twinkats | Голубка [My Dove] {6}

Captain America: The Winter Soldier SPOILERS abound! Beware!

Summary: For some reason Steve keeps running into the familiar face of the Winter Soldier. Each new time heralds a mission gone wrong, and yet, Steve can't help but be baffled. Is the Soldier his enemy? Or friend? /Capkink response/ AU TWS [SPOILERS]

Any foreign words has a tooltip with translation

He grabbed a shitty motel room, dropped his bags full of equipment and medical supplies geared to speed up his recovery beside the bed, before he sat gingerly on the edge, scowling at his leg. What had previously been a hairline fracture, readily healing, now turned into a near full break. The bone wasn't snapped in two, if it was he wouldn't even think of walking or riding all the way to the motel on the edges of DC. As it is his masters don't even know he's here, and not sitting outside Fury's bunker watching and recording everything of note.

The Soldier didn't care. What his masters wanted his masters wanted, and while normally he'd be right on it, at the moment he is nothing more than a liability. He'd rather sit here, with his broken mind, replaying the fight with the man in blue not in blue, replaying the thrill and the heat and the fire that burned in him, that caught his attention, than attempt surveillance that will ultimately get him caught and dead.

The bed was soft, the Soldier realized as he pulled himself up onto the mattress more. It wasn't too soft, but it was softer than he'd ever been used to from what he could remember. On the days where he'd be out for more twenty-four hours the Soldier slept on a cot, or on the hard tile. When a mission required him to be out for more than twenty-four hours he'd sleep in a tree or on a ground or not at all. This mattress, shitty motel or not, felt like a rather lumpy cloud of marshmallows. The Soldier scowled.

He looked at the bedside table, lifted the remote from where it rested beside the clock. He stared at it, a bit confused, and hit the obvious power button. He'd seen televisions, remembered them somewhere in a half-daze, but the Soldier never had time to just let himself watch. It, like so many other things, was taboo. Disallowed. He stared at his leg, remembered Rumlow, and gave a cruel parody of a smile.

Despite knowing that the West was a horrible, horrible place—he'd been told this over and over and over every time he woke up from the freeze and the cold, every time he came back from a wipe—the Soldier figured he could at least absorb some of what they wanted to say.

He knew the West lied, that they claimed to be prosperous but weren't. There were so many poor here, so many destitute. He'd heard practically everything from the streets were filled with gangsters and killers and thieves, to the soldiers would eat the dead children of their enemies. Some, the Soldier figured, where illogical and meant to scare weak minded men. He wasn't weak minded, merely a blank tool to be used and molded as his masters pleased, and when it rusted to be wiped clean and start over.

A part of him called for the wipe now, wanted it, craved it to cut out the cacophony of sounds in his own head. These surges of strangeness, the flashes, the yells, things that were indistinct and half-remembered, half-forgotten. The longer he was awake, out of the freeze, the more they became distinct, real, remembered. The more erratic he could, would, and had become the further along he'd be away from the ice and the machine and his chair. The Soldier grimaced, pursed his hips together.

At the same time, he didn't want to lose this new found discovery of liking things, of independence and ignoring orders. He pushed the channel up button, browsed until he found some mindless drivel that caught his attention and at the same time utterly disgusted him. He couldn't look away, couldn't even think.

The Soldier was surprised to find a reprieve in this 'Real Housewives of New York'.

Pierce sat at his desk, hands clasped up against his mouth as he stared out at Rumlow and his STRIKE team. He looked deadly serious despite the smile that raised to his lips as he moved his head down with a sigh.

“Insight is delayed until we can get rid of Fury,” Pierce stated. “With Fury still listed as the Director we'd need his approval to launch. Unfortunately we have nothing to make the council doubt Fury's still on board with SHIELD, which means assassination is our only option.”

Pierce leaned back in his chair, look at each member and then staring hard at Rumlow. “We've already put our best asset on the job,” he said, “despite some...minor...setbacks.” He took a breath, continued. “The problem we are facing now is that Fury has gone to ground and take Black Widow and Captain America with him. All of his ops will of course go through SHIELD itself, which means we can see what they will do and plan accordingly however.”

Here Pierce leaned forward, clasping his hands again just below his chin.

“However I believe that Fury has unearthed something he should not know,” Pierce continued. “I believe he either strongly suspects HYDRA influence in SHIELD, or already knows about us and is merely biding his time gathering proof.”

Rumlow nodded and said, “Which is where we come in.”

Pierce smiled coldly. “Precisely. Your STRIKE team will be heading to every known data center we have, as I know Fury and those will be the first places he checks, and remove anything pertaining to or hinting towards HYDRA. Now, I do not expect resistance, and honestly this is a job Sitwell could do easily enough if he had full clearance, however. On the off chance that your current assignment matches up with Captain America and Black Widow, I'd trust HYDRA's chances with the STRIKE team in play.”

Rumlow nodded, looked back to his boys, and then back to Pierce.

“When do we leave?” he asked.

“Sitwell is generating you a list of data centers for you to access,” Pierce stated. “Further on that Agent Coulson and his team will be flying in, in two days. You are to covertly pull whatever you can from the agents Coulson has, and from his transports on board systems as well.”

Rumlow nodded. “Should be a piece of cake. We already have an inside man.”

Natasha handed over the cash to the front desk, accepted the key to the room she just paid for, and turned down the hall. The tab said 104, close enough to the entrance of the building, yet also with a quick back exit. Perfect for the time being until Clint showed up from who knows where and they got this 'stop Hydra' ball rolling beyond Nick lamenting that there was rot within SHIELD.

She had a small bag of the essentials strapped to her back like a backpack, her per-prepared knapsack for when she had to move locations, filled with the equipment she most used. Such as her garrote wire, her bracelets loving called Black Widows Bite, and her handguns with ammunition. She'd just pulled out the key to her room when someone limped heavily past her.

Natasha paused, turned to look. She swore for a minute that she recognized the person, that she knew them, when she looked again as the figure stopped two doors down at 106, she couldn't figure out where she thought she saw them. He had a bag of food clutched between his teeth, another under his left arm, and was opening the door one-handed with his right give or take a bit of a struggle.

She watched as he almost dropped his food, let out a muffled curse as the bag in his mouth threatened to fall, before he got the door opened and limped inside, leg wrapped tightly in a brace. The door slipped shut behind him, she could hear two loud thumps of the bags being dropped and then the familiar sound of that drivel Clint liked to watch, muffled through the walls.

Natasha sighed, opened her door, dropped her bag off. It must have all been in her head. He didn't actually look like anyone she knew, dressed in a dark blue hoodie with a thick black leg brace where his leg was obviously broken and still healing. If she were even perfectly honest with herself it most likely was a passing resemblance to someone she'd killed.

With a sigh Natasha turned on the radio, sought out a channel that she could listen to, and turned up the volume. Not too loud, because she could get into trouble, but loud enough to drown out the drivel from down the hall.

One week. It took one week before Nick felt like they had a plan, that they were going somewhere. Coulson and May were debriefed on the situation and on board with the plan, although Nick had to drag Coulson off alone when they showed up to even get him to cooperate. He rubbed his shoulder in remembrance, lips tugged down into a frown.

That meeting reminded Nick what shame felt like. He pushed the thoughts down, focused on the plan at hand.

“We need more intel,” he said to Natasha, Steve, and Maria. “So I'm sending you to on a continuous op to each of our major DC data centers. Barton will be checking our overseas centers. Coulson and May will be working to gather intel on what centers may be compromised--”

It sounded like a car backfired. The noise reverberated, echoed around them. Nick, in his seat, jerked back, his good eye snapping wide. One hand jerked up to his shoulder and came away red with blood.

Natasha and Maria immediately ran to Nick's side, Maria calling for medical back up. They had doctors on standby, ones vetted out fifteen times to be certain they weren't HYDRA. Steve looked around, searching for the point of entry. The entire base was meant to be a bunker, surrounded on all sides by concrete. This area was at its thickest, which meant the shot couldn't have come from outside but inside.

Steve caught movement out of the corner of his eye and dashed after it.

“Steve!” Natasha yelled but Steve waved her off, racing after the intruder, grabbing his Shield as he passed it by.

Steve burst through the door seconds after the intruder, swung his arm back and tossed his Shield towards the back of a dark head of hair. He couldn't tell as easily in the dark who it was, but Steve had a good guess. The Soldier dove to the left, rolled, and came up with his rifle aimed at Steve. The Shield impacted and buried itself into a tree off behind him.

They stood like that for a few seconds, staring at one another in silence. The Soldier slowly got to his feet, Steve noted that he was favoring his leg still, and pointed his rifle down towards the ground. Steve's brow furrowed as he couldn't shake that there was something he was missing here, something familiar.

“Do I know you?” Steve asked, figuring maybe that was why he kept seeing the Soldier lately.

The Soldier looked down, then said, “No.” There was a moment, and then, “I am not here to fight you.”

Steve frowned. “Sure as hell a way to get attention, then.”

“He's my mission,” the Soldier shrugged. “Until Nick Fury is dead, HYDRA cannot launch Insight.”

“So you're HYDRA,” Steve said, clenching his fist.

“I am a weapon,” the Soldier corrected. “A tool. HYDRA merely uses me.” The Soldier licked his lips. “I. Liked the fight.”

Steve looked baffled, completely at a loss of what he was hearing. “What?”

“Fighting you,” the Soldier reiterated. His lips pursed beneath his mask. “I liked fighting you.” He licked his lips. “I want to fight you again. When I'm...repaired.”

“What?” Steve shook his head, completely confused. “What was this, then? Some sick way to get me alone to tell me all this?”

The Soldier grimaced. “No. Nick Fury is my mission.” He clenched his fist. “I will not fail my mission. However. You. Are not my mission. I.” The Soldier shook his head.

Steve took a concerned step forward, he couldn't help it. The Soldier looked, he wasn't sure what it was but it tugged at Steve's heart.

“You okay?” he asked.

The Soldier raised his gun the minute Steve started forward, stopping Steve in his tracks. “This was not a declaration of intent,” he said clearly. “This was not an attempt at getting your attention. Nick Fury is my mission. I will complete my mission. I merely...want to fight you again. Soon.”

With that said the Soldier fired his rifle, forcing Steve to dodge not that he would have hit the other man anyway, and used the distraction to disappear into the darkness of the trees.

Steve rolled back up onto his knees and looked around. He pushed himself to his feet, cautiously, and made his way over to his Shield. A second later he rolled to the left, tugging his Shield out of the tree and up, but he needn't have bothered. A knife lodged itself into the tree, a letter attached written entirely in Russian.

Я хочу реванша до окончания моей миссии, так что я буду воздерживаться от убийства вашего директора на данный момент. Борьба вас было лучше, чем секс.

До следующего раза, голубка.

Russian words (hopefully)

1. Голубка – golubka – my dove
2. Я хочу реванша до окончания моей миссии, так что я буду воздерживаться от убийства вашего директора на данный момент. Борьба вас было лучше, чем секс. – I͡A khochu revansha do okonchanii͡a moeĭ missii, tak chto i͡a budu vozderzhivat'si͡a ot ubiĭstva vashego direktora na dannyĭ moment. Bor'ba vas bylo luchshe, chem seks. – I want a rematch before my mission ends, so I'll refrain from killing your Director for now. Fighting you was better than sex. (I want a rematch before the end of my mission, so I will refrain from killing your CEO at the moment. Fighting you was better than sex.)
3. До следующего раза, голубка. – Do sledui͡ushchego raza, golubka. – Until next time, my dove. ( Until next time, dove.)