James "Bucky" Barnes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cold_shoulder) wrote2012-03-02 11:51 pm
cold_shoulder) wrote2012-03-02 11:51 pm
Sample scene flavor one for ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
marvel_universe
Since they had given him the assignment to train operatives, the Winter Soldier had seen quite a few go through the Red Room - the training for which happened far from only in any particular room. Most of them were fast and precise and eager to do things right. Some of them were smart and could be taught to be quick-thinking.
But nobody had been using their mind to the objective at hand until she had appeared, gun in one hand and grenade in the other. Brave, determined, beautiful. Not allowing herself to be distracted from the tasks she had, and at the same time with a hint of a sense of humor which meshed inexplicably well with him, somewhere below the level of his usual thought processes.
He's been watching, yes.
Natalia Romanova.
He'd been watching others try to emulate her, too, and had been greatly amused at girls imitating her motions without fully realizing the ideas behind them. And then feel disappointed at failing.
But mostly, he'd been watching her. He wasn't allowed access to much information about her; that was classified and not a part of his assignment. So he'd been piecing things together. Little things betrayed by her motions, but her reactions to knowledge betrayed by others.
And he'd been watching the beauty of her. The dancer training was clear in everything from her flexibility to the graceful efficiency of her motions. It stirred something in him. Something warm and unknown and strange, separate from the definite physical desire. The latter he could define and control. The former... it confused him. And drew him closer to her, until the evening when, all exercises complete, he knocked on her window.
But nobody had been using their mind to the objective at hand until she had appeared, gun in one hand and grenade in the other. Brave, determined, beautiful. Not allowing herself to be distracted from the tasks she had, and at the same time with a hint of a sense of humor which meshed inexplicably well with him, somewhere below the level of his usual thought processes.
He's been watching, yes.
Natalia Romanova.
He'd been watching others try to emulate her, too, and had been greatly amused at girls imitating her motions without fully realizing the ideas behind them. And then feel disappointed at failing.
But mostly, he'd been watching her. He wasn't allowed access to much information about her; that was classified and not a part of his assignment. So he'd been piecing things together. Little things betrayed by her motions, but her reactions to knowledge betrayed by others.
And he'd been watching the beauty of her. The dancer training was clear in everything from her flexibility to the graceful efficiency of her motions. It stirred something in him. Something warm and unknown and strange, separate from the definite physical desire. The latter he could define and control. The former... it confused him. And drew him closer to her, until the evening when, all exercises complete, he knocked on her window.
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They had touched in training before. There was plenty enough to learn that required contact - disarming, several types of hand-to-hand contact. But it wasn't like this.
Maybe it was the warmth of her small hand that he knew could be deadly already. It made his head spin slightly as he followed her motion into the room with his eyes. Even made a step closer. "Natalia..."
He knew he should go. He had told her what she needed-- what he needed her to know. And yet... something wasn't right. And he didn't even know what and how and what he should do about it.
He hated not knowing. Not knowing... not knowing...
"Should I not have come to tell you?"
Something about this situation was not right. He had been correct to give her the extra attention, that much he knew, but that wasn't everything. Something was wrong, disbalanced, and that had nothing to do with orders and acting around them. The question slipped while he was trying to figure out something in the whole mess, but as soon as he uttered it, he wondered if he shouldn't have kept his peace. Would it upset her more?
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"No!" Again she rushed to speak and fumbled to follow it up, bit now she had nothing to follow up with. "I am glad you told me, I would not have wanted to hear from another that you were gone. It would feel," There was that word again, feel. "I am glad you told me."
She wanted to touch him again, to feel his skin, but there was no reason for it. She could not assume so much nor could she over step her bounds. Her gingers traced over where he had brushed her skin trying to will the feeling, the memory of the contact back.
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Upsetting. Embarrassing, even though he doubted she would have made the kind of fool of herself that he might have if the roles were reversed.
"Didn't seem right. Enough people..."
He bit that off as the though shaped in his mind. Enough people are waiting for me in vain already. Who? Sometimes, he wanted to tear his hair out, his mind could be so... frustrating.
"I didn't want to... it's not necessary for you to be..." Worried? She wasn't going to be.
Right?"... discomforted by my absence. There is pressure enough already."When had he taken the two steps closer to her?
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Again he would halt his words, as if the thought was unfinished even to himself. He was never like this in training. Always cool and in command, but with her there seemed to be another side of him. It was a side that allowed him to be more the man and less the soldier. What did that make her then, she wondered.
When they began these secret meetings his first lesson had been to observe herself. To learn her reactions, and she had. She'd learned much and put it into her combat style, it had helped just as he said. But she'd also monitored herself in all aspects, including around him in these moments. She'd discovered interesting things. Her physical reaction was of no surprise, they had been advised of things like that.
Sexual response had to be recognized, so one was aware and able to deal with it. She knew she found him physically attractive so any arousal in that could be conditionally dealt with. But there was a different aspect between them, at least for her. She found herself wanting to be near him. Wanting to talk to him, spend time with him, to know him and about him. She hung on his every word in training, looking for the slightest glimpse of who he was beyond the Soldier. When they were together like this things became more clear as neither had to share attention with others.
She knew she was attracted to him, for so many reasons. She'd be a fool not to be, he was an ideal sort of soldier?..sort of man. But there was that deeper thing, that thing that nagged at her. It was what made her heart beat faster when he told her he was going away. It made her mind scramble for all she knew of Africa and the dangers he might face there. And it made her heart leap when he promised to come back, come back to her.
For as observant as she had been she hadn't notice how either of them seemed to gravitate toward the other. But she was markedly closer, enough that had she reached out she could rest a hand against his chest and feel his heart beat. Instead she remained obediently still, though the discomfort in her stance was obvious. She was not one to be still outside of necessity. She tipped back her head to look up to him, those brown eyes were so soft and warm, as though she could wrap herself up in the shade and never be cold again.
"Comrade," She hated addressing him like this, and it derailed her following thought. "What is your name? If you are to be taken away from me I would like at least that to have in your absence."
She was shocked by her own boldness, where had that come from? She never took such initiative, but it felt right, it felt good. Perhaps she was over stepping bounds but maybe it was time to. Between them she could and it would be alright, wouldn't it? He'd told her she needed to think and act on her own, and she had in a shockingly powerful way.
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But before he could find the right words for that, she asked what she did, and his eyes flew open wide while his body turned rigid with the strain of conditioning combating overwritten knowledge.
Very, very carefully, he made sure he wasn't squeezing her hands too tight. He didn't let go, though, because the warmth of the touch was like an anchor. A very, very necessary anchor. "I... I don't..." The words came out labored, hard. "I don't know."
But even as he was saying it, a name floated up that didn't match any of the aliases that he had used. So he took a deep breath and tried it out. "James. I think my names is James."
Suddenly, his mind was quiet again. Calm.
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He took her hands and she shivered, not at the cold of the metal but at the thrill of the contact. She moved closer but it was that moment that he tensed. His posture changed, his breathing, the set of his jaw, the warm brown turning over cold and harsh, but it melted back again.
There was turmoil in him as he fought to give her what she asked, and in the end he did, strange as it was. James was no Russian name. Why would a Russian not have a proper family name? Why would he be something so obviously other cultural. She had a quick mind and those pieces were already falling into place. Perhaps this proud child of Mother Russian had no always been that.
"James." She played the name over her lips. It sounded strong even for the odd flavor of it. Strong and somehow poetic. Not edged like so many Russian names were, it had a gentle strength to it, she decided she quite liked it. "It suits you." And with that, she accepted it, accepted him, no questions asked.
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But the pressure was gone. The necessity blistering his mind into remembrance was gone. Lanced? Relieved? Temporarily appeased? There was no context. Just the name, that one name.
The tension slowly left his body, only remained as tiny flames in his eyes that didn't move from her face as he nodded slightly. "Thank you." For the acceptance. For pushing him there, although she probably hadn't meant it. Not that way. Whatever the reason for his name not being used, it was probably good enough for their superiors, and she wouldn't have requested if it would go against orders.
But she had. And it was somehow easier with that.
He lowered his forehead, raising their hands until her knuckles touched his skin lightly, then eased them down again. "I should go."
Little of the commanding, certain trainer whose strikes came only this short of breaking bones (if they did come short), little of the chill, composed Winter Soldier in his voice. It was mere fact that he was too drained to oppose.
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She nodded to his thanks, letting him know it wasn't required, he would always have her acceptance. He might always have to deal with her growing curiosity though, and the questions that came with it.
Her reaction to his touch was sudden and intense. Her cheeks flushed, breathing caught, her hand trembled just a bit in his. It was the first truly personal touch between them and she was utterly captivated. He let her go far too soon for her liking, but he was on a tight schedule.
"Yes." Of course, he had to go, it was his mission. She never would have begrudged him this before, but now she seemed to regret the need for him to leave. "For now."
But he'd be back, he promised. She stepped back and allowed him to make his exit, and for the first time she watched him depart from her window, she perched on the sill and watched until he vanished from sight. "James." His name was whispered to the night, it would not be used again until he returned.
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