2270/A Polite Interrogation

A Polite Interrogation
Date of Scene:	31 August 2017
Location:	West Harlem - Mercy's Garage
Synopsis:	Mercy Thompson wants some answers about the wolves she lost. Bucky Barnes gives them. Neither parties feel any better.
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Winter Soldier
Tinyplot:	Tayaniye

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Mercy Thompson has posed:
It's finally quiet within the garage. There's only a few more hours before the team is a-go. People are doing what they do best in situations like this.

They're either trying to rest for a few hours, preparing mentally and/or physically, spending time with loved ones, or are alone.

However, there's only one that's not allowed to be left on his own. Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, James Buchanan Barnes. He's the one that will consistently find a presence nearby, much like it is right now. It doesn't matter that he's shown a change of heart, there's still enough of an undercurrent with the owner of the garage (and Fred!) that he still continues to have a guard.

The only concession to the 'guard' is now it's not quite so blatant. As such, when the 'guard' changes there's very little fanfare to announce it. Only Mercy stepping back into the room and allowing a small nod of dismissal to the current watcher. In her hand is a small bag from a local eatery and inside one will find burgers and fries. It's greasy, cheap and filling. Perhaps not the tastiest, but it's food. And it's not tacos.

Lastly, as soon as the coyote finds herself in the room her gaze automatically sweeps the interior, looking to see where Barnes might be.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Bucky Barnes, for his part, is not complaining that he's being watched 24/7. He understands full well the reasons he is being watched, and accepts them as necessary. He's shocked they're even trusting him so much as to leave him unrestrained. He doesn't know if he even trusts /himself/ that much.

He has no assurance whether he might relapse suddenly, and what might be the trigger to cause such a relapse. He is terrified of blacking out and waking up covered in blood.

As such, when Mercy comes looking for him, she'll find him hidden in the corner of the garage farthest away from her living area -- farthest away from any of the normal activity that might take place within it. He's seated on the floor, back against a wall, hands laced together and occasionally twisting so the knuckles whiten. His gaze is abstracted, haunted, a thousand miles away. He's got a lot of years to sort through... a lot of memories that might or might not even be real.

He looks up to Mercy's approach, and he tenses. His scent isn't wary or defensive, not of her; on the contrary, it seems worried. She's smelled such a scent off wolves concerned to uncontrollably harm a packmate.

"Sam?" he asks after a pause, his voice quiet. Presumably wondering if his face is still fountaining.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
In that dark corner. Back to the wall. It earns a look of consideration from Mercy, but nothing more. No words of comfort or concern, just that look.

Likely she's seen some similar types of behavior from wolves. Especially those wolves who've had some trouble in their past. However, that doesn't stop her from continuing to walk further into the room, it only stops her from crowding his corner. Instead, the coyote steps over to a specific work bench, the one that holds the map. That bag of food will be set upon the corner furthest from the map, even as she keeps the man within her sights.

Another automatic gesture causes Mercy to scent the air. It's easy for her to pick up the smell of worry and concern from the air. That's enough to earn another look from Mercy Thompson; this time thoughtfulness. And while he asks after Sam it might seem like she's not going to answer, what with the minute of silence that follows his question. Finally, however, the coyote says, "He's okay. He's resting right now." Then she points to the brown paper bag, "Food, if you're hungry."

And yes, she purposely left the bag on the corner of the table to try and draw him out. Now she waits to see what his next move is.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Bucky's eyes transparently watch Mercy as she moves, only strengthening the mental comparison she's already making to a wary and injured wolf. He observes where she leaves the food, and though he's obviously hungry, he doesn't approach at first. Not until she points it out explicitly and backs up a few steps.

There is another moment of hesitation, and then -- with a slight self-deprecating look, as if he realizes how weird he's being -- he stands slowly and emerges from his corner, walking carefully over towards the bench and taking a seat. He listens in silence as she answers his question about Sam, and his scent moves a little towards the spectrum of relief when she says that he's fine.

He's still looking at the bag instead of actually opening it. His scent starts to read nervous.

"Your wolf friends..." he starts. "I don't know what happened to the one I took."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy will keep her distance when Barnes finally approaches. In fact, she'll simply move to the other side of the table. Possibly a show of trust in that movement of hers.

Wariness can still be seen within her gaze, however, even as Mercy keeps her attention on the man.

Within the bag there are several wrapped hamburgers and a few carton of fries. Ketchup packets too for those that like ketchup on their fries.

It's only when his scent starts to dip towards anxious that Mercy tenses in response. That nervousness puts the coyote on edge and while she doesn't necessarily think he's going to attack, she can't quite dismiss that notion. So, when he brings up 'her' wolves Mercy can't quite stop the look of surprise that covers her expression. One - she hadn't expected him to bring it up so readily and two - let's be honest, she really did expect him to attack, even if his scent wasn't necessarily right. Typically when someone commits to an attack there can be nervousness, yes, but there's usually also a decisive quality there.

Now the coyote is mentally backtracking as she considers how to respond. Her expression turns grim, tight now, as she finally speaks, "I hadn't realized /you/ took him." Begins the coyote, that statement of hers probably harsh, and while Mercy SHOULD temper those words of hers with something kinder, the anger she's currently feeling doesn't seem to allow her. Or perhaps the right way to say it is it won't allow her, "And /you/ know what happened to him. To Darryl. He died. Not immediately either. It took a day or two, thanks to whatever /they/ were doing to him. The pack felt it, his death. Aaron's death."

And here is where Mercy Thompson manages to stop the torrent of words from continuing. It doesn't stop the anger though, no, that can still be seen from the coyote - it's within her eyes, in the flare of her nostrils, the sharpness of her tone, as she tries very hard to get a grip.

Especially when she logically understands he was a pawn in this particularly sadistic game too.

But that thought doesn't help. Not just yet.

Winter Soldier has posed:
He is silent throughout what Mercy has to say. He transparently listens, too, to all of it, committed to hearing what it was he did and how it has affected the woman standing opposite him now.

Externally, there is little change in his features. He does not move, and he certainly does not speak. Her acerbic comment that she hadn't realized HE took the wolf garners no reply, either. To try to explain what he means when he equates his own actions with that of the Winter Soldier feels like an insulting affectation at best, a disingenuous evasion of responsibility at worst.

His scent spikes with stress when she calls the wolves by their names.

"Yes," he eventually says. It's agreement and acceptance of everything she said. "I should say I don't know what the /purpose/ was. I can guess. They were werewolves. Hydra's always been interested in the paranormal." And that thought, the thought of Hydra's many experiments, leads him inevitably to the thought of --

He looks at his own hands, placed on the workbench surface before him. They tighten, his scent flooding with a rage he cannot hide, nor would he trouble to hide if he could. His left whirs with that familiar, deadly sound of metal grinding. "When are we leaving?" he asks, very softly.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The spike of stress within his scent is noted. Specifically that it coincides with Mercy naming the two wolves. It's always harder to keep a victim faceless when you don't know their name, isn't it. And now Mercy has named them. Given their pain and absence a face.

His agreement to all of what she says doesn't seem to help. It just makes her look away from him. Now she'll simply keep her gaze focused upon something across the room, but even with her attention off of him, she still listens. She obviously hears what he says about werewolves, Hydra and the paranormal, but there's no real response from her. Sure, there are questions, so many questions, but whatever else she could say is stifled. The anger she feels isn't necessarily directed at him. Well, not the majority of it at least. Mostly it's directed at Hydra and to some degree herself as well.

It's enough to cause the woman to pull in a deep breath. Striving to regain her center. It only works partially, but it gives her enough balance to smell the rage now coming from Barnes. His soft question turns the coyote's gaze to the clock upon the wall. "It won't be much longer. An hour tops, possibly two. Then we'll save Claire." And with those words Mercy finally looks back at him again. "Do you know who killed Darryl?" She asks, before adding, "Or tell me who /likely/ did - I owe his memory that much at the very least."

Winter Soldier has posed:
There is no response from her. James Barnes doesn't expect a response. He only expects her anger, and there is certainly more than enough of that.

He doesn't try to force her into anything. He just says, very quietly, "I'm sorry about both of them. Darryl and Aaron." He doesn't say that, either, with any expectation of what she might do or say in response -- if anything at all.

The only thing she ultimately wants is a name. He supposes he understands. A similar rage is breathing off him now at the recollection of what is being done to Claire, a fury and self-hatred thick enough that Mercy won't even have to try to pick up on it. Simple breathing is more than enough. Two hours to wait? His left hand whirs softly. Good enough, he supposes.

"It's likely Mikhail Arkadyevich led the effort," he finally says. "But that there were also any number of assistants and other scientists involved. Lotta those types join up with Hydra to get to dabble with stuff they wouldn't get to otherwise."

He looks down at the workbench. "If you want their heads, I'll give you all of them."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
His apology earns a nod from Mercy. It's all she can give.

A nod.

The fury and self-hatred is scented; how could it not be? Those emotions that she can identify earn a faint sigh from the woman. Not anything near an apology from her, but perhaps something of an understanding. The whir of his hand causes her gaze to drop momentarily to the metallic prosthetic. It's only when he names names, as it were, that Mercy looks back to his face. "You mentioned him earlier. With Sam." States the coyote, her expression still holding notes of grim anger to it, her voice continuing to sound clipped, "He seems to be a busy little thing." But that name is committed to memory by the mechanic. It's a name she'll likely never forget. His mention of assistants and scientists and their ability to do other things, likely less legal things, garners a noise of disgust from Mercy. Hydra - a terrible organization full of terrible people.

While she was intending to offer a platitude about eating so that she could make her own escape, his last words cause her to stop. Again surprise washes over her expression. Those words (once more) not expected, or anticipated. "What -" She states, intending to say /no/, but that second word doesn't quite make it past her lips. Instead, there's a war going on within her. A part of her, the dark part, wants to say yes. Kill them. Kill them all. Destroy them like they've destroyed so many lives. Hurt them like they've hurt everyone here.

Almost she agrees. Almost she says yes.

But, in the end she can't quite accept that offer of his. "No." She finally manages, and then she voices that denial again, this time with more conviction than initially. "No. That's not the answer." And just like that the anger that held sway over Mercy Thompson is lost. Now it's simply replaced with something else; exhaustion, perhaps. "Eat if you can. We'll be leaving soon. Do you need anything else?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
He's the lead of that particular cell," James sighs, when Mercy comments on him being a busy little bee. "Everything done there routes through him in some way."

He doesn't look at her while he answers. He only does so, lifting his head and meeting her gaze, in order to apologize. Afterwards, his eyes return to his own hands, He has an especial fascination with his own left hand, apparently never having seen his own prosthetic nor comprehended it with his own right mind. "I lost my arm," he mumbles, as if really understanding that for the first time.

That realization just seems to add fuel to his anger. That this thing was attached to him. That he can now recall the experience, and the PAIN he suffered as they did it --

He offers Mercy something very singular.

Her silence and hesitation are answer enough as to how tempting it is... but ultimately she refuses. His hands tense, and he looks briefly both ashamed and defiant. Like he's probably just going to kill them anyway, when she's not looking. Like destroying them as they destroyed him will be his catharsis, even if it isn't /hers/.

Does he need anything else?

"...My weapons," he says, knowing he's not likely to get a favorable answer. "When?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The coyote watches the man across from her. She watches for how he accepts her answer. Thankfully, at the very least, it's accepted even if it's not entirely the answer wanted.

Then it's onward to his request for his weapons. Mercy Thompson will consider that request with all the seriousness that it requires. Which is a lot. Her eyes shift to the clock for a second time, as she considers her answer to his request. While her answer isn't perhaps the one he really wanted to hear, perhaps it's not all bad. "Yes, soon." She agrees, as her gaze turns back to the Soldier, and here she offers a bit of unreserved honesty, "I'll need to send someone out for them. We didn't keep them here -" As a just in case. Just in case he escaped. Just in case the Mind Stone didn't work. Just in case they needed to survive a second potential firefight with the Winter Soldier.

"Let me go do that now." Stepping away from the work bench now, Mercy will take a step away, intending to do just that.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Her refusal is accepted... in the sense he says nothing more about it, and does not press the topic. But the apocalyptic rage in his eyes goes wholly unplacated. That and his scent are the only obvious indications of his fury; outwardly, he displays nothing but that same controlled mask, and the way his hands curl on the workbench surface. They are obvious for the weapons they are, in these moments, especially given the way the left grinds with its inhuman metallic noises.

Probably not the kind of mindset in which a man should be asking for weapons. But this time, at least, he's aimed at the right people.

Perhaps it's that fact which relents her enough to decide he can have them back. Even James seems surprised, judging by the way his glance flicks up at her, though his expression shifts back to that self-deprecating awareness when she mentions they weren't kept here. "Smart," he murmurs, looking back down at his hands.

At first it seems like he'll let her go without stopping her, but after a few moments his voice interrupts the silence again. "I know you aren't doing any of this for me," he says. "It's for Claire. But thanks."

He stares off emptily into the middle distance. "Whatever power I got, is yours to get her back." Afterwards? He'll think about 'afterwards' when it comes.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
When all of this is said and done, and after the garage is set back to rights, one might wonder how long it might take to air out the garage. There has been so much rage, anger and pain in this enclosed space, it might take days for the scents to disperse. Before that can happen, however, they must save Claire.

While others might have not heard that murmured 'smart', Mercy does. Her enhanced hearing easily picks up that one word of his. It's enough to cause the woman to slightly mirror that self-deprecating humor of his. Only her humor holds a touch more cynicism to it.

Then she's moving. Intending to walk towards that third door in the back. To wake someone up to go fetch those weapons of the Soldier's. She doesn't make it more than a few steps before he's speaking again. That causes the coyote to pivot back around to face him again. Those words of his are enough to break through the distant mask that currently has ahold of Mercy's expression. That distance is now replaced by sadness. "You're wrong. We started out to save you. Now we have to save her."

More should be said than just that, but now isn't the time. Later, hopefully. Especially when Claire is back.

His very last words brings forth another nod from the coyote, "Good. We'll need it." And while she turns slightly to continue towards the back of the garage, there's enough of a pause to her steps in case he adds anything more.

Winter Soldier has posed:
We started out to save you, Mercy says. And how did he repay this? He...

His resolute blankness finally starts to break. But long before any hint of his expression or glimpse of emotion would be visible to anyone, he bows his head and hides his face, his hands lifting to push their fingers into his draping hair. There he sits, very still and very silent.

"All right," he finally says, as she accepts his assistance and takes her leave. His voice is remarkably steady, almost steely, but brittle as a frozen blade liable to shatter if struck just the wrong way. "Well, let's not keep her waiting."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Almost Mercy says something more. Especially when he bows his head; she understands to some extent why he's doing that. Not necessarily the emotions he's not giving word to, or allowing to show through, just the fact that he doesn't want it to be seen.

And while those potentially sympathetic words are there to be said by Mercy, she doesn't quite give voice to them.

Perhaps sensing some of that brittleness around the Soldier. Instead, the mechanic only adds, "Let's not.", and then Mercy resolutely turns away from Barnes and walks away. The time is now at hand.

They will save Claire Temple.