A/N: This is early, but with such outpouring of support, I'm updating now. I'm hoping to have a schedule down soon, hopefully updates no later than 2 weeks apart.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Marvel, please don't sue me.

Review if you feel like it! And above all, enjoy!

Chapter One

Triskelion. Washington, D.C. 2014.

Waking.

The involuntary convulsions and roiling nausea had always been the trademark of thawing out from a long cryo-sleep. As was the cold sweats and the sensitivity to light and sound, it always made her cringe and flinch and whimper. It was one of the worst feelings she had ever experienced consistently and repeatedly in her unusually long life.

"Has her mental state been repaired?"

Alexander Pierce. She would recognize his voice anywhere. He sounded older than the last time. How long had it been since she was wiped and put under again?

"No, sir," someone replied, nervously. "Ever since the change in protocol, she has not been able to heal the damage from the machine."

"Good," was Alexander Pierce's cold reply. "Prep her for a mission report with the Asset. We cannot allow Rogers to get away, again."

"Yes, sir."

She was transferred to the flat, cold surface of a standard issue stainless steel lab table, allowed to lay curled on her side, and then rolled through the subterranean corridors towards the room that housed the machine. It was always the same dim lit hallway, same dull gray walls, same monotonous scientists and doctors pushing her around. HYDRA was nothing but predictable. Things never change.

Well, except for the year.

The doctor at the helm of her transport took a hard left into the conditioning room, which is all it took for her stomach to churn again, and for her to throw up on herself, the table, and the floor. And then she laughed, involuntarily and maniacally, her voice more raspy since the last time she was brought out for reprogramming.

By the Gods, she was desperate for a glass of water, and a smoke, which was the only decent thing the last 300 years had produced, in her opinion.

There was screaming. Agonizing, gut-wrenching, masculine screaming that was far too familiar for her to ever be forced to forget. She didn't even have to look over to know who was making such a gods-awful sound. If she was awake, then so was he, though his name escaped her as another wave of nausea crashed through her, and she fell off the table into her own vomit. It was something that would never be found funny to anyone, ever, but she was unable to stop laughing between the dry heaves and gagging.

Eventually -

Winter.

That was his name.

The Winter Soldier.

And she was… She was… Well, fuck.

Eventually, she was dragged up to her feet and dropped into an updated version of the machine, still cold, mechanical, and as sobering as ever.

"No," she groaned. "Not again…"

The vibranium locks enclosed around her arms and torso, securing her into the machine, and the terror set in. The electrode panels that fit perfectly over the sections of the brain that HYDRA needed to target to wipe their assets clean. No sentimentality, no anchors to morality, nothing except loyalty to the cause.

"Please," she begged, kicking her legs out, struggling against her restraints. "I'll obey this time. I swear it, please."

Alexander Pierce studied her for a moment, calculatingly, and then decided, "Wipe her."

A mouthguard was shoved in her face, and she spit out the last of the vile before she took let them push it past her teeth, and then she bit down, as prepared as she could be for the pain she was soon to experience, for what purpose, she had no clue. She usually remembered the important little details, and that hadn't changed since 1991.

The panels pressed close to her head, and her chest heaved as she listened to the machine whirring back to life. In front of her stood Winter, void and emotionless, watching as the electrodes crackled to life. She focused on him, as electricity seared through her brain and she screamed. Throat dry and burning, she screamed through the pain and the confusion and then, as it neared the end, she giggled as she was enveloped by overwhelming euphoria.

Oddly, she always forgot the high after the pain.

As the haze settled into a lovely sensation of giddiness, Pierce dished out their individual orders, outlined their mission, and made it clear the timeline for completion. Blunt and quick, as always.

"Clean her up, she stinks," was Pierce's last command before he left, leaving the strike team and Winter to get her ready.

Stripped of her ripped and tattered leotard, which used to be a stunning white, she was lifted over Winter's shoulder- thinking that made her laugh maniacally - and deposited down the corridor in a communal shower that smelled greatly of mold and disuse. She was bombarded with freezing cold water, Winter scrubbed her and rinsed out the vomit from her hair until she smelled of old soap, and was no longer covered in the decaying filth of her last mission.

That was the extent of his involvement.

Dried off with a musty towel, she was escorted down the corridor to the weapons room to dress.

"At last, something recognizable," she said, holding up her updated suit, no more leotards and unacceptable dresses. It was armored, but flexible and lightweight, and it covered her from shoulders to ankles. She even had new boots. "Very nice."

Looking over her shoulder, she smiled mischievously at Winter as she dressed and ran a brush through her long, pale hair. Still wet, it looked silver and it hung straight down, the ends dripping against the bottom of her waist. When it dried, it would stay the same, dry and stringy locks that used to flow in soft waves and graceful curls that once shone white in the moonlight, and sparkled in the sun.

No need for guns, she zipped up the suit and secured it at her throat, tightening her blank boots under her knees, a stark difference between the black leather and silvery gray of her uniform. She twirled around, laughing gleefully as she ran her fingers through her hair. She stopped quickly, fixating on the Winter Soldier and their personalized strike team, almost vibrating with anticipation and excitement.

"Let's wreak some havoc, boys," she exclaimed, following Winter through the underground levels to HYDRA's secret garage.

They set out, and she did as she was commanded: wait until she was needed.

All she could do was sit and listen in the back of her van, waiting until the Winter Soldier needed her particular talents. And it wasn't long until her handlers threw open the doors and released her from the restraints locking her into the seat. The overpass was already crumbling in places as far as she could see, through the smoke and debris.

Outside, she jumped over an intact bit of concrete railing and landed firmly beneath the overpass, scanning the damage before moving forward towards the fight. Winter was ahead, tracking someone, and she could see a target to her right - the shield alone unmistakable.

Captain America.

Glowing dimly in the sunlight, she hummed a soft, sweet tune to draw him closer and lure him in. Yet, he did not fall victim to her tricks, unaware of her altogether and running between vehicles towards the Winter Soldier. She smirked, intrigued by this development, and took off after him.

Taking the long way 'round, cutting off the Captain's path with a chillingly maniacal smile. No one, except Winter, had ever failed to succumb to her ethereal tunes, and yet, this man had. She was itching for a good fight.

"Who are you?" he asked, sizing her up.

"If I knew, I'd be more than happy to share," she replied, deflecting his shield into the back of an abandoned van. "Who are you, Captain, without your shield?"

"A soldier."

"Interesting."

He swung for her, but missed. He tried again, and still he couldn't keep track of the fluidity of her body, the way she moved. He kicked, she flipped over his leg and knocked his legs out from under him. He moved to deflect, and she nailed him in the torso.

"Lyuks! On ne tvoya missiya!"

Winter was in her ear, ordering her to stand down, and it gave the Captain the opening he needed.

He finally landed a hard punch to her temple, and her eyes grew wide, flashes of his life passed through her mind; of Winter and he strolling through a city, looking very different from present day, of him finding Winter on decaying metal table muttering to himself, of them both charging battlefields, of him yelling as he watched Winter fall to his death in the Swiss Alps.

It was like a bolt of lightning through her chest, and they broke away, both in shock. She understood now what drove this man, what pointed his moral compass. He was not the enemy. He was salvation.

The Avengers were salvation.

"How did you do that?" Captain asked, bewildered. "What did you do?"

"I saw what you saw," she gasped, pieces of her mind surging back into place, her synapses firing away. She grasped her head, all sorts of images flashing before her eyes, one after the other after the other. She was being bombarded with memories of her life before HYDRA, of her origin, of future scenarios that made no sense. "What is happening?"

"Are you okay, ma'am?" he asked, sincere in his concern. "I can help you-"

"I'm not supposed to be here," she whimpered, still clutching her head as she witnessed the end of this fight, and the one soon to come: the fall of HYDRA and SHIELD. She understood none of it, the pieces were like shards trying to find a place in which they fit, all mixed in with the memories of who she once knew herself to be. It all circled around Winter and Cap, and it clicked. "You know him."

"Who?"

"Only you can save him," she rasped, the pain easing and her mind clearing enough to move away and try to stand. She was not where she needed to be. "It's not too late, Captain."

She faded from sight, leaving him to the Winter Soldier.