twinkats | Голубка [My Dove] {1}

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

Steve waited for the other shoe to drop. He knew that no mission ever went successfully, no mission survived contact, and so he waited, crouched with his sights trained on the bridge. The receiver he pinned, unaware to Batroc and whomever else he had up there, let him know all he needed. Steve licked his lips. They should be in position now, and ready to strike at any moment.

“Natasha?” he asked into his wrist. Steve almost winced at the loud reply. Five seconds later they were on the move, plan still in play. At least until Natasha missed the rendezvous point, 'and there went the other shoe,' Steve thought with a grimace. Steve had to find her, feasibly before Batroc, or find Batroc before finding her.

“Well, this is awkward,” Natasha said.

Steve didn't expect to find one right after the other at the tail end of kicking Batroc down. Natasha glanced at him, gave a coy little smile, and the shoes kept dropping. One right after the other. Steve wanted to punch something, maybe that would make this day go a bit better. He glanced down to Batroc, out cold, and then sighed. No, punching things did not make this day go any better.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve demanded.

“Backing up the harddrive,” Natasha replied with a smile. “It's a good habit to get into.”

“Rumlow needed your help, what the hell are you doing here?” He looked over the screen, his eyes widened in surprise. “You're saving SHIELD intel.”

“Whatever I can get my hands on,” Natasha said, gaze intent on the screen before her.

“Our mission is to rescue hostages,” Steve said sharply, a reprimand that he felt Natasha needed. He knew how loyal she was to SHIELD but to jeopardize the mission like this?

“No, that's your mission,” Natasha told him, her lips quirked up in that way they always did when she felt amused by something. Steve clenched his fist. “And you did it beautifully.”

For the first time in a while Steve actually wanted to punch a woman. Something about Natasha made his blood boil. He knew, he knew, she could be so much better than this. That Fury could be so much better than this. Did Steve not prove himself trustworthy to them? Sure he had a rather strong moral fiber but that moral fiber could be flexible as needed. Just not much.

Actually maybe Steve could understand their cards being held close to the chest. A part of himself wanted to just grab his head and stop thinking in circles, the other wanted to punch some sense into Natasha, and then into Fury. He didn't.

“You just jeopardized this whole operation,” Steve snapped, grabbing hold of her arm. He restrained himself from squeezing too hard, he didn't want to hurt her, just perhaps make his point. This doesn't fly when he's running things. At all.

“I think that's overstating things,” Natasha said calmly. Next second either of them knew Batroc was up and on his feet and Steve had his shield up to deflect a grenade. They dodged right, through some glass, then down, and then the world erupted into fire and smoke.

Steve's ears were ringing and he felt fairly assured that there was glass stabbed into him somewhere. He leaned back against the wall, tried to ignore the fire and the heat around them, the remains of the exploded grenade, and catch his breath. Natasha looked at him, turned her head, and gave him a sheepish sort of smile.

“Okay, that one's on me,” she said breathlessly. Steve scowled. He pushed himself up, using his Shield as a crutch, trying to ignore the bruises he'll probably have after all this.

“Damn right it is,” he snapped, and staggered his way out of the mainframe? Computer room? Steve couldn't be sure what this place was called, aside from that it now rested in broken bits and burned hardware. Behind him Natasha staggered along, quiet.

'Good,' Steve thought. 'I got through to her.' A small part of himself felt guilty. Natasha was just doing her job. However the hurt and betrayed part, the part that felt like Natasha didn't trust him after all they had been through felt vindictive and Steve decided to revel in that instead of the guilt. He had enough guilt to last a lifetime.

Both Natasha and Steve staggered out onto the deck and prepared to make their way towards the rendezvous point where the jet would pick them up. Their eyes both watered as the cool air hit and they passed through the smoke and fire out onto the deck. Steve raised a hand to clear his vision, and sucked in fresh breaths of air.

“ебать!”

The words rang out and echoed around the abandoned deck. Natasha paled, and Steve had to squint to see what had caught her attention at first before it became apparent that they weren't alone. Natasha hadn't been the one to swear, in fact, but rather a man with a shiny metal arm? Steve blinked.

“You know,” he said offhandedly, “the twenty-first century is just ridiculously weird.”

“Steve,” Natasha hissed, “shut up.” Steve frowned, straightened up, and tightened his grip on his shield.

“You know him?” he asked, under his breath. The stranger looked familiar, but Steve couldn't place where. Perhaps he was a SHIELD agent?

“Not in a good way,” Natasha said. “We have to run.”

“Why?”

Her face was blank, serious, as Natasha turned to look at Steve. “Because he makes me look like a wet kitten.”

Steve frowned, his grip tightened further on his shield, but he nodded. Sometimes retreat was the best option, especially when your dangerously attractive assassin coworker happens to be terrified.

“Not SHIELD then?” Steve asked as he prepared to run.

“Not by a long shot,” Natasha shook her head. She kept her gaze turned towards the man who held a gun loosely at his side. He seemed to be stuck in some sort of internal debate for a second, before his gaze sharpened on Natasha and Steve. His eyes narrowed. Steve could barely make them out through the black paint that surrounded them. Neither could see his mouth, or anything below his eyes, as it was wrapped in a mask of some sort.

One second they were staring at each other, tense, and the next Natasha was running with a sharp command from Steve and the stranger was raising his gun to fire. Steve quickly raised his shield and then tossed it. The stranger's eyes widened for a second, and then he turned, sharply to dodge the dangerous metallic frisbee, losing sight of Natasha. The shield bounced off of the wall behind the leather decked stranger and made its way back to Steve who grasped it and raised it just in time to deflect a hail of bullets.

Steve rushed forward, keeping the shield up to save himself from becoming swiss Steve ala machine gun—Gods he must be out of his mind right now if he's cracking jokes in his own head like this. Granted Bucky used to say much worse in more dire situations. Steve grimaced.

'Focus,' he told himself.

He slapped the gun away with the shield and slammed his palm out towards the strangers head, only to have it deflected by the metallic arm, and then having to block a sudden raised knee which Steve followed with a kick which was caught. He let out a grunt of pain, and then surprise as the stranger tossed him one armed by his leg. Steve barely had time to dodge as the stranger raced at him, denting the wall with his fist, followed by a swipe with a knife. Steve blocked the arm with his forearm and braced himself against the wall before slamming his foot into the others chest.

The stranger staggered back, but his eyes remained focus. He flipped the blade and darted towards Steve again, which Steve dodged left, then ducked, and then delivered an uppercut and a sharp downward kick to the others knee. He went down with a sharp yell, and Steve ran. He couldn't be sure that whosoever that was hadn't brought friends along, and while Natasha could take care of herself, her phrasing had him worried.

Steve barely registered Batroc's body as he ducked under railing, dodging bullets as best he was able—one nicked his shoulder—while cursing how south this operation went. It was only when he was safely in the plane, with Natasha beside him healthy and whole, and flying back to the Triskelion did Steve breath a sigh of relief.

He hated when the other shoe dropped, because it always dropped hard and was never alone.

The Winter Soldier stalked through the familiar halls and gates, surrounded by at least four armed men at any given time. This was a place he was most intimately familiar with, the only place in his memories that held any clarity. The men escorted him into the deepest, most secured reaches of the building that had his chair, one of the few things he could scarcely call his at least. The Soldier sat down, rested his arms on his knees, and waited.

Two scientists stepped into the room, nervous, hesitant. There was a sharp command in Russian, an order to strip off his armor. The Soldier stood and began to undo the buckles and snaps, pealing away layer by layer the protective leather and kevlar top. He sat back down onto the chair, now bare chested.

One scientist injected him with something to keep him calm, the other went about servicing his arm, making sure it was in working condition still until whomever held the Soldier's leash came in for a report. Blue-green eyes darted around the room, taking in the familiarity as his mind hazed over slightly. Soon enough they'd go through the same procedure as always and he'd be put back on ice until they needed him again. It was the same after every mission, a routine he knew by heart.

The Soldier came back to himself at the sound of a scraping chair. He glanced to his side to find the scientist checking the mechanics of his arm gone, and then looked in front to see his master before him.

“Tell me what happened,” Pierce said with a congenial smile. The Soldier frowned momentarily, he had to remember that this was how this particular one asked for a report most days. The phrasing always threw him off at first.

“Mission failed,” he said after a minute, licking his lips in (nervous?) anticipation of what would come next.

“Explain,” Pierce demanded, leaning back into his chair.

“By the time I arrived the databanks were destroyed,” the Soldier said. “Nothing could be salvaged.”

“Who destroyed them?” Pierce demanded. “How where they destroyed?”

The Soldier licked his lips again. “Pattern of debris suggests some sort of high intensive explosive device, such as a grenade. Two enemy combatants were inside.”

Pierce narrowed his eyes, “Which combatants?”

“Subject: Black Widow,” Soldier recited, then frowned, “and...some guy in...blue.”

Pierce scowled. “You didn't recognize him?”

“No.”

Pierce nodded and got to his feet. He gestured towards the chair and one of the armed men tugged it back into its original place.

“Very well then,” he said with a sigh. “You know what the price of failure is.”

“Yes.”

Pierce nodded, then motioned towards the armed men.

“I'll leave you to it, boys,” he said, and left the room.

The Soldier grimaced. He wasn't going to like this.

Russian(hopefully)

1. Голубка – golubka – my dove (random website for pet names/nicknames)
2. ебать – eblat' – fuck, cuss out (GOOGLE TRANSLATE)