[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.]
[He looks down at the plate, and doesn't say anything for a moment, like he's trying to line up how to say this. How to even think it without feeling like he's betraying someone, or something.]
I want to be able to touch someone without violence. Without the promise of violence.
[He curls his hands into massive fists.]
I want a life that is my own.
[And that's the greatest sin of all. The wanting of it, at least, does not suggest that he thinks he will ever get it.]
[He could let the Captain touch him, but not without violence. They are both made to be weapons: touching him would be like tracing a fingertip down the barrel of a gun. Touching him will hurt, and he will never be free of what he is.
At his core, a part of it was always there. Built on and built into him, but present. This potential. With misguided loyalties, this is what it becomes.
Though the Soldier feels something over that. It might be regret.]
[He knows better. He knows that this was never something anyone could give him, let alone the man who he would want them from. He has felt more keenly than the other, he has always been a little more complete, a little less of a weapon, for all that they are both deadly.]
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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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I want to be able to touch someone without violence. Without the promise of violence.
[He curls his hands into massive fists.]
I want a life that is my own.
[And that's the greatest sin of all. The wanting of it, at least, does not suggest that he thinks he will ever get it.]
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[He could let the Captain touch him, but not without violence. They are both made to be weapons: touching him would be like tracing a fingertip down the barrel of a gun. Touching him will hurt, and he will never be free of what he is.
At his core, a part of it was always there. Built on and built into him, but present. This potential. With misguided loyalties, this is what it becomes.
Though the Soldier feels something over that. It might be regret.]
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[He knows better. He knows that this was never something anyone could give him, let alone the man who he would want them from. He has felt more keenly than the other, he has always been a little more complete, a little less of a weapon, for all that they are both deadly.]