[Well. After all the Captain's efforts to break him into a smile, it's almost surprising that it's taken so little in return to stir anger to his surface. He almost doesn't seem designed for it until it's there, a presence behind his eyes and no - such determination is anger's perfect foil.
The Soldier follows him inside after a moment, and stands in the room he goes to, awaiting reprimand or punishment.]
There is no point in both of us taking a hit if we don't need to.
[He says this, pointedly, in English, as if it's more comfortable than Russian. Meanwhile he's searching the shelves - ah, a bug - and he takes a coffee mug and carefully sets it inside.
[It's not entirely pointed, there is reason to ask other than to say that if the Captain is not then his Soldier would likewise have walked from the wreck. It's not only to say that the both of them have had worse and brushed the experience off as mild inconvenience. But if those points are made, so be it.
He doesn't go to help the sweep, it won't take both of them. He watches.]
[The word is brief, and he finds a couple more, and takes them to the window and sets them just outside of it and closes the door. Tomorrow he will put them back. Tonight they will have some level of privacy, at least in here.
He turns, looks at the Soldier, down at the metal hand concealed by thin cloth. He does not forget they are both lethal, men rebuilt.]
[The same logic applies, he thinks. But he's reaching over the Soldier's head for a bottle of milk and then for two glasses. He will not ask. He just pours and pushes it over on the counter, slightly.]
[Milk, butter, ham, bread, whatever else there is a stock of to empty, he does. They ate yesterday in the restaurant of the boat from France, too delicately for his interests, and now he acknowledges hunger it's a matter of fact business of dealing with it.]
Do you know what they would do to me, if you were? And for how long?
[There's no lift of emotion there, this is laid out as he lays out the supplies - a simple, necessary business.]
I am your comrade, and I'm aware the stuff you're made from.
[And if Steve Rogers is compromised in any but the ways prepared for, the things visited upon his Soldier will not bear thinking about. Not that the Soldier's mind lingers there. Not that it lingers for that reason.
For some reason the proximity tugs at him, a twitch he can't seem to shake. He looks back, irritated.]
Sit. I don't need supervision.
[Don't hover, a voice echoes, faint and thin. What'dyou think I'll do, burn it?]
[There is a sigh, and he moves heavily, more heavily than he usually does, particularly considering he weighs so much. He grabs a chair and sits at the table.]
[So he's said, and it's not worry that sits leaden in the Soldier's chest, not concern for personal security, nor that the Captain might be hurt. He hadn't appreciated watching the car pull back away from the house. Being left behind.
Perhaps he's grown too used to working under his own command. Perhaps that's what troubles him (but no, he follows orders well).
It isn't long before he slides a plate across to the Captain and sits.]
[He takes the plate, and eats, silently, for a few minutes. They are big men, the both of them, and it's been a long day, so it takes up his attentions.
When he's finished (it's not bad, this food, it's simple but in a way that's comforting) he looks up.]
[Not that there isn't agreement in that. But the risk is one the Soldier has been briefed on and the Captain is intended to remain unaware. Unless this is a double ended blade and they each have their own missions. That would not be impossible.
[He looks up, his expression that measured look, the one that says that no, it's not strange, but explain. He sets his utensils down.
He has no mission outside the hit, no order that says he's to stop the Soldier if he goes off grid. But of the two of them, the Captain has always been more difficult to control, and no one really understands why.]
[That, at least, is the logical way to see it. Two operatives for a job that, both of them can see, necessitates only one. It seems, on the surface, excessive. Below the surface is where it seems like a test.]
[And that's an idiot's question, Captain, and you are no idiot. The Soldier looks across at him for a long time, quiet.]
They told me they are testing you, but that was a fraction of the truth. [His eyes are dark; there's no more light in the room than needed to see by.] They test my loyalties.
{The soldier says, though he's unbuttoning the starched shirt that's a uniform when trying to pass in England, and unstrapping the buckled vest he wears beneath - there are weapons he keeps ready and weapons he keeps concealed and this last is most concealed of all. A gun. The bullets only meant for one man.
[He looks at the gun, at the weapon designed for him, and he knows.]
I was not told to watch you.
[He says it because it tells them both what this mission is about - who this mission is about. This is less about the target (although that is ingrained in his head, he is a weapon first and foremost) but more about seeing if he can be trusted.
[He leaves the gun where it lays, but will take it back before the evening's done. The things they will do to both of them if it is not returned, the bullets in the chamber or in the Captain's back.
(They lash him: he remembers this in flashes. They lash him until he associates pain with those blue eyes - but he wakes and he forgets to hurt once more).]
[Now that is something beyond the bounds of his existence so far as he remembers it. He tilts his chin, examines the Captain as if he speaks an unknown tongue.]
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The Soldier follows him inside after a moment, and stands in the room he goes to, awaiting reprimand or punishment.]
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[He says this, pointedly, in English, as if it's more comfortable than Russian. Meanwhile he's searching the shelves - ah, a bug - and he takes a coffee mug and carefully sets it inside.
He continues with his sweep.]
You can argue that in your head.
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[It's not entirely pointed, there is reason to ask other than to say that if the Captain is not then his Soldier would likewise have walked from the wreck. It's not only to say that the both of them have had worse and brushed the experience off as mild inconvenience. But if those points are made, so be it.
He doesn't go to help the sweep, it won't take both of them. He watches.]
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[The word is brief, and he finds a couple more, and takes them to the window and sets them just outside of it and closes the door. Tomorrow he will put them back. Tonight they will have some level of privacy, at least in here.
He turns, looks at the Soldier, down at the metal hand concealed by thin cloth. He does not forget they are both lethal, men rebuilt.]
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[Now that is pointed. And now he moves past the Captain, opening cupboard doors, crouching in front of the fridge.
(They are men rebuilt. Still, they have needs.)]
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[The same logic applies, he thinks. But he's reaching over the Soldier's head for a bottle of milk and then for two glasses. He will not ask. He just pours and pushes it over on the counter, slightly.]
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Do you know what they would do to me, if you were? And for how long?
[There's no lift of emotion there, this is laid out as he lays out the supplies - a simple, necessary business.]
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[Injuries heal quickly on him, but that's not really want he means. He does not know why intrinsically, he is worth more than anyone else.]
And you are not my bodyguard.
[He drinks his milk, calmly, tilting his head to look over and watch food being prepared.]
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[And if Steve Rogers is compromised in any but the ways prepared for, the things visited upon his Soldier will not bear thinking about. Not that the Soldier's mind lingers there. Not that it lingers for that reason.
For some reason the proximity tugs at him, a twitch he can't seem to shake. He looks back, irritated.]
Sit. I don't need supervision.
[Don't hover, a voice echoes, faint and thin. What'dyou think I'll do, burn it?]
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You have nothing to worry for.
[That feels familiar, too. Niggling.]
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Perhaps he's grown too used to working under his own command. Perhaps that's what troubles him (but no, he follows orders well).
It isn't long before he slides a plate across to the Captain and sits.]
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When he's finished (it's not bad, this food, it's simple but in a way that's comforting) he looks up.]
They are taking a risk, sending us both.
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[Not that there isn't agreement in that. But the risk is one the Soldier has been briefed on and the Captain is intended to remain unaware. Unless this is a double ended blade and they each have their own missions. That would not be impossible.
It would not be unlikely.]
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He has no mission outside the hit, no order that says he's to stop the Soldier if he goes off grid. But of the two of them, the Captain has always been more difficult to control, and no one really understands why.]
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[That, at least, is the logical way to see it. Two operatives for a job that, both of them can see, necessitates only one. It seems, on the surface, excessive. Below the surface is where it seems like a test.]
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[He asks it with that same measured look, that same expression.]
Comrade, this is not simply a mission.
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[And that's an idiot's question, Captain, and you are no idiot. The Soldier looks across at him for a long time, quiet.]
They told me they are testing you, but that was a fraction of the truth. [His eyes are dark; there's no more light in the room than needed to see by.] They test my loyalties.
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[It's an idiot's question, for two men who are not idiots.]
Are you loyal to me?
[That measured look softens, but doesn't turn hopefully, it can't.
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{The soldier says, though he's unbuttoning the starched shirt that's a uniform when trying to pass in England, and unstrapping the buckled vest he wears beneath - there are weapons he keeps ready and weapons he keeps concealed and this last is most concealed of all. A gun. The bullets only meant for one man.
He sets it spinning on the table.]
My loyalty is to Russia. Second.
[He'll not take the Captain down for them.]
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I was not told to watch you.
[He says it because it tells them both what this mission is about - who this mission is about. This is less about the target (although that is ingrained in his head, he is a weapon first and foremost) but more about seeing if he can be trusted.
He doesn't know if he can.]
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[He leaves the gun where it lays, but will take it back before the evening's done. The things they will do to both of them if it is not returned, the bullets in the chamber or in the Captain's back.
(They lash him: he remembers this in flashes. They lash him until he associates pain with those blue eyes - but he wakes and he forgets to hurt once more).]
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What do you want to do?
[As if they can do whatever they want, as if they won't be hunted down for it.]
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Do you have wants?
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[Yes. He does, and they're private, they're the only things that he considers his.
That's why there's a gun with a bullet that has his name etched in it, and there isn't one for the Winter Soldier.]
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I... want to know them. [He wants more than that, perhaps, but takes small steps.]
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