"James?" I sat bolt upright in bed, looking around frantically for my husband. He wasn't here. His side of the bed was empty.

It had been almost a month since he had found out what Hydra had done to me. In that time, he had rarely let me out of his sight, doing everything in his power to make me happy—he seemed to have forgotten that all I needed to be happy was him—but at the same time becoming oddly distant. I would find him staring out the window or down the street with the strangest look on his face whenever he thought I wasn't looking, and then he would snap out of it whenever I asked him what was wrong.

Obviously something had been wrong. And now he was gone.

My trembling fingers clutched at the sheets, and I took deep breaths to try and calm down. Years of training bled through my panic, and I shook my head, focusing. Think. What do you see?

There was no sigh of a struggle. I got out of bed and checked all the windows and the door. All of them were locked, and nothing was broken except a few pieces of glass that looked like they had come from a mason jar and had been there since I appeared at James's apartment a few months before. I cleaned them up and spotted something on my way to the trashcan. A piece of paper was taped to the fridge, and I tripped over the couch in my haste to retrieve it.

The paper was torn by the time I finally read it, and my brow furrowed in confusion and worry and disbelief as I read it by the light of the moon that shone through the window.

There's something I have to do, Katie. Stay safe. I'll be back in a few days. I love you. James.

I let out the breath I'd been holding and sank back against the counter, running a hand through my hair. There was something he had to do? What did that even mean? The thought of what he could be doing, what could happen to him, made me sick.

I pressed my my wedding ring and engagement ring against my lips, feeling bile rise in my throat. I rushed to the sink and gathered my hair back as I gagged, vomiting into the sink. I gasped for breath, shaking and fighting back tears as I stared blankly at the mess, then washed it away. I rinsed out my mouth, coughing at the burning feeling at the back of my throat.

I sank down the cabinets to the floor, shaking, and pulled the nearest blanket to me and wrapped it around my front. My body wouldn't stop shivering, and I resting my head back against the wood as I stared into the darkness. All I could see was my husband, dead. My husband, tortured. My husband, hurt—

"Please come back to me," I whispered, feeling hot tears force their way from my eyes and down my cheeks. I can't lose you again. "Please."

~8~

James stood outside a rundown hotel, staring irritably at the lamppost across the street. He had travelled more than four hundred miles in the last twenty-four hours, running and walking to reach Budapest, Hungary. Thank goodness for his increased stamina, or else he'd never have made it. He needed to contact Clint Barton without drawing unwanted attention to his and his wife's location. Therefore, he couldn't meet in the city—or country—they were residing in. Fortunately for him, dozens of countries were packed into Europe, and most countries he'd encountered had poor border control—at least for him. He could simply jump or climb over the walls, holding the barbed wire down with his metal hand.

The metal fingers of his left hand tapped out an agitated rhythm on the brick wall behind him as the lightbulb continued to flicker. It was a few seconds more before someone appeared in its orange light, and a few moments later the man stood across from him in the shadows.

"Agent."

"Sergeant. Where's your wife?"

Barton sounded urgent, and James smiling slightly. It was good knowing that someone was there to take care of Katie if something ever happened to him. Katie. The smile fell from his lips.

"She's at home."

Barton must have caught the note of anger in his voice, because his tone changed, and his brow furrowed. "Is something wrong?"

"My wife told me something last month," James started slowly, frowning darkly. "Something about what happened to her."

Barton was silent, listening, waiting. No amount of pushing would have moved James to reveal what he had to say before he wished to say it. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Hydra…" James's voice lowered to a growl, and he cleared his throat, swallowing. "They sterilized her."

There was no shock on Barton's face, only pain. He took a breath and let it out slowly, closing his eyes. He knew. He had known for a long time.

"You knew," James stated bluntly, watching the younger man. He didn't think his wife had told Clint about it—not after how hard it had been to tell him, her husband, but…

"I suspected," Clint corrected, running a hand over his face. "Nat," he said, shaking his head wearily. "She's a good friend of mine. Used to work for the KGB. She was trained—tortured—in what's known as the Red Room, same as your wife." Same as you, he seemed to say. "They sterilized her, too. I had a feeling… that look your wife gets whenever she's around my kids, it told me a lot. But I didn't know, not really. Not 'till now."

"She told me a month ago," James murmured, staring at the ground. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he remembered how broken his wife had looked, curled up into a tiny ball in his arms, weeping. "It… it broke her."

"You didn't ask me to come out here just to tell me this," Barton acknowledged, studying the other man. He knew him too well. He remembered how James had acted when he'd called about Katie being shot—he hadn't visited her or let Clint call him because he hadn't wanted to put her in danger. And yet now he was calling him, meeting with him in the middle of a city. "You want something."

"Yeah."

The two were silent for a few seconds. Clint studied James, watching his tells, and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "You want revenge."

"I want to make those bastards pay for what they did to my wife," James snarled, his voice lowering dangerously. He glanced around, his sharp gaze piercing the darkness. They were running out of time.

"I don't know where they are," Clint informed him, watching him carefully.

"I do."

I do. The last time James had said those words in front of this man, it had been at his and Katie's wedding. Clint Barton had officiated, and a young woman had been present as well. The girl had helped set his mind right again, prevented him from slipping into the Winter Soldier.

"So you want me to go with you… and do what?" Clint asked him, frowning. "You know that they'll either kill you—in which case you wife will kill you and me both—or capture you, in which case she'll get herself killed or captured trying to rescue you."

James shifted uncomfortably, frowning at the ground. He had considered that, to be honest, but he hoped she'd be smart and stay where she was. It wasn't like she had grown up with someone who picked a fight with everything that moved. Oh wait. "She doesn't know I'm here."

"She's a smart girl, she'll figure it out." Clint paused, watching the other man sadly. His heart ached for Katie: no one should have to go through what she did. But no spouse should have to go through the pain of losing their love, and that was exactly what was going to happen if he couldn't convince James to go home. "Listen. I love your wife like a daughter, and I'd do anything to protect her, which is why I'm telling you to go home. Go be with your wife." Clint shook his head, pleading with the other man to just listen.

Despite the turmoil inside him, James shook his head adamantly, and his metal hand curled into a fist. "I can't go back. Not until I know that the people who did this to her are gone."

"Sergeant, they are gone. Hydra is gone," Clint stressed. He wanted to hit a wall, he was so frustrated. James wouldn't listen. "And even if you could find them, there's nothing you could do."

"I already found them," James muttered, glancing up the street. There was a reason he hadn't used Katie and Barton's names. He didn't want Hydra to know who they were. He had known they were here. It's why he picked this street corner of all others, why he hadn't met in a field somewhere. "They're here."

Clint fell silent, and his hand drifted towards his bow. A look of fear crossed his face, and guilt filled James's heart when he recalled something he should never have forgotten: Clint had a family. A wife. Kids. Did he really expect Clint to sacrifice them for him? "What?"

"They've been following me since I entered the city," James continued softly, reaching slowly around to pull the gun from the waistband of his pants.

"You knew about this?" Clint asked. His expression was growing steadily darker, the glint in his eyes murderous. Laura. Lila. Cooper. Nathaniel. His family—they had already lost a child. They weren't going to lose him too.

James made a half nod, half shake of his head that infuriated the archer further, and Clint resisted the urge to shoot the man with an arrow right then and there. "I didn't know you had a family."

Clint's bow was in his hand now, an arrow on the string, but his hands weren't shaking. Even now he had remarkable control over his emotions and bodily functions: he had to. The slightest fluctuation in the flight of an arrow could mean the difference between a kill shot and a warning shot. With Hydra, there weren't any warning shots. "You set me up."

"No," James shook his head adamantly. "Even if I hated you, I wouldn't give you up. Not to Hydra. Not even for her." She'd kill me if I did. "Stay behind me."

Clint vanished into the shadows before James could say another word, and he didn't have the chance to see what happened to him. Seconds later came the sharp, stinging feeling of a dart biting into his neck. Panic spiked within him as he fell to his knees, his vision blurring.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to avenge his wife, keep Hydra away from her—what would she do if he was gone? She'd take care of herself as she always had been capable of doing, but he knew her. He'd seen what had happened to her when he'd been gone, when she'd thought he was dead. He'd seen her after she woke up from her nightmares. What would happen if he really died? She won't make it.

James collapsed, shaking, and fell unconscious.

It'll be my fault.

~8~

"Soldier. Wake up. Wake up, now."

James's eyes snapped open and he went to lurch forward, only to be held back by multiple straps and chains. The room was set up in a way very familiar to him, and he clenched his fists when he caught sight of a headset resting uncomfortably close to his body.

"Good."

A man he did not recognize was standing beside him, watching him closely. He was wearing ill-fitting, dirty clothes, and a scar slashed diagonally across his face, biting into his lips and into the corner of his eye.

"We had to use enough tranquilizer to knock out an elephant," the man informed him, shrugging. "Now," he said, pulling out a paper with two fingertips and glancing down at it lazily. "Tell me what you know about Katherine Rogers."

His heart stopped. Katie. James stiffened, grinding his teeth together. Did Hydra think he still worked for them? They obviously didn't know that he had married her. What even was going on? They wanted Katie. He'd gone to kill them and they'd captured him, like Barton had warned him. Where was he?

He supposed that the only reason they hadn't wiped him yet was so they could get information from him… and they likely didn't know how to reset him.

Reset. He shuddered, and his fingers curled into fists.

The man watched him intently, but James saw the flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. The man clearly didn't know how long he could hold the Winter Soldier. The man also knew he couldn't use methods of torture on him because he knew that he couldn't damage him—the assassin was a weapon and an asset, after all—, and also because should he break free, James would kill him.

"Tell me what you know about Katherine Rogers," the man repeated. A nanosecond later, James was straining against his bonds, fighting to get free… but they wouldn't break. Real fear flooded his body. He couldn't get away. He couldn't get away. He wasn't strong enough. His muscles bulged and strained against the chains and leather straps that held him down, but the bonds wouldn't break.

A slow smile spread across the man's face. A colleague of his appeared: this one was horribly scarred—his entire face and most of his body was covered by them. The first man stepped down quickly, and James knew for certain that this new man was in charge. A third with light hair stood a while back from the others, watching curiously from his position by the door.

"The Winter Soldier," the man rasped, standing in front of James with his arms hanging at his sides. James cataloged what he could see and figure out about the man. American. Soldier. Warrior. Brawn, not brains. Taunts to achieve results. Knows who I am. "Reduced to this."

A muscle in James's jaw ticked. He thought he recognized this man—how?

"I saw you, once," the man continued. His voice was eerily soft. "In a bank vault." Chills went down James's spine. He remembered now. The man had stood behind Pierce as the man has slapped him, ordered his mind to be wiped. "I went with Secretary Pierce to watch them wipe you. You were talking about her, you know. Your Katie." The man chuckled, leaning forward to rest his mutilated hands on the arms of the chair James was strapped into. "She and her brother did this to me, you know," he whispered menacingly. "I intend to return the favor."

James wisely kept his mouth shut. If he admitted he knew where she was, that he remembered her… it would be bad. They'd go after her. They'd find her. They'd hurt her.

"You're stronger than most give you credit for," the man acknowledged. "It'll make it more entertaining."

Entertaining?

"When we break you," the man smiled grotesquely, the melted skin around his eyes moving to cover them almost completely. The man pulled a knife from his belt and used it to make a deep cut down James's arm. He took a sharp breath, tensing, fighting the urge scream as blood drenched his skin. His arm shook, and a groan of pain escaped his lips, and the other man grinned. He made to move, stretching out a hand to grab another knife or needle or something equally painful from the table to his left. An instant later, a silver streak darted past, sending the man cartwheeling through the air and into the metal bookshelves a few meters away. The assistant followed soon after.

James stared in shock and amazement as the young, light haired guard swung a metal pole at the heads of both men, effectively knocking them both out, before dropping it to the ground.

"They're always so fond of speeches," he observed, nudging the leader with the toe of his shoe. He spoke with a thick Russian accent, and he glanced over at James, shrugging. "Why is zat?"

Someone banged on the door, and the young man was there in an instant, letting the other in. It was Clint Barton, sporting a busted lip and a pissed expression.

"Why do I have to keep saving your asses?" he grumbled, looking around for a key.

"Sorry?" The younger man leaned against the wall, lifting an eyebrow. "I had this under control."

The leader groaned, stirring, and the man sped over and knocked him out again.

"What the hell is going on?" James finally asked, looking around in confusion. He had no idea what was happening.

"Barnes, this is Pietro. Pietro, this idiot is Katie's husband," Clint bit out, giving up and slicing through the leather restraints with a nearby knife. Without them, James was able to break free from the iron chains, sending the links and fragmented metal shards in every direction.

"Nice to meet you," James panted, glancing at the kid, who nodded back.

"What do we do with them?" Pietro asked, glancing around at the wreckage he'd caused. A glance out the door showed other men slumped unconscious or dead against the walls, many with arrows sticking out of them.

Clint spoke first. "Leave them."

James rounded on him, ready to shout him down, but the archer stood his ground.

"If we hadn't been here, you'd be a hell of a lot worse off than you are now," Clint snarled, smacking him with his bow. "As it is, you're lucky I don't call Katie right now and tell her exactly what you've been doing. You think she'll be pleased when she finds out about this? When she finds out that you risked your life for something like this?"

"They hurt her," James roared.

"You hurt her!" Clint bellowed back. He was furious with him. He understood how much James loved Katie, how much she loved him too, but this… James wasn't thinking straight. The news of Katie's sterilization had sent him into a fury: Clint had gotten a call weeks ago asking that he come down to Budapest. He hated that place. "She'll already be furious about this: she's never wanted you to risk yourself for her." His tone changed to something almost gentle, pleading. Imploring was the right word. "You think she'd want you to kill for her too?"

"They'll come after us," James murmured, staring down at the men at his feet. He was unsure of what to do. If he didn't do something, they'd hurt her. If he did do something, he'd hurt her. All he wanted was for her to be safe and for her to love him. Right now it felt like he could only have one or the other. How could he have been so stupid? He'd wanted to avenge her, protect her from further harm, and might have exposed her.

Clint was looking at something over James's shoulder, staring at it with a pensive look on his face. He had an idea. "Maybe not." He glanced back at the others and jerked his head towards the back of the room. "Follow me."