dimitri:

                 he was a guard once, he was a trainer once, he was one of them once. god it seemed like ages ago. like another lifetime ago. to be someone cold enough to mold another innocent life into something so broken. feeding them lies of how they would make them into gods when in reality they were simply pawns. false promises that relied on nothing more than the success of the mission.  so he was quick to pick up on the signs of a shattering agents. he knew when to spot them on the verge of collapse. when they were compromised. he looked at anna and saw it. the lack of appetite, the desire for completing a mission ( no matter how dangerous ), reckless behavior that was borderline dangerous. he saw the way she didn’t care for herself–she had limited time if he didn’t step in. that fire that made her so strong was dying. she was dying. and he felt hopeless when all he could do was just watch.  

              “if you have time to talk, then you aren’t doing it right.” he said like he used to. like they were back at square one. he was the trainer, the elite, the one above her. and he was simply one of the soldiers.  it was like before they knew the deepest scars that they held. NO. it was worse. it was much worse. because now, they knew what it was like to feel safe in their vulnerability. and now they were back being fed to the dogs. “you’re getting sloppy. but i guess that can’t be helped when you’re just working with people that don’t challenge you.  it’s easy to fight those that don’t know your weak spots.” he said with a low growl, hand gripping the cage and looking at her, angry that she let them push her around. that she let them invade her space, that she wasn’t fighting back. white knuckles as he saw her struggle to even do her signature move–she was getting sloppy. sloppy meant that she was putting her life at risk. he won’t let her lose. he won’t lose her again. “STOP PULLING YOUR PUNCHES, IVANOV!” 

              SHE WAS ONCE  A LITTLE GIRL. she doesn’t remember that, but she knows she once was —- she was ripped from the inside out, transformed, trained to exhaustion, wrecked and molded and beaten until she was no more. this is how she has lived. this is the only way she knows to live.    (  a LIE. they let she keep the happy moments, they let she keep the warmth. they let her know love only for it to be ripped away, too. you are nothing but a monster. i always knew this is what you were. she doesn’t forget, though she may want to. ) . YOU WERE THE ONE WHO USED TO TALK, she wanted to say, felt the words heavy on the tip of her tongue, knew that they held TRUTH. she was always the centered one. he was a talker. she hated that about him. she looks at him again, opening her mouth to give a reply when she feels her head hit the floor —– there’s a BLISSFULNESS to it, one that she can’t help but loathe. it feels wrong, somehow. it feels right, too. 

             SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP. she wants to say, wants to tell herself to FOCUS, wants to remind herself who is in control  —  not you, not you, not you. it has never been you, and it will never be. she wants him to be QUIET, wants him to leave, wants to be able to focus on the FIGHT and not on the way that her heart beats, and not on the way that she can feel him, crawling underneath her skin. OH, HOW SHE HATES. OH, HOW SHE LOATHES. her entire body hurts — she wants to stop fighting, wants it all to end, wants to sleep, but it has never been an option, and it is not an option now. it’s not offered to the lots of YOU people. she can hear HIS voice echoing on her head, too. she digs her nails into the american’s face, watching with a sickening delight as surprise colored his features. SOMETIMES YOU GOTTA PLAY DIRTY. she runs her nails down, down, down, watching as they open a brand new cut on his loathsome skin. it is when the american tries to hold her hand that she regains control, wrapping her free hand on his neck. this is a battle she can win.  

             STOP PULLING YOUR PUNCHES, IVANOV. it is as if the whole world stops, and she can not help put look at him, brows furrowed and lips pressed together. stop pulling your punches // don’t hold back. she can feel the words on the tip of her tongue, can feel the air leaving her lungs. it’s not fair. YOU ARE MADE OF MARBLE. YOU HAVE NO TIME FOR THIS. YOU HAVE NO TIME FOR HIM.  she can’t take his eyes off him.   ❛   I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP, VOLKOV. i never had, and i never will.   ❜   she SPITS the words, tightening her grip on the american’s neck, flipping them once again. she has never felt dirtier in her life.