The Ghost [Marvel | Steve Rogers]

Chapter 16

Russia

Winter/Spring 1997

Winter was on its way towards turning to Spring, but any hint of warmth was still a long way off. Nadya barely noticed. She barely noticed the way the frigid, early morning air burned at her cheeks or that, even encased as they were in thick gloves, her fingertips were beginning to numb. She had been conditioned to be resistant to the cold since she was a child. Besides, she was Russian; she was practically born used to the cold.

Besides, the cold cleared her head. And right now, it was in desperate need of clearing. She was on a mission, and for that she needed her wits about her. There were far too many thoughts and emotions swirling around up there and she was failing utterly at locking them away as she had been trained.

In one way or another, they all came back to the Winter Soldier.

It was becoming a pattern that was quickly growing as tiresome as it was problematic.

After that first time, Nadya had made herself swear it would never happen again. And she hated herself all the more every time she had given in to her overwhelming desires and his over the last several weeks.

Each time had been the same; hard, rough and desperate, each encounter over almost as soon as it began. Her body always ended up littered with bruises from the force of his grip and she could see the marks on his own skin lingering into the next day, reminding her of what had transpired. Her guilt and shame always warred with the resurgence of heat through her body whenever she spied a mark she'd made, recalling easily the feel of him driving into her as she dug her nails into his scalp. Or how she hadn't cared as the sharp edge of the table he'd pushed her back over had dug painfully into her flesh, her discomfort inexplicably adding to her pleasure. The sight of his features overwhelmed with pleasure were all but branded into her memory, as was the way his low, sighing groans as he came always seemed to vibrate intoxicatingly through her.

It was easier to think of the consuming burn and frenzied pleasure than of what came after: traces of bewilderment, confusion and apology, even concern as he drew away from her, leaving her sore and panting and all but curling in on herself as guilt and remorse inevitably crushed in on her for giving in and using him so wantonly.

It was easier to think of the feel of him against her, flesh searing flesh as he touched her, as he moved inside her.

It was easier than thinking of how bewilderingly tender he always was after it was over, especially when she didn't finish along with him.

It was easier than thinking just how much closer to the surface the man trapped inside the Winter Soldier seemed to be when they stole away their scorching moments of pleasure together. But the brainwashed assassin always inevitably reasserted itself when it was over and their pulses calmed. And perhaps she was deluding herself, but since their secret trysts had started, he seemed less blank and uncomprehending than he had at first, as though part of him was fighting back against his programming and their affair was somehow making it easier.

She kept hoping that, one of these times, it would be enough that...but it was foolish. A foolish, childish, wishful thought. Still, she hoped...

But even though it was easier not to think on how deceptively close the lost person he used to be came to emerging, or how close to aware he sometimes seemed, or how gentle and almost fretful he was toward her afterward, she still clung to those moments. She clung to them desperately in her secret heart of hearts as proof that he was—somehow—there and genuinely willing when they were together. Her rational side insisted it was nothing more than a fanciful notion, but it helped ease the weight of her guilt, even if it was only fractionally.