He dodges quick, but not quickly enough. There's a little shred in his shirt now, but it doesn't seem to be slowing him down. Unfortunate, but at least he isn't screaming. Yelling would draw bystanders, maybe police, maybe a security force. He needs to go faster, be better.
They will strap him down to the chair and strip him of his clothes, they will soak him to the bone with icy water. Do better, soldier. There is no room for failure in Hydra.
Please, I don't want to fight you, and yes, he's heard that before. Never in this tone, though, never in this context. Steve, he knows that name. You know me.
This is a test.
This is a test.
"I don't know you," he mutters, voice a little raspy from disuse, a desperate sort of conviction like he's trying to convince some onlooker — or perhaps himself. As though to reinforce the point, he drives forward again in a quick onslaught. Thrusts the knife at anything that seems vulnerable; stomach, shoulder, neck. If he can just land one surely this will be over. His window of opportunity on the target is narrow.
Steve's focus is the only thing keeping him in one piece. Bucky is trying to hurt him. Trying to kill him. He can't give into that reality without risking his life, the senator's, and Bucky's into the bargain.
The next attack has a force behind it that's more emotion than strategy. The coat is able to take the hit and Steve throws it at Bucky's face to obscure his vision long enough to retreat out of an easy strike zone. Steve doesn't want to fight but he will. If he's pushed to it, he will. But his back isn't against the wall yet.
"You do." Bucky's tone is more forceful than it likely would be if Steve's wrong. He's still betting his entire pot on a pair of sixes with bluffing as his only real option. Maybe, if he says and believes it hard enough, he can even make the bluff true.
"You know me. I'm Steven Grant Rogers. You are James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky, please. Look at me. You've known me your whole life."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2019-04-26 10:27 pm (UTC)They will strap him down to the chair and strip him of his clothes, they will soak him to the bone with icy water. Do better, soldier. There is no room for failure in Hydra.
Please, I don't want to fight you, and yes, he's heard that before. Never in this tone, though, never in this context. Steve, he knows that name. You know me.
This is a test.
This is a test.
"I don't know you," he mutters, voice a little raspy from disuse, a desperate sort of conviction like he's trying to convince some onlooker — or perhaps himself. As though to reinforce the point, he drives forward again in a quick onslaught. Thrusts the knife at anything that seems vulnerable; stomach, shoulder, neck. If he can just land one surely this will be over. His window of opportunity on the target is narrow.
Do not fail us.
no subject
Date: 2019-04-26 10:41 pm (UTC)The next attack has a force behind it that's more emotion than strategy. The coat is able to take the hit and Steve throws it at Bucky's face to obscure his vision long enough to retreat out of an easy strike zone. Steve doesn't want to fight but he will. If he's pushed to it, he will. But his back isn't against the wall yet.
"You do." Bucky's tone is more forceful than it likely would be if Steve's wrong. He's still betting his entire pot on a pair of sixes with bluffing as his only real option. Maybe, if he says and believes it hard enough, he can even make the bluff true.
"You know me. I'm Steven Grant Rogers. You are James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky, please. Look at me. You've known me your whole life."