2012-08-08 A Matter of Respect

While the Winter Soldier has one of the 'guest rooms', he might as well be in some sort of holding cell. The window is out of unbreakable material and there is nothing in the room that could be used as any sort of weapon unless he starts tearing sheets. Everything is bolted down and even the toothbrush and razor are brought in and taken away each day. There's at least one guard stationed at all times outside the door that opens only from the outside. After his antics the other day, he hasn't really been let out at all except to meet with the doctors and to walk a couple of laps for some exercise. Food is even brought to him.

The thing is, when he's in the room alone, he doesn't really do much. There are no books, no videos, no computers. Those can be used for contact to outside forces. He's left to his thoughts for most of the day. Today, like the day before and the day before that, he's laying on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his cyberbetic arm draped across his torso. The hand clenches and unclenches as if it might feel like flesh and blood if he does it enough.

Luckily for the Winter Soldier, he has a guest on the way. Namely, the SHIELD agent he recently threatened at gunpoint. As he approaches, Clint flashes his credentials to the guard stationed outside the guest's room. Not that the guard needs to see them, Clint is a known face around these parts. The guard lifts a brow slightly and asks if Clint wants any extra security. Clint simply shakes his head as the guard nods, granting him access to the room. Clint walks into the room and silently takes a seat in one of the chairs, staring across the room, silently, at the Winter Soldier.

Winter Soldier sits up as soon as the door opens and stands at 'attention'. He merely watches as Clint goes to take a seat and he slowly does too, finding a tense perch on the edge of the bed. He just stares back, his good arm resting on his knee as if in some semblance of relaxation.

For a long while, Clint allows for the silence to just hang, staring across the room, the sign of total relaxation to "James'" attention. After a few more moments of silence, he finally asks, "Well? Don't you have something to say to me?"

"No," is answered with his accent. Winter Soldier blinks at the other, "Am I supposed to say something to you? Am I supposed to know you?" Besides the whole 'I'm going to shoot you if you touch me again' thing. "They did not tell me I should say anything in particular."

Clint actually breaks into an amused smirk at all of that. "Well, that might just be a culture difference," he says cooly, calmly. "See, where I am from," he explain, gesturing with one hand towards himself, "when we might stick a gun in someone's face, and make threatening gestures, that might be grounds for an apology after emotions had settled down. Now where you're from?" And now the hand is pointing. "I don't know. Agent Romanov hasn't gotten around to the basics of russian politeness. So I'll ask again, is there anything you need to say to me?"

"Where I am from," the Soldier finally replies after a pause, "If you attack someone, you should expect to be shot dead. I did not shoot you. Perhaps you should thank me for leaving you alive." He seems quite serious about this as well.

Clint's amused grin flickers for a second, but for the most part stays on his face. "For the record, I wasn't attacking you, I was trying to save you from making a big mistake. That guy you pointed your little 9 Mil at? Yeah. God. Or alien. The jury is out. Either way, shooting him would likely have just brought on his wrath." He takes a moment to lean back in his chair. "So in essence I was trying to help you out, and made no attempt to hurt you, again, just disarm." That smile fades away fully to a straight line.

"When I want to hurt you, you'll know it."

"He set off the alarms." Winter Soldier doesn't move from his seat at the edge of the bed. "He was trespassing. I did not know that he was welcome here. Friends do not set off alarms, da?" He continues to just watch his guest with his stoic expression and emotionless eyes. "I do not think you want to try to hurt me. You should talk to your friends here. They will tell you since you do not seem to know better."

"I know Tasha says you're a real bad mother," Clint says with a shrug. "That you're the best sniper she's ever seen--and trust me, it was hard to not take the personally. And I'd have to be blind to not see that you're packing some hardware," he says evenly, nodding towards the cybernetic arm. "But I also don't play fair, 'James', or whatever your real name is comrade. And I don't take kindly to people threatening me, even if their training is kicking in, on my own damn base. So yeah. Maybe you had your reasons. I can respect that, we all go on autopilot. Which is why I wanted to come here and give you the oppurtunity to apologize. But now?" He finally stands, staring across the room at the stranger, eyes squiting just slightly. "Now I see you're a cocky son of a bitch, and I can't wait, can not wait for you to step out of line and for me to get to take you down a peg. So go ahead, James. Make your move. Because I got an eye on ya, and when you do? I better be ready to pull that trigger." With that Clint turns and moves to leave, causing the door of the quarters to slide up, exiting unless otherwise stopped.

There is a flicker in those eyes at each use of the name. Standing when Clint does, he's tensed, ready to spring, but manages to somehow hold himself back even at the threats. "You would shoot an unarmed man?" is asked simple and he pauses but doesn't necessarily wait for an answer. The tone then suddenly shifts, whether it's intentional or something slips through, "Because I would." That trace of emotion then dissipated as he adds, "I hold no honor in that."

"Have, would, will," Clint says as he pauses in the doorway. He glances over his shoulder. "And this isn't a matter of honor, James. It is a matter of respect. I honor what you are capable of, I even might deep down recognize how exceptional you might be. But do I respect you?" He leaves the question to hang and then begins to exit the room again.

"I do not need your respect," is offered finally after he recovers from yet another wince at that name. "I am a weapon. My past is a trail of blood and I do not know if I have a future. They may kill me before I can find this out. You do not respect a weapon. You respect what it can do, but it is nothing but a tool."

Winter Soldier then adds, "Do not call me by that name."