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flowerrrye · 7 months

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[R.R] PROLOGE

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ Rest in pieces, peace of mind Someday we will reunite — 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍

There's nothing that I hate more than this uniform. And that's a big fucking euphemism, 'cause exist a lot of more things for me to hate than a piece of cloth. But the truth is that, looking at this monochrome set, all I can see is the last person I want to be. Who the world condemned me to be, even when I was incapable of choosing for myself.

The Winter Soldier is present in every detail of this costume, including in the only one that escapes the rest: the red star traced below my shoulder.

That's not who I am, but who I was obligated to be. And now they're, again, forcing me to dress the so condemned skin one last time.

At least, that's what they said. It's what they want to convince me to believe.

But, I'm sure, if United States need a potential weapon, I'll be through the firsts of their list as an option without being consulted in advance. And fuck my peace of mind. Not even my therapist, who try every Thursday to “help” me overcome what they did to me, have a little empathy; if I find out in the end that she is, truly, a government agent, I wouldn't be surprised.

They never gave me a lot of options, anyway. The one I have now is to fight for what I have left. Even though I have to risk my freedom for the national and international forgiveness, it's that, or I will never see the daylight. Again. I will live cloistered, me and my demons, being tortured until they get satisfied.

And If I understand torture well, satisfaction it's an illusion; she never comes.

The squeeze of a hand on my right shoulder makes my body tense, but I relax when I realize it's Steve. His smile is soft like I used to gave him, ages ago, to console him about the Second World War. The boy wanted with his life to go to the front lines to face the army of bitches from Germany. And that's the only contrast. My body asks for rest. Break. Peace.

My mind, mainly.

When the office door opens, I follow Ross with my eyes while he's next to a woman I've never seen in my life. She doesn't direct her attention to me, unlike Everett, who always has this worried look when he looks at me. It's like everyone looks at me — a time bomb.

I take a deep breath, waiting for them to give me enough information, so this hell will not last more than two weeks. Ross does the same, but his breath is tense; and the unknown woman, from neck to toe dressed in black, is calm as analyzes, with a frown, countless pages inside a manila folder.

“Well…” Everett rest his elbows on the table, attracting my attention; I relax my back, not liking the tone he chose to use. “We do not have too much information about this… Winter Soldier book.” Frown. “So, you two will have to investigate to get it. The only thing we know is that it is somewhere in Russia.”

A single word makes me stiffen my posture and rise on the chair.

“Two?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Agent Kovalyova will help you in this case.” And that's when she turns her gaze to me. Neutral. Rigid. Icy. “She was one of those most responsible for helping us unmask HYDRA. If S.H.I.E.L.D. still existed, they would owe a great debt of gratitude to her.”

My instinct says that I'll have problems with this Kovalyova one. Nothing good comes from those with this type of body language. Too calm for my taste. Unconcerned. Not at all transparent. And quiet, I hope. Sam is enough of an extrovert.

Fuck gratitude, she doesn't seem good at all to me.

“Kovalyova is very familiar with this country, since she was born there, even though having Brazil in her blood by her mother's side”, Ross keeps chattering, but the agent's laugh interrupts him.

“You don't need to give him a full dossier on my life, Ross,” she says, her voice velvety, too soft for such a formidable agent. “I'm sure he's already figured it out.” She's looking at me, just for a second, lifting her eyes from the folder.

Figured it out what, doll?

“Okay, so…” Everett takes a deep breath. Again. “Kovalyova will accompany you because she knows the country well, as I said, and will be a great help for any conflicts you may encounter along the way. Is that okay with you, Barnes?”

I wrinkle my brow in clear sarcasm. “Do I have another option, agent?”

He presses his lips together. “No, you don't.” Claps his hands once. “The expenses of this mission are all paid for by the government, to which you will have a large debt, as stated in the agreement we made last week. Can we continue?”

I hold back a roll of my eyes. They love to repeat this shit every time they see me.

“Please, Ross,” Steve says for me.

“The mission does not have a fixed duration considering its complexity, but you two must send me reports every week, without delay, to keep us informed of the progress or obstacles you are facing. Any additional help, you can also count on us.” He pauses, perhaps waiting for me to say something. When he sees that I don't, he continues. “We will keep in touch through a device that looks very much like a computer. This little thing here.” He lifts a suitcase from behind the desk, opens it and shows one of the technological aberrations they love to use. “And we also provide something more practical so that you two can communicate during the mission.” He shows what I would call two walkie-talkies. “Any questions?”

The agent by his side murmurs a negative sound, closing the folder. “Thank you, Ross.” One corner of her mouth rises. “As always, very efficient.” She rests her hands on the side of Everett's desk after leaving the folder there. “When can we start?”

“Today, if you like.” He raises his eyebrows. “Okay, Barnes?” I shrug, giving the movement as enough. “So, meeting adjourned.”

Finally, damn it. I stand up, crazy to get out of here.

Steve keeps the melancholy smile on his face; I know how much he wanted to get me out of this, but it is beyond his power to do anything for me now. The government always has its legal ways of torturing those who need it most, and its way of doing it was to put me on a mission, which anyone could have been assigned to in my place, using the excuse that this is how I will start paying my debt to the American people. A debt I didn't make. It's not mine. But it's in my hands, and I'm the one who has to pay for it.

As the devil flees from the cross, I go straight to the exit. However, halfway there, I run into agent Kovalyova and freeze. A few centimeters shorter than me, my height is not enough to intimidate her, much less my gaze as I can with most; her half-smile persists on her full lips as she looks at me eye to eye.

“See ya, soldat,” she murmurs; the tone reflecting the curve of her lips.

Damn daring.

But I don't have time to dwell on that detail, because her voice brings back flashbacks that I only have at night. In her dark eyes, I see my own private hell reflected. Sirens sound in my mind, and I don't know what the fuck to do with this information. I hate having to work with anyone, but she has something extra that makes me, besides hating, doubt every step she takes to the exit.

“It's going to be okay, Bucky,” Steve squeezes my shoulder again, passing support over my metal arm.

It has no effect.

Nothing is fine when it comes to me. Absolutely nothing.

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