Two Assassins Sitting In A Tree

Who Even Listens To Orders?

The mission was a difficult one— that was the only reason Hydra allowed the two to work together on it. They had to take down 17 very well trained SHIELD agents, without allowing them to call for help, set off any alarms, or let any escape.

But with the last few events that had taken place when the one had even so much as looked at an image of the other, Hydra had been trying very hard to make sure this mission didn't go south due to their growing ability to slip out of Hydra's tight grasp. So when they gave the orders for the mission, they added in a few details— as soon as the mission was done, the two were supposed to go into different rooms, and not speak to eachother until their handlers got there.

But, those two were never ones to follow rules.

—

It was only after the screaming had stopped that the Soldier noticed the soft music filling the large living room. He couldn't quite put a name to the song, or completely make out what the person was saying exactly, but the music was nice and light. Pretty.

The Soldier turned his head slowly to face the Captain. There was a certain look on his face. Brows pinched together, a tight frown curled on his face. Something about that look seemed familiar.

He was trying to remember something.

The Soldier didn't really know what he was doing. It was like his body was following the orders of a voice he couldn't hear in his head. The part of his mind that he could hear was demanding he step away, lock himself in a room and stay away from the Captain, like his handlers told him to.

But he just stepped closer.

Then, he could hear the part of him that had been blocked out. It filled his brain with images. The Captain, though much smaller, pulled close to him. The Soldier shifted the fingers on his left hand— he could almost feel the weight of the small hand in his, disputes how long ago that must have been.

"We used to dance," the Soldier whispered softly.

The Captain blinked, swallowing heavily before stepping closer to the soldier, "the floors were cold."

Slowly, unsurely, the Soldier set a hand on the Captain's waist. The Captain set a hand on his shoulder. Then, almost in sync, they lifted their other hand, and intertwined them, then extended their arms out.

"You were smaller," the Soldier murmured as they slowly began to sway to the music. The memories were still fuzzy, but saying the details out loud helped clear away some of the blurriness. How he still knew how to dance like this, though, he had no idea. He just closed his eyes and let his body do the rest.

"Your hand was softer," the Captain whispered, and the Soldier felt the Captain's hand shift in his metal hand's grip.

"Sorry." The word escaped him, like most did. But this one wasn't one he usually let slip past, and neither did his handlers. Showing sympathy and regret was a weakness— he wasn't supposed to feel bad. He should be wiped, prepped. He shouldn't be doing this— not disobeying orders.

"It's okay." The Captain's soft voice cut off the Soldier's thoughts of stepping away. He knew that voice. He knew the Captain.

"Steve." The Soldier whispered, voice wavering for some reason.

The word floated between them for a few moments.

"Bucky." The Captain responded.

The song slowly faded out, and the room was filled with silence.

"I.. I think I remember something," the Captain murmured. He slowly lifted his hand from the Soldier's shoulder, taking a slight step away from the other to make room between them. He brought the hand up—watching the Soldier in case he wanted to stop the Captain— and gripped the mask covering the lower half of the Soldier's face.

As gently as he could, the Captain pulled it off the other's face, letting it drop to the ground.

"What was it?" The Soldier responded, voice quiet.

"I always wanted to do this..." the Captain hesitantly set a hand on the Soldier's cheek, rubbing a thumb gingerly over the other's lower lip. His fingers and palm were still a bit wet with blood, but the Soldier didn't mind, he was too focused on the Captain, and the thoughts that were filling his head.

BANG.

The two jumped apart as if they'd been burned. Well, shot at, in their case. The bullet had his Bucky directly on the metal shoulder, probably to catch their attention, but it still obviously pissed them both off.

The Captain reached a hand back to grab the top of his shield, glaring at the agent who shot at them.

"Return to your positions!" The agent at the front shouted.

The Soldier turned his head slightly to look at the Captain.

Neither of them moved.

"I said, return to your positions!" Then the captain took the Shield off his back, and all hell broke loose.

—

The Soldier wasn't able to tell when they really lost the fight. They were doing good, the bodies of agents dropping onto the floor, but every time one fell, it was like two took their place.

If the Soldier had the ability to, he would have laughed.

They were soon outmatched. By a lot. The Soldier was faintly aware of several agents grabbing ahold of his shoulders, chanting words that were meant to shut him down, but the only thing he really noticed was Steve, being roughly forced to his knees—like the Soldier was— yelling as he tried to fight them off.

For some reason, seeing Steve being handled so roughly made emotions spike much higher in the Soldier than if he were treated that way— and he was.

But soon, the words began to have an affect on him, and his vision started to go dark, just as Steve fell limp in the other agent's hold.