Hello Everyone! This is an original Bucky/OC story that I've been wanting to write for a while. I've had this idea in my head for months, and I couldn't shake it, so here I am writing it. I haven't written in a long while so my skills might be a bit rusty, but I'm trying my best here.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing but my OC.

Prologue

September 2013

Vorkuta, Russia

An arrow sliced through the stale air, soaring through the quick-approaching night until it reached its target, piercing through it perfectly. The control pad that lay outside the abandoned factory, now punctured by an arrow, short-circuited and released sparks, and the hum that surrounded the forest-surrounded area disappeared.

Another arrow soared through the air, this time slicing through a rope that held up a small construction platform attached to the steel walls of the compound. The platform groaned, and after a few seconds, fell from three stories, with it bricks and bags of sand. It all exploded into the air, creating cloud of sand and dirt.

From the cloud emerged a coughing Clint Barton, bow in hand. He surveyed his handiwork from where he stood, and gave himself a small, affirmative nod. The sand wouldn't clear for a few hours, stopping anyone from peeking into the factory; not that Clint thought that this was something to necessarily worry about. The factory-like compound was located a few dozen miles from the nearest population, and on top of that has been abandoned for decades.

"We have about two hours before the dust clears," his partner said, walking towards him from the cloud. Natasha Romanoff walked past him, and approached the door Clint was standing next to. They've decided to enter from one of the more conspicuous back doors, knowing it would be easier to get in from there. She knelt down to one knee, and looked at the padlock securing the door. It was nothing special, just a small lock that is often today found on the front doors of suburban houses. She quickly picked the lock, and kicked open the door. She walked in, gun in one hand, and phone in the other.

She looked to her left, and to her surprise, a light switch was attached to the wall. With no hesitation, she flicked it up, and the compound lit up. It looked mouldy, worn down, and there were cobwebs everywhere.

Well that was easy, she thought as she pulled up a 3D-map of the facility. She began walking through various halls, them getting narrower the deeper they went in. Clint silently followed her, assessing any possible threats they could encounter. So far he's found a mind-boggling amount of zero.

Natasha suddenly took a left, and started climbing a set of stairs. The soft stomps her legs made as she climbed the stairs sent a thick layer of dust into the air, and started a coughing fit for Clint.

"God, this place is a mess," He wheezed, fanning his hand through the air in attempt not to breathe in the dusty air. "When's the last time someone vacuumed this place?" Him and Natasha reached the top of the stairs, and into another set of hallways. These ones were wider, and the doors were thrown wide-open, not closed as the ones downstairs.

"According to satellite footage, no one's been in this place for over thirty years," Natasha replied. "This used to be some kind of top secret laboratory for HYDRA. SHIELD thinks this was Armin Zola's personal lab." Clint whistled. As they approached an open door, he pulled an arrow from his quiver, and pulled it into his bow. As he passed the door, he pulled the arrow back, ready to fire. Obviously, there was nothing in the room to shoot at, unless rats counted, and he lowered his bow.

"And the CIA, or MI6 didn't raid it already? That's some class-A bullshit." Clint and Natasha passed another room. She looked down at her phone, examining a map, and looked back up. They continued walking down the halls, taking sudden turns, and going through rooms and ending up through more hallways. The layout reminded him of an inescapable maze, and a shiver ran down his back.

Natasha took a sudden right into yet another empty room, and walked straight down until she reached a door. It was made of wood, but the top portion was made of frosted glass. It didn't fit into the compound's setting. In fact, he room itself didn't fit into the cold, laboratory-like compound, Natasha thought. It was like an office, with rows of desks set up, lamps on each desk and papers discarded everywhere. Natasha eyed the door she was in front of, and with a slight wince, kicked it down.

She stepped in, and looked at the space.

It was mostly nude. There was a bland desk in the middle of the room, an office chair behind the desk, and two guest chairs in front of it. There were a few discarded papers on the desk itself, but when Natasha took a closer look, they turned out to be nothing but tax papers. There was a bookshelf to the right of the desk, filled with books, and a lamp in the corner. She looked down at her phone, narrowed her eyes at it, and groaned.

"Apparently this is supposed to be Armin Zola's personal area," She said, slotting her phone back into a pocket on her utility belt. "But we're in a small office. With nothing but tax papers." She groaned again, but continued to look through the desk for anything significant. So far she wasn't coming up with anything.

"How did Fury know about this place?" Clint asked, walking around the room. "If MI6 and the CIA don't even have the intel, how did Fury get it?"

"I didn't ask," Natasha replied. "All I know is that Fury wanted us to check this place out. He suspects Hydra's back."

"What makes him think that?" Clint picked up the papers on the desk, and started reading them.

"Beats me," Natasha replied. She opened drawers, and still came up with nothing. "He never gave me a reason to doubt him, but I don't see it. Nothing hit our radars, it seems like they're really gone."

"Yeah, well not everything is ever like it really seems," Clint muttered, taking a step back from the desk.

He wasn't buying it; there was something off about the room. He couldn't take his eyes off the bookshelf, and slowly approached it. When he got close, he knew he was right. The soft whir of air ventilating was escaping from the right side of the bookshelf. He grinned, and turned to Natasha. She still seemed to be struggling.

"Giving up already?" Clint asked her. "Come on, Tasha. Have you never heard the story of Anne Frank and how she hid from Nazis?" He took the right side of the bookshelf, and pulled. The hidden hinges of the bookshelf-door groaned, but with more pulling they eventually gave in. The bookshelf slid open, and behind it were elevator doors.

"Well this wasn't on the map," She muttered, approaching the silver doors. There was one button next to the doors, and it was an arrow pointing down. Clint pressed it. The doors immediately creaked open, and the lights inside the elevator flickered on.

"Come on," He pressed a hand to her shoulder, and guided her into the elevator. Once they were inside, the doors automatically closed, and the elevator started to move down. The two stood next to each other in silence. The elevator kept moving down for about a minute, until it creaked to a stop. Natasha's hand immediately went to her gun, and Clint's to an arrow as the doors opened.

To both their disappointment, they exited the elevator and entered into a disappointingly ordinary hallway. It was short; maybe only twenty feet long, and only had two doors, one on each side.

"Left or right?" Clint asked. Natasha holstered her gun, and approached the door on her left. Clint approached the one on the right. The lock was fairly simple on this door. He could break it with his bare hands if he wanted to.

He took out a knife, and played with the rusted lock until he heard a satisfying click, and the door opened. He stepped in, and he had a shark intake of breath, his eyes widening at what he saw.

Meanwhile, Natasha was trying to get the lock of the door on the left. It was significantly heavier-duty then Clint's lock. It was bulky, metal, and seemed like the most intensive lock in the whole facility, but still nothing she couldn't break. She couldn't help thinking though that whatever was behind this door, no one was supposed to know about.

She knelt down to the lock, examining it. It was rusted metal; obviously not in it's top shape. Probably steel. She looked down at her utility belt, fingering the multiple tools she carried, and pulled out a small laser-like gadget. He pointed it towards the lock, and turned it on. Within seconds, the whole lock was melted. The door didn't swing open, but with a swift kick, the door flew.

The first thing she noticed when she walked into the room was the drop in temperature. She shivered through her suit, and breathed out puffs of condensed, foggy air.

The next thing she noticed was that the room was completely, save a tall cylindrical … machine stood in the centre. It had a strong hum to it. For a second, Natasha thought it was some kind of jumbo refrigerator.

What the hell would they be keeping in here? She thought. Frozen veggies?

She approached the machine, and took a better look at the room she was in. It was barren, dark, and completely made out of metal. The walls, the ceiling, it all looked to be coated in steel. There was frost on almost the whole surface. She felt bad for anyone who had to be in this room for prolonged periods of time.

Once she moved closer to the machine, she noticed a small part of it that was glass. It was orange, transparent, and seemed to be glowing from the inside. It was frosted, she couldn't see anything.

If Hydra was trying to bring fruits and veggies to life, she called dibs on telling Fury, no matter how much Clint would pay her to let him say it.

She lifted her arm, and tried to wipe and scratch away some of the frost. She tried to take a peek into it again, swearing she would see a few tomatoes and maybe a zucchini, but what she saw made her stomach drop.

"Clint," She called, her voice alarmed. Her eyes didn't move from what she saw in the machine, or rather who she saw, until she heard a pair of familiar footsteps. A few seconds later, he walked into the room; his shoulders tense and bow in hand.

"Tash, I think someone was being kept in there. The other room, the one across the hall, looked like an operating room. There was blood everywhere. The surgeons might have left in a hurry, something happened here. I took pictures and samples of everything I could, so we should be good to go - "

"Clint," Natasha repeated, her voice slightly wavering this time. She looked back into the machine – the cryogenic chamber - and took a deep breath. "Call Fury. He's going to want to see this."

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.writes