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Note: This is an agency interrogation. Bucky is tagged by proxy.
The woman of about thirty sat at the table, steepling her hands over a manila folder. Identical briefs were placed in front of all the participants in a squared-off U surrounding her. Normally she would thrive under the spotlight, but the literal hot lights pivoted to highlight her smaller, lower brown desk threatened to bring perspiration to her brow.
Not for nothing Doctor Farnsworth warned Diane to wear a black suit. She resisted the urge to pull out her handkerchief and dab her brow. Water sat to her left, a concession she refused to call upon lest these ivory tower bureaucrats in their formal black and starched white look down upon her as a woman performing the delicate task of psychoanalysis.
*
Presenting her findings at three in the morning hardly constituted her idea of a good time, but one didn’t turn down an armed driver and an escort. She didn’t really know what part of the Governors Island complex she was in, and Diane frankly didn’t care very much. The sooner she completed her part of this, the sooner she could return to bed and get one day closer to her holiday in Nassau. Elizabeth Farnsworth would take the bullet next time, instead of her girl Friday.
*
The committee chairman leaned forward to his microphone. “State your name, role, and clearance for the record.”
*
She cleared her throat. “Diane Ricoult, psychologist with O Division. Rank 4 clearance, SHIELD.”
That subtle accent wove around her soft-spoken voice. Most thought her French, and they’re not wrong, but they neglected to review her files often. SHIELD assigned her to Farnsworth because of complete fluency in Russian, an acquisition from her days admiring the lost golden era of art and innovation.
*
Pages flipped as senior personnel withdraw the ten page double-spaced, typed report she prepared for them. Their staff probably briefed them and provided the talking points while she was summarily patted down, questioned, and re-examined by three layers of security beyond anything seen in D.C. Diane trusted her voice would remain clear; sleep dogged her these past days, but hadn’t it for everyone?
*
“Begin when you are comfortable, Dr. Ricoult,” prompted the aging gentleman to the left, lording over her a little like a raven turned grey. She liked the beakiness of his nose, the openness of his bluff face. All the more reason to distrust him.
*
Diane folded her hands, briefly reviewing the top page. “I must offer the standard disclaimer regarding the patient. During our observations at Site I, he demonstrated a very deep-seated distrust and suspicion for all SHIELD employees. We have at best an incomplete view, and with the classified files…”
*
The chairman waved his hand. “Yes, yes, Doctor, we are well-aware of the restrictions placed on your reports and will review the documents in that light. Proceed.”
*
So like him to cut her off. Diane smiled that graceful tip of the mouth that she perfected in university, time and time again in front of the fuddy-duddies at Northwestern questioning the value of a woman in psychology. As if Freud himself hadn’t valued ladies in his work, and not simply as muses and paying clients.
She said, “Offering a diagnosis or full analysis is unconventional under these circumstances. It is the opinion of O Division that the patient called Nikita suffered extensive psychological trauma. His distrust provides a distorted impression and only through building a rapport with him will we gain a better insight into the subject. You see, Doctor Farnsworth has petitioned for a committed team of physicians, caregivers, and experts to work personally with him. We may see improved results over time.”
*
“Noted,” another agent said. Boredom seeped from his voice. Time to get to the point, then.
*
Diane leaned forward a fraction. Far be it from her to advocate loudly.
“Nikita appears to be roughly 27 years old. Analysis of his accent implies he was born and raised in proximity to Moscow. Linguistic analysis must be treated as inconclusive, given incomplete reports due to the patient's unwillingness to speak.”
Frowns greeted that revelation.
*
She continued in crisp tones, allowing little emotion to colour her words. “We have no reason to believe he had formal education. He is not illiterate, showing ability to read in Russian.”
“But educated surely somehow,” said a man to the chairman’s right.
She noddd. “His ability to fight clearly indicate military background, experience on par with special forces. He probably has developed a degree of independent judgment and a capacity for initiative. However, we have not observed any personal leadership traits or indications of an ethos.” Her piercing gaze roved among them, daring their interruption with not an iota of patience for the slight. One of the SHIELD committee opened her mouth and thought the better of it, yielding to Diane’s pointed stare. “He is primarily a man of action rather than thought. Intellectual exercises have not provided serious stimulus whereas he appears to develop an interest in other physical activities, particularly training techniques.”
*
Papers rustled. The chairman consulted his yellow legal pad, and asked, “How is his social development? Personal interactions, relationships, sense of empathy? Things like that.”
“The patient does not crave social recognition or company,” she replied. “Left alone, he can remain still and unmoving for long stretches. Not moving at all, ladies and gentlemen, unstimulated. Nor does he ask for anything to entertain himself with. He waits. He infrequently asks questions or engages with others, clearly taking no pleasure in playing on a suitable audience or receptive family. Including other patients at Site I.”
*
They didn’t like that. She read their shoulders rising, bodies sitting back in seats as the information melted in. No doubt, Diane mused, they thought the patients were a hive mind. A common misconception, even with twins. Look alike and act alike? A fallacy outside the community, though she wasn’t going to raise it here.
“Perhaps it would be the staff in O Division?” That from someone in the intel side of things. She loathed the political game, and Dr. Farnsworth would have shot the suit down in a heartbeat. She didn’t have Farnsworth’s credentials or father to shield her.
*
“This cannot be attributed to interpreters alone. Similar reactions have been found with the patient. He does not initiate private conversation. However, he clearly demonstrates an awareness of his social station which entitles him to respect. He reacts negatively to slights against himself by outsiders and English-speakers,” she replied, injecting a touch of her French accent stronger than necessary. Let ‘em chew on that.
*
It didn’t mollify the committee. They flipped paper and scribbled notes. “Certain members,” said the bland gentleman representing Northeastern Ops, “have pushed for eliminating the risk to SHIELD. Based on your experience, how malleable is the subject… Nikita?”
What, you think is he a dog badly trained? The psychologist smiled again, her eyes hard. “We would believe he is a prisoner of rigid Soviet dogma and subject to patriotic slogans. He seems perfectly capable of complying with direct orders and doctrines. This cannot be confirmed. The patient has not elaborated on his convictions.”
The Ops manager scowled until the chairman caught his eye and shook his head. “Please elaborate, Doctor Ricoult.”
*
She warmed to her subject, even if she can’t warm to the hollow-eyed spectre haunting that room and sitting wordlessly in an undecorated room. No fathoming what goes on in that head, even as he forced himself to total physical exhaustion or spent hours wordless, emerging only to hand over the metal headphones to a waiting flunky. Ruled by the clock, ruled by some distant spectre and forced to be a discarded toy soldier until then. What a life.
Raising a shoulder, she nearly shrugged. “When arriving at Site I, Nikita was a largely unknown quality, seemingly a soldier with typical special forces training. The picture he presented to observers was not impressive. From all appearances, he was a reserved, silent, obtuse, uninspired man, with something of a detached air.
“Events show there is a great deal more to Nikita than the appearance suggested. Behind the exterior lies a shrewd native intelligence, an agile mind, ambition, drive, and ruthlessness. His own colleagues undoubtedly recognize from experience he is neither witless or foolishly impulsive. His resourcefulness and sense of timing are evident in combat scenarios.”
*
“You sound unduly impressed.” That’s Howland, out of Chicago. Better to defect to a life as a cassava farmer than be under him, pig with no concept of science. Diane let the offensive comment slide off her.
She stared up at his cold brown eyes, the patrician features contorted into a sneer. No one missed the bad blood between them. They’re all spies, of course. “With all due respect, Agent Howland, you have not seen him fight.”
“I’ve reviewed the reels.”
Bullshit. “The reels can’t follow as fast as they go. Like watching a horse gallop. We don’t see their hooves off the ground.”
“Doctor,” a mild admonishment came from the chairman.
*
Let them stew. “Is there any further question on his intellectual capability? As I note below,” she said. “By all indications, he is a person with some capacity for detecting nuances and subtleties. He can see things in black and white, and responds rather positively when confronted by shades of grey. He can manage moderately involved intellectual reasoning, but his spontaneous reasoning skills are diminished by limited range of experience.”
*
“So there’s a hope to defeat them after all if you surprise ‘em.”
The consensus rolled through the sides of the table, washing over her. They needed time to process all this. But if she was going to keep a man alive, she had better offer a sop to their pride.
“These aren’t soldiers of fortune. They are plucked from miserable circumstances, traumatized to fit a very specific dogma, and processed according to strict methods outlawed by international conventions and humanity.” They heard the stress in her voice, even as she bridled her anger. “A good government does not strip a person of their individuality to make way for a selective set of behaviours. These patients do not even demonstrate tacit acceptance of social mores because no one took the time to expose them. We do that for children in elementay school, as I am sure you know. They do not recognize nuanced social functions, which might cause my esteemed colleagues to unfairly conclude the patients are hostile or threatening when, simply, they have no comprehension of the things you and I take for granted.”
She puts her hands flat on the paper. “This is a sobering reality for SHIELD. We have in our custody a number of men unprepared for the outside world, selectively cultivated as far as I can tell for excellence in pursuit of war and very little else. It is my and O Division’s recommendation they not be treated as immediate threats intent on lashing out at all of us. None of our firsthand observations support that. They aren’t ranting about the supremacy of Stalin and down with American values. Rather, they are veterans of a conflict.”
*
The men wanted to interrupt. She could read their gritted teeth and hardened faces, finding no warm audience for what she says. Vilifying outsiders came easier than accepting common ground. But still, she had to try for the sake of common humanity. Maybe not the taciturn men staring into space and waiting the day their ticket came due. But for something. Someone.
“Strike the previous statement from the record. I will remind you, Doctor, just the facts on the psychological analysis are required. Further deviations will result to an end of your testimony and we will conclude,” sighs the chairman. Fatigue burnt deep into his weathered face. For once, she was glad for her rank.
*
Diane shrugged. “In conclusion, Nikita possesses strong mental reflexes. He is conscious of his size and physical abilities, a frequently recognized attribute. He possesses considerable confidence, awareness of his vigor and personal abilities; and considerable environmental perceptiveness that enable him to gain the upper hand over his rivals and observers through all tests and encounters. He is tough and pragmatic.”
*
“Russki…” No further words reached her ears. One of the agents moved to lay a hand on Howland’s shoulder. He moved to shake off the offense and froze. His mouth twisted.
“Thank you, Doctor. You may retire.” Dismissed like that, the chairman went silent. Conversations bubbled up while the two agents acting as docent escorted her back into the cavernous hall. Not for the first time, she pondered whether she ought to take up her sister’s offer to start that flower shop.
*