scars never leave
“Another round?” you quipped, standing over his form on the floor. How was it possible? You seemed light and unbothered, even though you had been sparing with the Soldat for thirty minutes. He was catching his breath after being thrown on the floor by you for the third time today.
“You sure are getting better, Widow,” he strained out, still on the floor. Your head was thrown back in laughter as you extended your hand to help him get up. Instead of taking the loss, he simply couldn’t let you enjoy him on the floor for too long. Before you knew it, he had taken your hand and pulled you down with him to the floor.
“Hey! That’s not fair, and you know it!” you said with a wide smile plastered on your face.
“What can I say? I don’t like to lose, Widow.”
“You’re just saying that because you can't win against me fair and square.”
“Oh yeah?” He lifted himself to his feet, ready for another chance to humble you.
“Oh yeah,” You said cockily, standing up to meet his eyes. Ever since the first time you and the Soldat fought, he insisted on sparring with you to prove he was the better fighter. The win ratio for him so far was 50/50. Sometimes, you would surprise him with a takedown move, and other times, he would wield his physical strength to pin your limbs until you had to call it. Besides you getting better at kicking ass, the best part about these sessions was seeing him. Although he always kept his face mask on, you could feel the warmth radiating from him whenever he was around you. It was a weird feeling because, since your first day in the Red Room, all you knew was the cold nature of the people in the organization. He was a nice change of pace, having you looking forward to interacting with him. Finding solace in the Winter Soldier was the last thing you expected when he was given to you as a gift.
“Wait, I have a question,” you paused, coming out of your fighting stance. The man in front of you did the same. You leaned in to hover your lips to his ears.
“Did you see this coming?” Before he knew it, your knee made contact with his crotch, folding him over instantly.
“What the hell,” the man, currently in fetal position, strained out. You couldn’t help but giggle maniacly.
“If you could play dirty, so can I,” you smirked. He stood up and pulled his dagger out from his sheath. Oh shit. You mirrored him, wielding the weapon you were least excited to use against him. One wrong move, and he could slice off a finger. He attacked first, swinging his arm and passing it to his other hand to cut underneath you. You managed to narrowly escape his attacks enough for you to retaliate with a swing down onto his face. He caught your hand with his cold metal arm and twisted you onto your back. You could see him jumping to his knees, trying to go for your head with his blade tightly grasped in his hand, prompting you to roll over and dodge his attack. You quickly rose to your feet and grabbed the strap on his shirt, pulling him back and placing the knife across his throat.
For a second, you thought you had him pinned until you remembered that he had a metal arm. He grabbed the blade with his mechanical hand and closed his fist, shattering the weapon you had into pieces. You realized your chances of beating him were slim, so you had to be crafty. You barred your teeth and bit down on his right forearm, causing him to recoil in shock as you wrapped your arm around his neck and tightened, holding him in a chokehold. You snaked your left leg around his metal arm and under his body weight, incapacitating his greatest weapon. After a couple of seconds of him writhing on top of you, he tapped your arm three times, signaling a break. You released him with a heavy sigh, catching your breath after exhausting yourself. He rose in front of you, holding out his hand to help you up. Before you could remember the shattered knife remnants on the floor, your left hand landed over a piece of the knife, causing you to wince in pain. It was a clean cut, slicing you from the underside of your palm to the space between your thumb and pointer finger. Blood started coming to the surface of your skin, staining the mat.
“Shit,” you whispered, looking at your hand. The Soldat immediately knelt beside you, taking your hand in his and looking at your wound with concern in his eyes. Before you knew it, he wrapped his metal arm around your waist and guided you to a chair in the first aid corner of the room. You followed his figure as he reached for the first-aid kit, opening it to retrieve alcohol wipes, gauze, stitches, and an elastic hand wrap. He sat beside you and gently placed your hand on the supporting table, observing your wound. It was about half an inch long, which meant you needed a couple of stitches to make sure the wound wouldn’t open again.
“This might hurt, Widow,” he muttered, opening the sterile wipes. You hung your head as he began to swipe the wipe around your hand, which was covered in blood at this point. You winced when he got particularly close to your cut.
“You okay?” the Soldat stopped moving to check on you. You could only nod for him to continue. He continued to work, eventually starting his sutures. You couldn’t bite back your pain anymore, shouting for him to stop.
“Hey, hey. I can stop whenever you need me to. Just tell me when to start back up again, okay?” he placed his hand on your thigh, soothing your nerves with the sudden attention to his touch. You felt his thumb rub against your suit, effectively calming you. You back up at him, connecting your eyes to his for a brief moment before you close them again, ready for him to finish stitching you up.
“I’m good. Continue,” you shakily said. He reluctantly removed his hand from your leg, and you immediately regretted asking him to continue. The pain was unbearable, and in that moment, you wished he had left you on the mat to bleed out. It would probably be less painful than this. You could feel him tighten the final suture, letting out a sign of relief in the process.
“I’m going to wrap you up now, okay? The hard part is over,” he whispered. You opened your eyes in what felt like an eternity, realizing a tear was slowly falling down your face. You notice his blue eyes go from your hand to your face, tracing your features with his gaze. He suddenly leaned over to wipe your tears from your face, feeling his warm touch against your skin. The Soldat’s human hand lingered on your cheek as you tilted your head into his palm, humming silently. He retreated his hand back, grabbing the gauze and wrapping it around your hand. His touch was almost intoxicating; even the slight brush of his fingertips sent shivers down your spine in the best way possible. You couldn’t help but stare at the man in front of you. You wanted to take the mask off so badly, just to have a glimpse of his face. The human behind the wall that was known as the Winter Soldier.
“There,” the Soldat said. “Should be good to take off in a couple of weeks. Let it heal, and don’t fight.” Simple enough. He put everything back into the first aid kit and placed it on the wall.
“Thanks,” you managed out, getting up to clean up the mat. However, the Soldat put his arm in front of you, forcing you back into the seat as he turned around to get the dustpan and cloth wipes. He knelt down to pick up the broken shreds of steel that littered the ground and tossed them into the disposal chute.
—-
This feeling was new to the Winter Soldier. He was used to inflicting pain on others, not healing them. He felt genuine concern for you, stopping when you winced in pain and talking you through his sutures. Odd, for sure. He didn’t mind getting on his knees to clean up your blood, and he even felt guilty for not warning you about the knife pieces on the floor. He knew he only had two more weeks with you until he would be shipped back to Hydra’s base to prepare for another mission. The Soldat couldn’t dwell on it too much, however. He was determined to make the most of his remaining freedom while he had the chance. After wiping the mat clean of your blood, he walked over to you and guided you into the hallway.
“Where’s your room?” he inquired.
“Down the hall, left at the double doors,” you winced out, hand still in pain. You felt his hand at the small of your back, gently supporting your weight as you two walked in tandem. Before you knew it, both of you arrived at your front door.
“Keep your hand elevated when you sleep, k?” he stood at the door frame, watching you begin to prepare your bed for the night.
“Got it, Soldat. Thanks. Again,” you walked up to him and patted him on his shoulder, giving him a pained smile.
“G’night, Widow,” he whispered.
“Night,” you reached for the door and shut up slowly. You didn’t see, but the Soldat lingered in front of your door for a minute before he eventually left.