teach me
You watched over the widows as they sparred with each other on their respective mats. The room was filled with the sound of grunts, groans, and bodies hitting the ground. The trainees have rapidly improved in skill since the Winter Soldier’s arrival in the past week. Since it was a privilege to have the master assassin in the Red Room, he never had time to train you one-on-one, even though that was what Viktor promised. The soldier was too busy being introduced to the higher-ups in the Red Room and sparring with the widows about to graduate. You realize you only have three more weeks with the man standing next to you before he is presumably shipped off to a mission.
“Good job, girls. That’s enough for today. See you tomorrow,” you commanded.
“Thank you, учитель,” the widows thanked. They marched out of the sparring room, leaving you and the soldier alone. Before he could take off into his living quarters, as usual, you grabbed his knife from his waist holster. The soldier’s head whipped around to face you, his eyes conveying confusion and shock. You had no idea why you did what you did; you were never an impulsive person. However, he was your gift. It was time you started treating him like it. You flashed him a coy smirk, holding up his own blade to his face.
“Can you teach me?” you whispered. As if his eyes could speak, you understood that he understood. You were about to spar with the Winter Soldier as you held his blade. This was possibly the dumbest idea you ever had. You surprised him by starting with a fist punch to the gut, quickly knocking him backward with a wobble. You quickly switched the blade to your right hand and swiped the blade toward his face, yet his instincts were faster than anticipated. He grabbed your arm, contorting your hand to the point where you couldn’t grip the knife any longer.
“Shit!” You exclaimed, mildly impressed but very frustrated. Either you were rusty, or he’s the best combat opponent you’ve ever faced. Likely the latter to preserve your ego. He now wielded the blade, his body positioned ready to attack. You immediately reset yourself to your defensive position, ready to handle whatever he throws at you. He led with a classic roundhouse kick from which he knew I would duck, which meant he aimed to get at my legs. You flipped backward, avoiding his leg in the air. He went straight into attempting to slash your head off, and you went into deflection mode. Your arm moved quickly to block his arm from coming near your face. You felt his metal fist make contact with your face once, but you couldn’t let that faze you. You were sure it would leave one hell of a bruise, though. On one lunge, he went to flip the knife to change grip, in which you saw an opportunity to change to an offensive position. You pushed his hand away from the knife while it was mid-air, causing him to miss the blade entirely. It wedged itself upright in the sparring mat.
Although you had an opportunity to grab the knife and have the upper hand, you wanted to see how your hand-to-hand combat compared to his. You knew he was jacked up with a serum, not to mention his metal arm. You pushed him into defense, with him attempting to block your attacks. That’s what made you so special as a Widow. You had raw talent for fighting, something the Red Room immediately noticed. You were crafty with combat; you never attacked from the textbook. They gave you private lessons with instructors who trained you harder than anyone else in your class. It’s probably why you were the golden child of the program, labeled as the pinnacle of what a Widow should be. Strong. Skilled. Obedient.
You and the soldier went back and forth until you managed the upper hand, swinging your legs around his neck and flipping backward, effectively throwing him onto his back. You straddled his stomach, your left hand on his chest to keep him down and your right hand grabbing the discarded knife that stood next to you. You held it over his throat, seeing his eyes soften slightly. Everything felt suspended in time. The only thing you could focus on in the current moment was his eyes and his breaths. The rise and fall of his chest under your hand. It was almost calming, reminding you that he was a human. That he had a heart.
—-
For a moment, Bucky let you have a free hit. However, he was under you, pinned on the ground before he knew it. He could’ve grabbed and thrown you against the wall, but in honesty, he was impressed by your skills. He had never seen someone fight the way you fought. Everyone developed in Hydra punched their way out of conflict, and everyone he’d fought in the Red Room simply weren’t strong enough to hold their own. But you, you were different. He wasn’t used to the way you would follow up your punches, opting for a kick rather than a right hook. You took his hits as if all it did was tickle. It was like you pulled him into a trance, unable to break free but not wanting to either. He had never been so relaxed while having a knife to his throat. Looking into your eyes, he saw a glimmer of victory in your irises, which made him smile. Internally, of course. He wasn’t allowed to smile. Smiling was a weakness. Emotions were a weakness. He wouldn’t be weak.
He rushed off from underneath you, leaving you to scramble to your feet. You and the soldier had been on the floor for a solid minute, doing nothing except look at each other. Now, both of you were standing awkwardly next to each other, waiting for the other to say something.
“Good job.”
“I think…” You pause mid-sentence. He said, ‘Good job’. He never said that to the Widows.
“Oh. T-thank you.” you stuttered.
“We should do this more often. This was…” the soldier pauses. “Enjoyable.” He extends out his hand for the blade that you used against him. You face him and don’t dare to meet his eyes. If you did, you would undoubtedly get lost in them again. For some reason, instead of handing the knife to his hands, you reach over to his holster and slide the blade in for him. You finally look up at his face in search of some sort of reaction from the man, but he doesn’t even blink.
“Увидимся завтра, Вдова,” he mutters before striding to the door, leaving you alone in the room.
What a strange man.