The Silver Soldier

XXXII

Dying never gets any better.

I'm assuming it has at least been a few days, maybe even a week since Isaac shot me. But I can't be sure, time works differently when you don't have a pulse.

The first time I died, after the dread doctors, it had been two weeks. The second time, after Theo, it had only been a few days. I 'm going to guess that this time won't be much different than the last, both had been direct shots to the head. The healing process should only last a few days.

Unless they drugged me as well, then I might be out for longer than I think.

In all honesty, I don't really care what they did to me. Either way I will be the closest a Hydra operative has been to the inner circle of SHIELD. Scott will try and help me, turn me back into the Stiles he remembers - just as Captain America did to the Winter Soldier. And I will let him. He will be so desperate to have me back that he won't even think to believe that I am anything other than his friend. Laura and the rest of my friends know that I have a plan, they trust me. I can only trust that they won't come to try and save me if they think I'm in any danger.

I don't know how long had passed before I feel something on my cheek. Running down my face. Cold. Like ice. Before I know it, my eyes snap open. I am drenched in water, I can barely see my surroundings past my wet hair. It is plastered against my forehead, hanging in front of my eyes.

My hands are bound.

And they didn't do a half-hazard job of it either. Each hand is covered with a metal cuff, tightened to the point of sheer pain. I can't even twist my wrist without a wave of blinding pain shooting up my arm.

I flip my head back to get the hair out of my eyes, I find myself staring at a mirror.

Not a mirror, I realize. It's one-way glass.

And I have a pretty good guess as to who's on the other side.

There is a slight movement to my left, I turn my head an inch, making out the shape of a man in my peripheral.

"Argent." I acknowledge him, returning my focus to the one way glass in front of me.

"Stiles." He says my name back.

"Did you just dump water on me?"

"Yes."

I blink. "It was very cold."

"I know."

I pause. "Argent." I look down at my shirt... or where my shirt should have been. "Where is my shirt."

"Not on you."

"Yes. Thank you, I didn't notice." There is a sarcastic twinge on my tone, I almost laugh at the carelessness that had been in his voice. "What day is it?"

"Wednesday."

"That was very helpful."

He shrugs. "I try."

I shiver as the cold water drips down my back. Argent sets down a metal bucket and comes to stand in front of me. I look up at him. "You have grey hair." I point out.

"And you have tattoos." His gaze rakes my body, finally resting in the metal prosthetic imbedded into my chest. He quirks an eyebrow.

"Long story." I look away. 

"No it isn't." He crosses his arms. "Spill."

I chuckle under my breath. I like this version of him, right to the point. "I was blown up."

"By?"

I look at him quizzically. "A MON-200."

He nods. "A Soviet anti-personnel landmine. Sounds fun."

"Hurts like a bitch too, wouldn't recommend." I tug on my restraints, I don't wince at the pain that comes as result. Argent notices this, but he doesn't say anything regarding my pain tolerance.

"You killed Michael Horivan." He states.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I was ordered to."

"By whom?"

I don't hesitate. "Joel Carson."

Argent ponders the name. "An American."

I nod. "Born in Cleveland on March 5th, 1968. Both parents are now deceased, one sister, two brothers. No Spose, no children." I tell him. "And he has a cat named Pickles."

Argent blinks.

"He has stage 4 lung cancer, I expect he will die within the next five months, you have no need to worry about finishing him off. His own body will do that part for you."

"And how do you know all this?"

"Precautions."

"Precautions?" He repeats.

I study his face, admiring the new wrinkles he has acquired over the past few years. "It's my job to detect a threat before they get the chance to become one. Carson was a threat."

"Was?"

"As long as I was following his orders, he was a threat. But now he is halfway across the world."

Argent stares at me, I can see a question forming behind his eyes. "How was he a threat?"

I let myself pause, as if I don't want him to know what I am about to say next. Little does he know, he is doing exactly what I wanted him to do, he walked right into the trap.

Eventually, I give him an answer.

"Because I have no choice but to obey him."