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Chapter Text

PROJECT WINTER SOLDIER - designed by Hydra, one man can make all the difference - or at least that was the idea. The reality? One man taken from his family, friends, lover and tortured into something he would abhor.

THE CONSTANT - the nurse abducted to look after him - who loves him but knows that one day she will have to let him go because if he is ever to be free then he will return to the love of his life - Steve Rogers.

*

Bucky Barnes - As A Young Boy

Brooklyn 1929 - 1941

They are complete opposites to look at.

The young boy is dark haired, and needs time to grow into his features - but he has a smile that could melt any girls' heart. He is the eldest of four brothers, and lives with his mother and father, Winifred and George. He is strong, good at sports, but not overly competitive. Well-built like his father. He is a realist, but likes to play the fool sometimes to hide his true feelings. He believes that there is good and evil in the world. He has a hard edge to him but it is not hard enough to protect him from all that will happen to him. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.

James has not seen the true evil of the world yet.

But he will.

And the other one? He is Steven Grant Rogers. Steve. James calls him 'Kid'. Steve is blond, and has a smile that is shy but would warm anyone's heart. The mean-spirited bullies see it as a weakness. They are wrong. He has delicate, beautiful blue eyes framed by long lashes. Due to childhood illness he is short in stature and is far less muscular. His skin is almost translucent, and sometimes you would think the very wind is going to knock him down. He has no brothers or sisters, his father, Joseph, died when he was young. He lives alone with his mother, Sarah. This kid is an idealist, more serious-minded than his friend; he believes the world is good and there is such a naivety to him that you know life is going to deal some blows which will knock him hard.

So hard he may find it difficult to believe in things ever again.

The two of them are so different yet share so much in common in so many other ways. They are both intelligent, hard working, loyal, they are both as brave as lions, and neither will back down from a fight they believe in.

And they love each other, though they do not realise yet just how much.

After all you never realise how much someone means to you until you no longer have them.

James seems to always be pulling the Kid out of fights: doesn't matter if it is in the school yard or behind the local cinema, or (on occasion) even down at the docks. The blond will jump into a fight and welcome all comers but then get pummelled into the ground. He just does not have the physique that the older boys do.

James takes the Kid under his wing and drags him along to Goldies' Gym to see if he can put some meat on his bones. At least give him a fighting chance in life. He has never seen someone so skinny and small who courts fights the way this Kid does.

And yet, brave as the Kid is, he cannot be introduced to a girl. The Kid will stammer something, blush and walk away - leaving his friend behind.

Only James never does stay behind - he will always follow the Kid no matter what.

James tries to teach him how to flirt, how to relax around girls; but the Kid doesn't have any self-confidence and his mind cannot be changed, no-one can give him that confidence he needs to accept that a girl will ever like him. The Kid believes no girl will ever want to be with him; he feels he has nothing to offer them. He is wrong. Try as hard as he can the young man cannot get it right, match making and double dates usually ending in disaster. Often as not, his dark-haired companion ends up sending the girls home and choosing to remain with his friend instead.

As they grow up and become young men their friendship deepens and neither can see a life without the other being close by. They both enrol in the local Art college. The Kid has more talent and James encourages it, as it seems to give his friend some of the confidence in himself that he sorely needs.

When they can, they work down at the docks at weekends earning extra cash. Often at the end of the day's work they will sit on the dock wall and talk of their futures, maybe wives and families, or a business together. But in their naivety they do not know what life can do to young dreamers and both will have their dreams crushed by war.

When he is in his late teens, the Kid's mother dies of tuberculosis, and it hits the him hard.

James searches for him after the funeral. The Kid has walked home alone, and James finds him wearily climbing the stairs to the flat he shared with his mother. He looks tired, so alone, and the young man's heart goes out to him. He follows The Kid up to the lonely flat and tries to persuade him to come home with him. “We looked for you after. My folks wanted to give you a ride from the cemetery.”

At first Steve doesn't say anything as they walk up to his apartment. He lifts his hand and brushes his hair out of his eyes. “I know, I'm sorry. I just...kind of wanted to be alone.” Steve cannot look at Bucky because he knows if he does he will break down, and he thinks that he has to cope with this on his own.

“How was it?” Bucky asks.

“It was okay. She's next to Dad.”

“I was gonna ask...”

“I know what you're gonna say, Buck, I just...” Steve starts to respond but Bucky carries on talking, an almost desperation in his voice.

“We can put the couch cushion on the floor like when we were kids. It'll be fun. All you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash.”

As they get to the apartment door Bucky continues to look at Steve for a reply, for him to say anything. Instead Steve pats his pocket, trying to find his keys. Bucky kicks a brick aside, picks up the apartment key from under it and gives it to Steve.

Bucky says quietly, “Come on.” Steve finally looks up at him, tries to smile. “Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own.”

Bucky shakes his head, eyes closed for a moment.“The thing is, you don't have to.” Bucky places a hand on Steve's shoulder and looks at him again, tears glistening in his eyes. Bucky makes sure Steve is not just looking at him, but that he is also listening to him. “I'm with you till the end of the line, pal.”

And with that the Kid knows he isn't alone; even when he has nothing he knows he will always have his friend. His eyes well up and Bucky pulls him forward and wraps him a hug, kissing the top of his head.

So many times they have come close to telling each other how they feel, each knowing it is more than friendship, and so many times they have both shied away from it.

They have talked about girls, meeting the right one and getting married, having a family, living close by to each other so they are always together but neither realises he is bisexual; hell, in their day the word wasn't even widely known. The thoughts they sometimes think about each other in unguarded moments are illegal, seem to come out of no where and besides which they only like girls - right?

Time is running out for both of them.

*

It is a late spring day and they have both got caught in a shower just about making it home to the Kid's flat before getting completely drenched.

The Kid is soaked through to the skin, and James had promised Sarah Rogers he would always keep Steve safe. He needs to get him out of his wet clothes and into something dry and warm. The thought that comes to the young man's mind makes him blush and he hopes his friend didn't see it in his eyes.

He bullies the Kid into changing, helping him remove his wet top, handing him a towel and averting his eyes as the Kid pulls on a clean top. He uses another towel to pat himself down and dry his own hair. Combing it afterwards looking in Sarah's dressing table mirror at the reflection of the Kid struggling with his braces. He turns and walks over cuffing him around the head gently, then without thinking roughly combs the blond hair to look a bit more presentable.

“You'll break a girls heart, Kid,” he says and grins.

Unusually the Kid doesn't quip back and doesn't smile either, just ducks his head and goes to sit on the edge of the double bed where he now sleeps since his mother died, it seemed to be the right thing to do, move into the larger room.

James senses a sadness about his friend. I should stop calling him Kid he thinks, he's only two years younger and we're both men now. Time he started thinking of him that way. He shakes his head as if arguing with himself, but not in the way that has been on his mind so much lately, he thinks. At that thought he blushes and ducks his head praying the Kid can't read his mind.

The Kid is actually thinking the same.

If only the two of them would talk, would broach the subject but each is frightened of losing the other one. The Kid looks at his friend; sometimes he is so sure his friend feels something for him, the way he touches him when he doesn't need to, the way he looks at him, the broodiness sometimes that comes over him as if he is questioning something in his mind.

The young man lies back on the bed listening to the rain outside the window, at his side the Kid moves and lays on his front looking at his friend.

“Buck....”

“Hmm?”

He can see he doesn't have James's full attention.

Can he go through with this? Can he say it this time?

“Buck!”

“What?” the young man looks at him, those big beautiful eyes making his heart almost stop.

“I need to say something.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Always,” Bucky smiles.

“I like girls...” Steve says, and he is trying to be serious. This is so difficult to say - what if he is wrong, what if his friend is so disgusted he leaves and never returns?

“Oh yeah, me too...” and Bucky forms an hour glass shape with his hands and grins.

Steve tries to smile but he can't, this is important to him. Bucky stops smiling. He feels Steve is going to say something that is going to change their lives, and the way they think about each other, he just knows it. He can see it in the pale blue eyes, the set of his friends mouth, the slight blush on his cheeks.

“Don't,” he says quietly, not even sure if he has said it out loud. But Steve either doesn't hear him or doesn't care; he needs to get the words out into the open

“So why can't I stop thinking about you? Why do I want...why do I want you so much it hurts?” Steve says and ducks his head but still looks at his friend from under his bangs, his heart now beating so fast he thinks his friend will be able to hear it. He can't keep his feelings to himself any more. He still tingles from the feel of his friends hands as he was helping him strip off his wet top. The way he saw Bucky's eyes roam over his body and then turn away quickly.

They have come so close to this conversation so many times, both putting it off not knowing if the other one feels the same. Both feeling ashamed of thinking about their friend in that way, both worried what their families would say, would think.

James blushes, still looking at Steve, his gaze taking in those light blue eyes framed by blond lashes long enough to be a girls'. The slight form under the shirt.

Steve has rarely ever seen his friend blush before.

Bucky is about to make some smart-alec remark to diffuse the situation but he can't, instead he looks at Steve for what seems a long time.

Then Steve's stomach drops as he sees Bucky's jaw clench. Bucky looks away from him and turns to get off the bed.

“Buck?” Steve sits up.

“I...I've gotta be getting home...promised my old man I would help him with something,” and Bucky stands up pretending to be sorting his top out that has gotten rucked up, refusing to look at Steve.

“Buck?”

Steve sees that Bucky means to leave, but he can't let him, can't let the conversation end like this, can't lose him.

He scrambles off the bed and to the door, pushing it shut and standing in front of it. Bucky stops in front of him.

“Aww come on,” Bucky says quietly, he looks at the floor then briefly at Steve, sees those wide eyes full of fear. His own heart is banging, his ears humming, he wants to reach out, wants to...

“Buck...Buck ignore me, I was just...joshing, you know...Buck?” Steves voice is wavering, and they both know he wasn't joking, he was telling Bucky how he really feels.

Bucky closes his eyes and shakes his head from side to side. He can't cope with this. Why did he have to say it, why couldn't Steve just leave things the way they were, why must he always have to be so goddamn honest?

He could shake him.

“Bucky, sorry, sorry for what I said...please, forget it, it was stupid.” There is desperation in Steves tone.

Bucky looks up. He has to be hard, he has to resist, he is the one who needs to stop this in its tracks before Steve gets hurt, before they both do something they may regret.

“Get outta my way, Kid.”

Steve's hands clench at his side, his eyes harden.

“No Buck. And my names Steve, not Kid. Don't call me 'Kid' any more.” Steve knows he needs to fight for this, that if he moves, if he gives in, he will lose Bucky forever.

He sees the way Bucky's hands clench not knowing it is because Bucky's own feelings for him are trying to surface, trying to get him to acknowledge the truth.

Bucky lifts his hand and slams it against the door next to Steve's head, making Steve jump. There is a temper behind it. Bucky goes to speak but stops, not trusting himself.

“Jesus,” he says under his breath and bangs the door again.

He takes his hand away and turns around. He promised Sarah Rogers in this very room he would keep her son safe and now - now he wants to fuck him more than anything in the world.

“Please Buck, I can't lose you, please, please forget what I said,” Steve's voice is thick; he is trying to keep back tears. He doesn't want to cry, he wants to be so strong but the thought of losing Bucky hurts, makes him feel sick, empty.

Bucky turns and sits on the edge of the bed, his hands scrubbing at his face.

“You had to go and spoil it, didn't you,” he says quietly.

Steve watches his friends anguish. He caused this, he made a terrible mistake. He moves forward until he is stood in front of Bucky and Bucky looks up and straight into his eyes. He looks so serious, he looks like he to wants to cry.

“We can't,” he says so quietly Steve barely hears the words, Bucky looks away again.

“We can't,” he says again as if trying to convince himself.

Steve hesitantly puts a hand out to touch his shoulder. Bucky doesn't move, his own hands hang between his legs. He can feel Steve's warm hand through the material of his still damp shirt, he can smell him, he can feel him so close.

“Oh God,” he groans.

He looks up at Steve.

“We can't...think of my parents, think of your what your mother would say.”

“She's not here, Buck, and neither are they. Are you saying you feel the same way?” Steve knows he has to get this out in the open. Else he has lost.

“They don't need to know. No one does, its between you and me, its no one else's business.”

He takes his hand off Bucky's shoulder and instead kneels down in front of him.

“Bucky look at me.”

He puts his hands on Bucky's knees.

“Buck...please look at me and tell me you don't feel the same way. If you don't I'll let you leave and I won't stop you then its up to you if you want us to remain being friends...I'll always be here for you.”

Steve's heart is pounding and he is finding it difficult to breathe, but he daren't let Bucky see any weakness in him. Now is the time for him to be strong for someone who has always been strong for him.

Bucky groans and leans back looking at the ceiling. Steve says nothing more, he can see the internal struggle Bucky is having, and he knows he is so close to winning.

After a few moments Bucky leans forward again and looks at Steve, the man who to him is the most important person in his life, who for so long he has wanted to touch, wanted to hold. He reaches out and runs his fingers down the side of Steve's face and Steve turns to kiss the palm of his hand and his hands move up Bucky's legs.

He looks back at Bucky.

Slowly and hesitantly Bucky leans forwards, closes his eyes.

“We shouldn't,” he whispers, as he kisses Steve on the lips.

The first kiss is brief, whilst Bucky has had plenty of practice, Steve hasn't. Bucky has been all the way and knows he has to take it slowly with Steve, he is so worried about physically harming him, so worried about how to ...

Before he can pull away though Steve's arms come around him and pulls him back into the embrace and their lips meet again only this time Steve takes charge and pushes his slim body into Bucky's. He feels slight resistant and then Bucky's mouth opens and Steve's tongue demands a response, Bucky nearly squeaks in surprise but then leans into the kiss.

When they pull away this time both are breathless.

“Whoa...what was that?” Bucky says.

It makes Steve smile.

“Something I have wanted to do for a long time.”

He reaches up and places his hand on the back of Bucky's head and pulls him forward and kisses him again, this time there is no hesitation and Bucky's arms circle around the delicate frame holding him tight. Steve clutches his friend to him and pushes his body again into the strong muscular one.

They need each other, they felt something from the first time they ever met, something they have been trying to deny forever.

Steve reaches forward, taking the lead, he has wanted to run his hands over Bucky's body for so long, feel every muscle, every part of him. His slim hands slip in under the shirt pulling at it until he pulls it up and over Bucky's head and then he feels Bucky's hands slip Steve's braces down over his shoulders and then they are on his shirt but Bucky doesn't go any further.

Steve realises he needs to give Bucky permission, needs to confirm to him that this is what he wants, there is still hesitation there on Bucky's side.

“Help me,” he says reaching down to remove his own shirt.

And Bucky does.

Steve moves even nearer and Bucky pulls him closer and runs his finger tips over Steve's chest and then bends and kisses his stomach.

Steve thinks he is going to stop breathing.

“Oh man, oh Jesus...” he groans. He feels Bucky's tongue glide over his skin, feels his tongue lick over his navel and he groans again.

“Unfair,” he murmurs.

Bucky pulls away and looks into those eyes again. Steve can still feel his friends hesitancy and he knows he is trying to be careful.

Steve moves to sit on the bed next to him and then scoots over pulling Bucky by the arm so they end up lying next to each other side by side facing each other.

Bucky is still worried about hurting Steve, about placing all of his weight on top of the slight form: he is so slim, so delicate and Bucky is muscular, larger, heavier.

Steve knows this, he can see the hesitation so he moves to lean over him, he can feel the heat they are both generating.

“You won't hurt me,” Steve says, he is so serious, he wants this, he wants Bucky to be his, he wants them to belong to each other.

They have a lot to learn about each other over the next few weeks, they think they can take it slowly - but unfortunately what they don’t know is time is running out for both of them.

They will be separated. They will think they have lost each other. They will weep.

But for now, they are together.

For now Steve looks down at Bucky and they spend the evening until it grows dark learning all they can about each other and their new found bond.

But the Kid is wrong. The dark haired man can hurt him - but not in the way he thinks.

They will hurt each other in ways they can't even begin to imagine.

Chapter Text

The Beginning

Part One - Bucky Barnes 

The cold bites through to his bones and his body hurts all over. He is confused for a moment. He is lying in snow and if he looks up he can just see the sky through the trees. The wind is howling through them and it is getting dark. There are broken branches spread around him.

He must have fallen.

As soon as he thinks that, he sees a picture of Steve in his mind, reaching out his hand, a distraught look on his face. Then he is falling, his body hits the rock face but keeps going, falling again, a pain so bad in his left arm that it causes him to lose consciousness and then he wakes up in this place.

"Not your fault Steve," he murmurs and he passes out.

The next time he comes around, it is the pain that has woken him. The sky is lighter and there is a small covering of snow over him that he tries to brush off his face. He is so cold and he tries to get up but nothing moves, instead he can feel bones grating against each other. Pain lances through his body and he cries out. Jesus, that hurts. He senses one leg bent under him and his left hand is aching so bad he thinks he must have broken it, he holds it up to look but there is nothing there and as he tries to move all he can see is a ragged mess where his arm used to be.

“No...” he stutters, thinking he is not seeing right. He blinks to try and clear his eyesight and he becomes aware of the searing cold. He is now aware of it in every part of his body. He shivers violently.

He coughs and groans from the pain it causes, a trickle of blood runs from his nose, his chest hurts and he tries to stop the next cough as he can't breathe properly.

He is trying to think.

He must have been here for hours, no, longer than that, so why isn't he dead? Why hasn't hypothermia settled in, claiming his body, cooling it down ready to claim him as its victim? He has forgotten Zola's serum - no not forgotten: he does not know what it does, does not know its purpose.

It is in his blood stream, it is in his muscles, coursing around keeping the nerve endings alive, keeping the hypothermia at bay, keeping him alive so he can feel every broken bone, every bit of damage done. But the serum is untested, unstable, there is not enough of it to start even trying to repair the damage done, for now it will just barely keep him alive.

But just for now.

He tries again to sit up but his head swims. He needs to get up, needs to move or he will die. Blood trickles down the back of his neck from a head wound and he passes out again.

Next time what awakens him is something pulling at what remains of his left arm. He opens his eyes and the pulling stops. A huge wolf is watching him. It bends its massive head to lick at his blood in the snow. He sees the creatures muscles ripple through the beautiful grey coat and then it comes forward again and tugs at the mess where once his left hand and arm had been. The jolt to his heart gives him a false strength and he surges back against a tree. The wolf jumps back, licking its snout, it has had a taste of his blood now and is hungry. He groans as pain lances through his whole body and he bites his tongue hard causing blood to run out of his mouth.

His mind is sluggish, he can't hold his thoughts. Where is he, what the hell happened?

The last he can remember is picking up Steve's shield, lifting it and shooting at something and that is all, total blank. And now? Now he is in a forest and it is so quiet, no bird song nothing but his own ragged breathing.

The yellow eyes of the wolf follow his every move, its breath misting out in front of it, and it starts to move forward again, baring its teeth warning him not to try and stop it.

He looks around for something he can defend himself with and sees a branch, he lifts his left hand up to reach over for it, he has forgotten - there is nothing there and he feels bile rising in his throat. All he can see is a red ragged mass just above the elbow and a long piece of broken splintered bone. He can see the marrow running through the broken bone and the flesh is mingled in with the torn ends of the sleeve of his blue jacket.

Breathe Barnes, breathe.

He is trying not to panic, this is a nightmare, he will wake up soon. But God he is so tired, every part of him hurts, everything is so cold. Blackness starts to move in, his mind ready to blink out again and the wolf moves forward - sensing its prey is all but finished, it licks its snout already covered in his blood.

He thinks it is one of the most frightening things he has ever seen.

It comes nearer until he thinks he can feel its hot breath, it dips its head to his broken left arm and he feels the tugging again and a tremendous pain as the jaws bite off the splintered bone. Its eyes never leave his as it crunches down, dips its head for more. Bucky's heart is racing so hard, his mind is absolutely petrified watching this creature eat his flesh and bone. He tries to move, tries to cry out but the wolf knows there is no strength left in this damaged creature and it is in no rush to kill him whilst his blood is so warm and fresh.

Jesus Barnes you're being eaten by a wolf, for Christ's sakes man do something.

But then the darkness rushes in and thankfully takes his mind away.

This time it is a shot that wakens him, it is just moments later but he doesn't know that, he has no sense of time. The shot is followed by a growl and a whimper and the wolf has gone.

Instead he sees a group of soldiers walking towards him, rifles held relaxed, they recognise that he is no threat to them. His immediate thought is that it is Steve and the others, they have come to help him. He tries to blink to clear his eyes.

'The cavalry,' he thinks his humour trying to take over, take away the sick feeling deep in his gut.

But he can't see Steve. He would recognise him anywhere and he can't see him.

As they get nearer he realises he doesn't recognise any of them, doesn't recognise anything about them at all.

God I hope whoever they are they have water, his mouth is so dry.

Then he hears them speaking.

Russian.

They are casual, not in any hurry and the group walk up to him, spreading out, covering him from all angles. Their faces show their amusement, he has no idea what they are saying but he is guessing it is not good.

They see the wings on the sleeve of his coat.

'Amerikanskiy,' one of them says and spits on the ground.

Aren't we supposed to be on friendly terms with them at the moment? His mind won't let him think. God Steve, where are you? I could really use your help about now.

He tries to move again and another bout of pain hits him and he groans, he senses a pain in his back as if something is trying to split the skin and he feels a trickle of something run down his spine.

“Please...help me,” he says, his voice cracked by pain. He doesn't know if what he said came out loud, his hearing seems shot and it feels like he is under water, he shivers and his lungs take in the cold air causing pain that makes him breathless.

One of them, the leader, crouches down and looks up through the trees and then back at Bucky. He reaches forward and pats Bucky's coat looking for weapons but there are none. Bucky has already lost them when he fell. The Russian then rummages around in Bucky's outer pockets and takes all that he finds – but there is not much to be had. He prods the stump of Bucky's left arm with his rifle and makes some comment - pain flares up through Bucky's mind, heat flares up through his body and he groans. The soldiers find it funny, and, using the now defunct rifle straps around Bucky's coat, they drag him out from under the tree and into a small clearing leaving a bloody trail behind.

He cannot stop them, he has no command over his body at all. He is shivering and he feels his heart rate and breathing speed up, not fear, it is the cold starting to win.

They stand around him and watch as he tries to ask them for help, for water, he tries to sit up. Impossible.

Their faces show what they are thinking: there is no compassion for him at all and their grins show that there will be no help from them either. Instead one of them prods him with his foot causing another bolt of pain to flare up.

The leader kicks him over and tells him in broken English to “Crawl!” He crouches in front of Bucky, holding out a flask of water, indicating that Bucky is to come and get it, a cruel smile on his face. The men stand back and watch, the look in their eyes similar to that of the wolf. They laugh at his efforts, they have played this game before.

Bucky tries to crawl forward using his right hand, what remains of his left trails behind leaving fresh blood. His nails break as he tries to dig into the ground to help himself move. Another soldier steps forward and puts his boot on Bucky's right hand and grinds it into the hard ground, and blackness threatens his vision as pain lances through and up his arm - he actually hears, as well as feels, two of his fingers break.

Then the man kicks him and he hears the word 'faster!' but his whole body is broken, he can't move.

He lays his head down on the frozen ground. He can hear them talking but doesn't know what they are saying. He coughs and blood trickles out of his mouth and onto the snow. He is going to die, he is too tired to even think about saving himself, there is no way he could. Any second now he expects to hear the shot that will take his life.

Instead hands pull at him and turn him over again driving whatever it is in his back deeper, he coughs as blood surges up his throat and then someone plants a heavy foot in the middle of his chest. It is the leader. Bucky finds it even harder to breath with the weight bearing down on his already damaged lungs.

The leader is smoking and looking down at the American. How is he still alive, he must have fallen a hell of a way...and what is he doing out here all alone? He does not speak enough English to interrogate him to find out more. They could never get him back to their camp, it is to far but he senses there might be money to be made, even if it is just selling the organs to the black market doctor at the hospital field camp some miles from here.

He signals his men who groan - they wanted to have fun with this one, see how long he would last naked and crawling in the snow until they show mercy and put a bullet through his brain. They sometimes turned it into a game, placed bets on their victims. The leader rubs his fingers together, the universal 'catch all' for money.

He points to two of the men to drag the body, and then as they bend and get a good hold on the straps they set out towards the field camp, given luck and no heavy snowfall they should reach it in two hours.

Bucky feels the pressure on his chest lessen but as the two soldiers either side grab the straps around his coat he feels pain as they lift him just enough for his shoulders to clear the ground, the pain in his back takes his breath away.

“No, please don't,” he begs them but they take no notice.

He wants them to stop, he can feel his bones grinding together - can't they understand he is broken? He has never felt pain like it but they have no pity, no compassion. All he can do now is pray that Steve is near by. Pray that Steve will find him.

He feels every bump they drag him over, his back feels as if it is breaking and he feels nauseous, dizzy. His mind goes in and out of consciousness and the journey never seems to end. They are not gentle with him: the two soldiers are disgruntled that they have the extra job of pulling him and they make no effort to ease the way. He has stopped shivering now, his breathing is slowing, shallower. As he goes in and out of consciousness he is confused as to where he is and what is happening.

By the time they get him to the field camp he is almost gone, he is so cold his blood is close to freezing. It's a wasted journey for them and the leader is in a filthy mood. Looking at Bucky he can see why, there can't be an unbroken bone in his body, what a waste of a good opportunity to make money.

The doctor doesn't even come out to look at the body. There is just not enough life left in it, but he does do a trade for other goods they have brought with them. The leader passes a few bottle of cheap vodka around his men and tells them to do what they want. He goes with the doctor into the tent to warm up and have a drink.

The men pounce on Bucky arguing over what possessions left of his belong to who, they strip him completely, tugging his clothes off his body, regardless of his wounds.

They leave him lying naked in the snow. He was cold before but now the snow starts to freeze his body, he can feel it burning where his skin touches the solid ground. He is hardly bleeding; his wounds are frozen. Bucky thought when you were this cold you weren't supposed to feel anything but he does, he feels every broken bone, his skin is torn, bruises mark his body where he has been kicked and dragged along the ground. The pain is courtesy of Zola's serum. His eyelids are almost frozen shut and he has no strength to open them but he can still hear, can still feel himself dying.

Suddenly he feels two of the men lift him up and his back is slammed against a tree, he groans but they take no notice. He is so thirsty. He tries to ask for a drink but no words come out. They tie him to the tree, he tries to open his eyes to see what is happening, they flutter and light breaks through and then he closes them again, they are pointing rifles at him. They are finally going to kill him. He welcomes it.

He knows he should face them bravely; suddenly he experiences a clarity of mind and he tries to stand up straighter using the tree trunk to help him, he grits his teeth and tries to look at the men but his eyes are watering as if they are full of grit, he can hardly see what is happening. He tries to think of Steve, of his parents, his brothers and a sob escapes him.

He hears a shot and just as quickly feels a bullet thump into his thigh, he hears laughter. The soldier was trying to aim for the American's genitals but missed, he blames the drink. Another shot and the snow behind him flares up. Missed altogether. The next bullet slams into his right side and passes all the way through to the tree trunk behind him, splinters embed themselves in his back. He tries to beg them to stop, to just shoot him through the head but they are laughing, they want their sport. When the third bullet hits his left shoulder he is no longer conscious. He doesn't hear the shouts of their leader or feel as the ropes are cut and his body falls to the ground.

The leader looks down at the near lifeless body. There is no sympathy, nothing. This body is no better than an animal to put out of its misery. He will destroy the face and take the dog tags. He is looking forward to it. He kicks the American to bring him around and he will then move him onto his back so he can see his eyes open and see the moment the life drains away, the eyes flicker and he unslings his rifle but at that moment he hears footsteps and swings around.

It is one of the nurses. He recognises her; he has had run-ins with her before.

She says something to him. He just grins at her, but then she is shouting at him and steps forward, eyes flashing, so angry. He swings the rifle around to point it at her. How he would love to pull the trigger, watch her as she takes a bullet to the gut and then writhe on the floor whilst he and his men abuse her - but then he hears a shout in the background and he sees one of the doctors.

He doesn't want any trouble, he needs to know he and his men can still use this field camp, pilfer supplies and besides which one of their contacts with the black market is here. He knows she saw in his eyes what he wanted to do to her and he enjoyed that moment of fear that he saw. He slings his rifle on his back and spits at her feet and then leaves. He has other things to do and they have a few more miles to go before nightfall.

Bucky lies in the snow on his side and feels when hands pull him over onto his back again. He wants to open his eyes but he is so tired. Sounds fluctuate. He feels like he is under water and there is a humming in his brain. God, but he wishes Steve were here, wishes they were back in Brooklyn. He can feel someone touch him, gently, running their warm hands over his cold flesh and then brushing his hair back off his face.

A gentle heaviness covers part of his legs and middle body and he hears a woman murmuring and then he hears her indrawn breath as she gasps, he feels fingers on his wrist and then he hears her shout something in Russian.

He opens his eyes, struggling to keep them open and he sees her bending over him. She talks to him softly, he recognises the words, they are English.

He tries to say Steves' name, he needs her to send for help but he can't get the words out. He feels her trickle water into his mouth and he is so grateful for that small act of kindness. He tries to talk again but he can't hear his voice sound the words, has he said them?

He is fading fast.

She is talking to him, he hears the click of his dog tags and she says his name, not his nickname, not the name everyone calls him by but instead she calls him James, it has been a long time since anyone has called him that.

Then darkness closes in and he doesn't hear any more.

Part Two - The Nurse

You have to start your memories somewhere, so you think back to the time when you first saw Sergeant James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes. But the first sight was so inconsequential you don’t even take in what you are seeing.

It's cold, so very cold, and it has been snowing. You used to love the snow as a child, but as an adult you are beginning to hate it. How can something so beautiful frame such bloodshed? Because that is what the snow does, it shows you the true red colour of spilt blood.

Your uniform (blue skirt and green buckled jacket) does nothing to keep out the cold, and you have taken one of the greatcoats worn by the soldiers to try and keep warm, but the ice still seems to seep into your bones.

It has been a long time since you were truly warm.

You are in a field hospital, God knows where because you no longer care; they send you wherever they need you. The hospital is just another collection of tents, a few hastily constructed wooden outbuildings they have put up for the small contingency of soldiers based here, and not forgetting the operation and recovery tents which is where you spend the majority of your time. And finally the tent you share with the other nurses during the rare times when you are asleep in your bunk.

And you mustn't forget the dead and dying bodies. There are always those, no matter where you are.

On the day in question, you have been on shift for what seems like days; you are not supposed to be but how can you tell a 19 year-old boy that you can no longer hold his hand whilst he is dying just because your shift rotation has finished? You can't, and it seems to happen every day.

Now, you are going to see one of the doctors. There are four of them, two on two off - not that their shift pattern ever works for them either. You like this doctor, Doctor Bethune, and try to work with him as much as possible. He cares and he is honest.

Coming into the camp is a patrol, soldiers - no not soldiers, scavengers, the dregs the army could find to fight the war. You cannot call them soldiers, because these ones have no honour; they are a disgrace to honourable soldiers everywhere, the ones who fight for their families, for their countries. Their leader looks around, and he sees you but you are immediately dismissed; just a nurse, he wants to talk to someone important. You know this man, you despise him, you know that he is a runner for the black market and whenever he and his men are here supplies seem to dwindle at a worrying rate.

As you bend to go into the tent, you see they are dragging a body - another one. This band always seem to find them and then try to sell them to the doctors as if they are spare parts, and you can't seem to make them realise once a person is dead the organs are just offal and can benefit no one. It just leaves another dead person to be buried out here, nowhere and alone.

The leader obviously spies who he has come to see and heads towards him. It is one of the other doctors here, a man who cares nothing for saving lives. He chose to be is here rather than face the Gulag, he is a criminal and God knows what else. They greet each other and the men dragging the body just drop it and stand around stamping their feet, trying to get some life back into their hands.

The last thing you notice is the thin, spotty trail of blood they brought with them - it must be from the body they were dragging - and then you are in the tent and have put them out of your mind, you need to discuss today's losses. Now that the latest poor boys have died, it will leave the camp virtually deserted of patients - that is, until the next ones arrive bloody and torn. After the meeting you intend to drop into your bunk and oblivion until you hear the trucks arriving to deliver your new round of patients, and it will all start over again.

When you come out of the tent 45 minutes later it has been snowing, just lightly but enough to make the landscape look beautiful again. You pull your coat around you, buttoning it as you go, and trudge back to your tent, brushing the snow from your fringe and eyelashes where it always seems to stick. You are close to your tent when you hear a gun shot, not unusual in this camp but it is the laughter that makes you hesitate and draws you around to the back of the camp. There is a cruelness to the sound that disturbs you.

You take a look at what is going on, and at first you think it is just rifle practice - but then one of the men moves and you see what they are shooting at.

How can men like this exist?

The men are from the patrol that came into the camp earlier, and naturally the doctor was not interested in buying the corpse - so they have stripped it of its clothes, tied it to a tree and decided to use it for target practice. They are passing around a bottle, obviously they had something they were able to trade to someone.

You are sickened. You have learnt to expect grim humour from the soldiers who work around you but this is sick and you are tired of death. Everyone, especially the dead who have fallen in battle, should have their dignity.

The leader says something. Rifle practice is over and one of the men cuts the rope to let the body fall into the snow, and then, unnecessarily kicks it to roll over on its side. Two of the men are arguing over some of the clothes they stripped from the man, good boots and a blue jacket which has lost its left sleeve and has a large rent in the back but can be repaired, the rest of the items have been absorbed into the group and they start to move away.

The leader looks down at the body and unslings his rifle. You come up behind him and he swings around, he recognises you and his face changes into a sneer.

“You bloody animal.” You are angry. You are also five foot ten, tall for a woman, but he is well over six foot and could swat you like a fly.

“Haven't you done enough?” You know he is going to shoot the corpse in the face; this is the signature for this group, you have seen it before, they like to wipe out the features of their enemies.

For a moment you see it in his eyes, he is debating whether or not to use the bullet on you, you stare at him and do not break eye contact, and although fear gnaws at you, you will not allow him to do any more to this poor man's body.

In the distance you hear someone shouting.

“Whats going on?” It is Doctor Bethune.

The leader smirks and swings the rifle back on his shoulder, then spits at your feet. He dismisses you without a word and goes to join his men. They are leaving. For a moment your knees tremble, and you think someone up there must like you.

You kneel next to the corpse. His back is bruised, sliced open and the wounds are frozen, wood splinters run down his spine. You pull him gently over towards you. His flesh feels so cold and stiff.

You look at his face and something in you breaks.

He looks so young, not much older than you are. His dog tags are still in place, and you can see a part of the writing on them and you realise he was foreign, either English or American which explains the contempt that they had for his body. No doubt the leader would have removed them as soon as he had destroyed the man so utterly as to render him into a piece of meat.

His skin is so very cold and blue, like delicate marble. The snow is gently landing on his body and with no body heat it is covering some of the wounds, but not enough that you cannot see the extensive damage done.

This soldier did not have an easy death.

The man has lost all of his lower left arm, the stump is splintered and the marrow is missing from the very end. He is heavily bruised all over his body, and in at least one place you can see the white of his bones showing where they have broken and pierced his skin. They have hit him three times with their bullets, once in the thigh, once in his right side and once in the left shoulder.

You can't help but reach forward and touch his brown hair, which has fallen over his forehead, and you brush it back into place, blood has run through the hairline from damage to his skull, it makes the hair stiff in places. Bruising and blood covers his face, his lips are cracked and you can see he didn't die straight away. His death was slow and painful.

You want to cover him to give him back some dignity, so you struggle to take of your coat. As you move and start to cover him with it a trickle of blood slowly runs down from one of the bullet holes and into the snow. You stare at it and your heart lurches. You suddenly see the memory in your mind of the red trail left in the snow as they had dragged him into the camp.

You swear. The cold and your exhaustion have fooled you.

To be bleeding it means his heart must still be pumping blood around his body, barely - but it is trying.

The man is still alive.

You grab his wrist. You cannot see him breathing because it is so shallow, and you concentrate on the spot where you should find a pulse, nothing, but then think you find it, so very faint - but a pulse.

You swing around, Doctor Bethune has reached you and he sees the distress in your face.

“He's alive,” you say, your voice no more than a whisper.

The two of you are in tune; the doctor turns and runs, and you know he is going for help and his bag.

You look back at the injured man and it jolts you, his eyes are open, glazed and you see the moment in them when he sees you, blue grey, beautiful, long lashes against the white of his skin. His lips move, they are so bloodless, dry and cracked, and you wonder how has this man survived.

 He is trying to say something.

You pick up some snow and warm it in your hands and trickle it into his mouth.

“Ssshhh,” you tell him, “help is coming.” You speak to him in English; your father taught you well.

He tries to speak again and you bend nearer so you can hear.

He is saying a name.

“Steve...”

You glance at his dog tags, and although you can only see a small part of the information you don't think that that is his name.

“Don't try and talk,” you say and your hands find his right hand and squeeze gently, realising too late that some of the fingers are broken.

He is focused on you and there is such a look in his eyes that you feel tears well, he is trying to tell you something.

“Please tell Steve...must…know where I am...not...fault.” The words are mumbled; he does not have the strength to speak out loud and you do not hear them properly, you just hear the name Steve repeated.

“Shshh, try not to talk, you need to conserve your strength.” You look back to see if the doctor is on his way; he isn't but two orderlies are running with a stretcher and you know he won't be far behind.

You turn back to the man, without knowing you are even doing it you kiss the back of his hand and then lay it gently by his side. You reach for his dog tags and rub the blood and snow from them.

His name is James.

He is still looking at you and you try to smile, to reassure him but he is so cold, his body has started to shiver now and you know before long it will start to convulse. You tuck the coat around him, you need to get him out of this weather and up off the cold ground.

“James...” the name feels strange on your lips, “...there is a doctor on his way...hold on, please, try to hold on.”

He tries to smile, so sad and it breaks your heart, you thought you had gotten used to the dying but you haven't and you take hold of his hand again just as the others come running up to carry him to the tent and to what you think will be safety.

Just before he falls into unconsciousness he says the name 'Steve' again and you wonder who this Steve is, and how important he must be to this man as it will probably be the last thing he ever says.

Chapter Text

The American

Part One - Steve Rogers

Steve picks up a table and chair and stands them straight. Crocker’s Folly - the English pub he found himself in and the one that had become their drinking house for the time they were posted here, hadn't received a direct hit, but it had been close enough that it had almost been destroyed. It would take a lot to get it back on its feet but for now it is quiet, deserted, and just what Steve needs.

He walks over to behind the bar. There are some bottles that have survived the blast and he picks up one of them, finds a glass, blows the dirt out and pours a drink - and because he is Steve Rogers he places some money on top of the cash register.

He moves to walk back to the table, but instead changes his mind. He pulls out some more money, adds it to the bit he has already paid and grabs the bottle and the glass and goes and sits down.

Okay so he can't get drunk - but he can damn well try.

“Dammit what a mess,” he says, and he is not talking about the pub.

He closes his eyes. “To you Buck.”

And he takes a drink. Tries to pretend that Bucky is there sat next to him as he was the last time they were in here.

He opens his eyes. They are full of unshed tears. How is he meant to do this? How does he go on without James Barnes? How does he stop himself from seeing him stretch out his hand and not being able to stop Bucky from falling? He can't. He sees terrible images of Bucky's body lost in the wilderness never to be found. He couldn't even bring him home for burial. He doesn't even know where his final resting place is.

His stomach clenches from the thought of never seeing Bucky again, and his hand closes around the glass so tight that if he hadn't realised he would have broken it. He puts the glass down, and for God knows how many more times he thinks of the last mission and the if onlys. It had happened in seconds, seconds that couldn't be changed.

They had talked about how one day they may not come back. He had argued over it with Bucky.

And then he remembered their last conversation.

“I don't wanna talk about it Steve,” Bucky had grumbled.

“Why not?” Steve had asked innocently.

James Barnes had been so quiet that Steve didn't think he had heard him. He looked at his friend, only to find him staring back.

“Don't you think I know I've already lost you?” Bucky had said quietly.

Since Steve and Bucky had finally talked about what had happened with Zola, Bucky had been prone to fits of melancholy. Steve knows now why Bucky had thought he had lost him. James had been trying to push him away - not because he didn’t love Steve, but because he thought Steve wanted Peggy.

“Buck...” Steve had started to say.

“Don't.”

“We have to talk, I know why you think that, why you think I don't love you any more, I do, don't you understand?”

Bucky had gone to walk away, but Steve wouldn't let him.

“Buck, I like Peggy, I like her a lot, I can't explain it. But it's you I love.”

“Yeah, Steve? And whose picture do you carry around with you huh? Mine or hers?”

Bucky had pushed him away and walked off, leaving Steve without any idea of what to do.

In the present, as he sits in the pub, Steve murmurs.“Why didn't I tell you Buck, why didn't I put you right?”

He carries a photograph of Peggy in his compass. She means a lot to him, and if he had never known Bucky, if Bucky wasn't there, then yes - he thinks there may have been something. But James Barnes means so much to him.

Meant so much to him.

“Oh Christ.” The truth hits him again, Bucky isn't here, he's gone, he will never see him again.

Steve bows his head. “I should have told him...why didn't I tell him?”

James Barnes was wrong. Peggy's was not the only photograph that Steve carried around with him. When they made his Captain America suit, he had asked them to sew an inside pocket in over his left breast. They never knew why, and they never asked, but if anyone was to look in there they would find a picture of James Barnes.

If only he had told Bucky it was there, that this is how much James means to him. He keeps it close to his heart so James is always with him.

'Will always be with me,' he murmurs, and takes another drink.

He hears a sound and glances around.

Peggy's British accent sounds through the pub. “I thought I might find you in here.”

Steve sighs. “Doctor Erskine said that the serum wouldn't just affect my muscles, it would affect my cells. Create a protective system of regeneration and healing. Which means um...I can't get drunk. Did you know that?”

“Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person. He thought it could be one of the side effects.” Peggy knows everything about Project Rebirth, more than Steve himself. She knows that he can't even lose himself in the alcohol he is consuming.

She looks at him then sits down next to him.

“It wasn't your fault.”

“Did you read the reports?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“Then you know that's not true.”

“You did everything you could. Did you believe in your friend? Did you respect him?” Her voice demands an answer and Steve looks back at her. He doesn't need to reply, she can see it in his eyes, she can see how much he loved his friend.

“Then stop blaming yourself. Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it.”

“I'm going after Schmidt. I'm not gonna stop until all of Hydra is dead or captured.”

“You won't be alone.”

They drink in silence, sharing the same glass.

Peggy knows she has to say something. Has to get it out in the open.

“I know about you and Barnes,“ she says quietly, looking at the table.

He glances at her. “About?”

“Steve, I may be British but I'm not blind. We do know about the world you know, even though we are this tiny island in the middle of no where according to you Yanks.” She tries to smile and leans towards him. “You loved James Barnes. You were more than friends.” She studies him.

Steve tries to smile back but instead his eyes tear up.

“Its all right. Hey, come on cry if you want to, I'm a good listener.”

He shakes his head and takes another drink. It is to soon, and he doesn't want to share Bucky with anyone, not yet.

“You know he came to see me?” Peggy asked, leaning back in her chair.

“What? When?”

“He never told you?” she asks, knowing the answer already.

“Just after that night I came to see you and we talked about going dancing.”

She laughs. “He told me if I had any problems getting stockings, underwear, perfume, for my date with you then to let him know and he would arrange it.”

“What! What did you say?”

“I told him not to be so damn impertinent.”

Steve laughs, and shakes his head.

They are quiet for a moment.

“And he told me to make sure I got that dance.” She reaches over, takes the glass from Steve's hand and drinks.

“Peggy...”

“Listen Steve, I'm not good with...knowing the right thing to say in situations like this. I'd rather clap you on the back and tell you you'll be all right but...I liked Bucky, and I could see he loved you and I didn't want to barge in on that. It was if he was giving me permission, thats how much he cared about you.”

Steve looks at her.

“So, I'm going to get that dance from you but not until you're ready and then...then we can see what the future holds but lets just take it a bit at a time okay?”

She smiles and picks up the bottle, fills the glass then lifts it.

“To James Barnes,” she says. She sips the drink then passes it to Steve.

He takes it and stares into the amber fluid then lifts the glass.

“To my friend. To Buck. I miss you pal.”

He drinks down the liquid and they sit there for a while listening to the sounds out in the street, comfortable in each others company.

Part Two - The Nurse

How can you have been so stupid to think he would be safe in the field hospital? He is an American for God sake. A foreigner in a strange country, they may be allies but he is still somewhere he shouldn't be.

The doctors do not know how he is still alive. He must have fallen a great distance and he should have been dead the minute he hit the ground. Every part of his body is broken, and the diagnosis is not good. Internal organs are pierced by the broken bones - splinters that are as long and wide as your fingers – and there is internal bleeding that should have killed him outright, bled him dry.

The worst damage is that to his left arm, which has also caused the most blood loss. You and Doctor Bethune work on it trying to make some sense of what is left. The lower part of his arm, the elbow and hand, have been literally torn off - but not by an explosion. It must have happened when he fell. You have both worked on many wounds like this, and you recognise the teeth marks of a wolf. It must have found him first and take advantage of the open wound and chewed at the flesh and bone making what was left worse.

How you wish you knew what had happened. How did he come to be in such a bad way? Where did he fall from, and how far? He has a piece of branch actually embedded in his back, going almost all the way through - but just missing the spine thank God. If it had not stayed jammed in there, he would have bled to death. They had to be so careful when removing it.

So much bruising, so many broken ribs; two not just broken but torn apart. An actual bruise showing a footprint on his chest where someone had stamped on him. Splinters of wood, bullet holes, the fingers on his right hand broken, heavy bruising to his face, blood flecked eyes.

This man should not be alive - but he is.

They had taken him back to the recovery tent after removing the bullets, working on the stump of what is left of his arm and trying to straighten out some of the broken bones. You have been awake for an additional 12 hours. You had never gotten back to your tent. You didn't want to leave him, and you don't want to leave him now. There is something about him that is eating away at you, something that makes you feel sick when you look at him, something that makes your stomach drop and your heart race.

You do not recognise your own symptoms.

Doctor Bethune persuades you to change your clothes and have something to eat. He remains at the patient's bedside until you return. When you return you check on him, to make sure the drip is running, you find you can't understand how this patient is affecting you. You don't want to be apart from him. The thought of being away from him makes you panic. You look at him and you feel sick again; your heart starts to beat too fast and the thought of him dying takes your breath away and leaves nothing but a huge hole filled with pain. You sit down and take his hand and you are crying, quietly and softly so no one else can hear you.

You have never been in love before and you do not realise you are now.

For the next few days you sit by his bedside, convinced he will not make it. You don’t want him to die alone, and that is your excuse, so you stay and eventually you fall asleep with your hand holding his.

Doctor Bethune, your friend and mentor, tries to get you to go back to your bunk but you won't go. He knows not to push you. He thinks you are close to having a nervous collapse. You are investing too much time in one patient, but the truth is you don’t want to leave this vulnerable man. You are sure that if you leave him something awful will happen.

You know that the doctors are unsettled. For the past day a heat has been emanating from the young man's body as if something within him is at work. You keep cool water by his bedside and a cloth on his forehead and wrist to try and keep his temperature down. You are worried that the heat will be too much for his mind. From time to time he seems to be dreaming (or having nightmares) and he calls out the name 'Steve' several times.

You try to keep him still so no stitches are pulled. You tell him gently to be calm. You tell him everything will be all right.

There is something about this man that has gotten to you and you don’t realise you have already lost your heart to him. You don’t know that eventually you will lose your whole life to him, and that he will become your whole world for what will seem like eternity.

You are so like your father in that way.

*

Over the next few days, the doctors struggle to keep up with the patients injuries and each day they are amazed he is still holding on. They begin to talk amongst themselves - there is something wrong here, could it be something the Americans have been working on? There have been wild reports about a so-called 'Captain' in the American army who has become something of a legend over night, could this be him?

But it can't be him, the Nurse tells Doctor Bethune. She points out his dog tags say he is a Sergeant, not a Captain.

Darker things have been heard. Whispers of an organisation called Hydra, and the scientist Zola. The other doctors begin to fear for themselves. Should they report it? If they do will they be safe, or will they all be disposed off quietly whilst the American is made to disappear? In the end, several doctors decide they won’t report his bodies remarkable ability to live despite the terrible life threatening injuries, but just let it be known a captured American soldier is in the camp. He will be taken away to be questioned eventually, let the authorities sort it out.

 *

He comes around twice on the second day, barely conscious - as if struggling to keep his eyes open. Seeing you sat there, but looking beyond your shoulder. He is searching for someone else and you believe it must be the man called Steve. You wonder who this Steve is. He must mean a lot to this man. A twinge of jealousy runs through you and you don’t know why, you must just be tired and out of sorts.

Your father is English and so you speak the Americans language. You try to talk to him, to reassure him but you know he is still a long way from taking anything in and you are not sure if he hears what you say before he closes his eyes again. You don't ask him any questions, he is to unfocused, you don't want to tire him.

Over the next few days they allow you stay with him. You clean him up, dress his wounds. The doctor tuts to see you there, but you will only leave him for minutes at a time, You sleep in a chair by his bedside, change his drip, wake him to take small amounts of water which he chokes down and then falls asleep again, murmuring words that frighten you.

He is weak and cannot stay conscious for long, but the doctors realise it will take a lot more than what has happened to kill this man. Even in the short time they have treated him his bones seem to begin to repair, his wounds appear to start to heal. They have never seen this happen before and you begin to worry at their fear and quietness when they examine him, remarking quietly again and again about the strange heat that emanates from him.

The doctor who has ties to the black market starts to take an interest in him. You do not trust this man. You remove James's dog tags and hide them, but you now know this will not keep him safe. There has already been a file created on him. He has already entered the system.

He starts to come around for short periods of time, and now when his eyes open he looks for you because you are always there. For a brief time he looks beyond you, still looking for his friend, but his eyes always return to you as there is never anyone there.

Doctor Bethune starts to believe this man will survive, but he shakes his head and says he doesn't know how. “Someone up there must like him,” he jokes.

 *

Doctor Bethune goes back to his tent and, after taking a long swig of vodka he starts to alter the file kept on the American. He does not want either his name or the nurses to appear in it. He is trying to protect both of them. He has heard what the other doctors are saying - they cannot keep it quiet for much longer, and he knows she has not realised this. She thinks the American is safe because he is so badly injured. He cannot tell her he isn't because he knows if he did she would try and do something stupid.

 *

You start talking to James, and he tries to focus on what you are saying. His replies don't make sense; you know he is in a great deal of pain, confused and you try to make sense of it - but you can't. You know from his dog tags what division he is with, there is even an 'indentation' of a howling wolf on the tags, but you have no one you can ask. You begin to realise you need to think about getting him out of here, but he is still so badly injured that to move him would be to kill him. What do you do? How can you get help? You have no money and there is nothing you have that the black market doctor would want.

Later these thoughts will come back to haunt you and will be with you for the rest of your life.

If only you had done something.

You will never believe the truth, that there is nothing you can do to protect this man.

 *

Three days later, they come for him. It is late in the afternoon - just as it is getting dark. There is one truck with six soldiers.

Someone in the camp has reported the American soldier.

 *

You hear the truck approach. You are in your tent. Doctor Bethune persuaded you to leave your only patient for a few minutes so you can change into clean clothes. At the sound of the engine, your heart drops to your stomach. You know it is not incoming wounded as you have not had a report of any fighting nearby.

As you run back to the recovery tent two of the soldiers are holding him between them, pulling him out of the tent. He is barely conscious. They have torn out the drips, and the doctor is arguing with them.

“No! Let him go! No!” You run up to them, try to get them to release him; but one of the soldiers takes your arm, hits you hard and flings you away. When you try to get up, he kicks you in the stomach and, frightened they are going to kill you, Doctor Bethune crouches down and holds you so you cannot move. You are weeping, begging them to let your patient go.

The last you see of James Barnes is when they manhandle him into the back of the truck, throwing him on the floor before getting in behind him. Doctor Bethune's grip is tight. He will not let you go.

Two days later you leave the field hospital, Doctor Bethune is the one sending you away.

 *

Doctor Bethune will also disappear when he can. He has not told her, but when they came for the American they took his files. He has seen this happen before and knows time is now running out for the both of them. He was glad he had changed the details on the files, they now carried the names of a different doctor and nurse.

Doctor Bethune returns to his family and arranges for them to be smuggled out of the country.

He never finds out who this American is, but he is important to someone. Later, he hears how in the field hospital the doctor involved with the black market and a nurse that helped him pilfer the medical supplies have been found shot in the forest. No one but Doctor Bethune knows why, it was their names he used to replace his own and the nurse, retribution he thinks, for the wrong they had done to the world.

He keeps a diary and years later, close to his death he asks his son to keep his diaries safe and tells him about the American soldier and the nurse and swears him to secrecy. He doesn't know why he just knows someone should know the truth.

He says a prayer for her and hopes she found peace.

 *

You return to your parents, broken in spirit and in heart.

You begin work at the local hospital and under the floorboards of your bedroom you hide James' dog tags. You feel empty and you find it difficult to sleep. The days are long and you keep as busy as you can, trying not to think of him. How can someone you have known for such a short time affect you this way?

You say a prayer every night for James, but no one at the moment is listening.

The truth is that there is an evil growing in the world, getting stronger every day, and it will threaten to engulf everything you have ever known. You have already become a part of it and at this moment in time there is nothing and no one that can stop it.

Maybe in the future the world will find its champions and their names will include two that you have already heard - but until then there is nothing that can be done to stop it.

Hydra has its foothold, and that is all it needed.

Part Three - Bucky Barnes

There is deep mind-numbing pain every time he comes around.

There is always someone with him. He is not alone.

But, there is no Steve.

The first time he comes around properly, he thinks he might be at home - albeit in hospital. He tries to ask the nurse for Steve, but her face reflects his disappointment and very soon he begins to realise although this is a hospital, it is not a proper one.

He has seen field camps before, taken men there to be sewn up, put back together or simply to be sent home for burial.

He can hear the wind whip around the material of the tent. Snow fall blocks out the light and makes the place seem so quiet, so hushed. All it is is a collection of tents out in the field, somewhere in Russia. How he got here he isn't sure. He has vague memories of a group of Russian soldiers, but he tries not to think of that - it makes him break out in a hot sweat and panic closes in around him.

The nurse bends over him, her uniform is so different to that of American nurses. She smiles and rests her hand on his.

“Try to drink some water.” She offers him a beaker, helping him so he doesn't end up with it all down his hospital gown. Just moving slightly and drinking tires him out and makes him ache. His throat is sore and his ears hum.

The next time he remembers more. He thought he should be dead, if not by the fall then by the Russian soldiers' cruelty. How did he go from being shot to being here? He tries to ask but he can't formulate the words. He feels so tired all the time.

“Sshh, its all right, you need to try and sleep...I'll be here don't worry.” The nurse takes his pulse, checks the drip then pulls the covers up to his shoulders.

He has to escape. He needs to get back home, but he can't move, his mind cannot formulate a plan, the pain is immense and he knows deep down that he is too broken to do anything.

He looks up. The canvas is totally dark; the light in the tent is coming from hurricane lamps. It must be night. He listens to the wind, and before he knows it he is asleep again.

He doesn't know what wakes him.

He opens his eyes and guesses by the light trying to get through the canvas it is day. He doesn’t know how long he has lain here - he just knows the pain is getting worse. The nurse who is always here is asleep, she is resting her head on her arms on the side of his bed. He doesn't want to disturb her.

He looks to the other side and feels like he has been punched in the gut, he keeps forgetting. All there is of his left arm slightly above the elbow is a stump, dressed in bandages - but he can visualise ugly stitches holding a flap of skin over the end.

Sweat breaks out on his forehead. Jesus, don't think about it Barnes.

But he feels he can't drag his gaze away, and he moves what is left of the arm, thinking it can't be his own - but it moves when he asks it to and he thinks he is going to scream.

His right hand clenches, sending pain through the fingers that are trying to mend. He feels so hot, as if something is inside him, almost burning him in places. He begins to think it has something to do with Zola. Ever since he returned from that laboratory he has not been right and has spent the time trying to hide it from everyone, everyone but Steve that is. What has Zola done to him?

Gulping, he turns his head away. Concentrate on something else, anything, anything.

His eyes flit around the tent, and then back to the woman asleep by his side.

The nurse. She is always with him, she speaks to him, tells him to sleep. Her English is near perfect, and he is not sure if she is Russian or not. Her hands are always gentle, and he tries to ask her to help him, but he can't keep hold of any thought long enough for it to make sense. The heat overtakes his body and he becomes almost delirious, his thoughts are completely lost to him.

When she is talking to him, her eyes are always full of compassion. They are so large and blue. Deeper than Steve's.

Steve, help me. Please. You helped me before when I was lost - oh God. Is it too much to ask for another miracle?

He feels something well up in his chest. His mind doesn't want to think of Steve again, it hurts too much.

He swallows, and concentrates on the nurse. She is asleep, barely breathing, quiet. Her hair looks so soft. Her fringe needs cutting and she has the longest plait he has ever seen. That sounds like it should be a song, he thinks, crazily. The plait reaches down to her waist, and she usually has it looped up at the back - but it has come undone and is lying next to him. He moves his right hand to bring the plait closer to him without waking her.

Its as thick as his wrist - my right one of course, I haven't got a left one any more.

He feels hysteria bubble up. Breathe...don't think...don't think.

Pain hits him then, and he can barely catch his breath. He clenches his hand holding the braid. He needs to think of something to block the pain out. He doesn't want to think of home, of Steve, of anything.

He unclenches his fist.

He looks back at her hair.

The plait is so long. He begins to count the chevrons in it; they remind him of the Sergeant stripes on his old uniform. It takes him a while, and quite a few tries, because he keeps losing count. There are about 36 of them, give or take, so if each one is about an inch then it must be just over 35 inches long. God how much brushing must that take.

At the end of that he is exhausted and closes his eyes and breathes as deeply as he can. The pain starts to build again and he grits his teeth, the heat makes him sweat and he opens his eyes and takes hold of the plait again.

He sees it is bound at the bottom with string, and wincing, he pulls the band off. It seems to take forever to do such a simple thing and he has to stop as darkness threatens and sweat runs down his face.

Mustn’t move too fast, he thinks grimly. God it hurts.

The hair becomes loose at the end. He loosens it more, so there is enough for him to run his fingers through. It's so soft, like sable. He remembers a teacher that he and Steve had at art college. He would not paint with anything but sable brushes. Bucky used to love sweeping the expensive soft sable hair over the palm of his hand, and Steve was always taking them off him, putting them back in the pot before the teacher saw.

Buck!

He hears Steve's voice as if he is next to him.

His hand clenches for a moment as not only the memories but intense pain runs through his mind and body. Will he ever get back there? Will he ever see Steve again? Does Steve know where he is? There is so much for him to think about but with the pain he is in his brain doesn't want to think any further ahead than the next few minutes.

Another stupid thought shows itself; he normally shoots using his left hand - he is ambidextrous when it comes to weapons - but in the main he is right handed.

Lucky huh?

Always falling back on your bad sense of humour Buck? Never serious? He can hear his father's voice now running through his mind and that nearly breaks him.

Don't think about it, Barnes.

He brings her hair closer, making sure he doesn’t disturb her. If she wakes up, he is convinced she will leave and he doesn't want her to, he doesn't want to be alone. The colours in her hair are amazing: smoky, blonds, browns, even silver. How can anyone ever think hair is just one colour?

Out of no where comes an image of a grey wolf, the markings of its coat beautiful despite its being deadly. Yellow eyes watching him. He seems to remember it was a threat - a big one. Greedy eyes looking to...

His mind skirts away from that thought.

He is suddenly so tired again. He closes his eyes for a moment but his hand still holds the plait, running his fingers through the softness. The deep pain that has been growing in his bones is intense. Without warning, it hits him full force and he groans and moves to sit up but instead his body curls around itself.

She is awake in an instant.

She is flustered she didn't mean to sleep.

He is clutching at what is left of his left arm, and she knows he is feeling phantom pain - despite there being nothing from the elbow down. She looks at the drip. It has run out, and therefore so has the morphine. She curses.

"Try and lie back, James." She tries to get him to uncurl, she doesn't want him to pull the drip out. She places her cool hand on his forehead and he allows her to bring him to lie straight.

"It hurts, God it hurts," he whimpers, not liking the sound of his own voice.

"I know, I know, I'm so sorry."

She turns to walk away from the bed, but he grabs her hand.

"Don't leave..." he was going to add the word me, but he doesn't want to beg.

She clasps his hand with both of hers and looks at him, his beautiful eyes watching her, pleading with her.

"I'm won't, I promise. I'm just fetching another drip bottle, its just over there. I promise, I won't leave you."

Then she is walking to the other side of the tent. He can see her. She is not leaving. Within seconds she is back and is fiddling with the drip, changing the bottles over.

She then injects something into the bottle.

Moments later he feels a cool rush into his right arm as the liquid flows, and then some of the pain begins to recede.

He can breath again.

He keeps his eyes closed whilst he breathes in and out. The humming in his ears calms, and the pain becomes just about manageable again. He opens his eyes when he feels her take his wrist. She is checking his pulse, and she smiles down at him.

"Better?" she asks. He had thought she was English, but no, there is an accent there. She puts his hand back down.

Then something catches her eye and she frowns. Her hair is unravelling. How did that happen? She catches hold of the plait before it can unravel any further and, looking around, sees the string on the bed. She picks it up.

He watches her re-plait it and bind her hair back up. He wants to ask her what her name is, tell her what beautiful hair she has and ask her how long it took to grow that long but he is so tired, the morphine is doing its job and his eye's close as she sits back down.

Within seconds, he is fast asleep again.

 *

There is shouting. Loud words he doesn't understand. Then hands are grabbing at him, pulling him from the bed, pain as the drip needle is pulled out. He tries to make sense of what is happening. He crashes into a table and nearly falls, but strong hands have him on both sides, on the left squeezing the stump and breaking the skin open again.

He is being dragged out of the tent. His mind is still a blur, but he knows he is in danger. He has no strength but he tries to fight back. It is pitiful.

The light blinds him and the cold hits him hard as he is dragged into the open and towards a truck. His bare feet scuffing the snow on the ground, they are going so fast he can't stop the momentum.

He hears the doctor shouting in Russian, and he realises it is soldiers dragging him along. He hasn't time to think. He tries to slow them down but a soldier hits him in the stomach with his rifle butt and that winds him.

He hears a woman and he knows it is the nurse. He tries to say ”no!” as he sees them hit and push her away and then they are lifting him, throwing him into the back of the lorry onto the cold metal floor.

Before the back of the truck is put up, he sees the field hospital for the first time. Tents, a white flag flying with a red crescent sheltering a red cross, and the nurse kneeling on the ground being held there by one of the doctors but fighting to get away. She is sobbing. Then one of the soldiers hits him on the back of the head with the rifle butt and everything goes dark.

 *

Hours later the cold has sunk through to his very marrow. He is still lying on the floor of the truck. He only has on the hospital gown he was wearing when they took him. His feet are tied, rope binds the top of his arms backwards, and it is so tight it is stopping his circulation. He feels he has no hands at all.

There is a hood over his face. The material stinks and he realises he has been sick, just bile and water as there is nothing else in his stomach.

No one has moved him, his joints are stiff, his muscles seized. In the middle of his back a weight, someone has their foot pressed down so he cannot move. He feels nauseous, his body hurts, his ears hum. He can hear voices murmuring and feels the vehicle they are in coming to a halt. The weight disappears and hands pull him up, the voices full of disgust, he passes out.

Next time he regains consciousness he is in the dark, still bound, still hooded, still cold. He is tied to a chair. He tries to call out but he has no voice, his mouth is dry and tastes of vomit. He senses he is alone.

Then total darkness again as he passes out.

Someone is shaking him and then suddenly he is drenched in cold freezing water. He is no longer wearing the hood but he is still tied to the chair. He splutters and opens his eyes. Pain everywhere. The gown is now sodden.

He looks up. There are two guards ahead of him, and another man sat on a similar chair opposite him, smoking. The room is sparse, filthy, blood on the floor and the walls - old blood, and the pit of his stomach falls.

Interrogation.

He swallows, he is so thirsty and he knows already he is weak and injured. Inside he prays.

Don't let me tell them anything, please God help me.

The man sits there staring through the cigarette smoke at him. Bucky wishes he could crack a joke, be cool, do something so this man cannot see the terror he is feeling. A wild thought goes through his mind, Steve and the others crashing through the door to save him, Steve in his Captain America uniform, red white and blue, they have found him, finally and although he doesn't realise it he lets out a sob.

It will never happen.

He breathes in, telling himself not to let them see him cowed. He tries to sit up as straight as he can and pain lances through his chest, his broken ribs that were healing so well aren't healing any more and he has two more to join them.

The man seems to enjoy seeing him in pain. He smiles.

"Water?" Bucky asks, his voice hardly making any sound, he tries so hard to put confidence in his request.

The man actually turns to the soldiers and nods. The two of them walk forward with a bucket grinning. Instead of offering him water, one holds the bucket whilst the other one grabs Bucky's hair and tries to drown him in it. He comes back up spluttering and desperately trying to breathe, gulping in air.

"Not enough for you?" the man asks in accented English, nodding to the soldiers. They repeat the dunking. This time when they bring his head back up he has blacked out.

The man throws the butt of his cigarette on the floor, gets up, leaves the room. The two soldiers return to their post at the door leaving Bucky, soaked and unconscious tied to the chair.

Over the next few days the only thing he tells them is his rank, name and serial number - which is what they were expecting. What they want to know is what an American is doing so far behind their lines? Normal interrogation procedures are followed but it is obvious they are not going to get the information they want. Feelers are put out to see if anything can be found, but the Camp Commander is amazed when nothing comes back: no file on the man, no covert operation known, nothing.

He begins to feel uneasy.

What they don't realise is how close Bucky is to breaking. He is a mess. His throat is so sore from screaming he cannot talk any more. He mumbles his name, rank and serial number. He can barely swallow, bruising on his throat shows where they have throttled him. He doesn’t think he has eaten in days, it could be weeks, not that he could even keep food down. He doesn’t know how long he has been here or how long he was in the hospital field camp. He doesn't even know if it is night or day.

His left stump is infected. Three four inch nails have been driven up into the end, one into the very marrow of the bone itself, it is now weeping pus and blood. His right arm is broken, more fingers on his right hand broken and all the nails missing.

His rib cage isn't just broken, it is out of alignment - courtesy of the sever beatings from the guards. One of the broken ribs is very close to being pushed into his heart. Even for Bucky, in the state he is in, it would be instant death. When he wouldn't do what they said they drove a knife between the separate ribs and forced them apart, and every time he breathes it is agony.

One knee is smashed. One foot lacerated and the toes crushed, most of his toe nails missing. His face so badly swollen even Steve wouldn't recognise him. His nose is broken, smashed into his face. His left cheekbone broken, his eyes bloodshot, one closed and infected with a chance of him losing it.

He is naked. Cigarette burns where they can hurt the most, in the most delicate places. His scrotum swollen, his genitals covered in the small round burns causing the swellings, some now cracked open and bleeding.

They shaved his head. They cut the hair out in clumps and then shaved it with a sharp knife and water, gashes have bled and spilt the skin. In one place you can see under the dried blood to the white of his skull. Bruising makes you think he has various tattoos but it is just where he has continually been beaten and couldn't protect his head.

God alone knows the damage inside his body.

He lays on the concrete floor, shivering and naked. In his mind he is concentrating, concentrating so very hard on that plait, the hair wound up in it, the colours, he can almost feel the softness again. The way the nurse chased it around to get hold of it and then re-plaited it, tying it back up. He had started by trying to think of Steve and of home, his parents, his brothers, but those memories hurt more than the pain of his body and his mind keeps skirting away from them. He can't even see their faces any more.

To Bucky though the worst of the treatment is what the guards do to him after the sessions. The guards have been using him for their own pleasure. 'Takiye dovol'no amerikanskiy mal'chik '- Such a pretty American boy.

They had brought a cot in after the first day, five of them. He could barely fight but he tried. They held him down, pushing his face into the material of the dirty mattress so his screams could not be heard. They raped him one by one.

He has no chance against them, but every single time he fights. When he tries to move they can hear the broken bones in his body grating as he tries to keep them away. Some of the other guards like to watch, their hands down their trousers as they enjoy watching the American being mauled and sodomised.

The interrogator also likes to sit and watch, always smoking, always ready to listen if Bucky finally decides he wants to talk. Always ready to hand over a lit cigarette so the guards can add more burns.

One guard wants more, he wants the Americans mouth but he knows he will bite. He will show the American just what they think of him and his countrymen. So instead he gets the others to hold Bucky down, and masturbates over him. 'Eto to, chto my dumayem o vas, amerikantsev' - That is what we think of you Americans, he says laughing as he spills himself.

Bucky prays he will die. Prays for an end. But Zola has even taken that choice away from him. The Russians are aware of the heat emanating from him but have put it down to infections rife in his body.

All the while Zola's formula races through his body, slowly trying to repair the damage done - but it is just not powerful enough. Instead it is just keeping his nerve endings raw, keeping it so he feels everything.

Then one day, when the door opens, it is not the guards but three men and the Camp Commander. One of the men is KGB and the Commander is nervous. Why are they taking such an interest in this man? Who are the other two men?

Bucky is too far gone to notice any difference.

The two men cover their noses. The smell in the room is making them feel sick and the poor wretch at their feet cannot be who they think it is. One man looks at the prisoner. He cannot recognise any features and looks again at the photo in his hand.

"Are you sure?" he questions.

The Commander nods, embarrassed. If he had known they were coming, he would have cleaned the prisoner up. He goes back to the door and tells the guards to fetch some buckets of water. When they come back they throw the freezing water over the prone man. He groans and tries to move but can't.

The KGB man walks forward and using his foot shoves Bucky over onto his back. One of the other men joins him. The second man was reluctant to step forward but when he does, that is when he feels the intense heat radiating from Bucky's body. It could be infection but at that temperature it could be Zola's serum trying to work its magic.

At the end of the day, anyone who has suffered as much as this poor soul has would be dead. And he is still alive.

The other man nods.

"We'll take him...” he says. "Can you…clean him up a bit and dress him in something?" He then signals to leave the room before he is sick.

Even if it isn't their man, at least he has saved the poor wretch from any further pain. They will have him shot through the head and buried quietly when they get back to their facility.

The Commander tries to find out more information. Where are they taking him? Why are they interested in him? But his visitors are tight-lipped. The KGB officer leans in close to the man and tells him he should know better than to ask questions.

The guards are disappointed to have lost their plaything. A lottery had been held, the winner being the one who would put the American out of his misery. They all have their different methods, cruel, sick. The guard who won was going to use a heated bayonet still attached to his rifle, he spent several nights dreaming about it.

If the men had come two days later, Bucky would have been dead.

That night, after dark, the facility Bucky Barnes was held and interrogated in, is razed to the ground, including the loss of all lives: those of the guards, interrogators and the Commander. It is reported as a unfortunate accident, and no investigation is held, all mention of its existence is expunged from the records; something that occurs in Russia with amazing frequency.

The ground is cleared and a new set of buildings built on top. No one from the camp is missed. Their families are told not to ask questions. They wouldn't have anyway. They value their own lives too much.

 *

A few weeks later, in the forested area where the hospital field camp lay six miles to the south, a Soviet patrol is walking through the forest. It is eerily quiet and the leader is feeling as if they are the last people alive on the planet.

He and his men soon find out why it is so quiet as they walk straight into an ambush. The men who ambush them wear uniforms they have never seen before, black with some kind of red tentacled monster on the sleeve. They make no noise as they go about their mission.

All of the patrol are killed and those that do not have their features already torn apart by bullets are finished off with a shot to the face.

Ironic really, when you think about it.

Their corpses are stripped, and everything that belonged to them is burnt. Nothing is taken. The bodies are sliced open and left in the cold. There is no need to obliterate the remains, the pack of wolves following in the wake of the slaughter will do that.

Hydra now believes the last link to the fall of James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes has been destroyed.

They believe nothing remains.  

Chapter Text

The Nurse - The Little Girl

Russia 1919 – 1944

On a visit to Russia in 1919, an English man named Arthur Bowman fell in love with Anna Alkaev's beauty and grace, not knowing that they hid a terrible insanity which ran in her family. Once he learnt the truth it was too late.

He was in love, and would die for her.

Anna's parents had died, leaving her alone. She had no siblings, no money, no prospects. She had been in need of a knight, and one came along and won her heart.

Arthur married Anna, and stayed to live and work in Russia. He obtained a job teaching languages - mainly English - at the local academy whilst she, well...she was too delicate to work. Anna had been brought up in a well-educated rich family, and had forgotten many things - but not that she was once able to afford luxuries. Arthur was not rich, but thanks to a small inheritance, they were not poor either. They got by, and could afford a few more luxuries than most could.

When they had been married for four years, Anna fell pregnant. The baby was not planned and the pregnancy nearly killed her. When Arthur was asked to consider who should die, the mother or the child there was no hesitancy in his answer. The mother must live.

Fortunately that call did not have to be made, and on the 10^th of March 1920 they had a little baby girl. Both mother and daughter survived, but it was the start of a terrible depression for Anna, one she never got over.

One that she always blamed on the baby girl.

There would be no more children.

For the first few years, Arthur was able to afford a part time nanny - but this did not continue. He could not find one that was willing to put up with Anna's dark moods and in the end they were left to look after their child themselves.

*

When she is five years old, the little girl begins to realise her mother is not like the other childrens'. Her mother is delicate, both in mind and body, and her husband worships her.

The little girl is taught how to look after herself. Her father tries to do as much as he can, and on days when her mother is well it is almost like being part of a family - almost.

Her mother is prone to fits of unreality.

One really cold day in winter, her mother takes her into the town; she wants a new outfit for her daughter. The little girl stands shyly in the tailors whilst her mother looks over the dresses she is being shown, but none will do.

“They are all to heavy,” her mother sighs as the shop keeper brings a new rail of children's dresses through to the main part of the shop for her to look at. He has a supply kept in the back for the clientèle that can afford that little extra. Anna has taken the family's food money, but does not realise it - at the moment her mind is elsewhere in time.

“Let me see that one,” she says, pointing to a beautiful summer dress.

“Sorry, Madame, I did not realise you were looking for one for the summer.” The shop keeper apologises and, without any delay, the little girl is despatched into the dressing room with the female shop assistant to be changed into the dress.

When she comes out, her mother exclaims at how beautiful she looks and says she will take the dress. The shop assistant goes to usher the little girl into the back to change, but Anna stops her. “She will wear it now.”

“But...the weather, it is far to cold!” the shop assistant tries to argue, but Anna will not hear of it. She bundles together her daughter's old dress and coat and gives it to the assistant, telling her to get rid of them. She pays and walks out holding the little girl's hand.

The cold wind hits the little girl straight away, and she gasps at how it takes her breath away.

As she is pulled through the town, people stop to stare at the mother leading her child in the snow and cold wearing only a short sleeved dress. The little girl's teeth can't stop chattering.

She tries to tell her mother. “Mamma I'm so cold.” But her mother's mind is elsewhere. She is not being intentionally cruel to her daughter. She is just a little touched, and believes she is walking out on a summers day with her beautiful child. Her own warm attire keeps the truth of the real weather from her already fragile mind. A local woman stops Anna and starts shouting at her at how she is mistreating her child, at how she is not fit to be a mother. Upset now, and totally unaware of what the woman means, Anna hurries home, tugging the little girl who is desperately trying to keep up without falling over.

Anna leads her daughter into the house and then leaves her in the kitchen, shuts the door, and forgets her. She rushes to her bedroom to cry. By the time Arthur comes home she will be in such a fit of depression that she will not come out for days.

The little girl sits on a stool waiting for her father to come home. She dare not change into warmer clothes. She always does what her mother wants.

Arthur comes home to a cold, dark house, a daughter so cold she is nearly blue, and a crying wife, and he does not know how much longer he can cope.

He ushers the little girl into her bedroom and tells her to change; gets a fire going in the kitchen and sees to his wife. Two hours later he guilty remembers the little girl and calls her down to eat some soup. She is quiet and looks at her father with big wide eyes. He knows he is lucky she is stronger in health than her mother; thankfully, she does not go down with pneumonia.

Whatever it is that is wrong, the little girl believes she is the cause of it. Her parents are teaching her the art of guilt well.

Less than a year ago, she had tried to help her mother by cutting her own hair shorter, because her mother had been cross with her over the amount of time it took every morning to brush it ready for school. But one look at what she had done, and her mother had screamed at her; hit her across the face, and then wept. The little girl had sat on the floor where she had fallen, frightened, not knowing what she had done so wrong to cause this. Her father had rushed in from the other room and had told her off; told her she had made her mother ill.

When she told her father what she had done, he dragged her to apologise to her mother, and her mother made her promise she would never cut her hair again.

“You will be the death of me,” her mother had wept, “I try to love you but you are so bad, so naughty, how can you do this to me?”

The little girl has never forgotten the trouble she caused, and tries never again to do anything to upset her mother and father. She is obedient, and tries to be a good child in every way she can. She so desperately wants her parents to love her the way she can see they love each other.

But the next day, her father receives a message to say he needs to come to the school. His little girl has been fighting. She does not tell him that it is because the other girls were teasing her, because their mothers have told them about her being made to walk home in the snow. Children are cruel. Arthur has a talk with his daughter and berates her for her misbehaviour. He doesn't ask her why she was fighting - not because he doesn't care, but because he doesn't think to ask.

At the age of six he teaches her to cook the family meal after school every day.

He has to.

The little girl had arrived home after school and found her mother incapacitated. Hungry, she had tried to cook the meal herself. Arthur had come home to a meal so bad he could not eat it; raw carrots and burnt mince meat. She had tried her best. He teaches her some basic meals, and when Anna is indisposed the little girl comes home, starts the fire and cooks the meals, cleans and washes up afterwards.

Six months later he adds cleaning to her duties - then following that, washing and ironing. She begins to fall asleep in class and the teachers are forever telling her she is bad, telling the headmaster that she shouldn't be allowed to be with the other children. No one at school sees the burns she suffers, or the bruises from when Anna has told her off.

The little girl knows that no one would care.

At the age of six, this poor child has the weight of the world on her shoulders.

At the age of seven she is banned from school for fighting again. She has hit and bloodied a boy twice her size who called her mother a gagara - a loon. A message is sent to her father and he is asked to come and fetch her. He is so angry he shouts at her. Doesn't she know he has enough problems? Why must she always add to them? He tries to argue with the headmaster, but he says he will not have her in the school any more. He will use any excuse to get this child out of his school - with a mother like hers no imagining what she has inherited, what she could do to the other children. “I have to think of them,” he tells Arthur.

And of course, the headmaster is thinking of his scores with the Commissariat for Education. He doesn't want anything to hold his grades back or show the school in a bad light.

She follows her father home, trailing behind him, desperately wanting to take his hand. He stops and reaches for hers. She reaches up and takes his, feeling his fingers curl around hers and she tries to hold on tightly - but it is simply to walk her across the busy road and once across he lets go of her. She is alone again. When asked by her father why she hit the boy, she says nothing. She knows how much it would hurt him to hear what the boy said.

She is an intensely loyal child, especially to her parents. They are all she has.

*

Arthur has started drinking.

His hours at the academy are reduced, and he starts to take in private pupils to make up the difference in wage.

He home tutors his daughter. She already speaks English as well as her father does. He teaches her more languages just the basics, not in-depth like English - but enough to get by on. He also continues teaching her mathematics, rudimentary geography and history. She is a good pupil, enjoys this rare time she has alone with her father. To see him passionate about something that means a lot to him. When he is teaching her he almost seems to forget the worries of the world and becomes a kinder, more attentive man.

Until her mother finds out, and then the lessons are reduced, Arthur, for once, though thinks of his daughter and continues them when he can and in secret, creating a silent bond between them.

He allows her to read the books in his study and every so often a package will arrive from fellow bibliophiles of his, containing literature from other countries. These she finds fascinating and he will sit with her and show her what has been sent. She starts to learn of other cultures and the outside world although her knowledge is restricted mostly to fiction.

His little girl grows up quickly and continues to run the household. They both care for her mother, who is getting progressively worse. Anna has moments of violence towards the girl, becomes insanely jealous as the girl gets older, accuses them of plotting behind her back, of wanting to get rid of her.

Arthur is devastated; he loves his wife more than life itself. How can she think such things? But sometimes it is all he can do to drag Anna away from her beating their daughter, to shut her away and try to pick up the pieces.

Yet there are times now that the young girl can appease her mother, calm her. It makes no sense and so they learn to take one day at a time.

*

When the girl turns 16, she is feeling totally isolated from the world. Without friends. Without worth.

Her father and mother have each other, and she has no one.

*

On her way home from the shops she sees a poster. A young Soviet woman in white with a red cross on her bag, serving her country. It gives her an idea. She speaks to her father about training to become a nurse at the local hospital, with the thought of being able to look after her mother.

He agrees it is a good idea. She is accepted. The hospital finds her to be hard working, intelligent, compassionate. She has no problem with the work, studies hard, passes her exams.

But, when her training is complete, nurses are needed for the war. So instead, she finds herself volunteering for duty at the front in the field camps.

Anything to escape her home, the house, her parents.

Feeling guilty, she leaves, never knowing exactly where she will be or if she will be back - but the money she gets is sent home to her father. She writes them letters but never receives anything back. She knows her father is busy.

At the age of 24 she falls in love with an American who is brought into the field camp where she is working. She does not even realise at first how much he means to her until, like everything else she has ever known, he is snatched away from her.

She tried desperately not to fall for him, but from the first moment she first saw him she lost her heart.

In that way she is so very much like her father.

She cannot protect the American. He is taken. She has let him down. She is sent home where there is no help for her oncoming depression. She has come full circle. She is back with her parents in a house full of love, but there is none spare for her.

She could not care for the one person who in such a short time became everything to her.

She cannot escape being alone.   

Chapter Text

 James Barnes - The Prisoner

 When he arrives at the facility, the first thing they do are his blood works.

They confirmed he was indeed James Buchanan Barnes, and that Arnim Zola's serum is mixed in with his blood, it is the life force that is just about keeping him alive. But, for the first few weeks, they are not sure if his injuries are too much for even Zola's serum to work on. After all, the batch in his blood stream had been far from perfect.

It took time to heal, and the amount of formula in his blood stream was not strong enough to do all its work; neither was it correct. It had still been very much in the testing stage when he had been rescued from them before, and was nowhere near complete.

Even now, they are still no closer to finding a perfect batch.

The perfect serum.

And when it comes to the serum, Armin Zola is looking in a completely different direction to the one Abraham Erskine considered and perfected. As a result James's injuries take a longer time to heal; and then, when they do, the serum has not worked as it should. He is left with scarring to remind him of what he has been through, as well as chronic pain in his joints and bones. Zola's formula also burns at such a rate that James's body is prone to high temperatures that cause terrible headaches and migraines. The formula repairs some areas, but causes more problems in others. Bones do not grow back properly, too much marrow floods areas or does not grow at all. Skin lesions and rashes appear, accompanied by terrible itching that drives him insane. Bones have to be re-broken and reset.

And pain. There is always pain.

The doctors are excited about the research and being able to carry on with Zola's work (albeit with American money paying for it this time), but they are sensitive souls and have no wish to hear about what this man is going through. Their brains rule him out as a human being. He is an experiment, and that is all. He is presumed dead by everyone he knows. No-one will come looking for him. When he is out of sight his injuries are out of mind, and the doctors plan and look forward to the next phase of whatever they dream up for him. The latest batch, the latest trials.

They will leave the caring side to the nursing staff they have employed.

The doctors are oh so gracious and agree not to begin the new experimentation straight away. They give him at least a month to get over his present injuries - kind souls that they are. They are not ones for psychology, so they prod and poke and repair areas they can see but his mind they leave alone for now. That will need breaking - but they will think about that at a later date.

Keep him sedated, they think, he can sleep through it all. They do not hear his groans or see the agony he goes through. Even the doctor who 'rescued' him from the interrogation camp soon forgets what this poor man has already had done to him. What they are working towards is for the good of mankind, and it is in the name of research for a better future and will benefit all of mankind.

What is one soul against millions?

They do increase the amount of morphine the nurses are allowed to give him, not knowing that the morphine never reaches the patient it is intended for. He doesn't sleep through it. The sedative used is nowhere near strong enough to combat the weak serum in his blood stream. They may as well have given him nothing.

James knows he has been moved from the interrogation camp, and for the first few weeks he is barely conscious - but enough to know something is happening to him.

*

The first time he comes around for more than just a few minutes, he finds himself alone. He is in what appears to be a room with a medical bed set up for him. He feels so hot: the room is airless, and there are no windows, just walls with faded paint and stains. A door stands open and overhead lights buzz.

He is so thirsty. He is attached to a drip on his right side, but the bag is empty. He can see a jug on the table next to the bed, but that too is empty. A dirty cup lies on its side next to bits of tape and empty syringes.

He tries to call out; his voice is weak and there is no one about so he attempts to sit up. At first he tries to use both his arms, forgetting that he has nothing on the left side that can support him. His left arm falls short and seeing just the stub bound in dirty, once white, bandages makes him feel queasy and he is forced to lay down again.

After a few minutes the dizziness abates and he opens his eyes again.

He berates himself. Come on Barnes. He is a soldier, and soldiers fight. They are not supposed to feel pain or fear. He should be able to do this, it is expected of him.

Soldiers are human beings with the same thoughts and feelings as everyone else. They know fear and pain, but they are told they are not allowed to feel it. When James does feel the gut wrenching fear, shame should not be attached to it but it is.

He struggles to pull himself together, to be the soldier people want him to be. To clamp down on the fear in his bowels, stopping it before it makes its way to his stomach. Before it freezes him into immobility. It takes a while, but eventually he is able to sit up and move to the side of the bed with his feet touching the floor. His head is muggy, dizzy and his ears hum. He can hear vague sounds from outside the open door leading to what appears to be a corridor.

He pulls out the needle to detach himself from the empty drip. Blood from his arm drips to the floor. His gut feeling tells him he is not home. He needs to see what is going on. Without thinking he runs his hand over his scalp expecting to feel hair but of course there is only a short bristle where it is just starting to grow back. He swallows.

Someone should have been with him, a nurse, a guard - anyone - but he is alone. He gets as far as the doorway and looks out down the corridor. His sight is still fuzzy and his head hurts; he clings to the door frame. The concrete floor is cold on his feet. He looks down; his feet are grubby. His whole body is dirty, blood stained, and the gown he is wearing is filthy, yellowed.

On the wall just to his right, there is a giant red drawing that he feels he should know; it makes his stomach turn. But he can't concentrate on it. The wall keeps going in and out of focus. He swallows and then turns to look down the left side of the corridor. Nothing. The corridor eventually hits a T-junction, and turning, he can hear sounds of people talking. They are a long way off.

It is not the same to the right. Instead, the corridor seems to curve around. There are more voices and the people sound nearer. He wants to call out for help - his legs are turning to jelly - but he feels such a sense of fear deep in his gut.

He needs to know what is happening, and he needs to know now.

Using the wall, he begins to edge slowly along, keeping to his right hand side. It feels like it takes him forever; the corridor elongates and dizziness makes him blink to try and clear his vision.

Just a few feet more, and he will be able to see around the curve.

His body hurts. Every part of him aches. He has pulled some of the stitches holding him together, and he is beginning to bleed through the hospital gown he has on. His ears are buzzing louder and he knows he has bitten off more than he can chew. He has started to sweat and he can smell the stale odour of his own body.

He falls to his knees just as he sees what is ahead. At first it doesn't register.

There are metal bars which stretch from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, inset into them is a locked gate. Like in a prison. A desk and three guards are this side of the corridor; they are stood talking. One of those guards is supposed to be on duty outside the American's room. A fourth person, whom James assumes is a female nurse in a light khaki uniform, is perched on the desk sharing a cigarette with them.

They don't see him at first.

The guard's uniforms seem familiar but he can't think where from, he can't place them in his memory. They are dark with red patches on the sleeve, but he is too far away to see the patches clearly, and he is in too bad a state to realise. He doesn't recognise their language, and a deep well of fear opens up in this stomach making him tremble.

Oh God, Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore, runs crazily through his mind.

The nurse looks up and see him.

“Der'mo! - shit!” She hastily stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray on the desk and stands up.

The guards look down the corridor and see the American on his knees leant against the wall.

Break time is over.

“Kak, chert voz'mi? - How the hell?” one guard starts to say as the other two take out batons from their belts. James can see they are not friendly, but he has used the last of his strength. As they come towards him he blinks and sees the red patches, the same design as on the wall.

The design swims into sight and he recognises it. How could he ever have forgotten it?

“Oh no...” He mumbles. “No please God no.”

HYDRA.

He tries to get up but his legs won't hold him. Tries to crawl away. Looks back down the corridor as the guards advance.

“Help me…please someone help me.” His voice barely makes a sound. He sobs and starts to try and pull himself back to the room, to get up, to get away from them - but he can barely move and they are upon him in seconds.

He has no where to go, and they can see he has nothing left in him. He is grey, sweating heavily, barely conscious but that does not stop the two with electric batons.

The first one switches on his baton, and James hears a loud buzzing noise then feels the stick as it is rammed into his back. A bolt of electricity hits him, making his whole body jump. The pain is terrible and the guard leaves it in place so it burns through the gown and through his skin. The second guard touches his baton to James's chest, searing the skin, making his heart pound with the electric shock that runs through his body.

They are yelling at him in Russian, but he has no idea what they are saying. He tries to push into the wall to get away from the batons, but he can't. The electric shocks have made him wet himself and that makes the guards angrier but before they can jab him again the third guard stops them.

The three of them seem to argue, and then the first two guards back off.

The other guard, Eduard Marinov, crouches down and James reaches out to him before the darkness closes in.

“Please help me,” James' voice is so quiet, so desperate.

But the guard does not speak English, and does not know what James has asked.

He makes no further move, and watches as James's eyes flutter and close and he slips into unconsciousness, his body slumping completely to the floor.

He looks from the comatose man, to the nurse, and the other two guards. He speaks to them harshly. There was no need for them to have used the batons, the American is broken enough. He hates this place sometimes; some of the guards employed are dregs, ex-cons from the Gulags. This is supposed to be a military installation, Hydra is supposed to be for the good of mankind. Somewhere, he thinks, someone is lying.

But he has learnt to keep his thoughts to himself.

They get the American back to his room, but not before someone else has seen what has happened and reported it. One of the doctors comes into the room, concerned that the prisoner may have escaped.

There was no chance that James could have gotten any further than he had. It is a wonder he got that far.

Both the nursing staff and the guards are hauled over the coals. From now on there will be a guard permanently outside the room, two down the corridor, and the patient will be kept sedated at all times.

The next few days are a blur for James, but he begins to regain consciousness for longer periods. He starts to recognise some of the doctors from when Zola previously had him prisoner, and it puts the fear of God into him. He remembers the red abomination on the walls, and on the guard's uniforms.

Hydra.

He has come full circle. They have him back.

*

James doesn't know how much time goes by. Each day is as bad as the previous one - if not worse. Months go by in the hell hole. He tries to think of ways to escape, but the sedation and the pain weakens him.

The experiments cause him nausea, loss of control of his body; sometimes he feels he is out of it for weeks, he can't keep up with time.

Escape is no good. It is just not an option.

Death, then.

Twice he attempts suicide. Both times he is thwarted. He doesn't yet realise that it will take a lot to kill his body, more than he can do. That his attempts will be in vain.

The first time he uses a pair of scissors one of the nurses left in the room. He manages to open his right arm up, from wrist to elbow, but he is caught before he can do any more damage. It had taken him over an hour to do it with only one hand and using his mouth, but they found him almost straight away.

It takes a long time for the wound to heal because of the nature of the care he is receiving, and without the benefit of morphine. It frustrates the doctors. During the time it takes to heal, his hand is useless; he has damaged the nerves and muscle. They have to wait for Zola's serum to catch up and repair the damage. Even then it leaves scarring when it shouldn't.

His arm is still heavily bandaged when he tries again.

The second time he secures one of the batons. One of the orderlies had left it on the side in his room, and he manages to hide it in the bed clothes and waits for them to leave. He uses his teeth to pull the bandaging from his arm, works at pulling the stitches apart; he begins bleeding again.

Then, before he loses all the feeling in his arm, he switches the baton on and, taking a deep breath, he rams it into his abdomen. He pushes it until it burns a hole through to his stomach lining and then further, holding it there by curling round it and trying to hold it in place with his injured arm.

The pain is unbelievable but he wants to die.

He is so desperate.

The guards are alerted by the burning smell. Part of the bedding and the gown he is wearing is smouldering. They find him curled around the baton; it is set at its highest setting. He has a sheet stuffed in his mouth so they don't hear him screaming. Blood is dripping from his arm through the bed. Some of it has actually boiled on the baton and the smell is indescribable.

Two of the guards leave the room to vomit. How desperate is the American to have done this to himself?

He is on the operating table for six hours. The doctors are furious. If it wasn't for Zola's serum the burns would have been so bad he would have died.

His punishment: he is strapped to the bed by heavy leather belts. Two across his legs. Another one holds his right wrist. One goes across both shoulders. The straps are fixed the entire time he is in bed.

The nurses and orderlies that were supposed to be on duty at that time disappear and are replaced by more dregs from the Gulag.

It doesn't take long for the new staff long to find out what the situation is.

They realise that as long as this patient is accessible to the doctors, then that is all that matters. The doctors will not check on him, they will not ensure he is getting the proper care. They will not concern themselves with what happens to their patient once he is out of their sight. It has to be made clear to the American that the nursing staff will not put up with any more attempts from him to do either harm to himself, or try to escape.

He will be taught that lesson.

James is taken to a storage room one night. They throw him into the back wall, he is wearing just a hospital gown. His body is still broken, the burns barely healed, his arm still stitched and puffy.

There are six of them with batons. He does not know what is going on; he was sleeping when suddenly they pulled him from the bed and into this room. They are jeering at him, prodding him with the batons, burning him, beating him.

“Stop! Please stop!” He tries to keep them away, tries to stop them from jabbing him, but he is heavily sedated; the electric shocks make him wet himself, the floor becomes wet and he goes down. They kick and hit him using the batons as clubs as he tries to curl in on himself. They know their treatment will not kill him now, they know the doctors do not care what happens outside of the main room; he is theirs.

But, they are interrupted. The door to the room opens and the older guard, Eduard Marinov, walks in with two other guards by his side. One of the other orderlies that works there - Stefan Yegorov - has asked him to help the American.

The nurses and orderlies look at the guards, batons still raised in their hands. The patient is prone against the back wall, bleeding, shivering, barely conscious.

“If you do not get him cleaned up and back to his room within ten minutes I will see to it that all of you are replaced. And you know what that means,” Marinov growls, sickened by what he is seeing.

The men and women lower their hands, disgruntled that they cannot carry on with their warning - but they know this guard, they know he will do what he has said.

“You have eight minutes left,” Marinov says, and the two guards with him raise their rifles.

Within six minutes James is strapped again to his hospital bed. Nothing has been done with his wounds. There is only such much the guard could do. However, just after 3am, Marinov allows Stefan into the patient's room and covers the door whilst Stefan tries his best to help the patient, and treat the new wounds.

James is just about conscious enough to try and thank him when he gives him water and bathes his wounds. Stefan tries to shush him. He knows a few words of English, but not enough to converse. He feels ashamed he cannot do more.

Marinov warns Stefan to watch out for the others, not to make himself visible, to stay away from the American as much as he can. If the others find out it was Stefan who ratted on them he will be taken care of and the guard realises this. He cannot protect him.

The experiments continue.

When James was first taken to the main room he would beg the doctors to let him die, but they do not speak English - and would pretend not to hear him even if they did. To them, he is at the same level as a lab rat.

After a while, he stops asking. Stops talking completely. The only sounds he makes are from when he cannot keep the screams internal, when he cannot help but groan. When the pain and the fear are too much.

He never recovers from his injuries before he sustains more.

Some injuries are from pain testing, and some from burns which come from the batons both the guards and the orderlies use. The sedation leaves him weak and disorientated. He lives with the nightmares of what he has been through.

He has no one he can talk to, no one who shows any sign of compassion, no one who acknowledges him.

He is totally alone.

His bones begin to repair, but because of the mis-functioning serum, several have to be re-broken and set again. When they break the bones they do not always put him out, they need to see how far the serum goes to dull the pain. It doesn't. It seems that instead the serum increases the pain by working on the nerve endings first; keeping them open, his body feels everything.

At least at these times the doctors feel they are compassionate by increasing the doses of morphine they allow the nurses to give him.

As with any project, the faceless administrators try to save money: the orderlies and nurses brought in are the dregs, sifted from prisons, given the chance to redeem themselves. They realise they have a cushy number. In truth, they are people no one will miss if they don’t work out and have to be shot.

In front of the doctors they fawn and pretend to care, away from the doctors they scheme and manipulate. They already know which doctor to go to for any problems: Dr Lehmann. He doesn't give a damn, as long as the patient is accessible for them to work on, it doesn't matter what happens to him.

Nikolay Lehmann is one of the German doctors on the project. He is highly ambitious and sees this as a stepping stone to greater things within Hydra. He is the only one of the doctors who realises what the nursing staff are doing to their patient, but to him it is ideal - that way when they come to break the Americans mind he will be most of the way there already.

What he doesn't know is that all the morphine and drugs put aside for James's pain management are smuggled out of the base and onto the black market. So that the doctors don't hear James screaming when the pain is at its worse, the nurses use gags and more of the sedation than they should. The sedatives do nothing for pain, they just drag him down deeper into his nightmares.

The rare moments he is lucid he cries quietly. He wants to go home. He thinks of the streets he grew up on, his family, his friends. Memories begin to fade, and he has to fight to keep them. He cannot remember one of his friends name, he can't remember the first girl he kissed. He is so frightened of losing the picture of Steve in his mind that when it takes time to think of it, his heart lurches. How could he forget?

How could he forget something so precious to him?

He can feel a change in his body - like before - but greater. It scares him. He knows somehow it is something to do with the project Steve went through, but he also knows it is not that simple. This group does not have the solution and until they do, they will keep searching and using him for their answers.

His muscle tone begins to develop, his bones heal, but the rate is slow and the doctors argue amongst themselves as to why it is not quicker. He feels the pain throughout his entire body as muscles stretch in a way they shouldn't, and his bones grow unnaturally. In some areas his skin splits because it does not keep up with the rate of growth inside his body. These splits heal but take time putting his already burdened body under more pressure. The serum still isn't right, it is unbalanced, it causes the doctors frustration and they argue amongst themselves, trying things that normally even Zola may not have sanctioned.

When Dr Abraham Erskine was murdered, he took the secret of his serum with him and they were unable to obtain any part of the batch used on the American Steve Rogers. Armin Zola had to start afresh, and the two scientists couldn't be more different. Erskine worked on not just the physical body, but the mental attributes as well.

Zola hasn't even considered these. He works on the physical side only, and cannot understand why his serum is not successful.

None of Zola's serums are stable, and the doctors try batch after batch with varying results. So far though they have not found one that works correctly. They do not know even know which type of radiation is the correct one: how much to use, where to concentrate the doses and it is James each time that suffers in the name of their experiments.

The doctors receive good news. The Americans are allowing Zola to visit. As a result of Operation Paperclip after the war, he is now a naturalised citizen of the United States, his work is of benefit to them.

After all, this is now an American project - although they do not know it is an American soldier that is paying the price. In fact, the American government and military do not actually know that this project is going forward. Why would they? They are not part of what is hidden within the great American dream, the future of mankind, the future as it should be not what others see it.

Hydra has found a new home.

Hydra has found protection.  

Chapter Text

James Barnes - Language Barriers

Eduard Marinov, has finally been given permission for a 48 hour pass to visit his family. The last year has been particularly difficult. New guards to train, but not ones he would not have chosen himself. They are still using convicts - around thirty per cent of his men are now from the Gulags - despite the reports he has sent in to say it is a false economy. These are people who are not loyal to Hydra, they are loyal only to themselves.

When he first joined Hydra, the Science section of the Nazi regime under the famous Red Skull, he thought he was doing it for all the right reasons. But Hydra is not what it seems. Under all of its pleasant indoctrination it is evil and polluted. To leave it would mean death for him and his family so he has to play along, trapped in this nightmare.

He has had enough, and he feels sometimes that if he doesn't see any normalcy he is going to end up eating a bullet. He needs to see his wife, hold his daughters, know that there is some beauty in the world.

He leaves for his much needed salvation without a backward glance back at the camp and not knowing that people have been waiting for him to go.

With him gone they have time to play with the amerikanskaya svin'ya - the American pig.

They have paid off the nurse and the guard is in on the idea from the start.

That evening James is in a fitful sleep; his head is bad, the heat in his body making him sweat and he can't move, cannot get comfortable. Noise brings him awake, three men have entered the room and are talking with the nurse. She stands and nods.

He recognises the men. Two are guards, and one is an orderly. They turn around and look at him. He has seen that look in peoples eyes before. They are looking at a victim.

The nurse walks over to the door and James tries to talk to her - tries to stop her from leaving. He is desperate. But he should know by now, no one will help him.

As the nurse walks out of the door she sees the men walk over to the bed. There is no compassion in her at all, no pity. She hears the American pleading with her to come back and although she does not know the words he speaks, she knows what it is he is begging.

She closes the door quietly and walks away.

*

The next day is a long day of pain for James.

The doctors are annoyed and concerned that the batch of serum they thought was working is now showing signs of being yet another failure. When he was delivered to them this morning his condition was terrible enough for even the doctors to realise he is far from well. He is hot, sweaty, they can smell the infection coming from him but do not know that it is because of damage inside him. The latest serum is the closest they have come to getting it right so far, but after what happened to him the previous evening it is trying to fight infected wounds the doctors cannot see, ones inside his body, and so has thrown of all their readings.

Doctor Jakobs is the one to first notice that every time anyone goes near the patient, he is more edgy than normal - and when they went to push up his gown to inject something into his thigh he tries to fight them off. He is begging them for something, but they don't know what - no one speaks English.

James is begging for them not to rape him.

He is trapped in a delirium. He doesn't know where he is. People won't stop touching him, won't stop hurting him.

Jakobs can see that the heat isn't just a reaction of the serum. Before they began their work he gave James an injection of sulphur and prontosil rubrum. Jakobs feels today that even the serum needs the help of an anti biotic. He can see that there is an infection at work but he puts it down to the many needle marks in the patient's arm, they are puffy, sore, hot to the touch. So many needles are plunged into him they run out of where to inject him next and even have to use the top of his left arm. There is also infection in the stub where it is broken and bleeding and Jakobs is quick to re-sew the skin.

Doctor Eric Jakobs is German. Years ago when he finished university he had decided to take up a general practice, so he is considered more of a doctor than the others on the team who are more scientifically orientated. Later in life, after losing his wife and children to allied bombing, he thought his own life was finished - but he was recruited into Hydra by Zola; a friend whom he had known since childhood. He threw himself into his work here to create a better world, one where no more children would be killed by war.

He believes he is working on this project for all the right reasons. But from time to time he does remember they are experimenting on a human being. He had been the one who brought James back from the interrogation camp.

It is 2pm and they are getting ready to do another round of tests. But as Jakobs looks at the patient, he sees that James is grey, sweating, trembling.

“I don't really think we can go any further today,” he says, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

The patient is laying on the table in the main room. He can see him shivering, see the sweat on his brow; his eyes are half closed, he can hear him murmuring. He is disorientated. Earlier, when Jakobs had given him some water, he had been shocked at how James had tried to grasp the cup from him, gulping it down so fast it had made him vomit it straight back up.

Jakobs had noticed that their patient always seemed so thirsty, Was it something to do with the serum? A side effect? He had questioned the nurses and told them the patient must always be kept on a hydrating drip.

They had assured him they always do.

They were lying.

“Slow down,” he had said - but of course the man hadn't understood him, so instead he had patiently fetched some more water over and made the patient drink it slowly. James had looked at him afterwards, had tried to talk to him, beg for him to help him - but Jakobs had just patted him on his arm and moved away.

Jakobs does not want to think of this man being anything other than their patient. Their lab rat. He doesn't want to question what they are doing.

“I don't really think we can go any further today,” he repeats to Doctor Lehmann and as much as he resents it, Lehmann has to agree with Jakobs. Even he can see that the patient is finished for the day. He is frustrated that yet another batch of the serum is to be wasted; all that effort for nothing.

He does momentarily wonder if there is more at play here, but then dismisses it. He is still happy to let the nursing staff continue with their treatment, he wants to keep James's mind weak, on edge, frightened, ready to crack. It will be Lehmanns job one day to break the American, and so anything that will make it easier is welcomed.

They tell the orderly to wheel the patient back to his room. Testing is finished for today.

*

James lies in his room asleep. He came back from the main room four hours ago, exhausted, strung out. The doctors have ordered blood tests to be taken every four hours. One of the nurses and an orderly have come to take his blood. They use the top of his stub. No need to waste pain killers, just plunge the needle into the vein and let it do its work.

It is the same orderly from the previous night.

James feels his whole body tense. The nurse writes up on the charts whilst the man smiles down at him. They think he is more heavily sedated than he is because he looks so drained, and they have loosened the straps on the bed to take the blood. They don't realise that the one holding his right hand is looser than normal.

The orderly starts to let his hands wander, he remembers last night and feels himself stiffening at the thought of it.

The female nurse tuts as though scolding a child.

"If you get caught..." she warns.

"I won't. No Marinov, remember?" he smirks and he turns and winks at James.

"You don't mind do you, a little feel now and then." The man pulls away the blanket, and then lets his hand wander down, pulling at the hem of James's gown.

James's eyes widen, his heart beating hard. He doesn't want this man to touch him again. His mind is so on edge it will tip over if he feels his touch any more. James pulls at the strap to try and release his hand so he can stop the orderly. The strap starts to give. He can feel the orderlies dirty fingers on him and he thinks he is going to throw up. He starts to sweat and panic rises up. He shakes his head.

"No don't..." the words barely make a sound, but the orderly smiles cruelly and holds a finger to his lips.

"Sshhh now, don't make a fuss! I'm sure you enjoyed it last night..." he smiles again, and although James cannot understand what the man is saying the smile says it all. James thinks he is going to vomit. Bile comes up into his mouth and makes him choke as he tries to swallow it back down again. He feels the man's hand move higher. Panic bubbles up, giving him a false strength and he pulls again hard. The strap comes loose and James's hand is suddenly free. He clamps down to stop the man's hand from going any further.

The orderly sneers and goes for his baton but James is quicker. He pulls the hypodermic syringe out of his arm and sticks it in the mans face, driving it home through the eyeball right back into the brain.

The man is dead before he hits the ground. The nurse drops the clipboard and screams.

Guards come rushing in, they stop and stare at the dead man.

"Kill him, for God sake shoot the pig, shoot him!" the nurse screams, pointing at the patient.

The guards know better than that. They know James's value. Besides which, one look at the American shows it is obvious he is of no danger now, he is done for the day. He is grey, leaning over the side of the bed, right hand grasping the sheets to keep himself from falling. He is having trouble breathing.

One of the guards hits a button on the wall to call for medical assistance. An alarm starts to blare.

The other guard tells the nurse to get out as two of the doctors and an orderly come running.

The doctors are trying to work out what is wrong. They are shouting questions at James but he doesn't understand them, in all this time no-one has ever considered how to converse with him.

There has never been a need to.

He has fallen back on the bed, his hand clutching his chest. He can't breathe. It is a panic attack. His airways are not allowing him air, in his mind he is back in the interrogation room.

The alarm is still blaring adding to the panic and noise in the room.

The orderly that has followed them into the room is actually trying to help. He is trying to tell them to let the man breathe. He knows what a panic attack is like, even if he doesn't know the word for it. But he does know a handful of words in English, and he is trying to get James to listen to just him.

He bends over the bed trying to make eye contact with the patient.

"Breath...you okay..." the words are heavily accented but they get through and James closes his eyes and concentrates on them, on breathing, in, out. The doctors for a moment forget their own panic and allow the orderly to carry on as they see it is working. James has grabbed hold of the orderlies coat, he doesn't even realise, he is gripping it so hard the orderly couldn't get away if he tried to.

Two guards have been sent in to remove the dead man, they are told to silence the alarm.

As James starts to breathe freely the whining in his ears lessens. He can hear what is going on in the room now. He hears one of the doctors talking to the other one, but has no idea what they are saying.

"You okay now," the orderly says, trying to make the patient concentrate on him once more. He holds James's hand so that James releases the jacket, but doesn't let go after this has been achieved. James looks at him, and the orderly can see the gratefulness in his eyes. James struggles to say something.

"Please don't let him touch me..." but the words are beyond the orderlies comprehension, but he nods as if he has understood.

Whilst the orderly has James's attention, one of the doctors comes up and without warning injects a hypodermic needle into James's right arm.

His eyes widen.

"Don't put me out, please don't...don't...no...they'll come back...oh no God, please..." he doesn't get any further before blackness starts to take him and nightmares begin to claim him. His hand lets go of the orderlies and he falls back, struggling not to give in but he loses the fight and is unconscious within a few seconds.

"What the hell happened here?" asks one of the doctors.

They look at the room. Blood has spurted over the bed clothes, over the patient, puddling on the floor. It is from the syringe that had been filling up with James's blood. The rest is in the dead mans eye.

The orderly shrugs, but it is obvious he knows.

"Whats your name?" Doctor Jakobs asks him.

"Stefan sir." Worry shows on his face.

"You did well today Stefan," the doctor pats him on the arm and Stefan decides to leave quickly before any more questions are asked.

The doctors are not really concerned as to what caused the incident, but it has made something obvious.

They needed a translator. An English-speaking nurse would be even better. And they need them quickly.

If they are to take the experimentation further and also one day work on the patient's mind, then they will need to communicate with him. It may not have been needed up until now, but it will be essential in the future.

*

When James awakes the room is quiet. He is strapped down. The door is open and a nurse sits at the table reading. It is the same nurse from earlier. She knows how heavily sedated he is and the straps are so tight he cannot move.

He desperately needs something to drink. His mouth is parched and he tries to move, tries to call out to get her attention.

She hears him and, surprisingly, comes up at once. Leaning over him. Smiling. But the smile does not reach her eyes.

"Did you want something?" she asks in Russian. Her voice is low and pleasant and she knows he won't understand the words.

She uses her hands to gesture drinking.

"Water..." James says nodding, he looks at the cup on the side table hoping she will understand what he needs.

She turns and picks up the beaker, swishing it so he can hear the liquid.

"This?" she asks, and he nods guessing she is referring to the liquid in the cup. His head is pounding, his mouth is so dry.

The drip feeding into him which is supposed to be hydrating him is turned off - but he wouldn't know that.

There is of course no morphine.

"Sorry, its empty," she says, shaking her head and then drinking what is in there.

James's mouth dries even more when he hears her swallowing.

"Please..." he asks.

"All gone," she replies, and holds it upside down, letting a trickle fall on the bed clothes.

Then she places it back on the bedside table, pours some more water into the cup from the jug and smiles at him, she leaves it where he can see it. She goes and sits back down.

"Please..." James whispers, his eyes feel gritty. He needs to cough but can't. He would die for a drink, just some cool water. His tongue feels like it is sticking to the roof of his mouth, he can hardly swallow, he starts to sweat, he can't move and his skin itches.

Let me die, please Lord let me die.

He closes his eyes and prays. Eventually his mind allows him to sleep.

It is hours later and everyone has settled for the night and James is woken from a deep sleep. He doesn't understand what is happening. There are two nurses and an orderly. The guard that should be outside has taken a convenient break.

There is no-one this time to see them remove the patient to the shower room. There are more staff waiting there and they strip the gown from him. He is thrown against the back tiled wall.

“You wanted a drink,” the nurse from earlier says.

The showers are switched on full, freezing cold water hits him. He needs to be reminded about the rules.

James splutters not being able to follow what is happening. They are saying things to him but he doesn't know what. They are telling him he is a 'dirty American pig'.

The nurse steps forward with a bottle of bleach and upends it over his body.

As soon as the liquid reaches his injuries it starts to burn, starts to eat away at James's skin, and he cries out. He feels the fumes burning his eyes and the lining of his throat. Bleach gets into the stub of his left arm which has recently been opened and stitched closed, he almost hears it sizzling as it touches the skin and open wounds.

There is no compassion, this is his punishment for killing one of their own.

They get long handled brooms, the bristles stiff and filthy with grime and use them to clean him, tearing away his skin, he tries to protect himself. The brushes leave him bloody and torn, curled up in a ball against the wall, sobbing.

When they are finished they return him to his room, soaking wet, freezing cold and the straps are placed back over him, cutting into the irritated and abraded skin.

The nursing staff know they won't get caught with the punishment they gave him. He is not needed for testing the next day. Doctor Jakobs has persuaded the other doctors to give him three days rest to get better. The nurses know the schedules, they know when the patient will be needed and they know by the time he is back in the main room his injuries will have started repairing themselves.

Besides, it is amazing what you can cover up with a simple hospital gown.

*

Because of what happened to the orderly, orders are given that James is to be kept more heavily sedated from now on. The straps binding him to the bed are so tight they bite into his skin. The bed clothes are filthy, damp from urine, and blood, they chafe his skin, cause sores.

Testing starts again.

The orderlies and nurses are more jumpy around him. They are quicker to use their electric batons and soon the burns they cause are festering. The doctors cannot understand his slow rate of repair on the damage they themselves cause in the testing. The wounds shouldn't even be getting this bad, why is the serum not working better? They do not know of the treatment James is receiving, they only see a small amount of the burns that they believe are from radiation and pain testing. They do not see the bed sores, and do not know of the other torture he is being put through.

Except of course for Doctor Lehmann. He believes he knows what is happening.

The doctors know the serum will eventually repair the damage, so it doesn't concern them when they cause him pain. They have no idea he is still not getting any pain medication or that the nurses are keeping his drips switched off to punish him for striking out at the orderly.

Marinov returns, but is kept busy catching up with work that he missed whilst on leave.

Stefan, the one person that tried to help James, does not know what to do about what he sees and hears. He has tried mentioning it to Doctor Lehmann, and Lehmann made it more than obvious that Stefan was to mind his own business or he will find himself out of a job. Stefan is no monster but he knows if his job here is terminated it would mean his death.

He has begun to receive mild threats from the other staff who have noticed he does not join in with the rough treatment of the American pig.

Stefan has no one to turn to.

Perhaps James is not the only one who is alone.

Chapter Text

James Barnes - Memories

James can hear the sounds out in the corridor; people talking, walking by, dropping things, even laughter.

What in Gods' name was there to laugh about in a hellhole like this?

He is trying to leave this place. He cannot do so physically, but his mind is thinking, always thinking of home and of Steve, trying to be back there, trying to be back home. Back with him.

The last night he was home, before he left for England and the 107^th, he had taken Steve to meet up with two girls at Howard Stark's World Fair.

He had once again just pulled Steve out of a fight and had to tidy him up.

Steve had asked him where they were going and Bucky had told him.

“The future...we're going to see the future.”

He had wanted Steve to have at least one night with a woman before he left him alone, but even fairly early on he was sure it wasn't going to work out that way. The girl wasn't interested. He had got it wrong. Again.

Later, he kicked himself. Deep down he had wanted them to spend the night together, have Steve to himself but as there was a chance he wouldn't come back he wanted to open up Steve's horizons, give Steve other options. Bad plan.

Steve had ended up heading off to yet one more Army joining booth, and Bucky had ended up going dancing with the girls. He had said goodbye to Steve, smiling and horsing around because he could see Steve's mind was already on what he was going to say to get them to take him. He didn't want to leave him, he should have stayed, should have kept him close until the time where there were no minutes left and he had to leave.

During the evening, Bucky had grown quieter and less exuberant. All he could think about was Steve. Was that the last time he was going to see him? In the end the girls decided to find someone else to party with; after all there were a lot of takers. They had wished him luck, though.

He couldn't get drunk. No good turning up the next morning with a hangover and being the butt of some Sergeant's wrath. As he walked home he went by Steve's apartment, the light was out and he hesitated, should he go and wake him?

Now, all this time later, he knew the flat had been empty. Steve had finally found someone who would accept him into the army - and he had never told James.

They had exchanged a few letters. Steve kept all the details of what he was doing to himself, not because he didn't want to tell Bucky but because he didn't want to worry him – and, of course, he had to consider his letters were being censored before they were sent.

He had told Bucky he had gotten a civilian job at the army camp, and that was why his mail was coming from an army address. Joked how he was helping in the kitchens with the cooking. Bucky knew now it was a different type of cooking altogether. Steve had probably not wanted Bucky Barnes ending up on the camp where he was, on some rescue or big brother mission. It had been Steve's chance to do something, to be someone and he was scared enough as it was.

He had to do it alone otherwise he would never do anything.

The letters tailed off from both of them when Bucky's division went into action. But it hadn't meant Steve wasn't on Bucky's mind.

James still remembered the day his unit was captured. He had thought he knew fear that day...but now he knew it had barely touched him.

He opens his eyes and looks around the room he is in. How long has he been here? It feels like forever. It is forever. He is a different man to the one who had signed up. There is no cockiness now. Back then he had been ready to take on the world, now...now he was broken.

He can hear the guards talking out in the corridor, and he feels the panic creeping up. He is held down so tightly by the straps that he feels he can't breathe. They have taken everything away from him. He is so frightened deep down. Why him? Was it fate that he had been taken captive by them again? What was going to be the outcome? Was he going to be some super soldier like Steve? Amend that, he thinks, to some fucked up super soldier.

But he knows. He knows that his fate will be different. Zola is a different entity entirely from Erskine.

Steve had told him that Erskine's experiment was done all in one go, the serum injected all at the same time, the radiation then administered and Steve's body had changed. Howard Stark had also been in on it. Two brilliant minds working together.

But James? No, not all at the same time; instead years of pain. For James it is a living nightmare of hypodermics, unstable serums, radiation. They can't get it right. They don't know what they are doing.

A nurse comes in, taking no notice of him and putting paperwork down on the desk. He would like to ask for water but he doesn't speak Russian and he knows she would not help him even if he did. He has gotten them in to so much trouble of late. His stomach twinges. He still remembers the increasing pain of the baton as it began to eat through his flesh as he pushed it harder, trying to kill himself, trying to end the nightmare. The smell of his own flesh burning. That is something now he is learning to live with. He has had so much pain he doesn't think he can take any more.

He has killed one of their own as well, they will never forgive him for that.

He closes his eyes.

He does not remember a lot about what Zola did to him before, but he remembers the changes he felt in his body.

But that day Steve found him at the Hydra base. That day someone said his name and he opened his eyes and saw Steve looking at him, he remembers it so well.

He remembers Steve helping him sit up and swinging off the table and nearly falling over being caught by Steve and looking up. Suddenly, Steve was taller than him.

“I thought you were dead,” Steve had said to him.

“I thought you were smaller,” he had replied looking his best friend up and down.

All the way back to the camp he had stayed by Steve's side, glancing at him when he thought he wasn't looking.

So different, yet still the same person.

Then later when they had all been sent for medical checks. Having to flirt with the nurse to make sure she didn't realise he hadn't gone through the tests, telling everyone he was fine. Telling everyone nothing had actually been done to him when it had. Pretending to be Bucky Barnes, joker of the pack, telling stories of how Steve had come to their rescue, always deflecting the attention back onto him.

Keeping himself away from Steve had been the hardest, not just because he knew Steve would realise something is wrong with him, but because he had seen something else. There was a woman in Steve's life. Peggy Carter. How could Bucky have stepped in between them? This would have been Steve's chance at a normal life, and he couldn't spoil that, couldn't take that away from him.

Until the day he couldn't cope anymore. Until the day he had sneaked off camp, into the local woods, found a quiet spot, told himself he just needed the peace and quiet. Not thinking why he had a loaded gun in his hand.

But Steve had found him, curled up against a tree, eyes red, nose snotty, hands shaking, the gun in his mouth ready to blow his brains out.

“If only you hadn't found me,” James murmurs to himself.

“Buck...” Steve had crouched in front of him, hands out not knowing what to do.

This giant of a man was totally helpless to the one person that needed him. He had been watching Bucky closely, knew him more than he knew himself. Knew he had sidetracked everyone from what had been done to him, seen the false bonhomie. Knew something was wrong, deeply wrong. He had seen the lab, seen empty syringes, seen more things than he cared to remember and knew they had done something to Bucky. He had tried to talk to him about it but Bucky just said Steve was dreaming, made sure they were never alone, never just the two of them.

And now his friend, the person who meant the most to him in the whole world was in despair, ready to die.

Dumdum Morgan had seen Bucky sneak out of the camp because Cap had asked him to keep an eye on Bucky - he'd remained behind, covering for them both as Steve went off to find Bucky.

“Buck...what is it, whats wrong?” Steve had asked. Hadn't tried to take the gun, hadn't tried to pull rank, hadn't tried to remind Bucky he was a soldier.

Instead he sat down next to Bucky, ready to listen.

Bucky had just cried, bawled his eyes out and Steve had sat there until Bucky was exhausted; until he couldn't cry any more, until his hand came down to his lap and Steve was able to reach over and take the loaded gun away. Then, laying the gun where Bucky couldn't reach it, he took his friend in his arms and held him close.

James tries to remember the feel of Steve's arms around him as he had cried, the smell of the leather jacket he wore, the comfort that enveloped him.

He had been where he belonged.

Later they had returned to camp, but instead of taking Bucky back to barracks he had put him in a Jeep and told him to wait there. Twenty minutes later Steve had climbed in the other side with a bag and waved some papers at him. A 24 hour furlough for them both. They hadn't talked in the forest and they didn't talk now. Bucky had been too shattered mentally and physically.

Steve had pulled the Jeep up outside a cottage somewhere in the English countryside, not far from camp but far enough that they were alone.

“A friend's,” he had said cryptically, and left it at that. At this point Bucky felt he didn't care any more where he was, as long as Steve was there with him they could be on the Moon.

That was their first night together since Steve had changed. Since Erskine's serum had enhanced his body and given him a new persona.

Bucky still remembers how his hands felt the changes. How solid Steve was now, how it was him that nearly got winded when Steve moved to cover his body, Steve blushing when he realised he had to take it slowly with Bucky and not just because of his fractured mind.

They had made love slowly, cautiously at first, and then when they had finished Steve had taken Bucky in his arms.

“Talk to me,” was all he said.

And Bucky did.

He told Steve what they had done to him, the changes he was feeling, the gut-wrenching feeling of not knowing why and what was happening to his own body. The nightmares, the hot sweats. Hiding from people at the camp so they wouldn't see him lose himself to the fear that crawled up inside and ate at him.

Steve had then told him what he knew about Hydra, and how they were trying to catch up with Erskine's experiments from Project Rebirth. If only Erskine was still alive to help Bucky - but he wasn't, and Steve could only think of one person who could help. Peggy. As soon as he mentioned her name, he felt Bucky draw away from him, physically and mentally. It took him long, patient minutes to get out of Bucky why.

“Because I know I'm losing you to her,” Bucky had said eventually, quietly.

Steve had turned to him, surprised. “What?”

“Aw come on Steve I'm not stupid. I've seen the way you two look at each other, you may not even realise it yet, but...”

And for the first time Steve realised that Bucky could be right. He did have feelings for Peggy. But then he looks at Bucky, looks at this man who has meant so much to him for so long, and knows he couldn't live without him. The thought of never being with him again, never touching him again, makes Steve feel sick.

“Buck, I love you. I will always be here for you, you know I will. I like Peggy, yes, but...”

But Bucky is a realist. He doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to face losing Steve yet and instead reaches out hungrily for him.

“Don't make promises you can't keep,” he whispers as he kisses Steve to shut him up.

They agreed to keep the truth between the two of them. No one else was to know about the experimentation done on James Barnes - until it is seventy years too late.

And now, all this time later he can't help but wonder - what is Steve doing?

Is he still looking for me?

He doesn't know how long he has been here. How many years? Nothing changes down here, buried deep underground, no daylight, no stars at night, day in day out always the same. He has no idea what day of the week it is, yet alone what month, what year. Time here is different.

Sudden thoughts come to mind.

What did Steve do last Christmas? On his last birthday? How many have gone by?

What if he has forgotten James? What if he has lost himself in Peggy?

“No,no please God...please.” He doesn't want those thoughts. Doesn't want that internal pain.

But then guilt chews at him. Why shouldn't Steve have a good life? Why should he suffer just because James is not there any more? For a moment his mind betrays him, wondering at what type of children Steve and Peggy would have. He could have been their Uncle Bucky, always there for them all.

He wants to turn over, to curl in on himself but the straps won't let him. His skin itches like mad and his heart feels like it is shrivelling up in pain - his heart hurts, he longs to see Steve, just to touch him, just to be held by him.

A sob escapes him.

“Steve,” he whispers. Tears prick his eyes and he closes them.

He nearly lost him before.

He remembers.

He'd made a deal with God.

“Please God, don't let him die. I'll do whatever you want, I'll take whatever you want to dish out but please don't let him die.”

Is this his punishment for that promise? Is this what God thought was a worthy exchange?

Steve was rarely late for anything, and this morning Bucky waited for twenty minutes before deciding to walk towards the apartment, hopefully meeting Steve half way. But he didn't, and by the time he reaches the apartment he is worried.

Looking up, he could see the curtains closed in the bedroom. The two of them were due for a days work offloading the ships down at the dock, it wasn't something Steve would be late for.

Bucky ran up the steps and knocked on the door of the flat. No answer. He kicked over the brick and picked up the spare key.

The moment he entered the flat, he knew there was something wrong. He could smell it in the air. Sickness and sweat. It made his heart beat faster, a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He burst into Steve's bedroom, what was once Sarah's bedroom, the place Bucky first ever made love to Steve.

Steve was there, in the bed. The room was stifling hot. Bucky cracked the window to get some fresh air circulating - but not enough to be draughty. He went to the bed.

Steve was burning hot, there was vomit on the bed clothes which were sodden.

“Jesus, Steve, Steve!” He shook him gently, and Steve tried to open his eyes but the effort was costing him. Bucky reached over to the glass on the bedside table and propped Steve up, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and had got him to drink.

“What the hell?” Bucky knew how quickly Steve's illnesses could come on. He hadn't seen him for two days. How long had he been ill, for Christ's sake. He only needed go down with one illness and the rest would jump at his vulnerable body.

“Sorry, Buck,” Steve had started to cough. Bucky knows the sound, the rasp, he could hear the crinkling of the lungs. He knew what it was, knew Steve needed help.

“Hey you big oaf, nothin' to be sorry about. How long have you been like this?” He didn't expect a reply and didn't get one.

He couldn't take Steve to the hospital. Neither of them had enough money to cover the bills. They had been in this situation before, but Steve seemed worse this time. He could have tried to get him down to the Mercy Hospital charity room, but the wait would have been hours and Steve was in no condition to sit waiting, coughing his guts up in a room full of sick people.

“Hold on Stevie, I'll be back.”

He wasn't going far.

He went to the flat next door and hammered on the door. The family there knew him, knew Steve well and the mother recognised the look on Bucky's face.

“Can I borrow Frankie?” Bucky asks and the mother nodded without asking why.

“Frankie!” she yelled, turning back into the flat, then looking again at Bucky.

“Is it Steve? Is he bad?”

Bucky nodded just as Frankie approached.

Frankie was a young lad of ten. He had gone on errands before for Bucky.

“Leave the door on the latch, James, and I'll pop in when Frankie comes back and can watch Molly,” the mother had said. She had known Sarah Rogers well, and used to look after Steve for her. She had known Steve for his entire fragile life. It was no good trying to get a doctor out or go to the hospital. The families here were too poor, so they look after each other, did what they could.

Frankie knew the drill and Bucky didn't have to repeat things twice.

There was a dime in it for him if he is fast.

Firstly, he was to go to the Barnes' house and tell Bucky's mother that Steve was ill, and Bucky would be staying at the flat until he is better.

Secondly, he is to go to a doctor Bucky knows. He would write a prescription for Steve. Then next to the chemist with a list of supplies.

Thirdly, bring everything back.

Finally, go to the docks and explain that they won't be coming to work. The guy they work for was a good man, and he would know that it must be something bad for his boys not to turn up.

Then he will come home, earn his dime, and look after his younger sister Molly so his mother could help Bucky.

Bucky went back to Steve. He needed to get the bed clean, get Steve clean, sit him up more. He carried him to a chair in the bedroom, covered him. He was so light, nothing to him at all, and it broke Bucky's heart to see him so ill.

Steve was trying to talk to him. Bucky ran his hand through Steve's blond hair, damp with sweat.

“Sshh, its okay, trust you to get like this. Why didn't you send Frankie to get me?” He told him off, kissed his forehead, then told him everything was going to be okay.

He quickly changed the sheets and getting a bowl of fairly warm water, flannel and a towel he washed Steve the best he could, changed him into clean pyjamas. Then he moved him back to the clean bed, propping him up.

Next, he fetched fresh water and encouraged him to drink just as Frankie came back with the things from the chemist.

Steve was wheezing, which was a good sign - it meant air was getting in.

However, he needed help. Quickly.

The doctor for the area had known Sarah Rogers and knew Steve. He would always fill a prescription for him. He had sent Bucky a course of aminophylline tablets, and the chemist also supplied a batch of Elliots' Asthma Powder . It was unusual for them to supply goods without payment but they knew James Barnes. They knew he would pay. He always does.

He made Steve take two of the tablets, then set the powder burning on the bedside table to help him breath easier. The next door neighbour came in to see if she could help - but she had soon recognised that Bucky had it under control.

They have been in this situation many times before.

“Just bang on the wall if you need anything,” she told him as she scooped up the dirty bed clothes, she would wash them and get them hanging out to dry. Then she left him to it knowing Steve was in good hands.

He pulled a chair up to the bedside and took a deep breath. He had been so frightened when he had seen the curtains pulled, when he smelt the sickness - and then, looking at Steve, how pale he was, he was still frightened.

He spent the rest of the morning sitting at Steve's bedside, ensuring he drank something, checking him, talking to him just so Steve knew he was still there.

His mother arrived with food shortly before one o'clock. Winifred Barnes knew just how much her son loved Steve Rogers - more than his father and brothers knew. As she looked at her son her heart went out to him. He always took the weight of the world on his shoulders and asked for help from no one. She also knew that the love was reciprocated, and that is all she could ask. That someone would love her son just as much as she did, would look after him in this world.

“Thanks Ma,” James said kissing her on the cheek. They warmed up some of her home made soup and between them got Steve to drink some. It wasn't a lot but it was a start.

Before she left, she spoke quietly to her son. “He's bad isn't he, I can see it. He should be in the hospital.”

She was just stating a fact. Bucky's family was not rich. Sometimes things were border-line for them, but they had slightly more than the Rogers did.

She was going to make a call on the way home to their doctor, to see if she couldn't get him to agree to a home visit. The Barneses would somehow cover the bill.

That night, he crawled into bed beside Steve, sometimes holding him - but not wanting to crowd him. Steve would always reach out for him, would feel safe in Bucky's arms.

It was a long two days for Bucky Barnes, and the night before the illness broke and Steve began to get better he had prayed to God not to take Steve away from him. Watched him try to breathe, trying to get comfortable.

“I'll do anything you want, just don't take him, please don't take him away from me.”

It was as if somebody had heard. The next day Steve opened his eyes and for the first time knew where he was, could manage a sentence without coughing his lungs up, and Bucky knew he had turned a corner.

Steve's eyes were on him, looking at him smiling. “I love you James Barnes, do you know that?”

Bucky had burst into tears, surprising them both and it had been Steve's turn to hold him, to tell him everything was going to be okay.

James thinks of that now, the relief he felt at the time. Knowing Steve wasn't going to die, wasn't going to be taken from him.

He wishes that for a moment he could be with Steve, just to feel his arms around him, just one more time. Just to have Steve whisper to him that everything was going to be all right and that Steve would get him out of here.

He clenches his jaw, does everything he can to stop the sobs that well up in him so they don't hear him crying and decide he needs punishing again.

Can they not understand his thoughts are punishment enough?    

Chapter Text

The Nurse - Taken

First, there is a pounding on the front door which is so loud that it wakes all of you.

Then you hear your parents rush out to the landing, and you follow only seconds later, grabbing a shawl to cover your nightdress, trying to put your slippers on as you hurry down the stairs.

The front door crashes open and booted feet enter. Two soldiers appear on the stairs. They are shouting for everyone to come down. They have their rifles at the ready and you know they will shoot anyone who gives them cause to.

Your father leads the way, shielding your mother, and at the bottom of the stairs someone grabs you and holds you by your arms. The man who is obviously in charge steps forward and looks at you. He nods to the soldiers and turns to your parents.

There are now four soldiers. They bundle you outside whilst your parents cling to each other. You hear your father ask what is wrong, what is it you have done?

The man steps forward and speaks quietly to him.

By the time you look back, you see your parents white-faced clutching each other. Your mother looks petrified. You don’t know what must be going around in her mind. Your father is pale, but his allegiance is to his wife and for this he must sacrifice his daughter.

He cannot look at you.

What have you done? What is this about? They must have the wrong person. You have no idea of who you have upset to deserve this treatment.

The man follows.

“They have been told to forget you,” he says, “you won't be coming back.”

“But...but what have I done? “ you ask, fear churning away inside you.

He doesn't say any more.

Instead, a soldier steps forward and roughly places a hood over your head, then they lift you into the back of the lorry. You are guided to a cold metal seat and the soldiers get in either side of you. Terrible thoughts run through your mind as to what is going to happen to you, and now it is not just the cold making you tremble.

*

The man stamps his feet. It is cold tonight, but they didn’t have time to let her get dressed. He is not a sadist and doesn’t want trouble. Doesn't want to have to order his soldiers to kill her parents. He steps up into the cab and nods for the soldier to drive. He made sure her parents realised that if they asked any questions or still remembered they had a daughter then someone would come back, and they would be wiped out.

It was up to them now. Follow his advice or die.

*

You sit on the cold metal of the seat, sandwiched between two men. The metal burns the back of your legs where your nightdress has rucked up, and you try to feel around to pull it lower - but one of the soldiers smacks your hand away.

You can see nothing. The hessian of the hood scratches at your face but you dare not try to remove it. Suddenly, something lands in your lap, making you jump. You realise it is a blanket, rough but warmer than the cold air caressing you. You want to say thank you but you have no voice, your mouth is totally dry.

You huddle up as best as you can and try not to think about anything.

You only realise they are not going to kill you when you are pulled from the truck, and the hood is removed.

You are inside some type of military camp. Even though it is still night, soldiers are moving about and training and you glimpse buildings, lights full blaze and assault courses. You see all of this before you are hustled up some steps and into a building that is isolated from the others.

You have done nothing wrong.

It is your abilities they have recruited you for. They need an English-speaking nurse and that is why you have been selected. In fact, you were recommended by the director of your local hospital. He had no idea of what would happen to you. He thought he was doing you a favour.

 A serious-looking military man has been telling you this, and you listen to him in a daze. He is somewhat disturbed by the fact you are in a night gown and shawl, and sends a soldier away to find you some clothes. A pair of trousers and shirt are given to you, and it seems unreal when the man turns his back on you - seeming to indicate you are to change into them there in his office. You put the clothes on over your nightdress quickly. They are too big, but they cover you and for that you are grateful.

After he has advised you that the work you will do here is secret, and that should you be found unsuitable you will forfeit your life, he has you marched away.

You follow the soldiers in a daze, too scared to ask where you are going. They stop by what appears to be a locked, full length, double-door cabinet. One of the soldiers reaches behind it and the cabinet swings away from the wall. You are led into a corridor.

From there you are then taken down into a complex by elevator. When you are hustled out you are in another long corridor. To your right is a locked gateway with armed guards who stare at you, rifles in hand.

You are pulled to the left, and taken down the corridor. You are pushed into a darkened dormitory where there are other people sleeping, and no-one wakes to show any interest in you at all. One of the soldiers accompanying you shows you to a bed and indicates that you are to sleep there. It has already been made up with blankets and sheets, and there is a small bedside lamp lit which indicates they were expecting you.

He advises you that there is bathroom at the end of the room, and that you are to use it and then sleep. You are not to attempt to leave the dormitory. Someone will come for you in the morning.

He leaves, and you are left in this small pool of light. You carefully pick your way over to the bathroom, closing the door behind you and feeling for a light switch. You are worried about being in there for too long so you are quick, and then make your way back to the bed.

You are sure you are not going to sleep, Your thoughts are all over the place. This morning you were a nurse working at the local hospital, and now you are a nurse working God knows where again. You are so tired and frightened by now that all you can do is curl up into a small ball and without any more thought, you unexpectedly fall asleep.

This has always been your mind's way of protecting itself.

*

Over the next 24 hours you learn you are there to look after one patient. The eight other people in the dormitory are a mixture of nurses and orderlies, men and women sharing the same space. You will work in an eight hour rotation with them. They seem to be an unfriendly bunch, and you cannot imagine trusting any of them.

One of the nurses gleefully tells you that the patient has already killed an orderly who was helping to take his blood. As soon as you press her to tell you more she is told to shut up by the other nurses.

“Let her find out about the pig animal for herself,” they say.

She shuts up and refuses to say any more, but at least you have learnt that the patient is male.

One of the orderlies, a young man you hadn't noticed until now, tells you softly not to worry. Whilst he is not over friendly, he is also not unfriendly, and you nod your thanks to him.

Over the course of the day you are initiated into the running of the complex below the camp, and where and what you can do. It is deeply impressed on you what you cannot do and where you cannot go. You are given a shift rota but told that you may be needed to work out of the rotation if the doctors require it, because you are mainly here for your ability to act as a translator.

You are given clothes and footwear, told where to eat, how to order anything you need for personal use, where to wash your clothes, all the mundane living arrangements.

It is made more than obvious that it is a permanent situation and you realise that most of the time, if not all of the time, you will spend underground.

That night you are exhausted. It is the stress of the situation and the realisation that you are so totally alone.

Your duties are to start the following day.

You know nothing of the patient you are going to meet, except that he is male and a killer. You do not even really know what is expected of you. Your basic duties were explained to you - you are to look after this one patient, but you are not told who it is or what is wrong with him, although you ask. There is a terrible secrecy surrounding him and you are nervous of pushing to find out any more as it is obvious your life is worth nothing to them. You can always be replaced.

That night, when you are in your bed listening to the snores of the others, you cannot sleep. You feel sick, frightened, what if you do something wrong and do not know? What if you end up somewhere you are not supposed to go? You know your fears are probably worse than they are because of the uncertainty, that by this time tomorrow you should know so much more. If the patient is so dangerous and has killed, will he kill you? What is wrong with him? Why does he need a nursing staff? Who is he?

And your mind asks the most important question at last. Does it really matter? Does it really matter if I die?'

You already know the answer to that.

No, it doesn't matter. Anything has to to be better than the state of suspension you had been living in since you came home.

Anything.

Or so you thought.  

Chapter Text

 Part One

The Nurse - The Patient.

In the morning you dress in your new uniform. It is not like any of your previous nursing uniforms. They have issued you with three of them so that one can be worn whilst one is cleaned, leaving one spare. It is light khaki in colour, styled like a dress coat: buttons all the way down the front, short sleeves, an elastic belt around the middle, a small top pocket, and two pockets lower down. It is to be worn with stockings. There is no hat, but you are told to keep your plait bound up tightly or you will need to cut it off.

At least the two pairs of shoes you have been issued are comfortable.

For when you are not on duty, you are to wear one of your three khaki coloured blouses with a black skirt.

Someone shows you a store cupboard in the dormitory where you can get clean bed linen and towels. They issue you with a set of toiletries. When you have used them up you are to see one of the store masters and swap the old bottles for a new set. They warn you, no old container - no swaps.

Although there is a place to wash clothes yourself, you are also told about the laundry services that run on the camp and how to send your clothes, bedding and anything else in to there. You are told where the canteen is. All food and drinks are free and the canteen is open 24 hours to cover all shifts, it is for everyone, nursing staff, guards, doctors alike. You are then instructed where to put any garbage you want to dispose of.

All of this is restricted to those working in this part of the complex only - in other words those underground.

There are more rules here than you can take in.

You are then handed over to a guard. He hands you a pass and tells you that you must have it with you at all times. It has your photograph on it, which amazes you - where did they get that from?

You clip it to the outside of your top pocket.

The rules get more serious at this point.

He runs over security issues with you. You are not allowed to contact anyone above ground, or use any of the external communication posts. If you feel you have a need to contact someone then you must talk to your supervisor. You ask who that is, but the question is ignored. You will find out later that you do not really have one. The work here is secret, and you are only allowed to discuss any issues concerning the patient with the doctors, or - if need be - fellow staff, or the guards directly working with you.

Do you understand?

He then instructs you of where you can go. Where your pass with allow you. The floor you are on is the second floor down and contains your dormitory, the canteen, and other services. Your work will be done mostly on the third floor and this is a totally restricted area.

Do not expect to ever go to either the first floor or the surface.

Do you understand?

You are never to talk to the patient unless the doctor asks you to, or in the rare case of an emergency. You are here to translate and provide nursing care. All procedures are decided on by the doctors. They are your first port of call if there is a problem.

Do you understand?

If he asks you one more time you may scream.

If the patient asks you to do something or contact someone for him, you are to tell one of the doctors immediately. You will never do anything that the patients asks.

Failure to obey any of these rules means death. Do you understand?

You nod, then stutter “Yes.” You ask if the patient has a name but the guard looks at you blankly, then looks away. “He has no name and you will not address him by one. He is no one. It is important you understand this,” he says, and that is the end of the conversation.

So, all you know still is that the patient is male and speaks English.

You are taken to another elevator and travel down to what seems to be the same set up as the floor above. Turning right, a guard allows you both through the gate and further down into a long curving corridor which looks the same as the one above. Bare concrete. Your footsteps ring on the cold stone floor. You see several numbered doors. Everything down here is dirty, war torn. The place isn't kept very clean, and you look back at the floor when you realise some of the stains are dried blood. There are armed guards everywhere. Down here they have a different uniform to the normal Russian uniforms you are used to seeing above; they are all black, and at the top of each sleeve is an embroidered patch showing a distinctive red-tentacled monster design.

The design has also been stencilled onto every wall and door.

You slow your pace and take a better look at it, and immediately you wish you hadn't.

It reminds you of a monster you had once glimpsed as a child. Your father sometimes imported English story magazines from abroad. You were not supposed to look at them but one day you had looked through his latest issue, which featured a story by a British author called Lovecraft. There was a coloured drawing of the monster that he wrote about, Cthulhu. You have never forgotten that picture. It had caused you nightmares for weeks. You have a feeling this this new monster will too.

“What is that?” you can't help but ask the guard, and he frowns at you.

“Hydra,” he says, and carries on walking.

You look back at the design, confused. Another book your father owned was a volume of Greek Myths and Legends. It used to fascinate you as a child, and he would use it when teaching you to read. In there was a beast named Hydra, a large serpent who, to give it its due had many heads, but most certainly wasn't a red skulled monstrosity.

You hurry to catch up with the guard.

You reach another gate. The two guards look at you, rifles held firm, and the man you are with shows them your pass. They let you through. Things feel tenser, and you know you are reaching wherever it is he is taking you.

Your stomach starts to churn. Is your patient going to turn out to be a monster? Some freak of nature? Your mind runs riot with your imagination; they told you he has killed already, what if...? You clamp down hard on your thoughts.

Pull yourself together.

As you get nearer to your destination, you recognise a smell you hoped never to encounter again: the smell of burnt and diseased flesh. It is tinged with another smell you don’t quite recognise, but sets your teeth on edge.

Then you are taken through a set of double doors with no numbers. A board above the doors states it is the Main Room. Large RESTRICTED AREA notices are posted in red and black on each door. You pass through them and into a large room.

Without any further instructions, the guard leaves your side and leaves the room.

You stand there feeling lost, looking around. There seem to be a lot of people in the room, either at monitoring desks or walking around talking in groups. They wear off white coats that have seen better days. One man seems to have blood on the sleeve of his. Fresh red blood.

There is an annoying hum of electricity in the room and the murmur of voices, different accents all speaking Russian and all vying for attention. The light is bright, not just the lights on the ceiling but there are floor lamps lit, their light cantered on a space in the middle of the room where an empty table stands. Fresh blood speckles the surface, an empty hypodermic on the floor under it. A tray of tools lies next to it, scalpels, other things, bloodied, bits of black cotton, kidney shaped dishes with red stained water. A pair of what looks like leads with electrodes at the head of them carelessly thrown and in danger of slipping off the side of the table.

You do not recognise half the equipment in the room, but like any busy hospital there is paperwork, files spread about desks. You glance down at a file on a desk next to you but what you see makes no sense - graphs, figures - so you look away again.

One of the other nurses passes by you, nods, and leaves. You turn and watch her go. You thought she might have filled you in, tell you what you need to do - but obviously not. They are going to drop you in at the deep end.

There are three guards in here, all of whom raised their rifles slightly as you were brought into the room. They only relax when they see your uniform and see it is only the change of shift.

As you entered this Main Room you were aware of the terrible smells that are coming from it, electricity, vomit and burnt flesh. You breathe through your mouth until you get used to it. When you were exiting the lift, you thought you heard screaming coming from somewhere and somehow you know it was from here. You had hoped it was just your imagination, caused by the awful atmosphere of the place.

You turn again as movement catches your eye.

Then you see him.

Your patient.

Two guards are placing him on a trolley in the middle of the room. He is groaning. There is a group of doctors at a panel of instruments and one of them is instructing an orderly to take the patient back to his room. At first you do not realise who the patient is, but then a guard steps away and you are told to attend to him.

You walk closer, until you come to the head of the trolley, and the bottom drops out of your world.

What you see sickens you; the injuries inflicted and the awful look of pain on his face. His eyes are closed. His hair is long, down to his shoulders, matted, and filthy. His face is stubble, and his pallor is deadly grey. He is dressed in a soiled, torn hospital gown and part of his left arm is missing. The stump is crudely stitched with black thread and the damaged flesh puffy and infected; there is actually blood trickling from around the stitches, and scars stand out against the pale flesh. His bones stand out, from what you can see there is no spare flesh on him - yet strangely, he does not appear to be as emaciated as you would think. All he is wearing is the filthy hospital gown. On his body, arms and the side of his face are varied burns, bruises and other wounds some of which are open and weeping, and you realise this is one of the sources of the terrible smells in the lab.

But, what is more gut wrenching to you, is that you know this man.

It is the American, Your American. The one you saved, and then could not protect. The one whose dog tags even now are hidden under the floorboards in your parents house.

It is James Barnes.

Your eyes widen. You feel dizzy and suddenly very hot. The room is airless and you reach out to steady yourself. No, it can't be him, it can't be. Your stomach rolls and you can't help but gasp.

His eyes open when he hears the noise you make and you wish they hadn't. They are hollow, pale and empty. You cannot even see the pain he must be in reflected in them. He doesn't look at you, he doesn't even know you are there, he has the thousand-yard stare of broken soldiers everywhere. His eyes close again.

All these years you had thought him either dead or, sometimes with hope, repatriated home as a POW after the war ended. Back where he belongs.

But no, he is here. Tortured and experimented on, all this time. It has been so long and the awful thought in your mind is, it is your fault, why didn't you let him die? Why didn't you fight more when they took him? Why didn't you...

“Is there a problem, Nurse?” asks one of the doctors.

You drag your eyes away from the patient and look at him. A guard tenses and shifts his stance, his finger on the trigger of his gun tightens and you swallow.

Concentrate.

You shake your head no. “No problem” you say.

Do they know you have met him before? Do they know about his time in the field hospital when you attended him when he was first dragged there? Is this a game or just a horrible coincidence?

The doctor looks at you for a moment and then you are dismissed from his mind. You are just the next in a line of nurses that has been assigned to this project, and he won't even remember you. You are not important. You are small and insignificant, a cog in the machine marching on Hydra's orders.

The orderly is the young man who told you not to worry on your first night. He tells you that you are going with him and the patient. He seems to realise that you have had a shock but you don't see this at the time. You try to concentrate on what he is telling you, but you keep looking at the man on the trolley.

At James Barnes.

You follow him as he takes the patient back to his room, a guard follows. As you help manoeuvre the trolley down the corridor you can't take your eyes away from James. At one point when the trolley bumps over something he groans and you reach out to touch him but hesitate, and then withdraw your hand. If you touch him, it would make it real and you so badly want to think it is just a nightmare, that it can't be real, can't be true.

You stop outside of a room and the guard joins another one and remains outside. You help wheel the trolley inside and stop. The orderly goes to move the trolley to put the patient in the bed but you stop him.

The whole room is filthy and smells disgusting. There are no windows you can open, although there does appear to be some type of air conditioning in the corridors. Garbage and detritus lies everywhere. You look around. There is a table and chair: the table covered in papers, charts, pencils, half eaten plates of food, a partially filled jug of water and a cup.

A cabinet stands empty in the corner: one door missing and on the top bowls of what looks like liquidised food, some dried, some mouldy, a fly feeding off one of them. An old trolley stands in the other corner with what looks like old syringes, packets torn open, needles - some broken, used bandages, smears of blood, and other things you don't want to think about.

You look at the bed and swallow. It is the main source of the smell. The sheets are grey, encrusted with filth and God knows what. You can see that it has never been cleaned, never been made. You can't describe it, you have never seen anything like it. You go over and pick up the sheets and blankets and close your eyes. Faeces and urine matted into the sheets, blood and even skin.

On the sides attached to the bed are heavy buckled leather straps ingrained with blood.

The orderly watches her. He doesn't know what to say. How does he explain?

He sees her jaw tighten as she looks at the bed, sees her hands clench. She turns to look back at him and he sees a look in her eyes and he knows it is trouble.

“I am not putting him back in there. His wounds need seeing to. He needs cleaning...just...what the hell...” You stop, look around the room and then back at him. “Why?” you ask finally, it is all you can say and he knows what you are asking.

You are horrified. The patient is a human being, and you wouldn't let an animal suffer the way he is suffering. The orderly takes your arm and makes you look at him and tries to explain, tries to tell you this is the way it is. He tells you that the main group of nurses, some of the guards and all of the orderlies are convicts taken out of prisons, that most don't even have medical training. They know they are lucky to be here, and they will not risk that for anyone. If you make waves you will disappear.

You ask if that was meant to be a threat.

“No,” he says. “I'm just trying to tell you what its like here.”

You take a long look at him. He is not the type to make threats. You see a simple human being just trying to survive - but caring enough to warn you so you can survive too.

“What about you?” you ask.

“I too am from prison, I killed a man.”

“Why?”

“He raped my sister. But he was high up in the Sovnarkom and they didn't want to know what he had done. My sister killed herself out of shame.”

You nod. You understand. You know how the world works.

“What did you do?” he asks.

“I didn't do anything. I'm a nurse, and my crime seems to be that I speak English. They wanted someone who can communicate with the patient and I seem to have gotten the job.“

You look around the room again, and then at your patient, and then back at the orderly.

Thank God I did you think to yourself, the realisation of the situation dawning on you.

“Listen, I won't ask you to put yourself at risk, but this is my patient and I will treat him with respect and dignity. All I ask is that when you are working with me you do the same.”

A silent agreement passes between the two of you.

“What would you like me to do?” he asks.

“Where is the nearest bathroom and toilet?”

“Down the corridor. He wouldn't make it, its too far.”

“So...” you were going to ask what they do when he needs to urinate but it has all just clicked; they do nothing. “What about bed pans, supplies...”

“There are several cupboards full of things, sheets, items like that, but they are never used. Anything that can be pilfered is, but these things are not of interest. I can see what there is and bring it back for you.”

You give him a verbal list of things you want him to fetch: clean sheets, towels, blankets, pillows and can he find someone to help him carry something.

“Wait. What pain medication does he have?”

The orderly's eyes grow wide, and he shakes his head. “None, he is prescribed morphine but...it is of value so...” he shrugs “the black market,” he doesn't need to say any more.

You look down at the floor. You breathe deeply. You then look up at him.

“Could you at least get hold of... I don't know, some phenacetin? Anything we can give him whilst we wash him.”

Stefan actually smiles.“Leave it to me.” This is something he can actually help you with, he appears to know just where and who to ask.

After he leaves, you take one of the pillows and turn it to the least filthy side to place under James' head. You get the cup and jug of water on the desk and try to wipe it as clean as you can and empty some of the water into it. You take it over to the trolley.

No one is with you for those few short moments. You speak to him, keeping your voice low, and you can hear the tremor in it. You know what they told you but you need to talk to him, you need to say his name.

“James, I need you to drink some water.” You slide your hand under his neck as he looks at the cup. You can see the thirst in his eyes, and he grabs your hand to drink, closing his eyes as the water spills into his mouth. You want to say more, you want to ask him how he came to be here, you want to tell him how sorry you are, but you hear voices in the corridor.

Instead you put the cup down and tell him you are going to clean him and remake his bed.

The orderly comes in loaded with items and a guard follows.

The guard looks at you and moves closer. You tell him what you want him to do and expect an argument but instead he studies you and then nods. You have asked him to fetch one of the unused mattresses from the dormitory you are sleeping in and some clean pillows. Meanwhile could someone get rid of the mattress currently in the room? You are used to talking to soldiers. It is going to take you a while to learn who is who, but you think you can already trust the orderly with you: if he chose this guard then you feel you can trust him too.

You pray you are right.

When the guard has left, the orderly passes you a small envelope with white pills in. You recognise them. Phenacetin, you have given out many in your lifetime. They some times have side effects, but in this instance it is the only option you have and somehow you think they will be the least of James' problems.

The orderly leaves to catch up with the guard. You return to James and, taking up the water again, you persuade him to take three of the tablets. They will take time to work and only be of a small help but it is all you have to give him. You put the rest in your pocket for later. He is so tired he barely takes in what is happening.

The men return with a clean mattress. Whilst they see to the bed, you slip out of the room and head in the same direction they went, on a mission of your own. You are worried that it may take a while but your fears are unfounded. You have a moments hesitation as you approach the gate but your pass gets you past the guards.

You head back to your dormitory and you pray there is no one there, for once someone is on your side, the room is empty. You disappear into the bathroom where you take your toothbrush and tube of Kalodont, then you pilfer soap and shampoo, a brush, scissors and anything else you can get your hands on. You also find a jug and a clean cup. Nowhere in the many rules you were given did it say you couldn't borrow or steal. On your way out you take two of the soft flannelette sheets from the dormitory store cupboard.

Reaching the third floor again you find another trolley and bowls, which you fill with warm water from the shower room down the corridor from the patient's room. Not very sterile but better than nothing.

You make your way back to the patient's room and put the trolley next to the one James is on.

You look at him, and he actually puts his hand out to touch you. The look he gives you is heart breaking. You put your hand over his and then reach out and touch his cheek.

You lay James' hand back down on the trolley, trying to smile at him. You have tears in your eyes and to cover this, you take up the new jug and pour him some fresh water. You help him drink from it again. His eyes don't leave you.

You think he recognises you, but you can't be sure. You cannot ask him with so many people in and out of the room, you cannot open up a line of communication with him unless you can prove it is to do with his care. You will be of no use to him if you are caught and removed before you can do any good.

Your feelings well up. You want to protect him, take him away from here, make him well. The orderly coughs behind you and asks you a question, bringing you back down to earth.

You go back over to the bed and instruct the orderly on how you want the new bed made up. It looks as though he is going to argue with you and you know what he is going to say: it is a waste of time, as soon as your shift ends things will go back to what they were, no one else will clean the bed, clean the patient. But you just look at him and he turns to do what you have asked. You are hoping a combination of a rubber sheet and several blankets will absorb any mess and then these you can get rid of when you are next on duty. It may help keep the new mattress clean.

You also ask him to see if he can clean up the leather restraints. You know he won't be able to get the blood out but at least he can get some of the sticky residue off.

Before you go back to James you take a moment to ask the orderly quietly what his name is.

He smiles at you and actually holds out his hand to shake yours.

“Stefan...Stefan Yegorov.”

You take his hand.

“Freya Bowman,” you say.

You have made your first friend.

“Freya,” Stefan whispers and you look at him. The older guard has left the room but there are still the two stationed outside.

“You know him, don't you? I heard you call him by a name.”

You look at him and he tries to smile again, but you see concern in his eyes.

You have to trust someone, so you nod.

“Be careful. Don't use his name when there are other people about, it will get you killed. We are not supposed to know anything about him.”

You nod again showing you understand, and then turn back to your patient. So much to think about. You are going to have to really watch your step.

“When you have finished could you give me a hand to clean him?” you ask, and Stefan nods.

You are on auto pilot now. This is your patient. You are his nurse.

You touch James' shoulder and when you have his attention you tell him you are going to cut his hair and then bathe him.

You start to cut it at the back, it is matted almost like a blanket, greasy, filthy, thick with God knows what.

You need to cut out quite a bit and then when you have you brush through what is left. You leave his hair as long as you can but not so long that it will tangle so easily in the future. You remember how he had it when you first saw him, but you are not a hairdresser, you would have no idea on style. Looking at him now and remembering makes your stomach clench when you think about how long ago that was, how long that means he has been here.

As you begin to wet the hair the smell coming off it is terrible. You have checked his scalp and although there are scars you cannot see any open wounds so you use the pilfered shampoo; a little at a time, rinsing and washing, then massaging his scalp watching as his body slowly begins to relax, his eyes close.

Stefan comes over and asks you if you want him to shave the patient, you nod.

“I thought he would be bearded,” you say.

Stefan shakes his head. “One of the things the doctors insist on, keeping him more or less shaved, I don't know why, maybe they think it is civilised,” he shrugs his shoulders.

When he has finished you wash James' face and neck. You wipe carefully around his closed eyes. You clean up a sore point on the side of his head where you think may have used some type of electrodes. His ears have obviously bled at some point, and you are as careful as you can be to clean them.

You then move him slightly and put one of the new pillows under his head.

At first you think James has fallen asleep, but then you realise he has opened his eyes and is looking at you. Those beautiful blue eyes, full of so much pain.

You pick up the scissors again and gently touch the hospital gown.

“I need to cut this away to see to your wounds. Is that all right?” you ask, and you see panic in his eyes.

He actually brings his hand up and puts his arm across the dirty gown to stop you.

“I need to do this to help you. I need to get you clean.” You lay your hand on his shoulder and he tries to say something to you but his voice is so quiet you can't hear what he says. He closes his eyes briefly then you watch as he tries to talk again.

“I'm dirty,” he says - his voice full of shame which makes you want to sob.

You take his hand. “I know, but it's not your fault. This will help you feel better. Let me, if it hurts just tell me to stop and I promise I will until you are ready again, I won't do anything you don't want me to.” You will not violate his privacy, you will wait for him to agree, to give his permission.

He does. But he turns his head away from you and closes his eyes.

You cut away the gown, each inch of flesh reveals what he has been through. You see so many different wounds, festering flesh, scars you remember - but so many new ones. What have they been doing to him? Burns, patches of skin trying to grow over diseased flesh. You can feel the heat coming from him more as the gown comes away. You remember that strange heat from the field hospital. You could see the lower part of his legs before and the sores but now you try not to react to the top of his legs, to the mess around his genitals.

Quickly, you grab up a sheet and lay it over the bottom half of his body.

Your hands are trembling. You feel sick. You need to calm down; you need to be here for him, to help him. You have seen bad wounds before but this is torture, it can be nothing else. Nothing makes sense.

Why would they be torturing him after all this time?

Stefan and the guard have come back in and you look at them trying not to let them see the tears in your eyes, the shock on your face.

“Do you have an infirmary here?” you ask the guard and he nods.

“I need you to go there and ask the camp doctor if he can let you have some things.” You are writing something down on a scrap of paper as you talk.

You look up and he is studying you again.

“Do you want me to show you why I need them?” you ask, and he sees the determined look in your eyes. He doesn't say anything but holds his hand out for the paper.

You have asked for salves for bed sores, creams for open wounds, sterile bandages, saline solution, silk suture, needles, anything you think might help.

When he has gone you ask Stefan who the guard is.

“His name is Eduard Marinov,” he says.

“He seems decent?” your tone is questioning and Stefan nods.

“Not bad. He is Hydra but I think he is trustworthy, he's...helped me with the patient before,”

You nod, filing the name away for the future.

Stefan goes to change the water, and when he returns helps you tear the flannelette sheets up into cloths you can use. He looks at you and holds the sheets up grinning and you can't help but smile, he has guessed where you pilfered them from. He works on cleaning the grime on James' right arm, carefully working around the flesh still puffy from where the patient had previously hurt himself. He then moves on to his chest whilst you concentrate on the wounds on his belly.

As you clean each wound you ask Stefan what caused them. From that you learn some of the burns are from the machinery in the main room and some are from special batons carried by a few of the guards and most of the orderlies.

You notice Stefan doesn't carry one.

“What are they for? Surely not self defence! What on earth could Ja- he do to them in his state?”

“They are to ensure the co-operation of the patient,” he says as if by rote, “and to punish him when they feel he has done something wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Wetting the bed, screaming in pain. Freya, it is very...difficult here for him. They hate him, to them he is an Amerikanskiy svin'y, an American pig, no more. They have no compassion, they are murderers, thieves, worse.”

You look back down at what you are doing, your jaw clenching. Things will change. You won't allow this to continue even if you have to hurt someone yourself. You know you cannot stop this over night, it will take a while - but you will make sure you get into a position of trust and then this will stop.

There are old scars you recognise from the bullet wounds at the field camp, but also you have started to notice that some of the wounds are from where the skin has seemed to split open. Stefan tries to explain what he has seen, he talks quietly. It is to do with the liquid they inject into the patient and the doses of radiation, it seems to make the patient's bones grow and that splits the skin.

He doesn't understand it, and neither do you.

“I don”t understand. Is it torture? Is that what they are doing?”

Stefan glances at the door but there doesn't seem to be anyone that can hear them if they talk quietly.

“I don't think so. More...” he searches for the right word “experimentation. You feel the heat? That seems to mean his body is trying to repair itself but there are times when it seems to also be tearing him apart inside. I don't understand what they say but I think they are trying to...I don't know, improve his body somehow.” Stefan shrugs his shoulders to show his bewilderment.

You are quiet until your come to a scar on his belly that seems to be have been caused by a particularly nasty burn and has been operated on. “And this one?” It has healed but where the skin is thin and with the stress the patient's body is under, small strands of it have split open and become infected.

“He has tried to kill himself several times,” Stefan says quietly. He indicates James right arm, mixed in with needle marks and where the drip has been inserted is a scar showing a line of what looks like stitching, going from wrist to just below the arm pit.

“That,” he nods to the stomach wound, “he rammed a shock baton on full charge into his stomach. It burnt right through to his organs. He should have died, it was bad.” That is all Stefan needs to say for you to imagine the pain and torment. You clean his abdomen and feel James' body tense as you go slightly further down but you stop and for now that is as far as you go.

“Its all right James. We will try not to hurt you.” You gently stroke his forehead. You are building a picture of what life here is like and your heart goes out to him. He must have been in so much pain for so long. The doctors torturing him with their serums and experiments, the nursing staff taunting and torturing him for their entertainment. They are all as bad as each other and you feel a hatred for them all starting in your gut.

You turn your attention to one of the worst areas, his left arm. The end of the stub is sore and weeping, the black cotton is barely keeping the flesh together, its not even proper surgical suture. Stefan tells you that they are always opening the stub up and probing the area, sending electricity through it. Again he does not understand the thoughts behind the experiments he just knows that they make the patient scream so badly he is hoarse by the end of it. You clean around the area as much as you can, this is why you have asked for the saline solution, you need to clean the open wounds with it before you can dress them properly.

You don't know whether to replace the black cotton with the suture you have asked for if they are going to reopen the wound tomorrow. It may just cause more damage to try and mend it now. You begin to doubt your own ability, back in the field camp it was easier, there were always doctors on call and you were on automatic pilot, but now, now you are alone and you feel you have no one to ask for help. Stefan is good, does what you ask but he has no medical experience, none of the nursing staff do either, the doctors are more scientists than healers, who do you ask?

You are beginning to feel warm. It is not just the stuffiness of the room but the warmth coming from James' body. There is also a small ball of panic starting in your chest. Can you do this? What if you do the wrong thing and cause him more pain? You also want to ask Stefan more but you know you need to bide your time, too much at once and he may back away from you and you need to keep him on your side. You wipe your brow with your arm. Looking back at the stub of James' left arm how can you make sense of what is left of the skin. There is hardly any intact, the stitches in some places are holding nothing. You can see the bone, see that at the end of it there is hardly any marrow and there is a thin trickle of liquid indicating that what marrow there is, is infected.

For moment it feels like it is too much for you to handle.

“Stefan, you couldn't get some water for me to drink could you?” you ask, trying to buy time whilst you think and try to pull yourself together. When he comes back with a fresh cup you take a drink then you set to work. You will ask one of the doctors if it is possible in the future that they will allow you to sew the stub once they are finished, you can then use the proper suture.

You need to do his back next. You touch James' shoulder. He has been so quiet. A few times you have heard an indrawn breath and felt his body twitch as something stings or hurts so badly he can't help but move.

“How are you doing? We are going to turn you on your side so I can wash your back, is that all right?” you wait for him to nod and then with Stefan's help you turn him onto his right side.

There are bed sores on his shoulder blades and burns on his back. You deal with these first.

You turn your attention to the other marks you don't understand, striations which are not healing and keep pulling open. At first you think they are where the skin has split but they are so puffy, so infected.

You ask Stefan if he knows what caused them and his face flushes.

He looks away from you.“The others, they punished him.”

“Punished?”

“For killing the orderly.”

You don't say anything. He continues.

“They took him to the shower room, poured bleach over him and scrubbed at his skin with those hard bristled brooms, you know the ones? His back won't heal, I think it took the brunt of it.”

You close your eyes.

Bleach. They poured bleach on him.

You grit your teeth and when you look back at Stefan he can see murder in your eyes.

“How? How can the doctors let it happen? How can anyone be that cruel, that evil?”

He knows it is not really a question. “You can't do anything about it, you don't understand what it is like here. Listen to me, in a few days you will understand more. The doctors don't care how he is treated as long as they can do whatever it is they do to him. They never see him except when he is in the main room. The others, if they think you are causing trouble they will kill you. I am not exaggerating. ”

“Why did he kill the orderly?” you ask quietly, and you don't think Stefan is going to answer you.

“Stefan?”

“I'm not sure but I think the orderly and some guards...raped him, I don't know for sure, I wasn't there, I only overheard some things later.”

You say nothing. You don't trust yourself to.

You rinse the cloth and start to clean lower. The stench is awful and you breath through your nose. The food they give him must cause bouts of diarrhoea and it is never cleaned away properly. You soak the area, clean, soak the area, clean. You feel him flinch and for a moment you stop and put your hand on his shoulder. What must it be like at the front of his body? How are you going to clean him there? You begin again and clean as much as you can, the area is sore and you don't want to scrub but he is clean enough.

You pat the area dry and then fold and put a soft towel under there for now until you can dress some of the wounds. Stefan helps you move him onto his back just as the guard is returning.

He has everything you asked for and you thank him. He leaves, and you put the jars and other things on top of a towel you have laid out on the bedside cabinet. Stefan says he will change the water again. You need to tear up some more cloths, the ones you were using are no good any more.

Stefan returns and you are ready now to do the next part.

“James,” you say quietly and he opens his eyes.

“James I need to clean between your legs. I'm sorry but I have to.” You try to be as persuasive as you can because you know he doesn't want you to touch him there. His eyes widen and he shakes his head. No. He closes his eyes and again he lifts his hand and puts it over his body but this time he also tries to do the same with his left one and you see him flinch with the pain. He can't move it far enough and you feel so helpless as what is left of the arm moves but won't do what he wants to do, which is protect himself.

You breathe deeply. You take hold of the stub and gently lay it back down, keeping your hand lightly on it.

“James, there are sores on the inside of your thighs and around that area. They must be agony for you. I need to clean you. I'm a nurse, I've done this before, please let me help you, please trust me.” You watch as tears run from under his eye lids and your own eyes water, your throat thickens.

He is breathing fast, his nostrils flare and he keeps shaking his head no, making a terrible fretful noise that breaks your heart.

You turn to Stefan.

“Can you leave us alone?” you ask.

He hesitates, he is not supposed to leave you on your own with the patient when the patient is not restrained.

“Please, just outside the door?” you say quietly.

He nods and then leaves and as he walks out of the door he pulls it to, he dare not close it but for now it is as much privacy as he can give you.

“James I know you feel you can't trust anyone but you can trust me. I can see what they have done to you, I see the injuries, I'm a nurse, I have dealt with mens injuries before. Being clean will make you feel better, it will make you feel human again. I do understand please believe me...please trust me.”

You stroke his hair and wait.

He doesn't answer. You can see he is trying so hard not to sob. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling as tears roll down his face, you watch him gulp. You continue to stroke his hair, your other hand gently stroking the skin on the underside of his left arm, the only part of it not sliced open by the doctors. You let him cry. You watch his face, those beautiful blue eyes, the eyelashes against his pale skin. How can this have happened to him? It is all your fault. You should have let him die at the camp.

“I'm sorry,” he says just as in your mind you are saying those words to him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Then he is looking at you, he lifts his hand away from his body and tries to wipe his cheeks dry. You know he is letting you do what you need to do.

“I'll be as quick as I can. if you want me to stop just say.”

He closes his eyes as you place a sheet over his chest. His right hand clenches and you see him take a deep breath. You don't remove the bottom sheet but instead you push it up.

You swallow.

The whole area is red and swollen, blood and pus ooze from sores on the inside of his thighs and the smell is so bad you think you are going to vomit. His pubic hair is matted with faeces, dried urine, blood and pus. You turn away and soak a cloth in the bowl and then looking at him once more you move his left leg so it bends slightly away from you. You then do the same with his right leg bending it towards you.

The scissors are still on the trolley, you wish you had some way of sterilising them but you don't. Very carefully so you don't knick his skin you cut away the hair, you rinse your fingers in one of the bowls and use the cloth to gently clean the area. You can't cut the hair to close because you don't want the ends to aggravate the skin. You try to do this as fast as you can because you know he is struggling.

You clean the area moving downwards, gently holding his penis and testicles in your hand as you clean those. His whole body has tensed and his right hand is so clenched you know his finger nails will have broken the skin of his palm. You clean underneath, snipping away the hair until the whole area is clean. There are several sores which you will need to use cream on.

Then you begin to clean the inside of his thighs, skin actually sloughs off and you gulp. In your time as a nurse you can count on one hand how many times you have been sick in the course of dressing a patients wounds.

But this is so much more personal. This is James.

You breath through your nose. Don't be sick, you can do this.

You can hear his laboured breathing, there is no way the pain killers you gave him will help with this type of pain at all but he doesn't utter a word.

“I've nearly finished just bear with me for a few more minutes,” you say and go to fetch some salve. You put it on the wounds where you can and then straighten his legs. You pull the sheet over him and then wash your hands to give him time to compose himself.

You then move and place your hand on his shoulder but you do not say anything. He looks at you his eyes so wide, you can see the pain he is in, the humiliation he feels and there is nothing you can do to end it, what can you say? You have no idea of what he has gone through during the last few years, what has been done to him and you can't promise him an end to it. Your mind is still struggling with the shock of finding him here.

You are aware of voices out in the corridor and you know time has run out. You need to let Stefan back in before anyone starts to wonder why he isn't with you.

Stefan replaces the water for you and then you both clean the bottom of James' legs and his feet. You clip his toe nails trying not to cut the skin where they have grown long and almost into the ends of the toes themselves. It reminds you to check the nails on his right hand and you return to it now and slowly get him to unclench it. The nails there are jagged and you smooth them off and then wash his palm where they have sliced into the skin, you add some salve. Is there anywhere on his poor body that there is not an injury?

“We just need to add some salve to your back and then we're finished and we can let you sleep.”

You and Stefan are as quick as you can be and then you finish up by dressing him in a clean gown. He is finished, his skin pale, black bags under his eyes and he looks so tired but he tries to smile. It is one of the saddest things you have ever seen.

Before you move him to the bed you get a glass of clean water, a dish and your toothbrush and Kalodont. You help him to sit up on the trolley. Stefan keeps his hand in the middle of James' back to help him stay up.

“You don't mind us sharing do you?” And you hold the things up for James to see. Such a small thing but it nearly undoes him and you pretend not to notice whilst you squeeze some of the toothpaste onto the toothbrush and give it to him to clean his teeth with.

“Spit into here.” You indicate the bowl and he brushes using the glass of water. Afterwards you tuck the brush and paste into your pocket so you don't forget to take it back with you.

“Clean,” he mumbles.

“Clean,” you agree.

You give him some more water to drink and then move him into the bed. He tries to help you, wincing as his body touches the mattress.

“Stefan what do we do about his meals?” you ask and Stefan gestures to the bowls on the side. You walk over and look at them, your nose curling at the smell.

“Jesus,” you whisper.

“We are supposed to give him a bowl twice a day but, he doesn't eat it and so they leave it until the next day, or the one after that, even when its new its usually cold and...” he stops.

“And?”

“And they show him when they spit in it and then try to make him eat it...it just makes him vomit, gives him diarrhoea....” Stefan looks at the patient and then back at you “I honesty don't know sometimes how he survives on the little he eats and that is only because they...” he ducks his head “...force feed him.”

You own stomach heaves and you hear a noise, you both turn and James is trying to say no. There is panic in his eyes, he thinks you are going to make him eat it.

“Too tired, not hungry,” he tries to tell you. You return to his bedside. He is shaking his head and you pat his shoulder. “You don't have to eat it, we won't make you I promise.” You will worry about food later. You need to get him on the drip, you need to let him sleep, he is exhausted.

You do not strap him down. He is in no fit state to move yet alone try and escape.

“The morphine, where is it normally kept?” you ask Stefan.

He blushes, and you know he knows where there is a supply. “Wait a moment,” you say.

You start the saline solution drip for hydration and then ask him to show you where the morphine is kept. You tell James you will be back and then you and Stefan head to where the morphine is filched from. There is a supply that hasn't been taken yet so you take well over half of it and work out a place with him that you can keep it hidden so you can use it when you are on duty.

You take some back with you and inject it into the drip.

Although James is so tired, you can see from the way his body is tensed, the uneven way he is breathing he is in a lot of pain and you know the moment the morphine hits his bloodstream and you see his body begin to relax. Stefan goes to use the restraints attached to the bed but you tell him they will not be necessary. From the marks and scarring on the patients upper arms you can tell how tight the restraints have been kept in the past.

He hesitates. “But it is a rule.”

“I can imagine. We need to let him sleep on his side to take pressure of those sores, if anyone asks just tell them that is what I said, its a legitimate reason.”

You touch James' shoulder.

“James, later I will need to put the straps on but for now I want you to move onto your left side, is that all right with you?”

He can barely open his eyes, but he nods - and you and Stefan move him over making sure that his left arm is not trapped under him. His right arm you leave settled over his chest so the drip can continue to feed its much needed contents into his body.

You turn and look around the room.

“Can you get some bags we can use to put all this rubbish in?” you ask Stefan.

“I can do more than that, I can get a cup of something hot to drink as well,” Stefan smiles at you and you burst into tears which startles both you and him.

“Hey...hey its not that bad,” he tries to joke, patting you on the shoulder.

You are crying quietly. You don't want to wake James. You had no idea you were going to cry and you find it difficult to speak. Stefan pats his pockets and then turns and grabs a piece of the flannelette cloth you haven't used and hands it to you.

You nod your thanks and try to pull yourself together.

“Back in a moment,” he smiles at you, and leaves the room.

As you dry your eyes, you begin to walk around the room picking up rubbish and debris and putting it all in a pile. The last few days have been hard for you, but not as hard as finding James here. By the time Stefan returns with the bags and the promised hot drink, you are more yourself and you both start putting everything you can find into the bags. Stefan wheels the trolleys out and then returns with one of them and fresh water and you both clean down as many surfaces as you can. By the time you are finished you are both in need of a rest.

The room does not look much better but it is cleaner. All the food, dishes and rubbish have been placed in the sacks and Stefan will wheel them to the incinerator room later. But for now you both sit quietly, both keeping your thoughts to yourselves. You realise that Stefan is one of those people who other people find relaxing to be with. There is no pressure in his company and you feel he is going to make a good friend.

You look over at James. He has pulled his legs up and is curled up on his side. His face looks relaxed, his hair shorter, cleaner but you know what his hospital gown and the blankets are hiding.

Stefan looks at his watch. It is 3pm already, you have both missed lunch. You tell him you are not hungry and to go ahead and get something, you will work through the paperwork on the table. Stefan looks over at James and you know he is worried about leaving you alone as James is not strapped down, but he can see he is out for the count. There is certainly no danger of anything happening. He promises to come back and relieve you at 4pm to give you a chance to eat and stretch your legs.

You go over to the table and chair and sit down. Paperwork is strewn on the top the desk and before he goes he shows you the charts you are to complete and the regular checks you are expected to make, some make sense, some do not - but you pay attention, you don’t want to get anything wrong.

The next hour goes quietly. You check James regularly and you can see that his sleep is deep and he doesn't seem to be dreaming. To see him this way hurts so much and inside you feel sick. Every so often one of the guards outside the room checks in with you. The door is left open so if any problems arise they will hear immediately.

At 4pm Stefan reappears to cover for you and then half an hour later you are back in the room. You had no appetite, you could not eat so you bring a mug of hot soup back with you to keep you going. Stefan takes the opportunity to start taking the rubbish you have both piled outside the door away.

You look at the warm soup. You don't think you could stomach it, not after what you have seen today, but when you smell the soup you suddenly think of James. The soup is minestrone and you know the taste is good, perhaps you can get him to drink some of it.

You put the soup on the side table next to the bed and also pour a fresh cup of water. Then gently you put your hand on his shoulder and shake him.

“James.” You keep your voice quiet and level so as not to scare him but you still see utter panic when his eyes open. He trembles and you can see his breathing start to hitch.

“Its all right...its all right,” you try to reassure him. When he sees it's you the panic begins to leave and instead he tries to smile.

“I thought I dreamt you,” he says, his voice barely makes a sound. You help him move, help him to sit up making sure the drip stays disentangled and his left arm is comfortable.

You smile and move to sit on the bed reaching out to stroke some hair away from his eyes.

“I have some soup I would like you to try and drink.”

Wariness creeps into is eyes.

“Its part of my lunch, not...not what they usually give you.”

You pick up the mug and hold it so he can see and smell it. He doesn't say anything but you actually hear his stomach gurgle.

“Sign of approval,” and you laugh, you can't help it. “Minestrone.”

He still just looks at it so you take a sip and then offer it to him. He hesitantly reaches for it and you help him until he then moves forward and sips from the mug. His eyes close and when you tilt the mug away you can see he has taken some.

“Nice?” you ask.

In response he moves your hand forward again and drinks some more. It takes him a while but he drinks all of it and whilst doing so Stefan comes back in and sees what you are doing. He doesn't say anything.

When James has finished he sits back against the bed, pale, but his cheeks are flushed. You know there is a chance he may bring it all back up again but he needs to take in food and you don't know how else to get him to eat.

“Water?” you ask and you help him drink, warning him not to take too much on top of the soup.

You have less than an hour of your shift left and you know when the next nurse comes on duty James will need to be strapped in. You hate the idea but you know it has to be that way. You have to obey the rules until you settle in, until they learn to trust you and then you can start trying to change things permanently.

“I'm sorry but I'll have to put the straps back on,” you say.

He looks away from you. But nods, he understands.

“Before we do though do you need to relieve yourself?” You are ever the nurse and he turns to look at you again, wide eyed, and then looks down at the bed clothes. “I can't take you to the toilet. I don't think you would make it but we do have....” You see his embarrassment and think fast “....a bedpan Stefan can help you with,” you finish up.

For a moment he doesn't move but then he looks back at you and tries to smile and all you want to do is reach over and hug him.

Instead you stand up and turn to Stefan.

“Is that all right?” you ask.“I'll wait outside,” you add and with that you quickly leave the room. You have helped hundreds of bedridden men pee in your time, but this one needs to start having his dignity given back to him and if you can, you will in any way possible.

After they finish, Stefan helps you strap James down but you keep the bindings loose. You know the next nurse will tighten them and it breaks your heart.

James is one step away from being asleep. You change the IV bag and inject another does of morphine into the drip.

“I won't be here when you wake but I will be back. I promise,” you tell him and you are not sure if he has taken in what you are saying as within seconds he is asleep again.

At the end of your shift another nurse comes to takes your place. She immediately sees the clean room, the clean bed, and bristles, her mouth tightens - but before you can say anything the older guard that helped you earlier walks in. He is angry, annoyed and tells both of you to come out into the corridor.

In front of the other guards, you both stand there and you listen in awe as he disciplines you both.

“I have had enough of spending my shift having to put up with the disgusting smell coming from the American's room so...” he points at you whilst looking at the other woman “...I have told this one I am not much pleased by it. I've had to spend all day telling her to clean him up, to clean the pigsty of a room before I will spend any more of my time in there.”

Neither of you move.

“Do you understand, or do I have to repeat myself?” he bellows and you both jump.

You both nod.

You can't believe it, he has covered for you and Stefan.

“I hope so!” he growls, and then dismisses you both, walking off down the corridor.

You exchange looks and the other woman laughs shakily.

“You should have seen him, he was apoplectic earlier!” you whisper consiprationally. “I thought he was going to have a heart attack.”

You are trying not to smile. She believes you, and more importantly she believes him.

You show her the paperwork you have filled in, but you can see she is not interested. She tells you that you will be called for if you are needed, and that you are dismissed until tomorrow. Suddenly nothing seems humorous any more. You want to stay, you want to tell her that if she hurts him in any way you will kill her, you don't want to leave James but you have to.

You have no option other than to return to the dormitory, tired, worn out, exhausted.

This morning you did not think anything could get any worse. You were so wrong.

When you reach the dormitory two woman are shouting at each other. Stefan is lying on his bunk and pretends to ignore you. You listen to the argument. One of the women is accusing the other of stealing her things, her shampoo, scissors, even her god-damn brush and you duck your head so they don't see you smile.

You are going to take a shower and then drop into bed and hopefully sleep. Those are your plans, but when the last light is turned out you are still awake, your eyes feel like they are full of grit, your stomach hurts. Thoughts are going around and around in your mind, thoughts of James in the field camp, thoughts of what has happened to him, of what Stefan has told you.

Below you somewhere is James. Is he awake? Is he in pain? You know the other nurse will have turned off the drip, will have tightened the straps.

Finally, exhausted, your mind cannot take any more. You curl up in the bed, and cry yourself to sleep quietly with your blanket stuffed in your mouth so the others do not hear you.

Part Two

James Barnes - The Patient

The doctors have been working on what remains of his left arm. The stub is causing problems. They keep reopening it to see if they can run electrical currents through it, and if so what nerves are sensitive to them.

Why? Why can't they just leave it alone? Why can't they just leave me alone? Please let them leave me alone, please God no more.

One of the doctors stitches the wound up with thick black cotton, not caring that the skin is splitting, or that not all of the flesh and bone is even covered. After all they will probably have to reopen it the next day. The marrow in the bone is degenerating faster than Zola's malfunctioning serum can repair it. Each time the probes are forced into the open bone, it causes agony for James but they take no notice. It is work that must be carried out.

Afterwards though, one of them may be kind enough to remember to ask the nurse to increase James' pain medication for that day. Of course, the nurses agree and nothing is done.

James is exhausted. He is lying on a table in the Main Room, praying they have finished with him for today. His nerves are torn to shreds, his bones ache, he has already vomited and he can smell the stink of the burns on his body. His skin itches like mad.

He tries to think of Steve and home. He closes his eyes and tries to pretend the noises around him are of elsewhere. Tries to pretend that the left hand he does not have any more isn't hurting so much he wants to tear it off. Doesn't want to see the flesh sewn and puffy from the latest round of tests. He has stopped asking why they are so concerned with the stump, why they won't leave it alone. They never answer him, they don't even know or care what it is he is begging them about.

Two guards jostle him as they move him from the table to the trolley and he can't help but groan as the pain shoots through him. They have not done it deliberately - to these guards, he is dead meat. They wrinkle their noses at the smell of him and move away to allow the new nurse access. James keeps his eyes closed. He has seen enough for today, he doesn't want to think any more, doesn't want to have to take any more deep breathes. Doesn't want to grit his teeth to stop himself from crying out and begging them to stop.

He hears someone gasp and opens his eyes, but doesn't see the new nurse; she is behind him. He is still desperately trying to lose himself anywhere but here. His eyes have a thousand-yard stare, they see nothing.

Stefan looks at the new nurse. He is sure he saw a flash of something in her eyes when she saw the patient. Maybe it is just the state of him, the open wounds, the smell of his burnt flesh. Maybe it is just horror and pity. He is hoping this new nurse will help the patient. She knows the English language and seems different from the other staff. There is compassion in her eyes.

Her gaze does not leave the patient all the way back to the room. There is such shock in them. It is as if someone has taken her world and smashed it to pieces. She has gone pale and he can see she is breathing rapidly. She put her hand out once to touch the American and then hesitated and withdrew it, but not before he saw how her hand was trembling.

When they get back to the room, James is aware that the nurse and orderly are talking in low voices. She sounds familiar but he is too tired to wonder why. As they talk, the tone of her voice grows angry and he starts to worry. Has he done something wrong? Is he about to be punished? Please don't use the baton, he prays.

Instead of being transferred to the bed he is kept on the trolley and he feels it moved to the side of the room and a pillow is placed gently under his head. He opens his eyes and sees her. She is talking and he doesn't know the words are directed at him until he realises he understands them. That accent, those words, he knows them. He has heard her talk before but his mind cannot keep hold of the thought.

“James, I need you to drink some water,” her voice is quiet, gentle. She bends over him and as he looks at her she gently slips her hand under his neck to help him so he can drink from the cup she is holding.

Those eyes, he knows them. He has seen them before.

She helps him to drink. The water is a godsend, cool. She then puts the cup down.

“We're going to change the bed first and then I'll try and clean you up a bit.” She tries to smile at him but he can see pain and tears in her eyes. She turns away as the orderly comes back into the room piled high with clean sheets, pillows, blankets and a guard in tow.

James knows her. He is sure he does, and she called him by his name.

Then he sees it.

Scooped up at the back but just as long as before. The thick blond plait. She is the nurse from the field camp. He swallows, and for the first time he feels a small amount of hope. He struggles to keep his eyes open and focused as she comes back to him and touches his shoulder.

“Can you take these for me? They may help with the pain.” She helps him drink again and gives him tablets to swallow. She makes sure they have gone down before allowing him to lie back down. His body is aching. He wants to talk to her but she moves away saying “I won't be a minute,” and then he watches as she leaves the room after talking with the guard.

Whilst she is away, Stefan and the guard remove the bedding and the mattress. He can smell it from where he lies. Months of dirt, urine and worse. The guard is the older one from before and he takes it in his stride and makes no comment.

Two more guards come in carrying a clean mattress. They lay it down on the bed frame before glancing at him, a look of shock on their faces as they leave. He gulps, what were they thinking? Looking at the freak, looking at the coward? Because that is how he sees himself.

They are not thinking that. These guards are Russian ex-soldiers. They are not from the Gulag and are not usually on duty here so this is the first time they have seen what is happening. They are horrified at the state of him. At what is being done.

The nurse returns with another smaller trolley, it has several bowls of water, cloths and a jug. She manoeuvres it so it is next to him.

He reaches out to touch her, suddenly unsure if she is real or not. It stops her in her tracks. He watches her bite her lip, he does not know of the feelings that are over whelming her. She gently runs her hand down his cheek and again tries to smile at him. There are tears threatening in her eyes. She pours some of the fresh water from the jug into the cup again and encourages him to drink.

Stefan watches and realises there is something there between them. She knows him that much is obvious. And he knows her.

“How do you want me to do this?” he asks, mainly to remind them that there are other people coming in and out of the room. The nurse starts and then moves away and over to the bed. She looks at what Stefan has brought with him. He is sure she is close to crying and is struggling. She clears her throat and pretends to look through what he has brought in.

“Rubber sheet. Then could you put several blankets over it, two sheets, then sheet and blankets. Its quite stuffy in here so I think he will be warm enough. Maybe fold a spare one over at the bottom of the bed just in case.”

“You know the others won't -”

She looks at him, her face hardening, and he stops mid-sentence.

He holds his hands up. “Okay.”

Whilst he works on the bed, she returns to the patient and James watches as she picks up a pair of scissors.

“I'm just going to cut some of the matted hair out. It won't hurt. I just need to move you slightly so I can get at it.” He feels her hands under his armpits as she helps him move up the trolley a bit and she uses the pillow to rest him on. As he moves he feels parts of his skin stretch and he bites his lip to stop from crying out. She is so gentle but he is so damaged that everything will hurt him.

She moves around the trolley he is laying on and he feels her hands, gentle on his head, and then the slight tug of the scissors as she starts to cut away his hair.

This is the first time it has been cut since he can remember. It is so long. It took a while to grow back after they had hacked it all off at the interrogation camp.

So how long have I been here? he thinks. The hair is filthy, matted, greasy and cutting it takes her a while. He closes his eyes, tries to breathe and just listen to the quietness around him, for the first time in a long time he feels a calmness in the room despite people moving around in it. When she has finished she uses a brush to comb out the hair left, careful not to tug at his scalp. Then she moves the trolley with the bowls and places several towels padded up around his shoulders, then one folded under his head.

James hears her rinse something in the bowl and then feels her hands stroking his hair downwards followed by the wet sponge. She moves the sponge downwards so that his hair is gently pulled away from his face. He feels her stop a few times and hears the snip of the scissors and then she starts again until he feels his hair is thoroughly wet. He can feel the warmth of the water on his scalp and he relaxes into her touch as she cleans his hair feeling her hands gently massage shampoo in. He breathes in the pleasant smell and has to clench his fist as he thinks briefly of home.

He hears the orderly come over to talk to her. Then whilst she finishes washing his hair, the orderly shaves the stubble of his face.

Next she gently wipes his face and neck, cleaning away months, maybe years of grime.

He has almost fallen asleep when it goes quiet and he opens his eyes. She has towel dried his hair and then removed the towels around his shoulders.

“Just get you more comfortable again.” She helps him move down and changes the pillow under his head.

“I need to cut this away to see...to see your wounds, is that all right?” she asks, and he realises she is talking about his gown.

His heart starts to hammer. He knows how he smells, he knows how dirty and unkempt his body is. He doesn't want her to see his body, doesn't want to because he feels ashamed. He can't help but clutch at the gown.

“I need to do this to help you, I need to help you get clean.” She lays her hand on his shoulder.

He tries to talk to her and she smiles at him but his voice is hoarse and not all of his words make sense. He closes his eyes and then opens them and tries again, trying to keep it simple so his fogged brain can cope with the words.

“I'm dirty.” His voice is rusty, full of the shame he feels.

She touches his cheek.

“I know, I know, but that's not your fault. This will help you feel better James. Please let me, if it hurts just tell me to stop and I will until you are ready again, I won't do anything you don't want me to.” She waits for him to nod, waits for his permission to touch his body and he gulps and then nods, closing his eyes and letting go of the material. He doesn't want to see her reaction to his body, to see what he thinks will be disgust in her eyes.

He feels her take the top of the gown and start to cut the material. She is quick; soon he is naked and he feels the air on his skin, but just as soon she covers his lower body with a sheet. Trying to give him as much dignity as she can.

He hears her move away and opens his eyes. She is talking quietly to both the orderly and the older guard, he watches as she writes something down and gives it to the guard and he leaves. He watches her, remembers her, the way she used to push her fringe away from her face and that long plait of hers, the softness of the hair curled up in it. Is she here to stay? Please don't let me be imaging this.

The orderly, Stefan, comes over and sees James looking at him. He tries to smile, and gestures to the dirty water and says something, but James doesn't understand. Then the nurse is back, holding a sheet that she starts to cut up to use as flannels. Stefan moves the trolley with the bowls of water out of the room but is not gone for long before he comes back with freshly filled ones. James wants to talk to the nurse but he senses they cannot talk with people around; the guard is looking in, and so instead he is content just to watch her move around. Always coming back to him, and always trying to smile at him although he can see she is hurting inside. Is that for me? he wonders.

The nurse and orderly stand each side of him and start rinsing the cloths and then they wipe them over his shoulders, down his right arm. The nurse works on his chest. They talk quietly and he listens to them. The language still sounds so strange; he thought he would be used to it by now but he isn't. They use a mild soap which helps with the more stubborn stains. He stares at the ceiling, tears pricking his eyes.

She leans over so he can see her, touches his shoulder gently.

“Try closing your eyes again,” she suggests, speaking to him in English, and moves a stray strand of hair from his forehead. He does. He lays there and concentrates on their hands, the feel of the cloths as they wipe away the dirt and the dried blood. He feels the care they take around his wounds. He hears Stefan leave the room several times whilst she continues to clean him, his chest, down to his navel and as her hands reach there he tenses, he can't help it.

“Its all right James. We'll try not to hurt you. Let us know if we do.”

Her attention turns to his left arm. He feels her fingers as they exam what has been done to it. Her touch is so light, so careful and gentle around the puffy flesh at the end. It stings and throbs but he tries not to make a noise. He wants to brave around her, wants to show her he is not totally defeated. Please help me God, please don't let me cry.

She exchanges words with the orderly, and he leaves the room for a moment. When he returns they go to start again. She touches his shoulder which is her way of saying she needs to speak with him, he looks up at her.

“We are going to turn you on your side so I can wash your back.” She waits for him to nod and then they help him turn. He feels the cloth glide over his shoulders, over his spine and then down over his buttocks. She tries to be as quick and as gentle she can but he knows there are open sores there and they sting as she tries to wipe of the dirt and worse. Don't think about it, he tells himself.

He listens as she talks to the orderly again. His replies seems to upset her. He can hear it in her voice. He wonders what it is they are saying.

When they move him back over she has placed a dry towel under him.

During this time the older guard has come back in, and after a brief word with the nurse gives her some jars and then leaves.

“James,” her voice is quiet and he opens his eyes. “James I need to...clean between your legs, I'm sorry but I need to.” She is trying to make it easy for him, trying to tell him it needs to be done. His eyes widen, his breathing hitches, his heart starts to beat faster and he shakes his head no. He can see she knew this would be his answer. He can't let her see what they have done, can't bear to see her disgust with him.

“There are sores on the inside of your thighs and around that area. They must be agony for you. I need to clean you. I'm a nurse, I've done this before, please let me help you, please.”

He closes his eyes still shaking his head, and he cannot help that he has started to cry. He tries so hard to stop. He hears her say something to the orderly and hears as he moves away. He doesn't want this woman to see the state of him, what he has been reduced to.

“James. I know you feel you can't trust anyone but you can trust me. I can see what they have done to you, I see the injuries, I'm a nurse, I have dealt with mens injuries before. Being clean will make you feel better, it will make you feel human again. I do understand please believe me...please trust me.” She strokes his hair.

He doesn't answer, feeling the sobs welling up. He can't do this any more, he can't cope. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling as tears roll down his face. What has he become?

She doesn't say anything more, she lets him cry her hand continues to stroke his hair. After what seems an age he feels himself start to calm. He tries to wipe his eyes, he feels so tired, his heart stops pounding and he looks at her.

“I'm sorry,” he chokes.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Her gaze shows that she means what she has said. There is so much compassion for him in their blueness.

Clenching his jaw, he finally nods and she knows he is letting her do what she needs to do.

“I'll be as fast as I can, if you want me to stop just say.” She makes sure he has understood before she moves away.

She fetches another sheet and this time lays it over his chest. He closes his eyes as he feels her push the other sheet up rather than take it away.

He realises there is only the two of them in the room. The door has been pulled to. He listens to her moving around, feels her cool hands on him, feels the cloth as she wipes him. She moves his legs and he tenses when he feels her hands on his genitals, she is being gentle but he can't help it. There is nothing sexual about it. She is as quick as she can be.

He clenches his right hand, digging his nails into his palm, concentrating on that pain but it doesn't stop the other pain from bleeding through. It hurts, it stings, the pain throbs deep down and makes him bite his lip. What is worse is the fact someone is seeing him like this. She is seeing him like it. What am I? What have I become? Tears prick his eyes again. Oh God, Steve help me, please help me. He doesn't even realise his mind begs for the help that will never arrive.

“I've nearly finished just bear with me for a few more minutes.”

He hears her walk away from the trolley, opens his eyes, and turns his head to watch her. She is getting one of the small jars the guard brought in, she sees him watching and shows him it.

“Salve, it should help. Then we just need to clean your legs and feet.”

When he feels the cream it is cold and stings but then he feels it start to soothe the hot skin. He feels cleaner. She moves the sheet back over his groin and then washes her hands in the water again and goes to the door.

He hears her say something and the orderly comes back in; he takes the bowls away to change the water and she gets some clean cloths and when he comes back they work on washing his legs and feet.

She uses the salve again on the back of his calves.

“We're just going to move you onto your side again for a moment so I can put some of this on your back. It won't be for long.” The orderly helps her move him again and he feels her apply it to his shoulder blades and then lower on his buttocks. He tenses as she applies the cream to the sensitive area, and she is quick so as to cause him as less discomfort and embarrassment as possible.

They move him back. She washes her hands and applies some to the wounds on his chest. She asks the orderly to rub some other cream into the scar on his right arm where he tried to kill himself. He listens as she washes her hands. They are starting to look red and he wonders how sore they get.

She then takes another jar and uses the cream in it on the stub of his arm. It stings and it not so soothing as the other one, but then after a few moments he feels the pain ebb and the skin starts to numb. She then dresses the stub covering it in fresh bandages.

Then they are finished and the orderly grabs a clean hospital gown which they dress him in. They move the trolley over to the bed.

Before moving him she has one last thing for him to do and she hands him a toothbrush and indicates for him to clean his teeth. This one small thing nearly breaks him. He cannot remember the last time he did such a mundane thing as brush his teeth. The taste of the toothpaste takes him right home to the shared bathroom at Steve's flat. Such a small thing to have such an immense reaction to. He even wonders if toothpastes over the world all taste the same.

The nurse helps him drink some more water, and between them they move him onto the clean bed. The sheets are cool against his skin. He struggles to try and help them as much as he can. He can already remember what dignity felt like.

He is trying to keep his eyes open but he is finding it difficult. He needs to sleep. His body feels more relaxed than it has done in a long time. He feels clean. He cannot remember the last time he felt like this.

He hears them talking again and looks over to see what they are doing. He sees the orderly gesture to where they keep the food bowls and his heart plummets. Please don't say she is going to make him eat the mush they give him; the bowls are full of old liquidised food that the other nurses have spat in. His stomach rolls at the thought of it.

“No,” he tries to say, and Stefan turns to look at him. He says something and the nurse turns away from the food, disgust on her face. They converse more but then they hear him as he tries to say no again.

She comes over.

Don't make me eat it, please, don't make me.

He swallows wanting to put his thoughts into words but she speaks first.

“I can try and find some that is fresher,” she says to him, but before she can finish he shakes his head.

He has to convince her he doesn't want the food, couldn't bear to eat it.

“Too tired,” he says quietly.

She nods. “You don't have to eat it, we won't make you I promise.” She understands. Having nothing is better than eating the slop they give him.

Normally he is strapped down right away, the drip reinserted but kept off - but when she reattaches the drip he actually feels the coolness of the fluids running into his arm. He closes his eyes, feeling the cleanness of his body but his bones still ache and his ears are humming from where he is so tired. He doesn't realise that she leaves the room for a short while and it only seems seconds later he opens his eyes to see her inject something into the drip. Morphine. Slowly the pain starts to ebb away until it is at least manageable.

“James, I will need to put the straps on later - but for now I want you to move onto your left side, is that all right with you?”

He nods and they help him roll over, she holds what remains of his left arm so it is laid out and he is not leaning on it. It is so long since he has been able to sleep that way, so long since he hasn't slept pressing the sores on his body into the filthy mess of the bed. He wants to say thank you but he is so tired, instead he listens to them talking, he doesn't know what they are saying but the low key conversation is soothing.

He falls asleep, and for once he doesn't dream.

He doesn't know how much time has gone by when she awakens him by gently shaking his shoulder, talking to him, calling his name. Sudden panic flares in his chest until he realises it is her.

“I thought I dreamt you,” he says, his voice catching.

She smiles and shakes her head and then helps him sit up. He is becoming aware of the smell of food in the room, a pleasant smell which makes his mouth water. There are times when the nursing staff bring their own meals with them and eat at the table. Their food always smells so much better than the slop he is given and it makes him feel so hungry.

She sits next to him on the edge of the bed and reaches over to pick something up from the bedside cabinet.

“I have some soup I would like you to try and drink.”

Immediately his stomach clenches at the thought of the slop, but instead she shows him a mug full of what looks like vegetable soup. It looks and smells so inviting.

“Its part of my lunch, not what they usually give you.”

Before he can speak, his stomach does for him and he feels the hunger pangs.

“Sign of approval,” she laughs. It catches him unaware - he has never seen her laugh before. “Minestrone,” she explains, tipping the mug forward. She takes a sip herself and then offers it back to him. By now he is starving, his stomach has woken up, it needs food.

As the soup enters his mouth he feels like he has never tasted anything so wonderful before. The warmth floods him, the taste makes him close his eyes. The pieces of vegetable are small but it is the first solid food he has had in a long time.

“Nice?” She smiles at him and he nods, pulling the mug back to drink more.

“Not too fast,” she warns, her hand helps keep the mug steady as he drinks.

By the time he finishes he feels exhausted. How is that possible when all he has done is drink some soup? He can still taste it, feel it going down and into his stomach, such a warmth. It was salty, and she offers him a small drink of water.

When he has finished she places her hand on his arm, the look on her face has grown sad, he wishes he could make her laugh again.

“I'm sorry, but I have to put the straps on.”

He feels something well up in him. He should have known it wouldn't last. He knows there is a rota and deep down he knew she wasn't here to stay with him. He wants to ask her if she will stay, to ask her not to leave him but she speaks before he does.

“Before we do though do you need to relieve yourself?”

He nearly missed her question and then it dawns on him what she asked him and he feels like he wants to blush. After all she has done today and yet this embarrasses him. Perhaps because he feels like a human being again.

“I can't take you to the toilet, I don't think you would make it but we do have...” she hesitates as if reading his mind “....a bed pan that Stefan can help you with.”

Stefan hears and comes over after picking up something covered with a cloth and she stands up. Her cheeks are slightly pink as as she has picked up James' embarrassment.

“I'll wait outside,” he hears her say and she disappears out of the room, pulling the door almost closed.

After Stefan helps him, she returns and they both help him lie on his back. He is starting to feel the pain flooding back and it makes him feel nauseous. They lay the straps over him but do not tighten them. He closes his eyes and listens as she sees to the drip in his arm. After a few minutes he feels something flood into his bloodstream. The pain begins to ebb.

“I won't be here when you wake, but I will be back I promise,” is the last thing he hears her whisper and then he is asleep.

Perhaps she can read his mind?

*

He struggles to open his eyes. Time must have flown by, the main light is off and the room is darker. The pain is back. When he turns his head to look over it is one of the other nurses sat at the table with a lamp on. She is flicking through magazines and he knows it is useless to ask her for help. He tries to move but the straps won't let him, they are so tight, someone has moved his right arm out of the bed so the strap buckle bites into his flesh. He looks up at the drip, there is fluid there but he is guessing it is switched off.

His body is hurting. It seems to have woken back up to remind him of all that has been done to violate it. A pain hits him and he can feel the muscles in his legs cramping. He is sweating heavily and his mouth is dry. Was it all a dream? Did he imagine the other nurse, his nurse? No. Please don't do that to me he prays.

As he turns his head back he smells the soap she used on his hair, feels that it is shorter now. The bed is cleaner. He knows she was here. She is real.

He needs to use the bathroom. He knows if he wets himself he will be left to lie in the mess, and he also knows they will punish him with the baton but his bladder is pressing painfully. “Please...” he says, but he doesn't know if he speaks or if the nurse just pretends she doesn't hear him.

As another bout of pain hits him his body wants to curl in on itself, but it can't. It is one of the pains he gets from the serum, it is working on something in his body and he knows it will continue for hours, getting worse until his cries make the nurses gag him. Pain cramps more of his muscles and he can't help but let go and he feels the warm liquid soak into the bed clothes. The warmth slowly turns to cold and he feels shamed. The bed was clean and now he has soiled it, he should have tried harder to hang on. But for how long? his mind asks and he has no answer.

He feels so alone. Please God bring her back, please bring her back.

“For Gods sake Barnes stop bleating.” A memory of a voice from out of no where hits him.

“Aw, come on Stevie...”

Steve's voice. They were bickering, he remembers. And a sound escapes him that makes the nurse look up. Seeing nothing amiss she looks back down and goes back to reading her magazines, let the American pig suffer.

They are in Steve's flat, just the two of them. Steve has persuaded Bucky to model for him. Its been hours already, and Bucky is ansty. He feels uncomfortable; he is not used to sitting around doing nothing.

“It hasn't been hours. We've been...” Steve looks at his watch “...eleven minutes.” He peers over the top of his sketch pad at Bucky and smiles one of those smiles that makes Bucky want to walk over there, grab the pad, throw it away, throw Steve to the floor and...

“This is for posterity, you know,” Steve's voice breaks in again. The window is open and somewhere someone has the radio on playing Jimmy Dorsey's 'I'll Never Smile Again.'

Bucky looks over at Steve, concentrating, head bowed over the page, blond hair falling over his eyes, pencil in hand. He feels like time has stopped still. He gets up from where he is sitting and Steve looks up.

“Aw Buck, what...” The look on Bucky's face stops him, and Bucky takes the pad and pencil out of his hand. Steve is now aware of the music, the curtains fluttering at the window, the shaft of light falling on the carpet, everything seems to have slowed, everything but his heart beat.

They are by themselves. No one can see them.

Bucky pulls him to his feet and wraps one arm around Steve's waist and holds his left hand up and slowly starts to dance with Steve following suit. Steve has never danced with a girl, but he has danced with Bucky and he fits perfectly into the steps looking up at those beautiful blue eyes. Neither smiles, just looks at each other whilst they move, the music saying all they want to say to each other.

I'll never smile again
Until I smile at you
I'll never laugh again

What good would it do
For tears would fill my eyes
My heart would realize
That our romance is true...

At the end of the song, Bucky is holding Steve close and Bucky can feel the beating of both their hearts. They stop and stand, looking at each other.

Steve clears his throat but his words are still fogged. “This isn't going to get you out of posing you know.”

Bucky smiles down at him.

“Wanna bet?” His voice is husky as he pulls Steve's body into his.

All these years later James remembers those words, remembers the feel of Steves body so close to his, remembers what he has lost, and sobs as the nurse sighs and slams her magazine down and gets up to go and silence the Amerikanskiy svin'ya. The American pig.       

Chapter Text

Part One

James Barnes - Care & Responsibility

The last few years have been difficult, and the mistreatment at the hands of the nurses and orderlies are affecting James' mind. He is kept constantly and heavily sedated, but with no morphine for pain relief, the nightmares he has fight to keep him from his memories. The sedative also lowers his emotional defences. After all this time, he is finding it more and more difficult to remember things, and so the things he does remember are precious to him. He tries to escape into the past, testing himself on what someone's name was, what he and Steve used do at the weekends, anything he can to get his mind away from here.

The orderlies are forever using their electric batons and he feels his whole body is covered in sores. He cannot move in bed as the straps are pulled so tight; in places they leave solid bruises and in some areas they chafe and break open his skin. It makes his very bones ache. He knows his body will repair itself, but he also knows there is no break from the damage and he doesn't believe he will ever be free of pain.

It has been his constant companion for so long.

There is also the smell. He had forgotten how degrading it was until the new nurse had cleaned him. It does not take long for him to get filthy again; he doesn't understand how the nurses can leave him like this, so dirty, covered in his own filth. It is as if it is some sort of punishment merely for him being alive.

He still cannot face the food they try and feed him, and when he refuses they resort to force-feeding. He cannot believe that the liquid slop is doing him any good - especially with what they add in, taking delight in his horror at it. His refusals give them an excuse to use the batons again for even more punishment.

And so he tries to escape in his mind...but so often now he only finds nightmares.

The only relief he gets is the time 'his' nurse is on duty with the orderly that helps her. He remembers her from the camp. Her hands are soft, her smile genuine, and she cries for him. He knows she does.

Images drift through his mind. Day by day he is losing more of himself, finding it harder to grasp memories, to know who he is. He knows now he gave up hope of rescue a long time ago.

Every day is filled by pain and misery, every day they plunge needles into his veins, into his muscles, filled with God only knows what.

But he can guess.

The same formula that Zola had used before to try and make him into their super soldier. Just like Steve. That thought makes him sick. He can feel the changes in his body. But he knows they also want to break his mind, if they do what will he become? What will they do with him?

Each day he prays that when he wakes he will find the one person who he thinks is on his side. The one who after each of her duties tears his soul by saying how sorry she is and he knows she means it. His condition makes her cry. She doesn’t know it but he waits for her now, and part of the fact she is there makes him feel some sort of hope. He is always so tired, so close to letting go but they won't let him, he wants to close his eyes and die. She is the only secret he has left and she has no idea how comforting that is, with her he can forgot Bucky and James and Steve. Her hands are gentle and he can close his eyes and listen to her voice, the familiar accent, the words from home and when she cries he feels her tears like drops of rain on a beautiful fall day.

Like everything else though that hope is slowly fading. He sees her less and less, until one day he realises it has been days since she was last with him - days since he felt her touch.

He feels his panic growing. Have they gotten rid of her?

Has she gone?

*

He knows from the moment he wakes it is going to be a bad day. The pain has woken him, that and the constant itching. He wants to pull his skin off. During the night he needed the bathroom and was ignored; he is lying in the cold mess, he can't escape from it; the straps around him tying him to the bed are cutting into his flesh and his mouth is so dry.

The nurse on duty swaps shifts and he is hoping for his nurse but there is still no sign of her. He hasn't seen her in so long, he has no concept of time any more. Have they sent her away?

Tears prick his eyes. No, don't let that happen, don’t take her away from me. She's all I have, please God.

He can smell the awfulness of his situation. He realises there must be no testing again as there is no way they could take him to the doctors like this; on days when they know they have to take him down for testing they clean him up by throwing him in a cold shower and using the hard brushes to clean him. All it does is reopen sores, wounds and creates new ones, the cold water chills his bones and makes his joints ache so badly.

The doctors never look beyond what they are doing. As long as they can hook him up to their machines and fill him with the serum, they do not need to look any further.

He tries to sleep, tries to move, it is like an army of fire ants have invaded the bed and he can't help but groan as the pain gets worse. The nurse gets up and goes over to pick up the food bowl just as the door opens and an orderly comes in, closing the door behind him and wrinkling his nose.

“How can you stand the stench in here?" His eyes water and he takes out his baton. The nurse looks at him sourly.

“He's decided to play difficult again. Won't eat, wasting valuable food, obviously not good enough for him,” she says sarcastically.

"Said I would help you feed him," he says and the nurse grins.

He walks over to James who begins to start to pray. Don't let him use it. Not today. Please not today.

But no-one is listening and he hears the buzz as the orderly leans over.

"No better than an animal huh?" he pushes the baton into James' collar bone, and the patient can't help but cry out. The orderly leaves it in place for such a long time he can smell his skin and flesh start to burn. The orderly grins and takes it away.

She fetches the bowl, it is the same bowl of food they tried to feed to him yesterday and the day before. He wouldn't eat it then, but they are determined he will eat it today. There is a bet on amongst the nurses; whoever can get the most food in him this week wins. There are five packets of cigarettes to be won, a new pack added every day and she is determined she will win and split the winnings with the orderly. These two work well together as a team.

The food stinks, rancid, gone bad; it has not dried out but is wet, slushy, mouldy. Just the smell of it is enough to make him gag.

“Oh no you don't,” the orderly says as James tries to move away. He moves over to one side and the nurse the other and they hoist him up slightly on the pillows but leave the straps in place, parts of his skin tears where the straps are so tight and they have pulled against them. The pain that goes through his body is bad, skin that has stuck to the bed clothes rips away and he wets himself again. He sees the orderly's mouth tighten.

"No, oh no, please," he begs them, no longer worried about how pitiful he sounds. Please don't let them start on me again.

The orderly leans in and moves onto the bed. He leans over James' chest, pinning him in place, and then the nurse goes to spoon food into James' mouth.

He is starting to panic, they are so close to him, he can't breathe and when he does the smell clings to his nostrils. His heart starts to beat faster. The noise he makes is heart breaking, mewing, he keeps his mouth closed and turns his head but that just earns him another touch of the baton.

"Please. No." The nurse shoves the spoon between his lips whilst he is begging, and he starts to choke. He spits it out.

"Oh for Gods' sake, look what the cretin has done!" Some of the food has hit the orderly, and he is furious.

He lets go of his victim and starts to brush the food of his uniform, then he looks at James. A really mean look. He lights up his baton and angrily moves the bedclothes away from James' legs; James whimpers, he can't help it, he knows what is going to happen, they have done this to him before.

He tries to say he is sorry but the orderly just pulls up the front of James' hospital gown and rams the baton into his testicles. You can hear the scream down into the next corridor as the delicate flesh burns. The orderly takes it away, satisfied that he has taught the American pig a lesson.

“Try again,” he says to the nurse.

"Hold him," she says and the orderly does, holding his nose to stop him from breathing until James has to open his mouth then the nurse shoves the spoon in as far as she can and down the back of his throat.

His eyes bulge and he starts to cough but they won't let him go; they are holding his chin up so he cannot spit the food out. He is choking, his ears are ringing and food goes into his nasal passages, he can't breathe. Help me please, someone help me please! Tears stream down his face. He is trying to bring up his arm but he can't, it is pinned down too tightly.

"Come on pig, eat your food!" They are shovelling in more of the mess, he is vomiting but they keep his mouth closed so he has to swallow. He tries to get up but the straps hold him firmly in place, tries to move but they are so strong he cannot. His panic has reached its pitch. He is not far away from suffocating but that does not stop them and then suddenly the nurse turns, her attention pulled away by something.

He can't see by what, he needs to breathe, Dear God let me breath! His head is ringing, he cannot hear anything, he feels his head is about to burst. Then the pressure is suddenly gone, and he opens his mouth trying desperately to spit the food out whilst trying to suck in air. Someone is helping him turn his head to the side, trying to release the straps.

James tries to turn his whole body. He needs to breathe. Food is dribbling out from his mouth and nose but a gentle, calm voice is telling him everything is all right.

He vomits, trying to breathe in between gasps, the taste of the food making him heave.

He feels his left side released from the straps and turns completely to keep retching, his right hand grabs hold of the person holding him and hangs on for dear life. His eyes are streaming, he can't see.

"Its all right, thats it, bring it all up. You're going to be all right." The voice is gentle, quiet and he is sick again. A beaker of water appears at the edge of his vision, he makes a grab for it, trying to drink.

"Slowly, slowly, thats it, not too much." The water floods his mouth and then goes down his nose and brings on another coughing fit. He is holding on to the nurse, his nurse, and he sees that he has vomited over her, down her uniform but she still holds on, still won't let him go.

His eyes sting and he can't look at her. He tries to say he is sorry and pull away but she won't let him.

"Its all right, there is nothing to be sorry for," her voice holds tears and that makes him sob. He becomes aware of other people in the room now. He feels her stroking his hair, pushing it back off his face and she rests his head on her shoulder quietly talking to him until he can breathe again properly.

What has he become? Why is this happening to him? Has he wronged someone so dreadfully in a past life? Or is this to be the end result of his deal with God? His hand tightens and will leave her bruised but he doesn't realise this, he just wants her close, doesn't want to let her go.

He hears two men talking, recognises the voice of the orderly who normally works with her and someone he doesn't think he has ever heard before, but he doesn't want to look at them. Doesn't want to see the look on their faces when they see him. After a few minutes his grip lessens and she encourages him to lie back. He is grey, filthy, food and vomit in his hair, caught in the heavy stubble on his face. His eyes are red rimmed and finally he looks at her, she helps him lean back and he feels the support of the pillows.

The orderly is talking to another man, dressed in white like him but taller. The other man nods and then leaves the room and Stefan says something to the nurse and then leaves as well.

His nurse begins to take away the sheets and, suddenly without meaning to, she makes him jump. She has furiously pulled the top bedclothes off the bed and he looks at her, misreading her anger. She turns to reach forward and he believes she is going to hit him. He is not a coward, has never run from a fight but he can't help but back away from her as if she was fire itself. His eyes widen and his breath hitches. He watches her face change from anger to pain.

She speaks a few words in Russian, forgetting herself, and then switches back to English.

“Not you. I'm not angry with you. How could I be angry with you?" she says as she reaches out to him - but before he can move, someone else enters the room, demanding to know what is going on. Why she so rudely ejected the nurse and the orderly from the room.

It is one of the doctors. James recognises him and is ashamed when he sees the mans face. At how quickly he reaches for his handkerchief to cover his nose. His nurse steps away from the bed and the doctor looks at James - and what he sees shows as shock and horror in the man's eyes. James looks down, for so many people to see him like this, his left hand goes to pull something over him, to try and cover some of his shame. It is a moment before he remembers he has no hand, just a stump which moves pathetically.

He closes his eyes, hearing them talk in Russian and then she is talking to him in English.

“We need to get you cleaned up,” she says quietly. The doctor has gone.

He feels her moving closer again and she moves all of the bed clothes entirely away from him. Her hands are cool against his skin. The orderly called Stefan comes up on the other side of him and then they carefully move him to the side of the bed as the other orderly, brings up a wheelchair.

James can't help but groan. Raw patches stretch as he moves, and the orderly quickly places a soft towel on the seat of the wheelchair, leaning over to help move James on to it. The nurse and orderlies exchange words and then the bright light in the corridor hits him and he has to close his eyes. He has been taken to the showers before. He can't help but shudder, praying that they will show him more kindness, that the water won't be so cold it freezes his joints, that they won't use the hard brushes on his broken skin.

Don't let them be like that.

They get him to the room and close the door. The orderly has changed clothes and he looks away whilst the nurse strips of her dirty uniform and puts a clean white shift on, then a shower cap over her hair.

Stefan starts the water.

Both then help James out of the wheelchair and strip away the gown as gently as they can. He hears her indrawn breath when she sees the new burn marks. It stings as he feels the material that has stuck to areas teased away and he knows some of his skin has come away with it. He can feel both of them holding him firmly, they will not let him fall.

She takes another shower cap and uses it to cover what remains of the end of his left arm.

They walk him slowly over to the water, he hesitates but then he walks under it and it rains down on him, warm and inviting and James begins to weep again, he can't help it.

He has forgotten what kindness feels like.

He so wants to be clean. He needs to be human again he know it is going to hurt...but he needs this.

Whilst the man holds him, the nurse gently runs a sponge over his body. They are talking to each other but in English so he can understand them. For the first time ever he hears her name. Freya. He repeats it quietly to himself. It is important to him to remember.

His voice sounds strange to him when he tries to talk. He is not even sure he has spoken aloud, but they are listening. “I need to be clean. Please. I want to be clean. It doesn't matter if it hurts. Please. I need to.”

She understands what he is saying; that he is giving them permission to do what they need to. He fights to keep upright under the water. It is so warming and he is feeling so tired; it is lucky the pain is keeping him focused.

They fetch a chair for him and sit him down under the water. She disappears out into the shower room and comes back with a pair of scissors. She cuts out the matted parts of his hair and then trims it to just below his ears, then stands behind and washes what remains. He remembers her hands from when she did it before. It feels so good as she massages his scalp and for a small time even the pain starts to fade. His hair is so long, Steve would be surprised, he opens his eyes and he can see Steve in his mind and he feels he will never see him again. That thought causes him so much pain. He bites his lip to stop the sob that wells up. His emotions are so difficult to control these days.

It takes them a while to get him clean but when he is he can feel his body becoming his own again. He is so very tired now, and without realising he is leaning heavily to the side. They are talking to him and he is trying to take in what they are saying. They towel him dry and put a robe on him, they tell him they will dress him once they have seen to his wounds. They sit him down again and the orderly quickly shaves him.

They can see he is fading fast and they want to get him back to his room, into a clean bed. They put him back on a drip to get some morphine and liquids back into his bloodstream. He is given a beaker of water to drink, and when they can see the pain relief is starting to take effect they work on his wounds.

James feels their hands, even they cannot do what needs doing without causing more pain than the drip can block, but he bites his lip to stop from crying out. Then finally he is lying in the bed, they don't strap him down but encourage him to lay on his side to take pressure of some of the bed sores. He is so tired now he can hardly keep his eyes open and she tells him to sleep and promises to stay by his side whilst he does.

As he falls asleep he thinks he can smell oranges. He is suddenly transported to the Brooklyn dockyards and Steve is there waiting for him. They would go down there most weekends and find work to earn a few cents. There is one ship which used to come loaded with fruit and where, if they worked the full amount of hours, the captain would give them an orange each with their pay.

At the end of the day they would sit on the dock wall looking out over the expanse and tell each other what they were going to do with the rest of their lives.

For a short time he is home and he is with Steve.  

Part Two

The Nurse - Care & Responsibility

Over the next few weeks you are a dutiful nurse. When it is your shift you do just what the doctors tell you to do, hoping that you would have at least one shift every day, but it does not work out that way.

Sometimes you do not see James for days. Other times you are removed from the rota as the doctors want you there during testing so that you can translate. You try and tell the nurse in charge of the rota that you don't mind doing extra shifts but she does not trust you.

Word has got around that you care, and that will not do.

You have seen the extra burns when you know he has done no wrong. You try to hide as much of the morphine as you can, the others assuming one of them has sold it on. It is awful to see him in so much pain when there is none left for you to give him.

How can people do this?

You begin to turn up earlier for your shifts, encouraging the others to come late for theirs, and in between you spend the time trying to make things better for him. You're fighting a losing battle but you won't give in. You are like your father in so many ways.

You lose well over a stone in weight as you often find you cannot face food after your shift rotation. You are so sickened by what you see, by what they do to him; especially your fellow nurses and their treatment of him. The doctors simply do not care, their minds are always elsewhere.

You help dress and undress the patient. You stand by while they attach him to their machines. You rub the spots with antiseptic where they plunge needles into him, pumping God knows what chemicals into him. You dress the burns that are so bad sometimes they have eaten through his skin and tissue. You make sure you are next to him when he is in pain and you take his hand so he knows he is not alone.

They pump him full of sedatives and you watch as the sedative lowers his emotional defences and there is nothing you can do to stop it. You see how the nightmares drag him down, you try and calm him when he wakes sobbing calling his friend's name.

The less shifts you do, the more his wounds start to fester again, the further his hygiene falls and soon the bed sores are as bad as they were when you first started. The room becomes dirty again: messy, disgusting. You try and work with Stefan as much as you can because the other orderlies do not care, they are brutal, they want to play their game's with 'the Ameriknaskiy Svin'ya'.

You try and stop them from being so cruel and you find that the nursing staff and orderlies are watching you. They start to deliberately bump into you in the corridor. They accidentally knock over your tray in the canteen, move away from you when you go to sit down. Your things disappear, and without the empty containers you cannot get them replaced. Stefan steps in as much as he can but you have already told him not to. The last thing you need is for them to take against him as well.

This is personal. This is over James Barnes. And they find you are not going to give them an inch.

You pretend to try and feed him the mush they want him to eat. It is disgusting; the bowls in the room are always days old. Stefan helps you smuggle soup and other lighter meals, and covers for you as you feed them to James. You find that some of the guards, not just Marinov, are willing to turn a blind eye.

James hardly speaks, but there have been a few rare times when the drugs are wearing off and he tries to talk to you. Each time it is the same thing he asks, and it breaks your heart. He asks that you help him to die. Never to escape - he knows that is impossible - he knows he needs to die. It is his only option.

What can you say? How can you answer?

You have had to stop using his name as one of the other nurses reported you to Doctor Lehmann. He sent for you. It did not take you long when you first arrived to realise that Doctor Lehmann is the one to watch, the one to be wary of. He controls the other doctors. He is ambitious and any problems he will sort out with a permanent solution.

Usually a bullet.

You still remember the conversation in his office. It is the closest you think you have ever come to being marched outside, put up against a wall and shot. It was only through your promises to obey all rules and apologies for your error that you were allowed to stay on the project, allowed to remain alive.

He wanted to know how you knew the patients' name was James. You are not a good liar. You never have been. Thinking quickly, you circumnavigated the truth. “The first time I was in the main room, one of the doctors had a file open. It had the patients' name on there. I didn't realise I couldn't use it at all, it's just a way of me getting his attention.”

He believes you because he can believe it of the doctors. They are always leaving information about, taking no notice of who is around them because they get so absorbed in their work. He immediately implements a clear desk policy from then onwards.

You realised at the end of the dressing down though that Doctor Lehmann has another purpose in seeing you. He is German and wants you to teach him the English language. He wants to have an understanding of it so he will know that what you are translating is more or less correct. He has already noted you know other languages. He has seen and heard you answer the doctors when they forget and speak to you in their own language. He asks you how many languages you know and you tell him you know basic German and French, and have a working knowledge of Japanese.

He seemed impressed. You are clearly more intelligent than he thought.

“But It doesn't do to be to clever Nurse. Why did you learn these languages?” He is trying to get an idea of who you are, how you could be useful to him or more importantly, would you be a danger to the project?

You swallow. You are not a devious person but you feel as if you are walking in a mine field.

“My father teaches languages, and due to my mothers illness I was home-schooled. She is Russian and he is English so we spoke both languages in the home. He taught me a few more as part of my education.”

Lehmann looks at you and you feel as if he can read your mind, all your thoughts, see through you.

“We have Russian mothers in common...” he realises that he has said that out loud and adds “...but that is all, I think.”

He looks at you for a while. You can almost hear the wheels turning, almost feel your fate in the balance. Finally. “We will start with my lessons tomorrow, and then every day after that between 4pm and 6pm. Tell the roster nurse you will not be available during those hours.”

“What do I say I am doing?” you ask as he dismisses you.

“Just tell her we are using you for translating.”

*

When James asks you to help him die, you try to shush him before the guards hear he is talking to you and ask you what it is he is saying. You use it as an excuse to quiet him, but really it breaks your heart to hear him ask you to help him, knowing you can't, knowing you can't hurt this man you love. The disappointment in his eyes is gut-wrenching but you are a nurse. You have never killed. You cannot imagine doing harm to this man...yet, by keeping him alive you are hurting him more than they are.

The situation is agonising for you, and you have no one to talk to. What do you do? Maybe you can get him out of here, away from this place...but where would you start? You do not even have access to every place on this floor yet alone upper and lower levels, the building, the complex. Sometimes it is all your brain can do to function when these thoughts go through your mind.

How? Where do you start?

You are not sure if he does remembers you from before. You are never brave enough to ask him outright, never brave enough to talk to him about his time in the field camp. Sometimes when he catches sight of you you think you see recognition in his eyes, but you don’t know if that is just wishful thinking on your part.

Your feelings where he is concerned are all over the place. They colour everything you do and think.

You have spoken to him at their bidding - after all, the reason you are here is because you speak his language. His eyes focus on you and a crease appears between them. Does he remember you? He never indicates that he does but something makes you feel you are familiar to him. You're not sure he even knows why. There are days when he is barely conscious.

If he answers, you repeat what he says to the doctors in your own language and at these times you cannot meet his eyes as it feels like betrayal. The questions make little sense to you. They are all about how he feels when they have pumped him full of their drugs. Does this hurt, does that, if so to what degree. He is always so drugged up that half the time his replies don’t make sense. How is he supposed to concentrate? How is he supposed to answer their questions with lucid replies?

He asks you to tell him why they are doing this to him. Why can't they just let him die? When you repeat these questions to the doctors they get impatient, it is not what they want to hear.

You wait for the rare short occurrences when you are alone with him, and then you stroke his forehead and tell him you are so very sorry. He is always so tired, too exhausted in both his mind and his body. You treat his wounds, those inflicted by circumstance and those inflicted by the other staff, and you try to make things better but each day seems harder than the last.

On the days you are not on duty or translating for them, you spend the time trapped in the dormitory or canteen. There are no other places you can go. The others rarely talk to you. They make it obvious they do not trust you. Those days are long, drawn out, and sometimes seem more tiring than your duty days.

You know you need to do something about their treatment of him. You are biding your time, waiting until you have got a good foothold in the door with the doctors so that they will take you seriously and listen to what you say. There are guards everywhere and you are sure that if they found out you knew exactly who he was, you would be killed. He is too valuable to them for anyone to compromise him.

The doctors though begin to trust you. They like to use you more in the main room when the patient is in there. They use you for longer periods.

One of the orderlies disappears. He was sadistic and enjoyed the pain the patient is constantly in, keeping him short of morphine, making everything hurt more. You have rarely hated anyone but you find the capacity to, you hope the man is dead and buried and that before he died he knew what is was like to be frightened, alone and in pain.

The depth of your hatred for these people shocks you.

*

Doctor Lehmann has begun to realise that the new nurse has developed feelings for the patient and he calls a meeting. He thinks despite her usefulness they should get rid of her, that she could prove dangerous. He believes her loyalty is to their patient and not to them. Not to Hydra.

The others disagree. How dangerous could loving Barnes make her?

“Surely that just makes her work harder?” one of the doctor says naively.

They cannot decide if it is a good thing or not, especially because of something else they have noticed. The patient responds to her more than any other nurse. He is more likely to do what she instructs him to do, perhaps it is because of her English, which has hardly any accent. It makes life a lot easier for them.

They weigh up the good things about the nurse. Jakobs, Schmidt and Lehmann are German, Taffeteer French and Bezzina Russian, she can converse with all of them even when they switch languages back and forth. She has worked in the field and they see she is good at what she does, they never have to tell her twice.

She always takes responsibility for the patient, always stays by his side when they are doing their tests and when they hurt him she tries to calm him, helping him breathe, holding his hand, telling him everything will be all right. She knows how to work with them, what is expected of her.

No, they decide as a group she is too valuable to just throw away - yet.

She is unaware of it but they begin to watch her closely. The guards are told to keep an eye on her, although they do not know why.

Doctor Lehmann is annoyed, but for once he is overruled by the others. He is ambitious and wants this project to work for personal reasons; he means to climb to the top of Hydra and no one will stand in his way.

He will bide his time for now. The nurse is still useful to him at the moment. The doctors have found out about the English lessons and ask him about them. He tells them it is so he can monitor her. If she becomes a danger he will deal with her accordingly.

All the more important now with what they have learnt about her.

*

Your lessons with Lehmann are coming along well. He provides reading material for you to use, not that it is anything you can glean information from. He is intelligent and picks things up easily. You hate teaching him though; he is cold, ruthless and you do not trust him.

You want them to find you compliant because you have no intention of giving them any reason to get rid of you. Not because you do not want to end up in an lonely grave, but because you are not going to leave James to face the fear and pain alone. You caused this. You saved his life that day at the field hospital, and everything that has happened to him since then is your fault.

More weeks go by and you learn that the project is financed as part of a plan by the organisation called Hydra. It appears to be led by a scientist called Armin Zola, previously captive to the Americans but now working hand-in-hand with their scientists. You have heard tales of a man called Red Skull. He is now dead, and Zola has superseded him.

You also learn a small part about James Barnes' captivity in 1942, when Zola's team first chose him to experiment on as one of a group of captured POW's. It is beginning to make sense now; the unusual rate at which he heals is all part of the same plan, what are they turning him into?

You have not met Zola, but a steady dislike for the man is growing in you already.

You know it is not going to be long before something happens between you and the other staff. They are more aware of your concern for their treatment of the American. You start to get serious warnings, threats. The nurse responsible for the roster removes you completely from the rota. During this time you are not allowed on the floor as your name is not on the guards' list at the gate. You are refused entry and you despair. The only time you see him now is when translation is needed. You do not know whether to approach Lehmann about the situation but ultimately you decide not to. He is too dangerous to you.

Give them more time and the staff will begin to feed lies to the doctors about you, and one day you will simply disappear.

Then one day it comes to a head.

You have not seen James for over a week. There has been no testing as the the doctors were away consulting with Zola. They are back now and you have been told testing will begin again tomorrow and that your presence will be required. You use this as an excuse to head for the patient's room. Your name should now appear on the guards' list as personnel allowed through for this week.

You check the rota to see who is on duty and your heart sinks. They are two of the worst. You have heard about a bet on between all the nurses and orderlies: whoever can make the patient eat most of the slop this week wins a prize of cigarettes.

The guards confirm that you are on their lists and you are allowed full entry. As you approach the patients' room you hear loud voices and cursing coming from inside. You look at the two guards who are standing further away from the door than normal, but they keep their gaze averted. The door is pushed closed and you look at them but they won't look at you, so you open the door and go to enter the room.

The scene that meets your eyes is disgusting. The smell in the room makes your eyes water. You know now why the guards have taken up their posts further down the corridor. The nurse and the orderly have James strapped tightly to the bed, his head up on pillows. The orderly has one knee on his chest and the nurse is force feeding James the mush. It is obvious he does not want it. The orderly has his fingers pinching the patient's nose closed so he has had to open his mouth to breathe.

The nurse is deliberately shovelling in spoonful after spoonful and you can hear the choking sounds as he is unable to swallow it. To further encourage him, the orderly is using the electric baton and searing it into any spot of bare skin he can find, including the end of the stub of his left arm.

As they do all of this to him they are berating him, calling him names and you can see that both the orderly and nurse are enjoying it. The noises he makes are over-whelming, pitiful, and you feel your hatred surge up. They haven't heard you come in and your immediate thought is to rush and stop them, but you realise you cannot do it on your own, you need help.

Quietly and quickly, you back out of the room and summon one of the guards who comes over reluctantly. “Go and get Stefan and Kristo please.” You keep your voice level and quiet. Kristo is an orderly whom Stefan knows and who works in a different part of the underground complex. The guard looks as though he is going to argue with you but one look at your face tells him not to.

You quickly slip back into the room and this time the nurse hears you. She glances your way as you approach the bed, spoon held in her hand the last of the food slopping over it and onto the bed clothes.

“Get out,” you say. Your voice is low. You cannot see James' face as it is blocked by the orderly but you can hear the choking sounds. The nurse frowns at you, stopped in her tracks by the sound of your voice and the words.

You don't stop. You move around to the side the orderly is on. He turns to you and grins.

“Dirty animal, huh? We win the bet,” he says and without hesitating you move forward, grab him by the lapels of his shirt and push him backwards. You grab the baton out of his hand as he falls away from you. It unseats him and he falls off the side of the bed, almost knocking the nurse over.

“All bets are off,” you growl.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” the other nurse shrieks, helping the red-faced orderly up.

“Get out now. Get out before I kill you.” You lean over, helping James turn his head to the side whilst working to free one of the leather straps. “Its okay. You're going to be okay,” you say to him in English.

When neither of them move you look at them and they later swear blind they could see murder in your eyes. You grip the baton hard. You have never used one before but you are sure they would be easy enough to figure out.

“I said get out!” Your voice is louder this time, and as the orderly goes to move towards you the door opens further and you are relieved to see Stefan and Kristo. They take one look at the scene and Stefan nods to Kristo to get them out. They are herded away complaining about the “stinking animal not eating his food, and just who does she thinks she is?”

You throw the baton down. Your total concentration is now on your patient. You continue releasing his right arm from the restraints. He is trying to turn over more and rise from the bed. The smell coming from him is terrible. You keep talking to him quietly, calmly telling him he will be all right whilst you release the straps. You must not let him panic any more than he is. Stefan is releasing the straps on the patient's left side which are holding down all that is left of that arm and his legs.

When free, James grabs at you with his right hand, hanging on to you for dear life.

You pull him towards you and he vomits out what is choking him, as well as whatever they have been forcing him to swallow. You are in the way and it goes down the lower front of your uniform. The slop is in his hair and down his chest, caught in the heavy stubble of his face, all over the bed sheets and pillows. You remain holding him and talking to him in English. His hand grips you so tightly as if he is frightened if he lets you go you will disappear.

“Thats it, get it all up, come on. You're going to be all right.”

He is still coughing. You know it is in his nasal passages and there is still some to come up. Stefan has fetched a cup of water which he hands to you, and you offer it to James to drink to help rinse out his mouth. It should help him to breathe easier.

Stefan tells Kristo to get hot water, a bowl and lots of flannels. He had seen what it is that is causing the terrible smell in the room as you turned the patient over, and he knows you will go ballistic.

The nurse on duty, Nurse Richter, had been on since 8am. It is now 3pm. In all that time she had not done anything other than force-feed him. She has left him to lie in his own faeces and urine. His gown is soaked and crusted. Stefan also knows which nurses were on the previous shifts and knows they will not have done anything either. They have left him for nearly three days without changing him or taking him to the bathroom.

You are still holding James, trying not to be sick with the smell of the vomit and whatever else is in the room. You realise he is trying to move back and you help him.

He tries to look at you but he can't meet your eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he tries to say.

You gently touch him and move his hair back and then you hold him close. He resists at first; he doesn't want to get you any dirtier but when he realises you are not going to push him away he gives in and clings to you. He raises the left stump of his arm and you see the new burn mark. The flesh has fortunately been cauterised by the burn but it has burnt away some of the stitches. You will need to see to it. You gently place your hand under it to hold it before he can snag it on something. Your heart goes out to him. His breath hiccups from the vomit and the tears he is trying not to sob.

The hatred and anger at what has been done to him burns deep inside you and you feel it wanting to bubble to the surface.

Kristo returns with the items requested, but Stefan now knows they will not be enough. He sends him back out for the wheel chair and beckons you to come around to his side of the bed. You have already guessed. The smell is making your eyes water. You encourage James to lay back down, promising him you are going to help him, you know how filthy the bed is but a few more minutes in it isn't going to make a difference.

You talk quietly with Stefan and he leaves. He is going to fetch you something clean to wear and to advise the guards you will be taking the patient to the showers.

You are so angry. If anyone else was with you, the doctors, the other nurses, even Zola himself you would strike out at them, consequences be damned. You want to kill them. You hate them all so much you could scream. You have never felt such an anger before and you have no where to vent it, so you bottle it up inside.

You begin to strip the bedding covering James' legs off the bed and throw them angrily into a corner, you then lean over James, meaning to ask him if you can look at his left arm, but he scoots back. He has never done that before. He has always trusted you. It is because he has seen the anger in your face, in your eyes and in the set of your mouth. You realise he thinks you are angry with him. The anger floods away for another time.

You put your hand out. “No. Not you. I'm not angry with you. Oh my God, how could I be angry with you?” He hears the tears in your voice, but his eyes are wide and you see his fear.

Before you can do any more there is a commotion outside in the corridor and Doctor Jakobs comes in, angry at the situation he is having to sort out. The nurse and orderly have gone straight to him about your treatment. It is lucky for you that they could not find Doctor Lehmann. The smell in the room stops him in his tracks and he tries to pull a handkerchief from his pocket so he can hold it over his nose. You know why he is here and you stand up and move back so he can see the entire state of both the bed and of your patient.

He looks at you. What he was going to say frozen in his mind as he takes everything in.

“Come and see me later,” he says gruffly.

“I intend to,” you say.

You move back and tell James that you are going to take him to the shower room to clean him. You try and remove some of the vomit from his gown but in the end you have to give up. The gown is too encrusted, to filthy, it will join the pile of things to burn.

The doctor leaves just as Kristo returns once more with the wheelchair, Stefan just behind him. You ask Kristo if whilst you are out of the room he could remake the bed and clean the room. You have only ever spoken with him a couple of times because he does not work in this area. They use him on the other floors; although Stefan met him when he came to help once to clean up the main room after testing and they were short staffed. You know this is the person that was able to supply the phenacetin. Stefan explained Kristo does not pilfer medical supplies but swaps things with the soldiers on the camp. More of a wheeler-dealer than a black marketeer.

You couldn't help but like him when you first met him. He is also six foot five and handy in a fight. He has only ever seen the patient once before but that was from a distance. He has heard the rumours and seen the leftovers from the experimentation, but he had no idea that a human being was being treated this badly.

You can tell he has been sickened by what he has seen today.

After giving James another beaker of water to drink, you and Stefan move him to the wheelchair, Kristo comes over to help. You then strip everything remaining off the bed and throw it in the corner.

“Can you see if you can get another mattress as well? I'm sure one of the guards will help you, they know where they can get one from.” You then indicate the pile of bed clothes in the corner. “Can you also burn all of those.”

He nods, and you and Stefan take your patient to the shower room, followed by a guard who is trying not to react to the smell. The guard waits outside as you take your patient in. He knows he will not be required to help. He can see how grey faced the patient is, there is no danger at all.

Stefan has already put clean towels, robes and a smock for you in the shower room. Whilst you quickly peel off your dress, Stefan starts the water, ensuring it is warm. You put a white shift over your underwear, and a shower cap over your hair. It takes too long to dry your hair otherwise. Stefan has already changed into white tee shirt and shorts. You asked Stefan to bring two shower caps in and you take up the spare one and some strips of cotton wadding.

“We need to remove your gown. We'll try not to hurt you. Let us know if you want us to stop,” you say.

James closes his eyes and swallows, then you see a small nod of his head.

You both stand the patient up, holding him on both sides and then gently and slowly remove his gown. As the material peels away you hear him whimper and for a moment you close your eyes. Skin and tissue have come away with the material and the bed sores you thought had almost healed last time have reopened. He is bleeding. They have also have burnt him in the most delicate of places.

You hear Stefan swear under his breath.

Before you do anything else you tear the sides of the cap and then place it over his left stub, tying it in place with the cotton strips. It isn't perfect but it will help keep the running water and soap away from the open end.

As you encourage him to walk to the the shower you feel the patient tense up when he gets nearer to the water. “The water is warm, it will help you relax, we are both here, we won't let you fall I promise.”

You guide him to the shower, talking quietly and gently to him. He hesitates slightly and then lets you stand him under the warm water. His tense body starts to relax when he feels the warmth of the water.

“I'm just going to clean some of this off, let me know if you want me to stop and I will.”

Stefan holds him whilst you gently run a wet sponge over his body. You want to clear away as much of the mess as you can so you can see the damage done. It is worse than you thought. Parts of his buttocks, genitals, and the tops of both legs are rubbed raw. Some of the skin left is sloughing off and you gulp. For a terrible moment you think you are going to be sick.

Your anger starts to resurface. How dare they do this to him, how dare they, he is a human being, not an animal, how much more does he have to go through.

“Freya?” Stefan asks.

You turn to face him and try to keep your voice light but you shake your head no. “I think we are going to need to use the creams and dressings. I can't use the soap because it will hurt too much and I don’t want to get any more infection in there.” You speak in English for the sake of your patient, and Stefan can follow most of what you are saying. You have been teaching him English, unbeknown to Doctor Lehmann.

You both look at your patient. He is trying to speak to you with some difficulty.

“I need to be clean please, I want to be clean...it doesn't matter if its painful. Please. I need to...” his voice is hoarse. Not just from vomiting, but from the little use he has for it.

“I know, I understand,” you say, your voice thick. “This will hurt a bit.” You realise what a stupid thing you have said. Everything anyone ever does to him hurts him one way or another.

He nods. His eyes are open and although they are not clear you can see he is fighting to keep steady.

You fetch one of the shower chairs and heap towels on top of it, then bring it over and put it under the water. You both lower him onto it.

“Lets start at the top,” you say.

“And afterwards, I will shave your face. No stubble. You should always have a man barber and not one of these ladies.” Stefan's English is understandable, and he smiles at him, pats him on the shoulder.

James tries to smile back. Stefan notices he is leaning over to one side, and without the patient realising, he moves him gently back into place.

You are going to shampoo his hair but some of it is so matted again you know you cannot get the dirt out so you fetch a pair of scissors and cut away the worst patches, and then you cut it to just below his ears. You then start to shampoo his hair. You massage his scalp gently, knowing it can aid in relaxation. When you rinse the hair you make sure any of the soap goes over the back of the chair and not down onto his skin.

Afterwards, the chair is removed and Stefan helps hold him whilst you wash the parts of him you feel you can use the soap on. The water has softened any stubborn mess and you gently remove anything left, taking care not to touch the raw patches unless they have caught some of the dirt. You are aware that urine has soaked into these patches and you fetch some of the lint Stefan brought with him. Soaking it in just water, you very gently pat the areas. You can tell from the tenseness in his body how much it hurts but he doesn't make a sound. You can already feel the extra heat coming from Zola's serum and for once you are grateful for it because it will help the healing process. Without it, some of the wounds would never heal.

Afterwards, whilst Stefan dries himself and changes, you towel dry the patients hair and then you both work on patting his body dry, being careful around the raw edges. You also remove the cap from his left arm and gently clean the area. You know the new burns will need dressing. You put him in a robe, you can't dress him yet until after you have dressed his wounds. You can see the tiredness in his eyes but he is still trying to remain focused.

Stefan dries off the shower chair and brings it over for the patient to sit on again. Whilst you get dry and change into a clean uniform Stefan had brought along for you he quickly shaves James, talking to him in broken English. His lessons are coming along but he still has a way to go. James is too tired to talk but he does nod and at one point tries to smile again, but it is such a rare feat. Almost as if he has forgotten how to.

You clean off the wheel chair and when Stefan is finished you both take him back to his room. Whilst there is still an underlying smell you are amazed at its cleanliness. Kristo has done well. He has found a new mattress and some of the guards have helped him clean up the room. Whilst they do not normally take notice of what happens around the labs, they are aware of what the American has been put through and some part of them is ashamed of the treatment. This is the only way they can help without showing they care.

Kristo has found a bowl, four oranges and a lemon from somewhere. You can't remember when you last saw decent fruit. He beams at you, but then sees you are confused. How do you tell him you can't feed them to the patient? They would be to acidic for his stomach.

“It will help with the smell,” he whispers before you can attempt an explanation. He proceeds to tear them apart, he then puts them in the bowl on the bedside table. And he is right; now all you can now smell is oranges and you realise his heart is in the right place.

You get your patient back onto the bed and you start the drip, then add the morphine from your secret stash. You need to get liquid and pain killers into him as soon as possible. You help him have another drink, having to hold the beaker as his hand is shaking so much. You know he is so close to falling asleep, his eyes are nearly closed already. When you see the drip has started to take effect, the three of you work quickly on treating his wounds, dressing him and making him as comfortable as you can.

You don't put the straps in place, you encourage him to lie on his side as you did the last time. You also tell him he is safe and you will not leave his side. The part about being safe is most probably a lie but for now he is not to know and if it helps him sleep peacefully then you don’t mind telling it. You will remain with him tonight, nothing will make you leave his side. You have had enough. The war ends here.

Before his eyes close he tries to smile again.

“I can smell oranges...” he mumbles quietly.

He closes his eyes and you wonder what memories the smell of oranges will carry him away on.  

Chapter Text

The Nurse - Becoming The Primary Carer

One of the guards visits with a private message for you. Doctor Jakobs wishes to see you but not until tomorrow, he wants you to put a report together on what happened today. You look at the message and then at James, who is sleeping. This is so important. You need to say the right thing, to impress on Doctor Jakobs the importance of what is happening.

The other nurses and orderlies have heard what you have done, and you refuse to leave when your replacement arrives. Stefan is with you, and surprisingly enough the guard Eduard Marinov has appeared and actually tells the guards to remove the other nurse. He tells you that you will not be disturbed for the rest of the night.

Stefan leaves for a while and arrives back with food and drink. You wake James up to take some of the soup that has been brought; he is soon fast asleep again, absolutely exhausted, and you leave him be for the rest of the night.

Stefan leaves you so he can sleep. Marinov has found him a bunk for the night in with the guards, daunting but Stefan is grateful - he doesn't want to go back to the dormitory. Stefan has already insisted that he will cover for you the next morning whilst you are seeing Doctor Jakobs. Kristo has said he will come and assist him.

You ask Marinov for one last favour - could one of his guards collect a file of papers for you from under your mattress? He agrees, and it is brought straight back to you.

You have been putting together a report for some time now. You finish work on it and then, pulling up a chair next to James' bedside you make yourself as comfortable as possible, and fall into an uneasy sleep with your feet propped up beside his sleeping form.

*

Just before ten the next day, you walk into the office. You expect just Doctor Jakobs, but instead they are all there: Doctor Schmidt, Doctor Taffeteer, Doctor Aichinger and, finally, the one you dread: Doctor Lehmann.

They are expecting you.

You know you must keep your temper. You know what these men are like; logic is their main staple diet. They are not just doctors, they are scientists, and they thrive on it. You will need to pander to their arrogance and there must be logic in everything you ask for.

What she does not know is she has already persuaded one of them. Doctor Jakobs saw the patient; saw what had been done. He doesn't need to listen to what she has to say about the incident, he knows things have to change. It has been on his mind all night and it is why he has called this meeting. He is banking on her feelings for their patient; that she will personally accept responsibility for his welfare.

They invite you to sit. Gentlemen to the last.

“We would like to hear your version of what happened with Nurse Richter and Orderly Wombwell. And why you had the audacity to order them out of the patients room,” one of the doctors begins.

They have already talked to both the nurse and the orderly, both of whom blustered their way through an explanation of how important it was to get the patient to eat but at how he fights them at every turn. About how disruptive he is, how they have problems with him that the doctors don't see. And, they add, how she does not work with them but keeps her distance. “As if she is better than us” Richter had said indignantly.

You take a deep breath and, trying to sound as professional as you can, you tell them about the scene you found. Whilst describing the condition you found the patient in, a few of them go a little pale and one turns up his nose - as if you had brought the smell into the room with you.

“Richter did say they may have been a little...overzealous at feeding time,” one of them says, making it sound as though they had been at the zoo.

“Its not overzealousness that caused the problem,” you say. “The nursing staff are running a bet. Whomever gets the most of the slop down him gets to win a weeks' supply of cigarettes. They use the same food that they have used all week. It is mouldy. Flies had been feeding of it. It is slop.” You pause for effect. “When Stefan and I examined the patient after his shower, he had additional burns. Not just on his body, but on his genitals. All were from the use of the baton; his punishment for not eating the week-old food. We found he had not been cleaned, or allowed out of the bed for three days, and had spent that time lying in his own faeces and urine. They had soaked into his wounds and his bed sores. The straps were so tight that they left deep abrasions which had started to fester and restricted him from moving. He has had no pain medication for months. Not even a saline drip. The food they were feeding him was rancid and mouldy and, as I mentioned, already a week old. I am sure they told you how they spit in it to make it tastier.”

They mutter at that. After all, none of them likes to think of themselves as sadists. You notice Doctor Lehmann has not said a word but is watching you closely.

Doctor Jakobs clears his throat.

“I can vouch for what Nurse Bowman is telling us. I saw the condition in which our...patient was in. I was shocked. I had never thought about what happens when he is not in with us, but this was bad. I would even go as far as to say it was torture...his condition certainly looked almost as bad as it did when I brought him here from the interrogation camp.”

“Well then maybe we could agree that certain conditions are met in future...” Doctor Schmidt begins, but you interrupt him.

“That will not be enough.” The room falls ominously quiet.

Tread carefully.

They did not see the file in your hand until now. You open it up, stand and hand them several sheets. If you knew there would be more than one of them you would have typed more copies. They think that you were just preparing a report because of yesterday, what they didn't know is that you have been thinking about this since you first came here. You have been putting this file together since you arrived.

“These are facts and figures I have gathered, and some recommendations that I would like to put forward.”

They obviously expect you to start with a list of “Do and Don't', but instead you start with statistics.

You list James Barnes' wounds over the past months. Then you bring to their attention the problem of bed sores and enforced bed rest. The statistics show conclusively that patients take longer to heal if forced to lie down for long periods of time. Some even die.

“But this patient heals on his own.” Doctor Aichinger argues.

“Yes, but how much faster would it be if he wasn't weakened by infections all of the time?” you counter.

She has just hit the jackpot but does not know it. She has their full attention.

You proceed to the figures that show the need to keep muscle tone and strength up.

The need for a proper diet. The slop they feed him in no way benefits their work.

“At the moment you have the patient eating nothing but liquidised vegetables and fruit. And it's not the freshest either; this is food that has already gone past its shelf life. I've seen them prepare it in the kitchens, most of the time it is substandard, leftovers from mealtimes. If the patient had a better diet, comprised of fresh vegetables, fruit, fish, meat, milk, then when your project is ending and you want to see the final results, his digestion, musculature, and nervous system will already be used to ordinary food. At the moment it is not. He cannot even hold proper food down. This means that parts of his body are not getting what they need. An example would be his teeth and bones, which are not getting the calcium they need. There is something in his body that keeps on repairing despite this but you need more than that to happen - you need to give it a building ground to know what to repair and where.”

You go on to show that a gentle exercise programme once a day would increase the tone they are building and keep it sharp. “Surely gentleman if you are trying to create an enhanced...soldier, you would want him to have his body kept to the peak of its performance? There must be a better way for all of this. You are supposed to be working on a fine specimen of the human race but instead you are continually working on a sick and drugged man, surely your findings are therefore incorrect and the work will take longer?”

You look at them.

“Gentleman, we all know how important musculature and supreme health would be to an enhanced soldier - unless of course, I have misunderstood the valuable work you are doing here, and you are trying to find a way to kill a super soldier instead of building one?”

No one says a word. They are studying the statistics, showing each other things they have found of interest. You wait for a break in what they are saying to focus them back on to you and what you are telling them. Even Lehmann is studying the facts. “I can give you an example of where I know the treatment he is receiving from the staff is giving you conflicting results on your serum. You mention how thirsty he always appears to be. I heard you talking about it; you said you think it is a by-product of your serum. I don't believe it is. The nursing staff keep his saline drip turned off as part of his punishment. He is always dehydrated, always desperate for water.”

Doctor Jakobs closes his eyes in frustration. He had noticed and is now cursing himself for not putting two and two together. The months they have lost on just that one small problem!

“Then there is the pain medication.” You proceed to ask quietly if they are aware of the fact that the patient's supplies of morphine are actually syphoned off and sold on the black market. “In the entire time that I have been here I have only been able to administer a morphine dose three times and that is only because I had some hidden. Do you know the pain our patient is in most of the time? They use gags to keep him quiet, so you don't hear him screaming when he is strapped to the bed so tightly the straps bite into his skin and cause even more sores and muscle cramps. Or when he screams because the serum is doing something to his bones and his muscles and he can't move to ease the pain. Or when they burn him as punishment for wetting the bed because they don't take him to the bathroom.”

You take a breath, then continue.

“The only time he is cleaned is when he is due to be tested...and they do it with bleach and hard bristled brooms. The bleach being poured on his open wounds was punishment for him killing that orderly. The one that helped rape him. Did you know that?”

Your words shock them. For the first time they realise that they do not know what is happening under their very own noses.

Doctor Lehmann looks up. He is the only one not too shocked by what she has said. He knows what was going on - or thought he did. He has to admit though, he had no idea about the severity of the treatment, about the lack of morphine or the rape. He wants James Barnes to be in a weak frame of mind but maybe, just maybe, he thinks for the first time, he has been going about this in the wrong way.

She has given him food for thought.

Work on the body first, and then they can turn their attention to breaking his mind.

“Is that it?” he asks.

“Nearly,” you say, and give them your best smile. “If you will let me, I have a proposal for a better health plan for him which should impact in a positive way on your research, which in turn should make Hydra extremely pleased with you...all of you,” you add, and you are now focusing on Lehmann.

You finally allow yourself to fall silent.

Bullshit and confidence.

None of those statistics you have quoted to your knowledge exist, and if they do, you certainly do not have access to that type of information, especially buried down here God knows where. If any of them ask you, you are prepared to say you learnt them when studying to become a nurse and it was what they used in a field camp and at the main hospital.

Bullshit and confidence.

They talk quietly amongst themselves and then ask you for your proposal. You hear Doctor Jakobs saying it can't hurt to listen. You hand them several sheets of paper and take a deep breath.

“All of the nurses and most of the orderlies you use are from prisons, and in most cases there is a reason why they were there. They also have no medical training. None. You do not need all of these people. If you look on Page 2, you will see a feasible rota made up of two nurses and two orderlies; I have also taken the liberty of adding names in for the orderlies. We would need to get a second nurse from a reputable hospital; the ones you employ are not suitable for their tasks. The two orderlies are decent men, hard-working, who do care for the patient - and I should like to keep them on.”

They look at you and then back at the papers, murmuring to each other.

“I have also included a plan of a carefully balanced nutritional diet which factors in all the patient would need and the exercise programme I mentioned earlier. And there is just one other thing,” you wait until you have their attention again.

“The batons that are used burn his skin, not just the skin but all the way through to flesh. They are not needed. Instead...” and you hate yourself for this, but it is better than what they currently use

“...batons that emit just a small electrical charge instead would be better and less disruptive to his health.”

You would like to have argued a case for nothing to be used, but you are practical. You know they would never agree to their abandonment altogether.

“I can see you have been thorough,” says Doctor Lehmann. You are used to his sarcasm, but this man should be watched very carefully. He is so ambitious and you know he runs the operation now. You need him on-board.

The doctors ask you to wait outside.

You nod, but just as you go out of the door you say: “...and of course, with a smaller workforce of the correct personnel less people would know of your...important work. After all the black market is also a place for secrets to be sold, which is not good for you or for Hydra.”

You leave. Sitting outside the room you go over and over what you have said. Could you have said it better? Have you persuaded them? What if they turn you down?

You hear footsteps and look up to see Eduard Marinov. He frowns at you but does not stop to talk. He knocks on the door and is told to come in.

Your stomach hits the floor. You have failed. He has been summoned to be your executioner. Yet all you can think is you have let James down again; to you, it is akin to letting them take him in the field camp and not doing anything to stop them.

Marinov is not in there for long and when he comes out he walks off in the other direction without even looking at you. You stare at the floor, convinced of your failure. Your mind cannot handle any more.

You are asked to go back in. You are convinced they will not take up your proposal, you have let your patient down. It is your appointment that will be terminated; you who will be put in front of a firing squad.

You must not let them see your lack of confidence.

Doctor Jakobs is the one that does the talking. Lehmann sits there studying you. Jakobs tells you that they took a vote on it, that just one doctor had reservations but in the end he agreed as anything is better than what is currently in operation.

“But,” and at this point Lehmann interrupts leaning forward and takes over. “We have two provisions.”

You nod but you feel like you are under water. They went for it! You drag your mind back to what you are being told.

Concentrate.

“You will become the patient's primary carer. Everything that happens to him in your care will be your total responsibility. You will also be the only nurse we keep, but we will allow the two orderlies to stay.”

Doctor Jakobs is the one to thank for that. It is he who vouched for your choice of both Stefan and Kristo, for he remembered Stefan's work on the day the patient killed the orderly.

You did not mean for that. You meant for his care to be split between you, one other nurse and the two orderlies. “I don’t think I understand...” you begin but Doctor Lehmann smiles and explains so that you are in no doubt as to his orders.

“The responsibility for this is on your shoulders, and yours alone. We expect to be consulted on the diet and exercise programme you come up with - although you seem to know what you are talking about. We expect to see an improvement in his condition and therefore in our own findings within the month. With regard to the exercise programme, this will be kept to a minimum. Just enough to keep the body going. We will worry about more...in-depth exercise when he is where we want him in the program.”

“And the second?” you ask.

“As he gets fitter and more...” he searches for the word “... alert, shall we say, he will remain sedated at all times.”

Lehmann knows that when the patient becomes stronger and able to function he may either seek his freedom or attempt to kill himself once more. He will not allow either eventualities to happen.

Your immediate thought is to argue, but you have won so much today. You could lose it all. This way little by little you could work on the sedation issue.

You nod instead. “And the batons?”

Doctor Jakobs answers that one. “We will issue new batons as soon as possible. It may take a few days but I am sure we can get that done soon.” He actually smiles at you.

“Thank you,” you say and you mean it. To not to have to see the seared and burnt flesh or hear his cries is more than you could have hoped for.

“You will in future deal directly with myself and Doctor Lehmann,” Doctor Jakobs tells you, and then they dismiss you.

As you open the door to leave, Doctor Lehmann asks one more question.

“Nurse Bowman, do you not want to know what your punishment will be if you fail?” he asks, his smile cold.

You look at him, and although your knees go weak you do not show it.

“I won't fail,” you say, and then you leave, closing the door quietly behind you, Your legs barely able to hold you up.

As the door closes the doctors are quiet. It is Doctor Lehmann who finally breaks the silence.

“Gentlemen, I believe what the nurse has said is correct - but we must not let our guard down with that one. We know she is loyal to Barnes, not to us. Doctor Jakobs, I want to know all that she discusses with you in the future. Do I make myself clear?”

Jakobs would like to argue but Lehmann has Zola himself backing him. They know it will not be long before he is awarded the directorate of the facility, he is someone to watch out for, unless you want to end up buried in an unmarked grave.

“Yes I understand.”

“We are so close now and when we are at the right stage we will begin working on breaking his mind. I feel the end may actually be coming into sight.” Lehmann actually claps his hands, rubbing them together.

He stands.

“Now, let us get back to work.”

You head for the toilets and get there just in time to bring up what little breakfast you had. You cannot believe they went for it. You cannot believe you are up to this. But you must be, you are all James has now and you won't let him down.

It is midday and you return to your dormitory, dreading facing the other nurses. But when you get there it is only to find it empty of everything and everyone: people, furniture, everything has gone. How fast they move when Hydra makes its mind up about something. You look at the room and wonder what has happened to the people you have been responsible for getting rid of. Are they back in prison cells...or, more likely, lying dead somewhere. Food for the worms. You think you know which one. Hydra likes its secrecy and they were people who were willing to sell anything.

You know their deaths are on your head and if that is the case, then so be it. You try and analyse how little that affects you and start to feel a little frightened about how callous you are becoming. They were people after all. Then you remember how they treated James, and your jaw tightens.

Your patient is your only concern.

A year ago it would have devastated you to cause the deaths of so many people. Now you feel nothing for them, what are you beginning to turn into?

Stefan joins you, making you jump. You had prayed he was safe and you had believed Doctor Jakobs when he said your choice of personnel was accepted.

“They have moved us into rooms on the third floor,” he says. “Doctor Jakobs asked me to come and find you, Kristo is in with our patient.”

As you walk you tell him what happened at the meeting. He doesn’t say much but you think he looks relieved. You both return to the floor you work on, and Stefan shows you to a room that is set up for you. There is a bed in there with your pitiful belongings.

“Kristo and I are just down the corridor on the other side, we're sharing a room,” and he tries to smile to lighten the situation. He is worried. He doesn't know how Kristo will be if he finds out the secret he is hiding.

When he has left you look around the room. It isn't much but at least there is only one room between you and James. His welfare is now in your hands and for a moment it makes you feel dizzy and sick. Then it hits you. What if you had let everything carry on as it had been, and the project had crashed and burned?

He would have been out of it. Dead.

And now?

Now, he is forced to stay alive and be their guinea pig. Have you really done him any favours? What is it about you that is so bad for him? Why are your lives so twisted together? You thought you were doing the best thing for him but you weren't, not really.

For a moment you sit on the bed and stare at the wall. You cannot believe how much your life has changed since that day the soldiers dragged James Barnes into the camp.

You bow your head.

“What if I had just gone back to my tent that day,” you murmur. “ What if I had l just left well alone?”

There is no one to answer that but yourself.  

Chapter Text

The Nurse - I Never Told You His Name

Doctor Jakobs comes to find you to discuss the nutrition programme and exercise regime you have created. They seem to be working, but there are a few things he needs to ask you.

You meet him in the corridor; you have just handed over to Stefan for a few hours. It is late afternoon. You are feeling tired, it has already been a long day.

He can see how pale you are. “When was the last time you were above?”

You smile. It is sad. “I haven't been up there since I was brought here. I've forgotten what its like.”

God how long ago was that? Your mind can't help but wonder.

You watch as he reaches a decision. He knows you won't run. Its not in your nature, and he knows you will not leave your patient. Not for the first time Doctor Jakobs wonders what it is about this man that has such a hold over you.

“Come on.”

You follow. You are too tired to ask where to.

After stopping by the canteen and obtaining two coffees and cake, he leads you to the main elevator - a place you are no longer allowed. The guard there makes to stop you but Doctor Jakobs intervenes.

“She's with me.”

When you step out into the fresh air, the brightness of the day blinds you, the smells assault you and you realise it is autumn. Your eyes water and you feel a breeze wrap itself around your body. You are almost brought to your knees from everything that overwhelms you.

You both step away from the building, but as you walk forward you take in what you are seeing and stop. The expanse of the camp is laid out before you and it takes your breath away. The night you came here it was dark; you had no idea the operation was so large. You look around. You can still only see part of the camp and part of how it is laid out but other things about it shock you. You only saw soldiers briefly the first night, but even so they were Russian soldiers. It had obviously been a Russian Military Camp then, but now?

Now it was different.

Frighteningly so.

The soldiers you can see are no longer in Russian uniform. They wear the black uniforms of Hydra, with the red design on their shoulders. Some of the buildings have also been stencilled with the Hydra sign. You can see tanks, huge things easily twice the size of ordinary ones, immense guns on trailers, and fleets of other armoured vehicles you do not recognise. Over it all flies a flag. Not the normal Russian flag, but one that bears the Hydra insignia. You can hear shouts of men and marching feet, and to your right in the distance is a parade ground containing hundreds of squads of soldiers. You have never seen so many. Everyone is armed, everyone seems to have a purpose. High walls surround the camp, you can see towers on two of the corners, the others are obscured by even more buildings.

“Scary isn't it?” Jakobs says quietly when he sees where you are looking.

You look away, fear clutching at you.

“Is this why you brought me up here? To see this?” you ask.

He seems shocked.

“No, no why would I...you looked pale, I thought some sun and fresh air would do you good. That is the only reason. “

And you believe him; for some reason you believe this man. You look at him your eyes watering in the light. There is a weakness there. No, not a weakness, a side to him maybe buried. He was once a good man...and then Hydra got hold of him.

He hands you a cup, takes your arm and leads you over to an area with tables and benches. He sits you down and he passes you a cake. How civilised this all seems, yet below the earth, below your feet is a world made out of fear and torture.

“I don't know even know where we are,” you say.

He looks at you and then away.

“Do any of us know where we are?” he asks cryptically. He cannot tell you, it is no good pushing him for things he cannot say. If you had any thoughts of getting James Barnes out of here they have been totally annihilated. No one could escape this.

You pick up your cup to drink some coffee to change the subject, to start again. “Nice coffee.” And you take a sip.

He lets you compose yourself for a while. He can see the shock of the camp in your eyes; he didn't realise you didn't even know where you were. But it makes sense when he thinks about it. Lehmann will be furious if he finds out you have been brought up here.

Sod him.

You tilt your head back to feel the low sun on your face and close your eyes. If only you could bring James up here, let him feel the breeze, let him see the blue of the sky, hear the rustle of the leaves. You look down and see Jakobs is watching you. The thought of asking him goes through your mind. He sees it and shakes his head.

He knows what you were going to ask.

And you know it is too soon to request, to soon for them to trust you.

Doctor Jakobs gets down to business, and you discuss the doctors' concerns and come up with solutions. You and Stefan were given authorisation to order all the food for the patients' diet and to oversee its preparations in the kitchen. You started James off on nutritional soups and light food and now you have been able to introduce more substantial food. It is already showing a difference.

But, as Jakobs reminds you, they do not want anything introduced that may stimulate him. His food is to be beneficial only. Food that will help with the development of his body.

“And his mind?” you ask, but it is not really a question and Jakobs knows you don't expect an answer.

The exercise program is more restricted. They agreed to letting him get out of bed every day, walking him around, up and down the corridor but no where else. Doctor Jakobs was honest with you. They just need to keep his muscle tone up; everything else they will worry about when the project nears completion. Doctor Jakobs knows you have had all the restraints removed from the bed, but he has not brought this to Lehmanns notice. He feels it is not really something Lehmann needs to know.

You want to ask him for more details of what the future holds for your patient; but you know he cannot tell you. You want to keep this man on your side. He is the only doctor sympathetic to James' Barnes plight.

He tells you the new batons are working out well. Marinov was in charge of issuing them.

When they were first issued you had Marinov use one on you to see what level of shock James would receive if he was touched by one of them. It was enough to make your arm dead for over half an hour. They have higher settings but you were promised that they have been ordered to only use them on the lower setting. Marinov has also promised that the guards have been told that anyone found using theirs on a higher setting will be punished.

“Believe me,” he said grimly “none of us want to be punished by Hydra.”

You believe him.

Marinov has been made supervisor to the guards overseeing your floor. He is the one you are to go to with any problems. And any complaints. So far you have had none. There was a major change in the guards on the floor. The ones from the Gulag have gone. The standards improved. They are no longer the ones who look at you and James with mean looks and smirks. These ones are of a tougher calibre, they are professional. Neither are they just Russians, you have heard some of them talk in different languages: German, French, some languages you do not recognise. You know the war is over and you can see that Hydra is growing, finding roots in all countries, in all cultures.

You mention sedation again and Doctor Jacobs tuts, not because he is annoyed with you but because Lehmann said you would bring it up and he hates to admit when Lehmann is right. “As the patient becomes stronger we will begin to use more sedatives not less. As the project goes on, the sedatives will need to be stronger and the more he will be sedated. This is one issue we will be firm on. If you are not able to do this then now is the time to say.”

He is deadly serious.

It is not open for discussion.

You nod and duck your head to drink. You were afraid of this. Both you and Stefan have noticed how much stronger James Barnes is getting, and obviously the doctors have noticed to. More guards have already been posted and armed with the batons, though too date none of them have had to use them.

The guards still carry their guns. After all, the patient may not be the only danger to them.

“No one has talked to me yet about the new sedatives that will be used,” you say.

“They will. What we use will be Leh...Doctor Lehmanns' choice. I believe he has options that you may not have ever seen or used before.” And that is all he will say.

You know it is time to go back underground, but Doctor Jacob surprises you. He seems genuinely concerned about your pallor and a few moments more will not do any harm. He does not know but these few more moments will end up making him re-evaluate all that, until now, he has taken as being important.

They will even make him question his continual devotion to Hydra.

You are both quiet. You feel that in another time and place you could have been friends, but in your mind you see him working on the patient. And he sees the change in your eyes and seems to know what you are thinking.

“I know what is going through your mind, but you don’t know me and you don’t know my circumstances. I lost my family in the allied bombing. My wife and two children were buried under what had been our house. It took a week to get their bodies out so I could bury them. All I have left is my work. Don't judge me. I think what Hydra is doing is important. We can make a better world.” The last part is almost a whisper to himself.

You are quiet for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” you say. And you do mean it.

“May I tell you a story?” you ask.

He seems surprised, but nods.

You think for a moment. “A few years ago, before I came here, I worked in various hospital field camps. The work was hard, long hours, comforting soldiers whilst they were having limbs amputated or worse, comforting them as they lay dying. Some so young they hadn't even started their lives yet.”

You stop. You know this is going to be difficult, but you need to get him to understand something.

He is listening.

“One afternoon I had just finished my shift. All I wanted was to go back to my bunk lay down and sleep, I couldn't think of men dying any more. I just wanted to sleep. To get away. A group of soldiers came in. They were dragging a dead body along the ground.

These men and their leader were always coming in to camp to try and sell dead body parts to our doctors; we couldn't get them to realise dead organs were of no use to us. I had to talk to one of the doctors first and later when I came out I could hear shooting and laughing.

I should have ignored it, gone to my tent and shut the world out, but I didn't. Instead I went to see what was happening. The group of soldiers had got hold of cheap vodka and were getting drunk. Some of them were scrapping over a pile of belongings that they had just stripped from the corpse they had brought with them and were divvying up their treasure.”

As you picture it in your mind your throat thickens. “A few of them had decided it would be fun to to tie the dead man to a tree - they were drunker than I had ever seen them – and use him for rifle practise. Most of their shots went wide, but a few hit home. They found it so funny when they missed and cheered when they hit the body.”

You look at Jakobs. He is still listening and you can see a look of pity for you in his eyes - but you don’t want that pity. It shouldn't be for you.

“The leader decided it was time to leave. They cut the body down and left him naked and lying in the snow. The leader went to fire a bullet into the dead mans face to obliterate his features. Its what they did, turn a man, their enemy, into nothing but dead meat.

I couldn't stand it and tried to stop him. He turned the rifle on me instead. I thought he was going to kill me but then someone from the camp saw him and yelled. He laughed at me and lowered his rifle. I suppose I must have looked terrified. He spat at my feel and then walked away.

When they had gone I knelt next to the dead man and turned him over to face me. He was foreign...he was so young...so very young...he had had his whole life in front of him and then the war had started and he ended up here, thousands of miles away from his home, dead and being used as target practice. I wonder, do you think he would have married, had children, lived on a farm or worked in a city?” You smile but there are tears in your eyes.

Jakobs realises the question is metaphorical and does not answer, but he does look away.

You continue. “It had started snowing again and the flakes were covering up the wounds. His whole body had suffered terrible injuries. But then as I went to cover him with my coat I realised he was bleeding and when I looked at his face his eyes were open and looking at me.”

Jakobs swears softly under his breath.

“How did I miss it? How did I not notice? Looking back I had seen the trail of blood in the snow when they dragged him into the camp.” Your voice shows the contempt you hold for yourself.

“You were tired, you...”

“No!” You say it louder than you meant to. “No.” You are quieter. “I should have seen. It was my job to help, my job, there was no excuse,” you emphasise.

You are both quiet for a while.

“Did he die?” Jakobs asks.

“No.” You swallow. “No, he lived.” You try to smile but it is more like a grimace. “We looked after him. He was a mess. We bathed and dressed his wounds, set his bones. He was unconscious for most of the time...but it was only a matter of time before someone heard there was a foreigner in the camp. When someone got wind of it they came and took him away.”

Jakobs tries to make you feel better. “When the war ended we sent all the prisoners of war home...he is probably living in some small town now, raising those children you wondered about.”

“Do you think so?” you ask.

He is not sure what the point of your story is but you have gone quiet. Very quiet. The day is getting late, there is still work to be done. He stands up and so do you. You have drunk your coffee but not touched your cake.

As you walk to go into the building and the elevator that will take you back, you look over your shoulder at the final sunshine of the day. You take a deep breath of fresh air then you enter the building. Jakobs senses a sadness about you. He is quiet whilst you both ride down in the elevator. The elevator comes to a stop and you both get out.

“I'll let you go and get back to what you were doing,” he says, and goes to walk the other way down the corridor. His mind is already putting your story to one side and thinking about his work.

Before you go back through the gate you turn and call his name, he turns. “The man in the camp...I never told you his name did I?”

He shakes his head. Why would it matter to him? Maybe he has indulged you for too long. Everyone has their sad stories about the war.

You look straight into his eyes. “His name was James Buchanan Barnes.”

His widen in shock.

You have reached the point of your story. “ And as we both know, he never made it home. He didn't get to meet the girl of his dreams and have those children. If I had just let him die that day it would of been the kindest thing I could have ever done.”

You see the numbness as James Buchanan Barnes suddenly becomes a person in Jakobs' mind. A man who had a life. Someone who had a past but no future. They had taken that away from him. He wasn't a lab experiment, he wasn't there through choice and Doctor Jakobs and the others have broken their Hippocratic oath.

You turn and go through the gate.

Jacobs watches her leave. His mind working, his thoughts very much now on the patient; on the man called James Barnes.

On the point of her story.

Chapter Text

James Barnes - Nightmares

James notices a difference, but it takes him a few days to realise things had changed so drastically. His nurse is with him all of the time now and the only orderlies he sees are the one who worked with her. They are kind, attentive and he sees they do not carry batons. The guards are different as well. He no longer sees the two who helped rape him.

Freya has told him that things would be different, and he begins to believe her and begins to hope.

He is also feeling better. His wounds are healing, and he has not been taken to the main room in over a week. They are allowing the worst of his injuries to heal first before they begin to create any more. The food he is given to eat is fresh, palatable and there is always plenty of water. The drip is kept on when needed and he is now able to make do with only a low percentage of the morphine.

He doesn't feel so dizzy all the time and he actually begins to feel stronger in himself. Several times a day they allow him to get out of bed. At first he was able to manage only a few steps, but now he is able to walk with their help down the corridor. The guards walk with them, but James knows he is still not in a position to be of harm to anyone.

The straps on the bed are gone completely and he can sleep in any position he needs to to get comfortable. If he needs the bathroom during the night he only has to ask. They are talking of turning the storage room next to his into a toilet and he knows his nurse is now sleeping on this floor. She is there any time he needs her.

His room and bed are kept clean. He has regular showers, and clean clothes - even his own toothbrush. They have exchanged the gowns for pyjamas so that he doesn't feel so exposed, so vulnerable.

Unbeknown at first to his nurse and orderlies, Doctor Lehmann pays him a visit during the first week of changes. He doesn't want the patient to get to comfortable, he wants him to know what is at stake, he wants to keep lowering his defences.

Keep him on edge.

He speaks in broken English, but it is good enough for James to understand what Lehmann is telling him.

Lehmann first tells him that they have changed the way he is looked after to show how generous they are. He tells him they will begin again the important work and that there are still many trials and tribulations ahead of him - in other words, they will start to hurt him again soon. And, he says, they are very pleased with his progress.

“The nurse was clever in what she told us, Sergeant Barnes.” Lehmann sits on the edge of the bed and James would have liked to have moved away from him but he doesn't feel he can - doesn't want to show he is cowed by this man.

A guard stands in the room, but James can see Lehmann feels safe enough to come this close. His old self would have tried something, anything but now he is beaten - almost broken - it is all he can do to survive each day without any hope of ever being free.

“The other nurses, orderlies pssht... Lehmann clicks his fingers suddenly which makes his patient jump.

“...gone, dead, rotting in the ground as we speak.” He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Lehmann gets up and wanders around the room picking up objects and putting them down again speaking in his own language, James has no clue as to what he is saying.

Eventually, the doctor comes back to his bedside. “The nurse she is smart. Do you like her?”

James does not answer. He does not know if it is question or Lehmann is just confirming something.

“Come now. We are both men! I asked if you like her?” he says, and James realises an answer is needed. His mind is still easily confused and he feels a fog descending. Is this a test? A trick? What does he say? His ears begin to buzz and it feels like he cannot hear properly so he is unsure as to whether his answer is heard or not because his voice is so quiet.

“Yes,” he nods as he says it. Then he struggles to add more “...she...is very kind.”

Lehmann laughs. “Oh yes, but come now we are men ...“ James feels disturbed when Lehmann winks lewdly “...kind but strong. We will have to watch her.” He waves his hand at the guard. “The guards are not just here for you, they are for her as well. Any false step and psssht...she will be gone to join the others. Another rotting corpse.” He smiles inside when he sees James' eyes widen.

James hopes he has heard wrong, he begins to feel sick inside. He starts to get hot, to sweat and he feels that the air is being sucked from the room.

“Oh yes, she likes you, in fact we know she is in love with you. Tell me Sergeant Barnes, how much do you like her, hmm? Enough to care what happens to her? You do not want to lose her, no?” He leans closer and now James sees a cruel glint in his eye.

This man is dangerous.

“Over the next few months you will start to feel stronger. Your mind will be clearer and as such it would be stupid of us not to think that you will consider escaping. You are deep underground, this facility is surrounded by forest and manned by thousands of soldiers and is in the middle of nowhere and as such there is no where to go. You would not even be able to get off this floor. I want you to understand this so you do not waste the time trying.

The other thing you may think of is to hurt yourself. You gave us all quite a scare the last time. But your body is now better at healing itself, and it would be stupid of you to even consider suicide. It would not work, do you understand? In time you will come around to our way of thinking, but for now let me tell you something that may help you make up your mind.” He is studying James, and James cannot tear his gaze away. “The nurse, this Freya, she is made responsible for you and I am making you responsible for her, you understand?”

James cannot move, his mouth is dry, the hum in his ears is getting louder, moving into his brain. He is trying to breathe but the air is not getting into his lungs.

“One false step from you and she will be shot. One from her and the same will happen. I expect you to...” he looks about to find the right word “...work with us and she is told the rules, if we find her breaking them then she will be gone, pssssht.” He clicks his fingers again and the noise seems louder this time as if it is a rifle shot.

He pats James' arm and stands back up. “I take it, Sergeant Barnes, that you understand what I am telling you hmm?”

James is still finding it difficult to breathe. He nods and gulps and can feel his heart thud. He doesn't want to be alone again. He doesn't want to think of her dead. He doesn't want to think of what would happen if he did something wrong or if she did.

Oh God I can't breathe, there's no air. He is blinking rapidly, trying to clear his sight.

Lehmann sees the panic in his eyes, hears the trouble the patient is having breathing.

Perfect.

He turns to the guard. “Get the nurse,” he says, calmly, and the guard hurries out.

Lehmann turns back to James. “I see you understand. We understand together, yes?” He smiles again.

James can hear his heartbeat thudding louder in his ears. He can't get enough oxygen. He is struggling to sit up, his hand clenching the blanket, he feels so hot, so claustrophobic, panic is taking over.

Lehmann watches him struggling, all the time inspecting him like an insect trapped on a board. He makes no move to help. He knows he has the patient just where he wants him.

The nurse comes running in with the orderly. She sees the state the patient is in straight away.

“What happened?” She goes straight to her patient, helping him sit up. She looks at Lehmann and repeats her question.

“We were just having a little chat,” Lehmann says.

She frowns.

She turns back to James. Stefan is one side, she is the other, but they are not crowding him.

She talks to the patient in English.

“Its all right. Take it slowly, look at me, look at me.” He does, eyes wide, sweat on his forehead and top lip. He grabs her hand, trying to concentrate on her - her words. She sees the utter panic in his eyes. “Breathe slowly, in and out, like me.” She puts his hand on her chest and breathes in and out and then she puts it on his. “Thats it, in...out, slowly.”

She can see he is trying to do what she says.

“Well, Nurse, I will leave him in your capable hands,” she hears Lehmann say. She ignores him. Her whole attention is on James, she doesn't look away from him, just keeps talking quietly, gently, until she can see he is getting his breathing under control.

Lehmann leaves them to it. He is pleased with how the interview went. His English lessons are coming on so well.

James is starting to hear things properly again. He can hear what she is saying, and he lessens his grip on her hand. She smiles. She indicates Stefan, who is holding a drink of water, and Stefan helps James hold it so he can drink. He is exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his skin still pale and sweaty but the heat is dissipating and they help him lie back down. He feels the softness of the pillow behind him and wants so badly to close his eyes and be away from this place.

The doctor has threatened to take his nurse away, and the thought terrifies him. It is not just the fact that she is kind. She is the only thing he has left in the world, they have taken everything else. He can't lose her, the thought makes him sick inside.

He feels her let go of his hand and opens his eyes as she goes to move.

“Don't go.” His voice is rusty, hoarse, full of panic and he makes a grab for her hand. But then he sees she is pulling up a chair to sit beside him, and he feels safe once again

She leans in and sweeps his hair away from his forehead.

“We will need to cut this again. It grows so fast that it will be longer than mine soon.” She is trying to distract him, trying to get him to relax and it works.

He tries to return her smile and it breaks her heart to see.

“Sleep. I won't leave I promise. I'll be right here.” He looks deep into her eyes and knows she won't leave him. He knows he is being selfish keeping her here, but he cannot do without her now. He will do everything they tell him to, he will give them no cause to take her away.

Stefan comes over and talks quietly to her and then passes her a drink and some files, then leaves.

Once or twice James opens his eyes but she is still there, her feet are propped on the side frame of his bed and she is writing and reading the paperwork propped on her knees. He drifts off listening to the rustling of the paper.

He is in a forest, one he recognises. The rustling of the paper has become rustling of the branches overhead.

It is snowing, gentle flakes that land on his blue jacket. He is lying on the cold ground. He tries to blink away the flakes on his eyelashes, tries to lift his hand. He looks down. He has no hand on his left side, there is just a ragged mess above his elbow.

His heart starts to thud.

He can hear snow crunching underfoot as someone starts to walk towards him, someone blond, someone he knows.

Steve.

“Steve...” he tries to call him.

Steve is in the distance, looking around, looks straight at him and then away again.

“I can't find him. Bucky's not here.” James hears him say.

“Steve, Steve I'm here! Over here!” But he can't move, he can't attract Steve's attention, his voice is so quiet that no one can hear him.

He tries to shout. “Steve...Steve...” But Steve has turned and is walking away from him now. “No, no, Steve, I'm here, don't leave me, don't leave me.” He is crying, he is desperate, his legs won't work, he can't move even though he is doing everything he can to try.

For a moment the figure of Steve seems to waver, ripple.

Then it is as if Steve hears him and turns around and starts to move forward, starts to move towards him.

Hope blooms in Bucky's chest.

"Thank God. Steve you have to...” But as the man comes closer, there is something wrong with Bucky's eyesight, the figure is no longer clear, it wavers.

He blinks, wipes his eyes with his right hand.

Then it clears.

The man walks up to him and leans in and Bucky tries to cry out when he sees who it is. It is the scientist Zola, the one who experimented on him. Steve has gone.

“No...” he murmurs in his sleep. The nurse looks up.

“Ah, Sergeant Barnes....” Zola is smiling, reaching out to touch him “...the procedure has already started.”

He tries to shrink back away from the man's hand but he can't. He can still see the flakes of snow falling, still feels the cold, sees Zola's face smiling and then he is being moved - dragged along the ground.

“Steve help me, Steve!” Bucky sees the figure of Steve in the distance, shield grasped firmly on his arm, still walking away, still leaving him. Bucky tries to cry out, but his voice is just a whisper.

Dreams are strange things, nightmares are worse. You believe them when you are trapped within them. You cannot escape. Things and locations change, but your mind accepts them, readjusts itself.

A moment ago he was out in the forest with Zola but now he is in the main room. He is on the table, strapped down and he still can't move, he is trapped.

People are walking around dressed for a medical operation. They wear masks over their mouths and noses but he still knows who they are. He recognises Lehmann. Lehmann has not pulled his mask up yet, his smile is predatory as he looks at Bucky. He steps closer and brings up the tool he has in his hand, it is a small bone saw and he starts it.

“No, no, don't....don't , no please don't.” Bucky is begging him, trying so hard to get free but instead he can hear the saw.

“First we remove what remains of your left arm, then all of your right and then your legs. You will never be able to escape us then,” Lehmann says to him as he brings his mask up to cover his mouth.

“Little bit by little bit...” Lehmann lowers the blade to what remains of Bucky's left arm and he feels the blade cut into him and screams.

“Its all right! Its all right! Can you hear me, you're having a nightmare. You're safe, James.” Someone is shaking him awake, gentle hands touch him and he opens his eyes. His heart is thumping and he looks around thinking Lehmann is still there with the saw. “Its all right, its all right.”

He sees his nurse instead.

“Lehmann, he's going to...he's going to cut off the rest of my arm, he's going to...” he is babbling, verging on the edge of hysteria.

“Its all right James, Lehmanns not here.”

He releases the breath that he was holding. He is trembling.

She is sitting on the side of the bed, one hand on his forehead. He can feel her cool skin, her other hand is the other side of him leaning on the bed clothes. She smiles at him but he can see the worry in her eyes and he closes his briefly, trying to get himself under control.

“Zola, I saw Zola as well,” he says.

He looks back at her.

“No one here but you and me...oh, and him.” She indicates the guard who is sat on a chair inside the room, frowning at them.

She turns to the guard. “Just a nightmare nothing to worry about,” she says in Russian.

He nods.

She turns back to James.

“You're okay.” She touches his shoulder. ”Would you like a drink?” she asks.

He nods and she stands to fetch one whilst he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his heart, staring at the ceiling.

It had seemed so real. He was back in the forest where the patrol had found him, he saw Steve but Steve couldn't see him, and then Zola was there. Whats happening to his mind?

Steve, God, wherever you are please help me. Please get me out of here. Please Steve help me, I need you so badly.

He has never needed Steve so much as he needs him now. He closes his eyes for a moment.

The nurse is back and helps him drink, then puts the cup down.

She knows the guard doesn't speak English but she knows she has to be careful. She sits on the side of the bed.

“What did Doctor Lehmann say to you?” she asks quietly. She thinks that whatever it was has triggered the nightmare. She knows Lehmann; whatever he said must have caused the panic attack and this.

He knows that he can't tell her the truth. Lehmann had intimated that the nurse knew she would lose her life if she made a wrong move – but he can't tell her his behaviour could harm her too. He can't lose her, he can't.

He looks away and swallows.

She waits quietly. He needs to tell her something.

“They are going to start the experimentation again, whatever it is,” he says his voice quiet.

“Did he give you any details?” she asks and he shakes his head.

“No.”

The guard calls over to her and asks her what they are saying. They converse back and forward in Russian until the guard seems happy.

She looks at James again and he can see concern in her eyes and that makes his well up.

“You...” he clears his throat “...you won't leave me will you?” he asks. He hates the sound of desperation in his voice. Where was the brave man who entered this war? The one who was so cocky, so full of life?

“Did Lehmann say I would?” she asks.

He doesn't reply.

She takes his hand and kisses the back of it and then looks deep into his eyes, her own showing he means the world to her.

“I will never leave you James. Never. You are not alone, I won't let that happen.” She leans forward and kisses his forehead.

The guard stands up, but so does she. She says something to him and he sees a look of shame come over the guard's face. He blushes, mumbles something, and sits back down.

She turns back to James.

“Try to get some sleep now.” She smiles and sits back down on the chair.

He believes her. He is not alone.

He lies there and tries not to think of Steve, of his friends, of how long it has been, trying not to wonder what Steve is doing now - would they still be looking for him after all this time?

He had not been thinking of escape, but he realises that as he becomes stronger it would have started to enter his mind.

But now?

She would be killed.

He can't do that, he can't risk that. But will he ever see his home again? Will he ever see Steve again?

Deep down he believes the answer is no.

He turns over, away from his nurse and curls up. He feels her pull the blankets up over his shoulders and that small act of kindness very nearly undoes him.

He falls asleep with his fist in his mouth so she won't hear him sob.

Chapter Text

The Nurse & James Barnes - The Shower

The new program is working quicker and better than you had thought it would; the patient is getting stronger each day. The only downside of it is the doctors now insist on sedating him so much more.

Lehmann administers a sedative twice a day. He does not trust you with it.

But, there was a problem; Zola's serum actively worked against the sedative and so it becomes a vicious circle. They would increase the dosage of the sedative and the serum compensated. The combination of the two fighting in his body threw James into a delirium. Sometimes it seemed as if he didn't even know who he was, where he was, who you are.

Lehmann and his team work on the problem, and unfortunately find an answer.

A new sedative, vicious and you believe mind altering. It causes nightmares and cramps. It is so strong there are times when James is barely aware of anything. He becomes so quiet and introverted that sometimes he doesn't speak for days. Doctor Jakobs explains to you that the new sedative is working because the serum does not read it as a threat.

You understand their reluctance to allow him any freedom but you rail against it and keep up pressure for them to let him have more of a life.

The answer is always no. You know Lehmann is behind it.

You have tried to explain to James that things are better - but he is still being tortured - only they call it science.

When you speak to him he doesn't look at you. You don't know what is going through his mind. Sometimes you can't get him to answer even when you say his name. When the pain is at its worst he only internalisers it; you can see it in the tenseness of his body, the way his hand clenches so tightly - half circles of red angry welts on his palm. You have taken to keeping his nails so short they can do no harm. Often now he will curl up on himself in bed, always away from you, always pulling the covers over his body as if to hide. And you know that he cries at night. There are times you have heard him whisper a name - “Steve.”

You are losing him. He is losing himself.

The only time Lehmann allows the patient to have a break from the sedative is when even he can see how much the patient is exhausted from the testing, how he can barely get back to his room without your help. At these times it is plain to see there is no danger of him trying to escape, no danger from him at all. On these nights without the sedative, his sleep seems better - not so frantic, no awakening in the middle of a nightmare. No trembling so badly that when you hold him his teeth chatter. What is it that he sees in these nightmares? You see how he tries to stay as far away from Lehmann as he can. There are days when he is taken for testing and Lehmann is part of the team and James almost whimpers and turns as if trying to leave the room.

She cannot see his dreams. Lehmann has become a nightmare figure for James. Always looming with the saw to take his arm away, over and over again - and then to start on the rest of him. “Little bit by little bit...” Lehmann lowers the blade to what remains of his left arm and he feels the blade cut into him. James wakes screaming, or worse, unable to scream.

The doctors are pleased with the latest batch of serum they are using; they have found the correct amount of radiation to trigger it, and now it is moving into not just his blood stream but attaching itself to his muscular system, to his bones, moving into the marrow and remaining there. It is flooding in everywhere. He is getting taller, more muscular, and you know he sees it to. You sometimes catch him looking at his body. The changes scare him.

Then there is the additional testing. It makes you sick.

They are testing his pain limitations with the serum, but they have taken everything up a notch. Sometimes you believe they must hear his screams throughout the base. The tests they conduct use everything from electricity to acids. They do not always let you tend to his wounds when using something new; they want to see how quickly the serum repairs it. You weep sometimes, and Stefan is always there to help you. Even Jakobs has occasionally sought you out. You have noticed he tends to hang back on this part of the testing and is not part of what comes to be known as The Pain Team.

The problem is that the serum seems to cause more pain because of the way it keeps the nerve endings constantly alive, constantly open. Lehmann is not worried; pain coaching can be addressed in the programming stage. The nurse does not know that. She has no idea of the plans that lie ahead of her patient.

Because the serum is starting to show its true effects, the doctor's work has increased in pace and they see James nearly every day now. It means more work for you and Stefan because by the time they have finished, James is worn out, his nerves frayed and he is in such pain.

You have found an old cot and moved it into his room. Most nights you sleep there, just in case he should wake and need you. You don't want to leave him. You have promised to always be there for him and you mean to keep your word.

Sometimes after they have held the patient for a long session there is a need to clean him before you can let him sleep. You take him to the shower room, and on those days you always enlist Stefan's help. As tall as you are, James is taller and heavier, the two of you are needed when he is having trouble keeping himself upright.

What she doesn't know is that James is feeling a reaction to her; her femininity. He struggles to control his emotions - sometimes the combination of sedative and serum seems to intensify them. It also intensifies other feelings which take over his body and mind. At these times he tries to keep away from her so she does not notice. His body wants to feel her, his mind wants to touch her, feel her softness, run his fingers through her hair. To lose himself in her. When she is holding him, when he is at his weakest and he needs her, he breathes in her scent, feels her cool skin and imagines what it would be like for her to touch him the way he would like her to. He has a dream of her using her mouth to bring him to climax and is ashamed some times to awake to wet bed sheets. He always tries to hide what has happened. And there are times this makes him so angry with himself; he thinks that he is taking advantage of her. Its a vicious cycle for him. When he curls up in bed sometimes it is so he can hide his body – hide its reaction to her. He doesn't want her to see his erection. He curls up, thinking of anything he can to soothe the throbbing in his balls.

The shower room is down the corridor from the patient's room and is a large enough space for four people. There are days like today when you need to use the shower for the patient, and you need Stefan to help hold him up whilst you wash him. To do so you change into a simple short white shift over your underwear, and a shower cap completing your makeshift uniform. Stefan wears shorts and a top. Both of you know you are going to get very wet.

You take James to the shower room in a wheel chair. There is no way he could manage it on foot today. Stefan tells the guards that it is okay for them to stay outside, and they are glad; they do not like to be reminded of what goes on here. One look at the patient is enough.

You and Stefan stand him up and you gently undress him. You both know the damage done, but you hear Stefan swear quietly all the same. The smell coming from James is bad: body odour, burnt flesh but both of you take it in your stride. You are used to it. You are both aware of the harm done to this man, the cuts, bruises and radiation burns on his body reflect what he has been through and is still going through. The serum they have injected into him and the doses of radiation have bulked up his muscle tissue, and you guess that the sedative they pump into him some day will not be enough to stop him. But for now, in the testing stage, it makes him pliable.

This evening he is awake but unfocused, he makes no effort to stop you from what you are doing but he makes no effort to help you either. You can lead him and put him under the water but if you and Stefan let go he would probably just sink to the floor and make no effort to clean himself, this is what they have reduced him to. Thank God Lehmann agreed not to give him tonights dose.

The doctors talk about the fact that the serum is working and the project will enter its next phase but you don't know what they mean and it frightens you. They will not discuss it with you so you have to try and glean what is happening from odd snippets you hear and files you see.

There is talk of a new team joining the researchers and you know they are clearing out the old dormitory for their use, but you do not know why they are being brought in. When you ask Marinov if he knows anything he gives you one of his looks. You never know if he trusts you or not and sometimes his replies are cryptic. He says he doesn't know - but then adds they have been told to clear out and make available three other rooms for more new teams that will be joining the project. He also mentions there will be building work going on - maybe you will finally get that bathroom/toilet for your patient's room.

When you finally stand James under the shower you know that after a few minutes the water will help revive him. Not enough to make him a danger, but enough that you hope being clean will make him feel more human again. You have set the shower to warm. You see James shudder and close his eyes. He tips his head back to feel the water on his face.

You grab the seat and place it under the water. It is the only way you can reach comfortably to wash his hair now the serum has actually increased his height. Stefan then guides the patient to sit and keeps him steady so you can wash his hair. It is growing long and you have been trying to keep it cut to just above his shoulders. Whilst washing his hair you massage his scalp. You are trying to get him to relax, to let go the tensions that have held his body captive all day.

Afterwards with Stefan's help you encourage James to stand up and Stefan removes the seat. You steady the patient and he responds now enough to enable you to move him. He is coming around, waking up.

Stefan takes over steadying him. You get the soap and sponge and start to clean his neck, chest and arms including the stub of his left one. You need to be careful and not catch any of the injuries he has sustained today. There are few physical ones to see; bruising, cuts, but they were using other means to hurt him and these have left his nerves frayed. He is so tense and has jumped a few times when you touch him.

At least you believe that it is what makes him jump. It hasn't occurred to either you or Stefan that it might be something else.

You become aware that James is watching you but you know he will not talk to you. He is becoming a stranger almost, rarely talking even when you talk to him.

She doesn't know that sometimes he desperately wants to talk to her, wants her to hold him - but he remembers Doctor Lehmann's warning, knows that he is watching all the time. He cannot do this alone; he cannot be without her, he cannot lose her.

Paranoia is something that the sedative feeds, and James feels everyone is spying for Lehmann; always watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake and then she will be gone. That thought frightens him more than the testing does.

When you wash the palm of his right hand you feel it close around yours and you look up at him. It is difficult to tell as the shower water rains down on you both, but you are sure tears are running down his cheek. You gently squeeze his hand and he releases yours as if nothing has happened.

“Are you all right?” you ask.

He looks away from her, closing his eyes. His nerves feel so sensitive and his emotions are all over the place, he can't control them these days. It's as if his mind and his body no longer belong to him.

Stefan carries on a dialogue as you work. He is always like this, and you believe his sense of humour is the only thing that gets him through the day. He asked if you could help teach him more of the English language so that he can converse with James. He is a fast learner and tells you that before his incarceration he was training to become a teacher. It's hard to believe that so much has happened in his life when he is so young. You are not the only one who realises his intelligence, his potential. You have noticed that the doctors, especially Doctor Jakobs, giving him more responsibility and he is becoming more than just an orderly.

“Come on then big man, arm up so Freya can wash you. Don’t want you smelling so bad in front of the big brave doctors.” He helps the patient hold his right arm up and you wash and then rinse him.

You do the same with the left one, taking care around the stub as you do not want to hurt him. The doctor at the field hospital had done the best he could with the resources he had but in the intervening years it has been unstitched and restitched until it is just a mass of scar tissue. It is so sore now, some of the skin is splitting again. After the shower you will need to dress it to try and keep it free from infection.

You crouch down. ”Hold steady, lets do your right foot first.” When you know Stefan has a good hold you pick up the patient's right foot and clean it, then you do the same with the left.

There is now only one area to clean and you can't help it but your cheeks always flush red at this point.

Whilst Stefan has always been happy to help you manhandle the patient he has always refused any other request of yours to help clean the patient in certain areas. You believe deep down it makes him uncomfortable. You think you know why, you feel Stefan may be homosexual. You work with him so closely and for so long that the two of your have become like siblings. You know it is illegal in Russia and would mean death. Somehow you know it would mean the same thing in Hydra.

You know he doesn't quite trust you enough to confide in you and you will not ask him until you know he is ready to talk.

You stand up and move around so that you are stood behind the patient.

You soap the sponge and take a deep breath. This is the part you will always find embarrassing and yet being a nurse you have had to clean your fair share of male anatomy. It is because it is different with this man. This man is not here because you are all trying to help him and save his life, he is here because he is being experimented on and tortured. You have no right to be touching him.

First you clean his back, then move down to his hips and then around his buttocks, gently rubbing between his legs. He flinches, but you act as if you do not notice. You rinse the sponge and soap it again and then moving to his left side you reach around to the front and then you start cleaning and rubbing between his legs, around his penis and balls. You do it from this position so that he cannot see you. He has been humiliated enough.

“Freya,” Stefan whispers, alarmed. “I think you may be being a bit to vigorous.”

Your hand stops and you look at him. He is the other side of the patient, and you are sure if the situation wasn't so sad he would be trying not to laugh.

“Stefan...?” you mouth, your eyes wide. He knows exactly what you are asking without you saying a word. He shakes his head.

You have been a bit too good in your ministrations. You have not moved your hand away and the sponge is cupped around the patient's hard erection.

“Oh no, no Freya, you are not getting me to do anything other than hold him for you” Stefan whispers in Russian.

You can't bring yourself to look up at James, but you feel how his body has tensed. His right hand is clenched tightly, his eyes closed. You don’t want to move. You have never been in this situation before.

“What do I do?” You mime to Stefan. He raises his free hand and sign languages to move your hand up and down - although you are a novice in these matters you know exactly what he is talking about.

“But I can't...can't you, you know...help?” you whisper back keeping to the Russian language and Stefan shakes his head in alarm.

“No! Don’t even go there.”

“But you're a man and...” you are beginning to sound desperate. You have no idea of what to do; your common sense has fled and instead you feel dread balled up in your stomach. You want to do the right thing.

“That would only make it worse. Freya I can't help you.” He looks as panicked and as worried as you do.

You can't look anywhere but Stefan's face. Your cheeks are flushed, you have not had this situation arise before. The water continues to fall on all three of you. It seems like forever but it is literally seconds.

“But...” you stammer.

“Look...I'll give you some space and wait outside. When I can come back in just call me.”

“But how...what do I do?”

Stefan looks at you. “Just carry on with what you are doing, I think you'll find that its working.” He is genuinely trying to help.

He gently lets go of the patient who takes his own weight. Stefan steps out of the water and he grabs a towel and without looking back at you he leaves the room.

During the discussion your hand has stayed where it is. You can't take it away. You risk a look at James' face. His eyes are still shut tightly, and he is breathing deeply. You feel a slight shudder run through his frame.

His eyes open and he catches you looking at him. He unclenches his right hand, raises it and puts it on top of yours.

“Please,” he whispers.

“I...” You look away and he lets his hand fall. You move back so he cannot see you. Slowly you start rubbing again. He groans.

You see him swallow, then he puts his hand back on yours, shaking his head. He wants you to stop.

How could he have thought...how could he have hoped. He wants the release, it has tortured him for weeks. How can he ask this of her? He can't, it is unfair on her.

You move forward.

“James. I think you need this,” you say softly. You keep your left hand where it is and with your other hand you reach up and stroke his cheek with the back of your fingers. “Let me do this,” you whisper and he sobs.

You lower your right hand and start moving your left up and down, he takes his hand away. “Close your eyes, don't think, just feel,” you say and he does.

His head moves forward, eyes closed, and his lips part. You blank your mind and listen to his breathing. Although you have never done this before you have some idea of what is happening and everything else seems to come naturally until you feel his whole body tense, his head falls back and he cries out. His whole body jerks.

Hot semen spills over your hand and mingles with the water. He shudders, and more semen spurts and drips down his belly and onto your feet. You move slightly back but you do not stop until you are sure he has finished and then your hand drops away from him. He makes a noise and you realise it is another sob.

You have to catch him as he slowly sinks to the floor and you know he is crying, his sobs bouncing off the tiled walls. He is also trying to say he is sorry.

“Oh my God, no, don’t cry, please, its not a problem! Please don’t cry.” You sink down next to him and encircle him in your arms, rocking him. Without thinking you remove your shower cap and rest your head against the side of his. “Ssh its all right. Please I'm so sorry, its all right.”

What can you say to him?

You cannot promise an end to this nightmare. You cannot say everything will be all right. You hold him as tightly as you dare and place his head against the wet fabric of your shoulder and his right hand clenches the material of your shift tightly. The warm water continues to cascade over the two of you. You kiss the top of his head then his forehead and you can taste the soap and shampoo.

You raise his chin, look into his blue eyes - so full of sorrow. You gently kiss his lips.

“I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,” you say over and over.

His sobs start to quieten. You still hold him. You do not want to let him go and that is how Stefan finds you.

Stefan has grown concerned. You hadn't called and he is cursing himself for leaving you alone. He comes in on the pretext of bringing in two clean robes. He crosses over to you and you turn your head to him and he sees your face, he hears your patients' soft cries.

His expression is serious. He switches off the water and grabs several towels, leaving the robes by the door. He crouches in front of you both. You move away, slowly, so you can both wrap the towels around James and pull him up. He won't look at either of you and his head hangs, his face partially covered by his long wet hair. His right hand is clenched again, and his breathing is harsh.

“Come on, lets get you back to your room,” Stefan says quietly. He looks at you and with a corner of one of the towels he wipes away the tears staining your face. You did not even realise you had been crying. He then passes you a few more towels and a robe so you can dry yourself. You slip the shift off over your head, and pull the robe on.

 You both work on drying the patient. He does not complain, does not move. You lead him nearer to the door and you pick up the clean robe, Stefan has chosen the softest so that the fabric will not rub against the patients cuts and burns, this is what makes him a good orderly and a good human being. You help the patient sit in the wheel chair.

Just before you open the door Stefan squats down in front of the wheelchair and speaks quietly to James in his best English. “There are guards outside. They cannot hear what happens in this room. It is between you and Freya and no one else. The doctors, they do not allow you privacy...but we do.”

He doesn't know if the patient has heard him or even realises what he is saying. He stands up and opens the door and then both of you take him back to his room. James does not say a word but you know, despite Stefans words, he is feeling ashamed. You don’t know how to make him realise he has nothing to be ashamed of. He looks so tired; the black bags under his eyes are even darker and you both help him get into bed. You spend a few minutes making sure he is comfortable but then when you have finished he rolls on to his side away from you both, drawing his legs up.

You and Stefan look at each other. Have you made things worse? Did you do the wrong thing? Have you pushed him to far? You just don't know. At the time it felt like the right thing to do but now you are doubting yourself - doubting your decision.

“I'll go grab some paperwork I need to do and come and sit with you for a while.” Stefan says quietly, “That way if something does happen there are two of us to deal with it. I'll just be a couple of minutes.” You nod and he leaves.

You don’t know whether to go and sit down or try to comfort your patient. You think you know why he has turned away from you and your heart could break. You move around to the side of the bed and pull up a chair so you are down at his level, then slowly you brush the hair out of his eyes until he realises you are not going to go away and he looks at you.

His eyes are bloodshot and you can see such a tiredness in them.

You lean forward and kiss his forehead and all the time your hand is stroking his hair.

“I hope you can hear me and understand what I am saying,” you whisper. “James, I don’t want you to be embarrassed about what we just did. There is so much I want to say to you but I can't. I'm not allowed. But please believe me - I am here for you and only you. I don’t know why they are doing these things to you and I am so very sorry but if you need me for anything and I mean anything I will help you. I am so sorry if I did the wrong thing, I just want to help you thats all.” Your hand strokes down his cheek and a single tear follows.

You lean forward again and gently kiss it away.

“Sleep now, I'll be here,” you whisper and you pull the covers higher so he will be warm.

His eyes close as he says something quietly, but you do hear him.

“Thank you.”

*

He stands under the warm water and feels so ashamed at how he smells and the fact he is having difficulty standing up on his own. He is sure the nurse and orderly only pretend they do not notice. The water is pouring over the wounds on his body and they sting; he tries to focus on the pain and not think about anything else but he can't.

They sit him down and she washes his hair. For a moment he tries to forget where he is and just concentrate on her hands and he feels his shoulders relax. She massages the shampoo into his hair and it is wonderful to feel such gentleness in his world. It is over too soon and they stand him up. He is able to hold more of this own weight now the water is reviving him.

The washing begins. She is wearing a white shift and the water moulds it to her body, he can see her shape, how she must look underneath and he feels something stir. The smell of the shampoo and soap takes away the awful smell of his own body and he wants to just relax against her, feel her warmth, hear her talk quietly, know that she cares for him.

She washes his hand and he curls his fingers around hers; they are so small and seem so fragile but they have a strength in them. He doesn't want to but he lets her hand go. He concentrates on the gentle but firm way she washes him, the feel of the sponge gliding over his skin. The warmth from the water moves into his bones. There are times when he feels he will never be warm again.

When she kneels down in front of him to clean his feet an image comes into his mind that he can't help and he has to stop himself from letting it go any further; if only he could have felt her hands holding him, her soft mouth taking him in. She stands and moves around to his side and for a moment he thinks the thought has become real; her hands are on him, she washes his buttocks and between his legs and then her hand moves and takes his balls and then his cock and he begins to realise what is happening. She is gentle and firm and he cannot stop himself.

The man Stefan, helping her, says something and he realises she has stopped but she does not remove her hand from him. He wants to cry out and beg her not to stop; he has so much pain built up inside him he needs a release of some kind.

They exchange words and Stefan leaves. He cannot stop himself from putting his hand on top of hers in case she moves it away, he is close, it would not take a lot. He hears himself beg her although the only word that comes out is 'please'.

She moves slightly and then continues to help him, her grip firmer and her hand moving up and down, stroking.

This is so wrong, to make her do this, he can't, he can't and he needs to stop it before it goes any further. He puts his hand over hers again but this time to move it away but instead she speaks to him, quietly. There is just the two of them and he lets go, lets her help him. Feels her hand, imagines her mouth, her body and he can feel the tenseness building up within him, his breathing is rapid, his heart pounding. Her hand continues, firmer, faster, that is all he can feel, nothing else exists but the two of them.

He feels himself get to the point where he is going to explode. His balls ache, burning hot, and he thinks again of her mouth. He wants to feel her tongue, to move against her, to...the feeling is immense and powerful and he feels himself explode in her hand. She doesn't stop or pull away, just murmurs softly and carries on until the last of his semen is all over her hand and dripping onto the floor of the shower.

Then as his heart stops hammering and the noise comes back into the room, the enormity of what has happened hits him and shame pulls him to the floor. Another dam bursts inside him and for the first time in a long while he lets go completely and weeps in front of her.

He feels her take him in her arms and she pulls him close to her and then gently rocks him, she would give him anything he needs, her voice gentle but so caring. He grips the material of her shift. He doesn't want to ever let go of her, he wants this moment to last and when it finally ends for his life to end with it, he doesn't want to go on any more, he is so tired, so close to breaking.

He feels her kiss his forehead and then she lifts his face and kisses his lips and she is crying too.

He hears the door open and the man comes back in and it is over. But it has given him a memory to cling to in the dark tonight, and maybe just for once it will stave off the nightmares.

They help him out of the shower and dry him with the towels. He keeps his eyes averted. When he is sat in the wheelchair the orderly talks to him, his English is heavily accented but he understands what Stefan is telling him but he still can't bring himself to look at him. What must the orderly think of him? He took advantage of Freya's feelings for him, what does that make him?

Back in his room they attend to his wounds; both of them are so careful, so gentle but with everything that has happened tiredness is closing his mind down and when they have finished he just wants to curl up in a ball and fade away. He moves away from them both and closing his eyes waits for them to pull him back but instead Freya comes around and sits beside him.

Her voice is soft and quiet but he can hear her. She strokes his hair and he looks at her, those eyes of hers, he could drown in them. She speaks to him and in her eyes he sees she is telling the truth, he is too tired to cry any more but one tear escapes and she leans forward and kisses it away.

He closes his eyes and sleep claims him but not before he whispers his thanks to her, he understands what she is telling him, he is not alone.

*

Later, Kristo is covering for you so that you can rest. Instead, you seek out Stefan. Your resolve is strong. He is surprised to see you but at your request agrees to find somewhere quiet to talk. He thinks he knows what it is you want. He has already promised you he would say nothing about what happened in the shower room, to anyone.

“I promised I wouldn't say anything about it Freya, I thought you trusted me." He sounds hurt.

You touch his arm. “I do trust you and I know you won't say anything. But I need to ask you something...a favour.” You take a deep breath and he frowns. “This is difficult,” you say “ but I have no one else I can ask.”

You have always thought of Stefan as being younger than you, but in fact you are both the same age.

He sees the difficulty you are having and tries to make it easier for you.

“I'm listening.” He has always liked and trusted you because you remind him of his sister, and he has grown fond of you. Whilst he is not sure he would risk his life for you he would try and help out if he can.

You swallow. You didn’t think it was going to be this difficult, but if you don’t curb your embarrassment, Stefan will be embarrassed and that will not help your cause at all. “I've, um, never slept with a man before...”

Stefan's eyes widen.

You continue quickly. “...and I need you to tell me how I can...how a man... how....Stefan, don’t look so terrified, I'm not asking you to sleep with me!” At another time the look on his face would be funny. You plough on as his shoulders relax.

“I need you to tell me what else I can do to help James out when I need to,“ you finish and you can see Stefan is a little stunned.

“By help you mean...”

You nod.

“You want me to tell you?” Stefan asks in a strangled voice.

“Well, I can hardly ask Lehmann, can I?” You sound exasperated, and for some reason you both find this funny and start to giggle. Laughter is a very rare occurrence in the facility. It is sometimes difficult to remember that you are two young people who should be out in the normal world finding these things out; but instead you have been made to grow up quickly and you are both in need of a friend.

“Well you didn't seem to have a problem this afternoon,” Stefan says drily.

“That was more luck than anything,” you answer ruefully, and Stefan looks at you for a few moments and then ducks his head.

“Well at least you know your way around the male anatomy,” he says. He purses his lips. “Just advice...not...” He checks.

“Just advice! I promise not to touch you.” You grin. You can't help it.

He is quiet for a few seconds, studying you. You see him make up his mind.

“You know about me, don’t you?” he asks you quietly.

You know what it is he is asking you.

“Stefan you mean a lot to me, you're my friend and if ever you need me I'm here.” You lean forward and kiss him on his forehead and he blushes.

“You're serious about this, aren't you?”

You nod.

“I want to know everything,” you say.

“Okay. Lets see if we can find somewhere to talk properly,” he sighs.

Quite a while later you slip quietly back to your room, slightly flushed but an awful lot wiser. You had no idea some of the things Stefan told you were possible. Your life has been unbelievably sheltered considering the last decade you have been spent around soldiers.

You think you understand most of what Stefan has told you. He was patient and tried to answer all of your questions and you think you have covered every eventuality. You even told him you think James may have had a male lover, and asked him how that worked. Stefan had floundered at that one until he realised you would do anything for this patient, anything at all. He found himself telling you things he has never told anyone else. He feels quite exhausted by the time you have finished.

Now it is all down to you.

*

After Freya left, Stefan sat for a while thinking about the necessity of the situation and how sad a place the world had become. He needed to stay here working - he knows the alternative is death - but working here sometimes makes him feel he is truly in hell.

He wondered if Freya realised just how much she was in love with their patient. He knows she knew him from before but not the full story but he had not been brave enough to ask her for it. One day soon he knows she will trust him enough to tell him, in her own time.

He realises that there are now going to be times when she wouldn't need his help with their patient in the shower room and he shakes his head. He would have to find an excuse if anyone asked him why he wasn't helping her - maybe he could take up smoking, use that as the excuse for leaving her on her own with him?

He dry-washes his face. The world down here is so fucked up that it's hard to think there are people above ground living normal lives, not knowing what goes on underneath in the dark places. He is getting more and more involved in what is happening down here. He has heard the rumours and is beginning to find Hydra is not just a research facility, it is so much more. If he and Freya are to survive then they would need to take each day as it comes and learn to adapt.

He is worried about the rumoured new team. They are using the lower part of the tunnels and no one is allowed down there. He knows it is something to do with the patient, the poor bastard. But he is also beginning to realise that he isn't the only one questioning in their own mind what is happening. Doctor Jakobs has started to take an interest in Stefan and has requested that part of his time is now spent working with him.

He has also noticed that Marinov is sometimes talking with Jakobs and when anyone comes near the two of them either break off conversation or increase their talk to show it is about work.

Jacobs has hinted a few times that there is serious work to be done.

And Stefan doesn't think Jakobs was talking about just the project. 

Chapter Text

The Nurse & James Barnes - Learning Memories

James is sleeping but you can see it is giving him no rest as nightmares chase him around and around. He wakes up tired and agitated, and you know it is the sedative that Lehmann is using. It is breaking him down, disrupting his mind. He refuses lunch and you don't push him. You can't. His face is grey, stubbled, his eyes red rimmed with black bags under them. You can see from the way he twists and turns in bed that he can't get comfortable and you suggest maybe a walk down the corridor or a shower.

He turns away from you. “I need to sleep,” he says, but you know he is lying. He has been more than uptight over the last few days. Although they are satisfied with the serum they have given him they are still trying to do something with his left arm but no one will tell you why, not even Doctor Jakobs. They are always prodding and poking, never letting him have any peace.

James' nerves are frayed to the point of making his head want to explode as it aches so much, he feels he is continually on the edge of an electrical shock, he cannot relax, his body so taut, getting cramps. He won't allow the nurse to help him, to touch him. He can't.

Stefan has been watching the two of them and he thinks he knows what the problem is. Freya has helped James out a few times in the shower now, but he knows deep down that a hand isn't always enough. He sees the way James looks at her when she is unaware. Watched James eye's roam over her face - over her body. She is totally innocent, totally oblivious to the effect she is having on him.

James is not getting enough sleep yet his body is getting stronger. He is having electricity shot through his stub and it sets his whole nervous system on edge. Instead of numbing him, Zola's serum leaves the nerves open and so by the end of the sessions James is so on edge and so wound up that Stefan wonders sometimes how he doesn't explode.

That will be the sedative at work. Lehmann making it a little stronger everyday. He calls it a sedative, but it doesn't work on subduing just the body, it works on the patients mind, never allowing it to switch off entirely, breaking it down bit by bit, until it becomes raw.

James Barnes is still James Barnes. He is a decent man, he would never force anyone to do something they didn't want to. Stefan can see this, he can see how their patient turns away from Freya, how he tries to keep his distance. He can see how much it hurts her.

Even now, James pretends to sleep when she is in the room so he doesn't have to look at her, look at her mouth and think of the things he would like her to do with it. Think of the things Steve used to do.

James has no outlet and he needs one. He needs her and she does not know it. James cannot ask her, not for something like that.

At those thoughts, guilt spreads throughout him. He had promised Steve that he would always be his and he will - but this woman, this woman makes him hot inside, he has no other outlet, she makes him want to …

*

“No!”

The utter desperation in his voice has you up out of your chair, running to his bedside. He is trying to sit up, trying to pull his hair out as he cries, and you don't know what is wrong, he is almost hysterical.

“No, no, no...” His voice is full of panic, full of fear.

“James, James what is it? What's wrong?”

You don't want the guards to hear because if they see him in this state they will call Lehmann. All he would do is give him a stronger dose of sedative which will send him down into his nightmares again.

You thought that is where he was, you thought he was sleeping.

He wasn't. He was lying there, turned away from her trying to keep his mind occupied so he doesn't think about her, doesn't think about what he needs from her. He is so uptight, so in need of release that he was trying to remember things, thinking about home, anything to get away from this room, away from her. Away from the thoughts that would creep into his mind and make him feel like he was going to explode. But then realisation hit him, realisation that there were things he is trying to remember but cannot, things that should always be there in his mind.

You try to take his hand out of his hair. It is tangled and he is pulling at his scalp. He is looking at the bed clothes, his eyes moving back and forward as if searching for something in his mind. He is talking to himself.

“James? Talk to me.”

He sees you, realises you are there, looks into your eyes. He grabs your shoulder. “I can't remember. I can't remember them!” His voice grows louder, repeating the same thing over and over.

His eyes are full of fear, full of terror. At first you think he is panicking but he isn't hot to touch, isn't sweating. This is something different. He is agitated, but not in the way you would expect if it was just panic.

He looks away, growing more distraught.

A guard looks in and you turn to him.

“No need to bother Doctor Lehmann. I can deal with it,” you say, remaining calm as if it is a daily occurrence.

The guard believes what you tell him, and returns to his post.

You sit on the edge of the bed. James' voice has dropped again. You sit so you are facing him and you take his hand and hold it. You make him look at you.

“James. What is it you can't remember?” you ask quietly. His eyes are wide, pupils black. Pure distress. “Talk to me. Tell me, breathe slowly and talk to me.”

Your words get through, but he starts to gabble.

“My brothers! My brothers... I can't remember their names, I can't...” His breathing quickens again. His face is getting red and blotchy.

“Breathe slowly, I'm here, I'm with you.” You put his hand on your chest so he can feel you breathe and then on his. He closes his eyes and you can see he is trying so hard to please you, to calm down.

He tries to talk again. “My brothers. I have three brothers, I can't remember their names.” He looks at you, his eyes are haunted.

“It's probably where you are trying to think too hard...” you start to say, but he is shaking his head.

“No, I keep...I keep forgetting things and they don't come back. I'm losing...I'm losing parts of myself,” he looks at you in desperation. “Freya, whats happening to me?” He is desperate for an answer but you don't have one. He begins to weep, and you reach forward to hold him. You hold him tightly, rocking him back and forward. There is nothing you can say.

Later, when he is calmer, you persuade him to eat something. You sit with him quietly. It's evening and no one should disturb you. The guards have already changed shifts and checked everything and you can hear them murmuring outside.

“Have you been able to remember?” you ask and he shakes his head.

“Its Lehmann, isn't it?” he says bitterly, and you know he is asking about the injections Lehmann gives him. It is more of a statement than a question. “I'm losing myself. A little bit everyday. Soon there won't be anything left. I'm losing my memories, things I should know, things from my past. They are taking everything. Everything.” He looks so tired, so beaten.

 “Do you trust me?” You ask him. He looks at you and he tries to smile.

“You're the only one I trust.”

You take a deep breath, hoping and praying that he doesn't think this is a trick.

“Then tell me...” you say “and I will remember for you. Tell me about your family, about your life. Just the things that are important to you and I will remember them for you, I will keep those memories safe.”

It is all you can do for him. All you can offer him.

He looks at you, and then down at the bed clothes, his fingers picking at a lose thread.

“But only if you want to,” you say “I won't tell anyone anything you have told me. I know it is difficult for you to trust anyone here, but I won't let you down I promise.”

It is up to him now. He is quiet for a long time. You know not to break that silence.

Then he looks up at you and reaches forward, past your shoulder. He gently pulls at your plait. You help him unpin it at the back; and he pulls it forward trying to untie the end of it, you hold it whilst he takes the string out that is keeping it in place. He begins taking the bottom chevrons apart.

“Do you remember when I was in the camp with you?” he asks. This is the first time he has mentioned the camp. You had assumed he didn't remember his time there.

“You were asleep, and I didn't want to wake you. But the pain was so bad...” His fingers are now running through your loose hair at the end of the braid. You have almost forgotten to breathe. You can't believe what he is saying.

“...you woke up and found your plait was undone. You had to chase it around until you caught it to do back up?”

You vaguely remember it. You had fallen asleep and his morphine had run out. You had cursed yourself.

You see he is waiting for a reply and you nod.

He looks back down at your hair and runs his fingers through it again. “I undid it. I wanted to feel it, feel the softness. Back in Brooklyn where I grew up, after we left school, my buddy Steve and me enrolled in the local art college...” his words hitch a little. ”There was a teacher there, his name was...oh God, what was it?” He closes his eyes for a moment and it comes to him, “...Campbell. That was it. John Campbell. He was a bit strange, odd, but he would only paint with what he called proper art brushes, and they had to be sable brushes. The lighter ones were the colour of your hair, and just as soft. Once...” You see the memory going through his mind and for a moment his eyes lighten. “...I stole his brushes, well, borrowed them for a short while and replaced them with children's paint brushes. He went ballistic. I thought he was going to bust a gut or something, and Steve, Steve just sat there getting redder and redder because he had guessed it was me and...”

And then James laughs, a sound that makes you jump. But as he laughs it dissolves into a sob. You want to hold him, you want to tell him not to think about it any more but you can't.

“Did Campbell find out it was you?” you ask.

James takes a deep breath and tries to laugh again. “Yeah. I owned up but only because he saw how guilty Steve looked and thought it was him. Couldn't have that could I?”

“So you're an artist?” you ask. He shakes his head.

“No...no. But Steve is. God you should see him draw. I was there doing technical drawing. We had such plans for the future. We were going to...” his voice trails off.

“Going to?” you say, but he shakes his head. It is to painful to go there and you don't push him.

He swallows hard, and you are both quiet for a while whilst he continues to play with the end of your plait, slowly unravelling more and more of it and then picking it up he strokes it against his cheek, closing his eyes. “I love your hair,” he says quietly. You can't help but smile.

“I get the feeling you and Steve got up to all types of mischief. At the camp, it was Steve's name you were always saying. It was him you called out for,” you tell him.

He looks back at you, unshed tears making his eyes catch the light. “What if I forget him?” he whispers.

“You won't. I won't let you. Tell me about him and I'll remember him for you. If you think you are forgetting about him then I will remind you. I will tell you what you have told me...I promise.” You can see that he does not know where to begin. “Tell me what he looks like,” you suggest.

Inside, your stomach is turning. You know this is the person who means everything to James. You can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice when he calls Steve's name in dreams. You have heard him beg Steve for help. You have mixed feelings about who this Steve is to James; envy and jealousy, and anger - anger that he never came for James. But there is a part of you that is in awe for how much James loves him.

“Blond, blue eyes, light blue, such an innocence in them,” and James looks down smiling to himself as he pictures Steve in his mind. He looks back up at her, “but not always as innocent as he looks, no thats not right, he is innocent but he could be mischievous. He had a lot of childhood illnesses, it left him...” how does he describe him, how does he describe how small he was yet perfectly formed, how translucent his skin was and how frightening it was when he had a bout of coughing and James thought the wind was going to knock him over?

“I know how illness can affect a childs growth, how delicate it can leave them, how almost transparent they appear,” you say.

James nods, he touches his chest. “But inside here, he is strong. So sure of the world, so brave, so much braver than me, and good...” his voice tails off.

“James. You are brave, don't ever think that you're not.”

“Yeah, thats why I blub at the slightest thing. Why I can't even get out of here on my own. Anyone else would have done something, put up a fight, done...something.”

You lean forward and take his hand. “Don't think like that! Many people would never have survived this long. You have pain every day of your life. We're surrounded by guards, hundreds of feet under ground. Up top is a fortress, thousands of soldiers, no one could ever escape, no one, please don't think that about yourself because its not true.”

He doesn't believe you. He is going back inside himself. You need to distract him.

“How did you first meet Steve?” you ask.

James looks at you and you can see memories flashing past in his mind.

“The school yard. He was on the ground being kicked by three older, bigger boys, and he was telling them he could do this all day,” you do not know it but the last words mimic Steve's voice.

It is something Bucky had heard Steve say a million times.

“I'd never seen such a skinny wimp! After getting rid of the bullies I picked him up. He was as light as a feather and went to swing at me. I told him I was just helpin'. He grinned and told me he had them on the ropes...” he sees you frown. “...an old boxing term we use. It means we had them sorted. On the run, you know?” you do and nod to say you understand. He continues. “I told him it looked liked it. By this time he was brushing himself down, God he was so...so...small but so full of fire. He was bleeding,” James touches his mouth and you see him fade away into the memory for a moment.

“How old were you?” you ask to bring him back.

“I was 13. He was 11. Turned out we lived quite close to each other and it became a regular thing to walk to school together and hang out. But he was always jumping into fights, not because he was a bully or liked to fight, but because he believed in right and wrong. He would always stick up for doing the right thing, know what I mean?”

You smile and nod.

“I think he kinda made me a better person just by me knowing him. Does that make sense?” he asks you.

“I think you are and have always been a better person, James Barnes. You don't give yourself enough credit.”

He is quiet whilst he thinks about what you have said. You wonder what is going through his mind.

“And?” you prompt him.

“Well, I got him into Goldies Gym, taught him boxing...” and he laughs, actually laughs out loud. “You should've of seen him in his boxing shorts. Kid couldn't keep 'em up! Had to wear suspenders. But, man he kept trying. It took several weeks but he finally hit me, accidentally I think, bloodied my nose, and I had a black eye for days. God, my Ma was so mad at me until she realised it was Stevie who had hit me and then she couldn't stop laughing. And my brothers! Well...” for a moment there is such a light in his eyes and he grabs your hand. “I remember! I remember their goddamn names! Freya I know their names, I know my brothers names...”

And he recites them for you. You get him to tell you several times, you do not want to forget as this is important. Later you will ensure that you write them down so that you cannot forget.

As James talks to you, as he becomes excited: his eyes light up, the blue in them not looking so washed out. For the first time ever you hear the Brooklyn accent coming out in his voice. This is him, this is the true James Barnes and it makes you want to cry. This is what it would be like if you had met him outside of this nightmare. And what makes it worse is you know it won't last, you know come tomorrow and the injections and procedures he will start to go quiet again but for this one moment in time he is his real, true self.

For the next hour you listen as he tells you more about Steve and you come to like this young man. You can understand why he means so much to James. But at the end of the hour the strain on James is beginning to show, he is exhausted.

He has totally unravelled your plait as well.

You encourage him to settle down lower in the bed so he can sleep, but when you go to get up he is still holding your hand and won't let it go. You reach over and pull the chair to the edge of the bed and sit down.

*

That is how Stefan finds them later when he comes to relieve her.

Both of them are fast asleep. James is curled on his side as close as he can get to Freya . She is holding his hand which is curled up in her hair, with her head resting on top. Her hair is totally unravelled and splayed out over the bed and her shoulders.

They both look so peaceful he cannot disturb them. It is too rare a thing to see.

Chapter Text

Hydra & The Nurse - How Do We Break His Mind? 

“How do we break his mind?” You hear Armin Zola ask the doctors.

You had been told to take the drinks in to them in the conference room. “I'm a bloody nurse, not a waitress!” you had snapped at the guard, who just smirked and given you the tray.

You had entered quietly, but you know your presence has been noticed by Lehmann.

Zola was talking again.

Everything they had done to the patient and still they had not breached that final wall. Once it had fallen they could start to rebuild. Zola is clearly frustrated. Nearly everything else is in place, the work more or less completed by the new team. They were now just awaiting access to the patient.

You try to remain as quiet and unobtrusive as possible. It's clear that some of the doctors have not even thought about your presence, and are talking freely. You are horrified at the conversation but you know you cannot let your feelings show. You put the tray down and pour six cups of mud-brown coffee, placing one next to each doctor. Only Jakobs and Zola say thank you - none of the others do and you hadn't expected them to. Two of the people in the room are from the new team.

Lehmann is saying it was too late for them to choose a different subject; all the formula made to date has been tailored for Barnes. It is just his mind holding out.

His body is ready for the next phase.

“Well we can always go the route of old fashioned torture and deprivation. Put him in a cell, throw away the key, feed him scraps, wear him down, not let him sleep. But that will take at least a year,” says Doctor Taffeteer, reaching for his coffee.

“I would have thought if that was going to work it would have happened already with the treatment he was receiving from your excellent choice of nursing staff,” Zola says sarcastically, a rare thing for him.

“Besides which, we do not have a year to waste. This needs to be done sooner rather than later. Once that final wall comes down, we can start rebuilding him and his mind as the 'Winter Soldier'. He will then be ours completely.”

It is the first time you hear the name The Winter Soldier. It sends a chill down your spine.

The doctors start to bicker, and you notice Doctor Jakobs is quiet.

Zola interrupts at this point to say he wants more formula to be made. He always wants to know there is a small stock of the serum on hand.

“Already being done,“ Lehmann assures him before the others can say a word. Zola nods and Lehmann continues. “Going back to Barnes' mind. I have been working on an idea which I believe will work; I have discussed it with Fennhoff and he agrees. It will also be a way of killing two birds with one stone.”

Zola sits back and picks up his coffee.

Lehmann looks at you. “That will be all,” he says dismissing you, and they wait for you to leave the room. You have no choice but to go.

*

“That will be all,” Lehmann says to the nurse and they wait for her to depart.

Zola studies Lehmann. He really doesn’t like the man. He is always too eager to pull things apart, too eager about the experimentation, but Zola is desperate. The group have arrived with the final parts of the jigsaw puzzle that will complete the physical make up of the Winter Soldier. Everything needs to be moved forward and only the patient himself is holding them up. He may not like Lehmann, but he knows if there is a way to break Barnes then it will be Lehmann who does it.

“I'm really not happy about that young woman being on the project,” Lehmann is saying.

Zola looks up just as Doctor Jakobs sits forward. “She is a good nurse and we are lucky to have her. I think we should really be thinking of involving her more, not less,” his comments are directed at Zola.

Lehmann and Jakobs have had this argument before. Jakobs will do his best to keep her.

“There are lots of good nurses out there...” Lehmann starts but Jakobs argues across him.

“She knows the English language. She can communicate with our patient. Because of this they share a bond; he trusts her. We wouldn't have gotten this far if she hadn't alerted us to what was going on.”

Lehmann waves a hand. ”Yes, yes. But she is a trouble-maker. Her allegiance is to Barnes not us.” Lehmanns dislike of the nurse is showing. Zola holds up his hands for quiet, but the argument carries on until he has had enough.

“Gentlemen!” he is forced to shout.

The men are quiet.

”I am happy for her to be here,” says Zola. “She seems to know what she is doing. But...” and he looks at Lehmann, “... if you have any problems with her then you advise me immediately, and I will rethink the situation. But for now let us continue with why we are here. You were about to tell me about your idea for Barnes' mind.”

In a way he will regret asking. It would have been better, he thinks later, if he had not known but just been given the final product of it all because what Lehmann outlines is akin to torture. He insists it is for the good of the project and he is sure it will work.

When the other doctors show their disgust Lehmann challenges them to come up with a better idea, an alternative way of breaking the patient's mind. “After all, how many years have we had him here? He still knows who he is, he is still hanging on to his identity. We have to take that away from him. A combined shock of this magnitude will do it I think.”

Zola is quiet.

Lehmann continues talking. “ We are at a crucial point. Barnes' body is responding well to the serum; we have finally found the right combination. We need his mind now. Once we have that then,” and at this point he gestures to the two doctors from the new team, “they can begin to fit the new arm. Once that is done the next step is cryo freeze. The team report that they are very close to completion, and they can begin shipping in the new equipment. Once we get that sorted, we can then move on to the final two phases...” he smiles. It is a chilling smile. “...wiping his mind and reprogramming. We have come so far and we are so close.”

Zola removes his glasses on the pretext of cleaning them to give himself time to think.

Everyone is quiet.

He finally seems to make up his mind.

He looks around the table and then sighs. “Very well,” he says.

Lehmann sits back, triumphant. He has won.

He has already completed the hard work behind his idea. Several months ago he had sent a message to one of their agents in America who supplied everything that was needed and more. Lehmann was extremely pleased when he received the information he had requested, passing it to the necessary resources.

What they came back with pleased him even more. It was perfect.

The final step came when one of the guards loyal to Lehmann told him about the nightmares Barnes has been having. The guard had overheard Stefan telling Kristo Barnes' fear of Lehmann, and the repeating vision of the doctor slicing off his limbs.

“Oh Sergeant Barnes, you have no idea of what I am capable of,” Lehmann had thought, “and with that, Sergeant,” he had spoken out aloud, “you have played right into my hands.”

*

Later when the meeting is over, you make sure you are just outside the door of the meeting room, hoping to hear some of what they have discussed.

Five of the doctors are oddly quiet, and Doctor Jakobs won't meet your eyes. Lehmann is still talking to Zola. You don’t hear what is said, but afterwards when Zola is halfway across the room, he turns and speaks to Lehmann once more

“There will be no need for me to be present at the...ah operation. I shall leave it in your capable hands. Just let me know when it is...completed and I will be back.” He turns and leaves the room.

You notice that the other doctors do not continue any conversation with Lehmann. It is as if they do not wish to be in the same room as him.

What operation?

Your blood runs cold when you look at Lehmann and he smiles at you.

Chapter Text

The Nurse & James Barnes - Vulnerability

The next few weeks pass in a blur. Things change. Things get more intense. Things get more frightening.

Doctor Lehmann becomes Director Lehmann and moves into his own office. You learn more about Hydra. Zola is not actually in command of it although most things are run by him. First and foremost he is a scientist, not a 'pen-pusher'. There seems to be a group of men at the top, all rich and powerful and they not only run Hydra but finance it, bring new people in, divide it into sub sections. It seems to cover whole countries.

To you it sounds like they own the world.

The doctors are now using a stronger sedative on James. He is in more pain than before as you cannot use such high doses of morphine with this new one.

Although they have finalised the serum, it is causing problems.

It doesn't always act in the way it should. It causes bad headaches, migraines, and there are times when you have to physically restrain him from bashing his head against the wall. Several times you are forced to completely sedate him. The serum also seems to sometimes get confused, trying to repair areas that are not actually damaged. New teeth grow under healthy ones, the doctors have to resort to surgery to cut them out. New finger- and toe- nails grow under old ones, forcing there way through his skin. It is not something the doctors are overly worried about. After all, they are not the ones experiencing it.

The patient still suffers terrible nightmares. There is one in particular that leaves him screaming in fear, and twice when you have tried to wake him his strength has thrown you across the room. Even you have grown to be wary of him. You ask him about the recurring nightmare and he tells you it is Lehmann cutting off his limbs so he cannot escape. Even as he tells you this much you see the trembling of his hands, hear the fear of it in his voice.

Their tests are producing such better results. His muscle tone is improving, and they can see an end to the testing. He is so nearly there. You hear them say repeatedly that there is just one thing holding them back and you know what they mean: his mind. You don’t like to think of that, of what they might do.

There has been construction on each floor of the building. There are new teams, strange machinery. All this for one person?

You have started to learn more about “Project: Winter Soldier” that involves something called cryogenic freezing. You see more of the plans. One chilled you right to the bone. It is a prototype chair, stationed in the main room. They call it the Master Chair, and in one of the diagrams it is fitted to machinery that looks more like a medieval torture device than a modern day scientific breakthrough.

There is also a project that only Lehmann and two others are involved with. These others are people with no sense of humour; they look at everyone coldly. Their work is kept separate from the other projects, and no one is allowed near that part of the tunnels. Not even any of the other doctors.

You, Stefan and Kristo are careful not to be seen talking together, but when you can you gather in secret and trade information. The picture that you are assembling is frightening.

And through it all, James is slowly falling apart.

You have talked to him about his life, his family. He has started to forget so many things. His voice grows quieter and quieter until in the end he hardly speaks at all. When you try to get him to speak he just shakes his head. He gets angry with you, uncomfortable in your presence and you don't know why.

He is shutting you out.

You are losing him.

It is rare for your patient to react to anything these days. They are so close to breaking him. When you heard Lehmann talking about killing more than one bird with one stone you did not know what he was referring to, but the next phase is about the erasure of James Barnes himself and that fills you with dread.

You know they are satisfied with his physical body and that Zola has been talking about the patient's mind. Is that what this is all about? Is that why they are trying to break him? It makes no sense. You know that whatever Lehmann has suggested is going to be bad for James. The man is evil.

Security is tightened. There seems to always be guards everywhere.

Doctor Lehmann has had another one of his chats with you. Your lessons with him are at an end. He has said he will be watching you closely, that if they find you have overstepped your boundaries then you will be gone. Its as easy as that. It makes you reconsider dying once more; how easy it would be to fade away but you will not, cannot, leave James alone.

It is not such a difficult rule to follow. James hardly speaks; sometimes you begin to wonder if he has forgotten how to. And when he does his voice is rusty and it is an odd word here and there. He speaks more with his eyes, which show you everything down to his bare soul, and sometimes that is worse than words.

He internalises his pain. He is trying to cope on his own. She does not realise the true extent of the torment he is suffering inside his mind. He just wants to reach out to her, to bury himself in her arms. To be held by her and for the rest of the world to melt away.

To you, his mind seems to be turning more inward every day. It is his only escape from this world. Your guilt of how he came to be here always rules your judgement and that is how you live your life.

One of the things you know that hurts him is the phantom pain in his missing left arm, one which many amputees experience. It is the worst kind as there is nothing there that you can work on to numb the feeling. He knows his limb is missing but it does not stop the reality of the pain, and there are days when you find him curled up, clutching all that is left of his left arm. All you can do is increase the morphine and hope it takes him out of it. You try to encourage him to let you massage the limb but it is rare that he will let you touch him now. Almost sometimes reacting as if the touch of your hand is too hot. Too painful.

Early on in the care of your patient you worried that the morphine would become an addiction. You have seen the way soldiers become dependant upon it before and you do not want to swap one problem for another. You talked it over with Doctor Jakobs and he tells you not to worry, it will not happen; it is something to do with the serum they gave him. It does not allow drugs such as morphine to get a hold of the body or the individuals mind. It explains why they are having to use such a high level of the sedative again.

*

One morning James is particularly fractious with her, drawing away as she tries to touch him. He is groggy, but seems more awake than he has been in a while – yet he continually turns away from her, ignores her. Stefan can see the effect this is having on Freya. How upset it makes her. Last night, Lehmann stopped the patient's evening sedative; he wanted to see exactly how James will react with no sedative to calm him. James is already having trouble controlling his emotions, controlling the reactions of his body, controlling himself. Stefan knows he is going to have to tell her the truth.

You return to the room and James won't even look at you, doesn't want to move out of the bed. It takes a few hours of awkward interaction before Stefan tells you what he believes is upsetting your patient; that one of the shower sessions is required. But he also adds to the problem. He tells you he thinks that the help you have given James so far is not going to be enough this time.

You look at him, wide eyed. “As in?”

Stefan blushes and ducks his head. He clears his throat. “You remember what we talked about?”

You blink. “What actually...? No I don't think - I mean I can't do that in the shower room...I...”

“No Freya, I don't mean that. I don't mean...all the way. I mean...you know...” and he gestures with his hand touching his lips as though he is smoking a cigarette.

You look blank for a second and then it dawns on you and your cheeks go pink. “Oh...that...”

Stefan nods. “Yes that.”

You know on some level that it is shame that is stopping James from asking you to help. Shame of what he needs, and shame of what he has become - neither of which are his fault. You know what you need to do, but with James not being so highly sedated you feel just helping him in the way Stefan means may not be enough to solve the problem. James needs to feel that you are not pitying him. That he is not as vulnerable as you know he is.

You need him to think he is wanted, and you are doing this because you want to and not out of some misguided loyalty to him.

You think of what you talked about with Stefan. What if you get it wrong? You have never done anything like it before. In fact when he first told you about it you had looked at him in wide eyed awe and hadn't quite believed him at first.

“And men like that?” You had asked.

“Oh yes Freya, believe me they do.” He had said.

“Oh.”

“And women.” Stefan had added mischievously.

“Women? But how...no don't answer that.”

You didn't want to know.

When you suggest it's time to shower you can see that James doesn't want to go with you. You and Stefan glance at each other, and Stefan suggests that he and the patient walk down to the shower room together whilst you change into your smock and grab towels and robes and meet them there.

You catch up with them when you have changed into your usual smock and shower cap, but underneath the cap you have taken out your plait and combed your hair into a pony tail held up by a couple of clips. You hang pyjamas and your uniform up on the back of the door. Fresh towels and everything else you put on the side.

Stefan has started the shower and James is doing his best to wash himself. He is trying to show he is not as weak as he seems, and you do not wish to take that away from him.

Stefan makes an excuse and leaves you both. When James realises what is happening he flushes and you see panic in his eyes. He doesn't want Stefan to go. He doesn't want to be alone with you. You pretend you haven't noticed and instead you suggest he sit on the shower chair just whilst you wash his hair.

He hesitates.

“James, you're much taller than me now and I can't reach up that high any more without it hurting my shoulders,” you say calmly.

He nods still not looking at you, and sits. You can see that he is trying to hide the fact he has the beginning of an erection, but it is difficult with only one hand. You know that he is embarrassed.

After washing his hair and getting him back up on his feet you give him a sponge to do his front whilst you work on his back. You are being efficient and nothing else, and you feel him relax slightly. You finish in the shower and switch it off, then pass him towels and help rub his back dry, leaving him to do the rest.

You pass him pyjamas; you want to help him to put on the bottoms but you don't. You keep busy doing other things and by the time you turn back to him he is just ready to put the top on. All of his pyjama tops have the left sleeve shortened; you help him put it on leaving it unbuttoned.

You suggest he sit down whilst you brush the knots out of his hair. It has gotten so long. You grab the scissors and trim it back up to just above his shoulders.

He lets her. He is feeling tired. He aches; his missing left hand aches. He is feeling so tense from needing to relieve himself that he feels tears pricking his eyes. It makes him feel vulnerable and weak, something he doesn't want her to see.

But you know so much about this man. You know how he is feeling. You know how he feels about his missing limb. He rarely looks at his left side, and when he does you see the horror in his eyes. You see him every day of your life. He is your world. He needs you but he is beginning to need more than just what you have been providing. His body is more in tune without the sedative, more alive, it craves more contact, more of a personal touch, but he knows how naked and vulnerable he is. You need to give him back his dignity, to cover him, allow him to make the play. Put you both on the same level of the playing field.

To let him be the man he was and still is.

You comb his hair but this time instead of just leaving parted in the middle you part it on his left and sweep it all back behind his ears. As it is still wet it looks as though he has greased it back, just like you have seen pictures of how Americans wear it. It changes his face and you can see more signs of the man you first met back in the field camp. Because his whole face is showing you can see how big his eyes are, how beautiful they are and you feel a flutter low down in your stomach.

Whilst she has been working on his hair he has been watching her surreptitiously, especially the way her wet smock has moulded to her body. He has seen she is not wearing a bra, which is unusual, and he can see the outline of her breasts, her nipples. It makes him ache between his legs. He wants to groan out loud, he wants to touch her.

She interrupts his thoughts to tell him she has finished and he stands up ready to go back to his room. There is a well of disappointment in the pit of his stomach and a deep ache in his balls that he is trying to ignore.

You move the shower chair back and then ask him if he wouldn't mind waiting a minute whilst you change. You move him back until he realises you want him to sit again but this time on the top of a sealed off area. It is in the corner, a triangle of wood over the plumbing which creates a makeshift seat. He sits down on it and leans slightly back against the wall.

Inside you are so nervous. You are trying to think of the things Stefan told you. You have never played the part of a seductress before, and you certainly don’t feel like one. Oh God what if I get it wrong? What if I misunderstood what Stefan meant?

You could not have. You questioned him. You made him repeat what you needed to do until the poor man was exasperated. He had warned you that one day you may need to do this, and so you have been working on it in your mind. It is only daunting because it is so important to you.

Before you do anything else, you need to take precautions. You see James puzzle over your actions.

You take up the shower chair and jam it under the handle of the door. You don’t want any guards bursting in on you for any reason; if they do, then you will have some warning at least. You then turn on all the taps and the showers so that it sounds as if you are both still in the shower.

By now you know he is watching you closely, but you don’t let him know this. You do not want him to think you are going to hurt him in anyway.

Whilst you have your back to him you remove your smock, keeping your back to him you dry yourself. You know he can clearly see your naked shape. You are naked apart from your pants. You take off your cap and unclip your hair, you are so glad you washed it last night. You know he is watching as your hair falls around your bare shoulders. Still without turning around, you change your pants for dry ones.

You reach for your uniform and put it on. It is the plain light khaki dress buttoned from the top to the bottom at the front. You leave the belt on the hook. Then you pull your hair out so that it falls around outside of the dress and then you turn and walk back over to him. Your hands and knees are trembling but you are trying to look confident, to look as if you know exactly what you are doing.

You have not buttoned the dress up and it covers your body like an open coat. All you have on under it is the dry pants. Nothing else. You pick up a folded clean towel and walk to where he is sitting and put the towel on the floor just in front of him. Your skin is tingling and the thought of him touching you is doing things to you that you have never felt before.

Looking at the towel on the floor, he sits slightly forward. Then, he looks at you. You are looking at him, looking straight into his eyes, at his lips, his face. Your heart is hammering and you still feel that fluttering in your stomach.

You move so very close to him. He is now looking up into your eyes. You could drown in his. You lean forward and cup the left side of his head and bend to kiss his lips, softly, gently. You can taste him, the soap you were using, the smell of him. Your hair falls forward over his chest so he can feel the silky smoothness of it and you hear him moan into your mouth.

You go to move away slightly, your eyes still closed. You wait to see if he will follow, to see if he will take over. That is what you want, you want him to be the leader of this.

He does.

His right hand reaches out and pulls your head back closer and your lips meet. You open yours hesitantly and you feel his tongue. He kisses you, exploring your mouth. You feel the heat rising in your body. No man has ever kissed you before and you have a feeling that if they had it would not have been the same as this. This man has power over you; you haven't just lost your heart to him, you've lost your soul and sanity too.

You would do anything for him.

Whilst kissing you he brings his hand down inside the collar of your dress. His fingers brush your throat and then move further down until they brush your nipple, and you can't help but gasp. He cups your breast and you hear him moan again.

Both of you pull away from the kiss but leave your foreheads touching, eyes closed. He runs his thumb over your nipple and you feel it harden. You feel his left arm move but he will realise in a moment he cannot hold you with it. You need to distract him, so you move your head back and move so your body is even closer to his.

You gather up your hair and put it back over your shoulder so he can see you. Your heart is beating so hard that you are sure he will be able to hear it. You are trembling. He bends his head down and kisses your breast and then takes the nipple into his mouth. His hand touches your other breast, his fingers strong and warm, stroking. You think you are going to stop breathing. This is supposed to be for him, but the emotions and feelings running through you are so strong they nearly overwhelm you.

You run your hand through his hair, pushing it backwards and he lets go of you and looks up.

You kiss his forehead and then kneel on the towel on the floor between his legs. You don’t take your eyes from his. You put your hand inside the material on his shoulder and lean forward again to kiss him. You kiss his neck and then, pushing the material away from him, you let your hands roam over his body and you follow with your lips. He leans back slightly, mouth open, eyes closed. Then as your hands get lower he comes forward again and reaches out for you, pulling you back to him, and then kissing your lips again.

Whilst he kisses you, your hands reach for the tie of his pyjama bottoms and you undo them and move the material aside so you can reach him. His erection is hard, hot. As your hand touches him he jumps, and his body shudders and he groans.

He lets you go and you kneel lower, your hands stroking him. You can see he is barely breathing. You reach down and run your hand very gently over the top of his cock and then down the hard shaft to the bottom. The skin is so warm and soft and he is so very hard. You have a moment of worry as to how big he is, please let me get this right. You hold his cock whilst you dip your head to the top of it.

She is so close he can feel her breath on him. He stops breathing, mouth open, praying she won't stop.

You try to remember what Stefan told you and gently you run your tongue over the very tip.

He remembers to breathe again and moans. The feeling running through his body is burning him. He has imagined her mouth on him so many times and now it is happening. This is what James Barnes likes the most; he doesn't know why, it has always been that way. Steve used to reduce him to a quivering wreck just by the touch of his lips on his hard shaft.

You move the material of his pyjamas so that you can reach all of him.

You hold his cock with one hand and slip your other one under so you can stroke the skin at the base and then his balls. A small amount of cum dribbles up from the slit and you lick it off. Stefan has warned you about the taste. You are sure you hear James whisper something; you think it might be your name. You move your tongue down the hard shaft to the base and then around and up the under side as your hand slowly starts to massage and stroke his balls and you hear him groan again.

He adjusts his position so that you have better access to him, and this gives you the courage you need to know you are doing the right thing. You move slightly so you can run your tongue along the skin at the base and then using your hands, you move his ball sack closer and gently take his balls into your mouth and suck gently. Your other hand runs up and down his cock slowly and you feel a trickle of cum run down and over your hand. You release his balls and both your hands move to the inside of his thighs and stroke the skin there. You look at his face and he is watching you, his eyes wide, pleading. His chest rising, he is trying to steady his breathing. There is a faint line of sweat on his brow and his top lip and as you watch he swallows hard.

You move your hand to touch him again and your fingers circle his cock. You move slightly and then bend your head down to it. You then take him in your mouth, just the first inch. He is big and you know this is going to take a while to do, especially as this is new to you, you have never done anything like it before. You suck whilst your hand slowly rubs up and down the lower part of his cock, and you then take more of him into your mouth. You hear him moan. You use your other hand on his thigh to steady yourself.

His hand moves to wrap your hair around it and he rests his hand on the back of your head as he closes his eyes. You take in as much as you can, sucking and using your tongue. Then slowly you withdraw your mouth until you reach the top again and your tongue licks and you suck the very end. You slowly move your hand up and down the hard shaft until you hear him moan.

Bowing your head you start to take him into your mouth again, this time more than you have done before. Your own stomach is in knots and you are wet between your legs. Part of you feels a deep longing and wishes his hardness was there between your legs, pushing into you, but at the same time you want him in your mouth. You want to taste him. You want to make him moan again.

This time you work on taking him all in. His cock starts to slide down the very back of your throat and for a moment you are worried you are going to gag as he pushes but you slow him down, breathe deeply though your nose and then start again.

His breathing increases and you can hear him moaning and you know he is close to coming. Your hand at the base grips him harder and so does your mouth, you are moving with him faster now.

You feel his hand clench your hair and the pressure of it on the back of your head increases. He is so very close, he moans again and then arches up. He can't help but thrust himself as far as he can into your mouth, and you feel the hot liquid spurt down the very back of your throat. You must breathe through your nose, remember what Stefan warned.

You hear him cry out.

You drink him down and he thrusts again and again and more liquid fills your throat and mouth. You swallow and the bitter salty taste is everywhere but you don’t care, as he came, even over the sound of the water, you heard him say your name and he begged you to not to stop.

He slows. You feel him straighten up. You can hear his breath. You know his heart is beginning to cease its hammering and you feel his cock begin to soften. You slowly release him from your mouth and move back.

His hand is no longer on the back of your head and you feel him release your hair. You cover him up and retie his pyjamas. You can hear him breathing heavily, but he is quiet.

You don’t know for a second if you are brave enough to look up at him, but you do and his eyes are on your face. His hand comes up against your cheek and you turn slightly and kiss the palm. You can see he wants to speak, but that he doesn't know what to say. You can taste him in your mouth, down your throat and you can smell his sex.

You go to stand up but he misinterprets what you are doing.

“Don't go, not yet.” His voice rusty with misuse and now you know why he couldn't speak; there are unshed tears in his eyes. He is so frightened of losing you, so frightened of being alone.

You stay where you are. You keep your voice gentle. “I'm not going, I will never go, please believe me. I will always be here for you.”

You take his hand in both of yours and kiss the back of it and look into his eyes. He is searching yours as if he can read your sincerity in them.

You lean closer.

“Please, please believe me James, you are not alone. I promise I will stay. I will always be here for you.”

Tears prick your eyes and when he realises you are telling the truth he leans forward and grabs you to him and holds you as best as he can. You wrap your arms around him and listen to him weep.

He is James Barnes, and someone has shown him he is a man. One worth loving.

After a few moments he lets you go, but before you can move away he asks you the question you have always dreaded. “Why? Why do you go through everything to stay with me?”

Now it is your turn to search his eyes. You have always promised yourself that you will be truthful with him. The two of you have only briefly touched on his time in the field camp.

“Because it is my fault you are here.” You wait for his response, but it is not the one you were expecting.

“Why? Why do you think that?”

“Because I saved your life at the field camp.”

You see shock in his face. “Freya, none of this is your fault. None of it. Why would you think that? You saved my life but you weren't to know what would happen, how could you? How could anyone?”

You are both keeping your voices low. Time is running out and you know soon if you don’t appear the guards will come looking for you. You can also see the tiredness in his eyes.

“Don’t you hate me?” you blurt out. “If I had let you die you wouldn't have gone through all of this. When I first came here you asked me to help you die and I didn't...I couldn't...” now you are weeping. All this time you have thought he would hate you.

His eyes are so sad as he looks at you. You can see he is at the end of the road for today, he needs to sleep. “You? How could I ever hate you?” He ducks his head for a moment, struggling with the words he wants to say. “You're not a killer like I am. None of this is your fault.”

Then he looks up at you, reaches out and touches you. “It's the guilt that makes you stay, isn't it? Is that why you remain with me because you feel it is your fault? Is that the only reason? ”

You swallow. He is tearing you apart. “No. James, I loved you from the first moment I saw you. You mean so much to me. I could never leave you. I stay because I love you and to leave you would be...be...oh God …” You are crying and he can see your utter devotion for him in your eyes. You clasp his hand in yours. “I don’t know what they are going to do to you, James. I'm so frightened. I don't know their plans, what they are trying to achieve, what they...” you let go of his hand “...I can't stop them, I can't get you out of here, I can't do...anything.” Tears run down your cheeks. He reaches out to wipe them away, and he tries to smile.

“You don't need to do any more than what you do. I know when I see you I'm not alone,” he tries again to smile but it is more a grimace. “I think they want me dead. Not my body. Just my mind.”

The horror and sadness that shows in your face is reflected in his. What can you say to him? The reality is all around you. He clutches your hand tightly and leans forward more so there is hardly any space between you. His eyes search yours. “Just don’t leave me please. Don't let me be alone, no matter what they do to me please don't leave me.” His eyes are wide, red-rimmed. You place your hand on his cheek and stroke it.

“I love you James Barnes. I could never leave you,” you tell him.

It is a promise you will always keep.

Chapter Text

The Nurse & James Barnes - Together Now In Death As They Were In Life

You do not know what Doctor Lehmann is planning, but you know Zola does not want to be here when it happens. He is squeamish. That frightens you. What could be so terrible that even the head of the project wants no part in it? During his time here, the patient has been tortured, burnt, assaulted, starved, and continually pumped full of a serum which would make him into...what?

What could be worse than what he has already been through?

You still do not know all the outcome of the project - although you have your suspicions. You know how his body has became stronger, how despite wounds so bad that they have festered it has fixed itself. You know they need to have him under almost constant sedation as he gets stronger. For the last few days it has been getting worse. Lehmann has been making the sedation stronger and stronger until once again he is almost always bed-ridden, barely able to move or to comprehend anything. You feel the pace has increased. The building work is complete, the machinery in place.

All this for one man. James Barnes.

Their Winter Soldier. 

*

The day starts badly. Your patient has been in a lot of pain since the last batch of whatever they have injected into him. He barely sleeps that night, and when he does he has terrible nightmares which leave him screaming. You thought the serum trials were over. But if so, then what are these latest injections about?

You sit by his bedside, trying to let him know you are there, that he is not alone; but you don't know if he even knows where he is any more - not that any of you truly know where you are. He was calling out Steve's name again. It is something that happens more and more.

Come the morning James looks so haggard and grey. Lehmann does not visit to give him the morning sedative. Instead you receive a message via Marinov. You and Stefan are to bring the patient to a room you have never been in before. The room in question is the recreation room used by the guards. Marinov does not know any more than you do. He had been ordered along with two of his guards, to assist Lehmann in setting the room up and can tell you no more.

What has Lehmann got planned?

James is so tired that it is an effort to get him out of bed so you and Stefan use the wheelchair to take him there. When you bring James into the room you see that the tables and chairs have been cleared to the side and a projector has been set up in the middle of the room. The far wall of the room is to act as the screen. Stefan looks at you, and is as puzzled as you are.

 You are told to put the patient's wheelchair in the middle of the room, in front of the screen, and you are both to stay. You pull up chairs, one either side of him.

Doctor Lehmann smiles to himself; it's as if the nurse and orderly are trying to protect their patient. Do they really think they can?

What are they doing? James looks questioningly at her, his eyes tired and bloodshot.

“I don’t know,” Freya whispers to him, and he sees concern and fear in her eyes. The pit of his stomach drops. He knows he is near the end. He knows they are determined to win.

Doctor Lehmann approaches them.

“Sergeant Barnes! We thought it has been a long time since you had news from your home, and we decided it is unfair for us to keep the truth from you. There are things you should know.” He turns and points at the blank wall, where the projection is to be. “We have put together a few things; American newsreels that we feel you might like to see, news you have the right to know. This is, how do you say; straight from the horse's mouth. It is rather old news, I'm afraid, but still better late than never.”

Your mouth goes dry.

He used James' name.

Lehmann moves away and the lights go out. You look at James. His face was pale before, but now all you can see is the ghostly light flickering over it and a look of dread. His eyes are wide, but focused.

When you look back at what the newsreel showed you are surprised it does not drive him mad, although you think he is not far from it. How could they be so cruel? How could Zola and Jakobs let this be done to him? Hasn't he lost enough?

Hadn't they done enough to him already?

The reel starts with a brief look around a place called Brooklyn. It's a name you recognise from your talks with James, and from his indrawn breath you realise that he recognises it. He leans forward, his hand gripping the arm of his chair. The look on his face is tragic. This is his home. He recognises the streets, the shops, houses, the docks.

“America is looking up, things are booming!” chirrups the newsreader, telling James that life is going on as normal without him. The reel continues mercilessly, detailing how things were going now that the war had ended and most of the soldiers had returned home to their families.

All but James,' you think bitterly, and as if the newscaster had read your mind a scene of a graveyard is shown, new white headstones layering the landscape.

The newscaster moves on to say that not all of the soldiers came home. That not all families were lucky enough to have their sons and fathers returned to them.

The next scene shows a family grieving, and you hear an awful sound from James. The camera zooms in on the headstone they are stood next to. The name engraved there is unmistakable: James Buchanan Barnes. “Bucky” is written underneath, followed by the date of his birth and death.

It is his family on the screen.

They are holding on to each other. Shock shows in their features. Siblings who look so like him are talking softly to an older man - James' father. The look in his eyes distressing to see. A blond haired man is with them, and he is holding onto a distraught woman - James' mother - as she sobs. She clutches the lapels of his uniform. His parents have aged. They are both grey, drawn but you can see where James gets his features from.

This will tear James apart.

The film cuts to a group of American soldiers appearing to get ready for a mission. Your heart stops when you realise one of them is James Barnes. The announcer refers to him as Bucky, and it is then that you finally get to meet Steve Rogers. He is the blond man who was trying so desperately to comfort James' mother.

The commentator introduces Steve Rogers as Bucky's lifelong friend. There then follows a short explanation and series of photographs showing Steve Rogers undergoing an experiment. You can see the terrible illnesses James told you about that Steve had as a child and the destruction it wrought on his body. Then you see what Steve Rogers became and everything falls into place. You finally see the work Zola is trying to catch up on.

James is sat watching. He cannot take his eyes away from the screen. He cannot take his eyes off Steve. His Steve, his love.

The commentator begins to explain how the two men fought together side-by-side. Another scene is shown. James, leaning on the bonnet of a Jeep, looking at a map. On the other side of the bonnet stands Steve Rogers. Next to him, open on the Jeep's hood, is what seems to be a compass; in the lid is a picture of a woman. You don't want to stop looking at James on the screen, at Bucky lifting his right hand up to brush his hair back, his left hand cradling a rifle. It makes your stomach tighten.

Further photographs are shown. In most of the photographs Steve and Bucky are together, and you can see the love the two men, Barnes and Rogers, bore for one another right from when they were so young.

Then who, you wonder, was the woman whose picture Steven Rogers carries around with him?

The film returns to the soldiers and you learn that their unit was called the Howling Commandos. You see a picture of a howling wolf, and you remember the animal embossed on his dog tags.

Your eyes don’t ever leave the screen whilst Bucky is on there. The friendship is described again on the audio track, and you see Bucky and Steve talking and laughing with each other. He looks so young and you have never seen him carefree before.

You hear a noise which brings you back to the present. James is having trouble breathing. There are tears rolling down his face but he trying to smile. It is a hesitant smile, as if he is remembering perhaps when the film itself was taken.

He is seeing Steve again for the first time in such a long time, and it is breaking his heart.

But then the newsreel changes to a later one and the music they are using changes. It becomes sad. Melancholy. The announcer's voice drops low as he tells his audience about the loss of one of the Howling Commandos, James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky to his family and friends. You see again the shot of the family weeping. Steve Rogers trying to console Bucky's mother.

You watch as one by one the family turn their backs and walk away from the headstone bearing James' name, leaving Bucky alone with the dead.

The scene changes again to one where Steve Rogers talks about the mission that had just taken place and Bucky's fall from the train during it. Steve's expresses his regret at not even being able to bring Bucky's body home for burial. He talks of a memorial service and you feel sick. They thought he had died.

There was never any search for Bucky. You reach over and take James' hand but he doesn’t notice.

All this time, James thought he had given up on being rescued. But this had made him realise he hadn’t. In the back of his mind, buried deep, he always harboured a small bit of hope. Hope that Steve would find him, would never give up until he did.

But it turns out, he never even tried.

It hits James hard.

No-one ever looked for him. Not even Steve.

The newsreel shows a few other things with Steve Rogers; but this time it is film of him with the other Howling Commandos, and the woman in the photograph. It shows that she has taken James' place in the commando unit.

Perhaps taken more than his place with the unit.

The commentator introduces her as Peggy Carter, and adds that she is Steve Rogers fiancée. You hear an indrawn breath from James and his hand clenches so hard you fear he is going to break your fingers.

But there is worse to come.

Something so terrible that you wanted to stop the film, to take James out of there but you couldn't and afterwards...afterwards, you finally gave up hope of there being any humanity left in Hydra.

The screen darkened. The scenes show people in shock, on the street, crying, as the announcer's voice carries through the room.

“Sad news for the people of not just Brooklyn, but for all of us. Captain America, Steve Rogers, is dead.”

You hear James utter the word no. He shakes his head slowly. You look over at Lehmann; he is watching James, watching the effect all of this has on his prisoner, and you know this is just what he wants.

This will break James.

“Captain Rogers dies in what up until then had been a successful mission,” the announcer says, and you look back at the screen. The newscaster explains about the mission, lead by both Captain Rogers and Peggy Carter, to take down Hydra - and its tragic consequences when Captain Rogers is lost over the sea, bringing down a plane loaded with bombs that were bound for different American cities.

It does not tell you that Steve's body was never found but neither you or James realise this. You are too concerned for James and he is to numbed by what he is hearing.

Steve Rogers is dead. Steve Rogers never even tried to find him. The two things have taken root in James' mind and will continue to go around and around driving him slowly mad.

Steve Rogers replaced him with Peggy.

Steve Rogers never looked for him.

A memorial service is held for Steve, and Peggy Carter is interviewed about him. You hear James whisper, “Peggy, I'm sorry.”

I was right, James thinks to himself. I had lost him already.

The announcer goes on to say that Peggy and Steve were to have been married in the summer.

You thought James was the love of Steve's life - had he already lost him to this woman, to Peggy Carter?

Lehmann watches them both carefully. What they do not know is that some of the announcer's script was not in the original newsreel; it has been dubbed, edited, and the propaganda, is serving its purpose beautifully.

The film ends with a brief film show of a series of pictures of Steve and Bucky together, a school photograph, then repeats again the film shown of the two of them laughing with each other, the two of them planning missions together. Old friends' photographs come to light showing the two together, always together then a final set of words:

“Together now in death as they were in life.”

The reel ends.

Everything is quiet. Hushed.

All that can then be heard is the film looping over on the projector. The lights are put back on and you look at James. He has the thousand yard stare you know so well, unfocused, his breathing harsh. You can't get him to look at you. His eyes are trapped in the past. He is not even crying any more. He is like stone, not moving, not even blinking.

Doctor Lehmann approaches once more. “I am sorry for the loss of your friend, but at least he had spent the last of his months happy with such a beautiful lady. It is a shame they never got to marry before he died.”

You can't even look at Lehmann. You ignore him. You squeeze James' hand but you get no response.

“Ah well, perhaps later.” Doctor Lehmann smiles. “Such a shame no one ever even came looking for you, Sergeant Barnes. Good for us though. We were the ones who rescued you from interrogation. It shows we care for you more than your friends did, more than Captain Rogers ever did.”

And then he leaves the room. The first part of his plan is laid. His work is done for now.

*

When he had first had the newsreels put together, Lehmann's hardest choice was deciding if he should make it sound as though Roger's death was the result of Barnes', or whether it would do more damage to make the patient think his friend had stopped caring for him.

The agent in America had been very thorough, and Lehmann now knew Barnes and Rogers had been lovers, knew of their devotion to one another. When the agent had mentioned Peggy Carter, everything had fallen into place. It would be far more painful for Barnes to think the person he loved the most in the whole world had forgotten him, had moved on.

And best not to let him realise that Rogers had died almost right away, better for Barnes to think that he had had time to adjust to the minor loss of his friend before moving on to sweeter pastures.

*

You and Stefan wheel James back down the corridor. Neither of you know what to say. Before you reach his room, you stop.

“Stefan, can you cover for me?” you ask.

You know you need to do something. You recognise shock when you see it. You need to get James to talk. You need him to come out of the daze he is in. You know that back in his room with the guards there you will not be allowed to converse with him.

Stefan nods and you pull the wheelchair back, and into the shower room. James sits, oblivious. You need him to react, you need him to let his feelings out and not bottle them up.

You place a chair under the door. Stefan stands outside.

You switch on all the taps and all of the showers. The noise in the room is almost deafening. It bounces off the tiled walls and floor.

In here someone can scream and shout and not be heard.

You crouch in front of the chair. “James? James, I am so sorry.” You lean forward and place your hand on his knee, but he is like a statue and doesn't move. You look into his eyes and they are unfocused but you can see his jaw is tightly gripped and you can almost hear him grinding his teeth. There is such an anger there, such pain. He needs to release it somehow, to get it out.

'Steve never even tried to find me. Steve just couldn't wait for me to be out of the way. I thought he loved me, but he didn't, he lied to me...he's dead...no..he can't be, he can't...' these thoughts are going around and around in James' mind. He can't see beyond them.

“James, you need to talk about this. That was your Steve wasn't it. I am so sorry, I had no idea, I didn't know they were going to show you that. I didn't know he had died, if I did...” if you had, what would you have done?

A small noise escapes from him and he looks away from you. His hand is gripping the chair so hard you can hear the metal groaning. His whole body is tensed, coiled like a spring.

“James talk to me.”

Nothing.

How can you make him react?

You sit back and look at him. What must be going on in his mind? What pain was he going through?

“James...James, please look at me...” you sit forward.

Nothing.

What can you do? What can you say to bring him back to now?

You look at him again.

“Bucky...” you say hesitantly, and that is what breaks his silence.

“He never even looked for me! He never even tried!” he shouts, so loud it hurts your ears, makes your heart start to hammer and spittle hits your face.

He rears up so fast that it pushes you backwards, and his hand hits you so hard your head rings. You fall awkwardly on your hands. He grabs your plait and pulls you up so close to him, he is kneeling beside you, he moved so fast and for the first time ever you are scared of him.

There is a madness in his eyes that you have never seen before.

“Don’t you call me that! Don’t you ever call me Bucky! Don’t you dare! Only my family calls me that, only my friends, not filth like you,” he shouts, almost a scream and the words bounce around the room. No one outside can hear them above the water.

His eyes are deep pits.

His eyes are murderous.

“I thought, I thought....” he can't complete the sentence, rage is surging through him. Years of torture. Never realising all along he is waiting for Steve to come and rescue him. He had believed in him and Steve hadn't even tried. Had just replaced him with Peggy. Moved on. Had forgotten about him...But, wait, isn't that what he told Steve to do? So he can't complain can he? Can't blame Steve.

He pushes you backwards and stands. Turns. You can see he doesn't know what to do with his anger. His fist is opening and closing. He is sweating, his breath coming in great big bursts. He slams the wheelchair backwards with such strength that it lifts into the air and hits the sink. You have never seen strength like this, it is a strength borne of anger and Zola's serum. You know from experience that the anger should die out, that you need to ride the storm. You just pray it does die and you are still alive to be here for him.

“Talk to me,” you say, trying to stand up.

He spins around and in two strides he is in front of you once more. He hits you again and you go flying back into the wall, cracking your head and hurting your back so much that tomorrow you will have trouble standing.

He follows and stands close. He lifts his hand, the fist tightly clenched to hit you again. You can't help but flinch and put a hand up.

"Please! No!” Fear makes you beg, but you asked for this, you courted it - and now the look in his eyes terrifies you.

He draws his hand back as if to hit you again and you can't help but turn away and hold both your hands up to try to deflect the blow.

Nothing happens and you look back at him. His eyes are holes, deep and black.

Instead of hitting you he grabs your hair and knocks your head back up against the wall.

“Talk to you! Why?” his voice is dangerously quiet. “So you can trick me? So you can pretend you're my friend? You say you care, is it so you can help them tear me apart? Is that it?”

Tears now threaten to unhinge him. His eyes are searching yours and you don’t know what to say. If you say the wrong thing you will lose him forever.

Then you see a memory hit him. His eyes leave yours. His hand falls to his side, releasing you.

“Steve,” he whispers, as if repeating it to someone. “He's gone. I didn't protect him, I...I wasn't there to stop him from dying.” His voice sounds like broken glass. He lowers his fist. “He's gone, and it's my fault...my fault.” He turns around as if looking for an answer. “Why didn't I escape? I could have been there, I could have stopped it. Why didn't I try?...why didn't I...its my fault if I had been there, if I had just...” He goes to take a step but instead his knees buckle and he crumples to the floor. You step forward and kneel shakily down beside him, and this time he lets you in. He lets you take him in your arms. You hold him tightly as he weeps. You can't understand all of his words, they are so quiet, so full of pain but you know he is whispering Steve's name over and over.

“Steve, don’t be dead, you can't be dead, I love you, please I need you, why didn't you love me? Why didn't you look for me...? ” With everything he has been through, everything they have done to him, this is the cruellest, this hurts the most. This does the most damage.

Lehmann should be proud of himself.

For a time you don’t say anything: you rock him gently, stroke his hair, kiss his forehead; anything to show you are there for him. You can't say anything about his friend to make him feel better. You didn't know him. You didn't know Bucky before he came into your life, you have only ever known James.

You can give no comfort. Only Steve could do that.

James goes quiet and you feel the tension leaving his body. You loosen your grip and he leans backwards but only so he can see your face, only so that he can search your eyes. It's as if his strength has dawned on him. He sees a smear of blood that has run from your nose and he looks at you in horror.

“God, what have I done.” His hands go to your face, go to stroke your hair. “I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry.” He is weeping again, looking at you, checking your arms, your face. You tell him not to worry, that you are not hurt. He tries to wipe the blood away with the corner of his sleeve, and you help.

His anger has run its course for now.

“What am I?” he asks you softly “What have I become?”

You reach out and take him in your arms again, and he rests his head on your shoulder.

“I thought he loved me,” he says simply and there is nothing you can say that doesn't sound like a lie. “My parents, they looked so old, so full of pain. They think I'm dead. Do you think they will forget me, like Steve did?” his voice is so choked.

“They will never forget you James, never.” You try and say this with conviction, but you are not sure of the truth. It is not something you can speak on, because you are certain your own parents have forgotten you.

“I want to go home. They'll never let me will they?” he says, quietly.

You look at each other for a long time. You both know the answer.

“Help me,” he says.

“Anything.” But as the word comes out of your mouth, deep down you know what he is going to ask you to do and your stomach drops.

“Kill me Freya. Please kill me. I don’t want to go on, don't make me go on. I can't do this, I can't...” your own face is pale, your eyes widen and you begin to shake your head no. He sees the pain in your eyes, the tears.

“Oh no please, please don’t ask me that. Please don’t ask me,” you whisper. You would do anything for him but this.

“I want to die. Please. You and I know that this is part of whatever they are going to do to me to finish it. Please...I...I can't go through any more...I can't take any more pain. Please Freya, you are all that I have now, the only one I can ask. Don't keep me alive.” And he starts to weep again and you hold him, stroking his hair.

“I know, I know.”

“Help me,” his voice is so low you can hardly hear it.

You are quiet.

“Please help me. I want to be with Steve.”

You know if you don’t reply he will beg. You can't make him do that.

“I'll...I'll help you. God forgive me,” you whisper, and in those words you agree to help him die.

Chapter Text

The Nurse & James Barnes - The Final Wall Crumbles

 Later, back in his room, his eyes don’t leave you. Reminding you of your promise. Your mind is in turmoil. You don’t want to think about it but you must.

How do you kill someone whose body repairs itself at the rate his does? Poison? Slit throat? Awful images fill your mind, and you feel faint. Stefan thinks it is because you haven’t eaten today and is kind to you, fussing when all you want is to be left alone. He can see you are not yourself, and when he sees James watching you and the ghastly pallor of your face, he begins to suspect something. He asks you what James said but you just shake your head.

“Nothing,” you say, your mind churning.

James is so tired that he falls asleep. You sit at your desk with your head on your arms. How can you do it? Will Stefan help? No, you cannot ask that of him. If he is caught it will be a death sentence for him. You know whatever you do is a death sentence for you too, but without James you don’t want to live.

You wish, and not for the first time, that Doctor Bethune was here. You know he would help; he would know what to do. Awful thoughts and images keep going through your mind as you sit there. It has to be something that will destroy his body completely - or at least his brain - something that even Zola's serum cannot bring him back from. Could you get hold of a gun? Most of the soldiers and guards only carry the batons, which are of no use. You suspect your security authorisations do not allow you any where near the Armoury, even if you knew where it was located.

Before you know it you have fallen asleep, and someone is shaking you awake. It is Doctor Lehmann. You stand up, flustered, knocking the chair over.

“And how is our patient?” he asks. It is a rhetorical question. You don’t reply, you are past playing games now. He has come to tell you that your patient and your presence is required in the morning for an operation. You look at him for a moment and then duck your head.

“What time?” you ask quietly.

“Oh, I think an early start. Say 8.30am, in Room 2, I think.”

“Room 2? But...but that isn't an operating room. It's the autopsy room,” you stutter.

“That is the room we will use, nurse.”

“But it's not clean, it's...”

“It will do,” he says.

As he goes to leave you can't help but step forward and catch his arm. “What... what are you going to do to him?” you ask, your eyes full of dread.

He looks at your hand and you take it away.

“I have told you all you need to know. Just be on time. And of course, no food for the rest of the day – we don't want him being sick tomorrow, do we?”

“But without more details how will I need to know what is needed for Ja...for the patient?”

He informs you that another nurse will be attending, and that she will know what is needed. “My dear girl, you will be there just as a back-up and to clean up...any mess.”

“Please...what are you going to do to him?” Your voice is a whisper.

Lehmann smiles.

“Just a small...operation. We are bringing in someone to do it. You do not need to know any more than that.” But he does add that the man who will be doing the work is arriving tonight. “ A specialist in his field.”

Lehmann smiles again. He can see the fear in her eyes, but also he can see that if she could she would strike out at him until his face is a mass of blood and gore. He doesn't really want her presence at the operation but he knows that the patient will be more pliable if she is in the room.

Pliable until the new drug takes over. He is not stupid enough to tell her this.

Now you are even more than frightened. Whatever it is they are planning is going to happen so soon.

After Lehmann leaves you check on James; he is still asleep but you can see it is not a pleasant dream. He has barely moved but his body twitches, his face grey and pale.

You sit down next to the bed thinking again of your promise, but within a few minutes a guard enters and takes up his post within the room itself. You ask why, and he tells you it is Doctor Lehmann's orders. You realise with a sinking feeling that Doctor Lehmann is not a fool, he doesn't trust you.

An idea has come to mind, but you do not honestly know if it will work; you do not know enough about the serum. The thoughts are still going around and around in your mind, driving you mad. If you cause James to bleed, the serum will repair the damage. Suffocation...they will just get him breathing again - and there is no way the guard in the room will allow you to place a pillow over the patient's face. If you poison him it will mean terrible pain, and how much do you use to stop the serum from repairing the damage it does?

You know of a doctor who put a patient out of their misery; it was a soldier who had lost most of his guts on the battlefield, but his body would not die. It was simple: a large air bubble in the blood stream. Would that work? It would have to be a large enough air bubble, injected into the right place, to cause an embolism. You wrack your brain, trying to think what it was the doctor did. There would no guarantee though as it isn't a proven method for killing someone. If the air bubble isn't big enough it will just be carried along until it is extinguished by the blood. You just do not know enough about it.

You have until tomorrow morning to fulfil your promise. You feel sick, you feel so alone, what can you do? How can you do it? What will work? You just cannot think straight.

Two guards are posted outside his room in tandem with the one inside, and people are in and out of the room for the rest of the day. Other doctors visit to take readings. Two people you have never seen before are shown James like he is a scientific experiment.

The guard inside the room watches you like a hawk. You try to remain calm and go about your duty as if it is just another day, but inside you are trembling.

James has woken up and is quiet, focused on you. You can't meet his eyes, because you think he is waiting for you to fulfil your promise. But you can't ignore him, and under the pretence of giving him a drink you sit on the edge of the bed. His hand shakes as you help him take the water. There are big black bags under his eyes and as you go to stand up he takes your hand and you don't move.

The door is open. The guards can hear you talking. You just have to trust that none of them understand English.

“They don't trust us much do they?” he says, trying to inject humour into the situation.

You try to smile but instead your eyes fill with tears and he squeezes your hand.

“Hey, don't,” he says quietly. You can see even this tires him out. “Listen what we talked about earlier...” his voice wavers “...forget it, will you. I was upset, talking out of my head you know.” You shake your head, your eyes wide. “You think they are going to let us get away with anything?” he nods to the guards “...it's too late. Don't do anything stupid, okay?”

You don't reply.

As he says the last sentence to her he remembers the last time he said those words, to someone else. To Steve.

“ Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” And he feels such an emptiness open up within him.

He looks at her hand in his and strokes his thumb across the back of it. He looks back at her. This time there are tears in his eyes.

“I...I can't do this alone. I need you there. If you try to kill me they will kill you and...” He cannot complete this sentence. “Please don't leave me alone. You promised.” He is trying so hard to be brave. He adds this last bit knowing that he has to stop her somehow. He remembers Lehmann's warning. If she kills him then she will die. He was stupid, selfish to ask her to risk so much, and now it is important to him that she understand.

That he has released her from her promise of death.

When he awoke and saw the extra guard, and how focused on her he was, and how he watched everything she did James realised the danger she was in. How could he have asked her to do something so dangerous? How could he have put her at risk? She means so much to him. The thought of her dying chokes him until he can hardly breathe.

You look at the floor, then at James. His eyes are so blue, so full of trust for you.

“I should have done more. I should have done something when you first asked me to, when...” you pick at one of the blankets, a loose thread, and you focus on that. He doesn’t speak and you look back up at him. “I've wasted so much time when I could have helped you.”

Those beautiful eyes, so tired, so ready to die. “You have helped me Freya. You're not a killer...” his voice is dry and he starts to cough. You help him drink again.

You try to smile - but he sees the tears in your eyes.

“I'm sorry I've done this to you,” he says. “I came into your life and ruined it.”

“No, no...you mustn't think that...I...” You stroke his cheek. You can't continue, but he knows what you were going to say.

You are both quiet for a moment.

Before you can say any more you hear footsteps out in the corridor and Doctor Lehmann enters. His eyes are on James and you could almost swear he looks hungry. Whatever he has arranged he knows it will work. It will take Lehmann to the top of Hydra.

“Ah, Sergeant Barnes, you look so much better.”

Neither of you say a word. You stand up as the doctor approaches James and you see he has a hypodermic needle in his hand. He goes to the right side of the bed. “Just something I want to try, it will help you sleep better.”

He takes hold of James' arm and before you can move he jabs the needle in. You see your patient wince. The liquid drains out of the syringe into James.

Lehmann looks at you.

“You look as if you need to sleep as well nurse. After all, it is a big day tomorrow,” he says.

He is right, you should be off duty by now. You look back at James and he is struggling to keep his eyes open.

“I will, a bit later...” you stutter.

“No I insist. Off you go! I'm sure one of the guards will call you if there is a problem, but I don't think Sergeant Barnes will wake again for the next twelve hours,” he says. When you look back at James you can see he will be asleep in no time.

You have no option but to leave.

*

You don't sleep.

How can you?

It is 2am and you have returned to James' room, telling the guards you need to check on your patient. You tell the one inside you just need to administer another injection from Doctor Lehmann. He is not to know any different; Lehmann should have told them not to let you do anything more.

You sit and watch James as he sleeps. He does not know you are there as he is so heavily sedated. You don’t know what the drug was that Lehmann used but you know it is one of those they haven't used before.

Although the drug has knocked him out he twitches and groans as he sleeps. It is not deep enough to close his mind off and the nightmares are thick and fast. The drug is new, specially designed so that in the morning the patient will feel as if he has not slept at all: fear will be allowed to eat at him, and that will help lower and keep his defences down.

Your mind is whirling. In your pocket is an empty hypodermic syringe. You keep replaying the footage from the newsreel in your mind. James had looked so happy, so full of life...and now he is a different man and you have promised to help him out of this nightmare. He had told you not to, but you know that is because he is worried for you; you could see it in his eyes. You are so tired now that you can't think straight, you can't think beyond the next few minutes.

The guards are talking outside. They believe you are just checking up on your patient. If they were to look in they would see nothing untoward. The guard inside is the same.

You move to the right hand side and move his arm out of the bed. James is so drugged and he mutters something and you move his hair back from his brow and bend down and kiss him on the forehead.

You are crying now.

Your hands are shaking and you search for a blood vessel that you can inject the needle into, but there is a noise outside and somebody else enters the room before you can find one.

You step back unsteadily, dropping the syringe on the floor.

It is Stefan, and his eyes are trained on you. The guilt and pain that shows on your face makes him realise he was right about what he thinks you are doing in the room. “I thought I would check up on how things are going,” he says, loudly, for the guards to hear. Then he steps over to stand next to you, his back to the guard. “Freya, you can't do this,” he says quietly.

“I don’t know what you mean...” you try to bluff, but you can't hold his gaze.

“Let me see your hands.” He holds his out and you show him yours. They are empty.

He looks you up and down, then leans forward and reaches into your pockets. Checking to see what is in there. He knows you too well, and he knows he is right. He checks over James' bed. Nothing. Then he looks under it and sees the syringe on the floor. It is cracked and when he picks it up you grab it.

“No!...its broken! Oh God no...” you cry. Your nerves are frayed. You are not strong enough to do this, and your mind is close to closing down. Stefan looks to the guard and smiles as if to say everything is okay. The other guards are still talking outside. Everything is calm.

Stefan holds you by both arms and shakes you gently making you look at him.“Freya, listen to me. Nothing will work. You know this, you...know...this! Whatever is in Zola's formula will stop you in your tracks. You can't kill him unless you do something like cut his head off! And somehow I can't see you doing that...” his words are humorous but neither of you are laughing. He reiterates. “You cannot kill him.”

“But I promised.”

Stefan needs you to see sense. “If you try, you will be found and killed...”

“I don’t care...” you start.

“I know, but he will. James will, don't you see? You will be leaving him alone. Leaving him to face God alone knows what.” He can see you are not thinking, and he knows that leaving James alone is your biggest fear. He has to make you understand. “They will kill you. He will be left on his own to face whatever it is Lehmann is going to do to him tomorrow. Do you want that to happen? Do you want him to be alone? Are you that selfish? Think! They will be able to counteract anything you are capable of doing; even if you are successful and kill him, they will bring him back. They will still go ahead with their plans and James will no longer have you by his side...you will be dead, he will be alone, totally alone...do you understand?”

Your mind is trying to take in the words. He can see you are dead on your feet and he takes you over to the seat at the desk and sits you down. The guard queries what is wrong and Stefan smiles at him. “You know how women are! They get so hysterical over the smallest of things,” he says cryptically and shrugs.

The guard is young and doesn't want to appear ignorant, doesn't want to appear not to be a man of the world. “Ah,” he says and winks, not really understanding at all.

Stefan talks to you for the next few minutes, quietly, making you see sense. “You told me you promised him you would never leave him,” he says.

“I know.” You are weeping.

“You have to be strong and be with him, you are the only thing he has now. Go and sleep, I'll stay with him, I promise.”

“But...”

“He won't wake until later, and you need to rest otherwise you will be no good to him.”

“I don’t know what they are going to do. What have they got planned? Stefan, I'm so frightened. They are so...evil. Why is this happening?”

Stefan's face looks old before its time. “I don’t know but he is going to need you.” He leans forward and kisses your forehead.

“Now, go, sleep.”

What has frightened Stefan most about this is Doctor Jakobs. He came to see Stefan earlier; whilst he couldn't talk about what was going to happen, he told Stefan that he will need to be here for her. He didn't mention James, just Freya. Whatever was happening it would be so horrifying it would affect her deeply, and she will need a friend.

You go back to your room and, without even changing, you curl up on your bed. You are too tired to cry. You don’t think you are going to sleep, but within a few minutes your body and mind shut down.

It knows you are at the end.

*

You return to your patient's room early. Stefan nods and then leaves so that he can change. He will then return to help you. You both look like hell. Your back is sensitive from yesterday when you collided with the wall, so you swallow two phenacetin and put some in your pocket for later. You know you will need them.

James is groggy but waking up. He has difficulty with coordination, and the black bags under his eyes have deepened as if he hasn't slept at all.

He needs your help to sit up. You try to tell him not to worry but your voice dries up. You cannot lie to him. He senses something, and you see the fear in his eyes deepen. You take his hand in both of yours. You don’t know what to say and he realises this and he tries to smile as if he is trying to reassure you.

You don’t know if you can cope any more.

“I'm so sorry,” you whisper.

“Freya, there is nothing you can do. Just don't leave me alone with them,” he says quietly.

You sit on the edge of the bed and weep and he tries to stroke your hair. There is no more need for the words he cannot speak.

Stefan joins you. He has been told to just dress the patient in just shorts: no other clothing will be needed.

You both help him change, and you can feel the trembling in his body as you dress him. He can barely stand and Stefan is to help you take him down to Room 2. He sees the terrible white pallor of your face and then you hear the footsteps of the guards coming to fetch you to escort you there. There are four of them. They are taking no chances.

James holds his hand out and you give him yours. He is trying to speak to you and you lean forward.

“Its not your fault,” he says. He is trying to tell her that anything that happens is not her fault, he doesn't blame her in any way. It is so important to him that she understand. He can see by the look on her face that she doesn't believe him. She will always believe it is her fault, that she should have done something more. He doesn't know how else to impress this on her. It is so important to him that she believes him.

The guards hold back for a moment, sensing the situation.

“Its not your fault,” he repeats, and using the last of his strength he brings her hand up to his lips and kisses it. She can't say anything, she has no voice and instead she puts her arms around him and buries her face in his chest.

He holds her as best as he can. He kisses the top of her head. “Just don’t leave me,” he murmurs and she promises she won't. This is a promise she will keep.

You help him sit in the wheelchair and then you and Stefan take him to Room 2.

In the middle of the room is an autopsy table, and someone has laid something like a thick sheet of wood on the top covered with a white cloth. Leather straps have been added to the side. Added to the top left hand side is a large piece of steel with a gulley running down the middle, containing holes for drainage.

A trolley has been set up and stabilised next to the table. It contains medical instruments of some type.

The room is dingy. Old blood stains the walls and floor; a drain in the middle of the space captures any residue. The only light comes from a single ancient light fitting, making the rest of the room seem dirty and murky. A guard brings in a second floor light. Its luminosity makes you see shadows, makes you blink with its brightness.

You and Stefan are told to place the patient on the table and strap him down, but there is no strap for what remains of his left arm. However, his left arm does fit on the large piece of steel; it becomes apparent that this is the reason the extra bit of table has been added. Easier for someone to get at the arm and operate on it.

You pull the wheelchair up next to the table and, between you, you help him get up on the table. James can barely move and he is trying so hard not to tremble. His eyes are wide and his breathing heavy. He does everything you tell him to and his eyes don’t leave yours.

Three guards stay inside the room, and another two are posted outside. An additional light goes on in the corner of the room. Someone seems to be running a camera. Your attention is pulled away and you think no more of it.

Another, older nurse is preparing trays. You have never seen her before. She indicates nursing greens for you to put on and Stefan helps you. There are no masks.

Your heart is thumping. You have no idea of what they are going to do but when you turn and see the trolley laid out with flesh strippers and a bone saw you feel you might be sick. For a moment you feel you are going to faint and Stefan places his hand in the small of your back.

“Breathe,” he whispers. He knows she needs to be here, he knows that whatever happens in this room will be with her for the rest of her life. He is not allowed to stay but he too has seen the instruments, seen any colour drain out of her face.

He will look for her later and try to stop her from losing her mind.

You nod and stand up straight. You watch as he leaves the room then turn back to James. You place your hand over his. If you could trade places you would.

You look down at him, he tightens his grip on your hand.

“Don't leave me,” he tries to say.

“I won't.” Her eyes don't leave his. He can feel her trembling, he can see how wide her eyes are and he swallows. It is all he can do not to beg her to get him out of here, not to beg for anyone to get him out of here. He has never been so utterly frightened in his life and he has known fear so many times in the last few years.

You are so focused on James that when the door opens it makes you jump.

Doctor Lehmann comes in with another man.

This man is older but still well built with muscular arms. There is a lot of strength there, but the look in his eyes is of a man being hunted. He is grey and you can see he does not want to be here. He is dressed in trousers and shirt with a simple operating green apron over them, the sleeves rolled up. He has a heavy plastic apron over it. The type doctors wear in the field to try and keep their clothes protected when working in battlefield conditions.

Lehmann is dressed in normal operating greens.

The other nurse comes over with a tray of smaller instruments laid out but you can see no recognisable anaesthetic. The new doctor is being shown the tools laid out, and Lehmann is talking quietly to him. You cannot hear what is being said. The new doctor is nodding but he looks sick.

You find your voice and address the nurse. “What will we be using for anaesthetic?” you ask.

She looks at you and straight away you know she doesn't like you, that she has been warned about you and your bleeding heart. She indicates a syringe lying on the table.

“But that's not...” you have never seen an anaesthetic that can be given as a simple injection.

“That is what we are using. Administer it. We're nearly ready,” she says and smiles. It is a cold smile. You realise you have played into their hands. They want you to be the one to inject him with it; you will be the one he sees helping them.

You pick up the syringe. It contains a yellow liquid you have never seen before. Your hand trembles and you swab his arm. He is looking at you the entire time, eyes wide. You can't do it, you can't inject it.

Swallowing you put it back down on the tray and you hear the other nurse tut.

“I'm sorry,” you say to him, and the other nurse pushes you out of the way and plunges the needle straight into his arm. He flinches and his body tenses and tries to rear at the sudden pain, but the straps hold.

Suddenly you can't look at him. You don’t want him to see the fear in your eyes. No, you are being a coward - you do not want to see the fear in his eyes.

The nurse sneers at you, and you are told you can either leave or stay and act like a nurse. You swallow, nod. You won't leave him. Doctor Lehmann goes over to one of the guards and speaks quietly to him, pointing you out. The guard nods and comes closer to you, rifle held securely in his hands. It is obviously a threat.

They are ready to operate.

Doctor Lehmann approaches the table whilst the other man hovers at his shoulder. Lehmann doesn't even bother with any pleasantries. He can see in the patient's eyes that he knows this is the end.

“Well, Sergeant Barnes, you have given us a run for our money! But it is time for you to realise you are meant for greater things.”

It is such a long time since James has heard his rank and surname spoken and now in two days he has heard it several times. He watches as Lehmann picks up a scalpel.

All you can think is that they can't operate. The patient is still conscious. The anaesthetic isn't working.

You turn to the nurse. “He still awake, the anaesthetic hasn't worked.”

But she just gives you one of her smiles. “That wasn't an anaesthetic.”

You are told to stand at the head of the table. The other nurse is to help the new doctor by passing the various tools to him. You are horrified. They are going to operate whilst he is awake.

You can see the utter panic in James' face and you try to put a hand on his shoulder, but Doctor Lehmann stops you and indicates you are to step back. You don’t move, just shake your head. He then turns to the guard by you and nods. The guard raises his rifle, steps forward and uses the barrel to move you back a few steps.

He has been told that if you try to interfere in any way with the operation he is to kill you.

“Do you want Sergeant Barnes to see you shot?” Lehmann asks and James tries to look in your direction. He is trying to say no.

“Please don’t...you can't do this! It's inhuman, you can't...” you say, and the rifle barrel is raised until you are firmly in his line of fire. You want to leave the room, or for them to shoot you. You want to be as far away from here as possible.

You hear James trying to say something. He is looking at you, begging you with his eyes not to leave him. That is what they want but you will not.

You are here to bear witness. And one day, if you ever get the chance, you will hurt everyone in this room for what they are doing to him.

You reluctantly stumble back.

Doctor Lehmann looks back at James. He is holding a scalpel. He studies and feels the skin on James shoulder. He then draws the scalpel down James left shoulder and around to under the armpit cutting him and blood oozes out.

James feels every inch of the cut and his eyes widen. He tries to speak, but he can't.

The doctor leans over and starts to talk again. He just wanted to check that Barnes could feel the cut of the knife.

In near perfect English he speaks to James. “Sergeant Barnes, I know you can hear me and I know you can feel everything we are about to do to you, but it is important for us to do this. What is left of this arm is of no use to you or us. Even though what is left behind is healthy and has healed...we will remove it and anything thing else we feel we need to. ” As he speaks to Barnes he runs his finger down James left arm from the top to the stub at the end. Then Lehmann leans in really close and whispers something only James can hear. “Did you think it was just a nightmare, Sergeant Barnes? I am going to cut you up bit by bit, limb by limb. You can never escape us.”

You cannot hear what is being said but you can see James Barnes desperately trying to answer Lehmann. His whole body is trying to move, but you can see he has no control over it. He tries to shake his head no.

“Doctor Lehmann, please don’t do this,” you plead.

The doctor turns a cold look on you. “Do you want to leave the room nurse?” The guards takes a step forward. Lehmann continues. “It is your choice, you can leave him with us and walk away.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, then quietly you look away. He turns back to the patient. You can see James is still trying so hard to move, sweat has broken out on his brow and Lehmann indicates you are to wipe it away. You come forward, picking up a cloth, and wipe his forehead. You touch his right shoulder so he knows you are there.

James looks at you with a pleading in his eyes. Don't leave me. This time you do not break eye contact with him and you tighten your grip to let him know you won't. By this time you realise he cannot move his body at all, cannot even move his head, cannot talk...but his senses are heightened. The drug has immobilised him but set his nerve endings on fire.

Doctor Lehmann gently moves James' head so he is looking to his left. He wants him to see everything and he knows James will be unable to look away, will not be able to even close his eyes to shut out the horror. They need to break his mind and they are so very close.

Doctor Lehmann steps away and nods at the other man, who walks around to the left side of the table. He is ashen but you see him grit his teeth.

“I will leave him in your capable hands.” Lehmann says, then moves away to somewhere he can watch but not get splattered by the blood and gore he knows is to follow.

The new doctor takes up a small instrument and starts to unpick the skin at the end of the stump of James' left arm. It's sharp point sinks in to the tissue and it soon begins to bleed, then the skin begins to split. James is trying to say something, and it is the most heart-wrenching sound. His whole body tenses, his eyes still so wide, so pleading, but you cannot look away.

You need to witness this.

You need to see it to let the hate build up inside of you.

A gurgled no! comes from him followed by another word which at first you do not realise is the word don't! You move so you can hold his right hand. You don’t care. They will not throw you out. You know now they need you. The doctor operating hesitates and instead you turn your gaze on him and he looks at you and you see the decision in his eyes to ignore you. He returns to his work.

This doctor is heavy handed, some are, and you wish a better doctor could have been found. He is supposed to be an expert in his field. He doesn’t even seem to know what he is doing. You have seen operations before in the field hospitals where you worked. Men coming in with limbs missing and the doctors fighting to save what is left; but this is different, this time there is no life-threatening wound and they are not trying to save it. The patients are not kept awake so they can feel everything happening to them but are unable to move their body or scream their anguish.

This is torture under the guise of medicine.

James' eyes are focused on his left side. He can feel every dig of the tool, every time something is cut and torn away. The pain is bad and he cannot even scream; he is locked inside himself. He tries to move but his body is not under his control. But, what is worse, is the thought of what they were doing to him, they were taking another piece of him away. There was nothing wrong with the arm, they could leave it, there is no reason for him to go through this.

In his mind he begs them not to do this over and over again.

Please don’t take it, don’t do this to me.

And then there is what Lehmann said to him. How does he know about the nightmare? Is he going to take away his other arm, his legs? The thought of that is too horrific for James' mind to cope with.

The doctor has unpicked the whole end, and now moves to the top of the arm. He will not look at the patient. He draws a circle around the whole arm using the scalpel and slowly starts to peels away the skin. Then, taking hold of the slippery skin, he tugs and draws it right down to the end of the stump and pulls it away. It is like a long sleeve when it comes off and the noise of it being torn away from the flesh underneath is sickening.

He drops it on the floor. Immediately blood wells up on what is left of the arm, and you can see the muscle and tissue drowning in it. You gulp, bile rises in your throat. You try to move forward so you can turn James head away so he can't see, but the guard actually comes up and prods you away with his rifle. They want him to see. They want him to watch as they dismember him.

“Nurse,” Lehmann's voice is amused.

The doctor goes back to the incision Lehmann has made on the shoulder. He catches the flap of skin and draws it down and away, laying open that part of the shoulder. Lehmann had drawn the mark so the man would know where to skin the patient up to. He drops that flesh, too. James had tightened his grip on your hand and now his fingers are close to breaking yours. You can see in his terrified, pain-filled eyes what he is seeing and feeling.

Then the doctor reaches for the flesh stripper, and attaches it to the high part of the arm, just under the edge where the first lot of skin has been taken off. You know James can feel the bite of the metal. For a moment you feel like you are going to faint again but instead you clench your teeth and hold his hand tighter with both of yours. He doesn’t even know you are holding it. His horrified eyes cannot leave the strippers and what is happening to him. His mind is screaming. He has wet himself in fear and pain.

The doctor secures the stripper and the metal teeth dig deep into the flesh and sinew. Taking a deep breath he leans on James' shoulder with one hand and with the other pulls downwards to the end of the stump and away comes the flesh, muscle and sinew of James arm in strips.

The pain is excruciating. The drug they have given him refuses to allow him to fall unconscious. He is to witness every part of his arm being torn away from the bone and he feels it all. The man turns the stripper, clamps down again and repeats the process on the delicate flesh of the under arm, literally dragging it off the bone. New blood stains and gore are added to the walls, floor and history of this room.

It is at this moment James Barnes finally loses his fight for his mind. No one could survive this. No one.

His mind fractures, breaks apart.

What was his arm is by now a bloody stump of bone and he can see the raw bone and marrow running through it. Smaller strips of flesh are hanging from just under the shoulder. Blood and gore splatter the trolley and sheets and drips to the floor. The doctors apron is covered with it. He is sweating heavily and as his sweat drips onto the bone, the saltiness of it causes even more pain.

The other nurse has actually turned and fled to the corner where she is throwing up.

James' hand was holding yours so tightly you have lost the feeling in it but, now the grip loosens and you see his eyes darken. You let go of his hand and quickly move to the other side. You are on automatic pilot. You need to stop him from bleeding to death. You will wish later that you had not been so quick. You wrap a binding around the top of the arm by the shoulder where there is still flesh.

The doctor now reaches for the bone saw and you realise he hasn't finished. Surely if the job was to remove the arm it could have all been done at the same time, flesh and bone sawn off. You cannot believe what they are doing. It's as if he is getting meat ready for the market.

He looks at you, and then at the patient's arm...or what is left of it.

“Hold the bone,” he says and you have no choice. You need to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. You know the moment James feels your hands touching the raw bone, your hands slip in the blood and you need to focus. His breathing is ragged, barely audible, but you know he will not be lucky enough to die.

“Higher!” the doctor orders. He impatiently takes your hand and moves it nearer to the shoulder.

You nearly lose control when the noise starts and you smell the burning bone. The noise as the blade starts its work is unbearable, and suddenly the tenseness you felt in the body of the man on the table, disappears.

You swallow.

His mind has gone, and you know you have lost him.

Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes of the 107th, one of the Howling Commandos, born in Brooklyn New York, best friend of Steven Rogers, has finally cracked, he has lost this battle for his mind, his identity.

His body cannot die, but his spirit can, and he lets go.

You watch as the light in his eyes goes out.

James Barnes is dead.

“No,” you whisper. You have begun to cry and sobs wrack your body as you hold the bone down. Bone dust and blood splatters your face and you cannot breathe but the doctor carries on, his own face grim.

He is no longer working on a patient. He is working on a living body waiting for a new identity to be born.

The bone comes away with an horrendous crack. He hasn't even been able to do a clean job on this part; the end of the bone is uneven, splintered, and the doctor backs off, putting the saw down.

The dust begins to settle. The job is finished, for now. Lehmann knows they cannot do any more until they begin to measure up for the new arm.

The man looks at the work he has done. As they requested he has left five inches of fresh uncovered bone for them. He does not know why but Lehmann does. It is bone that they can use to fuse the new arm onto. It should be enough.

The doctor stands there as though in shock, whilst you race to stop the bleeding. “For Gods' sake Doctor, don't just stand there, help me,” you say trying to pull him forward.

Instead he backs away, gulping, and you stare at him - confused. Then you hear the words he is saying to you. “I'm not a doctor…I'm not a doctor...”

You turn and look at the amused face of Doctor Lehmann and he looks victorious.

“I never said he was a doctor,” he says to you coming forward and looking into the empty, black holes of the patient's eyes.

There is nothing there, no fear, no pain, nothing.

He calmly starts to pick up the tools he needs to finish the job.

You look back at the other man who is ashen. He looks at you as if begging you to understand. “I'm a butcher, I work in the slaughterhouse.” The shock on your face makes him babble. “They have my family, they said they would kill them if I didn't do what I was told...”

“Nurse, are you going to help clear up this mess?” Doctor Lehmann calmly asks you and you turn back to focus on James. No - not James. Just his body. He is breathing. The eyes are half closed but no-one is there. James Barnes has gone.

You look to see where the other nurse is but the room is empty of her presence, she has fled. You turn to one of the guards instead. “Get Stefan,” you say, he looks at Doctor Lehmann who is watching you and you stare back. He turns and nods to the guard, he allows you this call, he knows it is a good one.

He then turns to the other guard and mimes for him to remove the butcher. You hear him as he leaves the room “...they have my family, what was I supposed to do....”

Less than a minute later you hear the shot that puts him out of his misery.

The operation should have been done on an unconscious patient but they wanted James to feel every cut, every part of the operation, to see the flesh literally scraped from the bone and their hope was that his mind would break.

It did.

You now realise what Lehmann meant by killing two birds with one stone, and why Zola didn't want to be here when it was done.

Lehmann is pleased. The operation was successful on both counts and with an added bonus. When he looked into the eyes of Freya Bowman after the operation he realised he hadn't just broken Sergeant Barnes, he had broken her as well.

A good days work all around.

*

Stefan is with you for the rest of the long day. Your mind goes from being blank to the loss of James, the loss of everything that means anything to you. You keep weeping without even knowing you are, silent tears running down your cheeks.

You are in the room they have put James – no, not James...the patient in. It has been set up as a medical room and is clean and well equipped. Why didn't you see them preparing it? You will learn later it was set up whilst you were in the operating room with James so as not to give you or the patient any indication that he would be coming out so damaged.

The patient is in a chemically induced coma, hooked up to machines to read his brain patterns, to read his vital signs. Lehmann left a while ago and you have been sitting by the patient's side. His skin is so pale, so translucent, you can see a pulse beating in his neck.

The body is alive but the mind is empty.

They are not sure how he will be when he finally wakes; that will be a controlled awakening. They will give the serum time to repair some of the damage on the shoulder. They have plans for the arm.

The arm. You don't want to look at what they did.

His shoulder is swaddled in bandages; slight spatters of blood show through. Protruding from the swaddling is the bone, naked, still bruised, bloodied, with a cage over it to prevent it from catching on the bed clothes should he wake on his own; that should be an impossibility but you never know. Bone isn't supposed to be left naked, to be left with nothing to shelter it but it has been.

Kristo comes into the room. He has come to take over the night shift from you and Stefan. Both of you are exhausted, hollow. It takes a while for Stefan to persuade you to leave the room but you know nothing will happen tonight. The patient is out too deeply but even so you make Kristo promise that if anything happens he will call you.

Stefan won't leave your side. He knows you are in shock. He knows you need him and he needs you, the horror that met his eyes when he returned to Room 2 will never leave him.

Both of you still have James' blood on your bodies and clothes. He has asked Kristo to place clean clothes in the shower room and that is where he takes you now. You don't care, you will walk wherever anyone says you are to walk.

He puts a chair under the door and then strips both of you down completely naked. He stands under the shower with you and makes you wash, bullies you to shampoo your hair. The water runs red, then pink for a long time. When he is sure you are both clean he leads you out, towels you dry and makes you get dressed.

He doesn't even think of going back to the room he shares with Kristo. Instead he leads you to your room.

He puts on a small lamp and then gets you into the single bed, then climbs in besides you. He takes you in his arms, kisses your forehead, places your head on his shoulder and he holds you.

The horror you have both seen today has made you into innocent children again, and you both weep for the lost American soldier, for your own lost lives and for a world that is no longer there for either of you.

You don't even want to think about tomorrow.

Chapter Text

The Nurse & The Patient - The First Metal Arm

They woke the patient up from the medically-induced coma 48 hours after the operation.

Nothing.

You have watched him since he woke and seen nothing of James's personality, of his mind, of any part of him. The patient is like an automaton. He will do what you say. He will eat what you offer him, dress with your help but he reminds you of what one of the doctors used to say when looking at traumatised soldiers who had lost their minds, 'the light is on but there is nobody home.'

James Barnes has gone. He is dead. And you are left looking after an empty shell.

What makes it so gut-wrenching is that he looks so like James, he smells like him; he is James but there is so much missing. There is no soul - nothing, but when you brush the hair out of his eyes you still see his blue eyes, see him looking at you because he now recognises that you are the one looking after him, seems to know you are there to care for him.

It is soul-destroying.

When he was first awoken his eyes were dead and he just lay there not moving. Each day you would get him up with Stefan's help, feed him, wash and clothe him. Because of the bare bone hanging from his left shoulder you could not use the shower so everything had to be done slowly, carefully.

After a few days he began to respond to you. He knew what was expected of him by rote. When you sat him at the table and put food in front of him he knew to eat, when you gave him a cup he knew to drink. When you lead him to the toilet he knew to urinate. When he goes to touch his left arm you tell him no and he obeys. When he is in pain he comes to you. But he never speaks.

They have reorganised things. Given you a new wardrobe for him. Black trousers, similar to what the guards wear, black tee shirts and polo necks, the left arm sleeve removed. His room has been altered to accommodate him. It is more comfortable. The door is kept locked at night and there is a slot in it so the guards can check on him if they need to. Lehmann is getting together equipment for a gym so that you can start an exercise programme for him.

They seem to know where he is going, even if you do not.

You have also found out what one of the new teams have been working so hard on, a cybernetic arm.

After two weeks, the daily routine begins to change. They expect him in the operating room. The flesh remaining on the left arm and shoulder is repairing at such rate that they cannot delay what they need to do any longer. They need to stop it, to do what is needed, and so they start to work on the rebuilding of his arm. The days they are to use anaesthetic you have to be careful with his feeding regime, days they don't you can catch up. He never refuses to go with you. He does everything you tell him to, never utters a word, but his eyes always follow you. He watches what you do, as if learning from you. He looks for you. If left to his own devices, it is you he always ends up next to.

 And you?

You are kind to him, talk gently, never hurry him, and you do everything Doctor Lehmann tells you to do. You never think beyond the next 24 hours. You take one day at a time, always looking for signs of James but never seeing any.

Each day you and Stefan take him to the operating room and each day the new team and the doctors work on his arm. When they do not anaesthetise him they do use a numbing agent because they do not need to hurt him anymore; they have been there, done that.

When they are not working on their project they keep the arm in a cage-like covering to keep the bone clean and protected from harm. It makes it awkward for him to eat or sleep properly and there has to be someone with him 24 hours a day for the first few days until the new arm is in place.

Finally they are ready to take it a step further. They are to start fitting the electronics.

Because you and Stefan are now aware of the details of the project you are both recruited to assist where needed. You want to not just so the patient won't be alone, but so that you can learn more about what they are doing to him. The more you know the better it will be for you and for him, because who knows if James is in there somewhere buried deep.

There is still a small bit of you that clings to that hope.

First they open up his shoulder, then add a tube of some type of metal you have never seen before. It is placed over the end of what is left of the bone and then driven straight up into the shoulder. That, they tell you, is the anchor point. They have to anaesthetise him for this and the future operations as the modifications will involve hours of painstaking surgery.

Next whilst the shoulder is open, they begin inserting the electronics into the bone and muscle. Each time they operate it is a learning experience for them all. Nothing like this has been done before. You can see the toll it takes on the surgeons doing the work, but you have no sympathy for them, none at all. A lot of the work is close up, requires much finesse, tying in human nerves to metal filaments and plastic fibres. It is technology well beyond anything you or your father's old magazines could ever have imagined.

Then they build and add to it. Small steps. You do not understand the glowing blue power source but you know it is going to be powerful. You watch as they carefully insert it, making sure that it will always be accessible; after all, they will need to know they can take it way from him should they choose to.

Or if they have to take him down.

There were arguments at the beginning. And because you had finally been let into the secret of the new project you were there for them. You and Stefan had no say in the matter but you watched both sides carefully and realised there was a divide even here.

It was simple enough for you to understand: two arms have been created. The argument was which arm would they fit.

You see the plans, see the arms themselves. The main circuity of the arm will more or less contain the same electronics no matter which arm they go with, but the builds themselves are different. Both have potential. The new arms could almost be thought of as impressive if you didn't know the cost paid by the wearer.

The first arm, developed by the European team, consists of overlapping metal plates, similar to the shell of an anteater, that would protect the electronics inside. At the end of this arm is a single round plate consisting of a port which different instruments can be fitted into.

The second, developed by the Russian team, is made of metal circular discs like thick bracelets linked in a downward patter of chevrons, enabling the arm to be flexible. This outer covering would cover the electronics. The arm ends with a metal hand which is made of the same circular metal bracelets, allowing the hand to bend and move as a normal hand would.

It is the first one that wins favour. That is the one they decide to go with.

Once all the electronics are fitted, the patient is ready for the complete arm to be fitted. They take the necessary steps and then it is done. So far the arm ends in just the port, with no implements fitted. Not yet.

You realise from the first day that the arm is complete that the patient does not feel comfortable with it. He does not like it at all, and by the third day his reactions to it are beginning to disturb you.

He won't use it and the doctors do not know why.

He ignores it completely.

At their request you ask him why, but he does not answer you. He will not even look at you. You ask him to flex the arm, nothing. A doctor reaches out and holds the arm up. There is power there, but as soon as he lets it go the patient allows it to drop back to his side.

When they try to fit the implements, he deliberately makes it difficult for them. This is the first time he has ever refused to do anything asked of him. He sits there ignoring them, drawing away from them when they try to touch him. You have noticed he also tries to lean away from his left side, as if he doesn't want to have anything to do with the new arm.

You are still his nurse outside of the work they are doing on his arm; his care is still in your hands. Your duties are light now - no sedation is used - and the patient is able to do a lot more for himself. Stefan assists at times but they are starting to use him more and more in the procedures. You are glad, for it adds one person to the team who is actually considering the human behind all of this. Kristo is to return to his previous duties once the arm is in place and you know he is happy to. He will stay in touch but he is increasingly finding the work difficult, uncomfortable.

 You try to have lightweight conversations with the patient, but he stares at you blankly and has no opinion one way or the other. You tell him to jump and he will jump without asking what the jump is for.

Well, unless your requests have something to do with the arm - then he will simply ignore you.

The work they are doing makes his left shoulder extremely sore and you have to make sure that any open work is always covered when they are not working on it. You are also walking him about as much as you can to keep his other muscles working. You take him on long walks up and down the corridors. He walks with you, never looking to the side, never talking, just following you.

You talk as you go along the corridors.

He never replies, but you know he understands you.

*

Another long day is at an end. You notice tonight that he is leaning again towards his right, away from his left. You have helped him wash and dress ready to turn in for the night. You get him back to his room and he gets into bed. You sit on the bed next to him and ask him about the arm. You are not really expecting a reply and you wonder if you need to discuss it with someone. Maybe Doctor Jakobs? Certainly not Lehmann.

“Are you in pain?” you ask him quietly.

No reply, but he does turn to look at you. Those empty eyes seem to be searching yours.

You touch the metal of his left arm. “Is this hurting you? I can give you some pain medication?”

No reply, but he looks down and picks at a loose thread in the blanket...so like James, in so many ways.

You have to be so careful. Lehmann has the guards and doctors watching you. His power has grown and any day now he will be taking over all responsibility for this project from Zola.

Doctor Nikolay Lehmann is to be the Winter Soldiers first handler.

“Can you tell me whats wrong?” you ask.

The patient hasn't spoken since they took his arm. Since you lost James. He is no longer James you can see that just by looking into this stranger's eyes, but you still care about him, still do not want to leave his side. You will not leave him on his own. You move his hair and tuck it behind his ear. You really need to cut it again, you are worried if it grows much longer it may get caught up in the metalwork.

There is no reply. Nothing.

You make to get up but he stops you and your heart misses a beat. He has said something but so quietly you didn't hear it.

You move closer and this time you tilt his head towards you. He won't look at you but he does say it again. “Take this away.”

“Take what away?” and then it dawns upon you. He is talking about the arm. “Oh God.” You close your eyes for a moment.

“I don’t want this.” His voice still quiet and almost childlike.

Before you can reply, the door opens and you jump as if you have been caught doing something you shouldn't.

It is Doctor Lehmann, and he frowns at you. “Still here Nurse?” he asks because he sees guilt written over your face.

The patient looks away from you, blanks Lehmann.

You stand up. “I was just seeing if he needs any pain medication,” you stutter but Lehmann thinks the worst of you, he always does.

“Is that what you call it?”

You realise what he is intimating and you feel yourself blush. He thinks you were trying to get cosy with your patient. You ignore his slur.

“I think its best if I stay with him tonight, I don’t think he is...”

Lehmann laughs at what he thinks is your pure audacity. “Yes I imagine you do.”

You step up to him, angry now at what he is insinuating. “There is something wrong with him. He's uncomfortable, I feel...” but he interrupts you.

“Women's intuition? Isn't that what you girls call it? Well, I think our patient is doing well and doesn't need a wet nurse,” you can see he thinks his choice of words is humorous.

“If not me, then let Stefan stay. I honestly think there is a problem with...” again he doesn't let you finish. He merely dismisses you, says you are not needed until tomorrow.

You try to catch your patient's eye but he is ignoring both of you. You go to argue but Lehmann has had enough. “Out!” he shouts, making both you and the patient jump with the loudness and anger contained in his voice. Lehmann has never shouted at you before. You have no choice but to leave.

“At least ask the guards to check on him regularly during the night,” are your last words and then you are gone.

Doctor Lehmann looks at the patient. “Theres no problem is there?”

The patient doesn't answer. He didn't expect him to.

“Then go to sleep, theres a good fellow,” he says tapping the bed, and then without further worry he leaves.

A small light is always left on in the room. Lehmann does not feel a guard is needed in the room itself. The door is locked once he has left and the patient is settled down for the night. There will be a guard that will remain in the corridor outside and he is told to check on the patient every couple of hours unless he hears anything.

There has been nothing to date and they are becoming complacent.

Lehmann has every faith now that all the problems concerning their patient have been sorted. Once the new arm is fully in place then they will begin testing the freezing process, and finally the programming. The only difficulty is the docile nature of the patient but he is sure they can address this in the programming somehow. Zola is asking a Doctor Fennhoff to consult.

After all, they know they have the raw material of a killer in their hands. They just have to find a way to release it.

Everything is going along smoothly.

*

The patient lies in bed. He knows enough to know they will check on him so he pretends to go to sleep. He tries to keep himself away from the terrible thing on his left hand side. Its not part of him. He doesn't want it. He was going to tell the nurse but then the doctor came in. He feels he can trust her, she will help him, but he knows he cannot trust the man; he has terrible nightmares about him.

He doesn't know who is he, where he is, or what is happening. He does what they tell him to do. His head sometimes hurts so badly that he could weep. He doesn't tell them though because he feels like something is trying to break through and is frightened as to what they will do if they found out.

The only comfort he has is the voice that talks to him, tells him to obey them, tells him when not to obey them, looks after him.

For a time he does actually fall asleep but then a noise wakes him and he is alone with his thoughts and the monstrosity they are attaching to him.

“I don’t want it,” he whispers.

“So take it off,” the voice whispers back.

It is is the voice he has been hearing. It never says a great deal, but it is there cajoling him, telling him things about the nurse he doesn't want to think about. Telling him awful things about what is going to happen to him.

They do not know that they are dealing with a split personality. How could they? To date, they have only met the first personality. The meek one. The one that does what he is told, the one they can hurt, the one they can control.

The second personality is cunning. He hides but he is planning more. He doesn't want this arm; he wants the second arm, the one with the hand. It is stronger and will be easier to handle, he wants to be able to grip things, wants to watch whilst the hand crushes anything he wants it to and so he works on his counter part, the weaker personality.

“Take it off,” he repeats.

*

You are in the main room, slamming things about. Too uptight to sleep. Furious. Lehmann has forbidden you to be with the patient. You have tried to tell him that he shouldn't be left alone but you are just a nurse and they are doctors, they know better than you. The argument you would have liked to have had with Lehmann goes around and around in your mind making you more angry, making your jaw ache where you are so tense.

The guards would not even allow you to check up on him; Lehmann's orders. He is decidedly unhappy with you, and it is his word that counts. Doctor Jakobs cannot over rule him. You are beginning to realise the other doctors are more than afraid of Lehmann than you first believed.

You think about what the patient said to you and your heart skips a beat. It is the way he said it, the way he has been leaning away from his left side...

You hear a commotion in the corridor and that sick feeling of premonition closes in on you. You open the door and follow the soldiers rushing by. You hear one of the doctors.

“Get that bloody nurse now!”

A soldier comes out of the patient's room and almost collides with you in his haste. He recognises you and grabs your arm.

“What is it? Whats wrong?” you ask. You don’t know if you want to see. Instead of answering, his face ashen, he hurries you into the patient's room and you stop still.

The walls to your right are smeared with blood. There are bloody hand-prints on them. There is blood over the sheets and the floor. A metal chair lays dismembered in one corner but you do not realise that parts of it is missing. Lumps of bloody metal litter the floor.

Then you see him.

Your patient is crouched in the corner murmuring something. His right hand is covered in blood but it is the left arm that concerns you the most, the new one, the metal one. More than half of it is missing, torn away, exposed wires, exposed bone and nerve endings.

One of the European doctors from the new team is stood six feet away and he turns to you.

“Look what he's done, look whats he has bloody well done! Look at the arm, do you now how much that cost, how long it took... “

Your look stops him in his tracks.

No-one has approached the patient. No-one knows what he is saying, except you.

“I don't want this.”

You walk forward but the patient takes no notice as you crouch down next to him. You can see the damage. Why didn't they listen to you? Why didn't they let you stay with him? The bloody fools.

Extending from the shoulder blade by about 3 inches is what looks like a metal blade, fashioned from part of the chair frame. Somehow the patient has managed to drive it into the very heart of his shoulder and punctured the metal, then forced it away. Bone and muscle are showing through. Why the hell didn't the guards hear anything? Although there is a lot of blood there is not enough to worry you about him bleeding out, you can't see any torn veins, there is no apparent danger there.

You kneel forward and gently touch his face.

He turns towards you. His eyes wide. At first you don’t think he will even recognise you, but he does.

The murmuring stops. His right hand continues to tug at one of the metal plates embedded in his shoulder. He has pulled away most of them, blood runs in rivulets down his chest and onto his pants. You can see he has removed plates and wiring from all over the arm.

Those are the bits of bloody metal scattered around the room.

“Please, take this off, please take it away.” he says quietly, still tugging at it.

You want to cry.

He is lost. He is in a nightmare, and doesn't know how to escape from it, and you can only listen.

You turn to the doctor. He is fussing about the metal on the floor.

You look at one of the guards. “Get him of here and get a doctor who knows what he's doing,” you snap just as Marinov comes in. He nods to the guard when he hears what you have said, and that breaks the spell the guards seem to be under. They hustle the doctor out, ignoring his protests.

“God almighty, what happened?” Marinov comes to crouch next to you, making the patient draw back.

You are so angry. “I told them, I bloody well told them to watch him, I told Lehmann, I...” and you bow your head. What good is your anger at this point? What good is being right? It does not help the situation at all, and you wish you hadn't been right. Why couldn't you have been wrong?

Marinov does not say anything, but he does place a hand on your shoulder and squeezes it. Then he gets up. You take no more notice of him. Your sole responsibility is your patient, this broken man.

You take his right hand. The fingers are bloody and torn. He has lost three nails and you think one of the fingers is broken. You need to get him to the bed to assess the damage to the rest of him but at the moment there is no way you can move him alone.

“I don’t want this,” he repeats looking at you and you feel your anger inside surge up as you see those beautiful haunted eyes.

Another doctor has appeared. You hear him behind you, and you turn to see Doctor Jakobs. He is already working out what needs to be done, what equipment he needs to fetch.

“We need to get you onto the bed so we can see what has happened,” you say gently putting your hand under the patient's right arm to move him, but he rocks back against the wall.

He starts tugging again at the plates left on the shoulder. Horrified, you hear one of the plates give and it tumbles to the floor. Another red patch of bare muscle and naked bone shows through. He has torn through right to the very heart of the arm.

“No, don't.” You try and take his hand back but he pushes you away. He is focused on removing as much of it as he can and he is murmuring again. “I need to take it off. I don’t want it, he told me, its not me, its not mine.”

"We can't let him do any more damage. He is dangerously near to the power source." Doctor Jakobs says to you.

It is a shame he chose that moment to speak to her because it means she did not hear what the patient said. She did not hear him say 'he told me'.

You know you are going to have to resort to sedation and you glance at Jakobs you can see he knows it to. “Can you get help to move him?” you ask him and he beckons Marinov over asking him to fetch Stefan and Kristo.

“Please don’t pull any more of it. You're bleeding badly.” You try to take his hand but he just swats yours away. You can see that the arm is dead. He has destroyed it, and it no longer functions. As he pulls at it you hear metal scrape against metal.

Marinov comes back in with both Stefan and Kristo. Jakobs has a hypo filled and ready. You try talking to the patient again, but it is difficult when you have no name you can use, nothing to get his attention.

“Please, let us help you.” You touch his face again and there are tears running through the smudges of blood, you push back his hair so he can see you. You are trying to make eye contact. You are not sure but you think he must have used his teeth to bite parts of it as there is blood on his teeth and lips, one lip has split. Oh God, how long has he been doing this? It must of been for hours. You thought at least Lehmann would have had the guards checking him regularly. Once again you cannot believe the guards in the corridor didn't hear anything.

“Can you keep him occupied?” Jakobs asks quietly and you nod without looking away. You are still trying to engage him, to make him look at you. He does and although he no longer murmurs you can see he is still talking under his breath; repeating the same phrase over and over.

Stefan kneels down on your right side so you both have him between you. Jakobs moves to your left. The patient looks at him and you see realisation dawn. He doesn't want to be sedated, he just wants this monstrous thing off him. As he turns to you he is saying the word “no” over and over again but Stefan leans forward and so do you, trapping him against the wall.

You think for a moment he is going to push you both away, you know he is strong enough to but then he seems to see the hopelessness of his situation; he is so tired and he leans back against the wall. You think it is finished but then he starts to bang his head against the wall, hard. You try and stop him. You know he can cause serious damage if he realises his own strength.

The hypo is quick acting and is starting to work already. His eyes start to close and he is unbalanced, unable to make his body respond. You have him trapped. If he was a dog you would put him down. He begins murmuring again, very quietly, very softly.

“What is he saying?” Jakobs asks you.

You look at him. “I don’t want this. Take it off, please take it off.”

Kristo has left the room to get supplies of bandages, gauze, antiseptic. Marinov has also left the room; he knows he has to advise Director Lehmann as to what has happened. It is not something he can put off any longer.

Stefan and Jakobs help you to lift the patient. He is no trouble and you move him to the bed, sitting him there whilst you rearrange the pillows. Stefan is finding it difficult to hold him on his side as what is left of the metal arm is detaching and the blood and liquid within the arm is leaking and making the metal slick.

Stefan catches your eye. "How are we going to do this? "

“Onto his side,” you say.

Gently you lower the patient down onto his right side and then gather up the pillows and put them around both sides to keep him there. You straighten up. The patient is now quiet, very quiet and you feel your hatred for the doctors and scientists who have done this to him well up inside you. Stefan reaches out and touches your arm, he has come to know you well. He gives a small shake of his head to warn you to keep the anger bottled up, you cannot vent it here. It makes you laugh inside, when can you vent it, it is never the right time.

Doctor Jakobs comes up to start assessing the damage to not just the arm but the patient as well. Although there is a lot of blood no main arteries have been compromised, but there is a lot of work to be done.

“I need to see what needs doing, and then we'll move him down to the operating room. We need to get that power source out and away,” he says to you and you nod your understanding.

You need to try and clean him up so you can see the extent of the damage. Kristo comes back with supplies and the four of you work to try and make sense of the mess and stop the bleeding. None of you speak unless necessary. Your combined total concentration is on the patient.

None of you even look up when the first doctor and two others edge their way into the room and begin to gingerly pick up the bloody pieces of metal. This time the first doctor knows enough not to say a word. It remains quiet until you hear Lehmann. Both Stefan and Kristo have moved away to get rid of the bloodied cloths you have been using.

“What the hell is going on? What the hell have you done?” are his first words and they are directed at you, but before you can reply Doctor Jakobs breaks in.

“The patient has rejected the arm. He has done everything he can to rip it off and we need to see to him first and then see where the blame lies.” Jakobs is angry. Once again they have forgotten their patient is human. They were all so pleased patting themselves on the back they didn't look for the danger signs. Lehmann knows it is rare for Jakobs to get angry, to seek an argument, so he knows this has to be serious.

As they are arguing you have turned back to your patient. He is talking softly to himself, the sedative has now all but knocked him out. You watch as he gently reaches out his right hand and lays it on your arm. It stops you in your tracks and you stroke his hair away from his forehead and he murmurs something. You don't think you heard right, you couldn't of, you move your head closer to his lips and he repeats the words.

"Don't leave me, please don't leave me..." and he is looking at you, only you. "...don't leave me alone with them," and then his eyes close.

You feel your eyes well up. Out of everything he could possibly of chosen to say to you why choose those words? Does that mean that James is still in there somewhere, lost? Or is it just coincidence?

You know he can't hear you, but you still whisper back that you will never leave him.

Lehmann moves to look down at the patient and the damage he has done to the arm. He expects you to say something but you don't and he moves away again and watches whilst you and Stefan wheel the patient out to the operating room.

Then he and Jakobs follows. There is a long night ahead of them.

*

It is quiet. He knows the guards are taking a break, the voice told him to wait until now, the voice is always right. He can start. He can get the arm off. He tried to tell the nurse but he can't wait any longer, he needs to get this away from him. His head is bad, but he is determined and bit by bit he tears the metal off. The shoulder is difficult but after looking around he comes up with a solution. As he works he grinds his teeth to compensate for the pain and after a while, he doesn't feel it at all. The pain in his head has gone for now. The voice is encouraging him telling him where to pull next, how to angle the metal into his shoulder.

He heard them talk about how at the end of the arm he will be able to have different implements. He doesn't want a hook, or a knife or a gun, he just wants his hand back. From somewhere he sees a picture in his mind of an old man with a hook and it makes him shudder. He doesn't want to be like that, he just wants to be himself.

He begins to tire. Nearly there, just a bit more work and it will have gone but suddenly he hears the slot open and swearing. Someone is trying to unlock the door and then it opens and the main light is put on. He hears a lot of shouting. He must hurry. They are coming to stop him.

He is aware now of the pain in his right hand and when he looks at it the nurse is there holding it. She is speaking to him but her eyes, her eyes tell him she understands, she will help him.

Others come in and then they are holding him tightly against the wall and one of the doctors is pushing a needle into his arm, all the while the nurse talks to him softly, she tells him it will be all right...but he knows it won't.

But the voice breaks in and tells him what is more important is that she does not leave him alone. Somehow he knows she always promised him she never would.

His last thought is he wants to know who he is. Why he is here? He wants to go home, but he doesn't even know where home is. Doesn't know how to get there any more. Did he ever?

Chapter Text

The Nurse & The Patient - The Abusers & The Abused

They have finally completed the last few pieces in the puzzle, and the new arm and hand are working.

They watch as the test results confirm their prognosis. Ever since they went with the second arm that incorporates a hand instead of implements, the patient seems to have become adjusted to the metal arm. But he is still quiet. He has rarely shown any emotion since that terrible night.

It has felt like a longer time to you despite being only six weeks in all. Since that night you are sure at times that something about your patient is...off. Just...not right. It's only a feeling, and of course you know what Lehmann thinks about your feelings.

Maybe he is right this time.

Maybe it is just tiredness and anxiety.

Since that night, the patient has seemed different somehow. It almost feels as if you are just seeing a façade that he wants you to see. He is quiet but will still do anything you ask of him. If they cause him pain, then he takes it. You had heard Lehmann describe him as a whipped puppy, and although you hated to agree with him, you understood what he had meant.  Before, there had been a total innocence there, but now? Now, you are not so sure. Some of the time his eyes seem different, hooded, and a chill runs down your spine when you catch him watching you.

You berate yourself. You are looking for things. You are being stupid. You wonder if maybe it is because seeing him every day is screwing with your mind. You find yourself looking for characteristics of James, and because you are looking, instead you think you see glimpses of something else. You still haven't mentioned anything to Lehmann, but you have talked to Doctor Jakobs. He is learning to trust your feelings, but he has to admit to you that he himself has seen nothing.

Lehmann has been spending a lot of time with the team that will be responsible for “programming” the Winter Soldier. You have no idea what is meant by “programming,” and nobody will tell you. A new Austrian doctor has joined the team. You only know his nationality and name. Doctor Johann Fennhoff. You were there when he was introduced to Lehmann and when he conducted an initial examination of the patient. He did not say a lot in front of you, but he seemed pleased, almost smug, about something. You just don't know what. At first you thought he was a pleasant man, one that maybe still had humanity in his thoughts, but as he continued to examine your patient you began to change your mind.

There is something unpleasant about Fennhoff. Something that usually means Hydra has tainted more than his soul.

You hear Lehmann explain that James Barnes was an expert marksman, that he was able to fight, was a trained soldier. All that seems to have gone. “But there is no drive in him, no anger, no life. We successfully broke his mind...but have we broken more than that?”

Fennhoff smiles and shakes his head. “The potential will always be there,” he assures the director.

“So is there any other way of bringing back the killer instinct that was part of James Barnes?”

“I don't think you have anything to worry about. Everything we need is still there,” Fennhoff says.

What is it he has seen in the patient to make him think that? you wonder.

*

They have the patient in the Master Chair. You don’t know all that it does, and you have been told it is nowhere near completion, but they sit him in it to acclimatise him to it all the same. It is how they will control him in the future. They have mentioned such things as mind wipes. How are those any different to programming? They have still not let you into all of their secrets. Lehmann still does not trust you, does not like you to be present all the time, and more often than not you are not invited along until later. Or, if you are there, you are pushed to the back of the room, out of the way. Defunct.

They are running tests on the new arm and getting him to flex the new fingers. He does what they ask. His language skills are coming along well, and he can understand enough Russian for them to not always need you as a translator. However, today you are taking notes for them. Not that you understand a lot of them – they seem to be just figures and more figures.

One of the doctors asks you to pass him something, and just as you turn back from doing so you see the patient move. He comes up out of the chair so quickly, so unexpectedly, that no-one can stop him. The guards have gotten sloppy, and do not even have their rifles or batons raised. There is talk of bringing in new weapons, hypodermic guns similar to those used to knock out animals. After today they will be more than just a thought.

Within moments his metal hand is wrapped around your throat and he drives you backwards until he has you pinned against the wall. You hear the frightened yell of one of the doctors as the guards spring into action.

“Don't hurt him, for Christ's sake,” the doctor yells. He knows that if they use the batons it could wreck the circuity inside the metal arm, there is not full protection around it yet. Months of planning and work would be lost again. It hasn't occurred to the doctor that you are in trouble. Your life is worthless to that of the patient...and the stability of his arm.

“See how much they care about you. I could do anything I like, and no-one will stop me. I could carry on squeezing until you drop dead at my feet,” your patient says to you. His voice is quiet. This is just between you and him. He is looking at you; his eyes are deep, manic, evil, and cruel. You have never seen anything like it before, and you feel the metal band around your throat increase its grip.

You are sure he is going to kill you.

“I've wanted to talk to you for a long time,” he murmurs, and smiles. It is a thin-lipped, cruel smile, one that you have never seen before, one that makes your heart stop.

You are stood up on tip-toe, trying to breathe, and your hands are scrabbling at his arm, trying to get a grip to get him to release you, but he doesn't want to. Instead he leans forward until your faces are inches apart. You can smell his breath and see the madness in his eyes.

“Please,” you try to say but nothing comes out. He studies you. His other hand comes up and takes some of your hair in his hand; he leans even closer and, closing his eyes, he smells it. Then he opens his eyes. He moves even closer and you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin.

“I remember you from the showers.” His voice is deadly quiet, and the smile he gives you is the most frightening you have ever seen, tinged with his own madness. He wraps some of your hair around his finger. “So soft...so beautiful.” He presses his body up against you and you can feel his erection. You can't reply, you have no voice and not just because of his hand around your throat. You don't think you have ever been so frightened.

“Tell me, did you like the taste of me in the shower room?” Again quiet. That thin-lipped smile will stay with you for a long time.

Your mind scrabbles for an answer. How does he know? How could he possibly know something so personal? Unless...

He leans even further into you as if he is going to kiss you, so close as if he is taking in the very essence of you. He looks into your eyes, at your mouth. His other hand comes up and he runs a finger over your lips.

“I remember your mouth,” he says, his voice husky. Then he lets his fingers trail down your neck to your breast and into the v-neck of your uniform, “And the taste of your skin.”

His hand cannot go any further without undoing the buttons, his fingers move to the first and second ones and he undoes them. He slips his hand in further and cups your breast inside the lace of your bra. His hand is warm and you can feel him stroke your nipple with his thumb.

He closes his eyes for a moment. He can feel the beating of your heart thudding in your chest.

“So warm and soft.” He takes a deep breath.

He takes his hand out, still caressing your skin, and then steps back very slightly. He drops you but you are still forced up against the wall, his body blocking yours from falling all the way. His hand is still around your throat, his other one now on your shoulder. No one has seen what he did; his whole body was blocking sight of yours. You whimper, try to move his arm again, but it is impossible. He relaxes a small amount so that you can breathe easier. You are so terrified you feel as if you are going to pass out at any minute.

He raises his right hand and runs a finger down the side of your face, then takes up your plait and rubs the hair between his fingers to feel how soft the end of it is. He watches your eyes widen and it makes him grin. Not a normal grin, a death's mask grin. You feel sick. This is who has been watching you, the person you felt behind your discomfort. It is not James, though. You do not know who it is.

There are footsteps as Doctor Jakobs comes forward hesitantly.

“Please. Leave her alone. You're hurting her and I'm sure you don't mean to, come, sit down.” His English is terrible. The patient turns his head slightly to look at him, and Jakob sees madness and cruelty in his eyes.

The patient looks back at you and slowly his grip lessens again and you start to cough. You are still so frightened that you can hear your heart hammering in your ears. You can still feel the heat coming from his body, feel his breath on your face. Then he lets go completely and turns around. You grab hold of the corner of the desk to keep upright, your hand going to your throat, then down quickly to refasten the buttons of your uniform before anyone sees.

The guards point their rifles at him, he looks at the doctors frightened faces. The patient raises his hands, grins and steps back to the chair and sits back down. He flexes his new hand. He loves this new arm; there is so much strength in it, so much power. He knows that when all of the outer rings and plates go on there will be a red star at the top of the arm in honour of the Russian development team. It is, in effect, branding him as theirs; but he does not see that, to him it gives him an identity, a reason for being.

He is a killer, and he will kill.

Everyone releases their breath. The guards move closer to the patient and Doctor Jakob holds you by the arm. Your throat is badly bruised and one of the other doctors, Taffeteer, has the sense to bring some water over. You try and drink but find it difficult to swallow.

All the while the patient gazes at the new hand, holding it up, flexing the fingers. He then seems to realise the tenseness he is still causing – no-one has moved, no one wants to get any closer – and he lowers his arm, glances at you, then closes his eyes. He seems to relax. A change comes over his face and he sits back and his eyes open.

There is silence.

Doctor Jacobs sits you down. Then he approaches the patient who looks at him curiously as if wondering what is going on...as if he is now waiting for someone to tell him what they want him to do.

Everyone speaks at once. They have forgotten the sudden danger in the room, but you haven't. You look at the patient. He is watching you, and smiles - but it is not the thin-lipped smile, it is the smile he has given you since James went. The gentle smile. There is no danger in it at all.

Jakob moves to stand in front of him. “Do you know where you are?” He asks softly.

The patient looks surprised. “The main room,” he says.

“And do you know what just happened?”

The patient looks over Jakobs' shoulder at you, as if asking for clarification. He frowns when he sees that you appear upset.

“Do you?” Jakobs asks again, and the patient's eyes come back to him.

“We're testing my new arm?” he says, his tone making it sound more like he is asking a question or that he is expecting to be wrong.

“Are you aware you moved out of the chair?” Taffeteer asks, moving to stand beside Jakobs.

The patient frowns. “I'm not allowed out of the chair until you tell me I can move,” he says, looking from one doctor to another. He doesn't seem to understand what is happening, what is being asked of him.

Jakobs moves and the patient looks over at you again and the appeal in his eyes is hard not to react to. Has he done something wrong? His eyes are wide, and you know that is panic you see in them. You get up and go over to him and Jakobs steps back further so you can crouch down next to him. Your heart is still hammering, but you know the danger has passed.

“Have I done something wrong?” he asks you leaning forward.

There is absolutely no danger in him and you take his hand. Your voice is hoarse when you speak. “No, you haven't done anything wrong,” you smile. “But you did get out of the chair just now. Do you remember why?”

If he is going to admit anything to anyone, it will be you.

He is quiet for a moment and then he leans slightly more forward. “I felt tired. I think I fell asleep,” he says quietly. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to.”

You smile again because he is looking so worried. “Thats okay, it's all right. I think though we had better get you back to your room.”

You look at Jakobs and he nods.

You encourage the patient to stand up. You don't know if all the doctors agree with you that the testing session is over, but you can see something has completely drained him. “Do you still feel tired?” you ask as he stands. He nods. Two guards come up behind you and you see his eyes widen and for a moment the panic resurfaces.

You turn around and smile at them. “I don't think we need an escort.” You signal with your eyes that you do, in fact, but they get the idea they are to drop back and follow at a distance. You are still nervous. You still have the picture in your mind of that thin-lipped smile, and you can still feel the warmth of his hand on you.

You leave with the patient. Your throat feels like someone has tied a noose around it and if you were to move your collar you would see the bruising developing. You thought he was going to kill you but now - now you think he was just playing with you. Like a cat plays with a bird just before it intends to seriously harm it.

“Will you be all right?” Jakobs asks, and you nod. “Good. I'll pop by when we're finished up in here.”

Jakobs waits until she leaves before he allows his revelation to escape his lips: “My God, his new personality is split. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it.”

“Jesus. Who's going to tell Lehmann?” Taffeteer asks.

*

Later, when Lehmann sees the footage caught on camera, he is actually pleased. It is as Fennhoff predicted, here is what he had been hoping to grow. There is another personality that will be willing to do the evil things needed of it. He hasn't realised yet that there is too much madness in this one. There is no pity, cruelty and evil is what drives it. It is cunning, but it cannot control its urges.

Fennhoff believed he saw this other personality hiding. It will take time for them to work on combining what they need from the two personalities to create the perfect assassin.

To create their Winter Soldier.

*

For the first few days you are afraid to be alone with your patient, and for the first time ever you ask Marinov if a guard can stay in the room with you at all times. The patient seems to be puzzled. He can sense your fear, but not what causes it. You are sure a few times you have caught the other one looking at you and the smile he gives you is so frightening you begin to jump at your own shadow.

Doctor Lehmann actually notices your frayed nerves and asks you if you want to be taken off the project. He will use any excuse to get you away from the Winter Soldier if he can. Despite being Director, he still cannot get Zola to agree to your being dismissed. Your presence annoys him. You refuse to go but Lehmann is wearing you down. He is continually watching you, looking for any excuse, waiting for you to say you have had enough and accept the bullet and lonely grave he has planned for you. But you made a promise to James, and you are not fully convinced now that James is dead. Not after the words the second personality said to you. Sometimes you wonder bleakly if it just because of your own need for James that makes you think that. But if he is in there somewhere you cannot leave him.

You talk to Stefan about Lehmann. “He wants me to go, to leave...my patient,” you say as you and he are changing the bed, sorting things out in the patients room. “He has never liked me being part of the project.”

“Thats because he can't control you. He knows your loyalty is to...” Stefan looks briefly over to the patient, then back at you. “...watch yourself Freya, watch your back. I think Lehmann will do anything to get rid of you, don't give him any reason to.”

“I know, but...” you catch Stefan's arm and look into his eyes, “if he does please, please look after James, don't leave him.”

Stefan puts his hand over hers and tries to smile.

“Don't even think about it. I don't think Zola would agree.” He sees the need in her eyes, she needs him to agree. “But, yes of course I will stay with our patient, for as long as Lehmann lets me that is. I'm not too popular as it is, I think they only let me stay because Doctor Jakobs vouches for me.”

Whilst she is talking to Stefan, the patient sits in the chair watching them. They are both talking quietly but he can still hear them and neither of them realise he is taking in all that they are saying. He notices a lot that goes on, more than they give him credit for. There are times when the first personality is asleep and the second is awake. He is cunning enough to know they trust the first one so he pretends to be him.

After all the first personality is so quiet it is easy for them to forget he is there.

*

Jakobs comes back from one of his visits with Freya feeling troubled. It has been a week since the attack. The bruising around her throat is fading and her voice is not so husky, but it is the look in her eyes that worries him. He had seen that look so many time before in his mother's eyes just after his father had beaten her once again. The look that said she believed she had deserved the punishment. And the feeling was so powerful that she would never believe him when he told her she didn't deserve the beatings, he could see that somehow she thought it was her fault. She would smile sadly and kiss him on the head and tell him not to worry.

“Go play with your friends. Leave your father to me.”

When he was old enough he would ask his mother why she stayed, why she continually put up with the moods, the rages.

“Because I love him, and in his own way he loves me,” she told him. And he could see in her eyes she truly believed that.

He would always rail against her answer. “Surely you can't believe that! How can someone love a person yet continually beat them, continually hurt them! You make excuses for him but there is no excuse, there can be no excuse!”

“You never met your Grandfather. I have known your father since we were children living next door to each other. Your grandfather would beat his son black and blue. Your father believed he deserved it, and it made him into what he is. He does not understand any other way. You have to understand, in our day, growing up was…different. It was understood that parents disciplined their children and husbands disciplined their wives. Your father and I were lucky to have each other.” She said simply.

She had believed it with all her soul, and what is more he could see something else in her eyes. She believed she deserved the treatment. What could possibly have made her like this? He did not understand until he spoke of his mother's words to his university professor who lectured on such relationships and had a theory regarding them. They talked long into the night.

“I have always believed that mostly in life two things happen to those abused. They themselves either become an abuser, or they believe it is what they deserve and end up in an abusive relationship. Perhaps your mother was trying to tell you they were both abused as children, and they came out of it with each other. He believed it was right to hurt her and she believed he was right to do so as that is what she deserved in life.” His professor told him.

“However...” his Professor continued, “that is not to say that there are people out there who are evil and would use that as an excuse to prey upon those weaker than them and hope to turn all good to their way...to evil. It is a hard lesson to learn in life.”

Jakobs disagreed with the first part. “I was abused. It wasn't just my mother who met with my father's disapproval. As soon as I was old enough to answer back, my father took to knocking me down even though she tried to stop him, tried to divert his attention away from me but sometimes she wasn't there, sometimes...” he hesitated. “...but look at me, I am neither an abuser nor a victim now. I love my wife, my babies, and I will never lay a hand on them.”

And he had always kept his promise.

Never once did he berate them. Never once did he lift his hand to his wife or his children.

Now, here in the present day, he sits down heavily on his bed. “But what am I now? Have I become an abuser?” he murmurs to himself. He became a doctor to help people. When he had lost his family, he hadn't known what to do, who to turn to. And Armin Zola used that moment against him. “Does that make Armin an abuser or does it make him evil?” he wonders.

They had taken James Barnes, by all accounts a decent man; someone who did not abuse others. They had taken that innocence and turned it into violence, turned Barnes into an abuser. Because that is what he has become. Evil had come along and twisted and tortured a soul and stained it. Jakobs recognised the look in the patient's eyes when he turned to him whilst holding Freya. It had been like looking into the eyes of his father. He has since seen that second personality watch her, and he could see the hunger in it's eyes for her.

He has seen that thin-lipped smile. This aspect of the Winter Soldier won't just hit his nurse, he will take everything from her he can and leave her with nothing.

He believed James Barnes had grown to love Freya, and now his personality was split those two would always be a part of the final soldier they made. A passive side who still loved the nurse and would do anything to please her. And then an aggressive side who still loved the woman but would want to dominate and control her; would hurt her.

And where did this leave Freya?

She loved James Barnes with a love that went beyond all other things, Jakobs knows that. He is convinced that at some time she has been abused, mentally or physically, and probably by her parents. She has mentioned in the past that her mother had been a troubled person. Jakobs knows that Freya believes she is worth nothing. He could see it in her. In one way it was a strength almost; her existence did not matter and so she took chances, it seemed sometimes to give her a resilience against life. But in another way, besides her love for Barnes, it was her greatest weakness because she will not protect herself against him, she will allow him to hurt her and then she will return for more.

Had Jakobs helped forge that?

Yes. He had become an abuser. The last thing he had ever wanted.

On a larger scale he realises that this is what Hydra will create worldwide and that he has played a small part in it. What is he doing here? Why did he ever listen to Armin? He feels like he has wandered into a nightmare and lost his way. Now all he can do is try to help. All he can do is be here when Freya starts to have the accidents that will follow when the second personality is in charge.

He rubs at his face with his hands and stands up.

Nothing he can say will ever change Freya's mind. It is too inbuilt in her from childhood. She did not have the potential to become an abuser, but, she will accept being abused and all he can do is be there for her when she needs him. Patch her back up when the patient has finished with her and she needed medical attention because it would happen, it will happen, he can't stop it.

No one can.

*

You are woken by a hand over your mouth. It jerks you wide awake. You know who it is. You recognise his stance, his smell, the way his hair falls over his face. The light from underneath the door shows his silhouette. How did he get out of his room? Why is he here?

He is bare chested, but has shorts on. His feet are bare, and he is so very silent when he wants to be. He releases you and holds a finger over his lips and you nod. He knows he can trust you, but you have forgotten for just a moment you cannot always trust him.

He looks to the closed door and listens for a moment but he has time. He knows he has time. Rounds are not for another two hours, and they will not find the dead guard if they happen to pass that way. He has hidden him too well.

“What's happened? Are you all right?” You reach over to switch on the lamp and he stays your hand. He doesn't let it go but he turns to look at you. You can see by the light coming in from under the door.

His eyes. Deep and black.

It is the other one.

He smiles in that cruel thin-lipped way of his. He pushes your hand back down onto the bed and holds it there. He puts one knee on the bed, leaning towards you.

“What are you doing? No...no! Let me go.” You hear the immediate fear in your voice and you know he has sensed it too. You try to move but his metal grip increases until you are sure your fingers are going to break. He reaches with his right hand and pulls your bedclothes away.

You move to hit him with your other hand but he catches that to and transfers it to his metal grip. He then moves to hold both of your hands over your head against the pillow. You still struggle, you can see the look in his eyes as he relishes this power he has over you, and you see a hunger and madness in them. Your stomach drops and you begin to sweat, begin to panic.

He takes hold of the collar of your nightdress and rips downwards, tearing it open. His eyes follow the tear and you are aware of the look on his face. He is hungry, very hungry. You feel the cool air on your naked skin.

You are still struggling and it annoys him. He hits you across the face, and the blow is a powerful one. Your head rocks and your ears ring. For a moment you feel as though you are underwater and you are going to drown. You try to struggle to sit up, but you are dazed and uncoordinated from the punch. A trickle of blood runs from your mouth and you can taste the saltiness of it.

He takes this opportunity to let you go. He removes his shorts, and you know he is going to rape you. You can see his need for you; he is hard, and you turn your head away and try to move but you are still uncoordinated and dizzy. Your head is still ringing with the blow and he is back before you can do anything more.

You could struggle. You could cry out and hope someone hears you, but you know as well as he does that they would not stop him. He is far more valuable than you are. You have no faith in your own worth to know you will get any help.

He moves to straddle you, and you feel the heat of his skin. You smell his male smell and your heart beats faster. You can feel the weight of his balls and his cock pushes against your stomach, hard and red, swollen. You have never been with a man before.

How badly will he hurt you?

“Please no,” you say, your eyes filling with tears. Your hands are free now and you push ineffectually at him, making him grin. He takes your chin in his hand and makes you look at him, he bends down to kiss you; you try to move your head but his hold is firm. His lips find yours and you feel his tongue demanding entrance to your mouth. Then he is exploring you and you can taste him, feel the warmth of his mouth, taste his spit.

As he kisses you he moves to cover your body with his, stretching out over you so he can feel you all at once. He dominates you. His skin against yours. His skin is so hot, making you panic, and you feel claustrophobic. You can't breathe. His mouth is on yours and his weight pins you down; you can't take a deep breath. For a moment you feel as if you are going to suffocate and then he moves slightly to let you breathe.

His mouth releases her and his tongue licks over his lips and then he is looking at her. Her eyes are wide, the pupils black. He reaches forward and pulls her hair forward and smells it and then wraps it around the metal. His other hand begins to travel over her soft, warm body and he closes his eyes before she sees the desperation in them.

“Please don't,” you whisper. But your mind asks if you are lying. Do you really want him to stop? You want him to love you, to make love to you, this is all the affection you deserve, what more is anyone ever going to give you?

You can feel his rock hard erection against you. You know the size of it, you know the texture from the times you have helped him in the shower, you even know the taste of him; but you have never known him inside of you and the thought makes your stomach turn, not with sickness but with a disturbing excitement. A heat starts in your lower belly and you are ashamed by the excitement you feel; at the sudden wetness between your legs. He looks so much like James, smells like him, and you can no longer be certain he isn't in there somewhere. You have wanted James for so long, wanted him to touch you, wanted to feel him between your legs.

What does that make you?

He wraps more of your hair around his fist and gently pulls your head back, he kisses your neck and you shiver and close your eyes. Then his lips move down to your breast and he sucks, making your nipple hard. The rest of his body moves against yours and you don’t want him to stop. Your legs are open, you are not even aware of how much your body is betraying you. Your hands are on his back, no longer pushing him away instead your nails dig into his skin as if to hold him there on top of you.

He pushes her legs further open and she lets him. He senses a change in the way her body moves with his, and the gasp she makes when he touches her between her legs and for a moment he moves to look at her.

“Open your eyes,” he says quietly. She does as he asks. Her eyes have turned to liquid, and he can see himself mirrored in them.

His fingers are exploring you, and the sensation is taking your breath away. You can feel him, his fingers find you and enter and his eyes flash. You feel them plunge into you and you want him to push them deeper. You lift your hand and pull his head back down to you and you kiss him deeply and this time your tongue explores his mouth whilst your hands explore his body. His stubbled cheeks chafe yours.

Sickeningly, you realise too late - you want this man, no matter which one it is. You have wanted him for such a very long time. Your hand travels down between his legs and you grip his erection. You have a moment's hesitation - he is so big - and you are unsure if he is too big for you, but his hand then covers yours and he guides himself between your legs, his fingers holding you open until he enters you.

You moan when he does and your legs move to go around his.

He senses she is holding her breath, waiting for pain, and in that split second realises he is the first.  He didn't know and the thought of it makes his stomach clench. She has never been with anyone else, never known another man.

She is his completely.

He breathes deeply and holds himself back from pushing all the way in. He kisses her and then as he thrusts himself forward he strokes her hair, drinks in her eyes.

“It's all right...” he whispers because he knows it has hurt you, he knows he is big. You look into his eyes and yours are full of trust.

You fool.

He smiles and dips his head and bites her neck. She cries out and tries to pull away.

“Ssshhh...no, no,” he says again, looking back at her. He wants this reaction from her, he wants to teach her that with pleasure always comes pain. Because it is what they have taught him. His logic has been totally fucked up and he will do the same to her until she doesn't know who she is any more, the only thing she will know is she belongs to him.

He doesn't even know who he is, but he knows there are times when she sees someone in him and that makes the jealousy rise up in his chest, twinned with another emotion - panic. His mind is garbled; screwed up, with memories running amok. At its worst, when his head is about to split open, a memory of her is always there, not necessarily the same one, but she is there to calm him, tell him he is not alone and that she will never leave him. It takes the noise away, gives him peace so much that he wants to crawl inside her and hide until it has all gone away.

When the first personality is awake he can control him, suggest things to him, but when he takes over the first one is totally encompassed and sleeps to get away from the awful thoughts that runs through its shared mind.

Dangerous, because also in the jumble of his mind is another memory of her. He is strapped to a table. They are hurting him, and she is there. He is begging them to stop, to stop hurting him. They do not listen, she is holding his hand but does not stop them, just leans over and tries to comfort him. Why didn't she help him? Why does she let them continue to hurt him? And so now pain is all he has to offer her, and he wants to punish her for what she helped do to him. He wants to see the pain in her eyes, wants to see the damage he does to her body and mind because then, it will make her the same as him and she won't leave.

But he is devious, this one. He knows now is not the time to hurt her too badly. Time is what he has most of and the pleasure of hurting her can be put off for another day.

He really is so very fucked up. But then so is she.

He is holding you and his thumb is stroking your nipple, almost as if he is trying to soothe you, and you feel a heat inside that you didn't know was possible. Your whole body is crying out for him to touch you, you no longer care if it hurts you; your legs wrap themselves around his hips, driving him deeper. You feel him inside you slowly moving up and down and you respond. His hands are now exploring you again and your hands are moving over his back, down and you can feel this sense of urgency building in you.

You can see it is also building in him and he lifts himself slightly so he can look at you again, look into your eyes. He wants to see the moment he takes you, the moment he believes you truly become his. You can see this in his eyes and you know they are the windows to his black soul. You bite your lip and he moves faster, harder, and you feel the sensation inside you drowning out everything. Your legs stay wrapped around his to keep him deeply inside; you cry out quietly and move with him and then its as if the world explodes around you. A sensation that rocks you and before you close your eyes and give yourself to it you see the triumph in his eyes. Your whole body tenses and you cannot hold him close enough, your head tips back and your hair flows over your shoulders and you cry out louder and beg him not to stop.

To move into you further.

To not let you go.

He gives himself over to his climax and he holds you to him so hard for a moment you can't breathe. Hot liquid spills into you, mingles with yours, and you hear his moan as he buries his face in your hair and he grips you as if he is drowning.

Then you are both coming down from it, back to reality. All you can hear is the heavy breathing as you both try and catch your breath. Your heart is beating so fast and your whole body feels as if it has just been through an intense electric shock. You never knew anything like this could happen.

You feel his weight move and you open your eyes, aware of the smell of sex on both of you. He leans over and with a metal finger traces your lips, almost forcing the metal into your mouth. Then he bends forward and you think he is going to kiss you but instead he whispers in your ear.

“Whore. You belong to me, every part of you. I can do what ever I want to you, and no one will stop me. No-one will ever help you, you can't even help yourself. You opened your legs to me so easily.”

Your emotions crash around you as you look into those cruel eyes, as you see him smile.

He moves to look at you, to see what reaction his words have caused, and you feel a terror in your heart. This evil side, this madness contained within the Winter Soldier, this has played with you. Did any of it mean anything to him?

He moves away and you feel him get off the bed and stand. He reaches for his shorts and pulls them back on. You grasp the first thing that comes to hand to cover yourself but he turns and takes it away from you. His gaze lingers on your body, and you try to cover yourself with your hands. He smiles that cruel thin-lipped smile of his.

“Why so modest? You're a natural! You just couldn't wait to be fucked could you?”

Then he places a finger on his lips as you begin to sob and kneels on the bed. You want to move away but you can't. Tears are rolling down your throbbing cheek from where he hit you. He holds you under the chin and lifts your head, then very gently leans forwards, tastes your tears and kisses your lips, you can taste the saltiness on them. Your heart is beating so hard you are sure he can hear it.

Then he pulls away and without a backward glance leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind him. You didn't realise you were holding your breath until you hear the click of the lock and then you gasp and catch your breath. Your whole body is starting to ache, and your fingers feel your cheek. It is swollen, bruised. You feel the liquid running down your leg. You know it is his semen mixing with your wetness. You pull the sheets and your ruined nightgown into a ball and you curl around it.

What has he made you?

What are you becoming? Your mind tells you that you deserve what he said.

You welcomed everything he did and more.

Your self worth is not just low, it is non-existent. Your parents could not love you. James Barnes did not love you. And now this man, this Winter Soldier, just wants you because you are nothing but a whore to him. Surely so many people can't be wrong; you are truly not worth anything.

This is all you deserve.

*

He isn't finished yet. He has one more thing to do before going back to his room.

Although Lehmann is now directorate of the facility, he has never bothered to have his bedroom moved; after tonight he will. The patient silently lets himself into Lehmann's room and enjoys the fear and panic in Lehmann's eyes when he wakes him. He straddles Lehmann, looking down at him with no compassion, no mercy in his eyes.

That look is one of the most terrifying things Lehmann has ever seen but he doesn't want this...thing...to see the panic he is feeling.

“What do you want?” he asks. Give him his due; there is only a slight tremor in his voice, no one would guess the fear that is clutching him inside. He has never been so frightened in his life as he is now looking up at this madman they have created.

“You want to get rid of my nurse,” the patient says, giving Lehmann no clue as to where this is going.

Lehmann frowns but does not say anything, and the patient leans down and that is when Lehmann sees the knife in his hand. "She...belongs...to...me,” the patient says emphatically. His eyes leave no doubt that he means what he says.

Lehmann swallows.

“Do you understand?” The patient continues. “She is my property. You will not take her away from me. You will never take her away from me, because if you do I will kill you.”

Lehmann is in no position to argue.

“I asked if you understand?” The patient brings the knife to Lehmann's throat.

“Yes,” Lehmann says and the patient leans back.

“I want her with me.”

“With you?”

“I want access to her whenever I want her. She will belong to me and only me.”

Lehmann frowns again, his mind racing. The patient is mad, even he can see it. How the hell is he ever going to make a soldier out of this, one who will obey orders, this one will kill all right and probably enjoy it but they need more stability.

“Do you mean...” He gets no further. The patient is smiling, and it is a terrifying sight.

“I mean if I want to fuck her, she will be there. If I want to hurt her, no-one will interfere. I mean that she is mine, and mine only. She will share a room with me. She will be there whenever I need her in every way and at any time. Is that clear enough for you?” He is deliberately crude, spells out exactly what he wants.

Lehmann is fast. “And if I say yes?”

The patient smiles again. “Then I will do anything and everything you say.”

And as Lehmann agrees to it the patient slits open Lehmann's top. His eyes widen. “I've agreed...what...” as the knife blade digs into his skin and opens a shallow wound in his chest.

“Just a little reminder so you don't forget,” the patient says and climbs off the bed.

At the door he turns around. “And no-one, but no-one, interferes. Not the guards, not the doctors. She is my property,” he reiterates and then he is gone.

No one else has heard what they talk about and when he leaves Lehmann is grateful to still be alive.

He knows now what this soldier wants, and in return he will co-operate with them. It doesn't occur to Lehmann not to give him what he asks for; he knows if he had refused they would have found him in the morning with his throat cut.

Besides which, it is simple request as far as he is concerned. In the grand scheme of things, they have gotten off relatively lightly.

*

The next morning you are summoned to Director Lehmann's office. He ignores the bruising on your face and the tiredness in your eyes. You know it is not worth telling him what happened during the night.

He tells you what he has decided and accepts no argument from you. You are stunned.

From now on, you will not just be the patient's nurse, you will be his companion and you will share a room with him. Arrangements are already being made, and you will be instructed where your new sleeping quarters are later this week.

He does not ask you what you think and you are too stunned to ask any questions. It feels like a dream.

You leave the office, dazed, and you feel totally and utterly alone. But worse, much worse there is a small part of you that likes what it heard, has set your heart beating fast, and you despair.

What have you become?

A few days later both you and the patient are moved into a larger room with an adjoining bathroom/shower, a double bed, wardrobe, a desk, and even a small area to prepare drinks. Every night the heavy metal door will be locked from 9pm until 7am in the morning. There is a slot where the guards can check on what is happening when the door is locked. At present there will be no permanent guard outside the door because the room you are in is closer to one of the locked gateways but every two hours two guards will patrol and ensure there is nothing amiss.

Marinov speaks quietly to Stefan and asks him to let you know they have been told only to react to you if the patient is in trouble. If you are the one in trouble they are not allowed to interfere. They are to ignore you, no matter what the patient is doing to you. He doesn't like it but those are his orders.

Stefan is concerned and wants to talk to Lehmann but you tell him no, it is your problem you will sort it out. You thank him, you know he cares for you and that thought is one you are grateful for.

You have hardly any possessions so it takes no time at all to move you to your new life.

You are the patient's companion now, you will still act as his nurse when needed and you are there to serve him...in whatever way the patient wants, or sees fit.

You report to and only to Lehmann.

“Hail Hydra,” were Lehmann's last words to you, and the smile he gave you when you left the room was chilling and final.

He always wins because evil always does.

Or so he has always believed.    

Chapter Text

The Nurse & the Patient - Cryogenic Freeze

Director Lehmann has been busy reorganising things. He doesn't want you with idle time on your hands. Stefan has been given new responsibilities, few of them still tie in with yours. He is now working on the Cryogenic Freeze Team and also in conjunction with Doctor Jakobs on other smaller projects.

Stefan is a fast learner.

Lehmann has given you the responsibility of not only the wellbeing of their patient, but also his language education: you are teaching him all of the Russian and the basic French and German that you know. You point out that you are not a qualified teacher, but Lehmann doesn't seem to be worried. He is honest with you for once. When the project nears the end, when the patient will fully become the Winter Soldier, he will begin more intensive training. But, for now, it will not hurt for him to learn the basics.

The first personality was so shy the first night you shared his bed, but he also seemed pleased that you would always be there. You have not seen anything more of the second personality yet. It is surprising how quickly the human mind can learn to cope with new things. When you look back at how your life keeps changing, you wonder how you are coping with it at all. You barely think of your previous life, of your parents, and that makes you feel guilty.

All that matters to you is this man now, and you wonder what that makes you.

You and Stefan are now required to attend the cryogenic freeze meetings. At first you were not sure what cryogenic freezing even was, but Doctor Jakobs was allowed to give you an overview. He took you to see the rooms where the freezing would take place. You were stunned. You didn't know things like this were possible.

“No, nor did I at first,” Jakobs said when you told him.

He also gives you a basic idea of the whole Winter Soldier project. The patient will become a killer, an assassin. No-one will know where he comes from, who he works for. In between missions, he will be kept in cryogenic freeze, and thus will never age. He will become a ghost, a legend, a nightmare. You ask if there are going to be more soldiers on the project and Jakobs shakes his head. Zola's idea for the future was one person to change the world - one person in the right place at the right time can change the future with just a small action here and there. It is the first time anyone has painted you the whole picture and you find it daunting.

Dear God, what would James have thought if he had known.

The cryo-freezing is working, and all the equipment is up and running. Now it just needs to be tested on the patient. They have to make sure that the Winter Soldier's body and genetic make-up is compatible. They have discovered through tests that not everyone survives, not everyone's body can cope with it. There are drugs that have to be introduced to the patient, drugs that will affect him and will take him a while to get over but they are necessary for the freezing to work.

The cryo-suite consists of two separate rooms. The first room is about half the size of the main room, but seems to consist of just as many panels and work stations. This is where the process will be controlled from.

Then there is a hatchway in one of the walls, similar to the hatchway in a submarine. This takes you through to the second room. Standing in that room makes you shiver, and not just because it is so cold in there. The walls are made of some type of metal, wet to the touch and already rust is showing in the seams of the panelling. The floor is bare and slippery, the technician apologises and says it is one of the things they need to address.

But it is the two pods that have your attention. That is what they call them, but to you they look like metal coffins with a window in the lid so you can see the corpse. One of the pods they will use, the other one is a back up.

Stefan joins you and explains that the patient will be contained within one of the pods, and that is where he will be kept until he is woken for a mission.

“When it is time to wake him, we will bring him out of cryogenic freeze and then move him into the main room and the Master Chair. At that time he will be given an injection and woken. It will then take him a day to get over cryogenic and the drugs used. We also need to give the serum time to repair any damage done to his body by the freezing process and then at some point he will go for wiping and reprogramming with Lehmann.”

He realises he has spoken of something you know nothing about when you turn to look at him quickly, a frown on your face. He shakes his head. You know that when he can he will explain what he means by wiping and programming.

He then opens one of the pods and you look inside. It is dank, cold, dark and claustrophobic, and you feel as if it is sucking the air out of your lungs. Lining the bottom is a thin padded mattress. You suppose that it is to make it more comfortable. You move away. The thought of putting the patient in there is awful. It will feel as if you are burying him alive.

“Will he be awake when you put him in?” you ask. Stefan nods. You cannot help but shudder.

“Once he is in there, he will be frozen.”

You close your eyes. “Dear God,” you whisper.

“It's safe Freya. Once he is asleep he won't know anything about it.” But Stefan's assurances do not make you feel any happier.

You know that they have already begun to add the drugs to the patients food, and at first they made him feel dizzy, queasy, but that settled down after a few days. From now on, Stefan says, he will need to take drugs before and after each freeze. They believe it will take at least 24 hours for his body to get over each session and during that time he will be returned to his quarters to sleep and for you to attend to him. Then, after further preparation, he will be ready to be sent on mission. That is what they call it. The term sound so blasé - on mission. He will be sent to murder. To ruin lives. He will be sent to bring order to Hydra's new world.

*

You have had a quiet morning with your patient, and he is responding well to your lessons. You receive a message. They ask you to attend the cryogenic freeze chamber with the patient. The person who brings the message is a bit confused when you question them as to what is going to happen, and she leaves you with the idea that they are just going to trial out the pod to see if it will house the patient, see if it fits and is comfortable. That is all.

How can something like that be at all comfortable?  you wonder.

The woman looks at the nurse. Surely she received the brief that they sent out...? Her name was on it. If so, why is she asking so many questions? This will be their first attempt at freezing him and she must know that?  Stupid woman, she thinks. She doesn't even know why the nurse has to be there! Stefan insisted it would make the patient feel calmer. Surely, the woman thinks, we can do that, we have the drugs.

But hers is not to reason why and so she does what she is told.

You walk your patient down to the cryo suite. Every time you think of the pods you feel sick. You do not want to consign him to that metal coffin, to oblivion. You had asked Stefan if they thought he would dream when he was in there, but Stefan shook his head. “Not from the brain wave patterns we have seen from the others,” he says. You know he means the people they tested the pods out on, but you stopped him from telling you any more details.

You don't want to know how many people have already lost their life to this process.

“It is safe Freya, I promise you,” Stefan says trying to reassure you again. With him on the project you feel comforted. He tries to ensure you are always consulted, always kept informed.

You have explained to your patient that new tests are starting today and that they will need him to help with something that shouldn't take too long.

“Will you be there?” is all he asked.

“Yes, I won't leave you,” you promise.

First they check him out in the first room, hook him up to machines to test his heart rate and blood pressure. Then they administer a drug. You ask why and they say it is because his heart rate is up and they want him to be calmer. He is used to hypodermics and doesn't even blink when they administer it.

They then attach a small unit to his belt. They tell you it will continue to monitor him. It does make you wonder why they need to do this when all he will be doing is seeing if the pod is comfortable, is big enough. You wrongly assume that just the unit needs to be tested.

With you following, they take him through to the next room. He hesitates at the doorway, and then again when they get him into the next room and he sees the pods. The technician goes over the opens one of the pods and doesn't see the patient take a step back but you do. You come up to his side and before you can say anything he looks at you.

“Don't make me get in there.” His eyes are wide and you see anxiety in them. What can you say?

“You'll be all right, I promise. Its just to try it out. You won't have to stay in there,” and you smile, your heart thudding inside your chest because you would hate to have to get in. You take his arm and reluctantly he walks with you over to the pod.

“We just need you to sit here and then swing into it,” the technician says without even looking at him. She pats the bed of the pod expecting the patient to meekly do what he has been told.

He looks at you and shakes his head.

In the wall is a huge window, and Stefan can see from the other room that there is a problem brewing. He comes to join you. He moves the technician out of the way and lies down in the pod so the patient can see what is expected of him.

The patient looks at you and you nod and smile. You hate yourself. What will it be like when they finally use the pod on him? How will you get him to get in then?

“Elevated heart rate,” one of the technicians shouts through. You can see the patient is breathing more heavily and his skin is sweaty. He looks around the room and then hesitantly looks at you. Then he walks over to the pod, and Stefan helps him lie down.

“Now, we're going to put this down,” he says, pointing to the lid “but there is a window and you can still see us.” The patient is looking at you. “I won't move, I'll stay here so you can see me all the time,” you promise.

After all it is only for a few minutes.

Stefan nods at the technician and they bring the heavy metal lid down, and you hate the sound of it when it clicks into place. You step forward and look through the panel in the lid. His eyes are wide, panicked. He lifts a hand up and places it on the glass, you put yours on the top.

Suddenly there are some sounds you don't recognise coming from the ducts around the room and you look at the piping and then you hear him bang the glass.

You look back down. Something has panicked him.

“Let him out,” you say, and Stefan frowns at you.

“We can't.”

“What?!” And as you say that the patient bangs again on the glass. The pod makes a horrendous hissing noise and cold air gushes out from the side. “Stefan! Let him out, get him out now!”

You put your hand back on the glass to where the patient has put his hand. He is now pushing against the glass. He is moving, trying to get out, but then you see his body go taut and his head goes back and you can't see him for white mist.

“Stefan!”

“He's all right Freya, he's all right.” You can hear voices from the other room reading out measurements.

“But, what are you doing? She said you were just showing him the pod...” you say and he shakes his head, stunned.

“No, its a full test, we're freezing him.” Even as he says it, Stefan realises that no one told you, no one told the patient.

“He's going to be in there for two hours but he's safe Freya, he will be all right.”

“But you can't, I promised, I said...” and you look at Stefan and he sees the horror on your face.

“I promise you Freya he will be all right,” Stefan touches your arm. If anyone else had said that you would not believe them, but you trust Stefan.

You look into the pod. The mist is clearing. You can finally see him. His eyes are closed, his hand has fallen to his chest and his skin is deathly white.

“No,” you whisper.

Those two hours are two of the longest for you. They cannot let you remain in the room with the pod as the temperature once he is frozen is lowered even further. It is too cold for any one to survive in.

You sit instead staring through the window. You said you wouldn't leave him and you have.

He trusted you.

*

When the door is opened and the pod cleared he is unconscious, which is the state he should be in.

This, Stefan explains, is normal. He will remain that way until they administer the drug in the Main Room. His vital signs are stable and they are pleased with the data.

“He's okay, I promised you he would be,” Stefan smiles. His own heart is thumping, but he doesn't tell her that.

They move the patient to the Main Room and to the chair which is in the horizontal position. They allow you to remain whilst they wake him up, but you are to sit on the other side of the room, away from him. It is difficult to see what is happening as there are so many people around him, so many people attaching different things to his chest, his head.

What they do not expect to happen is for him to go completely mad.

The drug is given. The chair swings up and around. No one has bothered with restraints, and he is awake before they know he is. He opens his eyes and they are black pools of hated, of madness, and the first thing he does is grab the nearest doctor, his metal hand surrounding the doctor's throat and squeezing so hard that his neck is broken within seconds.

“Jesus Christ, take him down!” One of the other doctors screams at the guard, but the guard is not quick enough; the patient is out of the chair. He grabs the guard's gun and uses it to club him viciously, and the guard is the next to die.

The patient is breaking everything in sight. Tables are turned over, chairs thrown, and all the while he is cursing them, the words spoken so fast, so angry you cannot understand what he is saying. Guards try to take him down but he is much too strong and they end up being hurled into the machinery, into the walls.

You are frozen in place for the first few seconds. You can't attract his attention. You have no name to call him by but then, turning, he sees you and his eyes go darker. His murderous focus is now on you and he turns fully to come after you. You can't move. Your legs won't obey you. His eyes don't leave yours and he is snarling. You hear a noise. Marinov and two guards run into the room. You see Marinov sum up the situation; he and the two guards are holding the special hypo rifles that were bought in after the patient had gone crazy the last time. He brings the rifle up, aiming at the patient, and shoots. The guards with him do the same.

The patient staggers, stops and wavers. He tries to take another step but the next two darts hit him. They are fast-acting, and he goes down. You run to where he is and he sees you just before his eyes close.

“You promised. You weren't there, you left me.” he spits at you. He says it in English, and no one else hears him in the confusion.

The lab is a mess: two work stations ruined, one dead doctor, one dead guard, two more unconscious, paper strewn over the floor, dents in the walls. The patient is taken, unconscious, to his old room and secured to the bed. Lehmann will arrange for this room to be fortified for future use.

“What the bloody hell went wrong?” Lehmann asks, but no one is able to tell him. Everything was all right until they bought him around, and then he just went berserk.

“Was it the second personality?” he asks and they shake their heads.

“No, it was...I don't know...worse, pure and utter madness.” one of the Doctors tells him and shudders. “He just went berserk.”

*

They bring him back to you five hours later. He is calm, and it is very much the first personality who is awake. They lock you both in for the night. He hasn't spoken to you, won't look at you. You sit down next to him at the table and put your hand over his. He tries to move his but instead you take it in yours and raise it to your lips and kiss it.

“I am so, so sorry. I didn't know they were going to do that to you.” There are tears in your eyes. He looks at the floor. “Please talk to me,” you beg and he finally looks at you, his eyes wide, betrayed, so alone.

“You said you wouldn't leave me, but you did,” he says.

“I didn't leave. I was there all the time I promise.”

“You weren't in the dark, I was alone.”

“In the dark?” you don't understand.

He looks away from you again. “It hurt. When all the white mist came, it hurt. I couldn't move. I couldn't see you any more. I could feel my body freezing up, I could hear the crackle of my skin...” he says and you stroke his cheek.

“They told me they were just showing us the pods. I didn't know they would seal you in one. Please believe me.”

He looks at you for a long time and then he leans in towards you and you take him in your arms, stroking his hair and kissing the top of his head.

“They don't tell me everything. They don't trust me. I am so sorry but please believe me, I will never lie to you.” You hold him as close as you can and you feel his arms encircle you and you know he has forgiven you.

“Promise me you will always be there when I wake up,” he says simply. And you do.

You encourage him to eat something with you, and you can see how tired he is. He is also cold; shivering makes his hands tremble.

You suggest a warm shower before he goes to bed and get the water running for him. He undresses and gets under the warm water. You are about to leave the bathroom when he says something to you. The words are softly spoken and you cannot hear them clearly so you move nearer until you are stood just outside of the water raining down.

“I didn't hear you,” you smile leaning in. He looks at you and your heart misses a beat.

Before you can turn he reaches out and grabs your wrist pulling you into the water and down onto your knees. He bends down so he is looking at you, hatred in his eyes.

“I said, now you've apologised to him, you can apologise to me,” his voice is low, guttural, dangerous.

His other hand grabs your plait and twists it and he brings you in close to him, close to his groin, and you reach up to try and get him to release you, your hands trying to get a hold on his arms.

“Apologise!” He says twisting your hair more. It feels as if handfuls of it is going to be torn out. He could scalp you with one twist.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” you cry out.

The water is soaking through your clothes, your knees hurt as they press down on the bumpy surface of the shower tray, your scalp aches from where he is holding and twisting your hair so tight and you can smell his maleness.

“Good, good.” He bends your head back so you are looking up at him.

“Now show me how sorry you really are,” he smiles his death-head smile, and his other hand holds you under your chin forcing your mouth to his now hard cock.

*

Later when he is asleep you lie awake. Is this your life from now on? Not knowing from one day to the next if you are to provide comfort or sex? Not knowing which personality is in charge? As you replay today in your mind something niggles, something the first personality said, and you try and repeat the conversation in your mind.

“I didn't, I was there all the time I promise.”

“You weren't in the dark. I was alone.”

What did he mean 'you weren't in the dark'? Stefan has already told you that the patient wouldn't dream. Did he mean he was awake? You know you will need to talk to Stefan tomorrow to see what he thinks. If the patient was awake all the time he was in cryo freeze then it may account for his madness when he was released. But, also, it would mean that it would have been terrifying for him. You don't think you could have coped with it if it had been you...but what else could he have done?

There would have been nothing else he could have done but give in to the madness. Wouldn't you do the same if you had his strength?

You turn over. Your body aches from your punishment. Lying beside you is the first personality; he is curled up facing you. There is enough light from under the door to see his face, relaxed, long lashes lying on his cheekbones, the mouth you know so well. James Barnes, but not James - and your heart aches. You always find when you wake he is by you, always touching you, sometimes holding your hand or just resting his hand on your hip.

You prefer that to waking and finding the second looking at you.

*

The next day Stefan seeks you out before you go to find him. He has disturbing news. They have checked the readings from the patient whilst he was unconscious. They already know about the problem you have discovered. On some level, his consciousness was still awake.

“We think it may be the split personality causing the problem. He was, for all intents and purposes, unconscious...yet the readings say there was brain activity.”

“God, Stefan! Do you realise how frightening that must have been for him?” You say, but then you realise by the look on his face he does.

“I'm sorry Freya. I thought I had a handle on this...but I didn't. I believed them when they said he would be all right. Nothing like this had happened in the...experimentation side.”

You take a deep breath. It is not his fault. “So what will you do?” you ask.

Stefan shrugs. “It's not up to me, its up to the boffins. I just do what I'm told. They were talking about wiping him before he goes into cryo-freeze rather than after...” he holds his hands up. “I know you don't know about that part of it, but you will I promise. I'm planning to get one of the doctors to speak to you, I've told them you need to know. After all, you are still his nurse.”

You know he doesn't have the time at the moment to explain it all to you but that he will do so. You sometimes feel he must be pulled in so many different directions.

Stefan then brings his hand up under your chin and tilts your face to the light. “What happened?” he is talking about the slight bruising on your face. You know him too well to lie.

“My punishment for what happened. For not being there with him in the dark,” you say quietly.

*

They tell him to climb into the metal coffin but he doesn't. He looks at the nurse. She smiles, but he can see the worry in her eyes. The man Stefan shows him what they want him to do. He doesn't want to, but he climbs into the pod. The metal is cold. There is a padded lining in the bottom, but even that is cold. He swallows and lies down. Before he knows what is happening they bring the lid down and he is trapped. All he can smell is metal. The parts that touch him are burning his skin. He looks through the glass panel and puts his hand up. He can see the nurse, she places her hand over his but then his panic starts to take over.

“Please get me out,” he says, but she cannot hear him. Strange noises make his head hurt. The noises are loud as they bounce around the metal coffin and he bangs on the glass.

“Let me out!” He can see the panic on the nurse's face now. She has turned to Stefan but he is shaking his head, and then before anything else can be done there is a loud hissing and the space around him fills with a white freezing mist and he feels himself being choked. Cold air goes down his throat, into his lungs, sweeps around his body and he feels a crackling of his skin, a hardening, and he cannot move.

And then there is the blackness.

He opens his eyes.

He cannot see anything. He is standing in the blackness and he feels an anger build in him. He feels himself split, become two entities. He crouches on the floor, away from the anger of the other one.

“What did you let them do?” The other hisses. “You stupid fool.”

The first personality curls around himself, distressed, sobbing. “I didn't, she told me it would be all right, she told me...”

The second personality looks around. There is darkness everywhere and it is so cold he shivers. He clenches his hands. There is nothing he can do but he tries. He runs forward, then around, as fast as he can, but the cold and dark are everywhere it is never-ending. His breath is mist in front of him and he spins around.

“Let me out!” He screams at the top of his voice, again and again until he is hoarse, but there is no reply. He turns and there is the first personality crouched, huddled on the floor. He walks over to him and the first looks up at him.

“You stupid, utter fool, how could you believe them?!” But he is talking to himself. He believed it when Lehmann had promised she would always be there and now, now they were alone in the dark. When they finally let him out someone will pay for this, they will pay dearly.

And the nurse...she will pay as well.

He crouches down next to the first and looks at him, but all he sees is weakness and imperfection. He needs to get rid of this side of himself...yet he knows he would never survive without it. He feels his own panic start. The noises and confusion in his head grow louder and he puts his head back and screams again, but this time they are not words. His madness deepens a little bit more and when they finally let him out he barely knows anything but the need to destroy, to kill them.

To obliterate everything.

Chapter Text

 The Patient & The Nurse - Needed

He watches her whilst she sleeps. He doesn't know why she now shares his room, shares his bed, but he is just glad she is there. It makes everything else easier to cope with. He is beginning to understand things, but he still has no memory of before.

“Wake her up.”

He looks behind him, searching for the other voice. There is no one there. There never is. The voice is always in his mind.

He watches the rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair curls around on the pillow. He knows its softness from when he has snuggled up to her at night, which is the closest he has come to touching her. When he needs her she will take him in her arms and hold him. She is there when he has terrible nightmares which leave him drenched in sweat. Now he needs her, but this time he needs more than just the comfort of her arms.

He moans softly and tries not to think about the longing in his blood, the hardness between his legs, the aching of his balls. He doesn't want to hurt her, doesn't know how to ask her to help him. He remembers her mouth, and again he closes his eyes. How does he remember that? Where from?

“Wake her up, she won't mind. She's here for us. She belongs to us.” The voice again. It lulls him into thinking about doing things he wouldn't normally do, and he reaches out to touch her shoulder.

Then his hand hesitates, inches away. He looks at her soft body again, and shakes her gently awake. He sits back. He doesn't want to crowd her and is now even thinking he has made a mistake as he watches her eyes open, blinking as she tries to wake herself up.

The voice has gone now. He is alone.

“What is it? Whats wrong?” She leans towards him, taking his hand, and he looks away, down at the covers. She moves to put the light on.

“No don't,” he says quickly. There is enough light in the room and he doesn't want the harshness to drive away the warmth and closeness of her.

“Are you all right?” she asks quietly. She knows she is talking to the first personality, the gentle one, the one who never asks anything of her - but she can see his need in his eyes when he looks at her.

She sits up allowing the bed clothes to fall to her lap, and he can see the outline of her nipples against the fabric of her nightgown. He blushes. She sees where he was looking, and the quickness at which he looks away. He bites his lip, doesn't look at her. She moves closer. He can smell her, the soap she used in the shower, and her own special smell. She takes hold of his chin and turns him to look at her and smiles at him. Her eyes tell him she is there for him, for anything he needs, anything he wants.

“Why did you wake me?” she asks, her hands now in her lap, and she waits for him to speak.

“I...” he can't say it, he can't ask her. He tries to turn away, embarrassed, worried that she will be angry with him, he doesn't know what to say now she is awake.

She rests her hand on his arm and he turns back to her, making eye contact, wanting to reach out and touch her. Her other hand rests on top of the covers just above him and she can feel his solid need for her through the material. She knows she has to make the first move.

Her hand goes beneath the covers and gently touches him between the legs. He is naked.

He closes his eyes.

“I need you,” he admits as he feels her hand take him, feels her fingers wrap around his cock, feels her stroking him, and he bites his lip again.

They sit quietly whilst she strokes him, and then she moves so she can look at him. Her hand comes away and she pushes the hair from his face. He looks at her, his eyes wide and trusting, and she bends and kisses him, feeling him respond. He takes her hand and places it back on his cock, encouraging her to move up and down, and she starts to rub again. He moans into her mouth and then when the kiss has finished he pulls away.

She is worried about frightening him away. This is the first time he has been brave enough to ask for her, brave enough to admit he wants her. She has watched him, seen how he looks at her when he thinks she is not looking. He is so unlike the second personality. He doesn't know how to take.

She is not sure how to proceed. Does she lead or let him lead? “How? How do you want me?” she asks eventually, and he closes his eyes for a moment. There is something there, she can see it.

There is something he wants her to do.

“Tell me.” She keeps her voice quiet, gentle.

He looks at her, blushes, and then looks away again.

“Tell me, please,” she stops rubbing him but doesn't remove her hand. She doesn't want him to think she is pushing him away.

His mouth opens as he tries to breathe. He wants to tell her so badly what he wants her to do.

“I...” he swallows.

She needs to help him.

She moves away slightly and pulls her nightdress up and over her head and drops it on the floor. Then she moves so he can see her, so that he can touch her and he does. He reaches out to feel how soft her skin is.

“Tell me. Tell me what you want me to do...do you want me to hold you?” She touches his cock again and he shakes his head no. Then he looks at her and gently reaches up and runs his fingers over her lips and then down her throat to her breast. He hesitates but then runs his fingers over her nipple and it hardens. “Think of how you want me and tell me what I'm doing.” She swallows as he strokes her, her body reacting to his touch.

She wants him as much as he wants her. There are times when this personality looks so like James it crushes her, makes her breathless.

He looks up, into her eyes.

“What am I doing?” she asks again.

“You're on your knees,” he says.

She studies him and then smiles, takes his hand. She slips out of the bed and encourages him to sit on the edge. She can feel him trembling as if he has never been with a woman before.

She kneels in front of him. “Like this?” she asks and he nods, those beautiful eyes watching in disbelief. She leans forward and kisses his forehead, then moves to his mouth, and he runs his hand down her arm brushing the knuckles against her breast. He feels her intake of breath as he does. She moves forwards slightly, pushing him gently back. Then she bends and runs her tongue over the top of his cock and he forgets to breathe. He is staring at her mouth, at what she is doing. He is hard, so hard that it hurts.

She looks up at him. “Is this what you would like me to do?”

He can't talk, only nod, and then without thinking he takes some of her hair in his metal hand and winds it around, feeling the softness against the cold metal plating.

She bends her head back down and he feels her take him into her mouth. He watches as her lips caress him. He feels as he slides down the back of her throat. He has wanted this for so long, dreamt about it at night whilst she lay sleeping next to him. He moans as he feels her tongue, as he feels her suck him, and his other hand moves to the back of her neck. Almost as if he is afraid she will stop.

“Please,” he whispers.

He can see the shadow of her breasts, remembers just now how he felt the nipple harden in his hand.

“Oh God,” he moans again and can't help but start to move, to push himself so he is as deep as he can go. He closes his eyes and concentrates on her soft wet mouth, the feel of her throat, her heat, how she is also stroking his balls.

He feels the heat rising in him, deep down, coming up, pushing itself out of him and then he explodes in her mouth, crying out aloud. Feels his semen run down her throat, feels her tongue still sucking him, feels her hand still on him, feels himself still pushing into her mouth, and still he keeps going again and again until he feels he is empty, feels he has reached a peak that this personality didn't know existed.

She doesn't pull away, not until she is sure he has finished, not until she is sure he is sated. When she does, she does so slowly, still gently using her tongue, still stroking him until he starts to soften, and then she sits back on her heels looking at him.

The look in her eyes telling him it is all right.

He can look at her now, take in her face, her eyes. He sees such a deep love for him that he wants to never stop touching her. She smiles and gets up moving to use the bathroom because she doesn't want him to smell himself on her breath.

“I won't be a moment,” she says and he nods.

He lies back in the bed, closing his eyes, thinking about what she just did. He feels a sense of peace because he realises she cares about him, and not just for him.

But the voice hasn't finished with him yet. It is back. It whispers insidiously. “You felt her skin, so soft, you heard her moan. You need to please her now. See how her eyes turn to liquid.” He feels himself hardening again, feels his heart begin to beat faster.

“Don't you want to be inside her?” The voice whispers.

When she comes out of the bathroom he is kneeling on the bed, the covers pulled back, and he is watching her. She hesitates. He holds out his hand and she comes forward. He doesn't say anything, just pulls her onto the bed, slowly running his fingers over her throat, down to her breasts, leaning forward to kiss her. He is more confident now. He feels her respond and he pushes her back gently and then starts to kiss down her throat. Then, kissing her left breast whilst his right hand roams her body, he hears her gasp. He is fully hard again, wants to please her, wants to hear her moan. His hand moves down, fingers trailing until he lets them slip between her legs and he hears her breathing hitch. He can feel the thud of her heart. His fingers find their way into her. She is wet. He kisses her stomach, her navel, and lower until he is knelt between her legs, pushing them wider and trailing his tongue across the patch of hair to where his fingers are.

“Oh God,” he hears her whisper, feels her hand run through his hair and she opens her legs wider as his fingers open her to let his tongue explore. The taste of her, the softness. She is so wet. He gently sucks on her labia, listens to the moans he elicits. His own heart is beating faster and his balls ache again with the need to be inside her.

“Please...” he hears her moan and looks up. “Please come inside me...please.”

And he moves so he is able to push his cock inside.

“Deeper,” she begs, and he moves. He leans forward, slips his metal arm under her and pulls her up, using their hands to steady himself. She slides onto him and he is as deep as he can ever go. He is knelt, he is inside her, and she is knelt over him with her arms wrapped around him, small whimpers coming from her throat.

“I'm not hurting you, am I?” he whispers, concerned.

She can't speak, her eyes are huge, her lips parted, and she shakes her head no. She pulls back so that she can look at him, and slowly starts to move up and down on him.

Then she leans forward and kisses him, her tongue moving into his mouth whilst her hands hold his head and her fingers wind into his hair. When she breaks the kiss he moves her back slightly and bends to kiss her breasts.

They are now moving in unison, small moans coming from them both, climaxes building. He watches as his cock slides in and out of her, glistening with her wetness and he can hardly breathe.

She leans back even further and he sees her hair falling in a stream down her back and his right hand clenches a handful of it. He loves her hair so much. The feel of it. He can feel his balls tightening, feel that very soon he is going to let go of himself and flood her.

“Please,” she moans once more and he sucks her breast, gently teasing it with his teeth, and she cries out. He feels her muscles clenching around him hard, feels the change inside her, the flush of heat that encompasses her whole body. Her eyes close, her body arches back and he lets himself go and they both come.

She moves forward and holds him tightly. She is breathless and he feels her heart still thudding. He holds her just as tightly. He think he hears her say a name but he is not sure, her voice was so quiet.

He doesn't need to say anything.

He moves back and they lay down facing each other then he takes her into his arms and holds her close. They fall asleep exhausted but for once both feeling relaxed, fulfilled.

“I told you, she belongs to us,” he hears the voice whisper before sleep takes him.

Chapter Text

 Hydra & The Nurse - Finding The Constant

It has taken a long time but you have finally gotten everyone to take you for granted. Even Lehmann to a certain degree. When you are in the room, no-one holds back when they discuss The Winter Soldier Project. That is what they call the patient. The Winter Soldier.

Zola is well aware that two different personalities have set themselves up inside the patient's mind. The first personality is quiet, unassuming, docile, needy; he is the one who didn't want the metal arm, the one who tried to destroy it. Whilst they think of him as being afraid, they also know he is no coward. He doesn't remember anything, is easily confused, doesn't know why he is here. They can trust this one to the ends of the earth.

Then there is the second. He is cruel, vicious. His temper is nasty, and he is violent. What scares them the most though is his cunning. He is not stupid. They cannot trust this one at all; he is too unpredictable.

It has taken a while to perfect the cryogenic freezing but it now works and they have been running tests on the patient.

The tests are not going smoothly.

There is nothing wrong with the process, but there is something wrong with the patient.

They have tried the cryo-freeze several times and each time the patient has come out of it as violent, unhinged. They are unable to control him and need to sedate him straight away. This throws off their readings; they cannot progress any further. They need to be able to control him. They are closer than ever to perfecting the technology they will use to wipe his mind, and the fact there are two personalities is causing more problems than initially thought.

They cannot even say for definite that it is the second personality in charge when he awakens because what he says is unintelligible. He is a man possessed, and anything or anyone in the vicinity is in serious danger. Lehmann tries to explain it to Zola: you cannot talk with him, there is no reasoning with him. This one is totally insane. Eventually, each time with heavy sedation the first personality comes around and is all that is left.

The problem is this can take hours to happen.

Zola cannot understand it. What is so wrong with his work? He knows the Americans had never had this problem with Rogers. He has checked and rechecked his findings, the machinery, his calculations. He feels that they need something in place for when he is awakened: something constant, something that will ground him, calm him, make him theirs. Once they have that out of the way they can then work on bringing the two personalities together.

Zola turns his back on the arguing doctors and looks through the glass panel, into the main room. The patient is in the master chair. It is important that they use the chair as much as possible as it has been designed specifically with him in mind – or, Zola thinks, specifically for his mind.

The patient is strapped in. Sedation has been used but Zola can see even now the patient is testing the bindings on his wrists. He was awoken two hours ago, and still isn't calm enough to be allowed to return to his room. They need the other personality for that; the quiet pliable one.

Zola knows they cannot go any further until he can solve this problem. How can he join both the personalities together so that they work as one? What could bind them together to make the perfect soldier? More importantly, how can they regain control of him when he is first out of cryo-freeze?

It is just one problem after another.

He is missing something.

They run tests daily. They have put him in cryo-freeze seven times, each time for longer and then brought him back out with success for his physical form. But his mind is different. Crazed and such anger. So dangerous that they cannot allow him to remain awake, so dangerous he has caused such serious damage to both personnel and equipment.

Zola turns back and ask them to run the tapes again.

He is thinking about Doctor Lehmann, and the idea Lehmann broached with him about moving the young nurse into the same room as the patient. He doesn't know that Lehmann has already gone ahead and authorised it; he doesn't know there is only one bed. Zola is not totally convinced as to why it has been requested, but then he was not attacked by the patient...and Lehmann has no wish to share the experience with anyone.

A movement catches his eye, and he sees the nurse entering the room. Lehmann only allows her in for short periods of time; Zola doesn't understand Lehmann's reluctance to use her on the project. He had only returned to base this morning and had noticed the bruise on her cheek, the paleness of her skin, the slight tremble in her hands. He had asked her about it. Her hand had immediately flown to her cheek and she told him she had walked into one of the heavy lamps in the main room.

He has his doubts.

He knows how violent the second personality can be, and doesn't understand why the nurse would lie to him. He realises he is losing sight of parts of the project...but then that is what he wanted, wasn't it? For someone else to take on the full responsibility, to be the Winter Soldier's handler so Zola could turn his mind to other projects, to their other plans for a better future.

And he had thought that someone else should be Lehmann.

In front of Zola is the report of one of the first awakenings, when the patient killed the doctor as he was coming around. Before they knew what to expect. The patient had been insane with anger, and it had taken five guards to take him down. The night before that, another dead body had been reported: a guard was found early in the morning. He had been the one who had been guarding the patient's room. Strangled, windpipe squashed flat. They had gone into the room, expecting the patient to be missing - but no, he was there, fast asleep. He was groggy when they woke him. He didn't seem to know what they were talking about when they questioned him about the guard. Zola thinks about getting cameras installed in the corridors. He remembers grudgingly that this is yet another thing Lehmann has requested and is right about.

He looks at Lehmann, now arguing with Jakobs. Zola realises again he isn't being kept in the loop. There are too many inconsistencies. He really is losing sight of the project. Again he wonders why the young nurse is being moved into the same room as the patient. A thought, an idea buzzes through his mind, but he is tired and doesn't quite catch it. Then the tapes are rolling. He cleans his glasses and settles down to see if they can see where they are going wrong.

Each tape shows the same scene. The patient is placed into the master chair after being brought out of cryo-freeze. He is unconscious. They always strap him down now and the straps are strong, not even he can break them. They do not want a repeat of the first incident. They administer the drug to bring him around, and Zola notices how everyone steps back and how the soldiers grip their guns.

It takes a few minutes and the patient comes around and tries to rise up and get out of the chair. He is looking around the room, teeth bared, his eyes wild and cunning, and he reminds Zola of a captured animal. Most of what he says is lost but his whole body shows what he means: he will kill them all if he gets the chance. The look in the patient's eyes makes Zola's blood run cold. Pure and utter madness. If he gets free he won't just kill, he will tear them apart. There is no reasoning with him, no way of getting through to him.

Then, on this tape, Zola notices something for the first time and he leans forward. “Wait, wait, run that again.” They rewind the tape by two minutes and he watches it again, then again, slowed down.

“There... there...” They stop the tape.

The patient has caught sight of something and Zola can see his eyes have widened, and he watches the patient slowly sit back in the chair. He is still angry, still dangerous, but there is a difference coming over him. Zola gets them to play each tape and on most of the tapes they see it. Something happens and starts to trigger a reaction. It is there each time constantly, consistently. Up until now it was assumed it was the sedation taking effect but now it seems to be more than that. They can see that he sees something but not what it is.

It is only missing on two of the tapes, awakenings so violent they used elephant-grade sedative to knock the patient out. The only problem is they don’t know what caused it. What is it that the patient sees that starts to calm him? That starts to allow the first personality to come through? Whatever it is it happens on the other side of the room, and because the cameras are trained on the patient they have not captured it.

Zola stands and looks through the window again. The doctors are all talking, all trying to guess. Could it just be the sedative? Does he notice how nervous the guards are and resigns himself to defeat? Zola knows that is not the reason; whenever the patient sees the nervousness of the guards he grins, a horrible thin-lipped smile. He would gladly take them all on and win. That smile is the smile of nightmares. All of their hard work, all of his hard work to be rewarded with what? A soldier that does not take orders, a soldier that is so unbalanced he cannot be used, cannot be trained, will not submit to authority because the madness in him is too unbalanced?

Zola watches through the glass. The nurse is bending over her patient, and he sees her brush away some of the hair that has fallen over his face. He is sedated and fighting it all the way, but he reacts to her hand, to her voice, and his shoulders relax.

Lord she is brave he thinks. It reminds him of the fairy tale, Beauty and the Beast.

And then an idea comes in to his mind.

He remembers reading something about the nurse, and he goes back to the mass of paperwork lying on the table and searches through it for her details. She was brought in when they had realised they needed a translator because she spoke English. But, he sees in the file, she wasn't with the project from its inception. He is about to close her file when he sees someone has added something to the file and he turns more pages towards the back. As he reads it he smiles and gets up, holding the piece of paper in his hand.

He looks back out at her as she tends her patient.

He rereads the information. Doctor Jakobs wrote the report. He says in it that the new English speaking nurse is a bonus as it has been noticed that Barnes responds to her. He is calmer when she is there, takes notice, and tries to do what she says. Doctor Jakobs doesn't just think it is just because she speaks Barnes' language but he believes she has formed an attachment of some type with the American, and the American with her.

“Beauty and the beast,” Zola murmurs. He turns back to the doctors. “Play the tapes again. I want to see if the nurse is in any of them.”

She is. In the five where the patient reacts to something out of sight on the screen, a few seconds later the camera catches her moving forward to tend her patient.

He turns to Lehmann. “Tell me again why you want to move this young lady in with the patient,” he says.

Before Lehmann can answer, Doctor Jakobs leans forward. “She already has. She's been sharing a room with him for two weeks now.”

Zola looks at Lehmann. “What? Why?”

“Because we find he is calmer when she is with him, that's all. It's nothing to make a fuss about,” he says, glancing at Jakobs.

“Well gentlemen, we may have found our answer.”

Lehmann sits forward, and Zola sees realisation dawn in his eyes as he sees what Zola has seen and swears. “Thats not a good idea. I really do not want that young lady used any further in the project than we have to.” He cannot tell them about the deal he has with the patient; yet if he had, maybe they would have realised sooner. The patient had said he wanted her there all the time. Lehmann had thought he just meant at night, but now he is beginning to see they were talking about two different things. She is not there all the time, she is not there when he is awakened from cryo-freeze. The patient thinks Lehmann has broken his promise, and so the Winter Soldier has broken his. He will not co-operate with them.

What even Lehmann fails to realise is the need that both personalties have for their nurse. She quietens the fear and the rage, the utter panic of waking and finding he doesn't know where he is, who anyone is. The thought that she has left him alone. He needs her presence more than Lehmann and Zola will ever know. She is the only thing he remembers, the only thing of comfort.

“But you yourself have asked that we consider her sharing a room with the patient. In fact, I believe Doctor Jakobs has just said she is already sharing a room.”

“She is too loyal to Barnes.” Zola frowns at the tone of Lehmann's voice; he is frustrated he cannot make them see what a bad idea it will be.

“But Barnes has gone,” Zola shrugs.

“You said you felt the answer was to have something constant in his life, something from the beginning. She isn't, and you're grasping at straws. She joined the project far too late.” It is a weak excuse but Lehmann is determined not to give an inch where she is concerned. “It just would not work. There has to be another solution to this!” Lehmann is adamant and Zola looks at him, his mind working.

The others doctors are silent - watching the argument.

“She knew him before,” Jakobs says quietly. Lehmann turns to look at him as if he has suddenly spoken in a foreign language. “What?!”

Jakobs ignores Lehmann and focuses on Zola. “She knew him before he came to us from the interrogation centre,” he says.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Lehmann turns to Zola. “Armin, he just doesn't want to see us get rid of her! He has always had a soft spot for her, the fool.”

Zola studies Jakobs. They have known each other a long time, but he has seen Jakobs fondness for the nurse.

“She nursed him when he was in the field hospital. The one the patrol took him to when he was first found,” Jakobs adds.

“How? How do you know this?” Zola asks.

“She told me.”

“And you didn't think to share this with me...with us!” Lehmann explodes, but Zola holds up a hand to calm him.

“That would have been just after he fell from the train,” he says. “And so he has known her from the beginning.”

Jakobs nods and sits back. Lehmann throws himself into his chair. He will talk to Jakobs later, remind him of who is actually in charge of this facility.

“Well gentlemen, I think we have found our...Constant, don't you?”

But there was too much at stake to assume that they were right. They were scientists and doctors. They need proof. They need to know that this will work.

Without telling her anything, they make sure that she is sat there next to him the next three times he is bought out of cryo-freeze. Each time they ensure that she is in his line of sight when he is brought around, and each time he sees her and his anger is reduced to the point that they didn't even need restraints in the last test. She places her hand over his, and before his eyes open she would talk to him, tell him everything was all right, tell him what was happening.

Such a small thing to cause such a different reaction.

She was always with him when they encased him in the metal pod, so they told her it made sense for her to be there when he woke. Each time she would be the last thing he saw and the first thing he saw when he came around.

It worked.

As the experiments continued, it became the norm for her to be sat next to him.

The final test they try shows there is absolutely no harm in him whatsoever.

*

Now the work could begin in earnest. But first, they need to introduce her to the world of cryo freezing. To be his Constant, she would be needed each and every time he was bought around, and she needed to be as he remembered her.

That meant when he was frozen...she would need to be as well.

It was decided not to tell her at first in case she had a bad reaction to the drugs, and therefore the freezing process would not work on her.

Jakobs knew it was because Lehmann hoped she would be incompatible.

They began to add things to her food and drink. She began to feel unwell. They would drug her, and whilst unconscious would do tests. She felt even more unwell. She found she started to suffer from black outs, she would lose time. She began to worry and spoke to Stefan. He could not tell her what he knew, and for the first time he began to worry about who he was becoming down here in the dark.

After the first week of it happening, she grew more and more panicked. What if she was suffering with something that might harm her patient?

It got to the point that she took the matter into her own hands and sought out Zola.

He listened patiently as she told him she felt she was ill and should be removed from the project. Her care for the patient astounded him. She knew that if she was no longer of use to them it would mean her death...but still she was honest with him, which made him sure he had chosen well.

“What if I have one of these black outs when I'm with him?” She fretted.

One of the things she mentioned startled Zola, although he was careful not to show it. She told him that when she first became unwell, when she first felt nauseous, she feared she might be pregnant. But that she now felt for certain she wasn't. This was news to him. Whilst he knew they had a room together, he had not thought about the sleeping arrangements.

How long had she been sleeping with their patient and why hadn't he been told?

He decided she had been through enough worry, and he told her the truth. That she was not ill. They had been experimenting on her, she was needed for the next part of the project. He asked if was she prepared to go forward with them? He told her their findings, told her she was to be the Winter Soldier's Constant. She wept, and when Zola asked her why she was crying she told him it was because she thought they were going to make her leave him.

She was totally honest with him. “Without him, my life would be over.”

Maybe he thought to himself, she is as mad as our patient is.

Zola explains to her what her new future would be. Each time the patient was put into cryo-freeze she would follow suit. She would then be woken so each time he was woken for a mission she would be there. Her whole life would be the patient. Her future was this patient. She had always said she would never leave him and now she has been taken at her word.

She agreed. He knew she would. As she got up to leave he smiled.

“Hail Hydra!” he said.

Zola had looked at her waiting for her reply. He saw her swallow, her whole mouth was dry, he could see she doesn't want to say the words, they stick in her throat.

“Hail Hydra,” she says, the words wanting to choke her.

*

Later, he questioned Doctor Lehmann more about her current duties and was angry when he found what had been kept from him. At first Lehmann assumed it was because of what the nurse had been forced into, but he soon discovered it was something else that had Zola worried. Something he had not considered.

What if she did become pregnant by the patient? They could not, and would not, allow the patient to breed. That would clash with Hydra's vision of a perfect world.

“Leave it with me. I will sort it out.” Lehmann had promised.

*

Director Lehmann has been busy. He has had new uniforms issued to the medical staff; the doctors have brand new sets of white coats with the red logo stitched on the shoulders. Stefan has new sets of whites again with the designs.

You now have a new set of clothes: sensible blouses and skirts. But you do notice a difference. None of your clothes carry the Hydra symbol. Lehmann is letting you know he still doesn't fully trust or accept you, and he is letting the others know you are not Hydra. You are not to be fully trusted by anyone. You are advised to retain your nurses uniforms as there may still be days when you are needed to help out medically wise.

*

You return to your room, the room you now share with the Winter Soldier. It is your last official day as the Winter Soldier's nurse. Tomorrow you become something else to him. Something that, in truth, you have already become.

The door is locked every night at 9pm until 7am the next morning. Two guards will patrol. They are only to enter if there is a problem with the patient. They are under strict orders not to help you if you cry out. If you are being hurt they have been told to turn a blind eye, something some of them find difficult when the second personality is in charge and they hear your pain.

There is an steel opening they can lower in the door to check everything is all right, and they do so every two hours. The second personality has used you. He is always hungry, always eager to show you that you now belong to him. The first personality is gentle, was shocked at first when you stayed with him and slept close to you, sometimes even falling asleep in your arms. But then one night he woke you, brave enough to show you he needed you. His love making is so much different to the second personality, kind and gentle. You saw shades of James in him and that made you want him with such a passion that you lost yourself that night.

As you close the door you see him sat in the dark. There is no danger. You can sense a peace about him and you know you are safe. The light streams in from under the door and you move to switch a small lamp on. He doesn't stop you but when you straighten up he is behind you and his arms encircle your waist, he kisses the back of your neck and goosebumps run down your arms. Your breath hitches.

His hands come up and remove your belt and then he starts to undo the buttons on your nurses uniform. You don’t make any move to stop him, just close your eyes and lean back against him. When it is open all the way he starts to caress your skin which is flushed from the heat he is causing, and you truly don’t want him to stop.

His hands move to your shoulders and he slips the dress over them and moves your bra strap down so he can kiss the soft smooth skin there. He is so gentle. One hand now strokes your stomach and moves down between your legs. You move slightly so he can slide his fingers over the fabric of your underwear and he can feel the outline of you and he groans quietly, you are wet, very wet.

Then as if he cannot stand it any longer he turns you around, you see his eyes, so hungry, but so needy.

Your dress slips to the floor and his arms now encircle you again and he kisses you as if he is drowning and needs your breath for his own. You respond and press your whole body against his. Your tongue explores his and your hands run over and under the tee shirt he has on. You pull back and, pulling the material up, you remove his shirt, being careful not to catch it on any of the metal plates. You run your fingers across the those plates and then lean forward and kiss each of the points of the red star.

You love the feel of his skin. You run the back of your hand down across his chest and then undo his trousers. Your hand slips inside and runs the length of his erection and he pushes against your hand. You pull his trousers and shorts down. He tries to help you but you stop him, and he is then standing there naked.

You look at him, his long brown hair falling across his face as he watches you. You run your hand over his cheek; he needs a shave, and his eyes, you could drown in those eyes, the long lashes framing them. Whilst you are watching him you run your hand up the length of his shaft again and he stays your hand at the top, you see him take a deep breath. He tries to smile at you, it is something that happens so rarely. You know you would do anything him. You realise even like this he is James Barnes, still part of him.

He lets you move your hand away and you then take hold of his left hand, the metal warming at your touch. You bring it to your lips, open the palm and kiss it, then one by one you take the metallic fingers into your mouth and caress them with your tongue. He stands there watching you and you know he has forgotten to breathe. Once you have done each finger you kiss the palm again and then let his hand go.

 You reach up to remove your bra but he stops you when you go to remove your pants. Instead he kneels on one knee and hooking his fingers into the side of them he slowly slides them down and then off, lifting first your right foot then your left. Then he leans forward and kisses your stomach, moving slowly down and using his tongue to explore you. It is your turn now to forget to breathe, you want to feel his tongue, to feel him explore you. You wrap your fingers in his hair and can't help but moan, spasms running through your body. You nearly lose yourself in the sensation but you want to feel him inside you, want to taste him and he senses the change and releases you.

You move to the bed sitting him down, his erection is huge and you kneel before him. You take him in your mouth and your hand encircles his balls and gently massages, you hear his gasp. You run your tongue up and down the length of him and then very gently your teeth, you hear him draw in his breath.

“No, not yet,” he says, so close to losing it.

You both move back onto the bed and he slowly covers you with his body and kisses your mouth, you can taste each other on your lips. He kisses you and then works his way down your throat, his hand running over your breast, his thumb gently caressing your nipple and you grip and guide him into you, your legs circling the back of his to draw him in as deep as he can go.

You want him so desperately. There is no hate in him at all, no wanting to cause you pain, and he drives himself as deep as he can to feel your softness. As he builds his rhythm you grip his buttocks, then his back, the heat inside you both makes you sweat. He lifts himself, he likes to see you when you come and you allow him to. When he is gentle like this you love to see the look in his eyes, the way he looks at you, you are so sure at those times you can see he loves you. You only doubt afterwards, when the second personality returns to take that thought away from you.

You want to call him by his name but you can't; at this stage it would cause him too much damage, he doesn't know who James is, you bite your lip to stop yourself and instead you can't help but moan. His rhythm increases and his eyes never leave yours. You close your eyes and arch up into him, you want your bodies to meld into one and as you come, in your mind, you do call his name and you feel his arms holding you. The sensation rides over you and you open your eyes and watch as he allows himself to climax. Those beautiful eyes of his go liquid and close, his whole body taut, he holds you so tight and his breathing seems to stop. Then he lets go and you are sure you hear your name on his lips. You hold him as he shudders into you, knowing he is so deep inside you.

You don’t want him to move. You reach up and brush the hair away from his eyes and your hand traces his lips and he bends to kiss you. Then holding onto you he gently moves you both onto your sides, looking at each other, he is still inside you. You are both so close.

“They promised you are really mine, they said you are my Constant,” his voice is quiet, he then tries to smile again. That smile breaks your heart every time.

“I am. I will always be here for you no matter what happens,” you tell him and then you feel the tenseness in his body relax and he moves back. You think he is getting ready to leave you so you go to move but he stops you.

“No,” there is a very slight panic in his voice. He is just getting comfortable that is all, he isn't ready to let you go yet. You move together so you are now held in his arms then you listen as his breathing slows and he falls asleep. It doesn't take long but you fall asleep too.

For a short time you are both at peace.

Chapter Text

Ghosts of Christmas Past & Future.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads.

'Twas the night before Christmas – 1939

Only these two young men are not sleeping.

Steve is staying with the Barnes family for Christmas. The rest of the family are asleep, leaving Steve and Bucky alone in the living room where they usually slept together when Steve stays over.

The room is cosy. The only light is from the fire, which is starting to die down for the night, but they can still feel the warmth from it and see the glow of the flames reflected in the baubles on the Christmas tree. The reflection makes it look like it is covered with small glowing lights. They can hear the gentle snoring of Mr Barnes upstairs, and because of that they are not sure if Mrs Barnes is asleep yet. Bucky's younger brothers are fast asleep. They are still young enough to be excited by Christmas and they had vowed they would never be able to sleep...but the moment their heads touched the pillow they were.

The young men are lying on the floor, Steve lying one way and Bucky lying the other, creating a T. Bucky's head is resting on Steve's midriff. They are talking quietly and listening to music coming quietly from the radio. The fire crackles as a log shifts.

Steve can smell the pine from the Christmas tree and he is listening to Bucky talk about the future in a hushed tone. They are both are sleepy. He doesn't think he has ever been so comfortable in his life.

Bucky rolls over onto his front so that he is now looking at Steve; looking at those blue eyes, the blond hair falling over his forehead, and he can't help but smile.

Steve smiles back. “What are you grinning at?” he asks. His eyes are sleepy.

“You,” Bucky replies, and he scoots forward so he can very gently kiss Steve on the lips. One of Steve's hands is resting on his chest, the other by his side, but now he gently pulls Bucky closer and returns the kiss.

Bucky pulls away. “Hey. Where do you think we will be this time next year?” he asks suddenly, and Steve shrugs, knowing it will annoy Bucky. After all, they have tentatively made plans for the rest of their lives together.

“Who knows? I mean where will we be in five years time...in ten?” Steve replies, wanting to tease him... but instead he sees Bucky shiver, and sees a frown appear on Bucky's face.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I think someone just walked over my grave,” he replies, trying to shake off the awful feeling that made him shiver, and to forget the knot of apprehension that tightened in his stomach. Instead he grins mischievously at Steve, bringing his hand up and slipping it under Steve's shirt. He slides it down across his stomach, watching Steve swallow and his hand continues until it slips under the waist band of Steve's trousers.

“Buck...” Steve tries to say, and Bucky shakes his head, still grinning, knowing the effect he is having on Steve.

“Wish you'd learn when to shut up,” he says, bowing his head to kiss Steve once more and he moves his hand down, smiling again when he can feel the Steve's solid reaction to him.

“Oh Christ Buck, you're going to be the death of me,” Steve groans and Bucky moves back to look at him.

“Language, Rogers,” he says, laughing softly, as his hand takes Steve in a firm grip and he watches Steve's eyes close and his mouth open.

On the radio the music has finished and the announcer is moving onto the story for the night, a Christmas Story; he allows his voice to drop, and says, “Twas the night before Christmas ,” and then allows the story to run. “ Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.”

But by now the young men are not listening. They are too wrapped up in each other.

*

The next morning is pandemonium in the Barnes' household. The boys are so excited that even Steve and Bucky cannot help but be infected despite their age. Winifred is in the kitchen, trying to prepare the feast they will have at lunchtime. Steve has already helped her with the vegetables whilst Bucky plays out in the front of the house with his brothers. It had snowed early in the week and was still cold with flurries. Everyone is wrapped up warm and sledding down the road, neighbours are out and the scene is one of peace.

Bucky leaves his brothers playing and comes back into the house, stamping the snow off his boots and taking of his coat, but before he can finish his father - George - stops him.

“Oh no you don't! You promised your mother you would bring in the wood for the fire.” And before Bucky moans good-naturedly his father raises his eyebrows.

Steve overhears. “I'll help,” he says, already shrugging on his jacket. He can see Bucky is going to say no, he doesn't want Steve catching cold, but Bucky himself recognises the look in Steve's eyes and so he relents. The two of them trudge outside to the back garden where the wood is stacked under an over-hang of the house. The Barneses live in a small property a few blocks away from Steve in a slightly more prosperous area. Winifred had inherited a small amount from her parents which with that, and savings, allowed for the down payment when they moved in. The house is just about big enough for them and had an added bonus when they bought it - room for George to build a garage for his beloved car. They also have a small yard out back where the boys can run around, letting of steam.

Bucky and Steve trudge over the snow to the over-hang and Bucky gets Steve to stand still, arms held up so he can carry the wood Bucky piles on his forearms. George can see them from the kitchen window. Those two, he thinks, always talking, always together.

He can't hear what they are saying but he watches as his son reaches up and with the back of his hand runs his fingers down Steve's cheek. It is an intensely intimate gesture and George frowns. No. He must be imaging it...but then he sees the look on both the young men's face and he realises he isn't.

Winifred realises George has gone quiet. She turns to look at him and sees his frown and comes over to see what he is looking at out of the window. All she can see is Steve and Bucky trudging back through the snow carrying wood.

“George? What is it? Whats wrong?” But all he does is shake his head. Winifred loves her husband, knows him better than anyone else. Something has disturbed him. He turns around and leans against the sink, crossing his arms but as he is about to speak the door opens and both Bucky and Steve come trudging in laughing and George falls quiet.

The young men do not notice the quietness in the kitchen. They have taken off their boots and are now struggling out of their coats. Winifred looks at George but he is staring at the floor. The set of his shoulders tells her he is not amused by something.

“Okay you two, next job. Upstairs, tidy up the mess left by your brothers opening their stockings would you” and she pushes the two out into the hallway and waits to hear them run up the stairs. She wants the house to have some resemblance of tidiness before they eat and then open the presents under the tree.

She closes the kitchen door and approaches her husband.

“George?”

George is someone who does not wear his emotions on his sleeve but it would not occur to him to not share his problems with his wife. “Those two.” He is feeling angry, feeling mixed up. He can't be right but he knows he is...deep down he knows. “Their goddamn... they're two...” He swings his head back and forth a gesture Winifred has seen her son do so many times. The two of them are so alike.

“They're what?” she asks gently although she thinks she has guessed.

“They're damn...you know. My son is...a fairy.” And there is such bewilderment mixed in with the anger that Winifred tries not to smile. But George sees and it fuels the flames further.

“You think this is funny?” His voice is loud and she shushes him, tells him to keep his voice down. “He's...a fruit, they're a couple of fairies, they're...queer. Jesus!” And he looks up at the ceiling with his teeth gritted. A few more words come to mind but he knows he doesn't have to say them, he knows his wife has understood what he is saying.

Then he looks back down at her. “What the hell! How did it happen? It must be that Rogers, my son would never...” And he shakes his head again.

“Would never what?”

He gestures with his hand. “You know. Would never...” And now Winifred can see the red in George's cheeks, see the anger in him. “When did it happen? For God's sake it must have been staring me in the face! What do I tell my friends when they find out? Jesus. I'll never live this down. A fruitcake for a son, jeez...what the hell did I do to deserve this, what...”

“George Barnes!”

Winifred's voice is firm and hard, and it is a tone George has hardly ever heard before. She moves closer to him rests her hand on his arms, which are still folded. She keeps her voice low. She doesn't want them to hear upstairs. “He is still the same young man he was when he got up this morning, still the same young man who helps you with your car, who you held in your arms when he was born...”

“He's a fucking queer!” George's whisper is run through with anger.

“So what?” Winifred says calmly.

“What do you mean so what? What the hell are we going to do?!”

Winifred lets her hand drop and takes a step back. “I tell you what you are going to do, George, because there is only one thing you can do. You can decide if you still love him, if he is still your son, if you want him to still be in your life. That is the only thing you can do.”

George looks at her. “You knew? Why the hell didn't you tell me?”

“I only suspected, George. And...he's our son. James is our son.“

She looks at him once more and then turns and picks up her apron and puts it on. She has work to do.

*

Lunch is a noisy affair; everyone talking and nobody noticing how quiet George is. Winifred involves him in the conversations, and for her sake he joins in...but he cannot look at either Bucky or Steve.

George and Winifred leave the boys to clear up, only once hearing a crash from the kitchen. But their conversation is more important. She sits next to her husband.

“By this time next year we could be at war with what is happening in Europe, you said so yourself. James is old enough to fight, and you know he will. You know he will join up the minute he can. We could have lost him already.”

George can hear the tears in her voice and he bends to kiss her forehead. “I know. I know! I hear you! But...for God's sake, he dates girls!” The exasperation in Georges voice makes her smile.

The door bangs open and the younger boys come in, excited and burbling. Steve and Bucky follow them. Winifred makes to get up but George stops her and stands up himself.

“Okay! So who's for presents?” He does a false Father Christmas laugh and moves to the tree.

Three sets of hand go up. “Me, me, me!” three sets of voice holler. Bucky and Steve laugh at the boy's excitement and sit on the floor in front of the sofa with Winifred and George begins to hand the presents out.

Steve looks around the room. He loves it here. He loves the warmth, the family, and most of all he loves Bucky. When George hands him a present he is surprised - even more so when another two are handed to him. He sits and opens them with the others. He himself slipped a few small gifts under the tree when the family were not looking; they are not much, handkerchiefs for Mrs Barnes, a pair of socks for Mr Barnes, and chocolate for the boys. But it is the gift for Bucky he is most excited with.

He opens his present from Mr and Mrs Barnes and finds they have bought him a new pair of shoes. Winifred leans forward and puts her hand on his shoulder. “Because if you try and stuff any more paper in those old ones of yours there's not going to be any room left for your feet,” she says, smiling, and tightens her grip slightly when she sees he is close to tears.

He doesn't know what to say.

Winifred smiles again and leans back to open her presents. She has seen the holes in Steve's shoes, seen how he stuffs newspaper in them to block out the cold and wet. A few months ago she had taken one of the shoes and drawn around it to try and work out the size. Steve is so small, so delicate, and she wanted to get it right. She has.

Steve's second package has thick socks in it. He tries to thank her but doesn't feel his words are enough and so he stands up awkwardly and gives her a hug. Bucky pulls at him to sit back down and open his final present.

The third present is from Bucky and he stares at it in wonder. It is a leather bound sketch book and a tin of expensive colouring pencils. “That's you on the front,” Bucky whispers to him. The drawing on the front of the pencil tin shows a young blond man sketching.

“You cant give me these!” Steve exclaims. “They must have cost a fortune!” Bucky smiles at him and for a moment there is only the two of them, until one of the younger boys whoops in delight at his present and is soon dive bombing the two young men with a tin plane, breaking the moment. But not before Winifred has seen George pick up on their look. Internally she despairs. What if her husband cannot accept the two men's relationship? She couldn't bear it.

“Open yours,” Steve says, gesturing to the small gift he had haphazardly wrapped for Bucky. Bucky picks up the parcel and unwraps it. Steve thinks for one awful moment Bucky is going to burst into tears but he sees him tighten his jaw as he looks down at what is in his hands. At what Steve has bought for him.

“If you don't like it, I can change it,” Steve stutters, suddenly unsure of himself, unsure of his choice. Did he get it wrong?

Bucky looks up at him. “It's perfect...you jerk!” and he leans forward without thinking and hugs Steve. It is something the two men have done before in front of people, but this time George sees so much more in that simple sign of affection.

Nestled in the tissue and wrapping is a badge Bucky had seen in a pawn shop window over a month ago. He had fallen in love with it; the lines of the badge, the two outstretched wings. And Steve had caught him drawing it in doodles all over his technical work for college. Steve had gone in and, after being honest with the broker, had offered a sum not quite reaching what the pawnbroker had wanted. The pawnbroker shook his head. He asked the man to wait and had gone all the way home and bought back with him a ring his mother had left him. It was not worth a lot, but it had made up the amount and Steve came out of the shop with the 1930's USAAF badge tucked in his pocket. He had said a small prayer to his mother, but he felt sure she wouldn't mind. This was for the person he loved and wanted to spend the rest of this life with. He felt sure she would understand.

*

Everyone was tired. It had been a busy day, full of excitement. Winifred is curled up with their youngest son on the sofa; the other two are upstairs in the bedroom they share. Steve is sat sketching the Christmas tree. Bucky is looking at a magazine when he becomes aware of his father looking at him. He looks up and smiles, but it looks like George is a million miles away but he focuses on Bucky. Bucky smiles again but his father doesn't and the smile falls from Bucky's face.

George had been a million miles away with his thoughts. How can this be my son? How can I have not seen this? He sees the smile James gives him, and sees it drop when James sees something of George's thoughts in his eyes.

George has to do something about this. He cannot let it fester. He stands up.

“Buck, give your old man a hand with something will you?” he says, and beckons his eldest to follow. Winifred watches as they quit the room. There is nothing she can do. This is between two of the men in her life, and only they can sort it out.

Bucky follows George out into the garden, and then into a side door leading to the garage. He is glad he has such a thick jumper on; the snow is still drifting down, and it is bloody cold. George switches the light on. It is not overly bright but it is all he needs. He watches Bucky close the door and walk over to him.

“Car playing up again?” Bucky asks, looking at his father, and his father doesn't reply, he just stands there studying his son. How does he do this? “Dad?” The serious look in his father's face is making his heart start to race. “Have I done something wrong?”

His father looks old, he is going grey, and Bucky for one moment thinks he must be ill – but then his father speaks.

“James...I don't know how to do this.” Bucky tries to say something, but his father holds up his hand and stops him. “Are you and...” He clears his throat. “Are you and Steven...sweethearts?” That is the only word he can think of using.

Bucky's heart starts thumping, and despite the cold he feels a sweat break out on his forehead. He has never lied to his parents. Bent the truth a couple of times maybe, but never lied.

George watches the look that passes over his son's face, sees the thought of lying in those clear blue eyes...but he knows his son will not lie.

Bucky stands up straighter, shoulders back and stares him down. “Yes, sir,” he says, simply and with respect.

“I see.” And his father looks down at the floor. Everything is so silent.

“Do you want me to leave?” Bucky asks him quietly. He always knew this moment would come, always wondered how he would break the news to his parents. How he would tell his father the truth.

George does not say anything, just looks at the floor. Bucky steps forward until they are only a few paces apart. “I understand. I can move out. You don't need to tell anyone the truth. Just say it was time I found my own feet. I wont embarrass you,” he says, and his father looks up at him and Bucky realises that he is close to weeping. He has only ever seen his father cry once before.

“You don't think I still love you?” George says choking on the words.

Bucky flounders as his eyes tear up as well. “I...I know how such a thing is...” he cant find the right word “...shameful.”

And suddenly George is reaching forward and pulling him into a bear hug, and Bucky's own arms go around his father. This man who has always been such a solid influence in his life, always been there.

His father is crying but talking, the words running together. “I love you son, I couldn't not.” His father holds him so tight for a moment that Bucky has trouble getting his breath. Then he feels his arms loosen.

“If...Steven means that much to you then so be it.” He leans backwards to look at his son's face “...Only don't expect me to call him son just yet. I need time, time to get over...”

“The shock?” Bucky provides the word and his father nods as they pull apart. Bucky steps back and crosses his arms, the cold suddenly hitting him again.

“Does Mom know?”

George nods. “You know women,” he says and Bucky nods as his father colours. “...I mean, women as in...what I mean by knowing women is, well...”

“Dad, it's okay. I like women. It was as much a surprise to me as it is a shock to you but...” the words trail off as the two men look at each other. There is nothing more to be said. Not tonight.

“Jesus it's cold, lets go and warm up.” George puts an arm around Bucky's shoulder and they trudge back to the house where Winifred looks at her men. She has never loved her husband as much as she loves him in this moment. She places her hands on Bucky's shoulders and kisses him then goes to her husband and places her hands on his cheeks and kisses him.

“You're a good man George Barnes, and I love you.” she whispers.

Their children will always be the world to them.

*

'Tis the night before Christmas 1990.

The Winter Soldier is used to the cold.

He is stood in a garden. It is snowing, but not that heavily. There is enough on the ground to leave footprints but he is not worried; they will vanish under the new snowfall soon enough. He is a black figure in a white landscape. Black leather pants and jacket; his metal arm is covered up. Black gloves. He is wearing both his mask and goggles and if anyone was to see him they would know it was not Father Christmas visiting.

It is Death.

You would think in this bleak landscape he would be easy to spot, but he is not. The moon shines, but it is not a full moon. The trees are bare. There are deep shadows for him to blend with. He has no problem. He is his own camouflage.

He needs to traverse this garden to get into the neighbours'. It is the neighbour who is the mission, the neighbour who is the target. As he walks silently across the lawn to the wall of the house he hears a noise and turns to the side.

There is an old lean-to full of wood, and he guesses the sound is rats looking for some warmth...but then he moves closer. The wood piled up reminds him of something, but he doesn't know what. Shaking his head he moves closer to skirt the wall. What must be the kitchen window is dark but there are people in the living room, the curtains are partially closed and he will need to duck to make sure he is not seen. He listens to the wind rustle through the trees and looks up, despite the snow there is still parts of the sky clear and he can see the stars, pinpoints of light against the dark.

Stay on mission.

He moves nearer the window.

He looks in but there is no need to worry, no one will see him. Two children sit on the floor playing with what look like toy cars; the mother is sat on the sofa, heavily pregnant, knitting and listening to the radio, unusually a TV set sits in the corner, off for now; her husband is across from her and is reading a newspaper. Even from outside, the Winter Soldier can feel the warmth in the room, can feel the peace the family feel with each other and it stops him. There is a Christmas tree stood upright and decked with lights and baubles, and for just a moment he sees a second tree in his mind and and feels the warmth of a fire, hears the crackling of logs.

He shakes his head again. He mustn't get distracted. Some times when he is out here in the world thoughts come into his mind, thoughts he knows he should not have. They can make his head hurt, he mustn't let them distract him, mustn't let anything interfere with his mission. He is a soldier, he is under orders.

But before he can look away, the mother puts her knitting down and he can hear what she is saying.

“Come on now, time for bed.” She struggles to stand up and her husband puts down his paper as both children start to moan. The husband laughs and goes over to help his wife who is still having trouble rising from the sofa; she must be due any day.

“Put your things away and go and brush your teeth,” the mother is saying, and the two children make it obvious that they will do what she says but they would rather not.

 The Winter Soldier turns and slides down the wall, keeping his back against the cold brickwork and squatting he looks at his watch. He is early. He stays still for another 20 minutes, by which time his legs feel stiff and his feet have almost gone to sleep. He hears a noise in the room and slowly straightens to look in again. The children have gone and both parents are now sat on the sofa. The husband leans over and kisses his wife's forehead and then turns the volume dial of the radio. The announcer's voice grows louder.

“Twas the night before Christmas. Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that...”

And suddenly the Winter Soldier's mind freezes up: he has heard those words before and the deja-vu that hits him makes him feel nauseous. He turns back around and sinks to the ground as his mind tries to grasp some of the many memories that seep into it. The other Christmas tree, the burning log fire, the wood in the lean-to, a blond haired man. He looks at the palms of his hands, convinced he will see a badge lying in them; he can even feel the weight of it, see the two wings spread out...but then his hand curls up hard and he tries to shake the memory away because it doesn't just make his head hurt, it makes his chest hurt. He has broken into a sweat. He is trying to catch the memory of the young man, the one whose blond hair falls over his forehead, whose scent he would recognise anywhere.

“No!” he grunts, his teeth grinding against each other as his programming tries to break in, tries to stop him from thinking, tries to stop him from remembering. His mask and goggles suddenly feel restrictive, making him feel claustrophobic and he pulls both of them from his face.

“No!” he rubs his fists into his eyes, and then scoops up snow and washes his face in it; the cold makes his teeth ache, reddens his skin.

The radio in his ear crackles. Unusual, as it is only there as a safety net if he needs to contact them but they are speaking to him now. The words break through the memories and suddenly he feels calm again, feels normality entering back into this world. He cannot quite remember why he is crouched in the dark and not moving. He shoves his mask and goggles into a pocket and stands this time making sure he is beyond the window. Slowly and steadily he pads across the path, and then using one hand leaps across the wall and into the neighbour's garden.

The house is in darkness but he knows the occupant is in there.

Accessing the house is no problem, and soon he is stood in the dark hallway listening to the ticking of a clock. There is carpet under foot but the house smells neglected, old. He slowly makes his way up the stairs, stopping every so often to listen and ensure there is no one else about. He can hear a voice but it is steady, monotone; a radio. Besides which, he can also hear the man snoring. He has left his bedroom door open and as the Winter Soldier walks forward he takes out his gun and uses the silencer barrel to push the door open further. It creaks and he immediately stays it with his hand. The snoring continues and he slips in though the gap.

His eyes have become adjusted to the dark, but it is almost pitch black in here: there are black-out curtains. The Winter Soldier waits a moment until he can get his bearings. The man is asleep in his bed, on his back and as he thought, the man has fallen asleep listening to the radio. It is the same channel as next door and Charles Dickens A Christmas Carol is droning out of the speaker. A weak light shows the position of the radio and the crackling noise accompanying the speaker is annoying, so the Winter Soldier bends and switches the radio off.

The man carries on snoring, out for the count. The fact an empty glass stands on his bedside table accounts for that; he can smell the fumes of alcohol on the old mans breath.

The room is barren. A few sticks of furniture and not a lot else. An old paperback book lying next to a lamp. He can smell dust and old age, a bad combination. He knows the man has been living here since before the Wall even came down. The room echoes the whole house. Neglected and dying as its owner is. The man has cancer and only has six months at the most to live but he holds a secret, one he may decide to confess before his death, one that has began to weigh heavily on his mind.

The Winter Soldier has come to make sure that does not happen. He is the only one who will listen to any confession from the old man. The only one permitted to. And then he will be made to forget.

 He sits on the edge of the bed, and as the mattress dips it disturbs the sleep of the old man. The Winter Soldier leans over and puts the lamp on; the light is not bright but the old man can see, he knows immediately who has come to visit him.

The Winter Soldier looks on impassively as the man attempts to sit up and has a fit of coughing.

“I thought they would send you.” he says, looking at the soldier beside him. He has been told the man must die, but to give him respect.

He does not say anything just looks on.

“Actually, it was more than just a thought. I had hoped they would. I'm not good with pain but I am too much of a coward to do the job myself,” and he gives a dry laugh. “Do you know why you are here?” he asks.

The Winter Soldier nods slightly: “ I am here to kill you.” His voice has no inflection, no pity. These are his orders and he will obey them.

“Whoever thought the Winter Soldier would turn into a compassionate Angel of Death?” The old man laughs to himself.

“I am not compassionate.” He is stating a fact.

“You were once...” and then the old man stops. What is the use of trying to confuse the issue, trying to confuse the man sitting on the bed? The soldier has been tortured enough, and the old man knows he cannot change what has happened, cannot change the world.

The Winter Soldier looks at him curiously.

“I knew your Constant. Is she still well?” he asks, and the Winter Soldier frowns. The old man knows of the jealously that runs through the Winter Soldier and laughs weakly. “No, no not in that way. We were friends once, that is all. I worked with her, I worked with you and with Stefan but you don't remember him I suppose? Listen to me...” And he puts his hand on the Winter Soldiers arm. “Freya loves you, and only you. I wish they would let you remember that.” He starts to cough once again.

The Winter Soldier's heart begins to race, and he starts to sweat, but the suit monitors betray him once again and a voice intones in his ear reminding him of why he is there, bringing him back on track. The old man looks at him, his rheumy eyes running now with tears, his face pale and grey. The Winter Soldier can see the effort it takes for the old man to sit up straighter to face his death.

The soldier stands and lifts the gun.

“For your loyal service to Hydra.”

And he shoots.

Kristo Salk, one time orderly on Project Winter Soldier, falls back against the bed. Out of pain, out of time. Dead. The Winter Soldier has fulfilled his mission. He takes a long look at the body, but cannot access any memories, cannot understand the words Kristo said to him. He will ask the woman when he gets back to base, tell her what the man said, but he doesn't know that by the time he is back with his Constant he will not remember the details of his mission. He will not remember what the man has told him.

He makes to leave but for some reason he stops and instead turns and goes back to the bed. He lifts the top cover and covers the old man to shroud him in death.

He stares at the body for a moment longer, then turns and leaves. His mission completed.

*

You are cold tonight. You cannot get warm, and there are less guards around than normal. You hate these evenings, evenings where there is no one to talk to, no one to take your mind off the Winter Soldier being out on mission. During the day you can keep busy, they always seem to find work for you to do, but for the last few days everyone has seemed more relaxed and you think you know why.

You think it is Christmas.

They keep you mostly in the dark about dates - even what year it is - but every so often you find out.

You walk down the corridor further than you are really allowed. You are heading for the guard's living quarters. You just want to know. You know that the cameras are probably following your every move, but you mean no harm.

You turn left at the crossroads and as you walk you begin to hear music. It has been such a long time since you have heard a melody and you had not realised how much you missed it. You stop and turn towards one of the cameras to show you know they are watching you. They know you will do no harm that might take you away from their most beloved asset.

You begin to walk again and as you get closer to the quarters you recognise what you are listening to.

Carols of the Bells. Shchedryk. It stops you in your tracks.

You go no further.

Instead you sink down next to the wall and curl up to listen, your arms clasped around your knees. You close your eyes. The corridor is cold and the stone hard but instead you imagine you are back in the house you grew up in.

This is your mother's favourite carol, and you are back in the front room with her and your father. It is Christmas Eve and you are about fifteen years of age. You are watching as your parents decorate the Christmas Tree. It is the first one you have ever seen in the house as the laws before now had prohibited them, but Russia is changing. The excitement of it has brought your mother out of her shell; she chatters on about how she helped decorate them as a child and about how her father would sing to them as they did it and about family gatherings. She shows you her silver locket, the one given to her by her parents, she wears it all the time, is panicked if she thinks she has lost it. Inside is a picture of her on one side and Arthur on the other and Anna says when she closes it they are together and nothing can ever part them. You listen to her, enthralled. You have never seen her this vivacious and you know this is the Anna your father fell in love with. You can see it makes him tearful but his face is also full of light.

“Freya, come and hang this one, you are taller than me.” Your mother hands you a glass bauble and you take it so delicately because to break it would make your mother cry. You go to put it on the tree and you see her eyes widen and you smile.

“Where shall I put it do you think?” you ask her, and she smiles like a small child.

“There,” she says, pointing, and you reach up and put it on the tree. Your mother stands back with her hands over her mouth, her eyes shining, looking at the tree.

“Oh Arthur it is so krasivaya, so...beautiful!” Even after this amount of time your mother knows few English words but one of them is beautiful because that is what your father calls her, his beautiful Anna.

Once the tree is finished you fetch a warm drink of Sbita from the kitchen. It takes you more than a few minutes as you made it earlier but need to reheat it. Your father suggested adding brandy to the mead and jam to help your mother sleep. It is a good idea. Just lately she has taken to waking in the middle of the night so confused, so terrified.

You bring the tray into the front room and pour a drink for all of you and pass it to your parents with some small Rastegai pastries. Your mother is humming her favourite carol, and for a moment you feel that life is so beautiful, you wish it could last forever. The fire is warm and the brandy in the Sbita is making your cheeks warm.

Outside it is snowing again, but your father has left the curtains open to see the changing landscape. Without warning someone comes up and knocks loudly on the window. They hold up a bottle, then, swaying, wander off back down the street. A drunk, too much vodka that is all, but the atmosphere in the room is broken. Your mother had jumped out of her seat when the knocking started and now is holding her hands together and she perches back on the edge of the sofa.

You reach out to touch her and she draws away from you, and you recognise the look in her eyes. A cloud covers her face and your hand falters. She turns to look at your father and you recognise the panic in her face and you try to make things better.

“It's all right Mother it's me, it's Freya.” But she doesn't recognise you, doesn't know who you are. Your father comes forward and kneels in front of her.

“It's all right Anna, just a drunk celebrating Christmas, that's all.”

But you both know you have lost her again for now.

“I think you have had a lot of excitement for the day. Time to go up to bed and sleep,” he says gently pulling Anna to her feet, but she is clutching at his hand and then begins to look around her.

“But where is Freya? Where is that child? Does she not want to say goodnight to me?” She asks, pain in her voice, and a frightened look on her face. She is looking for you but you know she does not recognise the tall young girl standing looking at her; she wants her child, her baby. Soon that look will change to anger and you do not want to see it. Do not want to hear what she calls you. She cannot help it, she is sick, mentally sick, but it still hurts even though you know that.

You look away and you are back in the bleak, cold corridor; you hunch up more and begin to cry. You had forgotten her. You had forgotten your mother and your father and the short spells of time when your mother loved you.

You loved your father but you didn't think you always loved your mother. But you did and something in you at this moment in time misses her. Just the time of the year, you think and you move to stand up. Your bones are stiff and you use that as an excuse to stay a few moments longer to listen to the music.

So beautiful. So krasivaya.

*

The guard watches the woman on the monitor. He reported her presence in the corridors but was told to stand down, no need for worry. He wonders now if he should let them know she is crying as she walks back to her rooms, but he doesn't think she even realises she is.

He decides not to. After all, it is Christmas and everyone deserves a break.

Everyone gets a little emotional at this time of year.

Chapter Text

 The Constant & The Patient - Everyone Is Sorry For Something

Light is shining in under the door. It is never dark in here. You awaken to a mantra. The patient is sat up in bed next to you, eyes half-closed. Sweat runs down through his hair, over his face. He is talking, mumbling.

“...Sergeant James Barnes 32557038 US 107^th. Sergeant James Barnes 32557038 US 107^th. Sergeant James Barnes 32557038 US 107^th...”

His right hand is clenched tight. There is such a heat pulsating out from him. You hear the words and panic. You too break out into a sweat; if anyone was to hear him, if anyone was to find out that any part of James Barnes was still in there - buried deeply into the patient's subconscious - God knows what they would do. They thought they were secure in the knowledge that they had destroyed Barnes completely.

You yourself don’t know if he is in there, but the fact that the patient is using his old name gives you hope that one day James may come back.

“Wake up.” You move so that you are in front of him. You shake his shoulders gently. “Come on, wake up!” You try not to sound panicked. You need to be calm, but you can feel the heat from your own panic. “Please wake up!” You shake him harder, but the mantra simply continues. There is no change.

He is in the nightmare; in deep, at the very bottom.

A door closes somewhere outside and you look at the clock. It's 11pm, not late but you know the guards will be patrolling and will open the slot in the door if they hear James talking. And what they hear will alert them. Then they will call Lehmann.

There is only one option open to you, for you have to act quickly.

“Wake up!” You slap him hard across the face. No change. “For God's sake, you need to wake up,” you shake him harder. You try to slap him again and instead cold metal wraps itself around your wrist and stops you.

He is awake. The chant has stopped. You cannot see his face behind his hair so you brush it away. It takes a couple of seconds and then he looks up at you.

You recoil. You haven’t woken the first personality, you have woken the second. Your heart drops through to your stomach and you feel sick.

“You were having a nightmare,“ you stutter.

You can see a red welt appearing on his cheek where you slapped him. His eyes bore into yours and flash. Then, that smile, that thin-lipped one you dread.

“I am the nightmare,” he growls.

Everything happens so quickly. You are grabbed and thrown onto your back. You are barely aware that you are gabbling, apologising. He is above you now, straddling you, and that cruel smile is shadowed on his face. “Please, I'm sorry,” you say but that seems to make the glint in his eyes harden.

You hear soldier's footsteps stop at the door but the patient ignores them. He knows they will not interfere. Instead his cold steel hand pulls at your nightdress. His eyes gleam the madness that is there coiled ready to strike.

You close your eyes.

The metal grid slides open in the door and you feel the patient shift slightly. He has turned to stare at the guard looking into the room. You would hate to be the guard on the end of that look because you know if the Winter Soldier recognises him he will remember him.

The metal slides quickly shut and the guards walk away. One is laughing shakily and telling the other one that the patient is safely occupied. To some of them that is your only use in life, to keep the patient occupied. It will be shift change soon and they can pretend they didn't see anything.

The patient turns back to you, eyes glinting. He is angry, so angry and you keep your eyes closed as he begins to hurt you.

*

After he has used you, you lie still with your eyes still closed. You feel your body hurting. Thoughts spin in your mind. You are not thinking clearly. You are trying to divert your mind from thinking, from thinking about what just happened, about what will happen again and again. You think about earlier today, the conversation you overheard. 

“Why don't you ever stay?” You don’t know why you say it out loud, and after you had you immediately wished you could take the words back.

You open your eyes and look towards where he is sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to you. It is something you heard the doctors discussing this morning, something they have asked themselves many times. Why doesn't the stronger second personality stay as the one in charge? You have wondered it yourself and now...now you are stupid enough to actually ask.

You are sat on top of the bed, covers awry. You feel sore where he has taken you, but you still have your nightdress on; he was in too much of a hurry to remove it. He had appeared to be just rising to go to the bathroom; your words stop him and he turns around to face you.

The look he gives you is one of humour. You look away. This is the cruel personality. Why did you ask something so utterly stupid?

“What? What did you say?” he asks.

“It doesn't matter,” you say so quietly you doubt he hears you, but he did. This one hears everything.

He leans forward and takes a lock of your hair, wraps it around his finger. As he talks he tightens it until it becomes painful, and you are forced nearer to him until your faces are only inches apart.

“Do you want me to?” You don’t answer. “I said...do you want me to?”

No, you don’t want him to stay. Why in God's name did you say such a stupid thing?

He studies you, then unwinds your hair - taking the pressure off but not letting go.

“Are you up to that much pain?” he asks quietly.

You close your eyes. So stupid.

He clenches more of your hair as his fist tightens and the grip becomes uncomfortable and then almost unbearable and you whimper. He is so close to you. You can smell his breath, feel his words on your skin.

“I asked you a question.” He studies you. “So you don’t know what to say now, huh? Let the genie out of the lamp, the cat out of the bag...the lunatic out of the jacket.” He laughs but there is no humour in it. “Unbelievable.”

He watches her closely, sees the regret in her eyes. He can see she wishes she had not said anything and part of him already knows he is going to make her regret it. But part of him knows he needs to deflect the question, to make her forget she asked, and does not realise he hasn't replied.

Why doesn't he stay?

Because he can't.

He cannot cope with the utter confusion and pain in his head when he is in charge. He knows if he stayed he would kill her, would destroy everything. They would have no choice but to kill him. Even he cannot control the anger in his own head. It gets so bad that as a defence he has to let go to the first personality, to the quiet one who seems to make sense of the confusion, to the harmless one they trust.

He can remember things that have been done to him, but there is no context. He doesn't know who the blond haired man in his memories is but he knows that thinking about him makes his head hurt and his heart ache. The images of a city he sees, home yet he doesn't know where it is. Other faces that he never sees here in the complex. He remembers so much pain, so much blood...his blood, his pain.

When he is in charge the confusion makes him so angry, makes him so tense that he needs release and the only way he can have that is with her. He is dependant on her. But he also needs to hurt her; she is part of this, part of what is happening to him. In his warped brain she is somehow to blame for his need of her.

He looks at her now and feels the noise start, feels himself getting tense again, needs to climb inside her, drown in her, and he will. He clenches his fists, his balls ache and he feels the blood rush to his head. The noise starts to make itself felt as he pulls her forward to hurt her again.

You eyes are downcast. You don’t want to see the smile he will have on his face, the cruel cold smile that means you interest him and he wants to play with you for a while longer. Your scalp hurts; you are sure your hair is going to come away in his hand. You are both sat awkwardly and the position is uncomfortable, you try to move but he won't let you. Instead he pulls you so close his lips brush yours, then his hand flattens out on the back of your head and won't let you move, his mouth is firmly on yours and his tongue invades you. His other hand moves to your shoulder.

You put your hands on his chest to try to push him away but he is to strong. You begin to panic, feel claustrophobic, you cannot get away from him and without thinking you bite down hard on his lip. It takes him by surprise and he lets you go. He draws his hand across his mouth and it comes away bloody; you have broken the skin. You are frightened now. You try and back away on the bed but he catches your ankle. He licks his blood from his hand and that cold smile makes your blood run cold. You can see his blood on his tongue as he tastes it.

“First blood,” he says, his eyes trapping you. He moves closer and now you are too frightened to move. He lets go of your ankle as he knows he has you.

“I'll stay,” he says pushing you down. “Although you'll wish I hadn't.”

His hands move down your body feeling every part of you. Your eyes are wide open and full of dread, it makes him harder, he is excited; you have never tried to hurt him before.

*

Later, much later, he takes you by the arm and drags you to the bathroom. You whimper; you hurt everywhere. Your left hand is throbbing and one of your eyes will be black by morning. He drove a knife through the palm of your left hand when you were struggling too much, pinned it to the cabinet, don’t worry he said, I know how to do it without any lasting damage. He did it just after he had told you he knew he was the first to ever fuck you and would be the first to ever sodomise you.

He sets the shower going and pushes you in. You shiver under the water, even though it is warm. He starts washing you down, knowing he is hurting you and that even now still enjoying the way it makes him hard to hear you whimper. You know you should be brave, other women would be you think, but you can't; you are so broken, you can't take any more tonight.

You try not to look at him. He has his own wounds, his lip that you bit, bruises and scratch marks where you fought but you know he doesn't feel them and that his body will already be repairing the damage.

He soaps up the sponge and runs it over your stomach and then down between your legs and up the back, you try to back away from him, it hurts so much, he knows it does. The soap runs into the wounds and then drips down, bloody, to the floor.

Your hand is aching, pulsing and the pain makes you breathless and slowly you kneel, clutching your left hand to your chest.

He stands there for a moment then slowly smiles. “Offering are you?” he says quietly.

You look up trying to blink the water out of your eyes and you realise what he is saying, he is hard and you are level with his erection.

You begin to shake your head, no, he can't make you again, please God no, you can't do it.

“No, no please...”

He steps nearer and you fall backwards against the corner of the shower. “I can't please, I can't, don’t make me, please don’t make me,” you weep and he studies you, those cold cruel eyes taking you in. He reaches out. He is going to force you, but you draw away as far as you can and bring your knees up and hug them to you. You bow your head and all he can hear is you saying the word no.

He doesn't step back but he does move his hand back and start to stroke himself. He can't help it, he still wants her, wants to climb inside her skin and be close to her. Shut out the din in his mind that is slowly driving him insane. Shut out the pictures, the utter confusion of living.

“Look at me,” he says as the water falls onto you both. You can't, you won't, you know what he is doing, you don’t want to see his eyes. You can hear his breathing, it is coming faster and you know what is going to happen. There is nothing you can do and you tell yourself it is better than having to suck him off.

“I said look at me you whore,” he grabs your arm with his left hand and pulls, almost dislocating it, and you are forced to look up just as he starts to come. You feel his warm liquid hit your face as he arches his head back and groans. As his body spasms and more semen falls he lets go of you and you put your arms over your head and you feel the rest of the liquid hit them instead. You know when he has finished he will punish you but you curl up as much as you can, hiccuping because your breath is short and you are crying so hard.

He has finished and is quiet. All you can hear is the water falling, but you know he is still there.

Then you hear him move and at the same time he says your name. Your actual name.

“Freya?” It is a quiet, stunned voice. “No...Freya...” He kneels down in front of you. “Oh no...no, no,” the words run into each other and you know it is not the second personality saying them.

You look up and straight into the horrified eyes of the first, the quite gentle one.

Normally you would try to reassure him, tell him everything is all right but you can't, it has been to horrific this time. You need comfort and you uncurl and move forward, he opens his arms and takes you into them.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Oh God...what have I done?” he whispers as you weep against his chest.

The second one has left. You are both alone.

He is stunned, doesn't know what to do; he awakened as his body was spasming over her curled-up body and he is horrified. He doesn't know how to react. How can he have been doing something so awful? What else has he done? He can see blood mixing with the water. See bruises blossoming on her body, see the utter fear that was in her eyes. He has injuries to, his lip is throbbing and feels swollen. What happened here?

Using his left hand he gets them both up standing and out of the shower. Grabbing the nearest towel he tries to wrap her up in it; he is not very good at this, it is always Freya that comforts him.

You are beginning to calm. You know you are safe now. Your body knows it is safe. “I'm all right,” you say quietly, you don’t want him to see too much of what has been done to you. You pull away and try to be brave and smile at him but you can see in his eyes that you're not fooling him.

Then his eyes harden. He is learning about this world. “I'm sorry,” and you see his jaw working, he is clenching and unclenching his fists. You lean forward trying not to wince and brush his forehead with your lips. No more words are needed. You are both victims.

He turns and switches the water off and you take the opportunity to get more towels. You wrap your left hand in a flannel so he cannot see it. Then you stumble to the bedroom. The first thing you see are the rumpled sheets and blood staining them. He comes in behind you and moves past you.

“Blood...” He turns to look at you and you try to smile, your face is so pale.

“I'm not hurt. Please, I just...need to rest, to sleep,” you say. “We can just use the top one and blankets for tonight.”

You are so tired. All you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep. Grabbing the bottom sheets he pulls them off and throws them into the corner. Then he stops, doesn't move, just stands there next to the bed. You move around slowly to the other side and pull the top sheet down, it is hardly marked. “Help me,” you say and he gets the other side pulling it down. You tuck in only part of it because you can't use your left hand and you don't want him to see the knife wound.

Then you get on the bed, he still just stands there.

“Please will you hold me until I fall asleep?” you ask and he looks at you and makes your heart feel as if it will break.

“What if I hurt you again?” he asks.

You shake your head, “You won't.” Not tonight, are the words you do not add.

He climbs in and puts the lamp out. You pull the blankets up and then move next to him and he draws you close to him. He is barely awake. You are shattered but you feel safe with him, he will not harm you and somehow you know the second will not be back tonight.

Both of you fall into a deep sleep.

*

You wake first.

Your whole body hurts, throbs. There is bruising and bite marks, scratches where he hung on so tight to you his nails and metal fingers broke your skin. Your left hand had started to clot but just pulling at the flannel makes it bleed again, the blood slowly seeping through.

What worries you more though is what the second personality did to you last night. You have never been used in that way before. When he said he was going to sodomise you, you had felt so frightened you had pleaded with him not to and for the first time ever you called out to the guards and begged them for help. No one came.

Now your lower back hurts and you have a terrible stinging sensation around your private area. You try not to think about it, you did not know something could hurt so much.

The patient is asleep, fast asleep, so you quietly get out of the bed, pick up some clothes and go into the bathroom and dress. It is after 8am and you know that Doctor Jakobs will be awake. You are going to need his help.

You move quietly past the bed where the Winter Soldier lays. You know he will be asleep for a little while yet and you let yourself out of the room.

There are two guards outside. Neither can look at her. They came on duty at midnight. The guards they were replacing said the Winter Soldier had already had his fun and it should be a quiet night. They were wrong. When they heard her cry out, heard her begging them to help her they looked away, could not look at each other. In the end they moved further down the corridor. They are under orders, they are never to help her, but that doesn't mean they have to like it. It doesn't mean they don't feel like cowards, or feel the pain of helplessness.

One of the guards is older and has a daughter her age and it hits him the hardest. He tries to swap all his shifts guarding the Winter Soldier for other duties. He told Marinov he doesn't care what it is as long as he doesn't have to hear her cry out at night. But last night he was on duty. Last night he heard everything and he cannot look at her this morning.

The other guard, Serge Zolnerowich, is young and was innocent. He hadn't known just what a man could do to a woman. It makes him sick. When he first came to work for Hydra he believed what they told him: they were making a better world. He saw what they did to the American soldier to break his mind, he has seen what the American has become. How could this happen in a “better world”? His disillusionment builds more every day.

You walk past them. You try to walk normally but everything hurts and you feel like an old woman. You are clutching your left hand and the throbbing in it is making you feel sick. A moment's dizziness stops you and you lean against the coolness of the wall. You are suddenly very hot, you are sweating, and the corridor seems to elongate. For a moment you think you are going to faint but then you feel a hand under your arm and you look up. It is the older guard. He helps you stand and stays with you until you get to where you are going. Neither of you say anything as you walk. You are grateful for the help and he is grateful he can at least do this for you.

You indicate you have reached where you are going, Doctor Jakobs office, and nod to him and he lets you go. He knocks and when Jakobs says to come in he opens the door for you. Just before he turns away he speaks.

“I am sorry,” he says in Russian, and then he is gone. You know they cannot help you, you know you are worth nothing and the Winter Soldier is worth everything but it still makes you choke to hear his kind voice saying those words. Your emotions these days go so easily from hating someone to liking them. Will you ever get them under control?

Doctor Jakobs looks up and sees it is you and jumps up from his desk smiling but the smile soon drops when he looks at you and you see it replaced with concern.

“My hand,” you say holding out your left hand wrapped in a cloth but blood showing through. “I had an accident and I can't get it to stop bleeding.” You make a poor attempt to smile as you say this.

Over time he has become 'your' doctor because of the many mishaps you have had. When he first started treating you, both you and he knew that you weren't so accident prone. After the first time the Winter Soldier bedded you - you don’t even think of calling it rape because you still believe in some twisted way that it was your fault - it was him you turned to for medical help.

He has never told her the effect her story about James Barnes had on him and she does not know yet that he is her greatest ally. Now he looks at her. She is sweating, her pallor is grey and her eyes full of pain.

“And the bruises?” he asks and takes her arm because he is worried she is going to pass out.

“Don't be nice to me,” she begs because she hasn't the energy to cry.

He takes her through to the other part of the office that he has made into a small consulting room and gets her to sit down, noting how gingerly she does so. Then taking the wrapping off her left hand he looks at the damage done.

“And what was the implement?” he asks.

“A narrow bladed knife but it has missed the bones. I just need to stop it bleeding.”

He looks at her. “Hmm, and how do you know it has missed?”

She tries to smile again. “Because he told me it would.”

He knows what has happened, he has met the second personality, seen the cruelty in his eyes. He has treated her wounds before but it has never been as bad as this. “He's getting worse,” he growls.

“It was my fault, I goaded him, I was careless, stupid,” she says and winces as he starts to wash the wound to treat it.

“He will kill you one day.”

“No. No he won't.” She wants to take the worry away from Jakobs but even she is not sure that one day he won't go too far.

He works on your hand and when it is bandaged he stops you from leaving. “I know he did more. I can see it in your eyes,” and this time you do start to cry.

This is a doctor, you are a nurse, and you try and tell yourself you can't be embarrassed but you are. There is damage and you are frightened by some of it. In a halting voice and not looking at him you tell him what the patient has done. You hear him swear. When you are finished he leaves you for a moment and then comes back with a simple gown which he hands to you.

“I need to examine you, Freya. I know it is the last thing you want but we need to see if there is any lasting damage that won't heal by itself.”

You nod and bite your lip.

You are with Jakobs for another hour. He treats the bites and the scratches, the cuts and the bruising. Your shoulder joint is sore but with no permanent damage done. He also puts you on a course of antibiotics. He gives you a supply of pain killers and a cream you can use for the more personal injuries.

At the end he tells you he is sorry. By now you are tired again and just want to get back to your room and lie down. Its funny how everyone keeps telling you how sorry they are when it is what you keep telling the Winter Soldier.

Everyone, it appears, is sorry for something.

Once you have gone, Jakobs documents everything. One day the world will need to know what has been done here - not just to Freya, but to James Barnes as well. It is information that will be kept well hidden in Hydra's files without their knowledge. After he has gone there will always be someone else to keep the information up to date and hidden. He cannot change what he has done in the past but he can try and bring Hydra down in the future and this is the only way he knows how. Stefan has already agreed to help and will take over should anything happen to Jakobs. Eduard Marinov is also helping.

They are all on the lookout for more like minded people every day.

Hydra is too big for them to fight, most of them are not and will not be trained soldiers but what was it someone once said - The pen is mightier than the sword? Jakobs hopes they are right. One day Hydra will pay.

One day Hydra will be taken down and crushed and when it is, the proof will be there to annihilate them.

                                      ----------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Text

The Constant - Understanding the Mind Wipe

You study the doctor in front of you. He is patient, and that is a good thing. He can see you are lost and haven't a clue what he is talking about. Stefan has arranged for him to talk to you under the pretence that as the the patient's companion you need to know, and that as a nurse you need to understand. You want to understand. But this feels beyond your comprehension, and most doctors do not like to repeat themselves. Stefan knows this one is tolerant. It is why he chose him as the one to explain.

The doctor taps the table with his pen, and you can see him thinking.

“Okay.” he says, grabbing a piece of paper. He draws the outline of a head with the brain nestled inside. “Lets see if I can simplify it.” He is not being condescending, he knows how highly complex it is – even some physicians wouldn't understand.

He points out the different parts of the brain, paying special attention to one part in particular. “This is where we do our work.”

He is one of the team bought in to perfect the mind wipe that they will be using on the Winter Soldier. You have gotten lost in the technicalities of it. You want to understand. You want to know what your patient will be going through.

“Thoughts, memories, everything we know and believe is stored in here. Imagine a space full of different shapes, different sizes, and each one is tethered with a piece of string to the central cortex. A bit like a bunch of mismatched balloons. Each shape is a memory, or a thought, or an action, something he has learnt, something he has memorised.” He draws in a bunch of shapes attached by a thin thread of ink. “Okay. Now to us it is all muddled. We have to work out which pieces he needs to keep and which pieces need to go. No good getting rid of how he learnt to speak, but we don't want him remembering when he learnt to speak because we don't want him to remember his childhood. So the mind wipe is like a giant pair of scissors. We will cut away the memories and things we don't want him to retain and leave those he needs to keep to function.”

“You destroy them?” you ask.

“Well that is a point of argument. Some of us believe it just disables them, others think it destroys them. It is one of those things that honestly we just don't know.”

“So if we go with the theory they are untethered...then they are not lost and the patient could get them back?” you ask, and he looks at you.

“Yes and no. They will be untethered but once the string is cut it cannot re-tether itself. It is lost. Even if, for some reason, it did re-tether itself it would be out of context, a memory that has no beginning or end. The human brain is one of the most complex things on this earth and we just don't know enough about it.”

You want to ask if Zola's serum could re-tether the string, but you decide not to. You don't want to put that thought into their minds.

Such a simple thing that they, in actual fact, have never considered.

The doctor continues. “So, we come along and get rid of the balloons that we do not want him to keep and his mind comes out as so. It is a very basic explanation of a mind wipe.” He draws the shape of the brain again with the part they work on, and this time it has fewer tendrils with shapes attached to it.

“So - if I have got this right - you keep practical things like how to walk, talk, eat, sleep, and who he now is...but not who he was?”

The doctor nods and then adds: “We need to also keep more serious in depth learning such as his training with weapons, etcetera, as well as things such as the string with your name on it so he remembers you as his Constant,” at this the doctor smiles.

“But how do you know which strings to cut and which ones to leave alone?”

His smile falters. “One of Zola's algorithms in tandem with our own studies. We have had...practice. We may not always get it right each time so you may find that sometimes he is a little...distracted, maybe upset, even angry. Perhaps he will not remember something that he should. Of course,” he continues, “the first mind wipe will be the worst. That is the one we need to get rid of as much of his memory as we can...well that he has left after...you know...” Here he actually blushes a bit. You want to fill the rest of it in for him you mean after Lehmann literally scraped the flesh from his bone, broke his mind and split it into two but you also want to keep him on your side and so you just nod to show you know what he is talking about.

He continues: “...but then all the subsequent wipes will be to just remove anything he has picked up in between that we don't need him to remember.”

You are quiet as you take this in and then he carries on.

“We have decided to do the mind wipe before he is put in cryo freeze each time. That should help keep him from dreaming. Then, when he awakens, we take him for programming. I can't tell you much about that part but returning to our example...” He pulls up the piece of paper again. “Each level of the program is like a new balloon with a tether that we sew in, we also have to try and give it context, so it makes sense to him when he accesses it.”

“Such as?” you ask.

“Well... say one for reiterating who he is, who Hydra is, and his loyalty to us. Mission details. At the end of it all we will have a functioning Winter Soldier.”

A functioning murderer, you think to yourself.

You look again at the pictures he has drawn. “Will the mind wipe hurt him?” you ask.

He looks at you a bit surprised. “Good God girl, of course it will. We are pulling his mind to shreds. We have to de-construct it every time, cutting him off from things he has had trapped in there since goodness knows when. Some of the equipment we use is laser driven and will burn away brain matter, which is why some people believe the balloons are completely destroyed, not just the strings. It will be agony for him. But at the end of it we hope that he is left with a calm oasis, ready to slot in the programming.”

A calm oasis. Sounds almost appealing if you didn't know the suffering it will cause the Winter Soldier. You want to remind him about what he said about the anger he mentioned, about the distraction, but you don't. The problem with doctors and scientists is that they have no bedside manner. He would not dream of telling you that it would not hurt if it didn't. It does not occur to him that this is something they should not be doing to another human being.

“Will you use anaesthetic?” you ask anxiously, but deep down you know the reply.

“No. We need the brain to be conscious and functioning. I guess there may be times we have to put him under, but the majority of the time he will be conscious for it.”

“So you are close to having this up and running?”

“Oh yes very close, we just need to iron out a few...wrinkles.” As he says this the doctor pictures the latest poor bastard they used the sequence on. It wasn't a pretty sight. “We will just need to calibrate the machine to the Winter Soldier's mind.”

“What will the pain be like?” You still cannot get past that stage.

“Hmm. I would imagine like a thousand needles being plunged into his brain, or if you prefer a thousands wasps stinging continuously...it won't be pleasant, but it can't be helped. Now...” He looks at his watch. “...If that is all I must get going, things to do.” He says smiling and standing up. He gathers up his papers and you follow suit.

“One last question doctor.” He looks over the top of his glasses at you. “Can I be there when you...when you're doing the wipes?” you ask.

“I personally can't see a problem - in fact it might help to keep the patient calmer - but you need to check with Director Lehmann on that. It will be his call.”

You put out your hand to shake.

“Well thank you for taking the time to explain it to me in layman's terms, I do appreciate it,” you say, smiling.

Smiling when all you want to do is hit his head into the table repeatedly until his brains are splattered over the entire top. You need to keep these people believing you are interested in their work, that you find it fascinating because you want to learn as much as you can. You hate kowtowing to them but every time you learn a bit more you feel it will help you understand what the Winter Soldier will finally be.

And more importantly, if there is a chance James is still in there and can be bought back.

Chapter Text

Hydra -The Meeting

The meeting is held offsite, away from the camp. There are five people in attendance: Armin Zola; the Austrian Doctor Johann Fennhoff; Director Lehmann; and Peter and Elise, Lehmann's assistants. They will assist him with the Winter Soldier's programming.

Johann is adamant that the Winter Soldier's personality being split is not a problem. “I have been studying your findings and I don't think you have anything to worry about.”

“So do you think we can address it when we begin the programming?” Lehmann asks, relief showing in his face.

Fennhoff shakes his head. “No, the programming needs to be done when the personalities are as one. Both sides of his personality are needed to produce the final result, an assassin who will obey orders and do anything you programme him to do.”

Lehmann holds his hands up, confused. “But you just said...”

“Johann is thinking of the mind wipe rather than the programming.” Zola says, watching both men.

Fennhoff nods in agreement and moves to sit more comfortably. “When you wipe his mind, providing the wipe is deep enough it should combine the personalities.”

Fennhoff takes up the explanation. “You will be taking away the memories of what hurt him so badly to split his mind. You will remove all the things he...pined for when you kept him prisoner. None of this will be there any more. All he will know is the basics, Hydra and then whatever you programme back into him.”

Fennhoff talks for a few more minutes, and finally Lehmann can see light at the end of the tunnel.

It is all beginning to make sense.

“We have not as yet been totally successful with the wipes, but I don't think we are to far from having the answer. The latest wipe we tried the man actually survived.” Lehmann doesn't like to add they had to put a bullet in his brain before he tore the place apart in his need to stop the noise in his head and the burning in his brain. “And then we can move forward and onto the programming. I understand from Armin that you believe you have found the answer to our predicament?”

So far, Fennhoff's programming has worked but just for a short time. They need a far longer duration for programming the Winter Soldier's mind. It will need to stay in place for days rather than just hours.

Fennhoff nods and reaches for his coffee. “It was an interesting problem, one I believe we have solved. When I use my...ability, it is all based on suggestion and focus. All I have done is extend this is to use more stronger methods. Later, if you have time, I can show you the instrumentation we will be using. The only problem is the amount of time the programming will take for each session, and some of it will be painful to the subject. It will cause physical problems, but...” here he looks at Zola. “...any damage done should be more or less repaired by the serum within 12 to 24 hours.”

“When you say longer, what time frame are you thinking of for programming?” Lehmann asks.

“Well. Hours, rather than days, but it will depend on the complexity of the job he is to be sent on. If it is simple or you are just waking him for training then...” here he shrugs “ it should take maybe three to five hours. If it is a mission then it will take longer dependant on how complex the mission is, what parameters you will be setting, maybe eight hours followed by another session the next day. You have to understand however long we do it for eventually the programming will begin to deteriorate and so you will need a failsafe in place.”

“I still don't really understand why the programming doesn't stay in force longer. It has on our...previous subjects,” Peter says. He is new to the project and has not fully understood the background of the patient.

“My serum,” Zola says and smiles. “Sometimes it works faster than we want it to. When the wipe and programming is done it causes damage. The serum is designed to repair, and this of course is what it does. However, it also views the removal of the Winter Soldiers memories as damage and works to repair some of it. It will not repair it all just the most recent memories, say in the last few years but given time it could restore more memory than we wish him to have....lucky for us though the damage to the brain takes longer for the serum to work on than say a broken arm or a bullet wound.”

“So...when he comes out of programming, that is why he needs to rest? Because of the damage?” Zola nods, but Peter has not finished yet. “Exactly what damage are you talking about to the brain?”

Johann answers that one.

“Nothing serious, nothing that will prevent him from carrying out what we want. He will feel disorientated, there will be minor bleeding - probably from the ears and nose - headaches maybe, even migraines.” He shrugs as if to indicate it is a minor worry.

“We have someone who will look after him until he is ready to be sent out. But, as Johann says, we do need a failsafe in place for when the control starts to fade. For all intents and purpose he will be a ticking clock once he is out of cryo and has been programmed.” Zola says.

“And the failsafe?” Peter asks, and at this Lehmann sighs.

“Still something we need to find.” It is a solution he has been trying to work out for a while now but with no luck. It is not as if they can ask the Winter Soldier to let them know when he begins to remember; they will put it into the programming scripts, but if he begins to remember too much he may not want to tell them and they cannot take that risk. That would make him very dangerous.

They group go quiet, and for the first time Elise speaks. “You already have something in place,” she says quietly. The men look at her. To her it is simple, but they have missed it completely. “The woman,” she says holding her hands up. They know about the woman, Freya, already. They still do not fully understand why her presence calms him when he first wakes from cryo and Lehmann is still concerned over using her. He doesn't like that loss of control they have.

“I fail to see...” Lehmann starts, but Zola shushes him and asks Elise to explain.

“The woman you say is needed to calm him, we do not really know why, but her being there grounds him. You said he has feelings for her even after you broke his mind. We have already said that when we do a mind wipe we will leave her impression there in his mind so he still knows her...although I do have doubts as to whether we would actually be able to make him forget her. The brain is too complex for us to understand...love.” She stops to ensure that they are following her, and then continues. “However, in the programming I suggest we will alter that. Bury it. Make him think she is there just to look after him, provide him with anything he needs. You will need a trigger so that he almost hates her; maybe tell him she belongs to him, but that she is a woman of...loose morals shall we say. In the programming, have a level of thought that encourages jealousy and anger towards her. She will be there to look after him so they will always be thrown together, and he will at first treat her with disrespect, even hate. But then as the programming begins to falter he will begin to remember her. This will show in his treatment of her, the way he reacts to her, talks to her, that will be easy for us to pick up on. And of course we will be able to see this not just from his point of view, but from hers as well. I have seen them together and I know how much he means to her.”

Lehmann does not know how she has managed to pinpoint the solution so succinctly, because he is the only one in the facility who knows the Winter Soldier believes Freya belongs to him, is his possession. He knows now is not the time to tell them that he hopes to be able to replace her with someone else, someone who respects Hydra more than Freya does, someone who knows where their true loyalty should lie. She will at sometime become one of his missions...but he is letting his thoughts digress, and pulls himself back to the present.

“Only a woman could come up with that,” he says. The idea of telling the soldier that his only possession is a whore appeals to Lehmann. Revenge on the scare the Winter Soldier gave him, and recurring revenge on the woman who is a thorn in his side. It is perfect.

Zola is not so sure at first. But it is Johann that persuades him it is the right thing to do. Even now with the Winter Soldier becoming their asset he knows there is something buried deep in him for the nurse.

“She may not agree to it.” Zola says, but Elise is the one that answers.

“She will not know. You must not tell her. She will be as hurt by his treatment as he is by hearing she is a whore. Her whole demeanour will change when he begins to remember her, she will...shine like a beacon,” and Elise smiles and Lehmann realises for the first time that this woman is more intelligent than he first thought.

Not just intelligent, but ruthless as well.

More is discussed and decided upon. Three hours later, the plan is actually coming together. As soon as the last problems with the wipes have been ironed out, the Winter Soldier will be wiped and hopefully his personalities combined. The first wipe will always be the most complex because they will have more to destroy. Each time he goes into cryo, the wipe will be used to create a fresh slate. He will be allowed to remember Freya is his Constant because he needs that stability. When he is brought out he will waken to find his Constant there, soothing and calming him, preparing him for the next part of the procedure.

He will then be taken for programming, where all the different layers will be added to the blank slate until the knowledge of who and why he is there is built up. The knowledge of the Constant will be buried and a new idea planted, one that the woman looking after him is a whore, someone who is unimportant to Hydra, someone who he has no respect for. Lehmann is more than happy with this; he does not want the Winter Soldier to respect this woman, he does not want her to have any power over him in any way. When they are satisfied the programming has taken, he can then be trained and given more information. Once that is finished he can be sent on mission. Whilst on mission they will have another failsafe in place. Within the uniform they dress him will be monitors that will report back how he is functioning, there are still minor issues to iron out but those will be corrected by the time of his first mission.

The amount of time he is awake for will be determined on what is taking place.

When he returns they will conduct a mission report to see if there were any problems, any difficulty with him. He will be allowed to return to his Constant for one more day, in case the serum needs to repair any damage as it cannot work in cryo whilst the soldier is asleep. By this time they know his memories will be returning, the clock will be ticking. By the time he is wiped he will remember who his Constant is, and will be allowed to retain this information when he is wiped and returned to cryo.

All in all, they are satisfied with how the meeting has gone.

Soon they will have one of their greatest assets, the new fist of Hydra.

The Winter Soldier will be used for top-level targets only. He will be kept up to date on all the latest weapons, all the latest technology, languages, anything and everything he needs. He is already a top marksman and he will undergo training at the highest level. Although they do not want him to have too much detail of the outside world they know to complete some missions he will need information, and so a plan will be put in place of to keep him updated on things such as world politics. All from Hydra's point of view. He must always think he is doing the missions for the good of the world, to help Hydra bring order out of chaos.

A four man team of soldiers will be sent with him each time. They will travel with him, acting as a safety net, and provide help with exit points. The leader of the four man team will have certain handler rights and knowledge in case of emergencies out in the field.

Zola is extremely pleased. There is no need for an army or super-soldiers; instead, one person in the right place at the right time can change the world - and he intends to.

It is so close to becoming a reality he can almost touch it.

At the end of the meeting, Lehmann allows his assistants to walk ahead to the car until he knows they are out of earshot.

“Just to let you know, the other problem we talked about is being seen to.”

Zola frowns.

“The girl...the Constant.” Lehmann elaborates, and Zola realises what it is Lehmann is talking about. His cheeks colour, it is not something he really wants to talk about. Fennhoff looks at him.

“I'll explain later.” Zola says.

“It will be sorted the next time we put her out for cryo-freezing, and it shouldn't take long.” Lehmann almost enjoys Zola's discomfort with the subject.

They reach the car and Lehmann opens the door. “After you,” he says courteously, and Zola and Fennhoff climb in. Elise is in the front, and Peter is driving. Lehmann gets in and slams the door shut.

He is pleased with today's meeting.

Everything is coming along splendidly.

Chapter Text

The Constant & The Patient - Prevention

 You awaken on the bed, dressed in the vest and pants you were wearing when you entered cryo-freeze. A female orderly moves around the room and you have difficulty in focusing on her. Has there been a problem with you in cryo? Although you normally feel sick when you come out, you do not feel as bad as this. Your head is pounding and when you move your whole body aches; it feels like you have been kicked in the stomach.

“I don't feel so good,” you say to the woman and she nods and suggests you take a bit longer to rest. She helps you move so that you can lie under the blankets and she encourages you to take two pain killers. You lay back down and do not realise but you are out for another four hours.

You sit up just as the door opens and one of the doctors appears. When he looks at you, you can see he tries to hide the alarm on his face. You are so pale.

“We need you in the main room,” he says, and you swing your feet around to get up but instead you find yourself falling forward. Luckily, the orderly catches you.

“I think she's going to need a little longer,” you hear her say before you black out.

The third time you wake up you feel better, but it's still as if you have been kicked. The doctor is there and he bullies you into getting up; you get the idea that you have caused them a great inconvenience.

To your mind though you cannot understand why they are waking the patient so soon after they have woken you; this is only a test, so it is not as if they have to wake him for a mission, those have not even started yet. You do not realise seven hours has gone by since they first brought you around.

“Did anything go wrong when you brought me out?” you ask.

He won't meet your eyes, and instead answers you impatiently. “No. Of course not.”

“I just...I just need to use the toilet,” you say and stumble away before he can complain.

You lock the door to the cubicle and sit down to pee but it hurts. Oh great, you think, an infection. Just what I need. But it seems to be more than that, and there is blood in your urine. You go back into the room and the orderly helps you dress.

“Is Stefan about?” you ask. He is usually here when you wake - but the woman just shakes her head.

“I think they sent him over to help Kristo with something just after they put you under. He won't be back until tomorrow, I'm afraid.”

You nod and try to smile. This is unusual. Stefan has never been sent anywhere before, has never worked in the part of the camp Kristo returned to. That is the problem with Hydra. It plays on a person's paranoia and you tell yourself to stop being stupid.

The lower part of your stomach feels as if it is pulling, and there is pain down there. You follow the doctor with a stiff gait, and the world seems a bit tipsy turvy. The orderly had insisted on you taking another couple of painkillers and you are glad she did.

You need to talk to someone. You feel that something may have gone wrong in the latest round. You were due to be out of it for a week and when you asked the orderly that is how long you were down for. Perhaps they are using a new drug to bring you back to reality? You do not get a chance to ask as the doctor keeps up the pace and you find you have to almost jog to keep up with him. Each step you take sends streaks of pain through your body. This is ridiculous, you think.

He leads you to the main room and you can see they are preparing to bring the patient around.

“Get her a chair, for God's sake, before she falls down!” one of the other doctors snaps, and you realise you were leaning against the wall in an effort to keep yourself upright. The world isn't spinning quite as much as it was but you still feel as if you are seeing everything from far away.

As you sit there is a increase in the pain in your lower stomach but you try to ignore it; you need to be here for the patient. He needs to see you. You are his Constant.

Doctor Jakobs is usually here, but you can't see him. Doctor Taffeteer comes up and you ask where Doctor Jakobs is but he tells you he is busy and won't be attending this particular awakening. He crouches down in front of you, concerned about your pale skin, and he gives you a cup of water and two more tablets. You shake your head and explain that you have had some tablets but you gratefully accept the water. He cannot meet your eyes, however, and that is when you begin to know something is wrong. It is not just your paranoia.

Something has happened.

You ask him, but he colours slightly and is evasive. You can see he doesn't know what to say. “Nothing. Come on now buck up, we need you for the patient.” He smiles and pats your knee and then walks back the rest of the doctors. They are now totally concentrated on the patient, on bringing him out. You sit back and watch the procedure, knowing that you are not needed yet.

Ten minutes later the pain killers have kicked in and you are feeling slightly better, but still as if you have been kicked by a mule. They are ready to give the patient the final injection which will bring him back to consciousness. They get you to move next to the master chair so you are in his line of sight; he needs to see you, recognise you, and know you are not a threat. He needs to be kept calm, just in case. You hear them engage the arm clamps.

They are counting backwards and the chair is swinging up into the seating position. You watch as his eyelids flutter and you see his hands start to clench around the seat handles. You place your hand over his right one.

In the future, when everything is up and running, they will wipe him before every cryo-freeze so that when he comes around his memory of certain things will be blank. At the moment they have not attempted a wipe because of the problem of sorting out the two personalities. You know that Zola has invited another doctor to see if they can work out a way of combining the personalities. Since then Lehmann has seemed a lot happier about the situation.

The count finishes and for a moment nothing happens, then he opens his eyes. This part always makes your stomach flutter. You watch him blink. He catches sight of you. Those blue eyes drink you in; his whole body seems to relax and it takes a few moments for you to realise everything is going to be all right.

“You've just woken up from the cryo freeze testing, and you are going to feel a bit strange for a few moments. Just breathe and take your time,” you say to him. He is looking straight at you and you feel relieved. He nods at you, understands what you are saying, he remembers. He leans back and closes his eyes and you move back slightly so the doctors can start their barrage of tests.

You know they now need to check him over, and you also know he hates this part but you stay with him to translate. The patient is coming on extremely well with learning Russian and some of the time he replies before you have any need to on his behalf. He is calm and does everything asked of him but there is a flatness in his gaze, almost like that of an automaton.

At the end of the session you are shattered. It makes no sense at all. You tell him you will see him later back at your room. He frowns and you tell him you are just tired and your head hurts.

“Just a bad head. I need to sleep it off.”

He is used to you staying for the full time and you hope he just accepts your excuses. He does...but you can see he doesn't like it.

When you get back to your room you go into the bathroom and lean on the sink. Your face is pale in the mirror. You are so uncomfortable and your stomach is hurting; you pull up the gown and reflected in the mirror is an angry dark patch of bruising across your lower stomach. You blink and look closer and immediately recognise what it is: you are bleeding internally. Something happened when you were in cryo. Something serious.

Before you can stop yourself you are sick into the sink, but you hardly throw up anything: water, bile and blood. It feels like you are tearing your insides apart. In the bathroom is an emergency call button in case there are problems with the patient. You move to hit it, and as you do you lose consciousness. You do not even hear the blaring of the klaxon.

When you come around you are lying on your bed. Two of the doctors are there, together with Stefan and Lehmann.

There is no sign of the patient.

“Idiots! Why didn't you check first?” Lehmann is saying. Demanding.

One of the doctors sees you and indicates you are awake. Lehmann turns to look at you but is dismissive. He turns back to the doctors. “Just sort it out,” he says before leaving the room.

You try to sit up and the pain doesn't seem so bad as it did. It is 24 hours later and they have operated on you again – not that you find this out until later.

Two operations, and neither with your knowledge or consent.

“Orderly, will you leave us please,” one of the doctors says and Stefan looks as if he wants to refuse. You try to smile and tell him you will be all right.

You are left with the two doctors, neither of whom like you or want to spend time with you; to them, you are nothing but a minor player, a mere distraction from their important work that they want to get back to.

“You will find you'll be all right now. Just a slight complication in the process.” one says, indicating by his tone that he believes it was your fault.

“What process? What happened to me?” Your voice is quiet; you need a drink of water and ask for one. The other doctor tuts and goes to the bathroom and brings back a cup of water. Your hand shakes and you spill some of it on the sheets.

He takes the cup away from you once you have drunk some.

“What happened to me?” You ask again looking at them, “what...what did you do to me?”

“Tubed litigation...” And in case you didn't realise what that is he makes it easier for you: “We sterilised you. Theres no need for you to make any fuss.”

You are quiet. You did not hear them right. They cannot have said what you thought they said.

One of the doctors indicates that they need to be going. You have a rising ball of panic in your chest.

“You...”

The doctor hears you start to speak and cuts you off mid sentence. He makes it obvious he doesn't understand why women are always so hysterical. “We sterilised you. Surely you realise we can't have you falling pregnant, especially as the patient uses you to … ” his face goes blotchy, and red “...relieve himself, he can't be allowed to breed. I'm perfectly sure you can understand that. ”

You are stunned. You search for something to say, but before you can they tell you to rest and then they are gone; gone before you can speak, before you can cause a scene.

You slowly move back onto your pillow, your mind wants to blank out what you heard. Then the panic returns and you push back the covers, pull up the gown and stare at your stomach. The angry purple colour has receded. The area is bloated and painful.

“No...no, no... ” you are saying without realising it.

They can't have done this to you. They didn't ask. They never said a word. They never...then you remember the conversation you had with Zola. It seems so long ago. You had thought you were pregnant, when in fact they were drugging your food to see if you were suitable for the cryo-freezing process.

You close your eyes and you curl up onto your side.

They cannot have done this to you.

But they have.

*

It is later. You think you may have slept. Your eyes are swollen and you feel bruised and battered in mind and body. You hear a commotion on the other side of the door and it opens then closes. Footsteps come over to the bed. You don’t care. You don’t want to talk to them again. You don’t want to look at them. You curl up tighter, not really wanting to because it hurts, you start to cry again.

A hand touches your shoulder and you pull away but it persists and someone pulls you over to look at them. It is the patient.

He doesn't know what is wrong. He hasn't seen you for over a day; they told him you were unwell, nothing to worry about.

“Freya,” he whispers your name.

He looks at you, puzzled. His eyes show he is anxious, confused.

You shake your head. You suddenly think that he won't want you any longer, that you can't be a woman to him any more – it is a stupid thought, but you are not thinking straight. Your emotions are all over the place.

You try to turn away. His hand tightens; he won't let you. You need to comfort him, reassure him, but you can't, you have nothing left in you for anyone else at the moment.

“Go away,” you sob.

He is so confused, she has never been like this before, pushing him away. Her face is swollen and red from crying. She smells of blood and sweat, panic rises in his chest. His heart starts thumping, something is wrong - very wrong.

“Go away!” you scream. You pull away, to the other side of the bed still sobbing. You know you are getting hysterical but it is welling up in you, you cannot control it.

Instead of leaving he climbs onto the bed and forcibly pulls you up. He tries to put his arms around you but you fight him. Pain lances up through your body and you are hysterical now, you don’t even hear him saying your name. Then he holds you as tight as he dares and starts to rock you. You sob.

It is a complete role-reversal.

The words she is trying to say come out making no sense at all. Something here is wrong, very wrong, and it not of his making. He has sent the quiet one to sleep for now and he is determined to find out what is wrong. She is upset and needs time. The one thing he is learning is patience. He doesn't like it, but sometimes he realises there is no other option to get what he wants.

Slowly your sobs grow quieter. Outside the door there is another commotion. You feel him tense, but nobody enters. He relaxes and picks up a corner of the sheet and starts wiping your face, your eyes and now you start crying again but silently.

“Tell me,” he whispers.

You shake your head and you do not realise it but you are clinging to him now. He carries on wiping your face and rocking you gently.

He is quiet until he hears her breath hiccup and he knows she is ready to talk. She doesn’t see his eyes. He is learning, making them think they have his quiet side, his acquiescent side, the one that is currently asleep. She doesn’t see his metal fist which is curled up in on itself so tight. This is his woman, his property. They wouldn't tell him what was wrong but he is learning to play the game, he knows they have done something.

“Tell me,” he says.

And haltingly she does.

*

It has been another long day and the doctor is tired, but more than that he is annoyed for all the trouble the stupid woman has caused. How were they to know there would be complications? He isn't a gynaecologist. What does it matter? It's not as if they would ever allow the patient to breed. If it were up to Hydra, a lot more people wouldn't be allowed to either. He told Lehmann to get that old fool Jakobs to do it, but Lehmann had insisted he do it instead. Anyway, it all came right at the end.

He barrels into the changing room. He is going to change, go back to his rooms, and have a quiet evening. He opens his locker and reaches for his tie when he hears a movement behind him and turns. The door to the changing room closes in on him as the patient steps forward. Eyes blank.

“You shouldn't be in here. This is for doctors only!” The doctor is indignant, annoyed, and speaks to him like a subordinate, like a child.

He turns his back on him but then realises the patient hasn't moved, hasn't said a word, and he turns slowly back, a terrible feeling starting in his gut.

The patient is closer to him and his hand shoots out and grabs the doctor around the neck. The doctor feels the metal dig into his throat and his hands scrabble against the patient's arm. He is lifted off the floor and held against one of the locker doors. He tries to speak, but the pressure closes off his windpipe and then carries on getting tighter and tighter.

The patient's eyes now glow with an anger this man has never seen before. He gets in close, really close.

“You cut her,” he growls quietly, looking into the man's eyes.

The doctor is so frightened he wets himself. He can hear his heart beating loudly in his ears. He tries to shake his head, no. He may have done the operation but it was Lehmann that sanctioned it. He gurgles trying to talk, trying to breathe. The patient carries on squeezing, well beyond what he needs to, until he is holding a lifeless body.

The door bangs open and guards run in, shouting for him to let go of the doctor. He does and makes no effort to protect himself when one of the guards uses the end of his rifle to club him to his knees.

Doctor Lehmann is in the doorway. He sees the waste of a good mind, and he knows exactly what has happened. He is angry and tells the guards to take the patient away. “Lock him in...and make sure he stays there.”

As the patient is taken out he smiles his thin-lipped smile at Lehmann and, without realising it, seals his own fate.

*

Lehmann and Zola are arguing. Jakobs stands by, watching them.

“We need to wipe him now,” Lehmann snarls.

Zola is indecisive. “I'm not sure now is the time to. You are angry, and therefore you are doing it for the wrong reasons.”

“We have to do it some time!” Lehmann is adamant that he is going to get his way. He needs to sort this. Day after day...one more test after another. They are wasting time. They need to do it now. It is time.

“But the technology isn't ready yet. They haven't performed enough checks...” Jakobs looks at Zola, who won't meet his eyes.

Zola looks at Lehmann. “Be it on your own head.”

Lehmann turns to the other doctors.

“Wipe him.”

“But...” Jakobs tries to argue, but Lehmann has had enough.

“I said wipe him! And make her watch.” He blames her for what is his own fault.

“I don’t think there is any need for...” Jakobs starts, and Lehmann looks at him.

“Make her watch so she can see how vulnerable he is in our hands. Next time, she will learn to keep him at arm's length. We were stupid. We have made him reliant on her, and now look what's happened.”

He turns back to Zola. “We need to terminate her. To find someone else.”

“He needs a Constant. She must stay. It has to be her. We've been over this too many times already.”

Lehmann tries to argue further, but this time Zola's tone brokers no further argument on the matter. He is sick of it. Sick of arguing.

“Mores the pity.” Lehmann turns back to the doctors. “Wipe him, and make sure its deep.”

*

You are brought into the main room, hustled into the corner, and made to sit down on a chair. A guard stands next to you. Whatever it is they are going to do, you will not be allowed to interfere. You don’t know what is happening.

The patient is already sat in the master chair, his chest bare. There is machinery around him that you know is something to do with the wiping process, but they have not used it before and your heart goes to your mouth. Surely they are not going to wipe him? Not yet! The process isn't complete, it is still in the testing phase!

The patient doesn't see you. Someone leans over him and puts a mouth guard in, which he is told to bite down on. The chair begins to rotate and then the two bands of steel either side of the chair come up and over his arms so he cannot move. The rings have been reinforced.

The chair tilts back as two thick metal plates come up either side of his head. One moves to cover the left side of his face.

Everyone in the room is concentrating on the patient, but even so you cannot move out of the chair they have sat you in. If you do the guards have been told to shoot you.

There is a whining sound, and parts of the plates against his head start to glow. Suddenly he jerks in the seat and cries out. The whine starts to build and you want to put your hands over your ears to shut out the whine and the noise of his screams. Because that is what he is doing now, screaming as pain fills his whole head. His body is taut, cords standing out in his neck, his eyes are screwed shut and you can smell burning hair and flesh. His teeth have clamped down so hard on the mouth guard that afterwards they will not be able to reuse it and two of his back teeth have cracked.

Lehmann is there. Watching. Concentrating. He has so much riding on this.

One of the doctors goes to switch it off but Lehmann shakes his head.

“I told you to make the wipe deep! Turn the dial all the way up. ” he says and instead of switching the machine off they turn up the dial as instructed, they increase the pain.

One of the doctors wipes his brow, and you realise for the first time that Zola is not there.

The Winter Soldier is straining against the bindings which cut into his flesh. The pain is unbearable as he feels parts of his brain burnt away. He cannot escape. He is held tightly and there is nothing he can do. He can smell his own flesh burning, feel his mind being ripped apart. He alternates between the two identities, trying to escape: but neither of them can cope with it, neither of them can stop it.

He cannot take any more. His mind blacks out.

You don’t know how long it goes on for - it seems to never end - but one of the doctors is now dialling down the machine and the whine is decreasing.

The patient is unconscious. The chair returns to it normal position and the steel bands spring back - all but one. The one on his right arm has somehow become embedded in the flesh and cannot release itself. Blood is speckling the floor.

Lehmann moves forward and talks quietly to the doctors as they inspect the patient, inspect what the monitors are telling them. You cannot hear what they say, your ears are still humming from the sudden stillness in the room.

Lehmann then turns to you. He walks over, comes forward and leans right into your space. You look up at him. His hands are on the arms of your chair, you can smell his breath.

You lean back as far as you can.

“See what you have forced us to do? If you have any feelings whatsoever for that...thing, then you will do well to remember he is ours to do with as we like. You caused this, you and your stupidity. If you don’t want this happening again then remember you are just here to ground him and...” He sneers at you, “...service him, nothing else. You will not stop this project from going forward in any way or I will have you terminated. Is that clear?”

You can see from the look in his eyes and the way the other doctors are kowtowing to him that he has become a major player in Hydra, and that is frightening. The hatred in those eyes shows as a madness; this man lives and breathes power and Hydra, and nothing will ever stand in his way.

“I said, is that clear?” His voice stays low but the menace in it is real.

You nod. You feel so scared you can't speak. He stands up and faces the doctors and guards, all of whom are now staring at him.

“And what are you looking at?” He demands. “Get everything sorted and back on track…fix that for next time,” he says pointing to the band. “And then get him back to his room and stabilised. Let me know the minute he comes around.” His voice carries authority and anger, a terrible combination.

He leaves the room.

For a second, nobody moves - until a groan is heard and everyone turns back to the patient. He is struggling to regain consciousness, but they cannot allow him to yet. They start scurrying around and you are released from the fear that has held you in check.

The guards allow you up so you can help; after all, you are a nurse. The band that was embedded is still trying to come loose; they forgot to disengage it and the band of metal comes away with a loud sucking noise.

“Oh hell!” you hear one of the doctors say.

“Hypo!” yells another. They will need to keep him out, keep him unconscious until they can release him and get him out of there. Until they are ready for him to wake up.

*

Later, in his office. Lehmann closes the file. Perhaps this time everything turned out for the best. It forced their hand, made them use the wipe. He is sure that when the Winter Soldier wakes he will be one personality now. The brain waves they were following seem to infer that something had happened and when Fennhoff saw the readings he was very pleased.

Lehmann congratulates himself on the good call on his part not to tell the woman what the complication was; that she was two months pregnant when they sterilised her. They hadn't realised.

Best, he thinks, that she, or the Winter Soldier, never find out.

*

That night Doctor Jakobs pays a visit to the furnace room. He is allowed anywhere in the complex but it is better if no one sees he is here.

He carries a small wooden box. Inside something is nestled between two layers of cotton wool. It is the only thing he could find for the job.

He starts as someone comes up behind him, but it is only Stefan.

Stefan helps open the furnace door and holds up the shovel so the blade is balanced. Gently, and with reverence, Jakobs lays the little box down on it.

Lehmann had ordered tests to be done on the fetus the next day. He wants to know if the serum is present in the remains.

Jakobs will not let that happen.

Hydra have taken both James and Freya apart, taken their lives away from them. He will not allow anything to happen to their dead child.

“She must never find out,” he says.

Stefan places the shovel blade into the fire and as gently as he can, he puts the box down on the burning coals and then removes the shovel. Then he closes the door.

They both silently say a prayer.

“When did we become such monsters?” Jakobs says before they leave but Stefan knows it is not a question.

It does not need a reply. 

Chapter Text

After The Wipe

Part One

The Constant - After The Wipe

The patient is unconscious.

They have moved him back to a special room made for containing him. It has been set up as a medical facility, and has been outfitted with precautions such as straps on the single bed, panic alarms, telephones, and two guards outside.

You sit by his bedside.

This is the first time they have used this technology on him and they are worried; you can see it in their eyes. Jakobs has told you about the poor bastards they have tested it on already, that they were left as gibbering idiots or catatonic and had to be put down with a single bullet between the eyes. You know that it is your fault they have used the wipe earlier than they intended to. If only you had not told him what they had done to you. You blame yourself.

You always blame yourself.

This machine used for the wipe is an amazing piece of technology. Thankfully, it had already been at the end of its testing phase and was calibrated to the Winter Soldier's brain waves. Lehmann was the one who has ordered it. He took full responsibility, and he recognised that this was a make or break moment for both him and the patient. But he was confident it would work.

And he was right.

The other doctors had wanted to start with a basic run, baby steps, but Lehmann insisted they went the whole way first time: a complete wipe. No one can tell the damage at present. His arm is bandaged where the arm band sunk into his flesh in his need to escape the pain but it is already healing. There was blood from his nose and ears but you have wiped that clean. The doctors do not expect there to be any other problems with the bleeding inside the brain as the lasers have burnt and cauterised the flesh. The slight burns on the side of his face and in his hair are almost completely healed.

They have decided to allow the Winter Soldier to wake in his own time. It is out of their hands. They cannot force it.

The door has been left open, and the doctors have been in and out all day. Lehmann is like a cat on a hot tin roof, demanding regular updates. All you have been able to tell them so far is he is still sleeping, twitching occasionally as if in a dream state.

The Winter Soldier is strapped to the bed. They cannot guarantee that when he wakes up he will not still retain the two personalities, and if so which one will be in charge. They don’t want to take any chances. All of their hopes are riding on the possibility that they will have combined.

And what will that make him to you?

You are watching him when his eyes open, but only because you spotted his hand curling on the bed. You press the buzzer by the bedside, stand up, and put your hand on his shoulder.

"Its all right. You're okay." you say quietly, but when you look into his eyes you draw back slightly. At first you think it is the second personality - you think there is anger there and it takes you a few moments to realise it is not. This man looks at you a slight frown on his face. Looks at your hand. Unconsciously you take it away.

He doesn't seem to know you, not in the way he should.

He tries to move and sees that he can't, and his focus is back on you.

"Why am I being held down?" His voice is strange, cold, and it feels like someone has walked over your grave. He spoke in Russian. You try and remain calm, try not to let your discomfort show on your face.

"Do you now where you are?" you ask. You don't recognise either personality in him.

He looks at the straps and starts to flex his arms, then he looks back at you. "Release these."

"I can't," you say. There is something wrong here. You don't feel you know this man, the look on his face, his eyes, his movements.

He ignores you and flexes again, then with concentration pulls forward and the straps start to give.

You take a step back.

The doctors are just coming in. They see what is happening, and one calls for the guards who come in with stun rifles. The straps have broken and he has swung around to sit on the side of the bed; it is obvious that he feels dizzy with nausea. He is dressed as he was in the main room, bare chest, trousers, bare feet.

He sits there for a while, head down, eyes closed, hands gripping the side of the bed. You need to do something.

“Drink this. It may help.” you say. You pass him the cup of water on the bedside table, he looks at it for a moment. “It's just water.”

He studies you then takes it and drinks it straight down.

You take the empty cup and and he stands. You step forward to help but he ignores you. He doesn't seem violent; he is just trying to get his bearings. You turn to the chair and pick up one of his tee shirts and then pass it to him to put on. Whilst he is pulling it down, Doctor Lehmann comes in and steps forward. The patient looks at him.

He seems to recognise authority when he sees it.

"What happened? Where am I?" he asks Lehmann.

"What do you remember?" Lehmann asks cautiously, glancing at you yet ready to step back if necessary.

The two guards stand by, rifles ready. The Winter Soldier glances at them and then away. It is obvious from his reaction he feels they are of no danger to him.

Lehmann thinks that Fennhoff must have been right; their plan seems to have worked. Fennhoff had said that a full wipe would combine the personalities and looking at the man in front of him he believes that is what has happened. You see a triumphant look on his face and it makes you shudder.

The patient looks at you. You can see you are familiar to him but you are not important. He has judged and dismissed you already; he doesn't think you can tell him what he needs to know.

Lehmann turns around to you. "You can go now," he says.

You look at the Winter Soldier, almost as if asking for permission. He just stares at you. Nothing. You do not know what to say.

"I said you can go now, nurse...we do not need you at this point." Lehmann repeats and indicates to one of the guards to take you out. As you leave you look over your shoulder; you see the patient lean forward, Lehmann talking to him quietly, and then the guard closes the door and you are alone in the corridor.

You walk back to your room. It seems so cold and uninviting without him there. You sit on the edge of the bed and your mind is in turmoil. When Lehmann said they didn't need you, you wonder if he was going to add the words any more.

This new Winter Soldier's eyes were cold, dead. No, worse than that; he looked at you as if you meant nothing to him. His feelings are dead and that is what they wanted, that is what happened when he was wiped. You remember as they turned up the dial making you watch the agony he went through, he may not remember you but you remember everything. You feel empty and tired and worn out. You curl up on the bed, trying not to think, hoping to lose yourself in sleep, but you can't. Memories of the field camp, of James, of your parents, your life, all whirl around in your head and you think you are going to go mad.

Later, when you cannot stand your own company any longer, you try to leave your room only to find a guard blocking your way. He tells you that for the rest of today you must stay in there - Lehmann's orders. A meal is delivered at midday, and then later in the evening but you barely touch them. The hours drag by until finally you give in and go to bed. You spend a restless night wondering what is going to happen.

The next day you see no one but the guard outside and he will tell you nothing. No one comes to tell you what is happening. You try to go to see one of the doctors, but again you find that the guard on duty will not let you anywhere. When you say you would like to go to the canteen he refuses and says your meals will be delivered. He has his orders to keep you contained. The day passes slowly.

That evening, Lehmann brings the Winter Soldier back to you.

You are startled when the door opens and they enter. Lehmann tells him these are his quarters, and he introduces you with a smirk on his face. He explains to the Winter Soldier that you will fulfil all his needs, and by all he means anything and everything.

Then he leaves him with you, and for the first time in your life you want to ask Lehmann to stay. You do not want to be left with this stranger. You feel sick and unsettled, you find yourself wishing you had made an effort to change your clothes, wash your hair. It would have given you more confidence to return the stranger's stare.

The door closes behind Lehmann with what seems like a final click, and you are alone with him. Alone with the stranger.

The Winter Soldier looks around, and then looks at you, and at first you think he is going to complain. He looks you up and down his gaze lingering on your body and you can hear him in your mind - they expect me to sleep with this? You find yourself trying to smooth your skirt down.

He turns and looks around the room. You step to his side and try to explain where things are, but your voice sounds high pitched, as if it is not your own, and things seem surreal. He walks to the kitchen area and fetches a glass of water to drink. You watch as he does. He puts the glass down turns and catches you watching. You know you are blushing at being caught, and you try to stutter something, try to smile again.

“I can telephone down and get a meal for you, if you like, or I can make you something light.”

But he just pushes past you and makes his way to the bathroom closing the door behind him. You look around the room. What do you do now? You look quickly in the mirror; you are a mess. You straighten your clothes, and even undo another button on your blouse...then decide that made you look like a loose woman and re-button it again. You quickly undo your plait and brush your hair out, then, undecided, you loop it back as a ponytail. It doesn't seem to make any difference. You want to look good for him.

You want him to like you.

Just how stupid are you?

When he comes back out you try to talk to him again about his schedule, about how it is arranged. You watch his eyes travel over your body, and again you find yourself wishing you looked more appealable, had taken more care over your appearance. But then he reaches out and takes hold of you roughly, pulls you over to the bed, and with absolutely no feeling, he fucks you. No words. He is harsh and uncompromising. You are there just for release, nothing else. That is all he wants from you. All he takes from you; that, and any sense of worth you had built up after the months of being by his side.

When he is finished with you, he leaves without a word. All you are here for is this and to make his life easier by ensuring he has everything he needed.

Everything.

You lie on the bed, close your eyes, and can still feel his hands pulling your clothes off as you had not undressed fast enough, feeling your body. No caresses, just roughness. You touched him back but he looked at you in such a way that in the end you just did what he wanted, opened your legs and tried to think of something else. He hadn't even undressed; no passion, nothing. You’re surprised he didn't leave cash on the bedside table when he left. You laugh bitterly to yourself in the empty room.

This is their Winter Soldier, not yours.

In the days that follow you understand you are still to share a room, but they put in an extra bed. It is a single one and no one tells you why. You can't help but wonder if the request was his. It is tucked away in the corner so you would have somewhere to sleep on the nights he didn't want you in his bed, and for afterwards when he made it obvious you were only in his bed for one thing.

He still has nightmares, though. He wakes not knowing what is chasing him, angry, rough with you as if they were your fault, as if trying to prove to someone that they don’t scare him. He uses you to take his mind off them, then sends you back to your own cold bed. Finished with, dismissed.

Your days are spent ensuring everything is running smoothly. Making sure he has his meals, his clothes, ensuring he is where he should be at the right times, setting up a timetable with Lehmann and with his trainers. The doctors use the timetable to book their time with him: more tests, more blood works. He follows it religiously, never questions what they are doing to him, what they are training him for.

You give them no reason to wipe him again.

One day it is languages in the morning and gun training in the afternoon; fight training the next. He rarely shares his showers with you now, but when you do see him naked his body is bruised and battered until one day you realise there is not a mark on him. He is becoming the Winter Soldier. They cannot catch him.

His personality is cold. He is just interested in one thing: how to become a better soldier, a better killing machine. No softness, only hardness.

You notice a subtle change in the way the guards and other soldiers react to him. They are more wary, but there is a respect there. He talks with Marinov and if he asks for something to be done it is done. The powers to be may control him but he is beginning to take control of the soldiers and guards in the small unit. Some of them will be the ones chosen to travel and fight with him. They will all learn to depend on one another in the field, but here at the facility they will never totally trust him. They cannot beat him now: he is too fast. You know that soon, very soon, they will think about the next step, programming.

He has one feeling that overrides his wipe. His anger. He has difficulty controlling it but you think you may be the only one to have noticed this. You are wary of mentioning it to Lehmann in case he demands another wipe and although the Winter Soldier is not James he is your only link to him and you promised him he would never be alone. You are an intensely loyal person and take your promises seriously. You will not leave him unless it is his choice and his alone.

On occasion he has problems with his metal arm. On those days he is cranky and you are more likely to be forced onto your knees in the shower to service him - or worse, face to the wall, taken from behind so he doesn't have to look at you. You know the pain the arm can cause him but he does not allow you near to comfort him. That is not what you are there for. He is the Winter Soldier, he is allowed no comfort and would not want it anyway.

It does not occur to you that your treatment is unfair. You blame yourself for everything.

And then the day comes when he is to be taken into the field and tested. They load up the trucks and take him away with his team. You do not see him for three days, and when he returns he is tired but victorious. Six dead men are unloaded from the back of the truck, their bodies conveniently lost - six men who got too close even though this was just supposed to be field training.

Their Winter Soldier is ready.

That night he is in the shower and you know he may be sent on a mission soon. You have missed him. You need him, you want to be close to him - but he hasn't sought you out.

You take your life in your hands and seek him out instead.

As he comes back into your room he is still getting dressed. You stand in front of him and try to ask him if you can sleep with him tonight but you stutter. He goes to walk around you as if you are not there but you take hold of his arm. He looks at your hand and then at you and pulls away. The expression is a sneer but you can see, he may not be interested but his body is.

You want him to react to you, even if it just his anger; you are desperate, reckless, and slap him hard across the face. He stares at you as if he cannot believe what you just did. You raise your hand again but this time he is ready for you and you find your arms gripped tightly; you are turned around and then thrown to the floor. But you are not giving up that easy. You are close to being hysterical, all your fears and doubts are crowding your mind and you to feel angry, angry for all that has happened to you, all that has been taken away from you. You get up and charge at him.

This time he catches your arms and laughs at you. At your feeble attempts to hurt him. You are shouting, asking him if he isn't man enough to take you on. The grin is wiped from his face and he growls, pushing you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed. Then he releases you and you fall back. He is looking at you but then turns to walk away. You can see he wants you. Why won't he just admit it?

What can you say? What can you do to stop him from leaving? You are reckless, too reckless, you don't consider what you are saying, you want to hurt him. All the time on your own, all the time without seeing any sign of James, your safety, your life means nothing to you any more.

“I suppose they haven't covered that in your training have they? How to fuck properly.” You say before you can help yourself.

He turns around slowly and the expression on his face shows you have gone to far.

He is over to you in two paces and strikes you as hard as he can. Then, grabbing you by the hair he moves you off the the bed throwing you against the wall and you fall down hard. Your lip splits and starts to bleed and you think you may have broken ribs.

You have lost your Winter Soldier. There is nothing of him left. But this one has not finished with you.

He grabs you by the hair again and pulls you up and shakes you hard. He is so angry, frustration driving him on.

“Don't ever talk to me like that again, you whore!” Spittle lands on your face and you can see that he is ready to kill you. His eyes are wild, cords of muscle stand out on his neck. He is so pumped with adrenaline that you think you know how those six dead men felt just before they died. His metal hand takes you around the throat and he begins squeezing slowly. You struggle but he is so strong that he actually lifts you off the ground and you see sparks of light around your vision.

You can hear a loud pounding in your head and then suddenly you are not being held any more and you fall to the ground at his feet, choking and gulping in deep breathes of air. Your neck feels crushed.

He crouches down next to you and again takes your hair in his hand and pulls your head back so he can look at you.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks. His grip tightens and you don’t understand.

“No one,” you try to say but it comes out as a whisper.

“Who the fuck are you? Why did they give you to me?” He is so angry he is snarling and you are sure he is going to tear the hair out of your scalp.

He studies you and slowly you can see the anger start to ebb away. His grip starts to relax and he lets go. You fall to the floor on your back, sobbing. You ache all over, both your body and your soul.

He stands up and just keeps looking at you. Nothing shows in his face now, you don’t know what he is thinking.

As if to prove you are nothing to him, he puts one booted foot on your rib cage and presses down. You can't breathe again, pain flares throughout your body. He moves his foot up your chest, watching you gasp for breath, then up further until it rests on your throat. One more move and he will crush your windpipe. Your hands scrabble to try to move his foot away.

Then, as though he can't be bothered with you any more, he takes his foot away. The pressure is relieved and he is gone. You lay there panting, trying to get your breath back. Trying not to think of the way he looked at you, the way there was no recognition or want in his gaze.

You are nothing to anyone any more.

That night he comes back when it is dark. You are in your own bed but you are not asleep; you keep your eyes closed and pretend you are. You hear him come into the room and he comes over to the bed where you lay.

He doesn't move for what seems an eternity. You can hear his breathing. You want to reach out to him and ask him into your bed but you no longer believe he wants you and if you react to him maybe it will just result in another beating. You couldn't cope with that. You couldn't cope with the person who was once James doing those things to you.

Finally he turns and goes to his own bed and you hear the springs of the mattress as lays down.

Neither of you sleeps well that night. 

 Part Two 

The Winter Soldier - After The Wipe

He pretends to still be asleep and listens to what is going on in the room.

He cannot remember anything and tries to determine where he is, and what is happening. He is strapped down to a bed. Surprisingly he feels calm, and senses someone close to him. A woman. She rarely leaves his side and he hears her murmuring to other people who come in and out of the room.

Slowly some form of memory starts to return. He is a soldier and he is in some kind of facility, not a hospital as he first thought. He flexes his hands: one flesh, one metal, both strong. The metal hand curls and he opens his eyes. The light in the room is fairly subdued but he still blinks once or twice.

The woman is by his side. She stands up and says something to him, touching his shoulder. He knows her...but doesn't know how. He can see that the look he gives her causes some alarm and she removes her hand quickly.

He tries to sit up but there are straps holding him down. There is not much pressure, and he tells the woman to release them and feels a slight annoyance when she refuses. He flexes against the restraints and then, pushing hard, sits up and they break.

Did they really think those would hold him?

Guards come running in together with several other people but he ignores them. It is a pretence; he is working out how many there are and who could be dangerous as he sits on the edge of the bed. In truth he also feels unbalanced and realises the woman is holding out a cup of water which he takes after a small hesitation and drains, wiping his mouth after with his wrist. She then hands him a black tee shirt which he puts on. As he does so he notices a bandage on his right arm, the skin underneath it feels tight. He dismisses it, it is not important.

Another man comes in. He somehow recognises him but cannot remember his name. It is obvious this is the man in charge by the way the others withdraw slightly; all except the woman. It feels as though she wants to protect him from this man. He doesn't need a woman’s protection, he knows he could kill them all without even breaking into a sweat.

His head is painful but as he remains sitting it starts to clear, and the water has helped. He feels that for some reason his head hasn't been this clear in a long while and he wonders if he has been ill. He can see the guards are nervous by the way they keep their rifles trained on him.

The man asks him a question and he focuses his attention on him. He is definitely not a military man; he looks more like a politician, but it is obvious the power lies with him. He looks again at the woman. She is standing watching him, watching his reactions. She looks nervous, but not of him. The man turns to look at her and tells her she can go. She turns to look at him as if asking for permission and again he tries to grasp the memory that he knows who she is but it is too fleeting. In the end he ignores her and returns his attention to the man. A guard steps forwards and takes her arm, she has to leave and they close the door behind her.

“What do you remember?” The man asks him again.

He studies him for a moment. “Not an awful lot,” he admits. He needs to find out more, and this is the man who can tell him.

The man nods, looking thoughtful but pleased, and he tells the Soldier to sit down. He will come to discover that Lehmann doesn't like him looming over him. With him sat down on the edge of the bed they are on more of an equal level.

“Let me give you the shortened version first and then we will discuss more. My name is Doctor Lehmann and I am the director of this facility.”

The soldier nods to show he is following.

“You are a soldier and you have been...unwell. You have no rank, no name. You are just known as the Winter Soldier and nothing else. Do you understand.”

The soldier nods again, finding the name familiar.

“You work for us, and we are part of an organisation called Hydra. They have sponsored you and given you that new arm. Hydra are the ones who are giving you this chance to make a difference to the world, to make it a better place. You report directly to me and no one else. If you have any questions you ask me, no one else. Do you understand?”

The Winter Soldier blinks hard as a memory hits him and for a minute he thinks he is going to pass out. Something to do with a train going at high speed, a blond man shouting at him...the blond man looks upset. He shakes his head, trying to clear it.

“Do you understand?” Lehmann repeats.

The memory is gone and the soldier nods his head, rubbing a hand over his face.

Lehmann studies him for a moment, then turns.

“Come with me. We have a lot to discuss.”

The soldier stands and there is a moment of dizziness. “Where am I?” he asks, and Lehmann turns back to him.

“That is not relevant. I will tell you what you need to know and what you don’t need to know is of no concern to you.” With that, Lehmann leaves the room and the Winter Soldier follows.

As they walk down the corridor he again senses the guards' fear of him. His head is clear now and he feels a strength in his body that makes him feel as though he is invincible. As he walks he tries to grasp the memory he had of the train but it fails to develop. Maybe that is the accident Director Lehmann mentioned? If it is important, he guesses that Lehmann will tell him so for now he puts it out of his mind.

Lehmann spends the afternoon filling the Winter Soldier in on what Hydra is trying to do and what part he is to play in the grand scheme of things. He is to be the fist of Hydra, coming down hard on their enemies, clearing the playing board until only their own troops are left. He will work with a small team and although the Winter Soldier will be under orders, he will be responsible for each mission that he and his team are sent on. There will be a team leader whom he will work with. He will be taught all he needs to know from arms training to languages to world politics when and if it it is needed.

Lehmann then gives him a tour of the facility, but only on the levels he will use. They do not go to the surface. Lehmann explains there is still work for them to do with him before they can initiate him and send him on his first mission. There will be times when he is kept in cryo freeze, thereby extending his lifespan and enabling him to continue with his future as Hydra's main asset.

He does not question anything. He is a soldier. He obeys orders. His life belongs to them.

Towards the end of the day, after they have eaten, he is taken to a room filled with machinery, computers, and in the centre a huge chair surrounded by monitors. Again there is a familiarity in all that he is seeing. He will remain there for the rest of the night as they test his arm and assess his mind and body. Lehmann will see him again the next day to continue where they left off.

The doctors who work on him that night barely speak to him. He is subjected to pain and discomfort, but he does not say a word. His mind and his body belongs to them he knows that, he has no rights with these people. At the end of the testing he is tired and still in pain but he accepts it all without any complaint.

He is the Winter Soldier.

They allow him to sleep on a cot in the room for a couple of hours before they wake him to continue, and by the time Lehmann comes back for him next day they have finished.

They can find no problems. Lehmann's gamble has worked. He is one mind. He is theirs.

Again the Soldier spends most of the next day with Lehmann learning about Hydra. He believes everything he is told. When the day is coming to an end, Lehmann tells him he will take him back to his quarters.

These he will share with a woman.

“The one who was with me when I woke up?”

“Yes, that one. She is your Constant. She will be with you whenever we wake you from cryo-freeze as you seem to have some connection with her.”

“I don’t understand.”

Lehmann feels like saying he doesn't either, but instead he tells the Winter Soldier the story he has concocted.

“She is a nurse who was assigned to you when you were injured, and somehow you seem to find being around her calms you. We decided to let her remain with you but if at any time you would like us to...get rid of her just say the word and she will be gone.”

For the first time in the two days the Winter Soldier feels something. Panic? The thought of them getting rid of her for some reason makes him feel sick, and his heart begins to beat faster. None of this shows on the surface; somehow he knows not to admit to it.

Lehmann continues, totally unaware of the ball of fear that has just hit the Winter Soldier.

“For the time being, we will use her. When you come out of cryo freeze, you are confused and with your strength you have the ability to hurt a lot of people. We have found that, if she is with you, then you seem to regain your...directives faster. It saves a lot of time, so for now she will remain with you. I should warn you that although she is a nurse she does appear to be...how can I describe her...well there is no easy way. She is a woman of loose morals.”

The Winter Soldier stops in his tracks. He finds what Lehmann says confusing. Up until that last piece of information he was thinking how Lehmann said he had been in cryo freezing before, yet he does not remember. The thought that the woman is not for his use only makes the ball of fear start to turn to anger.

“I still don’t understand,” he says slowly.

Lehmann smiles at him. “She is a whore. I don’t know how else to describe her behaviour with you and other men in the past. She will belong to you and whatever you decide is to be done with her will be your call; no one will interfere, but I think you will have no problems with her sharing your bed to keep you warm at night.”

Other men. What does he mean by other men?

A well of jealousy and anger fills the Winter Soldier and he is shocked at how strong the feeling is. He struggles to keep it hidden from Lehmann. Subconsciously he knows Lehmann would not be happy with him having any feelings except those that will make him a better soldier, a better killing machine.

As they draw nearer to where his quarters are, the anger continues to build in him. He remembers the woman from when he awoke. He remembers how she looked at him...and all the time she was probably just there so she could flirt with the guards and the other men coming in and out of the room.

By the time they get to his room and he is introduced to the woman, he is finding it difficult to keep focused, to remain civil. Lehmann leaves them alone.

The Soldier and The Whore. What else is he going to use her for?

She tries to explain to him about where things are, his clothes, his rota, what he will be doing the next day, how his meals will be provided but all he can do is watch her move: her long legs, how her blouse tightens over her breasts when she moves. He watches her mouth, wide and generous, big eyes that draw him in and make him feel a warmth spreading in his belly and groin. Lehmann said she was his. His hand comes up and he touches her hair; she has it drawn back in a pony tail, and it is soft and luxurious. He has a memory of drawing it through his hand and seeing the colours in it. His grip tightens, and she tries to draw away but he isn't going to let her.

He is a soldier and she is a whore. What else would he want from her? She can see it in his eyes and feel it in his body when he pushes against her. She touches his face but his eyes are cold and she stumbles over her words, nervous for some reason. How many men has she slept with? How many men does she still sleep with? She is his, and his alone, and he needs to remind her of that. He starts to hurt her, starts to pull at her clothing, pushing her to lie down on the bed and forcing her legs open.

He refuses to acknowledge the look of betrayal in her eyes as he bruises her flesh, bites her, his nails scratching in their haste to possess her. She barely makes a sound. He closes his eyes as he pounds into her, feeling the heat spread throughout his body. Feeling the burst as he empties himself into her and at the last moment covering her mouth with his so she can't breathe; so she struggles and finally cries out.

Then afterwards, seeing those eyes watching him. Unshed tears as she moves away from him. He has to get away from her otherwise he will kill her, will strangle that pretty neck, ruin her face, break her bones until she begs him to stop. Until she can no longer say anything. Until she is lying dead at his feet. He doesn’t want that.

The fear suddenly of her not being there making him feel sick again.

He needs to get out and he does. He leaves the room, feet pounding down the corridor until he reaches the end of the tunnel. Where can he go? Where can he outrun the image of her face? Down the stairs to the floor that houses the gym and out onto the track laid around the equipment, running as if something is chasing after him, and for the first time since he has woken up he feels fear, not of her, not of them, but of himself.

When he has exhausted himself, he doesn't return to their room and instead crashes out on the cot in the main room. No one questions why he is there; he has to have some space to find his own way, his own volition as this will make him more pliable, more accepting of his fate.

In the morning he returns to their room. She is there and he can see the marks he has left on her. He doesn't speak, he doesn't ask her if she is all right even though a small part of him wants to. Whenever he tries to think about her, tries to remember the previous times he has spent with her his head begins to ache and images go by too quick to catch.

So instead he focuses on what Lehmann has told him about her, and lets his anger dictate his actions. He grabs clean clothes and heads off for the shower room. When he returns food is waiting for him. He still doesn't acknowledge her.

He can see she doesn't know what to do, she wants to talk to him, wants to touch him, but she doesn't come near. In the end she lets his mood dictate their time together. She places a copy of his timetable in front of him whilst he is eating and he pretends to concentrate on that. It shows what and where he is expected to be. She tells him when his next meal will be here and at what time. He doesn't say a word. Then he leaves her, he feels sick inside and doesn't know why.

Who is she, and why does she have such an affect on him if all she is is a whore?

Before heading to where he is supposed to be, he first calls in on Lehmann and asks for another bed to be placed in their room. Lehmann is surprised and offers him his own room if his isn't right, but the Winter Soldier refuses. He just wants a single bed in addition to his to be put in and doesn't give a reason even though it is obvious he has one.

The bed will be her protection. Somewhere for her to go when he has hurt her because he knows he will, he knows he will not let her go: she is his, his possession, and she is going to need a safe place away from him and this is all he will allow her.

“Would you like me to find you another female?” Lehmann asks.

“No! No...there is no need for that.”

And Lehmann smiles to himself; always happy to control the fate of others.

Training begins and the Winter Soldier is glad. He can forget about her and concentrate on learning. Some of the training is brutal. None of the instructors pull their punches and he returns to their quarters bloodied and bruised. The way she looks at him, he can see pity - no not pity - worry for him. She tries to help, tries to see to his injuries but he will not let her near him.

Not until the nightmares start.

At night he sleeps deeply. The constant training and learning takes its toll and usually he falls into bed most nights and sleeps until morning, but recently his dreams are turning into nightmares that he can never remember afterwards. He cries out in his sleep, only to be woken by her telling him everything is all right, her soft hand stroking his forehead, telling him he is safe and often just holding him until he stops sweating, his heart stops racing. And then he turns to her to stop them from taking hold of him again. He is rough with her, wants to bury himself in her, take everything she has to offer and then afterwards he feels shame for the way he has been and anger that she makes him feel that way. He does not allow her to stay with him instead he pushes her out, makes her go back to her own bed, frightened that if she stays so close to him he will become dependant on her, but more frightened he will hurt her badly.

Lehmann asks him how he is getting on, watches some of the training sessions, schedules in tests and keeps an eye on his most prized possession. He sometimes asks him how things are with the Constant; he rarely uses her name and the Winter Soldier has never uttered it.

Lehmann is devious. He doesn't want any cosiness to develop between the soldier and his whore so he feeds him little lies. Asks him why she was with the guards when he wasn't there, has he noticed she is wearing a particularly low blouse? Or did he know she had been after one of the doctors? Asking if he the Winter Soldier can't control his woman? And Lehmann enjoys the look of jealousy and anger he creates in his prize. Keeps him from getting complacent, gives him something to feed his anger on, makes him a more dangerous weapon.

The Winter Soldier is taken on a three day training field trip. It is his first time up top out in the open and the feel of the sun on his face warms him, breathing in fresh air makes him feel strong. Adrenalin pumps through his body, setting him on edge, making him ready to kill, gives him a sense of what is to come. As a result he takes it too seriously. So seriously they end up with six dead men.

He returns to the facility, tired but fulfilled. Lehmann is ecstatic and so are his trainers. He is ready, they can move onto the next level.

They can begin to programme him.

He is debriefed. Asked how he feels, encouraged to know he has done well, this is what they want of him. But the team leader, who himself hails from America, has drawn Lehmann to one side. He was told to watch The Winter Soldier closely and he had. There were moments when the Winter Soldier was distracted, as if he was trying to remember something. Sometimes he spoke in Russian but often as not in American with a Brooklyn accent. And on one of the nights they heard him talk in his sleep. The words were disjointed but worrying. The Winter Soldier had asked him about the woman, what the story was behind her being there. Had become angry when one of the other men had talked about her with disrespect.

It is clear that programming is needed. The clock is already ticking.

Just before he is sent back to his quarters Lehmann tells him they can start the next part of his training and he can then be considered for his first mission. “I'll let you go. I expect your Constant will be glad to see you...although I don’t think she's been too lonely whilst you have been away.”

As he walks back to his room he slows. What did Lehmann mean exactly? What has she been up to? Has he not made it clear that she is his and his alone?

He walks into the room and startles her. She clearly did not know he was back; no one keeps her updated with what is happening. The look on her face when she sees him is contrary to what Lehmann has said. She looks more than pleased to see him, reaches out to touch him. All he can think of is her touching other men. It makes him feel ill and he ignores her, fetches clean clothes and goes straight to shower. He tries to ignore the look on her face as he walks past her, she looks genuinely upset. He doesn't know how she has cried herself to sleep every night, how she hasn't been able to eat properly, how she was so frightened he wouldn't come back.

When he returns to the bedroom he is still pulling on his shirt, his hair is damp and he feels bone-tired. His metal arm has been playing up and he will need to get it recalibrated, but that can wait until tomorrow. He closes the door and she is there, he can smell her perfume. Her hair is loose and she has undone the first few buttons of her blouse, he can see her cleavage and he feels himself hardening.

She talks softly asking him if he will allow her to share his bed tonight. She looks so shy, so innocent. He tries to walk past her and she touches his arm, he can feel her cool hand on his hot skin and he wants her more than he can say but Lehmann's words are still on his mind and he pulls away from her.

Totally out of the blue she slaps him hard around the face.

“Why won't you talk to me? Why won't you touch me?” she cries, and tries to hit his chest but he is quicker and pushes her away from him. He forgets his own strength and she falls. She doesn't stay down. She scrambles back up and comes at him again, and he cannot help but find that funny. How does she think she is going to hurt him? He could kill her so easily.

“Why don’t you want me? Not man enough to be able to satisfy me?” She is getting hysterical now he can see it in the over brightness of her eyes, in the way she clenches her fists, so small against his own.

He hears her words and somehow it takes the humour away and he grabs her arms, pushing her back until the bed stops them both and then he pushes her away and she falls back onto it. He backs away; he needs to, otherwise he will take her savagely, hurting her more than ever before.

“I suppose they haven't covered that in your training have they. How to fuck properly?” She taunts him, and the room goes silent as he turns around and looks at her. Unknown to her his head has started to hurt, whenever he thinks about her the pain starts until it is so bad he thinks his mind is going to split.

His anger is explosive. He grabs her by the hair and pulls her up and smashes her into the wall, growling at her. “Don't you ever talk to me like that again, you whore!”

His face is so close to hers. He watches as her eyes widen and then his hand is around her throat not just squeezing but picking her up and slamming her again into the wall. She can't breathe, she is struggling. In his rage he is going to kill her, get her out of his life, out of his mind.

He shakes her, sees her eyelids flutter and then drops her just before it is too late. He is trembling. He crouches down and pulls her head back. “Who the fuck are you?”

She can barely talk and his grip tightens and he asks her again. “Why did they give you to me?”

He lets her go and stands up and watches as she lies there trying to find the strength to move. His anger is ebbing away and being replaced by coldness. It starts in his balls and works its way up. Kill her and be done with it.

He places his booted foot on her rib cage and presses down. She can't breathe. He moves his foot up pressing a little harder until it is on her throat. Her hands scrabble trying to move it off. There is a roaring in his ears - then it hits him, the utter loss as if she were already dead. The roaring disappears and he sees her lips have gone blue, her hands are falling away, and he takes his foot off her neck just in time.

Blood is trickling down from her lip, which is split, her eyes are bloodshot, and he can see the dark bruises already around her throat and neck where he tried to strangle her. She is a mess. She starts to sob again, her sobs hiccuping as she tries to take in large breaths and he knows he will not kill her - not tonight. He can't lose her.

He turns and walks out of the room and he ensures he doesn't return until after she has gone to sleep.

He enters the room quietly, slipping of his boots and then walking over to her bed. She is curled up and he believes she is fast asleep. He doesn't see her clenched fists under the covers, doesn't hear her prayers that he won't hurt her.

How can she affect him so deeply? Who is she? Why when he sees her like this can he not believe the things Director Lehmann tells him about her? He wants to wake her, uncover her. Take her to his own bed and slowly and gently make love to her. His whole body is crying out for hers, he wants her there in his bed, curled up with him, looking to him for protection.

Slowly he turns and walks to his bed. Without getting undressed he lays on top of it.

He doesn't sleep well that night.

Chapter Text

The Constant & The Winter Soldier - Programming

Now that he is just one unified personality, it is simple to complete his training. He has been tested out in the field and he is ready. There is just one more hurdle to go before they can assign him a mission.

Programming.

They need to address this soon as they are seeing indications that the Winter Soldier is beginning to care about his Constant, beginning to question certain things. That will not do.

That is not what Hydra wants.

This is something that will be done with only Lehmann, Elise and Peter present. With the exception of Johann Fennhoff and Zola, no one else is even allowed into the programming suite or permitted any knowledge of how the programming is done. Even the original doctors are not told anything.

No one knows what goes on in those rooms. There are always two guards outside and the doors are firmly locked and bolted. But the locked doors do not shut out everything. The guards can still hear the Winter Soldier's screams.

Director Lehmann oversees it all.

The programming is done in layers. Some will remain the same each time, some will change depending on the mission.

Layer One

Lehmann begins with the reinforcement of the values he has taught the Winter Soldier. These are important; these are to reiterate where his loyalties lay. Hydra are his masters. He is no one, he has no past, no identity, he belongs to them and his only purpose is to serve them. He is to work for them and only them.

He is helping to create a better world.

Lehmann's word counteracts all others, and most importantly a safe word  to be followed by a phrase  is embedded into his deepest memories. This will deactivate and reset him. It is for their safety. This layer continually tells him his overall mission in life. He is to have no feelings other than those to help him fulfil his mission.

Those are not the only words they will programme in. There will be a set of words that when spoken will prepare him for the programming each time. When these words are spoken in the correct order, they will open his mind, make him be receptive:  Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace, Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One, Freight Car.

He will then be ready. He will then comply.

He is told he is never allowed to hurt Lehmann.

This layer is programmed into him every single time. They will take no chances.

Layer Two

The next layer would surprise Freya: it is about her.

The Winter Soldier at this point knows that she is his Constant. They know there is no need to tell him that whenever he is wiped because he will remember her; when he awakens the sight of her and the sound of her voice allays any fear or panic and any anger. Each time the Winter Soldier comes out of cryo freeze he will not remember much, he will almost be a blank slate. She is there to ground him.

However, that knowledge is now to be buried deep inside his subconsciousness. In Layer Two, he is told that she is a whore. She is there for all his needs, and he can do whatever he likes to her without retribution. She belongs to him, she is his one possession, and it is up to him to keep her controlled.

When he sees her again he will think of her as being nothing other than a whore.

To them she is a the fail-safe. She is the ticking clock.

The realisation of her importance abhorred Lehmann. It is always she whom the Winter Soldier remembers first when the programming begins to wear off. Instead of thinking of her as his whore he will start to remember who she really is and what she means to him. His attitude towards her will change; they have seen it happen even after the first wipe. A listening station is set up, and without the woman knowing they place listening devices in the Winter Soldier's quarters. This, Lehmann feels, is a must. A small team of men are selected to man it. Marinov is told and is disgusted but there is nothing he can do. He grows ever more disillusioned every day but he needs to keep his family safe.

Some of the programming will stay embedded for longer than other parts. It is not an exact science and they can never guarantee just how long something will remain. This warning will tell them exactly how much longer they have until his real memories begin to surface, and give them an idea of how long they have before they need to wipe him again. She is not aware of this; after all Lehmann knows her loyalty is to James Barnes and not to Hydra.

Layer Three

The next layer will be to reinforce who he must obey and who he serves. It is almost a repeat of layer one. This programming will be layered between each instruction until it is hammered in so deeply he will never stray from them. He will never forget who owns him. Who his masters are. Who holds the strings.

Layer Four

Another fail-safe to be ground into his mind. If he tries to access memories that are not allowed to him it will result in headaches. If he continues, then he will experience debilitating migraines. They tell him he must not to try to remember anything but his time here now at the base and details relevant to his current mission. They also instruct him that, once the mission is completed, he will be debriefed and at this time he will be instructed to forget most of the specific details of the mission he has returned from.

Layer Five

This is dependent on whether or not he has been bought out of cryo for a mission, for training, or for health reasons. That will decide on what is included in this layer.

This is as far as they go for today. He is in the room with them for six hours and when they have finished he can barely stand up, yet alone function. There were times during the programming when he was in such pain with the information being forced into his mind he would cry out. They believe in time his body and mind will become used to most of the pressure but there will always be a certain amount of pain, a certain amount of damage.

They allow him to rest for a while. His left ear and his nose are bleeding and his eyes are severely bloodshot but the serum is already working on fixing the damage. They will have him back in programming tomorrow to see what he has retained.

Eventually he is strong enough to walk on his own although his sense of direction and balance is out of sync. Two guards have to help him back to his quarters. He keeps shaking his head as if to clear it, but they can see he is still in pain. His ears are humming so badly he cannot even hear his own footsteps.

*

There is a knock on the door and you open it to find the guards holding the Winter Soldier. When he sees you he tries to stand by his own strength but he can't and he has to accept your help. His eyes look terrible; black bags under them, the whites bloodshot. There are smears of blood on his face and you realise both his tee shirt and trousers are sodden with it. You can see one of his ears has also bled. You were warned that this would be the case, but to see him injured again breaks your heart.

You have already been told he will need to sleep so you help him to the bed. He sits on the edge and you remove his shoes. When you go to help him remove his clothes he shies away from you, as if your touch disgusts him. He tries to do it himself, his co-ordination all over the place, it is painful to watch. You think of asking him if he would like to shower first, to wash away the blood, but he is so tired you realise he simply couldn't – especially if he refused your help. You watch as he lies down and pulls the covers up over him. Almost straight away, he is asleep. You switch off the main light and leave on a lamp for if he wakes during the night. For the first few hours you pull up a chair next to his bedside and keep watch on him. He doesn't move, doesn't seem to dream. He is well and truly out for the count.

Around 2am he stirs and begins to cough, which awakens both of you. He is in a lot of pain and his nose has started bleeding again. He needs your help to go to the bathroom and when you get him back to bed you insist he take some phenacetin and drink some water. He will not look at you and you put it down to the fact he will not like you seeing him in such a weakened state. You ask him if he wants to try something to eat but he just shakes his head and turns back over in bed away from you. He is asleep again in seconds.

*

The next day is like the previous one, only this time they keep him for far longer. In the morning, when he wakes, his head is so painful he feels he wants to tear his hair out. She gives him some more painkillers but they do not do a lot to alleviate the pain. The guards come for him and he is taken down to the Programming Suite. It is obvious he is in a lot of pain and they realise they will need to supply stronger medication to help him.

When they feel he is ready, they place him in a chair similar to the one in the main room. First they question him to see how much of the programming has stayed in place, and they are impressed and pleased with themselves. The majority of it has all remained in place.

They begin again. They reiterate the layers they created yesterday, reiterate the words and their meanings, thereby re-enforcing them. Then they begin on the next layer.

This is the layer where they will include any training that can be done in this way. They have been working on programming in a photographic memory, but only for the things they need him to learn such as languages, visuals, etcetera. Adding to this layer will vary depending on the missions he is to be sent on and what he will need to complete them. For the training that can not be programmed, he will need to be manually trained. It will be important to keep him up to date with technology and weapons training. He will be allowed to retain this information even after the mind wipes.

The following layer will then be instructions on the individual mission itself, and will include details of who is to be killed: where, when, how.

All these layers are sandwiched with reiteration of who he is and who he works for.

Another layer will then be incorporated. This will be a more in-depth layer of the mission and how it is to proceed, including any special instructions. It will include the overall outcome, and in what way it will make the world a better, safer place.

The lie.

The final layer will be who his masters are. Again.

There is no mission this time and so the programming is based on where he is and what he is allowed to do, where he can go, what they expect of him in the next week or so until his first mission is received.

Eleven hours later, even Lehmann and his staff are exhausted. The Winter Soldier is almost comatose. He is finished for today. They have questioned him again and again over what they have programmed into him and they can see now they need to let him sleep it off.

*

Once again the two guards have to escort him back. He is totally uncoordinated, walking into walls and finding it difficult to stay on his feet. This time they have been graceful enough to phone ahead and you are prepared for him. Marinov is waiting with you. The bed is ready, the lights are low, and as he staggers in you and Marinov between you undress him and help him into his bed.

As you sit him on the edge of the bed he is rubbing his temples, muttering about the humming in his ears. He is fractious, uncooperative. His face is a mask of pain, and you can hear him grinding his teeth. Before you can think of how to help blood begins to dribble out of his nose – starting as a stream and ending as a gush. He is holding his left ear and you can see blood is running from there, too.

Marinov tells one of the guards to get Doctor Jakobs, quickly. You try to stem the flow, holding a towel to his nose and telling him to put his head back, but he is coughing up the blood trickling down the back of his throat, it is making him choke. His strength is far more than you or Marinov can deal with as you try to calm him. He is even more uncoordinated, doesn't seem to know where he is or what is happening. You know if he begins to fight you in earnest, neither of you could hold him so you continue talk to him calmly, keeping your voice gentle and soothing. One of the guards telephones Lehmann who arrives at the same time as Jakobs.

The bleeding has stopped but he is in such pain, holding his head, groaning; his body is running with sweat and you can feel the heat pouring from him. Lehmann believes he is trying to access his memories; who he is, where he is, and the more he tries the more his programming is kicking in until he has a full on migraine.

Now you know that the Winter Soldier is suffering with a migraine you can see it in his eyes. They are bloodshot, black shadows underneath. His skin is grey and he is still trying to hold his head because of the pain. You have an ice pack on the back of his neck a cold flannel on his forehead. He has vomited twice, mostly blood and bile.

Lehmann is not overly worried - in fact, you believe he is pleased as it shows that level of the programming is doing its job. It is working. You are worried. He tells you that any damage done by the programming will already be being fixed by the serum. He says you are going to have to learn not to get so hysterical, and you come close to slapping him. He allows Jakobs to inject the Winter Soldier with a strong pain killer and sedative which should knock him out for the night so he can sleep through the pain.

It takes both guards, plus you and Jakobs to get him sorted out. The bleeding has stopped completely and eventually he falls asleep but at first does not lie still; he twitches as though he is in a nightmare.

Jakobs stays with him whilst you shower; your clothes are covered in his blood and will need to be thrown away. When you return to your room Jakobs has fallen asleep in the chair. The Winter Soldier is curled up asleep in the bed and you leave both men in peace.

*

This almost becomes the norm over the next few weeks. They test the programming again and again. It is apparent that some of the time the Winter Soldier will experience bad headaches or worse, migraines. But these are not from him trying to access his memories; they are from the damage they are doing to his brain. The migraines can either debilitate him or, in the case of the severe headaches, make him angry and he finds it difficult to control the rage which surges up inside him. When they discover that the headaches are not the ones they have put in as the fail-safe they are concerned. This shouldn't happen. His anger sometimes is almost uncontrollable.

It is you he takes it out on. The whore who should mean nothing to him.

There is always a guard set in the corridor but it is reiterated to them that they must not interfere with the Winter Soldier's treatment of you. You try not to make any mistakes. There are times when he will accept your ministrations. Food is delivered and you have to make sure he eats and drinks. There are tablets he needs to take. You have to make sure he is awake and ready for them when they come to take him to the programming suite. Other times he is docile and quiet, sometimes reaching out for you.

It is like living on a see-saw from one moment to the next. You never know what will set his anger off.

Lehmann meets again with both Fennhoff and Zola. They can see from the from scans that the serum is repairing any damage caused to his brain. Whilst Fennhoff is sure he can lessen the damage, he cannot stop it completely. The migraines and headaches do decrease but Lehmann tells you it is something you will both have to live with. You want to tell him it is all right for him, he is not on the end of the anger. He is not the one bought low to his knees by the utter pain of his head being torn apart.

Lehmann pushes it too far when he adds that it is good for the Winter Soldier to learn how to deal with intense pain. You turn away from him your hands clenched into tight fists. He goes on to say there are pain management lessons which are to be incorporated in the programming.

He does initiate some changes, some restrictions on how much programming can be done in one session. Fennhoff has also put forward the idea that some of it may be down to the fact that they are programming him but giving him no outlet, no mission, and so the Winter Soldier does not know what to do with himself. All that adrenaline and no way to put it to use. So you arrange with his team to set up additional exercise programs to expel some of his energy. You feel if he could be taken up to the surface it would be good for him, but that is something Lehmann will not allow yet. This camp is not secure enough in its present state. There is always the gym that was set up shortly after you became the primary carer and Lehmann has added to this so that the Winter Soldier can work out. He has it expanded so there is a larger running track around the outside of the equipment and often the Winter Soldier can be found pounding around it again and again as if that will clear his head, expel his energy.

You have to be so careful, so very careful, but sometimes you forget and so do the guards.

*

He has had a pounding headache all day. The questioning was intense today and he is uptight. He stumbles down the corridor and back into his quarters. Two guards stand outside. He recognises one of them, the stance of the man showing he thinks the Winter Soldier is weak. The guard is complacent. Yes, the Winter Soldier is taller than him, and looks meaner, but he cannot even stand upright; he could take him in a fight. The guard is smoking and makes comments to the other guard who shushes him. That guard is intelligent. The Winter Soldier scares him and he knows they cannot get complacent, he has seen the danger in the Winter Soldier before.

The Winter Solder enters his rooms. The woman had been sitting down, but now stands as he comes in, asking if he is all right. There is such concern in her eyes. He wants to take her, drown in her to take the pain and anger away. Frustration makes the headache worse; his balls ache and he can feel a pulsing in his lower belly. She tries to touch him, tries to guide him to sit down. Asks him if he wants a drink, wants to eat. No! he wants to shout at her, I want to fuck! Leave me alone! How he wants to hurt her to stop her questions. But he also knows he wants her to put her arms around him, to bring him close to her; he wants her to protect him, and this makes him so very angry.

When he returns you can do nothing right until he loses it, lashing out at the nearest available person: you.

You can feel the waves of rage in the heat rolling of his body as he grabs your arm and twists it behind you, ramming you backwards against the wall. The suddenness of it takes your breath away and you cry out. His other hand comes to your throat and encircles it. How often has he done this to you, how often have you felt those fingers around your neck and wondered if this time he will squeeze to hard.

You look into his eyes. There is such rage and madness there, such anger and lust; you struggle but he is so strong you know there is no way you could win this battle.

He pushes his own body against yours to pin you there. He has hurt you before and you know he is going to hurt you again. He stretches your arm up higher, making it painful, making you beg him to stop but he doesn't. He carries on until it is so painful you know it is going to break the bone and you beg him not to but he doesn't stop and you hear a loud crack as your arm breaks and you cry out. The pain shoots through you and is all consuming. The world around you is starting to go dark, you cannot breathe, you are going to lose consciousness. The Winter Soldier is still watching you and your faces are so close you can feel his breath on your cheek. Your cry has alerted the guards in the corridor. The door is open and you hear one of the guards in the doorway. He does nothing but watch.

“He doesn't know if he wants to fuck her or kill her,” he says to the other one drily, with a smirk on his face. There is no compassion for you there.

“Shut up for Gods' sake!” the other one whispers, moving away. The guard watching throws his cigarette butt on the floor and grounds it out. He snorts and moves away himself.

The Winter Soldier's eyes are still burning, but now there is a disgust there which you think is for you. You have both heard what the guard had said and you know that the Winter Soldier is looking at you as if to say he wouldn't fuck you, he is not that desperate.

He suddenly pushes you even harder against the wall and then drops you completely and steps back.

You fall to the floor, your whole body quaking, the darkness receding. You wrap your left arm around your injured right and curl up as small as you can; you don’t look at him but you know he is still watching you. Your breath comes in ragged sobs. Your throat is sore and you know you will carry the bruises for the next few days. Your ears are buzzing and there are spots in your vision.

You hear him curse you and then, turning, he storms out slamming the door.

You get as low to the floor as you can, you feel the coolness of the stone on your forehead and you weep for both of you. Your ears hum and you are unaware of the commotion in the corridor.

The Winter Soldier did not kill you...but he has killed.

*

He felt so angry. It surged up in him, but he also has a deep longing in his blood. He wants to take her, hurt her, take out all of his anger on her. He looks down at her face; they are so close he can feel her breath and see the wide-eyed fright, he can see she thinks he is going to do it this time, he is going to kill her and it makes him feel so powerful.

He pulls her arm up higher until he hears it crack. The pain shows in her eyes and she cries out. He wants to feel her underneath him, to enter her and be so close they would become one person. He wants her to protect him.

Then he hears the words of the guard.

“He doesn't know if he wants to fuck her or kill her.”

Hears the guard's snort of laughter.

His rage goes cold in that moment.

He presses her harder and sees she is losing consciousness, and it is as if a veil drops. He wants her with all his mind and body, he knows she will keep him safe, she is the only one who cares.

For Gods' sake, what is he doing?

He lets go and steps back and she falls to the floor. He watches as she pulls her arms around herself, making herself small; it looks like she is trying to become part of the wall in her need to get away from him. He is disgusted with himself. The one person who cares about him, the one person he can show all his frustration to and he had nearly wiped her out.

She isn't just a whore, why does he think that?

He curses himself, turns and goes out into the corridor, slamming the door behind him. The two guards are leaning against the wall. One does not look at him, will not hold his gaze, murmurs something to the other one and moves away but the remaining guard is too stupid to realise he is in trouble - too stupid to follow suit.

“Couldn't decide huh?” he says and the Winter Soldier recognises a taunt when he hears one.

The man is so stupid. So dead.

The Winter Soldier withdraws his knife from the back holster and keeps hold of it behind his back so the guard does not see the danger he is in. He knew which one it was that had commented and laughed, he has heard his comments before. He walks up closer to the unsuspecting man.

The look of arrogance on the guard's face begins to falter because he now sees the Winter Soldier's eyes. Cold, dark. He begins to back away, the look on his face turning to horror as he finally realises the Winter Soldier is someone to be wary of, someone who will give you nightmares because when you look into those eyes it is your own death staring back at you. The other guard can see what is going to happen. He runs to one of the phones installed in the corridor and frantically calls for help.

The Winter Soldier plunges the knife into the man's stomach, lifting the knife up and through the heart. The guard drops to the floor, dead within seconds, and the other guard stands stock still, phone in his hand, terror in his eyes. The Winter Soldier turns to look at him and finally he desperately tries to reach for his gun but the Winter Soldier shakes his head.

“You don't need to die,” he says to the petrified guard. His anger is ebbing and he turns and walks away, leaving the guard to explain what happened to his colleague.

*

You know you need help. Your arm is hurting badly and you know the bone is broken. You can feel your blood humming in your ears; your heart is pounding. The pain feels as if it is keeping time with the pulsing of your blood.

You try your best to stand up and stumble to the door having to let go of your arm to open it. You whimper. The door seems so heavy and sweat trickles down your face.

You lean out into the corridor and see several guards surrounding a dead body. A huge pool of blood seeps out into a large pool on the floor.

The guard that laughed at you both will never do so again.

You recognise the older guard and he sees you and he comes forward quickly to catch you as you fall. He tells the others to call for a doctor. Marinov comes racing down the corridor shouting orders. Trying to work out what has happened.

*

The Winter Soldier pounds around the track, trying to clear his mind, trying not to think, trying to lose himself so that he doesn't have to be who he is. Memories have started to resurface, and with each one he tries to run faster, tries to get away from it all. But he can't and as he runs the pain in his head begins to take over. Lehmann is watching on the overhead cameras installed in the gym. He watches as the man tries desperately to outrun his demons. He recognises that the Winter Soldier is ready, that they need to use him. They have wound him up so very tight and now they need to set him on his course and let him create havoc.

Lehmann turns to Marinov and tells him he is dismissed.

“What will you do?” Marinov asks belligerently.

Lehmann looks up at him eyebrows raised.

“About what?”

Marinov bites his tongue to stop him from saying what he would like to say. He tries to make his tone calmer. “He killed one of my men.”

“And?”

Marinov flounders.

“Lieutenant, I suggest you start to think about the calibre of your men. Don't you? What happens to you and your men are of no concern to me. If you cannot see that then maybe you are in the wrong job.”

Marinov realises in that second that the Constant is not the only one who cannot cry out for help when the Winter Soldier is mad with rage. He and his men count for nothing either. In fact, he would guess their lives mean even less than hers.

“Sir.” He nods and decides to leave before he says something he will regret. Something his family will regret. If that is the way Lehmann wants it then that is the way it will play. From now on he will make sure that those 'guarding' the Winter Soldier will be harder, less likely to become complacent. He thought he knew how Freya felt before but now he realises he didn't.

The world was becoming more than just a scary place. It was becoming hell.

Chapter Text

The Winter Soldier - Testing 1,2,3

Two Years Ago

Armin Zola dislikes this man intensely.

He is rude, obnoxious, and never takes Armin seriously. And now he is sat directly opposite him, discrediting Project Winter Soldier.

“It will never work!” he proclaims to anyone and everyone who will listen. “We are throwing good money at bad ideas. It is just one of Armin's pet projects. I mean, come on now, how long has he been at it? And by his own admission he is no further forward! It's not his fault, he's a scientist, not a military man, he has no knowledge of fighting a war and that is what this is! We are at war, gentlemen!”

George Morgan the Third, lights his cigar and settles back in the chair, full of the knowledge that he is right and the Swiss is wrong. The board will find in Morgan's favour and this project of Armin's can be discontinued. And then the whole of the base (and not forgetting the money) can be handed over to him and he can use the extra space for more important things - soldiers - feet on the ground.

All this for just one soldier. For one assassin. What rubbish!

The board need to make a decision. Do they continue funding Armin's project at the risk of failure, or pull the plug?

They keep both Zola and Morgan waiting for four hours. They respect Zola, he was Schmidt's right hand man, the work he has done keeping Hydra together after Schmidt's death is amazing. His projects always bear fruit - but this one? This one seems to have been going on forever and he appears no further forward. Morgan however, although his plans are more amenable, is disliked by nearly everyone on the board. He is too brash, too arrogant. Too full of himself and his own purpose.

Whatever the decision is, it has to be the right one for Hydra.

The men file back into the room, and soon afterwards Morgan is striding out of the building, bellowing and furious. As Zola leaves shortly afterwards, the board remind him he is running out of time. They will only continue to fund him for so long.

“That is all I need gentleman, thank you.” Zola says. He appears calm and polite. Inside he is nervous and unsure. How is he going to move forward? How is this ever going to work when they have been having nothing but problem after problem?

 *

Present Day

The meeting is held as before with Lehmann, Fennhoff, Zola, Peter, and Elise. The Winter Soldier is ready but there is just one more thing they need to do.

A trial run.

A test.

Everything is in place, but they do not want his first mission to end in disaster if something does not work correctly with the programming. If there is something they have overlooked. If their pet doesn't return home to its masters.

Oh, they have done tests. Instructed him to do things. He has followed all commands to the letter but he has not been sent out to kill someone yet. Not had a mission encoded. They need to do a test.

Testing 1, 2, 3. Come in, Winter Soldier. Do you copy?

They need a victim. One close by…but not so close that the mission would last but a few minutes or hours.

“I have just the mission. Unofficial…but there is a message I would like delivered.” Zola says, smiling coyly. And, cleaning his glasses, he tells them more.

*

The camp that the project is part of is roughly the size of a small town, but always seems to be expanding. At the last count there were over 53,000 soldiers and personnel. They were running out of space. Even though Project Winter Soldier is mostly housed underground, even this space is wanted by other projects, by other people. Fortunately as the project has come to fruition there is no chance of it being handed over now and so there is an idea for a new camp being floated. A camp that will hold the Winter Soldier and a new project to set up STRIKE teams - but that is some way off on the horizon.

Most of the camp is run by General George Morgan III, a man Zola has never forgotten. A man Zola has never forgiven; someone who still belittles the project even in its success. He is not popular but he has too much power back home to be discounted and pushed to one side. He is an older man, nearing his sixties, but still has years of service ahead of him…years in which he could and would cause problems for Zola.

*

To the Winter Soldier, this is a mission. To the programming team and Zola, it is a test.

Will he perform his duty? And will he return home afterwards?

They sincerely hope so.

No one else is told bar the two men who are responsible for monitoring him. The tracking device in his arm will tell them where he is, but that is the only way they will know what is happening. They are biting the bullet; they have to. They have to trust him to know he will do what they have programmed into him. They have to let him run on his own.

Everyone else is told he will be away training for 24 hours.

They take him to a small wooded area of the camp just inside the boundary. The wood is there as a deterrent, to stop people from seeing what is happening inside the camp. It is sometimes used for soldiers training for combat.

They let him go. They let him loose.

He is now on his own.

The clock is ticking.

*

He can smell the pine trees, the fresh air. Feel the soft earth below his boots. For once his head is clear. He knows his mission, remembers what he has been told. It takes him two hours to make his way to the other side of the camp. No one sees him, although he sees them. They pass within inches of him but he is hidden, quiet.

They have no idea of how close they come to dying.

He is within half a mile of his target on a slope hidden by a derelict hut. He looks through his binoculars. No sign of the General arriving back at his bungalow yet. The Winter Soldier looks at his watch. He knows he has another hour at least to wait. The General is always punctual. He will arrive home and will not leave again until morning unless there is an emergency.

I run a tight ship he has often bragged, emergencies never happen on my watch.

The Winter Soldier runs through his mission details once more in his mind. He carries a gun and a knife - but it is the knife he is to use.

The General arrives home on time. He lives alone, and once his adjutant has left he will be on his own until he is picked up in the morning. The Winter Soldier settles down to wait. He drinks from his water canister, eats the food they sent him with; even the serum cannot repair flagging sugar levels.

He waits until nightfall.

When it is finally dark, he begins to move down the slope. There are very few people about. This is the part of the camp that houses the more important people such as the General - the family quarters are over a half a mile away, with the rest of the rabble. It doesn't do to mix them.

A door opens in one of the other bungalows and in the light of the doorway he sees an older woman leaving. He knows it is that person’s cook. She will drive away and then there should be quiet. He looks at his watch. It is 10pm. The General will be thinking of going to bed; he is an early riser. The Winter Soldier can feel his heart beating fast, can feel the adrenalin running through his body. This man he is going to kill is an enemy of Hydra; he causes chaos wherever he goes. He must be eliminated.

The Winter Soldier has both a message and a knife blade to deliver to him.

He knows the layout of the bungalow. He saw the bedroom light go on a few minutes ago, followed by the bathroom light. He eases himself in through the door, the lock giving him no difficulty at all. It will need to be secured after him when he finally leaves. He stands in the hallway, listening. The bungalow is really too big for just one man and is empty of anything that makes it personal. He moves through to the living room. There is not much light here; he can see furniture, a few photographs showing the General being awarded some commendation or other. There is a radio on the side. He can smell food. It makes him feel slightly queasy.

He takes one of the photographs and removes it from the frame, being careful not to make any noise. He defaces it in the way he has been instructed and then puts it back in the frame and back on the shelf.

He is suddenly thirsty but he left his water bottle up on the slope with his rucksack. He still has time, he can hear the General is still in the bathroom so he moves to the kitchen. He has gloves on. He finds a clean glass and pours himself some water and drinks. Then when he has finished he calmly washes and wipes the glass and puts it back where he found it. He wipes his arm across his mouth and then goes back into the hallway and towards the bedroom.

He crouches down against the wall, knife in hand, and waits.

His mind is still clear, still on his mission as he runs through the details again. He can hear no noise other than the General getting ready to retire for the night. Finally he hears him climb into bed. Another quarter of an hour before the light goes out and the Winter Soldier stands listening. Nothing. No noise outside, no noise inside.

He walks quietly up to the door and eases it open and slips inside the dark room. He waits a few minutes until his eyes adjust to the dark. The General is asleep on his back, snoring. The Winter Soldier is so quiet, so stealthy. He pads over to the curtains and pulls one back slightly to allow a bit of light into the room. He turns and surveys the room. It is military perfect, no fuss, clothes neatly hung up, no bric-a-brac; only personal items that have a purpose. A set of drawers with a clothes brush and a comb on top.

The General’s uniform is hung on the outside of the wardrobe. A laundry basket stands next to it.

He walks up to the double bed. The General is on the left hand side. On his bedside table an alarm clock ticks away. There is a lamp, and a paperback book which looks to be a military book of some type. A glass of water and some tablets. The General has recently started to wear glasses...just for reading, he blusters but he leaves them at home, only uses them when he reads before bedtime. It's the only time I need them.

He is getting old.

After tonight he won't be getting any older.

The Winter Soldier looks down at his target. His mouth is open, and his snoring is getting on the Winter Soldier’s nerves. The man is revolting. The Winter Soldier turns slightly so he can sit down on the edge of the bed, which he does slowly so as not to wake his target. He listens once again to make sure he cannot hear anyone abroad, but there is silence except for the snuffling of the man next to him. Knife in hand, he leans over and switches on the lamp and then turns and places the blade at the General's throat.

The General makes a noise and starts to come around. He tries to move but feels the presence of someone next to him. He opens his eyes; they are blurry and he blinks when he sees the dark shape.

“What the...” He begins to sit up but he can't. The Winter Soldier is sat on the bedclothes, pinning the man down.

The General's eyes begin to clear, and he looks at the man sat beside him.

“Don't move,” the stranger hisses and the General feels fear at the tone of the voice, at the look in the figure’s eyes. Cold, hard, uncompromising but there is something else there. The man is grinning at him. It is a death mask grin; there is no humour in it. Long dark hair falls around the man’s face, and his blue eyes are inhuman. The man wears gloves but there is something wrong – no, not wrong, different about the left arm. It seems to be covered in metal. Something rings a vague bell in the back of his waking mind but he cannot grasp it.

“Who are you? What do you want?” The man is silent. “If it’s money you’re after then my wallets in the bedside drawer. Take it and get out!” The General tries to inflect anger into his tone but instead he sounds querulous, even to his own ears.

“I have a message for you.”

The voice has what he thinks is an American accent. One of the soldiers on the base? If so, he will have him found and court martialled. If he had his way the man would be whipped in front of the other soldiers.

He is beginning to feel indignant now. More sure of himself. “Do you know who I am?” he demands.

That cold smile again. The man replies with it still on his lips. “George Morgan the Third. Tell me, do you know who I am?”

“Why should I?” The General starts to move but the knife is pushed hard against his adam's apple and a hand appears and pushes him back down on the bed.

That querulous voice reappears. “I'll have you whipped for this! You can't do this to me!”

The Winter Soldier feels no sympathy, just hatred for this pompous man who believes he is so important. They told him that if it was up to this man then he wouldn't exist.

“I have a message,” he repeats and this time the General looks at him.

“Well then…deliver it and then go.”

“It’s from Armin Zola. He just wants you to know there are no hard feelings.”

The General frowns, and then begins to realise just how sharp the knife blade is as it begins to dig into the side of his neck. His eyes widen.

“What? No, wait!” There is desperation in his tone now. He tries to rise for the last time but the man is strong and all he can feel is pressure on his chest where one hand is holding him down and the other is being used to dig and pull the knife across his throat. The rest of his words are lost in a gurgling sound as blood begins to soak the sheets and run in rivulets down the General’s bedclothes.

The Winter Soldier leans in closer.

“I am the Winter Soldier and you didn't stop them from making me. I am the future, not you.”

He pulls the blade the rest of the way and blood sprays onto his face, hands and body. The General's feet vibrate up and down as his body goes into its death throws. The gurgling noise continues for a few seconds more and the Winter Soldier watches as the light dies in the old man’s eyes. His heart is thumping and he can smell the iron smell of the blood, watch it soak into the white sheets, feel the life leaving the man.

When he is sure the man is dead he wipes the blade on a clean part of the sheet and stands. He leans over and switches off the lamp and then pulls the curtains fully shut. Glancing back once at the bed he listens, then opens the door and leaves the room leaving bloody footprints across the carpet and down the hall. He stops at the bathroom and goes in, switching on the light as he does so. He starts as he sees a figure but then realises it is his refection in a mirror above the sink. The image is black and red.

Blood and death.

He walks forward slowly and watches his own eyes as he gets closer. He loses time and doesn't know how long he stands there. He comes to when he realises his head is hurting and his hands shaking. He looks down at them, at the knife clutched in them. Then he looks away from the mirror and down at the sink and throws the knife in there.

He cleans himself up as much as he can, wipes his face clean. He can still smell and taste the blood. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. Breathe deeply, he tells himself and he does so, closing his eyes. This is programmed into him, to counteract any feelings he may have that they do not want him to feel. No regret, no remorse.

He opens his eyes. His head is clear once more. He must complete his mission which will end when he gets back to his side of the camp.

He leaves the sink and the soap stained red with the General's blood. His clothes feel damp with the water and the blood residue and his gloves are ruined. He returns his clean knife to its sheaf. He leaves the towels neatly on the towel rail, red with bloodied water.

He doesn't look in the mirror again before he leaves. He daren't. Seeing his own face covered in blood made him feel strange, frightened almost; panicked. It made his heart hammer, made his head hurt when he tried to analyse why.

Quietly, and with no one seeing him, he lets himself out of the bungalow and makes his way back up the slope. He picks his rucksack up and heads for the trees, heads for home.

*

They track him right back to his getting into the lift, and when the doors open they are there waiting. Nothing is said, he is just led away for debriefing where all the questions will be asked. All the instructions are gone over and then they will wait for news from the other side of the camp. Judging by the blood on his clothes he has definitely killed someone; they just want to make sure it is the right person. He is then led back to his rooms and given over to his Constant. She is told nothing, but they see her eyes widen when she realises it is blood staining his clothes.

He barely says anything to her. He needs sleep, she can see it in his eyes, the way his body leans slightly to the left. She takes him through to the bathroom, strips him and stands him under the water. She gets in with him and soaps and washes him until he is clean, until the water finally runs clear.

“Do you want anything to eat?” she asks quietly and he shakes his head no so she leads him to his bed and holds the covers whilst he gets in. She wants to ask what happened. Where has he been? What did they make him do? But she can't, she knows that.

As she goes to walk away he catches hold of her hand and pulls her into the bed with him. He needs the company, he doesn't know why. He just does. He needs the warmth of her body, to hear the sound of her beating heart. To know she is alive.

*

Colonel Morgan's adjutant finds him at 7am. He enters the bungalow, surprised and wary that the curtains are still drawn, and apprehensive when he smells the iron smell of death in the hallway.

What he finds in the bedroom shocks him. So much blood. He will never forget the horrified look in the General's eyes: the look of utter terror. His head has almost been severed from his body. It would have taken a great strength to cut that deep.

He waits in the living room for the others to arrive, for the procedures to start. He is sat on the sofa but cannot stay still and gets up. Who could have done this? His glance lands on the photograph of the General receiving his promotion and he frowns. He picks up the photograph and studies it. Someone has carved the General's eyes and mouth out of the photograph. The adjutant hastily puts it back on the shelf, finding this just as horrifying as the General's dead body.

Someone he feels, has sent them a message. He does not understand but he is sure those higher up will.

Will the truth ever be known? He doesn't really want to know. 

Chapter Text

The Winter Soldier & The Constant - The First & Second Missions

'The New Fist of Hydra' - Director Nikolay Lehmann 1947.

'HYDRA has been secretly feeding crises, reaping war. And when history did not cooperate, history was changed' - Hydra scientist, Armin Zola, 2016.

'One person in the right place at the right time' - Alex Pierce - Winter Soldier Handler - date unknown.

' Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists. The ones that do call him the Winter Soldier . He’s credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last 50 years. ' - Natasha Romanoff, 2016.

The First Mission

She is nervous. He can see it in the way she helps him pull up the zip on his jacket; her hands tremble and it takes her a few times to get it done up.

Why?

He covers her hand with his and she looks up at him, and then allows her hands to fall so he can complete the process. The jacket he is wearing covers him completely, including his left arm. There will no tell-tale red star giving him away on this mission.

She hands him his mask.

His mind is clear, focused. He knows what he is to do. He is the new fist of Hydra. With his missions he will rid the world of confusion, greed. His work will be of benefit to all of mankind. For every nation.

Hail Hydra!

Then he is in the lift. Walking out of the building. Getting into the truck that will take him to his rendezvous where the assassination is to take place. All under the radar.

It is just after midnight.

On the way only one person speaks with him. They go over his programming, double-check that he knows what is expected of him. He indicates to the others that all is well.

ETA is four hours.

*

Director Lehmann oversaw the Winter Soldier’s departure. You know he will keep in radio contact with the team through everything, but before you leave he wants to tell you something. Something he knows that will hurt. He has to get his pleasures where he can.

“Miss Bowman.”

You glance his way. You had been talking to Jakobs, and both of you stop talking as Lehmann approaches.

“Well we have finally got here. It has been a long journey, and yet finally he is off on his first official mission.” He makes it sound as if what is happening is innocent, and even smiles at you but you do not smile back. You stopped playing his games a long time ago.

He looks at his watch even though he knows it is 12.30am. “And what a momentous day, no?”

You think you know what he is referring to. But you see Jakobs frown. He tries to interrupt but Lehmann is speaking again.

“Oh and by the way Miss Bowman - Happy Birthday.”

Lehmann’s smile widens. Jakobs curses and closes his eyes.

You say nothing as your glance drops to the ground, your mind working. Then you look back at Lehmann and see he is still smiling as he walks away. The bastard.

You have no knowledge of dates. You don't even know what year it is - but Lehmann does.

It is March 10^th.

Your birthday.

But not just yours.

You look at Jakobs. “I'm sorry Freya, I didn't think you would find out, I should have guessed Lehmann would make sure you did.”

“What year?” you ask, and you see his hesitation.

“What year?” you repeat.

“1948.”

You swallow.

Lehmann has deliberately chosen James Barnes' birthday for the Winter Soldier's first official mission. He is their property, their puppet.

James Barnes is 32 years old today.

 *

He crosses the grounds of Cernin Palace and doesn't notice anything about the gardens, just pads softly up to the ground window that should be open. It is. The cleaner they bribed to leave the window ajar will be dead by this time tomorrow; it will be ruled as a suicide. There is going to be a lot of it about.

He climbs in through the window and pulls it to but does not shut it; he will need to exit this way.

They showed him the layout of the palace and the rooms he would be entering, and there is enough dawn light to show the way to the door. He eases it open and sees an empty hall. He needs to cross this without being seen, and then proceed up the staircase.

The building is quiet. He climbs the stairs to the place where he knows his victim will be. There are people around; the palace is waking up, servants and cleaners getting it ready for another day of work.

He gets to the room and slips in but sees immediately the bed is empty. It has been slept in and the sheets are thrown back.

And then he hears a noise in the adjoining bathroom. He looks at his watch. It is 4.45am.

They did warn him that the man was an early riser.

He walks slowly over to the open door of the bathroom and peers in but all he can see is a bath being filled with water. But he can hear someone is inside the bathroom.

He reaches into his jacket and takes out his gun. He moves quietly into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

The man is looking into the mirror and, catching sight of movement, swings around. He is about to say something but the sight of the figure looking at him takes any thoughts or words out of his mind.

The figure is well over 6 foot tall, dressed completely in black. There is a mask obscuring the bottom half of his face and black glasses covering the top half. He is one of the most terrifying things the man has ever seen, and he is glad he cannot see his eyes.

In his gloved hand is a gun.

All that can be heard is the water pouring into the tub.

The Winter Soldier looks at the man in front of him. He recognises him from the programming. This man has to die, but it must be made to look like suicide. He cannot use the gun, cannot shoot him, but his target does not know that.

“As soon as you fire my guards will hear. You'll be caught!” The man says to him and the Winter Soldier can hear the trembling in the man's voice.

He indicates the large window. “Open it,” he says in Czech.

The man glances at it but he doesn't move.

“I won't ask you again,” says the Winter Soldier.

The man swallows and moves towards the window. He opens the shutters, and then the windows themselves. Cold air immediately whips around the room.

The Winter Soldier steps forward, forcing the man backwards until he is hard up against the window frame. “Turn around.” His voice has no inflection, and the man cannot place where the accent is from.

He does. Time slows for everything that follows, but the altercation is over in seconds. The man has no chance to plead for his life before he feels a huge blow to his back and feels himself tipping and falling, and then there is no time to think before his body hits the courtyard below with a sickening thud.

The Winter Soldier leans out and looks at the broken body beneath. Even though there is barely any light yet, there is no need to confirm the man is dead; one glance shows him he is.

It will be ruled suicide which is what Hydra wants…

…But. There is always a but.

Hydra also wants there to be a very slight doubt in peoples mind. Was is suicide…or was it murder? They want to cause confusion, mistrust. There was no reason for this man to commit suicide, so it will be questioned. To help matters, the Winter Soldier reaches up and closes the window.

He turns and looks around the bathroom, switches off the taps and empties the bath of water.

Then he leaves as quietly as he came. No one saw him arrive, and no one will see him leave.

It will be another hour and a half before the man's body is found, and the resulting confusion will cause more delay in searching for any clues as to what has happened. The Winter Soldier and his team will be well on their way back to camp by then.

Once they reach camp he is taken for mission report. It was successful. What more can be said? They go over what happened several times and then dismiss him and he heads back to his rooms. All the mission details should have been cleared from his mind…but unknown to his masters they have not been.

His head has started aching and all he can see is the man's face just before he told him to turn around.

The man was unarmed.

He had no chance.

*

The Winter Soldier is tired when he comes back. He is quiet. Cannot seem to settle. He has gone through mission report. It is late afternoon. Tonight he will sleep, and tomorrow he will return to cryo.

You offer him a meal but he picks at it, doesn't talk to you, will not look at you. In the end you suggest he showers and then goes to bed. Although he doesn't say anything he gets up, undressing on the way to the shower. You hear him get under the water.

You are picking up his clothes from where he dropped them when you realise someone is watching you. You turn to look. The Winter Soldier is stood in the doorway of the bathroom, naked, soaking wet. You watch droplets of water as they hit the floor.

You walk towards him, dropping the clothes on the chair. “Are you all right?”

He is looking at you. It is the clenched fist that concerns you, the tenseness of his body.

He looks at you with those beautiful blue eyes, they are not empty but you don't know how to describe the look in them. “I can't get clean,” he says quietly.

You stand in front of him, so close that you can breathe in his smell. His eyes are roaming your face as if begging you to help him.

“He was unarmed,” he says to you, even quieter, and your heart lurches. “I keep seeing him.”

You take his arm and turn him around and lead him back to the shower. You quickly undress down to your underwear and, as you stand him under the water, you promise him you will help him to get clean.

You pick up the shampoo and are just about to step way to get the shower chair but instead he reaches out and touches you, and as you turn to him he kneels down in front of you.

You swallow back tears you want to cry. This Winter Soldier, fully trained to kill you with one touch only need break your heart with one glance - what is going through his mind? Is he thinking about what he has done today?

His hair is already soaking wet, so you put some shampoo in your hands and rub it in making sure you clean right through to his scalp. As your hands massage in the soap he leans forward and places his forehead against your belly and one of his hands grasps your hip. There is nothing sexual about his movements. He just needs to touch you, to be close.

His metal hand hangs by his side, the metalwork closed against the water and soap so no harm is done to the internal workings.

When you have washed his hair he tips his head back and looks up at you.

“He was unarmed,” he says again and this time the anguish is so real in his eyes.

You swallow. “I know,” you lean forward and kiss his forehead running your hand through his hair. “I know.”

He stays looking at you for a moment, and then stands up and you run your hand down his cheek.

“I will get you clean. I promise.” It is all you can offer him.

You clean his face, his ears, his neck, his throat and then his back and chest. You clean his right arm and then use a special cloth to wipe down his left one, making sure you clean both hands, running the soap over his palm and each finger individually. Then you use the sponge over his buttocks, in between his legs, his balls, his semi-erect penis, then down his thighs, his calves down to his feet. You clean his toes and even the soles of his feet.

Every part of him is clean and afterwards you wipe him down with a towel and he surprises you and reaches for the towel and wipes you down. Not perfect but it will do.

“Clean,” he mumbles and you repeat the word creating a deja vu moment.

*

He watches as she switches the water off. He feels cleaner but he still needs to escape, needs to escape into her, become part of her, drown in her innocence.

When she suggests he get into bed he will not let go of her hand.

“Stay with me,” is all he needs to say.

“Of course I will.”

He watches as she peels off her wet underwear and slips her nightie over her head.

She then switches off the main light; the only light now in the room is what comes in under the door from the corridor.

As soon as she gets into bed he reaches for her and pulls her to him and he looks at her face, looks into her eyes then at her mouth. She leans forward to kiss him, but it is a chaste kiss. She can sense something about him, something different.

He gently pushes her down on to her back and slides his legs between hers. She closes her eyes for a moment but then opens them when he slides his arm under her. He then moves them both so they are on their sides facing each other.

He needs to be part of her, to be with her. He feels his cock nestle against the soft flesh of her belly and he holds her even closer.

She puts her arms around him and strokes his damp hair as he clutches her to him.

“Don't leave me,” he murmurs and she promises him she won't.

He pulls away so he can look at her. His eyes are red-rimmed and he can see her concern for him.

Then realising she is leaning on the hard metal of his left arm he reaches over and pulls a pillow between them so that he can hold her in his arms and she can rest on the softness of the feathers instead of the cold metal.

He stays curled up with her, no sex, just peace.

“Sleep now. I won't leave, you're clean now I promise,” he hears her whisper and the sickness that has been in his stomach for the past few hours dissolves. He doesn't feel alone any more.

During the night he wakes - a bad dream he cannot even remember but she is still there.

She tells him everything is all right. She gently runs her hand over his cock until she can feel he is ready and he moves to be inside her. She moves slowly so his cock slides and he can feel her softness. He looks into her eyes, doesn't look away and as he comes quietly emptying himself into her, he watches her as she watches him. Then afterwards he stays close to her, doesn't want to let go yet and they both fall asleep.

*

They come for him in the morning. It was a strange night. He needed you so much. You did not ask questions because you know he could not have answered them, and you know the wipe they do before putting him in cryo will dissolve the last memories of his first mission.

You follow him to the Main Room and help as they seat him in the chair. He is dressed just in shorts and trousers. They will wipe him and then move him to the cryo chamber. In an hours’ time you will join him in a frozen sleep.

You can see his rapid breathing as the machines start to make their beeping sounds; he knows what is coming. Before the arm clamps come down and the chair can swing around he sits forward he glances at Jakobs, and you see Jakobs move forward. They talk quietly.

*

“Please take her out of here. Don't make her watch this,” the Winter Soldier says. He knows the pain it causes her to watch him writhe in agony as the lasers eat through his memories, destroys what they don't want him to keep.

She was there for him last night; he can be there for her this morning.

Jakobs nods. The clamps come down and the chair begins to move. He is leant back now and he can hear her refusing to leave, but Jakobs is insistent and he watches as she takes one last look at him and he tries to convey this is what he wants.

The door closes.

The chair finishes its rotation and they place his mouth guard in. His body tenses, his heart begins to hammer, both hands clench the seat rests and then the face-guards come down and he knows he cannot escape.

The pain shoots through his brain sending everything in his body messages of flight. His body comes up from the chair in shock and the first scream leaves his throat as his brain is assaulted by a million needles slicing through him. He screams again as pain no one should ever have to live with is deliberately forced into and through his mind.

And thus the shredding begins.

*

Outside in the corridor, you weep, clinging to Doctor Jakobs jacket as you both hear the Winter Soldier’s screams echo through the corridors. Jakobs holds you tight and tears prick his eyes as, once again, they tear the young man apart.

The Second Mission

The flight is a long one. He sleeps uneasily on the plane but it does not cause a problem when they arrive. His programming will make sure of that.

His mind is clear, his mind is focused. He is not thinking about how long it took to get here or even where here is. Nothing like that enters his conscious thoughts. He knows why he is here, and that is all that matters.

Then he is by himself, up high; he can feel the wind whipping through the trees but his view point is stable, safe. He leans for a moment against the wall and assembles his rifle. He looks along the sight, no obstructions; he can see the doorway.

He knows who he is to look for, and exactly what he is to do.

He is alone, although he travelled here with three other people. They are waiting for the mission to be completed and he knows where he is to meet them. They will provide interference if it is needed for him to get away.

It is nearly time.

Down on the street below, the target steps out onto the pavement.

The Winter Soldier lines up his sight, his heart calm, his mind clear. This is his mission, this is the man he is to kill.

The man is just deciding which way to turn when the bullet enters his right temple and takes his life. The taking of this life will scar the country deeply and send it into chaos for the next ten years.

But none of this concerns the Winter Soldier. He unscrews the rifle and puts it back into its case. Then he moves to climb down to the street below. He heard the screaming seconds after he had taken the shot. The sounds now coming from below do not concern him; his mind is clear, he knows how to escape and luck is on his side. The crowd below seem to think an innocent bystander on the street is the one who committed the murder and have gone wild.

The second mission has been a success. No one saw who took the shot, they did not even realise at first that it had been taken from a distance. It is the second in a range of murders that will take place over the next fifty to sixty years.

No one knows who the assassin is, but there will be talk of a Russian. The bullet is identified as USSR made but with no rifling marks. Shadows of a gunman with a metal arm emblazoned with a red star are reported but always with a masked face: no one can see any identifying features.

Over time he becomes a ghost.

*

The last two days have been a nightmare of waiting for you. They have sent the Winter Soldier out on his second mission and you are on tenterhooks for him to come back. His first mission was done in one day. This one has taken triple that.

The team is already two hours late. Nothing to worry about, adverse weather conditions with their flight - but you do not know that.

Everything is quiet, everyone seems to be waiting. Word has come through that the mission has taken place and was a success. You will not believe that until he is back and you can see him with your own eyes.

You were waiting up top but then you saw Lehmann and knew if he saw you he would dismiss you so you left of your own accord. You two have barely spoken since the last mission. Instead you are down in your room, but you left Stefan watching. He phoned you the moment they were back safely. The Winter Soldier was led away for mission report.

How will he be when he comes back? Will it have affected him like last time?

It is another four hours before you see him, and when he comes back you don't know what to do. His eyes are blank.

In the end you come forward and help him remove his jacket; the buckles are fiddly, and you hate removing this garment as it gets caught on the metal plates of his arm. But when you finally have him down to black tee shirt and trousers you ask him if he would like to eat; when he nods you order something to arrive in half an hour.

“Do you want to take a shower first?” you ask thinking of last time.

So far he has said hardly anything and you can't get a feeling on how he is. What you are to do?

He looks at you for a moment then sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with his hands. For a moment he does not move and then he puts his boots back on. Without a word he leaves and you are left wondering what the hell you did wrong.

What do you do now?

You phone Stefan and ask him if there is any way he could find out for you where the Winter Soldier has gone. He phones back ten minutes later the Winter Soldier is pounding around the running track. Everyone is giving him space; he looks like he doesn't want to be interrupted.

What do you do? You are never going to know how his mind works from one minute to the next.

The food arrives. You make an effort to eat yours and leave his covered and on the side. But it is hours before he comes back, and by this time you have given up and gone to bed. When you hear him come in you do not know whether or not to get up and see him.

You do.

“I can see if they can reheat something for you,” you say indicating the food.

“I've eaten,” he says, and he has. To their surprise and consternation he joined some of the guards in the canteen. He said nothing to them when he sat down, just listened to their talking.

“Okay,” you say at a loss with what to say, how to react.

He starts to pull his tee shirt over his head and goes towards the bathroom. When he gets there he goes in and closes the door firmly behind him, cutting off any further conversation.

You give up and go back to bed, leaving the light on next to his bed. You cannot help but feel angry with the pent up frustration of the last few days. You are only human. You decide if that is the way he wants to play it then why should you care? You know you are being childish.

You pull the sheets over your shoulder, huddle down and go to sleep.

You wake. You need to pee and so you get up to use the bathroom looking at the clock. It is late but the Winter Soldier’s bed has not been slept in and you realise you can still hear the water running in the bathroom.

Your stomach turns.

There is no lock on the bathroom door and you open it hesitantly. The shower is still on and you can see him sat under the water, his back against the wall.

You walk over and crouch down. The water is freezing and you cannot help but shiver. He looks at you. His eyes are black holes.

“What the fuck do you want?” he asks, his voice menacing, a look of absolute hatred in his eyes and you feel shocked.

You think about leaving, saying nothing, just walking out of there but you can't leave him.

“You must be cold,” you say, you hate the quiver in your voice.

He laughs but it is not pleasant and then he stands up, a bit unsteady but he reaches over and puts the taps off. “And I suppose you're offering to warm me up?”

You stand next to him and take a step back as he reaches for a towel. He dries himself off and then looks at you.

“You still here?”

“I don't have a lot of places I can go.” you say back.

*

And her response makes him feel even angrier. She is judging him.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean anyway? Look at her standing there, not a problem in the world. After all what is she here for? To fuck, see to his every need, what problems can she possibly have?

And with that he feels the anger growing inside him, feels it all channelled towards her, towards her innocence, towards her goodness, and without thinking he lashes out. She falls back onto the floor and he doesn't give her a chance to move before he takes her arm hauling her up and out into the bedroom where he throws her onto the bed.

“Warm me up then,” he snarls and she moves back away from him, a small trickle of blood running from her mouth and a look of fear in her eyes. She puts her hand out as if that is going to stop him.

“What are you going to do? Make the nightmares go away?” he says and suddenly -

*

You realise he doesn't know what he is saying. His words do not match his actions.

“Are you going to stop them wiping my mind tomorrow? Stop them from filling it with millions of sharp blades all cutting into it at once, stop them from...” And he stops when he finally hears his own words.

You come forward at the look in his eyes. He is looking inward, the hatred in his eyes changing to - to you don't know what but you realise that the hatred wasn't directed at you, it was directed at himself.

You move forward and touch his arm. He is sat on the edge of the bed and he shrugs you off.

“Don't touch me.” His voice is tired.

You get nearer, kneeling now, and you touch his face. He tries to pull away but you won't let him. He starts to fight you; he is so much stronger than you but you keep coming back each time he pushes you away until he hits you with such force it dislodges you and you fall awkwardly onto the floor at his feet.

You feel stunned but he is watching you, his eyes wide, and you move forward up on your knees and put your hand on his shoulder and look into his eyes, your other hand strokes down his cheek.

“Let me in,” you say

“No!” His voice is so loud that it hurts your ears and he pushes you away again but he doesn't move. He is still looking at you, and in his eyes is desperation.

You move up to him again and put your hands on his shoulders.

“I hate you,” he says, spit hitting your face, but he doesn't push you away.

“I know you do,” you say.

“Leave me alone, don't touch me,” but he still doesn't stop you and you move closer, your hands warming his skin.

“I know,” you say.

“I'll kill you.”

“I know,” and you are crying now because that is what he is doing. He is crying too, loud sobs coming from deep within.

You kiss his face, his mouth, his eyes and his hands have encircled your waist.

“Don't,” he is saying but you take no notice. You kiss him gently.

“I love you,” you say softly.

“I hate you,” he replies, sobbing.

“I know.”

And then he is hauling you back up on to the bed, not giving you time to breathe. His body covers yours and he kisses your mouth as if he is drowning. His hands run over your body but not gently; he is harsh, he bites into your neck, but you don't utter a word. Instead you kiss his mouth and bite his lip, your nails scratch deep into his back and he groans. You can feel his erection hard pushing into your stomach and your hand takes hold of it and you run yours nails along it and he gasps.

He moves to look at you and you go to touch his face but he catches your hand and slams it back down, then he twists your hair so he can pull your head back. You start to fight him, not to stop him but to hurt him because he needs you to, for some reason this man wants you to hurt him, you can see it in his eyes.

“I hate you,” he says again as if trying to convince himself, and this time you don't agree with him.

“No you don't,” you say quietly and he stops dead, staring at you.

“You hate yourself,” you say.

And with that it is like you have woken something up; something dangerous. He roars something, you don't know what, but he grabs at you, starts to force your legs apart, his hands hurt you, and you feel him force his way into you with no delicacy, no thought for you. He is unrelenting and he fucks you as hard as he can, he bites you, his metal hand scratches at your back as he pulls your body up to him, it is as if he is trying to clamber inside you.

And through it all, you try to keep up with him, try not to cry out when he hurts you so badly you think he may have broken something. And when he comes he has you in such a bearlike embrace you can't breathe; he is grunting, sweat flying off his body, his hair is soaking wet, you can smell his animal smell and his fingers are clasping your skin as if to tear it from your body.

And as he releases his pent up pain you hear him, you hear an utter desperation in his voice.

“Help me, oh God help me! Please!”

*

You were allowed to watch as the Winter Soldier was wiped. He didn't ask you to leave this time; he needed you there, as close as you could be.

He is now asleep until they call upon him for his next mission, and you are in Director Lehmann's office and it is you that have asked for the meeting. Once more you ask yourself, are you betraying him? Are you betraying the man you love, or are you helping him?

You can see Lehmann is intrigued. He knows he is the last person you would seek help from but you do not know what else to do.

The Winter Soldier cannot go on the way things are going.

After the first two missions, which were successful, he fell apart. He remembers the targets, he remembers they were unarmed, he remembers that he murdered them. Oh, you know when they wipe him he will forget, that the details will be dragged from his brain but until then 24 hours can seem to be a long time when you think you are drowning.

You explain what has happened the last two times he has come back after mission report, and immediately you can see Lehmann understands the problem. He does not want the Winter Soldier to feel regret, anguish, remorse. Does not want him to identify in anyway with those murdered people. Over time this could cause serious consequences.

“I know I don't understand the programming you use but is there not something you can put in to stop these...” you look for the right words.

He says them for you. “Compassionate feelings?”

You nod. “Yes.”

And so you have told him, you have betrayed the man you love, you are causing more pain for him but what else can you do? To see him both times fall apart was terrible; you were there when he woke from the nightmares shaking, sweating, when he kept telling you they had no chance against him. When he asked you why Hydra needed these men dead.

Lehmann sits there gazing at you for what seems like an eternity, and you wish you knew what he was thinking.

Eventually he nods and stands up.

“There is something we can do. Leave it with me,” he says and you can see the interview is finished.

You stand up to leave.

Ever courteous he holds the door open for you and as you pass through he cannot help one last jab. “Thank you for coming to me with this problem, Miss Bowman. I can see you understand the importance of the work Hydra is committed to. I won't forget.”

But you cannot help being the person you are. You should have said nothing. “I didn't do it for you, or for Hydra, I did it for James Barnes,” you say.

He shakes his head slowly, and that smile plays around his lips.

“Oh my dear girl, when will you realise they are one and the same thing?” and with that he closes the door behind you, leaving you standing there totally alone. 

Chapter Text

The Constant & Winter Soldier – Branded

It is a totally normal day for you. The Winter Soldier has been brought out for training and you are trying to find things to keep you occupied in the meantime. Using one of the only two keys, you unlock the store room cupboard. There are several of these rooms you have to keep stocked, but this one relates to the Winter Soldier and contains everything needed from tee-shirts to knives. Looking around it now, you feel people would be surprised to know how mundane some of the supplies are.

You are working on the inventory check when the door opens and closes. You turn, expecting to see maybe Stefan, but instead it is one of the new guards. You don't like this man. He is always hanging around, always trying to talk to you. He is one of those people who invades people's personal space.

You don't say anything, just finish your task and go to move past him to leave - but he steps and blocks the doorway.

He is new. They have warned him to stay away from this woman, but he thinks he knows better. He has listened to the other guards; this woman is a challenge they are too frightened to take on. Tonight he is determined he will be able to boast a conquest.

Wrong. Tonight he will be dead.

“Excuse me please,” you say and reach around to get the handle but he stays your hand and you snatch it away.

“Don't be like that,” he says and moves closer. He is smiling and touches your arm.

Your heart begins to race. You can smell his bad breath as he leans in towards you as if to tell you a secret.

“Come on. I'm sure by now you are missing a man. A proper man that is.” His hand reaches out and touches your breast and you slap it away and then slap his face.

“Get out. Now!” you hiss but he just laughs.

This stupid man has never seen the Winter Soldier in action. Has never seen him in a rage. He doesn't realise how near he is to being wiped off the face of the earth.

“You think I'm afraid of your boyfriend?” he sneers.

“You should be,” you say, and you try once again to move past him but he grabs you around the waist, swinging you as he does. You drop your papers and struggle against him, but he is pressing his whole disgusting body into yours and is trying to force his tongue into your mouth.

You do the first thing your body and mind tells you to and knee him in the balls - hard, and you put all your strength behind it. You hear the air expel from his lungs as he falls to his knees and you manage to get the door open, but he is quick and grabs at the bottom of your skirt, then your ankle.

You have the door open and you are one step outside but his hand stops you. You are frightened, if he pulls you back in, he will hurt you and your chance for escape will be gone.

“Please help! Anyone! Help!” you scream just as the guard regains his breath and pulls you back inside, straight onto the ground. The door swings closed and you feel panic surround you.

“No! No! Let go, no...” He is on top of you. He punches you hard in the head. He yanks open the first three buttons and tears your blouse. For a moment you think you are going to black out and he takes that opportunity to reach for his zip.

“No...” Your lip is bleeding, and you are the one who is winded now. “No...”

But before he can go any further you hear the door open, and someone takes hold of the guard from behind and pulls him backwards and out of the store room. Another guard comes in and sees it is you and swears. He helps you up. As you leave the room, the other guards are trying to talk sense to the guard who tried to rape you.

He is not listening.

Suddenly you are aware of them all going quiet, and you look up to see the Winter Soldier. He is watching. No one saw him arrive.

The new guard tries to pull his zip up addressing himself to the Winter Soldier.

“She asked me to help her and then when we were in there she wanted me to fuck her...”

You cannot believe the bare-faced lie.

“You know how woman are,” he is whining now, thinking he is talking man-to-man. The other guards do not know where to look, and all stare at the floor. They want no part of this.

“Is that why her lip is bleeding?” the Winter Soldier looks at him and asks quietly.

One of the other guards tries to walk away but the Winter Soldier's raised hand stays him.

He is calm, cool, looks you up and down, and then back at the new guard.

“She said she liked it rough.” The new guard thinks he is being clever. He knows how they have heard you cry out at night, can all see cuts and bruises the next day.

The Winter Soldier looks back at you and indicates you are to go. Your eyes are full of tears; surely he won't believe the man? You go to speak and he shakes his head and so you turn and limp away back to your room.

He is so angry, so very angry. She is his, she is his property and only his, his possession. How dare anyone think otherwise? He looks back at the guard and sees right through the man. He has met his type before. He looks back at the other guards, and then walks up to the new guard, who backs away until he is against the wall.

He thought he had gotten away with it. But he has never before seen such coldness in someone's eyes and he realises the mistake he has made.

He starts to splutter, blaming her, saying she said she wanted a man, saying she had said things about the Winter Soldier's lack of prowess. He is just digging his grave deeper.

The Winter Soldier reaches up and pats the man on the shoulder, and stupidly the man breathes a sigh of relief until the hand moves to the back of his head and grabs him, pulling him so close he thinks the Winter Soldier is going to kiss him. He looks into the cold eyes and wets himself as the Winter Soldier tightens his hand and pulls to the side, cracking the mans spinal cord in half and breaking his neck.

He lets the body go and it falls down into its own pool of urine.

The Winter Soldier turns to the guards. This is the third guard to their knowledge he has killed. They do not even think to raise their guns.

“Take him out and put him somewhere as a warning. Do you understand? This will not happen again. Do I make myself clear?” he says to them.

They nod, they understand exactly what he is saying: she is out of bounds. They start to drag the body away, grateful that he hasn't blamed them all.

He was on his way to training and he continues, believing the guard to have been totally at fault, but as the afternoon wears on he begins to think and in his mind he sees Freya and the guard together. His paranoia begins to gather in force. He remembers what they have told him about her, how they call her a whore. Surely there must be some grounds for such an accusation? He is not supposed to have feelings but his rages are so cold, so deadly and by the time afternoon comes he feels he is almost ready to kill again.

Perhaps she has forgotten she belongs to him. He needs to remind her, to mark her as his.

You enter your room in your dressing gown after having your second shower of the day. Your face throbs where the guard punched you, and your mouth is bruised. You feel as though you can't get clean.

The Winter Soldier is sat on his bed.

You are surprised - you didn't think you would see him this early. You have stayed in your room all morning and spoken to no one, and so you do not know about the guard.

He looks at you, and immediately you can see by the the look on his face, the look in those eyes, that it is you who has done something wrong. He blames you. What has the guard said?

He stands up and strides over to you, his whole body taut, the look on his face is one of pure malevolence. You take a step back, you cannot help it, you love this man but you are petrified of this insane side of him.

“I didn't do anything, I promise. He is lying to you, please believe me...” you gabble, your voice breaking. You know he blames you. Somehow it must be your fault.

He grabs your wrist and pulls you close to him and that thin lipped cruel smile makes you shudder.

“You are mine, and only mine. You obviously still don't understand that yet.” He holds you so tight you can't breathe and when he talks spittle lands on your face.

Turning he pushes you down onto the bed, onto his bed, and you wriggle up more to get away from him than to be comfortable. He kneels and then moves to straddle you, and without any warning reaches down and tears open your dressing gown, exposing your naked body.

He is savage.

“I need to teach you a lesson.”

He is so angry, and you are petrified.

His knife appears in his hand and for a minute you think he is going to kill you but instead he leans back and presses the cold steel on your stomach, you breathe in deeply so the point will not penetrate your skin.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks. His voice deceptively soft, but the knife presses down and you can't help but whimper.

“You,” you say quietly.

His eyes are boring into yours. He moves his head slightly as if to indicate he cannot hear you.

You clear your throat and say it louder, your voice still trembles though.

“You.”

“Something you seem to have forgotten...you belong to me. You are my property.”

He is never this vocal.

He moves back slightly and the knife is drawn downwards.

“Please, no, I didn't do anything wrong...he just came in when I was in there and started on me. I tried to get away...please, please don’t hurt me.” You start to cry as the knife draws a line across your pants and down. You can feel the coldness of the blade through them. If he presses any harder on the blade it will slice the material and your skin open.

It reaches the top of your inner thigh and then you feel the blade pierce your skin and you gasp. He digs the tip of the blade in and it feels like he draws something. It isn't until he moves again that you begin to feel a stinging sensation where the knife went in. Pain starts to creep into your lower belly. He hasn't finished. You feel the knife dig in again, and the stinging sensation increases and so does the pain.

He has frightened you before, played these games, but this time there is more of a coldness about him you have ever seen. This time he is going to kill me.

He moves the knife back up and wipes blood off the blade onto the bedclothes. Without realising you were holding your breath, you breathe again. He moves himself up slightly further and places the knife blade to your cheek intending to mark you there as well...but he can't bring himself to do it. He doesn't want to break your skin. Not on your face, not there.

Instead, he moves so his knee is holding down your left arm and hand. The weight hurts and you think he is going to break the bone, especially when he twists your arm so he can see the side of it. Then he leans over and holds your arm with his left hand whilst his right takes a firm hold of his knife. You can't see what he is doing but you feel the tip of the blade pierce the skin at the top of your arm. It moves deeper into the flesh and you gasp. He draws the blade across and then back again, blood spatters the bed and the floor and the pain makes you feel nauseous.

This is deeper than whatever he did on your thigh, much deeper.

“Please no, please. It hurts. Please stop,” you beg, trying to move, but he is too strong. He carries on and for a moment you think you are going to pass out. The pain intensifies as he carries on drawing the knife back and forward and then he puts the blade on the table. It is covered in blood. Your blood. You can see his hand is bloody, and whatever he tries to do next he has trouble with because of the slickness of the liquid.

Blood is pounding in your ears and you feel weak. You try to beg him again but your mouth has gone dry and no words come out.

You hear and feel an intense ripping sound and more pain shoots through your arm. He finally moves backwards and throws something away from him; you can't see what it is. Your arm is bleeding badly and you try to move to look, but he still has you pinned down. He wraps a piece of sheet around the top of your arm and then his attention comes back to you. There is a splattering of your blood on his face.

“You are nothing to me, but you do belong to me. It seems I have to remind people of that.” He leans over you wrapping his bloodied hand in your hair to pull your face closer to his.

“Nothing!” He lets your hair go and tears run down your face. You close your eyes to shut out the contempt and hatred on his features and in his voice. Your arm throbs in tune with your thigh, and you can feel your heart beating faster.

“Look at me,” he growls.

Instead you tighten your closed eyes and he slaps you with his left hand. The metal nearly breaks your cheekbone and splits the lip already hurt this morning and leaves your head ringing.

“Look at me when I'm talking to you!”

You do.

His metal hand has some of your blood on it. He looks at you, and then, leaning in closer, he takes hold of more of your hair and uses it to wipe his hand clean, a look of absolute disgust on his face.

“You...are...mine. My property...mine. If you ever do anything like that again I will take you apart. Do you understand?...Do you?” He reiterates each word.

You are so frightened, so traumatised you can't answer but he sees the wideness of your pupils and knows you have gotten the message.

Then, letting go of your hair, he moves back and off the bed.

For a moment he just stares down at you, his eyes travelling down your body. You bring your arms up, you don’t want him looking at you and you try and cross them over your breasts. You feel the stickiness of the blood and your left arm is so painful you have trouble with the co-ordination of it.

He is looking at your face now, and the sneer tells you he finds you repulsive. You are not even worth any more words. He turns and leaves the room.

You pull one of the sheets to you and curl up on top of the bed and sob as if your heart is breaking. He is your life, your whole existence. Will he be back? Will he still want you as his companion? As his Constant? But then the other questions come into your mind. How can you want to live with such a monster? What does that make you? It isn't rational but you do not care, because if he doesn't want you anymore then your life is over, and at the moment you do not want to live.

How pathetic are you?

The pain in your left arm reminds you it is there and the stinging on the top of your thigh. You are frightened to look but you do. Excised into the inside your thigh at the top of your leg is a star. Blood dribbles down onto the sheets; it is far more than just a scratch, and when it heals it will leave a ribbed scar. The skin around it is bruised.

“Oh God, oh God,” you don’t realise you are talking, words running into each other. You turn to look at your left arm. The covering is soaking wet with blood and it takes you a moment of fumbling to pull it off. Pain lances through you and you think you are going to vomit.

On the top of your arm he has drawn a shape and then torn the whole patch of skin away to leave another red star. Blood wells out of every part of it and the air seems to make it hurt even more. It is the same size of the star he wears on his left arm. The bruising around it makes it throb even more; you can see where his fingers held you down so tightly.

He has marked you. No. He has branded you. You are his, and there are now two warnings on you telling everyone you belong to him.

No one can ever say they didn't know.

*

Later he returns to his room. It is quiet. His bed is still a mess, all the bed clothes stained and rucked up; blood spatters the area. He can hear the shower going in the bathroom but it is hours later, surely she cannot still be in there.

The door of the bathroom is ajar. He pushes it open and walks over to the shower curtain. The water is still running but there is no steam; the room is cold. He can't see any movement, and fear quickly grips him. He pulls the shower curtain too hard. It comes down and he throws it on the floor.

She is there, huddled in the corner of the shower. The water is freezing cold and he can see she has been there for a long time. Her eyes are closed and her skin is blue. He quickly turns the water off and moves in to kneel on one knee in front of her.

He can see the star he excised into her left arm. It is angry and stands out red against the blue marble of her skin, and the darker blue bruising. It is still bleeding, but slowly due to the cold. He cannot see her thigh.

Very quietly he says her name. He rarely calls her by it, but he is so frightened by what he has done to her.

Her head turns in his direction and her eyes widen. She whimpers and pulls herself into an even smaller ball. He touches her and she starts to tremble, she is ice cold and her skin breaks out in goosebumps.

Swearing under his breath he gets up and fetches some towels and a robe. When he returns she has not moved. He tries his best to wrap one of the towels around her, making sure he doesn't touch her arm, and rubs her skin to get her blood circulating.

 Suddenly, as if she has woken from a dream, she grips his arm and her eyes are pools of fear. But then she looks at her hand on his arm and hurriedly takes it away.  She tries to talk but he shushes her but she shakes her head no. Her teeth are chattering and she can barely get the words out.

“You mustn't touch me, I'm dirty...”

He closes his eyes, counts to three, and then opens them and looks at her as she tries to talk again.

“What did I do wrong? Please, what did I do wrong?” she whispers. It so quiet he has to strain to hear and when he does hear the words he bows his head. He knew it was the guards fault, he has always known it, how could he have ever thought otherwise?

Whenever he feels the anger take him the side of him he finds difficult to control takes over, the cruel side. Sometimes it is as if there are several different people living inside of him, inside his mind. He feels at moments like this he must be insane.

That afternoon he had felt himself grow so cold in his anger and his cruel side took control and controlled him. He needed to teach her a lesson, that he is her life, he needed to dominate her, she is HIS. So as the anger built so did the jealousy, until he couldn’t stand it any longer and he had hurt her, again.

And now, now he felt he was the lowest piece of filth on the planet. How could he have done what he did, any of it? Why did he think that of her? He doesn't even know where the idea to do it came from. How could he expect her to forgive him and stay with him?

He shakes his head. He doesn't trust his own voice. He pulls her up to stand and then sees a bead of blood dribbling down her leg from the cut high up on her thigh. Her legs have no feeling and she can't stand on her own so he picks her up in his arms. She is so light, no weight at all, but he can feel her shivering and he holds her close.

You close your eyes and feel the warmth of his body, the strength in it, and you feel safe. You are so cold you cannot stop shivering. Your Winter Soldier is back; the cruel one gone for now. You just want to be warm.

Your arm is still bleeding and you can feel him tightening some type of cloth over it. You want to tell him not to worry, not to stop the blood, just let it drain all out of you; it will make the pain go away. Instead he places you in the bed and gets in besides you, pulls you gently towards him and tells you to sleep.

Perhaps this time you will be lucky. Perhaps this time when you sleep you will never wake up again.

Then your pain will truly be over. 

Chapter Text

The Constant & Winter Soldier - What Have You Done To Me?

You need to get these files over to Lehmann's office by midday and it has taken you all morning to sort them out. When did you turn into such a paper-pusher? What is worse is that you have to see his assistant, Jocelyn, and you don’t like her. The feeling is mutual. She is young, attractive, and men seem to fall over themselves paying attention to her; she knows they do. You were surprised that she was Lehmann's choice of secretary, but maybe she is good at her job.

Of course...that's what it must be.

As you turn the corridor you look up. Her desk is up ahead at the T junction, just outside of Lehmann's office, and the Winter Soldier is there.

He is standing close to Jocelyn. Something about them stops you in your tracks.

You are looking at them side on. She has her hand on his right arm and is walking her fingers up it; you cannot see his expression, but he is leant towards her. You can see by the expression on her face she is enjoying their talk; both of them seem calm, relaxed. A stab of jealousy goes through you that physically hurts. You have never felt such raw envy before and you are shocked at how much the scene makes you feel sick.

He leans further forward and you think he is going to kiss her; so does she, she lifts her head to meet him but instead he leans towards her and whispers something in her ear. You cannot see her reaction. He pulls slightly away and is now looking into her eyes. You badly want to look away but you can't. You hear the girl laugh, and slowly she takes her hand away from him and he turns to go.

She sits back down. Neither of them have seen you, and you back away until you are back around the corner.

You lean against the wall and close your eyes and hug the folders. He is sleeping with her. It is obvious. How did you ever think he wouldn’t want other women? How did you ever think you would be enough? You have never had a high opinion of your looks, even though it has never occurred to you to compare yourself to other women. But when you think of Jocelyn you realise you must look like some...clumsy oaf next to her.

You hear voices from down the corridor and you pull yourself away from the wall and pretend you are going through the files until the guards walk past. You have to take these files to her; there is no other option, and so you follow the guards. They hover next to Jocelyn for a few moments, flirting. Then they carry on and she sees you. Her smile is one of pure calculated malice and now you know why she always acts so superior to you. She is sleeping with your man. Your confidence has taken a knock. No.

It is in tatters.

You look at her beautiful black hair, bobbed and sculptured to her neckline, her brown eyes shaped like a cats', and her small shapely body and you want to weep; no wonder he likes her. She wears her clothes like a model and you feel shabby. The Hydra logo on her sleeve stands out proud.

You do not see yourself as others see you. You do not see yourself as he does.

You hand the folders over trying to keep your voice steady and then you escape back to your quarters, closing the door behind you, shutting everyone out.

You spend the rest of the day working on reports, timetables, anything to stop yourself from thinking. But as you work you cry: you feel so sick, so alone. What if he asks to have the girl as his Constant? What if you have to leave him? To never see him again, never touch him. You are driving yourself mad.

Finally you finish and go to use the bathroom. Whilst washing your hands you look at yourself in the mirror: at five foot ten you are tall for a woman; you do not see your shapely figure; your long legs. You just see her small delicate body superimposed on yours, and you despair.

You pull your plait forward and release the hair into a pony tail. To you it is dull; you do not see the different colours in it that reminded James of sable fur. Hers is black, just one tone but beautifully coiffed. Her eyes are so delicate and clear; you look into yours and you see the pain in them. They are so large, and to you just plain but to everyone who knows you they have the capacity to show all of your honest emotions.

You can't look any more, and instead you move away and into the other room. He will be back soon and you can't help but wonder if he has been with her instead of the additional training as he said he was. Then it occurs to you...will he be back or will you get a message from one of the guards to say he is busy and won't return until tomorrow, if at all?

You pace up and down. You can't settle, and as you pace you get angry, with him, but truly with yourself. As you walk you have arguments in your mind with him. You ask if he is sleeping with her and he tells you it is none of your business. By the time you finish you are totally convinced: he is going to leave you, you hate him in that moment.

But you hate yourself more.

There is a pair of scissors on the table and you take them and open and close the blades, then moving to the bathroom mirror you look at yourself, you look at your hair. It has not been cut since you were six years old and your mother had caught you cutting it; she had been so upset and you couldn't understand why. She made you promise never to cut it. You didn't want to make her ill again.

But now you are so angry that you want to do something. You take some of your hair in your hand and place it between the blades and cut, but it is so thick it won't cut at all. The scissors are too blunt.

“Goddamn you,” you shout and try again, but this time someone stops you. It is the Winter Soldier. He is stood next to you and before you can react he takes the scissors out of your hand.

“What are you doing?” he asks in bewilderment.

You look at him in the mirror and he sees an anger in your eyes he has never seen before. Your eyes are red-rimmed, as if you have been crying.

“What's wrong? What are you doing?”

You turn around and try and take the scissors.

“I'm cutting my bloody goddamn hair, not that it's any of your business.” But you can't get at them, he holds them up high where you can't reach them. He doesn't want you to cut your hair.

He makes the mistake of smiling at you as if he is amused. He is not being funny with you; it is more of a nervous gesture because this isn't you and he doesn’t know how to react. He rarely hears you curse. And he has been out of cryo long enough to start knowing what you truly mean to him.

You walk out of the bathroom and slam things around. You are so angry you feel like you are going to burst.

He follows you. To his knowledge, you have never been like this before.

“What is it? What's happened?” He keeps his voice neutral.

“As if you would care,” you mutter.

You feel his hand on your shoulder and you shrug away from him. You want this man so much, even through all the mental and physical abuse you still want him, not just to sleep with but to hold you, to love you; for you to be his world as much as he is yours...but that will never happen. You feel so angry with everything, so angry with the world.

You are going to lose him, and that thought stops you.

He sees your shoulders slump as if you are suddenly tired, and he pulls you around to face him.

For a moment you give in and rest your forehead against him but then you see the scene from the corridor replayed in your mind and you try to pull away.

He won't let you. You put your hands over your face. “What have you done to me?” you say. And then, a whisper: “Why didn't I let you die at the field hospital?”

For a moment you are both quiet.

“Tell me what's wrong,” he says and you look up to see him looking at you, those beautiful eyes, looking at you as if he cares. He doesn't, he can't, he doesn't have emotions for you unless its connected with sex. You know that so why look for anything else in him.

You know you are damaged in mind as well as body, you are so angry with him, but even now you still want him so much, hate and love so entwined that you don't know which one is which anymore.

All your frustration comes out and you punch his chest with both your fists. He is taken by surprise and falls backwards.

You are shouting how much you hate him, how you wish you had let him die at the field hospital, how much he has hurt you and what he has made you become. Your words run together and he can't understand them all. You are crying, hiccuping.

You hit him again and again and he lets you until your anger runs out. You are still weeping. He catches hold of your wrists and tries to hold you but you try and push him away, he won't let go of you though, he keeps hold of your wrists.

Then you go quiet and he has to strain to hear you. “Hurt me,” you say. He bends down to catch your chin to raise it to ask what you said. “Hurt me,” you say louder, tears running down your cheeks and he realises what you are asking of him.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because it's what you always do,” you say.

You get your hand free and hit him again, but this time there is no power behind it. He buries his hand in your hair and pulls your head back and kisses you hard, biting your lip. You need this man so badly you ache.

He moves you to the bed and you back up on it whilst he removes his shirt; you unbutton your blouse but that is all. He moves up to you and this time you pull him to you and his hand slides up under your skirt.

“Hurt me,” you say.

He pulls away and looks at you but you just pull him back, watching his mouth and you mumble “Please...for God's sake please.”

He pushes you back and you know he can see how much you want him.

He has taught you well, this Winter Soldier: you think that with sex comes pain and you need it. You feel the coldness of the metal on your thigh, your fingers dig into his back; you will give him anything he wants. He moves to kiss your neck and bites down on your collarbone and you moan. You know that he will draw blood and you don't care, you will draw your own as your nails claw at his spine and work downwards.

You want to feel him hurt you, you want it to hurt; if this is going to be the last time you want to remember it, to have the scars. You feel for his zip and unzip his trousers and release his cock which is hard. He grunts as you run your nails down the length of it and it makes him harder. He reaches for your hand to stop you but you surprise him, you smack his hand away, then moving your pants down you guide him into you wrapping your legs around his so he goes deep.

You moan and arch under him so your bodies are not just close, but completely together.

“Please, harder,” you beg and he moves up and, grabbing both your hands, he holds them up above your head.

He is deep inside you and you can see in his eyes he wants you. He dips his head and sucks at your breast, nipping you and then drawing your nipple through his teeth, and then catching the delicate skin again between his teeth; the pain of it runs through you and you moan again.

One hand holds yours and his metal hand moves under you and down until he can feel the cleft of your buttocks, he runs his finger down and then into you and you groan. He inserts another finger.

You are so close to coming that he can hear your breathing hitch and he knows he has you. He keeps up the rhythm but now moves slower. He lets go of your hands to support himself slightly above you, he watches you; your cheeks are flushed, your eyes closed and you moan softly.

“Freya,” he says quietly.

You hear your name just as his fingers inside you move slightly deeper. You can also feel his cock moving sending hot flushes through your body.

“Don’t stop,” you beg

“Tell me what's wrong,” he whispers. He knows he has you at your most vulnerable now.

“Nothing! Oh, God, don’t stop,” you beg him and open your eyes.

“Tell me or I will.”

“No...no please don’t.” You will do anything. Your legs tighten their hold on him, you don’t want him to come out of either place.

“Look at me...tell me...or...” He slows down.

You look into his eyes and your body is begging you not to let him stop; you move slightly but his weight is too heavy and you can't alter your position, he has you firmly under his control.

“Please. Just fuck me,” you beg.

“Why were you going to cut your hair?” He has to take a deep breath to try and stop himself from coming; he knows he has power over you but you don’t know the power you have over him. It is part of your innocence.

You look at him and he sees the unshed tears in your eyes.

“No, nothing, please just...please!” you beg but he is determined to find out what is wrong. He goes to move again and you are desperate for him to finish, desperate for him to make you climax. “I...saw you, earlier...with her...” You are finding it difficult to breathe and talk but as you say the words your anger starts to resurface and he sees it.

He is confused but doesn't show it. “Who?”

“Jocelyn,” you spit her name out and now he is genuinely puzzled. “You're going to ask her to replace me, I know you are.” You try to move again and he is quiet, instead he concentrates on your body and making you groan again as he pushes a third finger inside you and you almost stop breathing.

“Oh God please, please...” you moan, forgetting yourself for a moment.

“Freya.”

He gets your attention back. Then bends and kisses you, his tongue tracing around yours and then he moves back again so he can see you.

“Why, why would I do that?” he asks.

You bite your lip, oh God he is going to stop, he is not going to let you come.

“Please, please I need you, please fuck me,” you whisper.

“Why? Tell me!” his voice is more serious, deeper; you know he won't do anything if you don’t answer him.

You asked him for pain, well here it is - mentally and physically.

“Because she is young and beautiful and you're sleeping with her.” Your reply surprises him so much that he stops and you misinterpret it.

“No please, please don’t stop.”

He starts again and kisses you again, whispering that he won't. His hand strokes the side of your body; he has to let you come because he can't hold himself back any more. You feel the change in him and your hands move to grip his shoulders, your nails drawing blood as your body arches and he kisses your throat as you cry out and he comes inside you.

He withdraws his metal hand and draws out of you but stays over you so that you can't escape. He knows you will try.

“I'm not sleeping with her,” he says but you won't look at him. You don’t want to hear his lies. He is the one person you always thought would be truthful.

He can see you won't listen so instead he moves away and stands up, tucking himself back in and doing up his zip, putting his tee-shirt back on. You turn onto your side, away from him. You don’t hear him move for a moment but then he pads to the bathroom and you hear him washing his hands.

He comes back in and, sitting on the edge of the bed, reaches over to pull you onto your back. You are surprised how tired he looks.

“Come with me...” He sees you are going to refuse. “...please,” he adds. He has never said that before.

You adjust your clothing and get off the bed, and he goes back into the bathroom. In there he stands you in front of the mirror; you try to move away but he won't let you and instead holds you in place, looking at your reflection.

You don’t know what he is doing. You don’t want to look up at him, but he makes you.

“What do you see?” he asks you. His eyes give you no clue as to what he is expecting you to say.

You wish now you hadn't said anything. Why did you make a fuss? Why is everything with him so difficult for you?

“Why were you going to cut your hair?” He scoops up your hair and brings it over your shoulder to the front and runs his metal hand through it.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you. Your cheeks flush.

“Because I hate it. I hate myself. I'm so ugly, so ...” You turn around against his chest, weeping again when you don't want to. You hit him with your clenched fist but there is no power behind it. He brings his arms up around you and strokes your hair.

“Look in the mirror,” he tries to turn you back around.

“Please don’t make me,” you beg, but he doesn’t stop until you are facing it again.

He holds up your hair.

“How can you say you hate it? It has such beautiful colours, and is so soft.” He rubs it against your face so you can feel it. “Promise me you will never cut it.” You lift your eyes and look at his reflection and he strokes your cheek.

“Promise me,” he repeats and you give a slight nod. He knows you will do anything he asks of you.

“Your eyes are so big, a man can lose himself in them - I love the way their colour changes in the light. And your lips,” he runs his fingers over them “so beautiful, so sensuous,” he looks at you, his voice serious.

He pushes up your left blouse sleeve so you can both see the star shape he marked you with.

“I should be sorry for marking you with this but I'm not, it means you are mine, you are my woman, do you understand?” his voice is soft and he traces the outline of the star and then gently pulls your sleeve down.

Then he allows his hand to move down and runs his hand over your waist and the top of your thighs.

“And your long legs and soft thighs, why would I want to lie anywhere else? Why would I ever want anyone else?”

You turn back around, weeping even harder; you are clinging onto the material of his top breathing in his scent.

He lets her weep and then after a few minutes, he moves her away and gets her to look at him.

“Do you want to leave? Is that it? Are you tired of all this?” he asks, a horrible feeling in his gut which he doesn’t show in his face.

But he sees the look of horror on her face and knows he is safe.

“No, no, never,” she stumbles over her words. “If you tire of me then I understand but...I would never leave you unless you wanted me to.” She runs her hand down his cheek.

*

Earlier that day he had gone to see Lehmann about the additional training. But Lehmann is not in and instead Jocelyn gets up from her desk and walks over to him. She gets close, very close. He wants to move back, wants to put the desk between them. He cannot stand her. She runs her nails up and down his arm and leans in close. He leans in too: he knows she thinks he is going to kiss her but, instead he moves slightly and whispers in her ear.

“Take your fucking hand off me or I will cut each and every one of your fingers off.”

He hears her indrawn breath and sees her cheeks flush. She has never been turned down before. She drops her hand away.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” he adds.

She pretends she isn't bothered and that she has taken it in her stride, but inside she feels fear clamp down; she knows from his voice he means it. She will leave this one alone, well alone.

When he returns to his rooms Freya is in the bathroom and he hears her cursing. She is trying to cut her hair and he snatches the scissors away from her, a panicked feeling running through him. He loves her hair, doesn’t want her to cut it, doesn’t want her to change in any way. He can see she is annoyed and he follows as she moves away. To his knowledge she has never cut her hair before, she isn't the type of woman to ever think about the way she looks.

He is puzzled by her mood, it is so out of character for her. When he sees anger in her eyes directed at him, he knows something must have happened. But she is so angry and from somewhere deep he draws the knowledge that a woman angry cannot be reasoned with, he wonders how he knows that. When she hits him he is surprised again at the power behind it; she really means it but he needs her to let it out so he does nothing until he can see she runs out of steam.

Although now he knows they wipe his memory and leave only a part of her behind so that he recognises her, it takes them days to get back to the relationship they had and she is always patient. He knows from the last time he was wiped he is surprised when they give him this woman, and that she allows him to do anything to her. This time when he first used her and was so cold towards her she still drew him to her. How many times has she had that happen to her? How many times has he cruelly used her, then dismissed her and left her alone?

When she asks him to hurt her he knows that is his fault. He knows how cold he felt inside when she was given to him, how he had no feelings whatsoever. When he first comes out his only reason for being alive is his mission.

This time there was no mission. He was taken out for training, to learn new weapons. He has been out for a longer duration than normal, and now his feelings have not just resurfaced - he is remembering far more.

He knows soon, very soon, that they will wipe him and freeze him again.

And that when he awakens he will hurt her all over again.

He needs to find out what is wrong. Time is running out for both of them.

He seduces her and brings her to her most vulnerable point and makes her confess. It confuses him where she could have got the idea from that he wants Jocelyn. Why? She has nothing he would want, and a seed of doubt enters his mind, does she know something he doesn’t? Is Lehmann going to replace Freya? Now he is the one to feel sick. There are times when he welcomes the wipe; he can't cope with feelings.

They are stood in the bathroom and he is trying to get her to realise he only wants her, but he is not good with words.

“Why? Why do you think they are going to replace you?” he asks.

“I saw you...I saw you with her earlier.” It clicks in his mind and he would have laughed if it wasn't so sad.

“She touched me,” he says. “ And I told her to never touch me again or I would cut her fingers off one by one.”

She blushes as she realises what he is saying, what he is telling her.

“I'm sorry,” she says to him and he shrugs his shoulders.

“Just promise me you will never cut your hair,” he says wrapping it around his hand, pulling her around to face him and kissing her softly.

Later that night, whilst she is asleep, he lies in bed replaying her conversation with him. She told him she wishes she had let him die in the field camp. She said it twice. But now he wonders, what field camp?

What was she talking about?

What else is there that he hasn't yet remembered? 

Chapter Text

The Constant & The Winter Soldier - Too Close To Home

This was to be an ordinary wake-up, nothing different from any of the ones that came before. Wake him up, programme him, get him ready for his mission, up to speed on the latest weaponry and anything else he would need and send him out.

But...

Something is not right.

He has come out of cryo freeze catatonic, and nobody seems to know why. He sits in the master chair with the doctors panicking, shouting. You have knelt at his side, talking softly to him, but you are not getting a response.

Christ, how stupid can they be? What the hell have they done now?

One of the doctors goes to sink a hypodermic needle into the Winter Soldier's right arm. You see the left one twitch and the metal hand slowly curls; you have seen that happen before. Your eyes widen and the bottom of your stomach falls but you are not quick enough to realise the danger despite the sense of dread you feel. Your mouth goes dry.

There is more wrong here than any of you know.

Before the liquid can drain into his arm the doctor is sent sprawling backwards. You try to run but the Winter Soldier has grabbed you, has grabbed your hair, and pulls you to the ground and kneels beside you. There is a scalpel in his hand, at your throat, and he is pulling your head back.

As soon as you see that look, that thin lipped smile, you know who he is. There is pure madness in his eyes.

“Hello again.” he whispers, so close that you can smell his breath.

You are aware of the doctors in the background calling for the guards. He knows he only has seconds left and he has a message for you but he doesn't need to speak, you know exactly what he wants. His face gets closer and he slackens the grip on your head but the scalpel digs into your skin and blood trickles down your neck.

He looks at her, his eyes roaming her face, her lips. Just as he remembers, just as he has dreamt about in the cold darkness.

You feel the point of the scalpel and you are sure he is going to pull it across your throat; it is sharp enough to kill you, especially with the power of his metal hand.

“Hmm, perhaps not yet,” he hisses and the pressure of the scalpel eases a little.“I want my fun first.” His grin is awful. He lowers the blade and pulls you to him and sucks at the wound in your neck, tasting your blood, sucking it. Your hands scrabble at his chest, trying to get away.

You can hear shouting in the background but also you are beginning to feel faint. He straightens and you see your blood on his lips, staining his teeth and his eyes are pure evil. He is going to hurt you.

How did this happen? How has the second personality come back? How has he taken over the Winter Soldier's body, his mind?

And more importantly, why?

A sudden electric bolt is sent up his spine and he staggers back, letting go of you completely, and then the guards are on top of him. Some of the charge has hit you as well and you feel like your teeth are on edge, your limbs tingle unpleasantly and you feel you cannot move. Another stronger bolt hits him and makes his back arch. Through it all he grins, your blood on his lips until, keeping him on his knees, they fasten his hands behind his back and one of the doctors plunges another needle into his arm. The sedation is strong, and in a moment he will be out cold.

He doesn’t stop looking at you and you can't break eye contact with him. It's as if his will is dominating you, won't let you break away.

Jakobs comes to your aid. The other doctors are talking over each other, trying to figure out what went wrong. You look over and see Lehmann. He is the only one not panicking. He sees you looking at him and turns away, but not before you see a smile on his face...as if he has learnt something interesting.

They place the Winter Soldier in a padded room in a straight jacket. Marinov stands two guards in the corridor outside; they know from days of old how dangerous this personality is.

The doctors want to do an immediate mind wipe to see if that will banish this personality, but first Lehmann tells them they need to discover how he can wake from a cryo freeze with the second personality in place. For so long now his mind has been as one; they thought that that personality had been dealt with a long time ago. No one has any ideas. Lehmann appears concerned, but you cannot forget that smile. He sets his doctors the task of finding out.

There is nothing you can do. They will not let you visit him. As the day draws to a close you go back to the quarters you normally share with him, exhausted. Your throat hurts. He bit you where he cut you and the area is puffy, red, Jakobs has given you antibiotics. Your back aches where he had hold of you and pressed you backwards. Was he trying to kill you? He could have done that so easily, but why? To show his power over you?

You have never doubted that. Nothing makes any sense.

You shower, take some pain killers and then go to bed. Part of you wants to stay awake just in case. You know what he is capable of but they have him confined, guarded he can't possibly escape. You are too tired to keep your eyes open and you fall into an uneasy sleep.

*

A noise awakens you. You are sure your door opened and closed. Were the guards checking on you? One of the doctors?

“Is anyone there?” your voice sounds frightened. There is no reply. You reach over and switch the lamp on and your heart jumps.

He cannot have got out. He was in a straitjacket. The room was locked, and guarded, but you see something that makes you turn cold with dread - there is a chair jammed under your door handle and as you turn, you see him moving towards you, fast, menacing.

You can't move. You know you should: you should scream but you have no voice. Then he is towering over you and you are shaking your head no. You hit out and try to scramble out of the other side of the bed. His left hand grabs your arm and yanks you back almost pulling your arm out of its socket.

“Oh no you don’t. I've waited a long time for this,” he growls.

He backhands you across the face and you see stars, literally.

He is fast, he grabs both your hands together pulling them above your head and with strips of cloth he ties them to the bed head.

He has come prepared.

“Please, no, no...” you are babbling; your heart is beating so fast you are sure he can hear it.

Now that you are tied down he grins and sits on the edge of the bed looking at you. He slips one hand under the covers and rests it on your belly. He can feel your warmth through the cloth of your nightgown.

“Remember me?” he asks. The look in his eyes tells you there is no escape, there is nothing you can do. “There's so much I want to do to you.” His voice is frightening and the way he looks at you is worse.

You open your mouth to scream for help but he has anticipated this and puts his metal hand over your lips.

“No you don't. It's just you and me. Nobody else is invited to this party.” He gags you with another piece of cloth.

He has never done this before. Usually he likes to hear you beg.

He removes the bed covers from you completely, but leaves the pillows under your head so you can watch what he is doing. He then takes a knife out and slits your nightdress from top to bottom, discarding the ruined material on the floor.

He runs the tip of the knife from your throat to your belly and you inhale; you can't help it. He runs the blade under the material of your pants and slits them, pulling the material away and holding the material up, smelling them, and then grins at you as he tosses them on the floor. He slips the knife behind him into the waistband of his trousers.

“You always smell so nice, so ready for me.”

He looks at you, feeling the softness of your skin with his fingers, stroking your belly. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps. You are so frightened. He can feel you trembling. You are having trouble breathing and you are trying not to gag.

You are desperately trying to think. Where are the guards? How has he escaped?

Then he moves to straddle you. The Winter Soldier likes domination, he likes to show the power he has.

He bends and pulls down the gag and before you can move away he kisses you, his tongue demanding entry into your mouth. His hands move to feel every part of you he can reach. He bites your lip and winds your hair around his hand pulling you as close to him as he possible can, driving his tongue down your throat until you are choking and trying to pull away from him to breathe.

Finally he lets go and sits back, wiping his mouth with his forearm, a look of such lust in those eyes. He is going to hurt you so very much.

“Please...” you say. You don’t want to beg but you don’t want this, not him, not this one. He smiles and reaches forward pulling up the gag again.

“Don't want anyone to hear you scream,” he whispers into your ear.

Then he moves backwards and as he does he takes off the shirt he is wearing. You know he will not strip completely as the Winter Soldier never likes to be vulnerable; to be naked is to be vulnerable. You can see his erection straining against his trousers.

He is straddling your legs, pinning them open. You cannot move. He runs his hand over your belly and down into your thatch of hair. You close your eyes.

“Look at me,” he growls.

You don’t. You don't want to.

“I said…look...at...me.” There is such menace in that voice. You open your eyes and start to cry.

His hand continues to move downwards. His fingers trace around the star branded into the top of your inside thigh, and then across to your most private parts.

“Perhaps not so ready.” You feel his fingers exploring and then he holds his hand up and rubs his fingers together.

“Not wet enough,” he says, and watches as your eyes widen.

He brings his metal hand forward and you shake your head to say no, try to beg but he watches your face as you feel the cold metal trace the path of his other hand. You feel the hardness of the fingers exploring and then plunging into you.

He closes his eyes. He can feel everything with that hand. He has wanted to do this for a long time.

He pushes his fingers in deeper and you feel the coldness inside of you. There is no warmth, just pressure and pain. You try to move but he has you pinned down. He opens his eyes to watch you, and then leans forward and as he does he pushes his hand into you.

The pain is excruciating. You feel like he is tearing you open. You can't breathe; you think you are going to be sick into the gag. Your body tries to arch up and away. You shake your head desperately but his concentration is fully focused on what he is feeling.

You feel his fingers exploring, rubbing, hurting you. You feel your skin splitting. A heat spreads across the inside of your lower belly. He pulls his hand out slowly, and as he does you feel part of the metal snag on your delicate flesh. He doesn't notice, he is too lost in wanting to be inside you, taking you, making you his.

He moves, takes out his knife and puts it on the bedside table then unzipping and pulling down the material of his trousers and shorts so he can release himself. You close your eyes and feel his erection between your legs and then he is pushing into you. It hurts; you can feel flesh tearing inside you.

You hear him groan.

“Oh yes, you liked that, you're wet now aren't you, ready for me.” The pressure on your legs diminishes as he leans forward and his body cover yours.

He is deep inside you and all you can feel is pain. You know something is desperately wrong, but you can't speak. You moan but he mistakes it for passion which just drives him on further. He sets a rhythm and his face shows how much he is enjoying being with you again, being inside you.

He groans and there is sheen of sweat on his brow. He moves again and you look up into those mad, cruel eyes.

“You let them put me in that room, you let them put me in that jacket, that wasn't very nice, not nice at all...you think I've finished with you?” he asks, enjoying the fear in your eyes as you see he has picked up the knife in his left hand. “I was once in a place where, when I wouldn't do what they wanted, do you know what they used to do to me?” he asks.

You can feel his hardness deep in you, pulsing, and you see he is holding himself to stop himself from coming too early. His breath hitches and for a moment he closes his eyes and his hand clenches the knife hard. Then he breathes out and looks at you again.

“They would place a knife blade between two of my ribs and then twist,” he is talking again. Your eyes are so wide, so full of fear and pain, he loves to see your pain, it fills him, it makes you his.

You feel his fingers skirt over your rib cage on your right hand side and you can see he is counting, then he pushes down with his fingers.

“Have to get this right. I don’t want to cut anything I shouldn't, don't want to end the fun to soon.” Then he studies you as he presses the knife blade between two of your ribs. It feels like you have been punched, the pain shoots through your torso and you try to arch up again but he is too heavy.

You hear him whisper: “Hurts, doesn't it?”

He is moving inside you again, building to his orgasm, and then just when you thought he couldn't hurt you any more, he turns the blade and pushes the two ribs apart.

Even allowing for his weight, your whole body bucks. The pain strikes through you; you scream but the gag stops any sound and he pushes himself in as deep as he can and floods you with his semen, the liquid warm and deep inside you. You feel him shuddering.

He grabs your chin and turns your face so he can watch you. The knife twists again and you are weeping, you have wet yourself, the pain is engulfing you and through it all you can feel him, deep inside you, deep inside your soul. The man you love cannot be in this monster: he cannot be here, he would not let this happen to you, he would not, could not, do this to you.

“Look at me,” you hear, your ears are buzzing, the pain in your side burning, and you do not know what is worse: that or the pain between your legs.

“Look at me,” he slaps you and you open your eyes, tears blurring your vision. He grabs you by the hair and pulls your face up. His eyes are pure madness. He searches your face and then bends and pulls the gag down and kisses you hard, splitting your bitten lip, tasting your blood, his tongue laying claim to yours.

He finally lets you go and pulls the gag back up and it starts to absorb your blood.

Then he is quiet, breathing deep as he moves away and out of you to sit up, pinning your legs again. You hear him zip himself up. He leans forward, studying you: he wants to see every part of what he has done to you, those eyes are draining you. He reaches out and tips your head up slightly. The knife is gripped in his hand and he moves it to your throat.

Kill her, that is you mission. Do it now! The voice in his head instructs him. Slit her throat. Make it final.

He puts the blade to her neck and digs it in. He can see she feels the sting of the metal as it slices her skin but he doesn't go any further. Her eyes are wide and petrified, watching him.

I can't do it. I can't do it. Why? I just need to pull the blade across. I just need to finish her.

Slowly he takes the blade away, anger flashing in his eyes, and then she realises there are tears there to.

“What have you done to me?” he asks her. “Why can't I kill you?”

He sits back and lets the knife fall. He has failed his mission. He cannot do it, he cannot kill her.

You watch the bloody knife fall to the floor.

You can hear loud thuds, voices shouting, but all your focus is on him, on what he has done to you. His body and mind are still holding you hostage, they have torn you apart.

There is a loud bang, shouting. Suddenly he is being dragged off of you.

He is shouting – no, screaming madly. There are other voices yelling, telling him to stand down, and Jakobs and Stefan desperately try to untie your arms, removing the gag from your mouth.

The guards are trying to get the Winter Soldier out of the room but he is fighting them. Jakobs swings around angrily.

“Get that psychopath out of here now!”

“God so much blood,” you hear someone say but there is something wrong with you. You want to sit up, you want to cover yourself but you can't. You can't move. Your arms and legs won't do what you tell them to. The bed clothes between your legs and under you feel wet and sticky.

“We need to get her on the table now.”

“Don't move, Freya,” someone tells you, holding you down.

You hear the Winter Soldier's screams. “Get away from her, she's mine. Touch her and you're dead...she's mine, she's my mission, she's mine!”

“You sick bastard, what did you do?” Marinov growls at him, trying to hold him, trying to get him down to his knees but he can't. The Winter Soldier is furious, spitting.

You want to talk, to ask what it was he just said. He said you were his mission - what does he mean? Then another bout of pain slices through you and you want to beg them to take away the agony, but your mouth is dry and your brain cannot form the words.

Everything is going crazy around you. You are barely conscious. There is pain everywhere and you try to curl in on yourself. Stefan is at your side, telling you everything is going to be all right, telling you that you are safe now.

He is lying.

“Don't you understand what you have done? She won't survive this! You've killed her!” Jakobs shouts at the Winter Soldier.

“I haven't. I didn't cut her throat. I didn't complete my mission. You think I don't know that she will heal. I can do what I like to her, she...belongs...to me.” he spits out. His words are disjointed.

“What? Are you that stupid? She isn't the same as you! She's just an ordinary woman! There is nothing special about her! She is going to die, you fool...you bloody madman.”

Suddenly everything is quiet. He stops fighting them, and you hear his voice.

“No...” it wavers, and then he roars: “No!”

All hell breaks loose as he goes wild and almost breaks free but he still manages to grab Jakobs by his jacket. The guards try to prise his fingers away.

“Then make her special. Make her special...if she dies I will kill all of you, all of you. I will destroy you. I will take you apart. I will destroy everything.” He is screaming now.

He has lost his mind.

One of the guards is so frightened he brings the butt of his rifle down hard on the back of the Winter Soldier's head twice, and finally he goes down.

The last thing you hear is one of the other doctors.

“Christ what a mess, what a fucking mess.”

You don’t think he means just you.

*

Hours later Jakobs is called in to see Lehmann for a progress report. The Winter Soldier is back in the padded room, back in his straight jacket, but they know he is of no danger to them. He is catatonic, lying on his side on the cot.

Jakobs sits down opposite Lehmann, the strain of the night showing on his face, his pallor grey. He has not told Lehmann what he has done. He has told no one but Stefan. Now he knows he will have to own up to it, and Lehmann will be furious. Even with what he has done he doesn’t know if she will live.

“She is alive for now...but I don’t know if she will make it,” he says, dry washing his face with his hand.

Lehmann sits back in his chair, pencil between his fingers, twirling it around and around.

“So he tried to kill her.”

Jakobs is too tired to notice it is a statement and not a question. “No...no I don’t think so.”

At this Lehmann frowns and sits forward.

“I understand he tore her apart. He tried to kill her and has more or less succeeded.”

“No...we think...” Jakobs stops and looks at Lehmann - really looks at him - and realisation dawns in his mind.

There is a moments quiet and then Jakobs also leans forward, anger flashing in his eyes, his mouth grim. “What did you do?” He remembers what the Winter Soldier had said. It had not made sense at the time.

I didn't cut her throat. I didn't complete my mission.

Lehmann smiles one of his enigmatic smiles and leans back.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says.

“You did something.”

“Well, I think that's it for now. Let me know when things...change.” When she dies, Jakobs translates. Well, that won't happen if he can help it.

“I've given her two doses of the serum.” Jakobs says quietly.

That wipes the smile off of Lehmann's face.

“You did what?!” he asks, his voice dangerously quiet.

“It won't do anything but help her heal. She needs a fighting chance.”

“You used the formula without asking me...” Lehmann is angry now.

“Yes, I did. And what did you do without asking us?” Jakobs challenges him.

“I am Director now, you forget that. I can do what I feel is necessary and I don’t need to ask your permission, or anyone else's...”

“You still have to answer to Armin. Perhaps I should ask him to intervene?” Jakobs snarls and then tries to calm himself, realising anger will not help. Both men are quiet for a moment. “Look, it's been a long night....please just tell me. What did you do?”

Jakobs feels exhausted. This project has got so out of hand that it is unbelievable. How did he ever think he was going to make the world a better place? How did he get drawn into all this?

Lehmann watches him. He knows he still needs the help of the doctors on this project. He is also vain. Lehmann is like all people who want power: when they think they have done something clever they like to have someone to boast to.

“What did you do?” Jakobs asks again quietly.

“I made her his mission,” Lehmann says.

Jakobs closes his eyes, not wanting to believe what he has just heard. He opens them and looks at Lehmann but doesn’t say anything.

After a moments' silence Lehmann starts talking, taking pleasure in his ingenious plan. He doesn’t tell Jakobs about the visit in the night he had when the Winter Soldier had outlined what he wanted. He doesn’t tell him how he carries the scar the Winter Soldier gave him that fateful night, telling him what would happen if he refused him.

The Winter Soldier wanted her, always and forever more. If he could be made to destroy the one thing he wants more than anything in the world, then what else would he be capable of?

“After the last mission and wipe I wanted to see if it was possible to programme the Winter Soldier before putting him into cryo-freeze, and so we did. I made the Constant...” he never calls her by her name. “...his next mission, so that when he woke up he would kill her.”

“But for God's sake...why?” Jakobs asks.

“Because he is dependant on her, that's why. We should never had agreed to Zola's idea of a Constant, it makes him weak. I have to admit though, I thought he would just shoot her or use a knife and cut her throat.”

Jakobs cannot believe what he is hearing. He is struggling to keep his anger in check. He knew Lehmann disliked Freya but she had worked by his side all these years, done everything expected of her. For Lehmann to be so cold...it beggars belief.

“But then we would have no Constant,” he says.

“If he killed her then we could do anything with his mind, programme him to believe anything. We can find another woman, one who doesn't...care so much for him, one whose loyalty is to Hydra not to...Barnes.”

Jakobs cannot believe the man is so blind.

“She is his Constant. She has been there from the moment he was lost. You cannot just replace her with anyone. You programmed him to kill her and he couldn't do it. He could not kill her. He believed she is the same as him, that she had the serum inside her, that she will heal. You should have seen him, should have heard him when he found out she was like the rest of us. He went mad, threatened to destroy us all, threatened to hunt our families down. He was raving in pure and utter madness.”

He can see he has not gotten through to Lehmann. “It sounds to me like he tried to kill her. You said he tore her apart.”

“Because he thought she couldn't die!” Jakobs breathes in deeply pinching the skin between his eyes and then looking back at Lehmann. “All you've done is split his personality again. He couldn't do what you programmed. You've gone backwards, that is all you have done.”

Lehmann just looks at him. Jakobs sighs.

“You will never understand, will you? She gives him something to focus on, something to carry on for: she is his and his alone. Everyone needs someone...even the Winter Soldier,” he says quietly.

This argument isn't the first one between them on the subject of the Constant, and Jakobs doubts it will the last - unless she dies.

Lehmann has not finished trying to get his point across. “Think man, think. If he had killed her it means he would do anything...literally anything we instruct him to do.” Lehmann's eyes glitter and Jakobs sees the pure greed for power in them.

“But he didn't do it, did he?”

“Well, that is a matter of opinion...”

“No you don’t understand...” Jakobs sits forward again. “All you did was split his mind again. He couldn't do it. You pushed him too far, the programming didn't take.”

“Of course it did, he...” Lehmann frowns as his mind works on what Jakobs has said but Jakobs has not finished.

“Every time we bring him out of cryo freeze he remembers her. Not a great deal but he knows her, like a forgotten memory. She calms him. Every time you programme him he treats her like a stranger but his memories of her always start surfacing, always. She is ingrained into him, into his psyche.” He talks as his thoughts are coming to him, trying to get through to Lehmann. “He couldn't do it...he couldn't kill her. Couldn't cope with the thought of killing her so he brings back the most violent part of his psyche because he is trying to fulfil his programming, to fulfil his mission. This is the only part of him that he can't control, but that part of him didn't realise she wasn't the same as him. In some messed up way, he thought she is part of Zola's plan and so anything he did to her she would survive. Only now...now he knows she isn't...he knows she can die and his mind has just given way.”

Up to now the Winter Soldier has been used for assassinations, but Lehmann has always planned bigger. What if they created an army of programmed soldiers who would do anything? Would go into battle and decimate everyone, the enemy, civilians, everyone who opposed them?

How much power would that give Hydra?

How much power would that give him?

But Lehmann is a scientist foremost and what Jakobs is saying begins to make sense even to him and he gets a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach. He was so sure about this plan. It would have shown they could programme him at any time, with any command, and it would get rid of his problem of the Constant.

“Anyone that deep in his psyche, he can't kill. At the end of the day you forget, he is human.” Jakobs finishes. If Lehmann can't see it now he never will.

“Then it's lucky she's the only one,” Lehmann says quietly to himself, not knowing he is wrong.

He is very wrong.

There are two people to ever get that deep into the psyche of the man they know as the Winter Soldier. One is his Constant...and the other is someone that meant so much to James Barnes that he will always be a part of him no matter what. The Winter Soldier does not remember him now, but one day he will.

One day the memories will fight back and win...but that day is a long way off.

Jakobs asks him a question which shakes him out of his reverie. He frowns to indicate he didn't hear what the question was.

“I asked why? Why do you hate her so much? I don't understand. She's just a nurse. She does everything she is told. Her only crime is that she cares about him.”

Lehmann looks at him.

“It is not her I hate; it's what she represents. What she stands for. Love.” And he makes a disparaging noise. “Love is a weakness not to be tolerated. There are bleeding hearts like her's all over the world, they care for people, they care for peace but what has that ever got them? I tell you what. Nothing! A big fat zero. She loves Barnes...” And here he laughs bitterly. “You think that will get her anywhere? You think it will give her anything? No, she is an idiot like the rest of them out there. They can't even look after themselves, they have no direction. And her type are the worst.”

“And you have direction? You have what you really want?” Jakobs asks, but he sees the light of madness in Lehmanns eyes...no, not madness: pure and utter greed.

“When this world is ours we will have everything and they will have nothing, nothing! They will be like cattle - there to feed and clothe us. She loves Barnes and do you know who Barnes is?  Who he actually is? He is a soldier who fought against us. His so called, best friend...his lover...Captain America, killed our leader, killed Johann Schmidt, the one person who mattered, the one person who had vision. He had such a dream, such plans, and Rogers killed that. I only wish Rogers was still alive to see what I have turned his lover into. To see how Barnes will avenge Schmidt's murder on the whole world. If you think I will let a two bit whore destroy my plans then you are mistaken.”

Jakobs sits there for a moment stunned. He doesn't know what to say. The passion coming out in Lehmann's voice is disturbing.

“She is not a whore,” he says weakly. “She is just a woman who loves a man.”

Lehmanns sneers.

“Are you sure about that? She's weak. Her weakness is a disease. Be sure, Eric, that you are not succumbing to that weakness yourself.”

Jakobs does not trust himself to reply. He looks at the floor, his mind working.

“And Eric...” Lehmann says and Jakobs looks at him. There is a cold look on Lehmann's face and he leans forward.

“This is the second time you have crossed me. There will not be a third. Do I make myself clear?”

Jakobs nods and stands. He is too tired to argue any more, so tired his whole body and mind aches to sleep. He will call in and check on Freya and then go to his room. Stefan will stay by her side and call him if anything happens.

At the door he turns back to Lehmann.

“You had better start praying that she lives because if she doesn’t, Project Winter Soldier will crash and burn around you and then where will you be in the Hydra food chain? Where will you be in your new and marvellous world?”

Then he opens the door and leaves closing the door quietly behind him.

*

After a long two days, Jakobs believe they have turned a corner. With the help of the serum Freya is healing, but she has not regained consciousness. Whilst the serum in her body is just enough to help in the repairing, it is not enough to help her over the obstacles it actually causes. Her body burns at such a heat they have to keep sacks of ice on hand to apply to prevent her mind from burning up.

The Winter Soldier is awake but unresponsive. They have tried to get him to talk, tried to figure out what is going on in his mind, but he does not reply. He is still in a straight jacket; they do not know which personality is in control. They have attached him to a drip to keep his body hydrated. He simply lies still on the cot.

After making the usual checks one of the guards is just leaving the room when he hears the Winter Soldier mutter something. He turns and walks back over, keeping his hand on his side arm even though there cannot be any danger.

The Winter Soldier looks up, the first time he has made any sign of movement.

“Jakobs. I want to speak to Jakobs,” he says. His voice rusty, his Russian near-perfect. The language is second nature to him now.

The Winter Soldier looks away and the guard leaves. He picks up one of the phones in the corridor and phones Lehmann. After a short discussion he is told to fetch Jakobs to the Winter Soldier's room.

Once there, the Winter Soldier actually reacts and with difficulty swings around to sit up on the bed. Jakobs helps him by releasing the jacket's straps, making it easier for the Winter Soldier to move. Jakobs helps him knowing somehow he is of no danger to him. The Winter Soldier wants him there for a reason.

“How is she?” The Winter Soldier asks Jakobs.

Jakobs studies him. The man looks awful: hollow stubbled cheeks, black bags under bloodshot eyes, cracked lips. Before putting him in the jacket they disconnected his arm from its power source, it is dead and Jakobs can see that the weight of the metal is making the him lean to the side. He can see the pain the weight is causing him in his face. A normal human being would not be able to carry that weight, yet alone support it.

He cannot work out which personality he is talking to.

“She will live,” he says and, entirely without wanting it, pity wells up inside him for this broken soldier.

There is silence for a short while.

“I want to see her,” he says quietly.

“That's not possible.”

“So she is dead and you're keeping it from me.”

“No, but she isn't out of the woods yet. She is unconscious.”

Silence.

“You have to understand you hurt her badly. She isn't like you. She isn't part of the programme, and so she can be wounded just like any other human being...but she will survive this.” Jakobs feels he needs to give him something to focus on.

Silence.

Jakobs thinks he has finished talking and he gets up.

“Let me see her...please.” The last word is spoken with such anguish.

Jakobs walks to the door.

“Please.”

This time the word stops him in his tracks. He can't ignore it. He knows how much this man means to Freya, and deep down he thinks he knows how much she means to him. This is the part of Jakobs that sets him apart from Lehmann, this is the part of him that makes him still human.

He goes back to the man and crouches down so he can look him in the eyes.

“If I take you to see her you will not try and hurt her. If you do, I will get them to shoot you through the head. Is that understood?”

The Winter Soldier's eyes are deep and black.

“You will keep the jacket on and there will be an armed guard with us all the time. I will not allow you into her room. You can see from the doorway...understood?”

“I want to touch her...to know that she's alive.”

“Do you remember what it was that you did to her? Do you? You violated her using your metal hand, you tore her up inside...you jammed a knife into her ribs and forced them apart...you raped her. And you want me to let you near her?!” Jakobs looks down. It is no good getting angry with this soldier, he was trying to do what Lehmann programmed him to do in the only way he knew how.

They are both silent for a moment.

“I will not harm her.” The Winter Soldier says quietly, and Jakobs looks up. “I have never lied to you.”

Jakobs can see now is talking to the violent one. He can see it in the way his face looks, his eyes so deep and black and that cruelness which shows even now.

“And afterwards, you wipe me...wipe me and put me back to sleep. I don’t want to feel like this...I don’t want to hurt her again,” he finishes, and Jakobs knows he can believe him. He is telling the truth.

He has let Jakobs see him. The real him. He is being as honest as he can, and despite the madness in those eyes he can see a depth of sadness he wouldn't of thought this personality could feel. He had seen it once before, when he told him after the attack that Freya was human and was going to die.

He has promised to report to Lehmann and he does, arguing that they must let him see her. Lehmann gives in and agrees and then afterwards they will wipe him. The wipe will be a full one, will banish this personality back to where it came from.

Two guards walk either side of them, and two guards are stationed outside Freya's hospital room, and two guards inside. Stefan will not leave her side.

They have removed the Winter Soldier's straight jacket after all, Jakobs orders. They also allow him into the room. Jakobs believes he will not hurt her.

The soldier looks down at the damage he has wrought and inside his heart breaks into pieces, but he says nothing. This personality knows once they wipe him then the Winter Soldier will not remember any of this. His heart will mend. His world will become normal again.

He reaches out and Jakobs shakes his head as Stefan steps forward. The Winter Soldier gently strokes her hair and her cheek then pulls his hand away.

He nods to Jakobs.

“Now wipe me. Make me forget.” he says.

*

In his office, Lehmann finishes his personal statement and adds it to the file.

TOP SECRET

To all future Directors

Subject: The Constant

It is highly recommended that in no way do you ever try and separate the Winter Soldier from the Constant. Regrettably, it appears she is the one thing that keeps him stabilised and focused. Without her the subject becomes unstable, violent and non-programmable and will need to be put down with extreme prejudice.

If there are any future projects such as this I would recommend from the start finding an alternative method to using a Constant as this leaves a trace of human feeling in the subject which should not be allowed to exist.

Director Nikolay Lehmann

Project Winter Soldier

The problem with people like Lehmann is that they are ever-resourceful, forever looking at ways of controlling people. He already uses the Constant to achieve what he wants. He knows he does not need to programme the Winter Soldier to love her: he does so already, it is ingrained and Lehmann will continue to use this to his advantage.

As Jakobs reminded him they know that the programming does not last indefinitely, there is never a specific time frame before his memories start to try to break through, before feelings begin to surface.

They need the Winter Soldier's anger, his drive, even his paranoia. It helps fulfil the missions they send him on.

As part of the programme they always programme him to think the Constant is no one to him, a whore they have hired to look after his needs. When his memories of her start to surface they know the programming is beginning to break down.

They will know exactly when to wipe him.

Everyone has their uses. Even Freya.

*

When Freya awakens, Jakobs is there. His smile is one of such relief she realises this man is her friend, realises they are beginning to mean something to one another. She feels like she has been hammered into the ground, and he tells her to sleep.

When she wakes the next time, her head is clearer. He helps her drink. He is honest with her, tells her what he has had to do to save her life, but explains that it will just help her healing process in the future. There is nowhere near enough of Zola's serum inside her to even begin to cause her the problems the Winter Soldier has.

Her first question is about the Winter Soldier. Where was he? How is he? Was he hurt?

Jakobs tells her the truth. He has been wiped and put back into cryo. It will not happen again.

“It wasn't his fault,” he says.

“Was it mine?” she asks, closing her eyes, but Jakobs touches her and she opens her eyes to find him looking at her.

“No. Neither of you is to blame. It's this place. It's Hydra and Lehmann. Don’t ever think it is you or...James. It was something to do with his programming but as I said it won't happen again,” he says.

And she tries to smile but instead bursts into tears and Jakobs reaches out, takes her into his arms and holds her as she weeps.

She is so tired, so bruised, she doesn’t know how she is going to cope. How will she ever trust the Winter Soldier? She feels they have taken James away from her all over again. She remembers how he changes the longer he is out of cryo, how he begins to remember her when the programming begins to wane, the last time when he told her she was his woman and it makes her cry harder.

“James,” she cries quietly.

Jakobs cannot promise her things will get better. Cannot promise her anything so he rocks her back and forwards and holds her whilst she weeps so she knows she isn't alone. 

Chapter Text

Hydra - Lehmann and Jakobs - The Decision

Doctor Eric Jakobs watches himself fix his bow tie in the mirror. He looks at himself. There is grey in his hair, he has missed a spot shaving, and his suit has seen better days...he has seen better days. He is getting old.

He looks down at the photograph on the sideboard; it shows a youngish woman and two children sat on a picnic blanket, their smiles wide and laughing. It is the only photograph he has left of his family.

He remembers the day it was taken so well. It had been his son's thirteenth birthday and they had driven out to the country to celebrate. They had bought him a kite. Not just any kite, but one so colourful that when they saw it flying it looked like a beautiful, mysterious insect. His daughter, who had been eleven, had run along beside him laughing.

He can see that picture so vividly in his mind.

His wife had called to them; she had laid out a blanket and they had eaten sandwiches, pickles, and birthday cake. The children drank fruit juice; him and his wife, wine. The sun was warm but comfortable. Afterwards he sat with her whilst they watched their children playing. They were so blessed, everything was right with the world.

His son had not lived to fourteen, and all of his family were now buried but not forgotten. He would never forget them.

His eyes smart and he looks away, finishes dressing. He has a meeting with Director Lehmann – well, not just him personally; they all have a meeting. It is to do with the new facility.

He meets Stefan on the way and when they take a seat they realise that Marinov has been invited too. That is good news: clearly, he is to go with them.

Lehmann enters with Jocelyn. She sits herself in the corner to take the minutes. Everyone but Jakobs was surprised when he had appointed her his secretary, but Jakobs knew that Lehmann had intended to replace Freya with her. After the failed 'mission', that idea had been scrapped and she had remained as his secretary instead. To give her her due, she seemed to be settling into the role well.

Marinov catches Jakobs eye and nods to acknowledge him.

There were fifteen of them around the table: heads of departments and their assistants; all the people who would follow Lehmann to the new complex, their teams to follow. In the middle of the conference table was a mock up of the new camp. It was impressive.

Half an hour later a full detailed account has been given of the new facility, and it is frightening. Project Winter Soldier is just a small part of it. The camp is being set up to train and run STRIKE Units. They will be sold to governments as anti-terrorist teams; STRIKE meaning 'Special Tactical Reserves for International Key Emergencies'. But all the personnel will be loyal to Hydra. These teams will infiltrate and work with foreign governments so that one day Hydra will truly be everywhere, and when that day comes they will rise up and destroy anyone who stands against them.

Lehmann is an excellent liar and an actor.

What most of the people sat around the table with him do not know is that they will never get to the new facility. He will be replacing them all.

They will never leave this complex.

When he begins his new regime he wants loyal subjects around him, not docile servants. He also does not want a record of his part in making the Winter Soldier; oh, he doesn't mind the glory but some of what he did will look troubling and he will not have that stain on his record. He will re-create the history of the project and those who know the truth will not be there to correct it.

They will all be dead.

He does not want to create panic, or suspicion, and so he plays this elaborate game; tells them what he thinks they want to hear. That they have a future with him at the new compound where their important work will continue.

Oh if only he could tell them the truth, see the smug smiles wiped from their faces.

Lehmann has just called for coffee to be served and is explaining that they are going to set up a specific unit which will work with the Winter Soldier on missions when he feels himself getting uncomfortably warm. The room is suddenly too stuffy.

He takes it that he is just feeling the excitement of the new future, but he is glad when they break for drinks and he sits at the head of the table, gathering his papers for the next half of the meeting.

His left arm feels heavy, and tingles, and he is having trouble seeing. He tries to reach for his cup but misses. He feels a tightness across his chest, a burning, and it annoys him. For the last few days he has been experiencing heartburn and he fumbles in his jacket pocket for some tablets. He tries to swallow some with his coffee and feels the pain move up into his jaw which irritates him more. By now he has started to sweat heavily and he is becoming aware that people around him are going quiet. He realises they are looking at him. No - not just at him but at his hand which is holding the coffee. It is shaking so badly that the coffee is sloshing over the top and onto the table.

He drops the cup and groans as pain flashes across his chest. He tries to stand. Everything seems to be in slow motion. He sees peoples' hands go to their mouths; sees the orderly Stefan react, moving forward towards him. His chair falls backwards and then next thing he knows he is on the ground but he does not feel himself fall. Jakobs is suddenly there, beside him, he is trying to release Lehmann's tie and that is when Lehmann realises he can't breathe properly. His face is red, his chest feels as if it has a great weight on it, he cannot hear properly and slowly he sinks into darkness.

“For Gods' sake clear the room and get some oxygen,” Jakobs calls out to the startled people as he turns to Stefan. “He's having a heart attack.”

Marinov begins to herd people from the room as Stefan fetches a canister of oxygen, he has sent someone else to get a stretcher so they can move Lehmann to one of the hospital rooms. Jakobs works on Lehmann, blowing into his mouth, pumping his chest to get him breathing. By the time Stefan is back and they have put on the mask to feed him oxygen Lehmann is breathing again on his own but he is still unconscious.

They get him moved to the Winter Soldier's medical room and place him on the monitors. Some of the doctors who were not at the meeting come in to see what is happening, to see if it is true; but they are mainly scientists and leave Doctor Jakobs as the decision-maker.

When Jakobs returns to his room later, he feels exhausted. He lies on his bed and looks at the ceiling. He has done all he can and he believes Lehmann will survive; this has just been a warning of sorts. But in the back of his mind is another message.

What if Lehmann was not to survive?

There is a knock on his door and he calls for the person to come in. It is Eduard Marinov.

“The others are wondering if they should wake Freya so she can help nurse Lehmann,” he says and then can't help but smile. If the question were put to Lehmann himself, he would be horrified. He would not want her anywhere near him.

“It would be worth it just to see his face when he awakens but, no, I don't think so. We have Stefan and can always request Kristo's help again.”

“So he will survive?“

Jakobs nods.

The two men are quiet until Marinov asks the question in both their minds.

“Do we want him to?”

Jakobs looks at him. He trusts this man. “I'll be honest Eduard, I had the same thought but I guess you knew that. I don't know what the right thing to do is. He will survive, it was just an early warning...but...”

He does know what he believes to be the right thing to do. Surely the moment he heard himself lying and telling the other doctors that he did not think Lehmann would live, he had already been laying plans? Even then? Subconsciously.

“I'll leave you to get some sleep. I'll call if meantime he wakes.”

Jakobs nods, knowing that it will be hours before the final decision has to be made. He injected Lehmann with a powerful sedative to keep him out of it.

To give them time to think.

*

Hours later, Jakobs finds Stefan in the Cryo Suite, looking through the window at the two pods. Both Freya and the Winter Soldier are in cryo sleep. Their vital signs stable.

They talk long into the night. They discuss the pros and cons. What do they do? If Lehmann dies, what will happen to the project? They know it will not be closed down...but is it better the devil they know?

Jakobs is aware of the thoughts behind Lehmann's plans for Hydra's world domination, and he knows how dangerous the man is. How much more dangerous will it be for the world if he climbs higher in the chain of command? Lehmann has no qualms in killing millions of people whom he deems not fit to live.

He, of course, has no idea of Lehmann's plans to kill most of those that have worked with him.

If Jakobs were to kill Lehmann then how many lives would he be saving? Or would it all be for nothing? How can he answer such a question? The thoughts go around and around in his mind.

“I will do it.” Stefan says. “I am already condemned to hell for killing a man. Another one will not make a difference.”

“And you think I am going to heaven?” Jakobs laughs, but it is not at all humorous. He already knows he will not be joining his beloved family. He looks at the young man and shakes his head. “Thank you, but no, this is down to me...I just wish I knew Stefan, am I right or wrong? Which way do I jump?”

Both Marinov and Stefan agree with Jakob's verdict and have told him so.

Really, there is no right or wrong. There is only what they must do.

Marinov will help and he knows he can count on several of his guards to keep quiet about what is happening. It is they who are keeping watch outside of Lehmann's medical room. Whilst Kristo has been helping by covering their shifts he will not assist them; they would never ask it of him, because they know he could not do it, could not cope. He is not strong enough in mind for some of the things he has already witnessed, but they do know they can trust him, he will not give them away. He has never truly gotten over what was done to the American soldier James Barnes. He has terrible nightmares; whilst he doesn't speak about it at all, he is no longer the carefree young man that he was.

Are any of them?

Jakobs finds himself sat next to Lehmann's bedside. He knows any time now he will wake. He will have some nerve damage, but nothing that physiotherapy cannot put right. He is thinking back on all the arguments they have had about humanity; they both look at it from different ends of the spectrum.

Lehmann's voice rings in his ears.

“When this word is ours we will have everything and they will have nothing, nothing! They will be like cattle - there to feed and clothe us.”

His voice had been brittle, uncaring, vicious. Can he let this happen? Can he let this man survive? He tries to tell himself he is no killer, but Jakobs' soul tells him differently. He is an abuser; he has already done damage to the world he can never put right and it breaks his heart.

Lehmann is stirring just as Stefan comes into the room. He closes the door quietly, and moves to stand at the other side of the bed.

Lehmann's eyes open. His vision is blurry and he feels exhausted. He is aware of Jakobs looking down at him and he feels annoyed because he doesn't remember what has happened. They were in a meeting and he had spilled his coffee and then as memory floods back he realises.

“Eric?” he says holding up his hand, it is trembling. His speech is slurred.

Jakobs takes his hand and lays it back down on the cover.

“You've had a minor heart attack.”

Lehmann turns his head and sees Stefan. “Water. I need a drink.” He is abrupt as always. He has never much liked the orderly, but Stefan does what he is told and even helps Lehmann to drink, some of it going down the front of Lehmann's top. Stefan places the glass back on the bedside table and Lehmann feels as if he has climbed Mount Everest and now needs to rest. It makes him crotchety. He dislikes weakness in anyone, especially himself.

“What is happening? I need to get back to work,” he says, but cannot make his legs move. He can just about form the sentence in his mind but is aware that his tongue feels too big for his mouth and the words are blurred.

Jakobs makes no effort to help him sit up.

“Help me up for Gods' sake, Jakobs,” he is querulous, like an old man. Part of his face sags and Jakobs can see there is maybe more damage there than he first thought.

Instead, he sits on the edge of the bed. His eyes have a pitying look in them which Lehmann hates.

“I was not at the final operation on James Barnes,” Jakobs says to him and he frowns.

What has that got to do with anything?

“What?”

“But I know people who were. People who have nightmares about what you did. About what they heard you say to him.”

“What the hell are you blathering on about?” Lehmann looks at Stefan. “You...help me get up, get him out of here...” But Stefan does not move and Lehmann cannot find the strength to make any attempt to sit up on his own. He falls back, breathless.

“You told Sergeant Barnes there was no need to remove the rest of his arm but you were still going to because it was of no use to you. In a way, it mirrors this moment. As I said you have had a minor heart attack and would get better but...we do not want you to. Because, to be honest Nikolay, you are of no use to the world. Well, use is probably the wrong word - you are of no good to this world,” Jakobs' voice has a sadness to it.

Nikolay Lehmann feels the first clutch of fear. He looks to the door but it is shut. He tries to call for the guard, but his voice does not carry far enough, there is just no strength in it – in him.

“I'll have you killed for this!” He is indignant, trying to put authority in his voice but it is no good, his words have no power in them, saliva dribbles from the side of his mouth and he tries to wipe it away with the sleeve of his top. He watches as Jakobs stands and picks up a pillow.

“Later tonight I will announce your death to the others. They will not be surprised as I have already told them you are close to death. I believe they are already squabbling over who is to move into your office.”

Lehmann watches, eyes wide, as Jakobs nods to Stefan. He again tries to call out, tries to move, but he cannot, he is just too weak.

“Maybe now you will understand how Sergeant Barnes felt when you cut into him on that operating table,” Stefan says quietly. He leans over the bed and holds both of Lehmann's arms down.

“I am truly sorry, Nikolay, but this is what you have driven mankind to become.”

And with that, Jakobs lowers the pillow over Lehmann's face and presses down hard. Even though he is weak the need to survive takes over and the man thrashes about in the bed. They hear his muffled screaming. Stefan finds it hard to hold him down, but he must.

They cannot allow him to live.

It takes longer than either man could have dreamt. Neither are killers and this stain will never leave their souls, but they believe they are doing the right thing. Project Winter Soldier will continue, of that they have no doubt; but they cannot allow Lehmann's madness out into the world. Hydra is bad enough on its own...but with people like Lehmann at the top, it would become truly horrific.

Once Nikolay has stopped moving, Jakobs takes the pillow away and reaches down and closes the dead bloodshot eyes staring back at him in bleak terror. Stefan cannot look. He goes to the door and opens it, and after conversing with Marinov two guards come into the room to witness that Lehmann is dead.

Jakobs is sat on the edge of the bed, Lehmann's wrist in his hand as if looking for a pulse. Eduard walks up to him.

“It is done?” he asks quietly, and Jakobs nods.

“God help us,” Jakobs says, and stands to allow Stefan to bring one of the sheets up and over Lehmann's face. Eduard places a hand on Eric's Jakob's shoulder but does not need to say anything.

They are in this together.

They hear Stefan say a quiet prayer but unknown to the others it is actually for Eric's soul, and not for Nikolay's, for he genuinely believes that Nikolay Lehmann had no soul and right this moment the shade of the man will be facing his maker...not God, but his true maker. The Devil.

The guards are told not to let anyone into the room and the door is closed. Jakobs goes to tell the others of the sad news.

The heart attack had just been too much for Nikolay Lehmann and he had never regained consciousness.

They do not know at this point that they may have made matters worse.

Not for them, but for the Winter Soldier.

Chapter Text

The Constant & The Winter Soldier - Why Do We Do This To Him?

 1 Month Ago

The Winter Soldier is stood in the Main Room and they are putting his battle gear on. They do not even allow him to prepare with you in his quarters; once they have brought him around they begin to dress him ready for his mission. There are so many people pulling him this way and that as they manhandle him; they have put on the lower part of his mask so that only his eyes are showing. They are downcast, dull, lacklustre, as if he is a puppet. It hurts you to see him like this. One of the technicians tuts and pulls him around so he can fasten the buckles on the front of the Winter Soldier's jacket whilst other hands help and you want to shout at them to let go of him, to leave him alone.

But this is what he is here for.

He is a weapon. An asset. No more than that.

They add in some of his artillery. The other weapons will be given to him by his team when they leave.

“Are you all right?”

Doctor Jakobs has noticed your quietness, and speaks as he hands you the Winter Soldier's boots.

You look at him and he sees the unshed tears in your eyes. “Why do we do this to him?” The anguish in your words is real and he doesn’t have an answer for you.

The Winter Soldier has not said a word and you know he won't.

He no longer talks.

The technicians push him backwards so that he sits down and you kneel and put his boots on; one of the technicians makes as if to help but Jakobs stops him with a hand on his shoulder and a shake of his head.

You fasten the buckles up, and he is ready. You just need to place his goggles on to hide his eyes.

You stand and someone hands them to you.

You lean forward and tilt his chin up slightly and for the first time his eyes lift up and look at you directly.

“Be careful out there,” you whisper and then cover them. You don’t move for a second. Then the door bangs open.

“Is he ready?” a voice yells. One of his team.

You nod and move away and he stands up.

He is ready.

*

 42 Months Ago

Before you are put into cryo, Director Lehmann asks for you see him. He is polite and you are wary. He is in such a good mood that you find yourself fascinated by how jovial he is being. He tells you that when they next wake you and the Winter Soldier, you will both be in the new facility. He even shows you a plan of how it is mapped out. He has new quarters for you and you will be able to go to the surface far more often.

This, he says is the dawn of a new life.

You do not believe him: it is an extension of the same life, that is all. But you do not say this.

You nod, ask a few questions that you pretend you feel are relevant, and then you are dismissed and return to your quarters. When you get there you find packing cases. Marinov has been instructed to tell you to pack what you want to take to the new complex. It doesn't take long and then you lock the door and head down to the cryo suite. The Winter Soldier was placed into cryo the day before and you now look in at his calm sleeping form.

With Stefan's help you strip down to your underwear and climb into your own pod. You hate this moment. It takes all your courage not to crawl out screaming at the claustrophobia you feel. Stefan checks you are ready and you nod as he seals you in. The hissing noise begins. Your skin starts to crackle and you know no more.

*

7 Months Ago

They have brought you and the Winter Soldier out of cryo freeze and programmed him in record time. It has never been this short a timetable before.

An urgent assignment, you are told.

A team are assembled and waiting for him. You are told the mission will be done, the report made, and then he will be wiped and put back into cryo freeze. There will be no need for you to do anything for him.

You are still suffering from the after effects of cryo; after all they only bought you around two hours before they woke him so that you could be present as usual; but then after you helped dress him you were excused and he was taken immediately to programming. From there they drove him away for the mission.

No rest period. Nothing.

You ask to see Director Lehmann but are told that is not possible. You ask why not and the person tells you someone will talk to you soon. The person you talk to will not look at you. You have never met them before you don't even know their name. You persist with your questions. You ask why the Winter Soldier is to be immediately put back into cryo on his return. The person finally looks at you and shrugs, you are told there is no reason to keep him out any longer.

It is then you remember that he is merely an asset to them.

You have only been awake for three hours but already you know things are so different. You do not recognise any of the rooms although you recognise the systems, the pods. It is obvious whilst you were asleep you have been moved to the new base. Stefan finally joins you. He is still working on the cryo freeze team and was not there when they woke you.

“We need to talk,” are his first words to you, which is funny because that is just what you were going to say to him. Then he shocks you.

The first thing he tells you is that there is a new director. Your mind is still humming, trying to take in new facts, the new surroundings.

“Lehmann's gone?” you ask, bewildered.

“Lehmann's dead. Look, lets get you sat down you look as if your going to faint.” Stefan fetches a chair and you gratefully sink into it. Your head is pounding.

“I don’t understand,” you look at him. Part of your mind is out there, wherever it is they have sent the Winter Soldier; when he left he looked as dazed as you feel now. You need to concentrate on what Stefan is telling you. There is something very wrong here.

You hadn't been permitted to speak to the Winter Soldier at all before he left. You were in the corridor when they brought him back from programming, and your heart had jumped when you saw him bleeding from his nose but they assured you it wasn't a problem. You could also see one of his eyes was bloodshot. You tried to argue to get them to let you see if he was all right but they said there wasn't time, his team would look after him. As he left, you saw he was shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind.

Stefan sits next to you. “Freya, things are a little...different now.”

“What do you mean different? How?” His words frighten you. Your head is not allowing you to think. It all seems to be crashing in on you and Stefan can see this.

It is why he volunteered to be the one to tell you.

“Short version, okay...whilst you and the Winter Soldier were in cryo, Lehmann had a massive coronary...he was in a meeting with us talking about this new camp and then pshwst...gone the next. It was so sudden nothing could be done. And we soon found out that nothing was in place should something like that happen. No-one knew what to do with the project. It was pandemonium.”

He looks at you and you nod. You are doing your best to concentrate, grateful that he is trying to make it as simple for you as he can.

“We had all types arriving here from above, so many meetings. It was like a bomb had been dropped on the place. Zola couldn't be reached at first and then when they did reach him he left it to the Russians to replace Lehmann with whomever they saw fit. But that wasn't as easy as everyone thought at first. This base wasn't ready yet but the old one was on its way out, they still needed to move us. In the end it was decided that decisions couldn't be made lightly, time was needed.”

He makes sure you are following, you get the feeling part of him is trying to put off telling you something he doesn’t think you will want to hear.

“They moved us here but we were...mothballed whilst they made up their minds what was to happen. The project continued in as much as they kept us busy updating systems, running scenarios, getting better at what we do, preparing the new base for the future...”

He stops again, he can see your mind working now, you are trying to think of how long all this would have taken.

Bingo! “How long were we out for?” you ask.

Stefan looks at you as he puts his hand over yours. “Three years.”

You don’t think you heard him right until you see the look on his face. Then it hits you. “Three years? But...”

It takes Stefan another hour to bring you up to speed. After that there was not much else he could say. He still doesn't know what their future plans are and he was as shocked as you were when orders came down from the new director to prepare and send the Winter Soldier out within eight hours. It had never been done before.

He then goes on to explain that your new quarters are not ready. That was the nicest way he could think of putting it. The rooms designated for you and the Winter Soldier hadn't even been touched; most of your things are still packed and in storage. For now you would sleep in another room until things had been decided. Both Jakobs and he had tried to get more information from the new director but it was made obvious that neither of them were senior enough to be told what future plans held for the two of you, and that worried both of them.

All he could say now was that he was sorry. How many times have you heard that said? How many times have you said it yourself?

Sorry.

Just a hollow word.

He shows you the room you are to use for the time being. It is small and up on the first floor away from cryo, away from where the Winter Soldier would be most of the time. Stefan has managed to get a few of your clothes and possessions out of storage but there is none of the Winter Soldier's. All his belongings needed for the mission were being taken from stores.

Your new room is soulless, bleak, as if to reflect your new future here.

The next day the mission has been completed and the Winter Soldier is brought back to base. The staff do what they are told. He is immediately debriefed, wiped and put back into cryo-freeze. You do not see him at all until it is too late and he is back in his metal pod. You are only in there because Stefan has taken you to see him when no-one else is about. It feels like you are having to sneak everywhere, as if you no longer belong.

The next day you are called to the Director's office. Jocelyn has long since been replaced by another woman; you do not catch her name and she tells you to go straight in.

The name on the door is Director Krupin.

The new director is sitting behind the desk. You guess him to be about 55, with hard, colourless eyes. But he smiles when you enter the room and it surprisingly lightens his face.

To you everything seems to have happened so fast.

“Glad to meet you at last...and you are on time, too.” He stands up, shakes hands, and before you can sit down he guides you out of the office. “This way, this way.” He leads you down the corridor to a large meeting room. When you arrive there is a mixture of people there. You recognise very few. You are confused but you realise later that he wanted you to walk in to the meeting with him; that way it looks as if you already know and have agreed with his plans.

You hadn't of course. You didn't even know what they were.

You see Doctor Jakobs look at you. He tries to smile and shakes his head no, warning you not to say anything. You are shocked at his appearance. His hair is turning white. He is looking old. You see Marinov arrive and Jakobs shrugs to show him he does not know why there are there either.

Your heart sinks even further.

Two more people enter; Stefan and one of the other assistants. They are directed to seats. Director Krupin politely gets you to sit on his right and he then sits at the head of the table so that you are cut off from everyone else. You are the only woman present until his secretary comes in. She sits at a small desk tucked away in the corner and is soon ready to take notes. You and everyone else soon forget she is there.

From what Stefan has told you, Krupin has been at the base on and off for the last year and a half. He is ex-KGB, appointed as the official new director answering to the people at the top only. He is Russian and you will shortly find out that he only has one way of doing things - his way. He pretends to be the courteous gentleman, always ready to hear what people have to say...before telling them how it is going to be.

Earlier, when Stefan was sure you could not be overheard, he warned you to be careful. Leonid Krupin is not the congenial person he seems at first glance.

At first you wonder why Krupin asked you along, you have nothing to say in any of the matters in hand. Each department is asked for a report on what is happening, bringing him up to date. After an hour you wish you could stand up; you are experiencing cramps from being in cryo freeze for so long and your head still aches.

At a quiet interval you reach over and pour some water into a glass to drink. Silence falls and you then realise they are watching you.

“Ah very rude of me not to introduce Freya Bowman. I'm sure not many of you will have had the chance to meet her yet - even though you all are aware of who she is.”

You know you are blushing; it's as if a spotlight has been put on you. They know who you are but you do not know them; you are already at a disadvantage.

Krupin seems to rescue you.

“Which brings me onto the last thing I want to discuss with you and the main reason we are all here today.”

Attention returns to him.

“The Winter Soldier and the timing of the missions,” he says.

As you listen to him your eyes grow wide and a cold feeling hits you in the pit of your stomach. You look at Stefan who is across from you and you can see the shock on his face too. You know without looking that Jakobs and Marinov will be the same. Some people, those that you don’t know, seem to be expecting this news.

Krupin is explaining that as from now, the Winter Soldier is to be put on a much tighter schedule. There will be far more missions. After all, Krupin explains, Hydra has a lot of work for him to do and a lot invested in him. Now that the camp is up and running things are to get busy. Very busy.

Therefore the only way to proceed is for the Winter Soldier to be brought out within less than six hours from cryo freeze, programmed within a shorter time frame as possible and sent straight out. Two extra men have been assigned to his team. When his mission is completed he will be debriefed, wiped and then immediately returned to cryo-freeze.

This, he says, has just been trialled at eight hours and they felt they could reduce it further to six and Krupin is pleased to say it worked well and this is how the base and the missions will be run from now on. They will also ensure that his training will be kept up to date if and when they can.

When he stops talking you expect protests, questions, but there is nothing. Some people, like Stefan and Jakobs are to stunned, others to frightened to displease the new director and the remainder have been working on this already and knew it was to happen.

You lean forward but he is already standing up to leave.

“But...” you want to tell him it won't work. The Winter Soldier is not an automaton, he is still human. What about food? What about rest? What about the effects of cryo-freeze?

But as you try to put your thoughts into words he talks across you, patting your hand.

“Bit of a shock for you I expect. Worried about your part in all this? Please don’t worry, you won't be asked to leave. You're safe with us. We will still use you for the wake up period, of course, and we can find lots of other things for you to do...I expect there will be times when we will be glad to have a nurse on hand. You will of course not need to be put in cryo freeze along with him; that way you will always be here for your new duties.”

That is not what you were going to say. You hadn't even thought of the repercussions this would have on you.

He knows what you were really going to say. He was told to expect it. He has stopped you in your tracks, deflected your arguments as he smiles down at you.

You look into his eyes and when he walks away you both know exactly where you stand.

*

The Present

You wait to hear the Winter Soldier is back from his latest mission and when finally you are allowed to see him he is back in cryo-freeze. You look down at him in the metal coffin with pity; you know how confining and restricted that space is.

His face is changing. It is narrower, cheek bones more properly defined, eyes sunken, the skin grey, colourless. He lies still, eyes closed. He no longer knows who or what he is. You and the doctors are concerned over his state of health. You have prepared reports, gone into meetings with Krupin, but he isn't interested; he doesn’t see the problem. The Winter Soldier is fulfilling all his missions, he is taking information in and getting the job done, so what if there are a few minor hiccups they can be ironed out. After all, he says, Zola's serum will sort out any health issues that may crop up.

Looking at him now you think about how he was before he left for his last mission. You have heard a word you think described him: zombie. Dead eyes, pale flesh, no feelings, no life in him, a drone. But the damage being done is immense and you have to think of a way to get Krupin to realise this isn't working.

The Winter Soldier no longer shares a room with you. He is fed and dressed in a small room leading off from the main room. They never allow him to sleep, after all Krupin says, the Winter Soldier will sleep when he is in cryo-freeze.

You think of the problems you and the doctors have had in the short periods of time he has been out and you have been allowed near him. On the longer missions where he needs to eat he can't keep solid food down; they are back to giving him liquidised foods. The last time you tried to cut his hair you found lumps of it coming out in your hand, matted and lifeless.

He gets tremors in his muscles and terrible cramps which is the only time you hear him make any sound and that is only to cry out. He has less tone and strength in his body. His immune system is shot to hell.

He keeps shaking his head and wiping his eyes as he gets blurred vision. Twice he has been totally blind when first woken. He gets tinnitus so bad it causes him to hit his ears until they bleed.

And he is always cold. There are times when he is so cold he cannot stop shivering.

Programming is taking longer. There is more damage done each time, damage that then doesn't get the time it needs to heal. Even Peter and Elise have tried to explain to Krupin, but he doesn't seem to understand that the serum is unable to do its work when the Winter Soldier is in cryo-freeze. He also doesn't understand that the serum is unstable and can cause problems of its own.

You are petrified that the Winter Soldier will be injured, shot perhaps, and his body will not be able to repair itself. There is blood in his urine and the doctors say it is damage to his liver. Zola's serum is not keeping up with the pressure they are putting his body under.

They are having problems with the electronics in his arm failing and you have noticed he cannot hold the weight of it when it goes dead. His co-ordination at times, especially after programming, is off; it takes him longer to get control of his own body.

His team have become concerned about him especially out in the field. There are no feelings in him at all, not even his anger, his drive. He is unable to improvise if something unexpected happens. He cannot make decisions as fast as he once did. They are having to think for him. One day, one of the missions is going to blow up in their faces. They do all they can to protect him whilst he gets the job done but they know they are flying by the skin of their teeth.

He is a highly skilled assassin. The missions he is being sent out on are too many; they do not require his level of expertise. It is like using a mallet to crack an egg. This was not what they understood Project Winter Soldier to be. Most of the time now the assignments are petty, inconsequential, ridiculous.

And worse still, you cannot get the Winter Soldier to talk to you.

You don’t know if he even hears or knows who you are any more. You are still there when they waken him. At the beginning he would wake fast and uptight, not knowing where he was, who he was, what was happening, panicked the times he was blind. A couple of times he has come close to hurting you badly before recognition would dawn and he would calm. Now when he wakes, after that first flicker of recognition, there is a flatness to his gaze: he just sits there until someone comes to take him for programming, no words, nothing, silence.

*

And then it happens. Disaster.

You and the doctors have dressed him and are ready to send him out. He looks awful: pale, lifeless. His team leader comes to collect him but as the Winter Soldier gets to his feet you see blood drip from his mask. He seems to stumble and staggers two steps before you and Jakobs catch him and help him down to his knees. Blood is now running freely though the mask; his nose is bleeding, the whites of his eyes are not just bloodshot they have large patches of solid red in them, the corneas look clouded. His ears are bleeding, the blood trickling down into his hair and literally dripping off the ends.

You get the mask off only to find he is also coughing up blood and you can feel any strength he had draining from his body.

Then he panics. He doesn't seem to know where he is or who he is.

The programming has totally failed.

They need to sedate him but he is fully clothed in battle gear and the needle will not go through the fabric. There is none of his usual strength, nothing; he can't even fight them. He looks up at you and you see recognition in his eyes and he speaks, softly - he begs you to help him. He tries to get up but his feet slip in the blood on the floor and as he goes down one of the doctors slips the needle into the back of his neck.

The look in his eyes as he goes down is dreadful. It is as if he is begging you to tell him what he did wrong. Total and utter bewilderment.

Director Krupin is called to the lab immediately and he is not happy. He has to decide whether or not to call off or delay the mission and he doesn't want to do either. He has made promises, and more importantly he has received payment. He can see the terrible state the Winter Soldier is in but it is as if he has blinkers on and refuses to concede that he is at fault.

Whilst he looks into the options he orders that the Winter Soldier is to be wiped and put back into cryo-freeze.

They had only ever wiped him in an unconscious state once before; it is not something that should be done. It is unnerving to see his body buck and hear the groans that come from him despite him being unconscious. Very soon he is back in his metal coffin and you pray that, like you, he does not dream whilst he is in there.

He cannot go on like this.

The mission is cancelled.

*

Another long day of hopelessness, asking to see Krupin and being turned down again. Leaving reports with his secretary that you know are ignored. Even his secretary is exasperated, taking calls and having people continually asking her to get him to contact them, knowing he won't.

The Winter Soldier is still in cryo after the last failure but you know Krupin is even now planning on pulling him out for the next mission. Peter rarely confides in you but he does this time. They have been given the new script to programme the Winter Soldier with. He does not show you it but complains that it is a mission that is not fit for someone like their assassin; it is to take down some government official's wife's lover in a jealous spat. You cringe at the word assassin but you understand Peter's anger. This is not what he was created for. He is there to go on missions where no one else can get close, his level of expertise is failing as his health fails. Peter asks if you cannot do something, anything.

Nothing though will change Krupin's mind; he says he is under pressure from the top. So many jobs being put their way, so many people needing to die. But you now know why Krupin is so keen on sending his pet out on missions, why there are so many. Money. There is so much money to be made and he is the one making it.

Another day wasted and tomorrow they will awaken the Winter Soldier. Nothing you can do or say will stop it. Unknown to Krupin, Stefan has helped you move to a room on the third floor near the cryo freeze. Although it was noted by some people, they think of it as being inconsequential and so no one thinks of telling him. You have also managed to pull some more of your things out of storage. You turn in for the night thinking you won't sleep but you always do.

*

The Winter Soldier is dying, and because it senses this the serum is trying to wake him from his death sleep. It is trying to rebuild his memories, to motivate him, anything to persuade the cold body to want to survive, to live. He comes awake gasping for breath, momentarily blind that he does not see the white mist encircling him but he can feel it sucking his breath away; he is inhaling it and he coughs. His chest hurts from the coldness of the air and his eyes close again. But the serum is still trying to do its work.

He is so cold. It is the only thing he knows. His joints are stiff; he can barely move. He cannot remember where he is, who he is, or what is happening but there is a voice telling him he needs to get out of the metal casket he is in. Has he been buried alive? His brain is too exhausted to be able to think; his body needs to use it's survival instincts only, it cannot rely on his mind.

His body is still frozen in places, and in others the pain is bad where his muscles try to stretch and where the blood is trying to force itself through veins that are too narrow for it. His brain is one big dark place. In his mind all he can see is a picture of a woman turning into a room and closing a door. Somehow he knows he needs to get to that room, to that door, to find the woman. She will help: she will stop the pain, she will help him get away from this nightmare.

By touch alone he tries to find something, anything, but there is nothing buried in with him. His hands feel along the edges inside but his fingers will not work properly. The bones in his right hand are still frozen and in his haste he hears several of his fingers snap. There is no pain from the broken bone but he knows from instinct that it will follow. Scratches appear in his flesh where he tries to move around and sharp edges gouge into his flesh. His brain is trying to clamp down on the panic filling his chest; he is breathing too fast taking in too much of the air. He cannot hear anything and his lungs are gasping for warmth. Slowly he begins to realise he can see light. It shines above him through a panel, a pane of glass.

In a fit of panic he hits the glass panel with his left hand and sees the glass crack and that sends him into an utter frenzy, beating at the glass again and again until finally it gives and shatters sending bits of glass both inward and outwards. But still he does not stop, he uses his right hand to scrabble around through the hole but all that does is cause deep scratches in his palm and fingers; some scratches so deep from the broken glass that they sever important muscles until his hand is of no use anymore and will not respond to what he is trying to do.

His brain tries to send him messages to calm down, to think, but it is so difficult, it is so cold. For a moment he stops, his eyes close and if it were not for a sudden loud hissing sound he would have slept again and never woken. But the hissing continues and the air is not so cold any more. Unknown to him he has hit a switch on the side of the pod that has started the count down to bring him out of cryo freeze. But the pod is still latched closed. Someone is needed to actually release it for the pod to open.

Again the panic starts to over take; despite the warmer air he is still so cold and his body shudders and he cannot stop shivering. His eyesight is poor and his hearing hums as if he is under water. He vaguely remembers the power of his left hand and starts to hammer on the inside cover of the pod; this hand and arm have greater power than the flesh and blood one and it takes all his poor strength and determination to keep hitting the metal until finally something gives. There is a loud grating noise and the top of the pod comes open and he desperately struggles to get out landing hard on the floor and in his exhaustion, he loses consciousness once again.

It is an hour before he comes around. He is lying in a pool of cold water, some of it already freezing around his body. Although he has turned the pod off the room itself is still at freezing point. He tries to stand but his legs won't work. There are small trails of blood over his body from deep wounds, the cold at least is preventing him from bleeding to death. His right hand is useless and with his left he tries to pull himself over the cold tiled floor, digging the metal into the spaces between the tiles. All he can think of is the woman and the safety she offers.

He must get to her.

He doesn't know how he does it but he gets to the doorway and pulls himself up. He blinks to try and clear his eyesight. He beats ineffectually on the door.

“Help me,” he tries to say, but barely any sound comes out. His breath mists out in front of him.

There is no-one to hear him. When he is in cryo-freeze once the daily checks are done there is no-one manning the room. He is totally alone.

The cold is still trying to win him over, trying to lull him back into sleep. He tries to block its seduction and with more luck than anything else he hits the panel to open the door and falls through it.

Although the next room is not particularly warm it feels like a sauna to his frozen body. One again he lies where he has fallen. The marrow in some bones is still frozen solid; how he is alive, yet alone conscious, is a testament to Zola's serum. He focuses on the next doorway. He knows instinctively this leads to the corridor. He pulls himself forward to one of the consoles and uses that to help him stand.

His blood is running more freely now and water is dripping from his hair. Small bits of glass are caught in his hair and slivers have slipped under his skin to add their own damage.

“Please help me,” he tries to say; to whom he doesn't know because there is no-one there. He leans against the console cradling his broken hand. He rests his head against the wall and blinks to try and clear his eyesight.

He is so tired, wants to sink to the floor, to give up, and his blurred eyes begin to sting when he begins to cry, his nose begins to run. “Please someone hep me,” he whispers. But he only has himself.

He looks at the doorway; it looks a million miles away. He keeps having to blink, to clear his eyesight, which is still fogged. For moment a bout of nausea hits him and he bends over and before he can stop it he retches but nothing comes up. The convulsion hurts all through his body as it pulls muscles taut. Cramps work their way through his calves making him cry out. Before he can stop he falls again and lets go of the console.

Darkness claims him.

This time he is sure it is a voice that wakes him, but when he opens his eyes the voice stops and there is no-one there. He can still hear the echo of it in his mind; it makes no sense. “Come, on Buck. Come on, son,” it had whispered.

He knows that voice. But not where he had heard it.

He lies on the floor in a widening pool of blood and closes his eyes again.

“Come on son, give your old man a hand with something will you?”

“I can't,” he murmurs.

“You don't think I still love you?” the voice asks and his eyes flutter open; there is still no-one there yet when he closes them he could swear there is a shadow on his eyelids. An older man crouching down, cajoling him to move.

“Son, if you don't move you will die. You still have so much to do, so much to suffer through, before you can come to us. I know it hurts, Buck, and I am so sorry; I wish I could bear the burden with you but I can't. So come on. You can do this.”

Without opening his eyes, the Winter Soldier struggles up and its as if he can feel an arm around him, helping him, and a voice now whispering: “I love you son, come on.” He grabs hold of the corner of the console and feels a strength he didn't feel before, a light headiness. The ghost whispers to him once more: “Jesus, it's cold. Let's go and warm up.” And suddenly he knows who it is.

“Dad,” he whispers and opens his eyes but he is still alone. He does not know who he is, he does not remember anything, but he knows deep down in his gut he had a father who loved him.

Who really knows if it is the ghost of his father helping him, or his mind digging for memories, creating and remembering words to help him survive.

He looks towards the door again and this time staggers to reach it; it seems so far away. He falls against it and it swings open and he crashes down on to the corridor floor, groaning as his knees hit the cold concrete.

It is amazing that there is no-one around, no-one to help him, but maybe in the long run it is a good thing as they would have called for Krupin. Maybe, for once, someone is on the Winter Soldier's side.

He leans against the wall and looks down the corridor. He can see the door he needs to get to, and in his mind once more he sees the woman entering it. Freya. Her name is Freya. Gritting his teeth and leaving wet, bloody footprints on the floor, and bloodied hand prints on the wall he staggers down to it.

It is not locked. He fumbles with this left hand to push the handle down and the door opens. There is a small lamp on in the room casting shadows and he can see a double bed. Drunkenly he stumbles over to it; the door swings shut behind him. He looks down at the sleeping figure; she is turned on her side, away from him. He can already feel the heat of her body, the softness of her skin. He is clumsy as he moves the sheets back and falls into the bed startling the occupant but before she can turn he wraps his arms around her and pulls her body to him, nestles his face into her hair.

He can relax now. He has arrived. He is safe.

*

When you wake you are lying on your side asleep in the bed you would once have shared with the Winter Soldier. You are startled into wakefulness by a bump, and then you feel the bed dip down as if someone is getting in next to you. The next thing you know is utter freezing coldness as the Winter Soldier's arms fold around your middle drawing you to him. His flesh is freezing cold and wet. His muscles tensed, solid, and you can feel his bones where he has become so thin.

“So cold..help me, please help me,” his voice shakes, his whole body trembling.

At first you don’t move. You think you must be dreaming, but the cold is seeping into you and his left arm starts to burn your skin where the cold metal is directly touching your skin. You try to move but you can't and as soon as he feels you move his grip tightens more.

“Don't leave me. I'm so cold...help me. Please help me.” This time the voice is followed by deep shivers and you can hear his teeth chattering. His breath smells foetid, almost like something is rotting inside of him. The smell is on his flesh to and you feel a drip of water fall on your shoulder from his hair.

“Oh God...” You try to turn, but you can't. He has you in a deadlock and if you don’t do something soon you are both going to be in serious trouble. “Let me go so I can help you. I won't leave you...let me help you.” You tug at his right arm but the flesh is freezing cold and stiff. His grip only tightens like a vice. You take your hand away and see blood on it. You look down at his arms; they are scratched and then you look at his hands clasped together. There is something wrong with his right one, it is blue against the marbled flesh and the fingers look misshapen. On his left hand some of the metal is dented and bent.

Outside the door in the corridor you hear a distant alarm go off.

“Please, listen to me, you have to let me go so I can help you.” But you don’t think he can take in what you are saying; instead he just tries to hold you tighter and you feel his legs wrap around yours. Your warmth is leaching out, the cold starting to move into your bones. If he holds you any tighter those bones will start to crack.

In the corridor you hear people running. It is no use trying to call out as they will not hear you; he has such a tight grip on you, you are finding it difficult to draw a deep breath yet alone speak. You wrack your brain, trying to work out what you can do.

You trying pushing backwards with all your strength. He is immovable.

“Freya,” his voice is so quiet and you close your eyes. He said your name. He knows who you are.

“You have to let me go. I can't help you whilst you're holding me, please, please let me go.” But he cannot hear you. His mind is slipping into unconsciousness.

The phone on the bedside table rings and you try and reach it but you can't; it is mere inches out of your reach but you can reach the cable for it so instead you pull the wire and the phone slides onto the floor.

“Help me please,” you cry out, as loud as you can, but even then your voice is quiet. You pray the connection hasn't broken. You can hear a tinny voice calling your name.

The Winter Soldier won't let you go. He doesn’t know he is killing you. He is back with you, he needs you so badly, he needs to feel your warmth, to know you are there.

His Constant.

The cold has seeped into your bones and you are still having difficulty breathing; his hold is too constricting. Where the metal arm is against bare skin it has stuck and burns through layers of skin. The room seems to have dropped in temperature. You are not sure if it has or it is your imagination. You cannot get free and you are beginning to feel so tired.

Is it worth the struggle?

He is with you, that is all that matters. Perhaps it is better for both of you this way. Instead of fighting any more you move your whole body back against him, moulding it to fit his.

“Its all right, James...you're all right now...I'm here...you're not alone any more,” you say softly and you feel him relax. You could cry. Why does he always have to suffer? Why does the world keep thinking of new ways to hurt him? Has he been conscious all along trying to get back to you? Trying to get back to the only world he knows?

Your arms go around his holding your waist and you close your eyes. You can both sleep now.

*

“Freya! Freya! Come on, dammit, wake up.” Someone slaps you around the face. They are shouting at you, hauling you up and shaking you.

You open your eyes but the light is too bright. The alarm in your room is going off as well as the one out in the corridor, the noise is horrendous.

“Oh thank God.” The person hugs you and you realise you are standing up but you don’t know where you are.

“Sleep. Let me go to sleep.” You are annoyed with being woken.

“Freya, what happened here...Freya...oh no! No you don’t...you're not going back to sleep!” Stefan shakes you again.

You hear voices, yelling, footsteps.

“Freya...what?” Stefan's attention is interrupted by Jakobs and he turns his head to listen to him. He then turns back to you.

He slaps you lightly on the cheek. “Freya, Freya, listen. James needs you, he's hurt...Freya can you hear me? Christ, she's so cold.”

You are so close to sleep again but something triggers in the back of your mind. A dressing gown is being wrapped around you; Stefan struggling to get your arms in the sleeves and then fasten it up.

James. They mentioned James.

You struggle to open your eyes and find Stefan holding you. He repeats what he said and you begin to blink rapidly trying to wake up, trying to understand what he is telling you.

Something about James.

Then you remember and you are awake, shaking your head to try and banish the sleepiness.

“Oh my God...” You blink again and you are looking at Stefan.

“James...” You turn in his arms and see Jakobs knelt on the bed, trying to wedge something into the Winter Soldier's mouth; he is convulsing and even standing where you are you can feel the cold coming off him.

“Oh Christ. Oh no, no, no!”

“Are you awake...are you okay...” Stefan asks and you are nodding, trying to get him to let go. You are unsteady on your feet but your training takes over.

Between the three of you you manage to get the wooden wedge into the Winter Soldier's mouth; he is now bleeding and foaming and has bitten his tongue.

The convulsions are dying down but you know that could mean his heart will stop pumping and you need to get him help as soon as you can. You need to get his temperature up so Zola's serum can start to do its work.

His breathing is shallow, rasping, and he has stopped shivering. That is a bad sign. A very bad sign. “His pupils are dilated...bloodshot, right through.” Jakobs is trying to wake him but he is unconscious.

You can see the deep scratches on his body, blood soaking into the sheets. Jakobs is wrapping cloth around other cuts. In some places you cannot tell what are bruises and what is cold marbled skin.

Stefan is searching through drawers, pulling out blankets, sheets, anything that can warm him up. He has sent two guards to find more. He passes some to you and you pack them up against the sides of his body and legs, around his head. You have to get him warmer. His flesh is so pale, so blue it reminds you of when your first saw him in the field camp.

Jakobs has the Winter Soldier's wrist and is trying to find his pulse; he is frowning and you feel so helpless, you turn to Stefan but he doesn’t know what to say to you. Jakobs points out damage on the Winter Soldier's hand. The nails are bloodied, cracked and broken off. The skin on the end of the fingers is raw and bloody. Several of the fingers are broken and will need a splint.

“Got it!” If Jakobs has found a pulse it then it means the Winter Soldier must be warming up; slowly but surely all the same and once that happens there is hope.

You know deep down it was doubtful that he would die but what would happen if his body was repaired but his brain is too damaged for the serum to do its work properly? You know from experience what the cold can do to people.

“You're bleeding.” Stefan reaches out and turns you around to face him. You look down and there is blood on your dressing gown but you don’t know where it's from. You shake your head, no but then pain hits you and you gasp. Where the metal had attached itself to you it has taken the skin off. The burns are minor but need attention.

“It's nothing,” you try to say but you feel faint; it is dawning on you how close you came to death.

Stefan fetches a medical kit to dress your injuries and you reach down to the chair and slowly lower yourself into it. Your knees are turning to jelly.

“Will he be all right?” you ask Jakobs because you want to hear someone say it.

He nods and tries to smile, he looks so tired these days. “He's alive, and that's a start,” he says.

You sit there watching him sleep. Jakobs and Stefan stay with you, there is a guard inside and outside the room and that is how Krupin finds you.

He has been briefed on what has happened.

A late night inspection discovered the Winter Soldier's cryo freeze chamber empty and bloodied footprints across the floor of the rooms and then leading down the corridor. The alarm was sounded. Stefan was called as part of the cryo-freeze team and he had phoned your room to let you know what had happened. He heard your voice and came straight to you, only to find the guards arriving at the same time - they had been following the footsteps.

When they entered you were both in bed. The Winter Soldier was curled around you and you were holding onto his arms, your legs threaded through his. Both of you were deathly pale and the room was so cold. Stefan had hit the alarm in your room and they then had to try and get the Winter Soldier to let go of you.

Krupin is infuriated.

He demands an immediate investigation. Who let him out is his main concern. He wants the Winter Soldier returned to cryo-freeze and it is only Jakob's and Stefan's stern objections that stop him. They convince him that if he is put back straight away there could be a chance that they would lose him completely. The serum needs a chance to work on him.

After a lot of argument, Krupin reluctantly agrees and says he will return in the morning. By then he expects the Winter Soldier to be well enough to return to the chamber. To him the Winter Soldier is just a weapon; he has never spent time with him, never watched as he wakens, never sees the damage being done.

Jakobs watches him go. He has to do something. This can't continue. He feels it is his fault. If he hadn't murdered Lehmann then none of this would have happened. These days he doesn't know what is wrong and what is right. He no longer trusts himself to choose. But this?

Something needs to happen.

When the furore has died down, there is only one guard left outside and Jakobs has gone. Marinov has arranged for two extra heaters to be put in your room and had made you drink hot sweetened tea. It is disgusting, you pull a face but he is adamant that you drink it. Somehow it does make you feel better.

You have crawled back into the bed and curled up next to the Winter Soldier. You can feel the heat coming off his body. The serum is definitely at work, but what needs doing will not be accomplished within merely a day, especially if he is put back in cryo-freeze.

Stefan has fallen asleep in the chair in the in the corner. He will not leave either of you.

Ten hours later, Krupin still hasn't come back. The Winter Soldier has regained consciousness only to fall into a natural sleep once he saw you next to him. Stefan has left to see if he can find out what is happening.

You are worried when two hours later no-one has come back, but you do not want to leave the Winter Soldier's side. You have dressed and have pulled the chair up next to the bed. One of the guards brought food for you to eat and you asked him if he had seen Marinov; he shakes his head, nothing has been heard. You try to phone but no one picks up and so you sit and wait.

You can feel the heat from the Winter Soldier's body and his flushed face. From time to time he stirs and you get him to drink some water, you need to keep him hydrated. You put your hand on his arm, whisper that he is all right, he is safe. You tell him to sleep and he does.

It is another four hours before Krupin arrives and he is not happy. Zola is with him, and he doesn’t know how Zola has heard about what happened.

Zola is furious. He had no idea of the short duration and the many missions the Winter Soldier has been sent on. He has been told of the deterioration in the Winter Soldier's health and he can see that just by looking at him. These days he has so many other projects on the go he rarely gave a thought to this one thinking it was in safe hands. And, more importantly, he has also been told the truth - that Krupin is using the Winter Soldier as a hired gun, accepting large amounts of money for the missions.

Feathering his own nest.

Krupin ignores you, but Zola doesn't. He takes your hand, patting it; you want to let go, you don’t want to touch this man. With all the commotion the Winter Soldier is waking and you can see how Zola is shocked at his appearance.

Zola stands arguing with Krupin at the end of the bed. Both men talking about the soldier as if he isn't there. “He needs to go back into cryo-freeze straight away,” Krupin is arguing, he wants to get everything back on track. “I have missions lining up.”

Zola turns to him, so angry now. “That is another thing. I understand you have been charging for the missions. Large amounts of money seem to be showing up in an account under your name!”

“Well of course, it is all funding for the project. I can assure you...” Zola does not want to hear any more. The man has been using the Winter Soldier to line his own pockets.

“My serum needs time to repair his body.” Zola is clutching a report in his hand which lists the problems the doctors are encountering but he can see the devastation for himself.

“Where did you get that?” Krupin demands.

“That doesn’t matter! What matters is is that I have it...what did you think you were doing? This isn't how this should be run. The missions, if you can call them that, are too many, the timing impractical...look at the havoc it has caused!”

“I can't see a problem. Everything has teething problems. He has fulfilled every mission. Look, we'll leave him out for 24 hours and then put him back in and maybe every six months we can do a... ”

It is at that point they hear the Winter Soldier talking but not to them. He is talking to you. He is trying to get up and you are trying to stop him. It is you he is focused on. It is you he is begging.

“Don't let them put me back. Don't let them put me back in the dark.” He is clutching your arm as you try and coax him to stay still, to stay in the bed.

He is looking at you properly for the first time in what seems an age; his eyes wide, still bloodshot and flecked, his skin burning hot and sweat glistening off his body, his hair damp and stuck to his brow. “Don't let them put me back...” He keeps repeating, holding on to you tight; he doesn’t want to let go.

It is the first time Krupin has ever heard him speak.

Your attention is fully on the Winter Soldier and you tell him quietly that you won't let them.

Stefan comes into the room, taking in the scene, and goes straight to Krupin and Zola. He is not sure who to speak to so he tells both of them.

“No one let the Winter Soldier out,” he says quietly, diverting their attention away from you. You listen to what he says.

Krupin frowns and Stefan hurries on. “The pod has been broken open from the inside... ” He can't forget the damage he has seen. Scratching on the inside hood, blood covering what is left of the glass plating, the metal beaten. Blood and broken nails staining the whole inside as someone tried to break out; as the Winter Soldier tried to free himself.

“Don't be stupid man, he was frozen,” Krupin starts but Stefan for once speaks over him.

“We checked the camera footage from that room. It shows it happening. It took him hours and when he finally gets out he collapses on the floor.” He turns to Zola. “We've set it up so you can view the footage yourself. Once he gets the strength to move he makes his way here...it's...” he is trying to think of a way to explain it but he can't. “Sir you can't put him back, even if you decide to the pod is badly damaged and needs repairing. It will take days.”

Zola looks at Krupin.

“I think we need to view this film and then talk about your future here don’t you?” Then, surprisingly, he walks over so he can talk to the Winter Soldier and for a moment he forgets himself.

“Sergeant Barnes, you do not need to worry, you will not be going back into cryo freeze for the moment. You need to rest and let this young lady look after you. Things I promise you, will change.” Then to you he smiles, nods and leaves with Krupin.

Your heart nearly stopped when Zola forgot himself for a moment and called the Winter Soldier Sergeant Barnes, but the soldier is still too damaged to realise. You make him lie back down; he needs a shower, feeding, his wounds need seeing to, but for now he needs to sleep.

You go to take your hand away but he grabs hold of it. “Don't leave me.”

You put your other hand over his. “I won't, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere,” you kiss his forehead.

You watch over him for the rest of the day, another meal is brought in for you which you gratefully eat. You ask for them to bring some soup and you coax him into drinking it. You get a bowl of hot water and wipe down his body, changing the water several times. You change the bandages. You see there is still blood in his urine and discuss with Doctor Jakobs about a course of antibiotics. You try to make him as comfortable as possible. That night you crawl into bed with him again and although sleepy he holds you to him.

Tomorrow you will start to put him back together again.

*

Leonid Krupin is taken off base and told he is being promoted to keep him silent. He is given something more suited to his calling. Something far away. Should he have an accident on his way to his new posting then it would be a shame but so be it.

These things happen.

People need to realise, money is not what Hydra is after - it wants power: pure unadulterated all encompassing power.

And God forbid anyone who stands in its way. 

Chapter Text

Hydra, The Constant & the Winter Soldier - Under New Management

An intelligent, young, bright American, Jackson Caldwell arrives at his new posting. Although he is only in his twenties he is keen, enthusiastic, and knows exactly where Project Winter Soldier should be heading. He has been brought in by Zola.

He will not make the same mistakes as Krupin.

Along with Hydra, he is going to save the world.

Hail Hydra!

Jackson Caldwell has got far in a short time and he is right where he wants to be. He appears to be a congenial young man, and this is because he has learnt that this is the easiest way to be to get what he wants. He gives people their small victories without letting them realise he wins the important ones for himself. Without them realising it he slowly strips them of their values and, if necessary, their importance. People believe him to be fair and just; they like him.

And this makes him more dangerous than people like Nikolay Lehmann and Leonid Krupin. At least you could see their naked ambition.

The thing with Caldwell is that he wants to remain in this position, in the middle of things. Back home he has important friends, friendships he has deliberately sought out, courted. In Hydra he has a good reputation, people rely on him. Being the Winter Soldier's Handler will only be one of many things he will be responsible for.

He will not spend all of his time here at the Camp. He will be here when necessary, of course, but he will ensure that he is always aware of what is happening. He sees himself as the puppet master, and the rest of the world do not know they are his toys. He is not stupid and he will do all that it takes to ensure people believe that he is there for them. That he cares. He knows exactly what people need.

You are not there to greet him. Neither is the Winter Soldier. You are both in cryo-freeze.

Five months later you are awoken.

The new base has done well under Caldwell's ownership. It is up-to-date on all the latest technology, much of which is not known of outside Hydra. As originally mentioned by Lehmann, it is not just there for the Winter Soldier: he is just one of the projects housed here. The base will train STRIKE teams as well as other special ops teams; something else that is under Caldwell's remit. Other specialised training will also be done here.

Caldwell is in charge of a few further projects in one way or another. There are other camp directors who will work together on bringing Hydra into the twenty-first century, always keeping it at the forefront of technology. All are dedicated to Hydra.

Back home In the United States Hydra has found a new home and is safe.

It is hidden. Nestled into SHIELD. Infecting it slowly. Poetic justice, Zola thinks.

*

Your quarters are now on the main floor which is on the surface. Both your clothing and the Winter Soldier's have been placed in there. The bed is a still double, but there is also the single one in the corner like before. Caldwell appears to have put some thought into the living space; you even have a small walled-off area leading off from your rooms outside. There is a small kitchenette and even your own bathroom. Both you and the Winter Soldier are able to breath fresh air, see the sun, and have a certain amount of freedom.

Jackson Caldwell comes to see you an hour after you awaken. He can see how nauseous you are feeling, and is quiet, and apologises for the intrusion. He tells you his long term plans and tells you that if you have any worries his door is always open.

You will reserve judgement on that. “And the Winter Soldier?”

Caldwell smiles.

“This is his home. We will look after him here. He is an important part of our plans and I can assure you, Freya...may I call you Freya?” He pauses waiting for your nod of acceptance “...that his health and physical wellbeing are paramount. I have a team of people for you to meet when you are feeling better. I have decided that it is best for him to remain on mission with the same team each time, where possible. His new lead commander is a young man called Adam Morton - an Australian. I expect he will introduce you to the rest of the team. He will be your main contact when arranging the Winter Soldier's timetable.”

You look down at the ground. Can you believe him?

He seems genuine...

“He is in good hands here, Freya.” Caldwell re-emphasises, smiling again as he leaves you in peace.

Over the next 24 hours you learn more about the new regime. The Winter Soldier and his team all have separate areas to the rest of the camp. These contain training areas, gun alleys, a large gym, food hall, and sleeping quarters. In the main camp there is a Helipad and even a small runway. These are also open to the Winter Soldier project when needed; they will be able to fly him into wherever he is needed, under radar cover. The food hall even has its own chef now. The guards are all vetted and Hydra-loyal. Marinov is still in charge of them, and his second in command is a guard you already know by sight; Serge Zolnerowich.

The rest of the small staff are made up of one doctor, Eric Jakobs, and two scientists - the French scientist Doctor Taffeteer, and a woman you have never met. There are also various technicians and the cryo team which still includes Stefan - although you later find out that Stefan now has other duties as well.

The programming team still consists of Peter and Elise but a new person has joined the team, a man named Timur Mosin. Any friendship you had built with Peter during Krupin's time is now politely forgotten. You pass them in the corridor, give in reports to them but that is all. Friendship with them is not encouraged, and even if it were they would be the last people you would seek out.

There are also trainers who will work with Adam Morton as part of the Winter Soldier mission team: Viktor Kozar and Rodion Bessonov.

There are cameras everywhere. Security is high. It seems more like a small community than a military base, but if you look under the smokescreen you would realise it is highly organised and highly deadly. There are gun turrets at every corner, high fences, guard dogs, and once again the whole place is surrounded by a dense forested area with only two main roads in and out and one back road which is little more than a track and looks as if it would lead to no where.

In other words, no one could accidentally see what is going on in there.

This is the way it was supposed to be. This is the way it was originally planned by Zola and the department heads of Hydra. The Winter Soldier is an assassin of the highest calibre, not just a hired killer as Krupin was using him as. He will be kept up to date with everything needed by Hydra. He will become more fluent in all languages, and his metal arm will be constantly updated with the latest engineering. He will be a force to be reckoned with.

Unknown to Freya, there is one thing that will never be changed: the Winter Soldier's programming. She will still be used as a failsafe without her knowing. Each time he starts to remember her...that is when they know their time is limited.

She is still the one who gives him away; the ticking clock.

*

He listens to her voice. Knows where he is. Knows he is safe. Knows who he is – no-one...but everyone. He is the asset. He is an assassin. He is Hydra.

He knows enough that he has been ill but is now better. Freya leaves, promises to see him later. He has a new Handler and is introduced to both him and the new team that will always be with him on mission. He looks for Freya but they tell him first of all he needs to go to programming.

He will always obey them. Hail Hydra!

When he comes out some time later he no longer looks for the woman; doesn't even know he had ever looked for her. His head is buzzing and at first it is difficult to keep focus and he has to concentrate. He is shown around the new base. Some of it is vaguely familiar, some of it strangely new. He is then taken to his quarters and meets the woman who will look after him. They have told him that he does know her, that she is always with him. He has already been instructed that she will provide all that he needs. For the first time that day he feels vaguely uncomfortable, it is as if he knows her but doesn't. As if she should mean something to him but she doesn't. The look she gives him is hopeful and he can see in her eyes he means something to her but he turns away. Does not see that light die away. Does not see the despair that replaces it. She thought he might be different now, but he isn't. He still doesn't know her like he should. Why? Why does this always happen after the programming?

She has given up trying to understand.

He thinks about what they told him. She is a nurse who looked after him when he was ill but she has loose morals; she likes the men, and that makes him angry and strangely jealous. They told him that he has some connection with her, they don't know why. They tell him she belongs to him but they make her sound dirty, disloyal. He is not sure what makes them think he would want to be with her yet alone...he shakes his head, he doesn't want to even think about that.

Jackson Caldwell is not stupid. Although he has some compassion for Freya's predicament, he brushes that aside. She is needed, her role is vital, she is the ticking clock. And so the programming still tells the Winter Soldier she is a whore, that he needs to keep her in check. That he can do anything he likes to her without retribution. Caldwell actually thought of putting in the programme that the woman must not be killed, but Elise tells him with one of her cold smiles that there is no need to. The Winter Soldier's overwhelming love for the woman always stops him going too far - always.

And so a new era begins.

*

January 2^nd 1955

The mission could be a difficult one. The target will be in a crowded place. There is nowhere for them to hide the Winter Soldier, and he will need his team there with him to run interference. He is flown in and knows his mission. He is not dressed in his usual uniform, not in black; none of them are. Instead he has on a dark suit, shirt, and tie. A long dark overcoat, hat and gloves complete the ensemble. He is going to the races. A normal everyday occurrence, only for this group of men they will not be interested in watching the horses, placing bets. They only want one thing and that is someone's life.

Such a small thing to ask for.

The target is important, very important, especially with the talks. But Hydra has learnt something, something it doesn't like, and so this man must be taken out of the equation before he can say he has changed his mind. Before he can make it known he no longer wants to go ahead with the plans for the Panama Canal.

The group of men stay together but are not out of place. They join in the crowds, look out over the race course. They have seen plans and photographs, they know exactly where their weapons are hidden and when the time comes they know exactly where they are meant to be. No one pays attention to them; they are just a group of friends out to enjoy the day. They carry in their hands folded up newspapers, a betting slip or two. If you studied the group you would realise one of them is quieter than the others, his eyes do not follow the horses, instead he is summing up the area, looking for any dangers. He listens to the voices around him, the language a mix of Spanish and a smattering of Portuguese.

The target is sat with a group of people in the Presidential Box. Although the day is cold, the sun is low and bright so that shadow prevents anyone from seeing him clearly. The President doesn't mind; he isn't really one for public appearances. He has come to enjoy himself, to forget about the talks for a day, forget about what he will have to do next week. For today he can just be himself.

Everyone is relaxed. He is sat looking through binoculars at the race course and is laughing with his bodyguard. They have both gone for different horses in the next race and the President is saying how he trusts him with his life but not with his choice of horses. They have a small side wager, nothing much, a bottle of the President's favourite drink which he knows his bodyguard also likes.

To the left of the edge of the box is a small stand of trees and bushes, swaying gently in the wind. After today these will be torn down, the ground opened up so no one could possibly hide anything in them.

After today, no one will need to hide anything in them.

The group of men move over to the trees. Still no one pays them any attention.

There is an announcement for the next race over the tanoy, which whines as someone readjusts it. The Winter Soldier listens to what is being said; the announcer talking excitedly in Spanish. The horses have been led into the starting stalls and the starters shot is heard and the horses are off.

People jostle forward and begin to shout. In the Presidential box the President and his bodyguard stand to watch and see which of their horses will win. The noise from the crowd gets to the point where it is deafening, the tanoy keeping people abreast of the race, the excitement in the announcer's tone. A series of loud bangs are heard and some people turn thinking firecrackers have been let off.

They do not at first understand what they are seeing.

A man is walking forward, machine gun cradled in his arms. He looks to be an ordinary man, with several others around him; all are holding guns. The man lifts the machine gun and aims into the box just as the bodyguard frantically dives in front of his President but it is of no use and he dies in vain as bullets shoot through his body and take down the President behind him. Five others are also killed. No one could be missed in the rain of bullets a machine gun can throw out in less than a few seconds.

No one.

It is obvious that the President is dead and the men who took his life melt back into the covering of the trees as screams start to make themselves known in the pandemonium. More and more people turn to see what is happening and the race becomes forgotten by everyone but the announcer, who is not in a place to see what is happening except on the race field. His excited voice announces the winner of the race.

The bodyguard would have won the drink.

Tomorrow the news will circulate around the whole world. Presidents and Royals from all countries will send their horrified condolences, but the killer will never be found. Stories will be made up, patsies found, but underneath it all in the quieter spaces, the story of a ghost will circulate. This is not the first time he has struck and they know it will not be the last. But no one, simply no one, seems to know where he comes from, who he works for. All they know is that he is to be feared, because he never fails. Warnings are circulated under the radar, nothing to back them up, just feelings from those who work in secret to try and protect the world.

It will not be enough. It will never be enough.

The first mission under Jackson Caldwell's leadership has been a success and he welcomes back his team, welcomes back the Winter Soldier.

A few days later, Jackson receives a confidential memo from someone within SHIELD. They know that he is part of the intelligence community, and over time Jackson has advised and worked with SHIELD, helping them as an organisation to grow. The person considers him a friend and ally. The memo asks if he has heard the rumours about the unknown assassin, shares information, and asks him if he knows any more than they do.