Till the End of the Line

Weak.

Becca was having yet another day in hell. Her 'mentor' had decided that it would be a good day to break her. They'd been practicing the same form for hours and she still hadn't done it well enough for his standards. Her muscles were screaming at her, her body was bruised and sore, and she was exhausted. 

While she was internally complaining about her situation, a metal arm came out of nowhere and connected with her face. There was a sickening crunch and she fell to the floor. Hard. Suddenly, he was standing over her, his cold blue eyes as emotionless as ever, his face devoid of any expression, his brown hair barely out of place. 

"Ты слаб (you're weak)... Get back up now." 

His deep raspy voice filled her ears as he let go of her arms, standing up off her. 

Becca staggered to her feet, her silver hair—once in a messy bun—now in her purple eyes which were burning with hatred. She could feel the blood dripping from her nose and over her lips, the pain screaming in her face so loudly her vision started swimming. She glares at him.

 "Все было хорошо (I was doing fine)...you fight dirty."

The Winter Soldier rolls his eyes as he looked her up and down, his expression blank until his eyes settled on the blood dribbling from her nose.

"You're a mess."

He states this as a fact, but it stings nonetheless. Just once she wished he'd give her some praise, some indication that she was doing something right. She rolls her eyes right back at him, her sassy attitude could not be snuffed out, much to her mentor's dismay.

"Because you punched me with your metal arm. Hard." Then she adds under her breath "Мудак (asshole)" 

The Soldier whirled around, she'd made him mad. He stomped over to her, getting in her personal space and narrowing his eyes, his brown hair tickles the top of her forehead.

"Say that again. To my face." He hissed, towering over her. He was 5'9 and built like a Soviet era tank, and could easily crush her if he wanted to—he probably wanted to. Becca swallows hard. She knows that if she repeats what she said, he'll make her run laps, or do pushups, or hit her. But she knew that if she didn't, she'd be labeled a coward and most likely be sent to bed with no dinner for a month. She steels her courage and says louder,

"I said...You. Are. An. Asshole." 

She doesn't break eye contact, her purple eyes meeting his baby blues, she fully expects a slap on the face or a swift kick to the gut—her usual punishments for mouthing off. Instead, he broke into a grin, though it was gone just as fast as it came.

"Good girl. You certainly have balls. That will serve you well when they are put to good use."

 He glares at her before turning on his heel and walking back over to his bench, looking at his notes as he started to write something down. "You're dismissed." He says, absentmindedly. The he walks out of the training room, leaving her utterly confused and alone.