2154/Captured

Captured
Date of Scene:	25 August 2017
Location:	West Harlem - Mercy's Garage
Synopsis:	Winter Soldier has been captured. Mercy Thompson is there for when he awakens. There are words by both.
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Winter Soldier
Tinyplot:	Tayaniye

---

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Who knew their plan would work? Mercy surely didn't expect it to. Honestly, she figured they were either going to come home empty handed and severely injured, or dead.

But here they are now. The Winter Soldier sedated and the group hurriedly discussing next steps. The conversation goes something like this -

"How long is he going to be out?"
"I'm not sure. For wolves it's a couple of hours - him? I don't know."
"Where we going to keep him?"
"The garage. I'll shut it down for however long we need. It should be able to handle super-human strength."

And with that crazy half-ass plan decided upon the team moved. A heavy-duty chain was pulled from Mercy's car and secured around the Winter Soldier's inert form and then he was transported away. Once back within the garage Mercy went into mechanic mode to secure the prisoner within.

As such, when the Soldier awakens he'll find himself laying upon the cold and empty cement floor of the garage. That same chain is (still) wrapped tightly around his metallic arm and torso; wing clipped. The end of the chain rises high towards the ceiling of the garage and is secured around one of the exposed heavy foundation beams above. While normally the chain would be secured by lock and key, tonight it's been secured by other means. The highest grade of rebar is what cinches the chain to the beam. There's four lengths of rebar weaved within the links and where the rebar meets link Mercy has likewise spot-welded each together. If one weld or rebar fails hopefully the others will hold. It's the best she can do to account for his strength and ingenuity.

Now they can only hope the improvised leash holds the wild wolf within their midsts.

For Mercy she currently sits within her garage. She's dressed in her typical work coveralls, her hair pulled into two sloppy braids, her expression neutral. A pair of welding-goggles sits high atop her head as the coyote sits upon one of her folding chairs. Her arms are settled upon her thighs as she leans forward in that seat of hers. Her posture is something that shows the exhaustion she feels.

In her hand she holds a water bottle. Idly she'll pass it back and forth as she waits.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The thing about making plans on how to hold a century-old living weapon captive... is that there are really no good plans for how to do that. Not within their particular level of resources, anyway. There's only 'we think this will work, let's try it and then pray.' For a plan thought up spur-of-the-moment, though, it's fairly serviceable.

He stays out throughout the process of relieving him of all his (very many) weapons, and out throughout the trip back to the garage-- thank God for that, because sharing a car with cargo that dangerous is a harrowing experience. He stays out throughout the process of securing him. And after that, it's only waiting.

By the time all this is finished, Mercy won't have to wait long.

To her sharp senses, it will be clear when exactly the sedative starts to wear off. His breathing changes, his strong heart quickening, his arm clicking quietly as its plates shift in what looks like a dreamer's involuntary reflex: something surprisingly autonomic for a prosthetic.

Most people come out of heavy sedation slowly, their bodies sluggish to burn the drug out of their blood. For the Winter Soldier, it's only a minute or two before he opens one blue eye, immediately tracking to find Mercy where she sits watching him. Nonetheless, even super-soldiers have a limit, and the sheer amount of sedative they put in him hit that limit. He's alert, but he's not quite firing on all cylinders yet.

His right arm moves, shifting to lever him up to some semblance of a seated position, his legs folded beneath him, his head hanging, back slouched. A familiar whir suggests he's trying his natural weapon, but the chain wound several times about his chest and upper left arm keeps it pinned in place.

"...Mercy," he says, experimenting with the word, the name, with his own knowledge of the identity of the woman watching him.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Praying. Isn't that the truth.

Mercy has done a good deal of that. For herself, Claire and yes, even the Soldier.

That awakening of his is sensed and that causes Mercy to straighten from her tired slouch.

Her grip upon the plastic water bottle tightens thanks to the tension that's now felt. The bottle offers a crackling of protest at the coyote's hard grip, but nothing else. Grimness can be seen around the coyote's mouth, within her eyes, and the set of her shoulders. Really the tension is throughout her whole body as she immediately goes into an automatic flight or fight response to him regaining consciousness. Especially as she looks to the clock upon one wall of her garage - it's sooner than she expected. Next time, if there ever is one, three doses instead of only two. The involuntary clack of the plates on his arm brings her attention back to him. It also heightens the churning felt in her stomach, and then, just like that he's sitting up. At this point Mercy also rises from her seated position. It's both a conscious and subconscious gesture on her part. Conscious in the sense that if the bindings fail she won't waste time getting to her feet. Subconscious in the sense that within her territory is a wolf. A very dangerous and deadly wolf. And while she no longer lives with the pack some things are just automatic. As such, the coyote stands, giving the illusion she's larger, taller, bigger. It doesn't matter what the real truth of the matter is.

The whir of that pinned arm is heard and Mercy waits, heartbeat double-timing from nerves, worry and adrenalin. And while he doesn't break free Mercy doesn't allow herself to breathe a sigh of relief. Not yet. Perhaps later.

"Yes." She finally says, responding to her name being spoken, "Water." Comes her warning and with that one word of warning Mercy tosses the bottle at the Soldier. For those that might only have paranoid bones within their body a quick glance will assure the ring seal upon the cap is still intact. Now she simply waits to see what he does.

Winter Soldier has posed:
His arm murmurs with exertion a few more moments, the external plates of it visibly shifting, before his efforts subside. The strength of the chain binding him tested, he seems content to leave it alone -- for now.

His attention turns, instead, to Mercy. Both eyes lash open, considering her in lupine silence. They follow her when she stands up, and the look in them suggests he can practically smell the tense adrenaline coming off her, having to share a space with him... not knowing if he's properly secured, or what further tricks he might have up his sleeve.

He doesn't blink even to her response, nor her offer of water. She tosses the bottle towards him, and his right hand flicks up at the last moment to catch it. The Soldier looks at it, turns it over and over in his hand, notices the intact seal... but doesn't open it quite yet.

He doesn't rise from his seated position. Instead, he just turns his head to the left, regarding the chain wrapped around his body. His blue eyes trail up the length of it until they find the spot where it's welded to the overhead foundation beam.

"So," he says, eyes still turned away. "So, so, so. You finally managed it." He smiles, dryly. "What was your secret?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
That look of his. Mercy sees it for what it is. She knows she's giving off all the various tells that a 'normal' 'non-assassin' person would in this sort of situation; but it can't be helped. Nor does it seem to stop her from continuing with whatever this is.

Interrogation? Definitely not, but some sort of questioning, yes.

When he catches the bottle of water in his unbound hand, she nods to herself. Clearly he's not experiencing ill effects from the werewolf sedative. Not unexpected. Not necessarily welcomed either, but it's not surprising to the coyote.

His look upward to her handy work causes the coyote to likewise look up, though only for a second. Then it's back to the Winter Soldier. She's not stupid enough to look away from him for too long. Striving to keep everything close to the vest, as it were, Mercy shakes her head at that initial question of his. "Why ask?" She states, "You know I won't tell you."

And while she moves a few paces here and there, to relieve pressure on bruised feet, she never strays close enough to be within his restrained reach. "I suppose it'd be futile of me to ask you for Claire's location again?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
She's not stupid enough to look away from him for long, but he seems perfectly content to keep his eyes insolently off her, inspecting the garage and the chain and even the water bottle he holds. Everything but the little mechanic that has him tied up. It's essentially an insult in wolf-speak.

Why ask? she says. He tilts his head back and forth. "For fun," he says. "It's boring being tied up. And, you know. Sometimes people do unexpected things." His smiling attains a sly cast, before it vanishes. He finally opens the bottle, handling it a bit awkwardly given he's only got mobility in half his left arm, sniffs it in apparent continuing paranoia despite the seal, and then drinks.

The inevitable question comes, and his eyes flick heavenward as if seeking a dispensation of patience straight from God. "Why ask?" he parrots. "You know I won't tell you."

A brief silence.

"Or maybe I should," he admits. "Maybe it doesn't matter too much. I'm not there to make sure of where she is or what's done to her-- not anymore-- so I really have no idea. Maybe they've moved on already."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Oh she understands that intended slight of his. Whether she feels the need to answer in kind is another story.

If she does, she doesn't show it. Not yet, at least.

Instead, Mercy focuses on what he says. As he speaks the coyote automatically scents the air around the two. Looking to see what she might ascertain from his scent about his overall emotional state.

The majority of what he initially says doesn't necessarily garner a response from Mercy - it's not until he gets to the part about people doing unexpected things that Mercy nods. "Like capturing assassins, right?" And while she shouldn't necessarily provoke the wolf within their midst something within Mercy can't quite stop herself from saying that.

That one was for the team. And Claire.

Her parroted words earn a shake of her head, but no overall response. Only that continued watchfulness from the coyote. Wariness in her gaze. It's only with his silence that Mercy will cross her arms, waiting. And while in social situations Mercy isn't one to foist the conversation completely on the other person, tonight's circumstances are completely different, and so she clamps firmly down on her penchant to be the 'talker' of the group.

Which pays off. Even if it causes the other woman to immediately feel a spike of worry. That emotion is easily read upon her expression and it prompts a quick knee-jerk of a response from Mercy. "Then tell us the last location she was at, what sort of defenses we should expect - we can find her, get her out."

Sighing, Mercy pivots upon her heel and turns away from him. She walks over to her abandoned chair and drags it over with a metallic scrape. In the time it takes her to pull the chair a smidgen closer she's regrouped, gathered her thoughts, and after she's sat down she'll speak again. "It's fine if you don't want to admit that you still feel something for Claire. Because we both know if you didn't she'd be dead already; by your hand even."

Winter Soldier has posed:
He isn't lying about the boredom. A creature forged as a weapon, only awakened from the ice to do work, he is transparently not made for idleness. His very nature bridles against the chain holding him in place. Yet there are other things beneath the boredom, as well. Wariness. Irritation. Anger. And at the core of all those things, a tiny mote of what might be concern.

Mercy can't help but slip that little barb in there-- they were the ones who captured him, they were the ones who did the unexpected. The Winter Soldier finally looks at her dead on. His unblinking blue eyes drill into hers, watching her with cool blankness.

"Sure," he eventually says, and smiles. "Anything is possible."

He lets the unpleasant implication hang in the air, and moves on. His eyes turn away again, even as Mercy demands to know, at the very least, her last location, its defenses, anything he can tell her. They can get her out, and he obviously still feels something for Claire--

"You would die," he enunciates clearly, cutting her off with a slight baring of his teeth, "going there."

He exhales, impatient. "You may as well let me go and run now. You may survive, that way. You can't keep this up for long. Here is the real question-- what exactly is your endgame with someone like me?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
His unblinking eyes meet her own and while she doesn't look away the strong urge to do so is there.

It's a combination of leftover conditioning from living within the wolf pack, but also what she sees (or lack thereof) within his eyes. That blankness. Coldness. The fact that when he smiles it doesn't necessarily reach his eyes. Not that a smiling expression on his face is a pleasant thing; because it's not. Expressions for him are like another weapon to be used, or so it seems to one Mercy Thompson.

Mercy doesn't take the bait with that negative implication of his, which is good, as he moves onward.

His mention of death finally earns something more from the woman. A corner of her mouth quirks upward, sardonic humor found within that expression of hers, "I really thought we'd die tonight, so -" She's feeling invincible? Hardly that and that humor of hers only lasts for a second, before her expression returns to something somber. She understands deep down that rescuing Claire is going to be much more difficult. Even more so than what they managed tonight.

His last words bring Mercy back to her feet. Her gaze back to his face. She'll stare at him silently for a few seconds as she considers how to answer his last question. It's really only the last question that matters at this point. "You're going to help us rescue Claire." And while there's more to be said there, so much more, Mercy now retreats. Both physically and verbally, as she grabs that chair and drags it back to its earlier resting place.

Winter Soldier has posed:
She doesn't look away. After a moment, his cold eyes warm a little with amusement, and he magnanimously looks away first. The smile that crosses his features still doesn't reach his eyes, though. As she observed-- it's not an expression of warmth. It's a weapon of disorientation. A tool to induce unsettlement and fear.

They might have him physically captive, but he has the experience and the base cunning to start quietly working the situation around, patiently taking an invisible control over the conversation, such as it is. He has interrogated more than enough people in his time. But more importantly-- he is a creature that does not part easily with his confidence, and that often is enough.

She thought they'd all die tonight, she admits. His amusement vanishes. There's a curious tilt of the head, a brief contemplative look on his face at that level of determination. The curiosity only intensifies when she answers his question. He's going to... help them?

"And what makes you think I'd do that? he asks, amusement returning. He leans back against the closest wall of the garage, letting his chain pile loosely at his side. "I liked her, but I have my priorities, and I don't just belong to myself. She was a pastime. There'll be another like her, in another hundred years."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's some part of Mercy that realizes the conversation is no longer in her hands. The small corner of her heart and mind that the coyote resides in chatters at her.

Stop talking it says. Stay silent it urges. Don't answer those questions. This is a trap.

But, if there's one thing Mercy's not ruled by, it's her coyote. However, in this particular instance she might regret not hearing those silent words of warning from within.

That question of his, why would he help, is answered quick enough, "Because you're going to realize who your true friends are real soon and who the real enemy is." Clearly meaning Hydra, and while she's been keeping tabs upon his scent his next words cause an immediate reaction from Mercy. Anger. It's enough to cause the coyote to grip the edge of the chair tightly. Her strength isn't enough to crush the folding chair, but there's a slight creak from it.

And while the angry words are right there, ready to be said even, something causes the mechanic to stop. Perhaps it's his scent or perhaps something with what he said, or a combination of the two, but whatever it is, instead of spewing a torrent of anger at him Mercy straightens. "You're right. You don't belong to yourself. We're going to fix that. Then you'll help."

And while she likely said much more than she should have those words can't be taken back. Not now. Now there's frustration at herself, at her own stupidity for being drawn into this conversation, it's enough that the coyote says, "I think we've had enough conversation tonight."

Winter Soldier has posed:
It is a trap. And the predatory eyes of the Winter Soldier watch and wait for her to walk into it.

This entire interaction should not be going this way. It shouldn't be him asking the questions, and her giving him answers. Yet somehow it's gone that way, somehow he's twisted it around, and she's speaking. Telling him that soon enough he'll realize the truth. It hearkens back to what he's been told before, by Claire and by Mercy, that he's not himself. That it's his handlers who lie to him. That he doesn't belong to himself.

It's enough to throw him off, to tip the balance of power again. He recedes, baffled and wary, his narrowed eyes regarding her with the first beginnings of alarm. What in the hell does she mean? They'll... 'fix' him? Rewrite him until he wants to turn on his own master? His own country?

"You couldn't get me to believe your lies before," he bites out in retort to her assertion the conversation is over, his scent all bravado and wariness. "You won't now."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The conversation tips back in her favor and it's something Mercy realizes. In part to the sudden wariness, bravado and hint of alarm that now filters through his scent.

Perhaps another would feel happy that they have control again, but for Mercy Thompson she just looks weary. Perhaps sad too. When she speaks next her tone will reflect the same emotions held within her eyes. "It doesn't matter if you believe me or not."

The implication there that it's going to happen either way.