december 1993
the camp, somewhere in russia
He dreamt of her. A dream so vivid, so real, that when he woke from his slumber he wasn't entirely sure it hadn't happened.
The hard cold wind that blows through his coat, and nips at his exposed flesh is a contrast to how warm his skin feels. When he closes his eyes he can almost feel her soft touch on him.
Every time he thinks of her his heart flutters, he's not sure why. God, what is he feeling?
He's strayed from his course, but he knows the snow justifies his deviation. His two men have fallen behind. They're dead, no doubt, the blizzard they're currently trudging through would surely kill any man who did not know where he was going.
He knew where he was going, he had a mission, not the one they had woken him up for (he had completed that one), but his mission to find her.
He can see the bunker from his position over the snowy hills. A dark grey concrete building, it should contrast with the white snow, but through the current of snow its almost invisible. He can see a vague shadow if he squints hard enough.
What he's doing is a shot in the dark, though he doesn't expect anything less coming from him. It's fitting that his first act of free will in almost 50 years is to crawl thought a blizzard on the off chance that he finds her alive.
When he had been awoken his first thought was that she wasn't occupying the stasis tube next to him.
He had asked, in a quiet timid tone, about her whereabouts. His voice seemed foreign in his own throat.
"The girl?" He had asked. "Where is she?"
He watched as The Doctor's lips tug upwards before forcing a frown onto his face. The Doctor examines the emotion on his face as he says, "She's dead, Soldat."
He went months without her, training the others. Months silently mourning her. That's how he picks on the whispering between the guards. At first a rumor, a legend that they spoke of between each other.
The camp was that rumor, a place they sent disobedient soldiers for correction. He had never heard of it before, but according to the whispers it was an abandoned storm shelter that had been converted.
And as he gets closer to the building that's exactly what it looks like. A concrete building, wire fence in the acres surrounding it, and a watch tower. There doesn't seem to be any security aside from the two guards he had already clocked in the watch tower. He knows there will be more security on the inside.
Lucky for him the snow makes it almost impossible for them to see as he sneaks up the tower so he can take them out. Two shots, they don't even hear him sneaking up behind them.
Getting inside seemed to be trickier, but he finds his opportunity when the door swings open. A heavily clothed guard steps out, cigarette stuck between frosted lips. He manages to get a good glimpse inside, the guard by the door is fast asleep.
The fur lining the collar of the smoker limits his peripheral vision, allowing him to sneak up behind him, his metal arm slips around his neck. He holds him in that position until the smoker slumps forward in his arms. He drops him onto the snow.
The rest is easy, one shot into the sleeping guard, from his estimates there should only be one other guard inside. He keeps his silencer on, as to not alert anyone else that he's there. The lack of guards outside tells him that they mustn't be guarding more than two person, or one very strong woman. The final guard must be the one sitting outside her cell.
He stands at the corner, taking a deep breath, before rounding it. Like he guessed the guard was there, and he catches him off guard. Another easy shot. His body silently slumped against the wall, sliding down.
He slowly makes his way to the door the guard had been stationed at, peering in through the small window on the metal door.
He sees her, a wave of relief washes over him.
She's sleeping, curled up under a couple blankets. And even though the warped perception of the glass pane, he can see her shivering.
Using the metal arm he takes the door knob in his hand, it crumbles under his force. He pulls it straight off, the screeching of metal stirs her sleep.
She sits up, rubbing her eyes, as her sleepy brain attempts to comprehend what is happening. The door practically being torn off it's hinges snaps her awake, she scrambles to the corner of her cot, bringing her knees up to her chest and hugging them tightly.
"Avery?" He whispers, watching as the girl's eyes widen. She drops her guard a bit, loosening her grip on her knees, slowly sitting up on them.
"James?" She whispers. A sigh of relief escapes his lips at the sound of her voice. He takes a couple steps forward into the dim light of the lightbulb on the wall, she had always been afraid of sleeping in the dark since they had met.
She scrambles off the bed, throwing her arms around his neck.
He stays still for a moment, confused, but finally he wraps his arms around her. Unfortunately, her embrace is brief, and she pulls away from him.
She sits back on her cot, patting next to her for him to take a seat. He stays standing, a frown spreads across her face.
"What's wrong?" She asks him.
"They told me you were dead," He says, dropping down to his knees in front of her. "He told me you were dead."
Avery sighs, "The Doctor?"
He nods.
"Don't pay any attention to that bastard," She says, James approves of her crude language, "Told me the same thing months ago until I heard the guards talking about you. He'll do anything to break us, that motherf—"
She cuts herself off when she sees the look on her face. Her brows furrow, and she slowly reaches out to cup his face.
"What's wrong?" She asks again.
He frowns, his voice broken as he speaks. "He said you were dead."
He throws himself forward, wrapping his arms around her waist, face buried in her lap. She stiffens for a moment at his act, as if she's trying to figure out if she's dreaming or not. When she realizes it's definitely not a dream, her hands slowly come down to cradle his head in her lap.
James sits up, she pats the bed next to her. This time he sits. She turns to him.
"Don't pay him any mind," She says so softly. She reaches out, grabbing his flesh hand in hers and pressing it up against her chest. He feels the thumping of her heart. She grabs his other arm, his metal arm, and brings it up to her face. He cups it, it feels odd to him. He holds her, a delicate thing, in something so evil. In his, metaphorically and occasionally literally, blood covered hands. "See? I'm alive."
James isn't sure what brings him to do it, to smash his lips to hers, but he does it. She holds his between her hands as she kisses him back.
Avery pulls back for air, her lips swollen and wet.
"I'm so sorry." He apologizes, panic laced voice. He watches as Avery's lips tug upwards.
"No, no," She dismisses. "It's fine."
There's a moment of silence. James can't stop reliving it over and over again in his mind. The way his heart flutter, he wanted more.
He gently brushes her hair out of her face, "Can I?"
She nods slowly, she feels the same. The butterflies in her stomach come back as he presses his lips to hers again.
This kiss is slower, less feverish, though his his metal arm does grip her waist with fervor as he brings her closer.
James knows he has a mess waiting to clean up on the other side of the door, and a lot of explaining to do, but that would have to wait.
For now it was just the two of them.
a/n: the was written before tfatws finale again im so nervous im stress writing omg but im halfway down with part one of leaving tonight 😳 also this is kinda where shit hits the fan 😟😟😟
written: april 23, 2021