logsinthenight | Truth is like a loaded gun

It's not a person, okay. The same rules of aging probably don't apply. But it does sit and think about it for a minute. A long minute, frowning to itself, head leaning back against the wall again and eyes focused in the middle distance while its brain chases a feeling down. "I have. The impression," the Soldier says at last, haltingly, "that I've watched handlers age. While I didn't change. But my idea of time is. Kind of fucked up. Since I don't remember much of anything. For all I know I spent decades at a time in cryofreeze."

"Cryofreeze?!" Apparently she really is just going to keep exclaiming over the strange things he says like they'll help it make sense to her somehow.

"I thought that was all, sci-fi bullshit." Here she is again, acting like something could be impossible when she's got the blood of 'The Dark One' in her veins and she's from a world overrun with Vampires.

"You're saying you didn't just... live." It's not exactly a question, more like she's piecing it all together.

"They just -" She caught herself before she said 'booted you up'. "Woke you up whenever they wanted you to do something and sent you back to the freezer?"

The Soldier looks back down in her direction, looking vaguely surprised at her shock. "Yes. If they ever kept me out for longer than a mission, I don't remember it. I don't think they did." It makes a soft, annoyed little snort. "It wouldn't be tactically sound, anyway. I would have had to actually sleep, which means remembering dreams. Learn how to interact with people without killing them. Maybe have memory malfunctions then, too, and then they'd have to wipe me again." Given how it's reacted to being awake for this long by starting to get horrible memories back, and all. It's pretty sure this hasn't all been just because it's dead and people keep trying to tell it, it's a person.

Scarlett closes her eyes against the sympathy and fury that's waging a war behind her lids, not wanting him to think she pity's him, even if that's perhaps not something he could resent the way that she would. Was it any wonder he was the way that he was? Fuck - the fact that he was't far worse was a testament to the person he must have been before they found a way to control him.

"Do you understand - " Her voice tight with barely controlled emotion that leans towards anger. "How unbelievably fucked up that is?"

She opens her eyes to look at him, Scarlett trying to keep the rage from showing so he won't think it's meant for him.

"The memories you keep having? As fucked as they are? They're yours. Nobody has the right to take them away from you." Even if he wished they would, they were still a part of him. "They won't all be bad and even if they are? You should get to make new ones. Better ones."

There's still a dozen little signs that she's upset, and even though the Soldier is like 90% sure she wouldn't take that upset out on it, the reaction is still automatic. By the time her eyes come open again, its expression is Asset-neutral and body language entirely unthreatening-- not quite shrunk in on itself, because cowering doesn't de-escalate; it often makes things worse. But it isn't focused or tense in any way, eyes down on the floor and hands resting in plain sight on its knees. "Scarlett. It's okay."

Then it ruins the act (well, not for Scarlett, but if she'd been an actual angry handler) by saying, quietly, "I know. I don't want to get wiped again. No more Chair."

It breaks something inside of her, to see the way he shuts down. The nothingness that shows behind his eyes and Scarlett closes her own against it, swallowing hard as if not seeing will make her feel less. It's not okay and she has to cover her mouth with a fist to keep from yelling that at him because she knows it won't help.

"You won't." Her fingers trembling as she opens her hand and forces it to drop to her lap. "No my chair. I promise."

A long time ago, it feels like, the Soldier learned the way to keep its gaze just unfocused enough to pick up everything going on around it even when not looking at anything. So it sees her reaction, and it's. Confusing. Why does she look so distressed when it's being so very carefully non-threatening?

(Because she's not a fucking handler, pal. I don't think she cares how non-threatening you are. Everyone cares how non-threatening I am. I'm dangerous. You're a fucking moron, is what you are.)

How to fix that, though. Not the moron part, that's probably never going away, but the "Scarlett is distressed" part. The Soldier focuses again on her hand, falling back to her lap, where she'd almost reached out. Hrm. Touching Scarlett has never made it panic in the past, the Sergeant even commented on it once. Maybe that would help. So it hesitates briefly, still not looking directly at her, then uncurls its knees from up against its chest and holds out a hand, palm down. The flesh one, just in case there does wind up being panic, that one's less likely to accidentally squeeze her wrist off or something.

What she hates just as much as what's been done to him is that she has no idea how to help make it better. How to help him see that he doesn't have to fear the ghosts of his past any more than she does. What she might hate more, however, is that she knows she can even be sure that she can keep the promise that she's just made. That she has no way of knowing whether this place could turn around and inflict that same brutality on him once again.

She's aware of his movement but doesn't even feel the need to watch him, that sure that he isn't the dangerous thing he believes he is, Scarlett not even lifting her gaze until his hand comes into her field of view. It's perhaps the most human gesture she's ever seen from him and she can't help but fixate on that extended hand. The action helping to stall the twisting thoughts in her head, as she slowly lifts her hand from her lap again. She doesn't just try and simply grab it, but almost tentatively turns her hand over so her own is palm up beneath his. Her fingers lightly grazing his palm as she allows them to just barely touch.

That feels weird. The Soldier doesn't remember the word "tickles" very clearly in regards to physical sensation, but it almost does that. Not comforting, but not panic-inducing, either. It leans a little further away from the wall and instead wraps its fingers around her wrist, in a manner that lets her do the same in reverse if she wants.

"It's okay," it says solemnly. "You're okay." (Don't be distressed, Scarlett.)

Edited (that's the word I was looking for and couldn't find until after I hit "post" dammit) 2019-10-19 06:38 (UTC)

Her gaze still transfixed, she watches as he slowly responds to her touch. Her eyebrows knitting together as he isn't the only one uncertain about what they're doing. She allows it to be his choice, however, not responding until he grasps her arm. Again, her own mirroring his action as her fingers wrap around his wrist.

She can feel the thrum of his pulse beneath her fingertips and is almost startled by the unexpected surge of feeling that comes when he speaks. Her mouth falling open as she takes in a quick snatch of air and rakes him over with her gaze.

"What about you?"

"I got two new sets of terrible memories today, and something to call the voice in my head besides 'chatty guy'. And then I upset you twice, but I think I fixed it," the Soldier tells her, putting on half a smile. "So. I'm doing great."

It does still have something of a sense of humor. It gives her wrist a gentle little shake and squeeze, then lets go and sits back again. No panic, nothing's shaking, nothing's going static-y in the back of its head. The plates in its arm are even calm. Nice. Maybe it's not going to try full body hugs any time soon, but that wasn't so bad.

Her features soften as if they have a will of their own, Scarlett giving his wrist a gentle squeeze as she shakes her head.

"You didn't upset me." He needs to know that at least, even if her reaction might be evidence to the contrary. "Sometimes... when you care about somebody and, you hear about bad things that happen to them? It's hard not to get upset." If she realizes what she's just said, she's not going to acknowledge it. Not to herself, let alone openly.

"You didn't upset me but you did fix it." Managing to muster up a half-smile of her own as she finds another little piece of the puzzle that he presents. How the hell the two of them were supposed to cope with human emotion when both of them sucked at it? Was anyone's guess.

Well, the Soldier knows what she just said, and it feels... nice to hear. It's got a few people around here that say they care about it. They might even actually care about it, given how often they reinforce the idea in various ways. What a strange thought. (A kind of overwhelming thought. Nobody's cared about us... ever. I don't think... ever. But not that I can remember. What do we even do with that? Hell if I know, pal.)

It doesn't, however, seem like a good idea to call attention to it. Like Crowley and gratitude, Scarlett doesn't like showing pieces of herself like that. The softer bits. Best not ruin the moment.

"So I can fix an upset I didn't even cause. I must occasionally be good for something, after all," it says instead, with the kind of ultra-bland expression that means it's making a joke.

Her shoulders shake with the barely audible laughter that spills over, Scarlett shaking her head and scrubbing a hand over her face. Exhaling some of the negative energy that still felt like it was coiling inside of her as she tried to let go of the rage she felt.

"That and you make a pretty mean grilled cheese." Her mouth crooking up in a half-grin as if to further ease the tension that had been there moments ago.

"Speaking of." Because yes this is going to become a thing with them. "Have you eaten?"

Oh. Is that in fact going to be a thing? Is that going to be two people who harp on whether or not it's been fed recently? The Soldier might be a little exasperated by the idea, but at least it's also kind of sweet.

The big problem right now, though, being that awful smell. Hard to be hungry, even for the Soldier, when you keep getting hit in the face with a smell that brings up really awful memories. "No," it admits. "But for the first time I can remember, I'm not sure I want to."

Until the food situation is sorted it's definitely going to be a thing because she has no doubt that he will avoid eating as much as humanly possible. Of course if this continues to be a thing after that fact, she may have to acknowledge that she just enjoys having his company.

Her brow furrows with confusion but there must be something in his expression that sees understanding flicker in her eyes. Scarlett inhaling deeply, and while she does make a face, she doesn't look ashen with revolt like many.

"Fair enough." Sooner or later she figures he'll need to and as we soon see? She can get around the asking by just making him food and shoving it at him.

"You gonna be alright till all this passes?" It likely would, like everything else in this place but she's not simply concerned with him eating, but rather everything else.

"There's something the Sergeant remembers. Like the shirt, only lighter, with herbs. Not as heavy as the shirt, won't feel like the mask." It pauses, then explains, "Used to have a mask, like this--" It overs its mouth and nose with one hand, briefly. "--over my face. Half muzzle. Filtered air, filtered smells." Kept the Asset from biting if it got overwrought. (Wait, you did that? ... not often. But I think once or twice. I'm impressed. Good job, pal.)

"Hated that thing," it finishes.

She listened as he described the mask to her, the change in him after she'd handed over his shirt making a little more sense. She didn't understand the significance of the mask but it made some sense in a way and while it's an odd thing for her to be able to bond with him over?

She drags herself up from the ground and moves around to the other side of the bed. Dragging open a drawer to pull out a different mask from it, she goes back to join him on the floor, sliding it a few inches in his direction.

"Not all masks are bad." Sometimes they were just things to hide behind. "When the world first went to shit I used to put this stuff around the nose. Vapor rub." One of those things that was meant to mask the smell but judging from the wry grin on her lips, that hadn't lasted. "Seemed like a good idea but hot breath and that shit?" And why she's even showing him this? Maybe to show him he's not so different, or perhaps even to show herself.

The Soldier picks up her mask to look it over curiously. Holds it up to its face to peer through and check how well the eye holes work, but doesn't let it touch skin. "Maybe when you choose it, it's not as bad," it agrees, setting it down and pushing it gently back towards her. "I had. Goggles. For the top part. Those were okay." Kind of misses those, sometimes, how they'd helped it focus and see more clearly when it was too bright or too dark. It doubts it could stomach the mask now, though, after so long without it. "My last mission they left both off. For some reason. Or I'd have them here."

"That's generally been my experience." That everything is better when it's your choice, even death in Scarlett's case.

As he speaks she reaches for the mask, dragging it back so he's not forced to stare at it and tossing it on the bed. Her head tilted to one side as she considers his words, the reference to his last mission that had ended badly - clearly.

"Do you... remember much about it?" Almost tentative with the question. "Your last mission?" Scarlett wondering of maybe, working backward might help him get some sense of who he was beyond the fragments of memories.

"All of it," the Soldier says wearily. "They wiped me before they set me on my targets, and I died before they could do it again." Since she asked, it seems pretty obvious that she wants to know, so it continues, "It was a frustrating mission. The main target was. As strong as I am. And kept talking." You're not supposed to talk to the Soldier as it's trying to kill you. It's just stupid. "And one of his backups could fly. Or he could until I ripped one of his wings off."

"You ripped his wing off?" Given the kind of people they have around here? She is envisioning an actual flesh and blood wing and it's hard to picture a thing like that without feeling a little... disturbed. "What - like... an Angel or something?" This was in no way where she'd intended for this conversation to go but the whole wing thing kind of demanded it.

"No." It shakes its head a little, hair falling in its face. It ignores that. "They were made of metal and polycarbon. Personal jet packs with articulated stabilizers." That came right out of the briefing HYDRA gave it before setting it loose on them. It sounds intensely satisfied when it says, "I tore one off and threw him off the helicarrier."

Probably the least evil thing it'd done all day, to be honest, considering the guy had a parachute. After the intense lethality of taking out the entire squadron of quinjets and quinjet pilots, managing to ground a difficult target like that without having to actually blow him up or shoot him in the next had been something to be pleased with. (Of course, Scarlett doesn't actually know the Soldier didn't kill the guy. Or that it had killed all those other ones, for that matter. It might have some more explaining to do.)

That somehow manages to be far less terrifying and way more funny, a bark of laughter spilling over as he paints a picture of him throwing a guy with metal wings and a jetpack off a helicarrier - whatever the hell that is. It probably helps that she's picturing something on water not in the air.

"You make it sound like you were fighting the Jetsons." Her words undoubtedly going right over his head.

Perhaps she should have a thousand questions, should wonder just how many bodies he left in his wake but she'd spent more than three years leaving a trail of death behind, only she hadn't been brainwashed to do so. They were Vampires, sure - most of them anyway - but now knowing that her blood could have cured them? She couldn't claim to be innocent.

Nice. It was pretty funny. And badass, thank you very much. "There was only the one who could fly. The rest were mostly pilots and guards, that day. And the main target, of course." It pauses, then reminds her, "Also, I don't know what the Jetsons are."

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