Chapter Text
He's the last thing you remember. James.
His hands are on your arms, shaking you awake. His voice muffled behind the ringing in your ears, from gunshots and bombs. His face is covered in dirt. His dog tags hang loosely around his neck.
But his eyes are clear.
Sky blue.
Sharp.
It's as if they're looking at you now, from across the training room, as you point a gun at the Asset.
This is the position they have you take for most trainings. You stand, stance strong. What you lack in physical strength is hidden behind the gun in your hand.
He doesn't have to hide behind anything. He faces you, steady, with eyes that make your skin boil.
"Начинать." (Russian - begin).
You fire. Once. He blocks easily with a raise of his arm. You move, knowing that once he gets to you, you've lost. You weigh your options: keep shooting until you run out of bullets, or try to trip him up, keep him from stalking you.
There isn't much that would distract him, probably nothing, but you take the risky way out anyway. You walk toward him, not bothering to raise your gun.
When you get just a pace away, you twist to your left, purposefully going away from his good arm. He tries to knock you down. He misses by a hair.
His leg shoots out to trip you. You jump, roll away, and land behind him. He spins. His fist hits the mat when he tries to punch you. You use his position, bent toward the ground, to force yourself over him. He almost grabs your leg as you do. You shoot as soon as your feet are on the ground and your aim is steady.
"Будет." (stop).
Both of you go rigid. You're frozen, still pointing the gun at him. He's still bent over, and his hair is curtaining around his face, blocking your view of his eyes. There's blood on the mat, and it isn't yours. It usually is. You managed to hit him in the thigh, non-lethal but probably hurts like hell.
You should have done worse.
He's never stopped himself from giving you new scars.
Your respective handlers escort you out, turning you to your holding cell and him to the lab. You'll be able to hear his screams through the walls. The only consolation is that they aren't yours.
This is the first time in a very long time that they aren't yours.