ready to comply
“Hydra has requested that the Winter Soldier be returned to them by tomorrow morning due to circumstances of our contract. Today will be your last day with the Soldat. He will be busy from 1 pm to 7 pm today for an internal review of his time here, so he will not be coming with you for your afternoon or night classes. After tonight, he will be finished here,” Viktor’s voice rang loudly in your ears. So that was it—almost four weeks with the Soldat over just like that. You didn’t know how to feel; on one hand, you knew he was a distraction for you. You had been less focused on your widows and more focused on him. But was that so bad? Evidently, yes, it is that bad.
On the other hand, you genuinely cared for him. Talking to him felt humanizing, as if you weren’t destined to be a trained assassin. He made you feel like your worth wasn’t diminished to how many people you’ve eliminated, and you didn’t want to let that go. You didn’t want to let him go.
“What were the circumstances of the contract that made them take him back?” you ask with a stone-cold face, masking one that would tear up if left vulnerable.
“That’s classified. You know that,” Viktor responded. You saw the left corner of his lips lift slightly, making you want to reach over his desk and punch his smug smirk off his face.
“Copy that. Thank you for the notice, Viktor.” You sat up out of your seat and marched out of his office. As soon as the double doors closed behind you, you threw your back up against the nearby wall, placing your hand over your heart to track your heartbeats. Your breathing picked up rapidly, and every emotion you could feel hit you all at once: sadness, anger, regret, and dread. You felt the world blurring around you, but that could’ve been your tears messing up your vision. The Winter Soldier shouldn’t have this effect on you. But he did, and now you were reaping the consequences.
—-
The Soldat didn’t come to your morning class as scheduled. You found it odd, as he was always in the room before you. During the rest of your classes for the day, you could only wonder where he went and why he decided not to see you for his last day in the Red Room. Did he not feel the same way as you did? Did you overanalyze how he looked at you and tenderly held your hand in his? You were probably being delusional, but you didn’t want to accept the reality that he just saw you as another ordinary person. With a heavy sigh, you begin cleaning up the mats that your widows left from your night class. Suddenly, the double doors burst open to reveal two men in prim suits with the man you couldn’t get out of your thoughts trailing behind them. The Soldat’s aura was commanding the room, with his dark blue eyes glazing the room and his black mask back on his face. One of the men in suits approached you with an outstretched hand, gesturing for a handshake.
“Miss, it is a pleasure to meet the Red Widow,” he greets as he tightens his grip on your hand and shakes it. You note his cold German accent as you let go of his grip, eyeing the Soldat and the other suited guy behind him.
“Nice to meet you…”
“You can call me Mr. Abicht,” he responds to your silence. You nod cautiously. “We came here to assess the capabilities of the Winter Soldier. He was tasked to shadow a widow’s techniques in combat.” You quirk your eyebrow up in confusion. You thought he was sent as a gift to you, as he was supposed to train you to utilize knives in combat more effectively.
“Okay. I’m confused as to why you need me, Mr. Abicht,” you question.
“You will be his sparring partner as we assess his skill. No weapons allowed,” he answers. He steps to the side as the Soldat stalks toward your figure to come face to face with you. The unnamed man who was once standing beside the Soldat now has moved to reside next to Mr. Abicht. Something was different about the Soldat standing in front of you. He was stoic, an unnerving energy to him that you had not felt before.
“Why me?” you ask, fidgeting with your hands nervously.
“You are the best person for him to spar with here before he departs. Get ready. You will start in five minutes.” And without a second thought, you were ushered into the locker rooms to change your tactical gear. If this sparring match was anything like the previous ones you’ve had with the Soldat, you should be able to be crafty and find a way to defeat him. You took it as a compliment that they thought you were the best matchup with the Winter Soldier. However, you knew how skilled and dangerous he could be. Sliding your fingerless gloves onto your hand and tightening your ponytail, you stepped out of the room to be greeted by the Soldat standing, waiting for you and the two men sitting with a notepad in their hands.
“Зимний Солдат, атака,” Mr. Abicht. You harden your gaze at the metal-armed man before you, clenching your fists to prepare to fight the first man you ever cared about. The dilemma was that the man standing before you wasn’t the man you’d come to know. The look in his eyes every time he stared you down didn’t give you a familiar warm feeling; it was more chilling and cold. It was confusing knowing that physically, he was the same, but something was off. As soon as Mr. Abicht uttered the words to attack, the Winter Soldier stalked slowly but menacingly toward you, his metal fist clenched by his side, ready to strike. In a blink, he swung towards the side of your head, narrowly missing you as you leaned backward. You had no time to recollect yourself as you saw him lunge toward you again, this time with his arm outreached, swinging its full force towards your abdomen. You couldn’t dodge his attack, landing on your face as he shoved you to the ground. You could feel him hovering over your figure on the floor, preparing to bash your head into the ground with a forceful punch.
You quickly rolled onto your back, evading his attack. You knew that this was your opportunity to strike. You maneuvered your leg over your body, knocking his head down as you kip yourself back onto your legs. You pump up your fists again as you prepare to fist-fight the Winter Soldier. Attempting hand-to-hand combat with the most ruthless assassin known to man was probably a death wish, but you had to try everyone once, right? He was never this violent when you had sparred with him in the past. The Soldat must’ve been going easy with you as he knew you weren’t as experienced as him. Your body felt like it was going on autopilot as you and he attacked each other with a series of punches and kicks. You felt your body tiring out, much to your dismay. He was physically much stronger and faster than you, and you were having trouble keeping up with his pace. You knew that if you lost, he would probably kill you. To give yourself a fighting chance, you knew you had to change up what you were doing.
One of the most important lessons your old instructor taught you was to use your body weight against a heavier opponent. The Winter Soldier towered over you, which gave him the apparent advantage combatively, but if you manage to get your weight to pull him off his center, you could gain the upper hand. You were currently getting inched back into the wall behind you with the Soldat’s advancing steps in your direction. You took a swift roll underneath his outstretched arm, landing behind him. As he began to turn his head around to spot you, you rushed toward him and leaped up to wrap your legs around his head, nearly sitting on his shoulders. With your legs locked around him, you swing your body with a twist, using your momentum to flip him forward. As you rotate, you bring him down to the mat head-first in a quick, spinning motion.
You could hear him heave heavily on the ground, grabbing his stomach as he tried to regain his breath. You felt a pang of guilt. You didn’t mean for him to be hurt, even though you knew he wouldn’t care if you lived or died. Standing frozen at the hilt of his feet, you observed his figure for a moment before he sat up abruptly and grabbed your legs, forcefully pulling them towards him, causing you to fall onto your back. He reached over you as he pushed your chest into the mat with his metal arm, his right fist making continuous contact with the side of your face. You feel the crack of your nose as your crimson blood drips down to your swollen lip. The first few punches hurt, but you felt numb for the rest. You could still feel the punches he delivered but didn’t feel the pain that would usually follow. All you could do was look into his eyes, searching for a version of the man you once knew. Your vision began to blur, but you weren’t sure whether it was from the pain or your tears. Your senses began to dissipate rapidly, every punch disabling you further than the last.
Suddenly, the punching stopped. The room fell silent. You felt the Soldat’s weight come off your body. Besides your eyes, you couldn’t move any other part of your body. You tore your eyes open to see the Winter Soldier standing over your beaten form and the two suited men standing closely behind him, whispering in each other’s ears. One man scribbled something into his notepad as the other nodded. You averted your gaze back to the Soldat, who was now looking at you with softened eyes. You could’ve been seeing things, but you swore you saw a switch flip in his head. His pupils widened slightly, and you saw the arch of his brows furrow. He had completely changed his demeanor in front of you. Before you could attempt to open your mouth to utter words, the men in suits walked up to grab the Soldat by the arms and walked him out of the room without a word.
And there you were, utterly alone, splayed out on your classroom floor, your training ground. You could barely lift your limbs, let alone move yourself off the floor and into your first-aid corner. You managed to muster up every ounce of strength to tighten your core and sit yourself upright. Suddenly, a metallic taste coated your mouth, and without a second thought, you spit out whatever was in there. Blood. You let out a pained groan as you sheepishly lifted your arm to your face, feeling the harsh bumps and bruises that now littered your face. You wished the physical pain of being beaten up had caused you to come to tears, but instead, it was the reality that those sacred moments you had shared with the Winter Soldier had been a ruse, merely a facade to get you to this moment. If you hadn’t shown that second of vulnerability while throwing him on the ground, you probably could’ve walked out of the fine relatively unscathed. But because you cared, you ended up in the practice room alone, nearly beaten to death. You finally understood what Dreykov had instilled in you for years. Failure precedes you.
You manage to crawl your way to the same corner where, just a few days ago, the Soldat had carefully stitched you up and tended your wounds. Now, that responsibility fell on your shoulders. You adjusted your body to look at the mirror propped up on the wall. Your face was nearly swelling purple, with two cuts slicing your cheekbone and your entire left eye consumed with swollen tissue. The sight was gruesome, even though you were used to violence. You used what strength you had left to rip open the rubbing alcohol wipes and dab your face lightly. Your face contorted in pain, biting your lip tightly so you wouldn’t yell out in agony. You messily grabbed two butterfly stitches from the first-aid kit and placed them on both of the cuts on your face, praying that it would get closed up before infection kicked in. As for the swelling, the only remedy that would help was ibuprofen or ice. You decide on the drug option, quickly popping two ibuprofen pills into your mouth dry, swallowing them whole as you rest your head in your shaking hands.
How did you end up like this? What could’ve possibly led him to do this to you? You concluded that you were plain stupid. Of course, he would try to kill you. He is the Winter Soldier. And you were just a target to him. You meant absolutely nothing to him. You push yourself off the chair and helplessly limp down the hall and into your room. Before you can toss your exhausted body onto your bed for some much-needed rest, your eye catches a glimmer atop your dresser—a blade. You grab it, observing its unique grip and sharpened edge, recognizing it immediately as the Soldat’s blade.
—-
“Longing. Rusted. Furnace. Daybreak., Seventeen. Benign. Nine. Homecoming. One. Freight Car.” Silence. “Soldat?”
“Ready to comply.”