Bloody Mary

herr fischer.

―――

FIVE YEARS LATER

THE MAN THEY TOOK HER TO MEET AFTER THE DAY'S TRAINING SESSIONS HAD ENDED WAS OVERALL UNIMPRESSIVE. Tall, slim, not hard on the eyes but not especially attractive. Dirty-blonde hair and sharp, hawk-like brown eyes, a crooked nose that had been broken once and not quite set correctly. A thin layer of stubble. 

There was also a thick, ropy scar knotted over the front side of his neck, continuing up onto the right side of his face. Mary guessed this was the reason he was clean-shaven, unlike many of the older men she'd seen.

And yet he did not look that old.

"Hello, mein Fräulein," he greeted, obviously German from the words he used and the touch of accent on the one English word. He turned to the guards that had escorted her. "Wo ist der andere?"

"Er kommt, Herr Fischer."

"Gut." Herr Fischer turned to Mary, smiling a smile that did not reach his hawk's eyes. She was fourteen by now, already a flawless student in her school of death and torture. "So, mein Fräulein. I hear you are exceptional in your studies." She raised an eyebrow, cut through from a training exercise mere days before. 

"Yes, Herr Fischer. I'm the best." 

That earned a real smile to tug at his lip before he schooled his expression into blankness. "Your confidence is good, but you must learn to subdue it. Here, confidence will earn you a beating. Obedience will earn you the same, but perhaps a little more." The door to Herr Fischer's office banged open and in came charging a young man with light sandy brown hair, hanging in waves, his green-flecked blue eyes blazing. 

Curious. She hadn't seen such plain emotion in years. 

"Herr Fischer!" the young boy exclaimed. Mary started, surprised to hear an American accent. She hadn't heard one since she arrived at the facility except for when she spoke. And that was not so often.

"Yes, Grant?" 

The young man promptly shrugged. "I don't know. They told me to come see you." He turned to Mary and something mischievous quirked his expression. He thrusted out a hand. "Hi. I'm Grant Williams. And you are?" 

She elected not to shake the proffered hand and only nodded in greeting, tucking her arms neatly behind her back as she turned back to face the Herr she'd only heard of and never met before now. 

"Her name is Mary," Herr Fischer supplied. "And I am Finn, which you can both call me. We'll be knowing each other for a long time, so it's best we cut past the formalities straight to the point. The two of you are the first and possibly only subjects of PROJECT AFFLICTION. This project of ours is intended to recreate the virus first invented by Elliott Meyer a century ago, give or take a few years.

"Once injected with this virus, the two of you will become creatures of incredibly heightened ability, albeit with a few critical weaknesses. We will discuss further on those points at a different time. I was selected by the head of this project to inform you of your true purpose here. You will have the next eleven years to prepare for when you will be injected and begin your mission here at HYDRA; these eleven years will be spent together, for you to learn to work perfectly as a team." 

Mary raised an eyebrow again at that. She had come to understand that HYDRA was where she truly belonged. However, what Herr Fischer―Finn―had said gave her pause. Mary had known that someday, her specific purpose would come around. She had not known it was just around the corner.

And Grant didn't exactly seem like the type of person to entrust such a gift to. It would be best to persuade Herr Fischer to cut him from the project.

But the Herr had already left the room, leaving them inside his office. She cursed silently―that was almost certainly a maneuver to see how they acted alone. 

When he turned to her, his sea-eyes were burning with an intensity that surprised her and maybe even made her feel a little better and a little bit worse at the same time, a shocking flame of unwavering determination and courage. 

He was not made for this place. 

He had far too much confidence in himself. 

―――

It was clear to Grant that they had broken her. 

He had practically been raised here. He didn't remember having any other kind of home. This place, this maze-like facility of long-winding hallways, training rooms, and agonized screams was his home. He felt comfortable and content here. 

They hadn't needed to break him. But he still recalled the day they brought her in, clear as the sparkling, jeweled sea. 

Mary Mae Maverick had been screaming bloody murder, and the shrieking would not stop. 

She wanted to go home.

She wanted her parents. 

She wanted Josh, or Andrea, or James, or Steve. 

And, by God, did she want to go home. 

She could still recall whatever family she'd left behind. They had needed to break her, force her to realize that HYDRA was all she had now. And here Mary stood, in front of Grant, tall and quietly assured in her ability, confident in herself and what she could do. He found himself smiling because of it. This was a far cry from the weak-willed, fragile-minded child she had once been. 

They had broken here, and they had made her stronger. 

"Why are you smiling?" 

Her voice was strangely raspy. It was also monotone, without a touch of real inflection or emotion. He suspected it might take her effort to put in the proper tones to ask a question. 

"Because I can. Do you have a problem with that?" he fired back. 

"Yes. Yes, I really do." 

Grant held back a surprised laugh. Finally. Someone interesting. 

Mary Mae Maverick had to have forgotten what a friend was. She probably didn't understand anymore; she probably didn't know what a friend was, or what feelings were. But Grant still knew. His mind was still wholly his own. He could think and feel for himself. 

He could have a friend. 

Even if he wasn't hers, he decided, she was his. 

That was that. 

They were going to stay together, no matter what that virus of Herr Fischer's― Finn's―did to them. 

He would make sure of it. 

―――