Lover's Pursuit

2. Ulterior

7 years later
Your POV.

I slouched over my breakfast, the sun having barely shown itself at this early hour of the morning. I wasn't complaining, I didn't sleep much and anyways, it's harder to cover a kill in complete daylight.

My head was tight from yesterday's procedures, mixed with an outstanding lack of sleep. I dropped my spoon into the colourless bowl of oats and dragged myself to the bathroom. I sighed, twisting open another tub of Benzodiazepines and throwing a number down my throat. I'm not sure they work, but it's the only thing they prescribe me.

There was a faint knock on my door. I didn't respond, knowing who the entree would be.
"You gotta stop taking those."
He spoke after letting himself in, standing in the entryway of my bathroom.
"I told you, Bucky. I can't."
I turned to face him, thankful he was already in gear.
Slipping past him, I lifted my mask from it's stand on my desk, positioning it on the bottom half of my face.
He nodded and lead the way, allowing me to slip past as he held the door open for me.

We didn't speak much, for when we did, we'd usually say too much. Last time we truly spoke, I'd mentioned something vaguely about that Captain America guy who was plastered all over the news. I suppose Bucky hadn't seen it because he was overly confused and began spiralling. That night, in bed, I could hear his screams all the way from the procedure room.

The mission was completed quickly. Bucky reported status directly to Rumlow as I dragged the victim's body, dumping it in the lake after stuffing it's pockets with rocks.
I didn't even know their gender, let alone their name. I didn't like to - it made the job harder. A force of habit, I assume. I hide it, but they just can't remove that side of me.

Bucky drove slowly back to base, taking his time on the winding rural roads.
"How've you been?"
I turned to him, asking as if I didn't already know.
He shook his head, refusing to respond. I understand why.
"How have you been?" He eventually replied.
I faced down, a saddened grin growing on my face.
"Yeah, Buck. You know the answer to that."
He sighed, tapping his metal fingers against the steering wheel.
"Used to the metal arm yet?" He questioned.
I sat to attention, reminded of how I'd been dying to speak about this.
"Not at all! I'm right handed y'know and they expect my first instinct to be my left. It's weird, like having a totally useless but overly useful arm."
He laughed a little, patting my shoulder in a brotherly manner. I smiled, happy to see him joyful for once.
"Yeah, I've had it for decades now. It gets easier, just takes a while."
He flexed his metal hand, the noises of the material contracting sounding far too technological and inhuman to be exuding from the man.

As the car rolled through the HYDRA base's metal gates, I heard Rumlow tune into our comms, requesting my appearance in his quarters immediately. As he tuned out, I clicked open the car door, stepping out. Bucky grabbed my wrist momentarily as I stood to close the door. He flashed me a look of concern, no words to match.
"I'm sure it'll be fine."
I reassured him gently, more so to reassure myself.

I stepped into Rumlow's office, standing with my back straightened in the entryway. He ushered me in, cold as ever, waiting for the door to tip shut before speaking.
There was a moment of dismal silence between us as Rumlow's reptilian-like eyes scanned the entirety of my body.
"You're improving."
"Thank you, sir."
I gulped under his gaze. After all these years, all these implementations and shocks to my brain and I still can't shake the grasp of fear this man has over me.
"I want to send you out on your own."
He stands, walking slowly round his desk to stand behind me. I don't move, yet I feel his breath brush the skin of my neck as he inspects my every part.
"You're going to Budapest. Your target is a man called Clint Barton. His file is on your desk. Read it carefully, this is high profile and cannot become a failed mission."

I nodded, not having absorbed a word the man had uttered, merely trying to focus on his movements.
He took a step in my direction, touching his hand to my cheek and sliding it down my neck. I recoiled a little beneath his touch, clenching my jaw in order to conceal it.
"You're such a beautiful woman," he whispered hideously into my ear, "such a pity you're so deranged."