He was dreaming of rain. It pounded on the high tin roof, a dull roar that echoed through the empty gymnasium. The hour and the storm had been enough to draw their audience away, but he hadn't returned to quarters. He'd rather be here, in the stillness of that constant thunder, lost to the rhythm of flesh meeting flesh. Besides, no one looked twice if two operatives wanted to put in some late night training.
Natalia squared up across the ring and sent a swift kick toward his middle. He caught her ankle, smiling as she raised her eyes to his. But her face shifted, becoming older but just as beautiful, alight with the clarity of freshly etched memory. This had happened before. Had they come for him again? Was she testing him? But this was wrong. They should be in America, an underground SHIELD facility. This place was half a world away, somewhere he hadn't been in decades.
The Natalia who crouched across the ring was young again. So was he. He could feel it, a lightness of years lifted and horror yet to come. This was a memory.
"Well?"
"Speak English. You need the practice."
"Where are you? You look far away." She was looking at him the way she used to, seeing things about him that no one else could, things he had forgotten.
But it was when, not where. Could he tell her that he'd seen the future, that these weeks in the Red Room were the only ones they'd ever have? Could he tell her that he was her prisoner, that he'd done terrible things, that all he deserved from her in the end were weighing stares and guarded questions?
The rain drummed on. It felt so real - the cool sweat on the back of his neck, the ache in his muscles, the heat rushing through him as she crossed the ring. With her looking at him like that, he couldn't bring himself to tell her she was just a ghost.
"Do you surrender?"
He smiled. "To you? Always."
She was in his arms then, pressed hard against him, her lips finding his. The thrill of it was staggering, the danger of discovery, the passion that neither of them had expected to find in a place like this. Reality still tugged at him, but he no longer cared. One hand slid to her hip, the other tangling in her hair. She was soft beneath him, painfully so. The ache that rose in him was tinged with regret, but he could taste her, feel the heat of her as he buried his face in her neck. She moaned appreciatively, her hands sliding lower. His mouth found hers again, her laughter warm against his lips.
A blast of cold hit him full in the face. It snatched the breath from him, the wind stinging his cheeks. Rain filled his eyes. No, not rain. Snow.
Natalia was gone. He was crouched behind a tree, a knife in each hand, making his way through the forest under cover of darkness. With the falling snow, it was almost serene. But he could feel them out there in the night, the enemy just ahead, his unit waiting behind while he cleared a path. He knew these woods. Another memory, years before the last.
The Hydra base would fall tonight, one of many on their path toward victory. He hadn't survived to see the end of it, but they said they'd won. His mission was to take out the perimeter guards, swiftly and silently, to keep their approach concealed. He might not be America's favorite soldier, might not have Steve's strength or speed, but he had found other ways to prove himself.
The first guard never saw him coming. He took him from behind, wrapping him in both arms and driving his blade into the soft flesh of his throat. The snow was falling harder, white and pure, painted with a sudden splash of red. The second guard tried to fight back, but he was good, even then. This was what he'd been meant for all along.
When it was over, he stared down at them, letting the cold seep through him. His chest heaved, his breath misting before him. The forest was quiet again, the knife dripping in his hand. His good hand, both of them strong, both of them real. He'd done his job well. These men were Hydra. Considering what had happened since, he could almost believe they deserved it, that he owed them. And yet he couldn't look away.
Someone was watching him. He could feel their eyes. Another guard stepped from the trees, but her helmet was gone, the snowflakes catching in her long red hair.
"Natalia?"
No, she was never here. But she moved through the snow on silent steps, stepping unseeing over the bodies, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in her wake.
"James." She smiled up at him, the cloud of her breath mingling with his.
It was all he could see as she kissed him, white mist and falling snow. Her warmth flooded through him, enveloping him, the snow melting into rain as it fell around them. Steam filled his eyes, the weight of war falling away. His weapons were gone, his uniform vanished, but she was still there, warm and wet and naked in his arms.
They were back at the Red Room facility, washing away the day's training in the throbbing heat of the showers. Turning his face to the water, he shut his eyes, trying to forget the dream that had come before. Natalia's lips were everywhere, tracing the roughness of his chin, trailing across his chest, her tongue circling playfully around a nipple. Opening his eyes, he found her watching him, teasing with her teeth until he gasped. He tilted her chin up to kiss him, his other hand cupped against her ass, crushing her to him. The hand was strong again, the water pinging off the metal of his arm. It felt right, more familiar than the one he'd been born with, but with her it didn't matter. With her, he could be himself.
He lifted her to him, pressing her back against the slick tile of the wall. Her legs wrapped around him, her hands guiding him, her head lolling as the water flowed down her neck. He chased it with his lips, drinking deep, burying his face in her breasts, losing himself to the rhythm. They fought well together. This, they did even better.
Each thrust brought a new gasp, laughter blooming thick in her throat. Her nails bit into his back, one hand tangled in the hair on his chest. He forced his eyes open, watching her, willing himself to remember, to let this be more than a dream. His fingertips traced her face, committing it to memory, trailing to the soft dimple of her neck. He saw it again suddenly, the soldier in the snow, his blade driving deep into the exposed flesh.
He tried to shake it off, to see only her. She drew him deeper, her back arching. But then his other hand was at her throat, both of them wrapping round, horror overtaking him as he realized he couldn't stop them. It was like watching someone else, somewhere else, the years of mute and helpless witness stretching out before him.
No. Not Natalia.
But it wasn't her. His hands closed around the throat, but the purpling face was that of a stranger. The showers were gone, replaced by the distant pounding of gunfire and falling bombs. This memory was hazier, blended to so many of the rest. A coup maybe, in a country he couldn't name. The room where he crouched was silent and still, but outside the world was changing. And he knew that he had been the cause.
The woman in his arms was dead. He'd choked the life from her, remembered how easy it had been. As he laid her back on the floor, he saw that she wasn't alone. The room was littered with fresh corpses, some shot, some stabbed, some beaten. He had killed them all.
He stepped over them on long, certain strides, making his way toward the extraction point. Around him horror reigned, men fighting and dying in the sweltering desert heat. But he didn't feel it. Those in his way fell quickly, each kill bringing a fresh rush of cold, like an echo snapping at his heels. But still he found himself pinned down.
He dove behind a crumbling wall, pressing his back against it as he reloaded. One of the men ahead was a decent shot. A bullet whizzed past just above his head, raining down brick and plaster. He saw her then, heard the shots flying back in the other direction.
Natalia.
Natalia crouched across the street. Natalia providing covering fire. Natalia smiling at him. But that was wrong. This had been years later, years after he'd lost her, years after he'd forgotten her name. If she had been here, she never would have helped him. He knew that now.
She rose and walked toward him, caring nothing for the return fire. He shouted to her, but the words wouldn't come. Her eyes were locked to his, her steps slow and measured, crossing the battlefield like an apparition, a valkyrie come to claim him. The bullets didn't touch her.
When she took his hand, he was invincible. Together they crossed the bleeding city, fighting their way out, laughing at the thrill of it. They fought Hydra and SHIELD, soldiers and supermen, Russians and Americans. Some of the faces shone with familiar clarity and he knew them to be real, people he had killed, coming back to haunt him in the kaleidoscope of dreams.
Natalia hadn't fought with him here, but they had fought together. Those few short weeks stretched before him like years. He saw them training in the ring, earning the approval of their masters. He saw them perched above a building, waiting for a target. He saw those first stolen moments, saw himself sneaking into her quarters, wrapping her in his arms, losing himself to something that he'd thought beyond him. He could have lived in those weeks forever. But the cold crept on, just out of sight, gaining as the memories sped past.
Natalia.
He heard her scream, saw her ripped from his arms. They'd been discovered. She was changing him. His conditioning wouldn't hold. He tried to focus, tried to keep his eyes on her, but the corners of his vision blurred, the world going white. The cold had him now, turning him to ice. And still he could hear her scream.
Her screams mingled with others. He saw them all laid out before him, every death he had caused, every horror. And through it all the cold, hounding him, freezing away every piece of him that had ever known warmth. It was tempting to give into it, to let it take away the pain, the guilt. But the memories came faster, whipping past him, blurring together, burning, searing into his mind. The screams were his now.
He didn't know when the dream released him. It left him gasping, cold and alone. He almost thought that he had wakened. But he stood in another city, perched high above the street. Bracing his rifle, he squinted down the sight. The woman was beautiful, intelligent and precise, a creature of deadly grace. There was no feeling behind the thought. It was merely an observation, distant and cold.
She'd been hunting him, had come close a time or two. But he had the advantage now. He lined up the shot, screaming in horror, a passenger trapped inside his own mind. Natalia. But he hadn't known her, not then. They had taken her from him, wiped all trace of her from his memory. And when she came for him, he had defended himself.
He felt his finger tense on the trigger, felt himself hesitate. A killshot. Why would it be anything else? He shook himself and set the shot again, pressing his eye to the sight. Her head whipped around, searching for him. So beautiful.
She spotted him as the shot rang out, her face filling his vision as she fell, clutching at her stomach. He'd missed. He never missed.
Again and again he felt himself pull the trigger. Again and again he watched her fall. Natalia. Natalia who he'd known, who he'd loved. Natalia who they'd taken from him, erased from his memory. Natalia who might have even loved him back.
Natalia who he had tried to kill.
He woke with a gasp, blinking at the ceiling above his narrow bed, the ceiling of his cell. His blanket was tangled around him, slick with sweat. But all he felt was cold.
