( yeah, that sounds about right — she doesn't have any better a line on it than he does, she's just got a little more time under her belt. it's alright, he wasn't really holding his breath for a magic solution. frankly, he's banking on them never actually going away. shocking to absolutely no one, he's pretty sure he deserves it.

there's another question. he remembers it so goddamn vibrantly in hindsight; the heat of sun-warmed stone, the rifle, his state of mind. he licks his lips, the screwdriver stilling, pretense falling away while he determines just how much he wants to give away here.

he starts out a little reluctant, but his tone's steady like he's rattling off facts. )

I wasn't...

( false start; he shakes his head and tries again. )

When I was the Winter Soldier... it's not like there was somebody else in my head, or like I was... mindless. I could still think, it just... you ever have a dream where a small part of you knows you're dreaming, but you're not entirely playing it out, you're mostly... watching it?

( muffled and muted, seven layers deep, underneath the water — and you instinctively know what's going to happen next, except really it's the fact that you think it that makes it come to pass. you're writing the dream from the back seat. )

They gave me rules. Operating instructions. A whole structure to follow when I was given a mission, but there's... space in between that they don't even think about sometimes. They said to take out the target. They didn't say no survivors. Didn't give me any black and white about what to do with you, so I got to make a choice.

( and it's there he glances up, shrugs his right shoulder a little. )

I chose not to.

( there was freedom in the cracks in between directives, and that's where he lived whenever part of him started to wake up again. )