Control

Choking

1946

"Again!" Zola shouts as he forces the Winter Soldier to run through another training exercise. I have learned not to watch. I have learned to listen and take notes as Zola says things. I have learned that if I don't look, I don't feel the overwhelming nausea.

Today, the Winter Soldier is being forced to run through the killing simulation over and over again. On the third hour of this, I finally realized that they are testing him for endurance, to see how much he can take. I am not sure what they are intending to use him for, but, I am frightened for him.

Yet, he hasn't lost yet...and that makes me more frightened of him.

Zola no longer leaves me alone with the Soldier when he asks me to treat him, putting to waste the chocolate that I continue to squirrel away in my pocket...and the Soldier - Bucky - is oddly compliant to the demands of the people around him. I don't know why. When I treat him, we don't speak and he remains muzzled, but, sometimes, when the guards aren't looking, I grab his hand and squeeze it, letting him know not to give up hope.

I am concerned that he already has.

Zola speaks carefully, noting methods of killing and reflex response times. I jot these down, but don't look out the window. I leave that to the sadists watching.

I fiddle with my pencil and stare pointedly at the floor as I hear cracking and cries of pain. Even if they aren't the Soldier, I have no desire to see the carnage that is in front of me.

"Stop!" One of the other men yells. This is abrupt enough to pull me out of my focus on the white tile flooring to look up.

I see the Winter Soldier, outside the window, closer to the glass than I had seen him before. He is muzzled, with blood smeared on his clothing and a gash over his eyebrow, a knife still in his hand. He looks at me, his bright blue eyes glaring into the room. My eyes widened involuntarily. I bite my lip and hurriedly look back at the pad of paper in my hands.

I feel my cheeks flush with heat. This is not an appropriate reaction. I feel...embarrassed, like a school girl whose crush has finally glanced in her direction.

Zola claps his hands together. "I believe that is enough for the day," he says, seriously. "Ms. Sokolov...I believe you know what to do," he commands, his voice making me uncomfortable. I'm not sure why, but my skin crawls as he talks to me.

Even still, I nod my head and shuffle from the room, keeping my head down. Yes, I know what to do. I go to the cell with all the medical supplies. I let the guards strap the Winter Soldier down and I "fix him", like he's their toy to be played with and I am just a seamstress repairing all of the broken pieces.

I can't help but wonder what will happen when there aren't any pieces left for me to fix?

I walk as slowly as possible down the hallways. I don't want to be in the exam room. I don't want to be near the Winter Soldier with the guards training their guns on both of us, as if I were also a prisoner.

This new appointment only made me regret my decision to join HYDRA.

I twist my small, golden wedding band around my finger, reflexively. Would he want me here, trying to wage my own private war?

And, then, there were my complicated feelings toward the Winter Soldier. Was I somehow disrespecting a dead man because I snuck him chocolate? Because, when he would flirt with me, I would entertain the idea? Because, when I squeezed his hand, he would squeeze back?

I take my wedding ring off and shove it into my pocket.

I didn't have a husband. He was dead. That was the important thing to focus on.