Untangling a Memory

It's ok. You're ok.

Her fingers had healed, though they weren't as straight as they were before. Since she continued to fight while they were still broken, they never repaired properly. But she refused to not fight, to not train, to not become the best in her class. So, she took every opportunity she could to practice her skills without complaint.

Her sparring skills were improving considerably the longer she trained with the Soldier. The others girls, now just 5 remaining, pushed hard to keep up with the Soldier as they fought, but he had to take it easier on them than he did with her. He didn't take it much easier though, as broken bones, dislocated joints, and torn muscles and tendons were becoming more and more common.

Their work in other areas was progressing rapidly as well. Their english was becoming more proficient and their Russian accent was quickly disappearing. Their training on the use of firearms accelerated, both in terms of variety of guns as well as their marksmanship. They were becoming more familiar with using knives, batons, and other weapons meant for hand-to-hand combat. He trained them extensively on measures of disguise, diversions, and working covertly. 

In all the areas, she excelled well beyond her peers. Her will, determination, and unquestionable ability led the Soldier to work with her beyond the scope of what he did with the others. A couple of fights here, a couple of rounds there, he saw her potential and allowed her to use him as a resource.

She admired his skill and excellence. But she was also slowly starting to see something else in him. That there was a person inside of the Soldier. His exterior was cold and hard, just like his metal arm, but occasionally during sparring, she'd catch his line-of-sight and she'd see something lingering behind his cool, blue eyes. She wished she knew what was back there, behind the shell. Along the way making it out of the Red Room, she hoped she might find out who was the man behind the icy exterior.

One of the days when she was sparring with the Soldier for a couple of minutes at the end of class, she thought she was close. Over time, he was making more and more direct eye contact with her, something he didn't do with the other girls. She made sure she was never the first one to look away, always hoping to discover something in his stare. And now, when they sparred, it would happen for brief moments throughout their fight- their eyes would meet and she would search them, looking for anything she might recognize.

This time, however, something happened. While she caught a glance at his steely blue eyes, he took the opportunity to get the upper hand. He grabbed her by the wrist with his metal arm in an attempt to get her to release her position and to flip her. When he did this, the cold metal around her wrist sent painful waves through her body. The shocks flowing through her were not of electricity, but a physical expression of years of trauma. As he gripped her wrist more firmly, her whole body went limp, falling to the floor in front of him.

The Soldier stood there frozen, not knowing what to do, having no idea what had happened. He hadn't done any positions that would have resulted in death or unconsciousness. What had happened that the girl he trained each day now was laying in front of him in a pile?

He knelt down next to her and felt for a pulse on her neck with his right hand. It was RACING. Her  bright, green eyes were open, but glassy and unfocused as they stared towards the ceiling. The Soldier looked down at her wrist where he had grabbed it and it was red, but clearly not broken. He saw a wound that wrapped around her wrist. He knew that he hadn't just inflicted it on her during their match because it was both scarred and raw, as if it had been repeated opened and partially healed before starting the cycle again. As his human fingers ran over it, she hissed and sprang with a jolt, punching him hard in the face in the process. She ran from the hall in just three strides.