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.
no subject
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.
no subject