Till the End of the Line

Silence

Although I want to stay next to my student, I have duties I am obligated to complete. So I go about my normal routine. 

I clean my guns and knives, this is something I take great pride in doing, something that brings me a sense of...not peace but calm. Becca used to complain about cleaning her weapons 

"This is the most menial task you've ever given me Soldier." She'd whine, "Why the hell do I need to clean my weapon if I'm going to go right back out for target practice? Who's going to see them anyway. I'm pretty sure that the person who's on the other end is going to care about if your gun is nice and shiny." 

I smile, remembering my answer.

"It is neccesary for survival. And you know that isn't the type of clean we're talking about. Now shut up or no rations."

God she was such an pain in the ass.

I can't seem to focus on my task, taking longer than usual to clean and re-assemble my firearms. 

Next I do my drills. The group of HYDRA scientists have a special workout plan for me. By the time I'm done I'm sore all over.

But I'm still going crazy.

I hate the silence. 

I stare at the outside world. Wondering what lies beyond the snowy plains of Siberia. I have fuzzy memories of missions, being sent to Europe and America to carry out missions. 

I remember other student's I've had too. None of them lasted very long, they were all too weak. The one that succeeded defected to the enemy. I still remeber her red hair, her blue eyes, that cocky grin she'd give me when she knew she'd won in sparring. Natalia was the most successful Widow that the Red Room had ever produced. 

I don't know what happened to her. There's gaps in my memory. I would assume she was found and excecuted by the Red Room. Pity, really, she was a master in the making. 

My thoughts cloud my judgement as I punch at the bag in front of me. At one point I punch so hard it rips a hole through it and sand spills out all over the floor. 

Dammit.

I look down at my knuckles, which are bloody. I'd forgotten to wrap my flesh hand.

Dammit.

I leave the mess for a HYDRA grunt to worry about and head to my room. It's not really a room, more like a cell with a cot, a sink, and a mirror. 

I stop in front of the mirror and stare at myself. I'm shirtless, as I always am when I train. You can see the burn marks from where they attached my prosthesis, a jagged white scar that runs all the way around where my shoulder connects to my chest. My hair is long, longer than it's ever been before. I don't know how I know this, but I do. It's tangled and matted and sticks to my face from the sweat.  My usally clean shaven face is speckled with stubble from days of neglect. In my defense one doesn't care about their appearance when on a mission in the frozen wastlands of Siberia. 

 I try to run my fingers through my hair to untangle it, but it's too knotted. I reach for my knife, the one I keep for shaving and carefully run it along my jaw. I nick myself a couple time's but I barely feel the pain. 

Then I was my bloody knuckle and wrap it in gauze they've supplied.

But still, there's silence. 

I slam my metal fist into the sink, cracking it slightly but I don't care.

What good is it when my student isn't waking up?

A gunshot wound shouldn't do this, I've had multiple in the past. I don't remember them, but I can see the scars clearly on my chest. 

Why won't she wake up?

She's so much stronger than me. 

Why did she have to play selfless hero? 

Did nothing I taught her stick?

"This world is either kill or be killed. Do not show mercy, do not risk your life for others. That is how you survive here."

Becca had snorted.

"Sounds like something you read right out of 'HYDRA Handbook: A Soldier's Guide to Depression'"

I had wanted to strangle her. 

Now it made me chuckle. 

I hated this silence.

I want her noise, her laughter, her quips and jabs and smart remarks.

Then I heard an alarm coming from the Med Bay.

I know that alarm, it's reserved for medical emergancies.

My heart drops. Becca.

And I take off running.