesn't say anything.
They're waiting. Much of her work is waiting - waiting for the perfect time, the perfect target. She can spend hours perfectly still, looking at the world through the end of a scope. They've fulfilled their orders and are waiting to be told what they're supposed to do next. The Soldier's gaze keeps slipping towards him (the Captain, they call him, which she understands to mean he is her superior even when nothing else about their missions indicates as such), holding hard against a jittery, confused need to check him over, assure herself that all the blood he's spilled belongs to others, not him, to lecture him about going into fights on his own.
It's an anomaly, a malfunction. Her fingers tap against her leg, a nervous habit that is not characteristic of someone who could barely recognize the emotion. Malfunctions should be reported. But in between confused thoughts when she thinks she almost remembers patching him up after fights (which doesn't make sense, they are trained to stay as intact as possible but HYDRA handles their injuries), she feels the sharp memory of pain and doesn't say anything.