[You're my mission echoes in his head, combining almost perfectly witht the purples and blues mottling Steve's face, but the certainty in the wounded man's head weighs The Soldier's--- Bucky's--- shards of memory down. They collapse under the consequent doubt and a surge of frustration bubbles from the wreckage. He listens to Steve's version of the events, brain humming. When Steve touches his cheek, pins and needles burst through his face.
Mission report, now! A familiar face and a familiar hand underground. He doesn't get to keep this one thing.
The Soldier does his part. He obeys orders. He's not allowed to want things. He's not allowed a name.
He sits down slowly, feet and arms open, palms up.]
Did the mission succeed? [He knows that much about himself, about being The Soldier.]
no subject
Mission report, now! A familiar face and a familiar hand underground. He doesn't get to keep this one thing.
The Soldier does his part. He obeys orders. He's not allowed to want things. He's not allowed a name.
He sits down slowly, feet and arms open, palms up.]
Did the mission succeed? [He knows that much about himself, about being The Soldier.]