The Captain comes at him faster than any other asset of interest: fast enough even for the Winter Soldier to experience that knee-jerk reaction of adrenaline freezing every nerve like a shiver.
At first he thinks he's going for the throat or eyes. The easiest and closest soft tissues. That's standard; it's what he would have done.
But no...no, this new asset comes at his metal arm, arguably one of the best, most reliable parts of the Winter Soldier, one of the parts that he has a dim, unvoiced pride in because he has controlled it now and it has to be better than the weak flesh one he had before. He had twisted, turning his head and ducking it down to give the other man less chance to get a good, solid grip on his eyes, nose or throat. Unfortunately, that opens up his left side. The Captain will get a firm hold on his shoulder and chrome bicep, the crude metal plates that haven't been buffed or painted yet.
They meet at the center of the mat, with the sickening thud of well-trained muscle and bone hitting each other.
The Winter Soldier tries to jerk his arm free, his metal fingers balled into a tight fist, whirring and rotating on his wrist at an impossible angle. For once in his memory (HYDRA declassified), he can't easily pull himself free. A strange look crosses his expressionless face, then, like a quick-moving wave. Shock. Annoyance. Rage.
No is the one clear thought that breaks through.
The Captain will find the Winter Soldier's combat boot suddenly planted high up on his chest as he throws his full weight backward in a violent front kick that rockets his heel into his opponent's chest. Normally that would cave in a man's ribs; take the fight out of him. Perhaps send the trainee into a lengthy stay in the hospital wing. But this new asset isn't like any of the others and the Winter Soldier makes that executive call not to treat him with kid gloves like the men and women before him.
no subject
At first he thinks he's going for the throat or eyes. The easiest and closest soft tissues. That's standard; it's what he would have done.
But no...no, this new asset comes at his metal arm, arguably one of the best, most reliable parts of the Winter Soldier, one of the parts that he has a dim, unvoiced pride in because he has controlled it now and it has to be better than the weak flesh one he had before. He had twisted, turning his head and ducking it down to give the other man less chance to get a good, solid grip on his eyes, nose or throat. Unfortunately, that opens up his left side. The Captain will get a firm hold on his shoulder and chrome bicep, the crude metal plates that haven't been buffed or painted yet.
They meet at the center of the mat, with the sickening thud of well-trained muscle and bone hitting each other.
The Winter Soldier tries to jerk his arm free, his metal fingers balled into a tight fist, whirring and rotating on his wrist at an impossible angle. For once in his memory (HYDRA declassified), he can't easily pull himself free. A strange look crosses his expressionless face, then, like a quick-moving wave. Shock. Annoyance. Rage.
No is the one clear thought that breaks through.
The Captain will find the Winter Soldier's combat boot suddenly planted high up on his chest as he throws his full weight backward in a violent front kick that rockets his heel into his opponent's chest. Normally that would cave in a man's ribs; take the fight out of him. Perhaps send the trainee into a lengthy stay in the hospital wing. But this new asset isn't like any of the others and the Winter Soldier makes that executive call not to treat him with kid gloves like the men and women before him.