Bucky was awakened by a bucket of water on his head. He sat up with a gasp, shaking his head and trying to get the water out of his eyes.

"Good morning, Asset."

"Asset? Who are you calling asset, idiot?"

"You."

"I am no asset."

"You have no say in the matter. Get up."

"Make me."

The guards moved forward and hauled him to his feet. He fought, but they got him up anyways.

Once on his feet, he threw one of them into the wall, grabbing their gun and shooting the other in the leg. The guard screamed in pain and clutched his wound, while the other guard tackled Bucky and tried to grapple with him.

Bucky snapped his neck, pushed him off, and ran out of the cell, out into the hall…where several more guards were waiting.


The music turned off, and Liron and Natalia stilled.

Madame's cane clicked on the floor. "That will be all for today."

They nodded and headed out with silent sighs of relief. Just as they stepped into the hallway, Liron heard the screams and her feet started running before her mind was able to even register what was going on. It was only when she ended up outside the converted interrogation room that she fully realised the situation.

She almost went in, when Natalia grabbed her arm.

"Liron…don't do this to yourself."

She looked at her. "Why do I want to help him? He's a pain in the ass and he hates me. I don't understand."

"I don't know. But you can't do this. If Madame, or even Sir were to see how you're acting…"

Liron flinched at the thought, and stepped away from the door.

Natalia put her hands on her shoulders, gentle yet firm, and led her back to their room.

About halfway down the hall, the screams stopped, and tension visibly left Liron's shoulders. Natalia's hand moved to her back, rubbing lightly, and Liron relaxed slightly before a door opened and footsteps sounded, joined by something being dragged. Liron grit her teeth and kept walking.

They reached their room, and Liron shut the door, sitting on her cot. "What's wrong with me?"

Natalia sat beside her. "I honestly don't know…maybe…maybe the scent you smelled made you want to care for him. If that's the only other thing that's like your scent."

Liron frowned. "He's like me. I don't know how or why or in what way, but he's like me at his core…"

"What do you mean his core?"

Liron waved her hand, a set of rings of electric blue light appearing in the air. She pointed to the outermost one. "This is the set of scents that regular people smell; environmental smells, perfumes, body odour, and the like." She pointed to the middle one. "Beneath that are the emotions that can be smelled…so far I have not encountered one that cannot." Her finger touched the centre ring. "This is the identity scent; every person has a different one. This is the core scent. I have something woven into mine, I don't know what it is exactly…but it has a certain tang to it that does not coincide with anything that could make up an identity scent. Whatever it is, Barnes is the first person I have smelled so far to have it as well."

Natalia frowned, and Liron lowered her hands.

"I hate to say it, but if his scent is the only one you smelled that was different, and the way you're acting…"

Liron mirrored Natalia's expression. "What?"

Jade green eyes met electric blue. "Like you two were mates…"

Liron's jaw tightened. "You know that's impossible. And even if it was, I am not someone that anyone or anything would want to be mates with."

Natalia nodded. "Even so, your wolf seems to be taking over your actions whenever you scent him, and when he's in pain."

Liron sighed. "I think something is wrong with me."

Natalia's frown deepened. "There's nothing wrong with you. I just hope Sir and Madame never see it happen."

Liron ran a hand over her face, and leaned into Natalia as the other woman wrapped an arm around her, petting her hair.

Someone knocked on the door, and Natalia got up to see who it was.

"What?"

"Agent Ruskin's presence is requested in Sir's office."

Natalia huffed a little, then nodded at the lower-ranking agent and looked at Liron, who stood and walked over.

The lower-ranking agent turned and left, and Liron followed him to Sir's office, arranging her face into an expressionless mask on the way.

She knocked.

"Come in."

She complied. "You wished to see me, Sir?"

"Yes, I need you to take on an upcoming agent."

"Yes Sir."

"He is HYDRA's. And will have HYDRA's symbol. But I want you to give him the same treatment as you would if you were training him to be one of our agents."

Liron nodded a little. "Yes Sir."

"We should be expecting him to start tomorrow. So you will meet here tomorrow afternoon."

She nodded again. "Yes Sir."

"That is all."

She saluted, and returned back to her room.

When she entered, Natalia looked up. "What did he want?"

"I've been assigned to train a new agent…for HYDRA. I hate HYDRA."

Natalia frowned. "Why does HYDRA want our help?"

"I don't know. Maybe they've finally acknowledged that we are so much more effective than they."

Her friend snorted. "I doubt it. They probably don't care, or they're going to be exceptionally harsh or something."

Liron inclined her head. Natalia shrugged, and Liron sighed.

"Don't think about it. Just know that you'll be making an agent for HYDRA…the Red Room is to thank for that…if the agent lasts that long."

"Mm."

"When do you meet them?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

Natalia nodded as the curfew bell tolled. "Get some rest."

Liron sighed and changed into her nightclothes, quick-release-cuffing her wrist to the bedpost as usual and curling into a foetal position. "Let's hope we can actually sleep."

In the bed across from hers, Natalia did the same, though without curling up, and the lights went out.


The first thing he realised when he awoke was his massive headache. His hands gripped his head, eyes squeezed shut, trying to stave it off, and eventually it faded a little.

He opened his eyes…why was he in a cell? For that matter, who was he?

He sat up slowly, wincing as his headache got worse, then looked up as distant footsteps sounded down the hall.

"Get up, Asset!"

Asset? Was that his name? He stood, and one of the guards that was approaching down the hall beckoned him forward. He obeyed, and the guard unlocked the cell door and grabbed him harshly, dragging him out into the hall.

Now he was more confused. What was going on? Why was a voice in his head telling him to fight these people? For that matter, where were they taking him, and why were they being so forceful about it? But he did nothing. His brain felt…oddly empty. Like something was missing.

The guards' grip did not waver until they reached a set of metal double doors, something in Russian embossed on the side…now that he thought about it, the rest of the doors they'd passed had similar things. One of the guards knocked, and a muffled voice said something he – Asset? – couldn't understand.

The one guard pulled open the door, and both of them forced Asset in…Asset couldn't be his name. It sounded nothing like a name at all.

…it was an office. That was unexpected. Wood panelling covered the walls in place of – or probably over – cement like in the hallway, a few feet in, the floor switched from the same cement to a rich-looking rug, upon which was set a heavy-looking – oak? – desk, the light from the high windows pouring in and silhouetting the man in the tall-backed chair behind the desk. The man himself was almost as imposing as the office itself, tall, with more salt-than-pepper hair, features that while sharp were…relatively handsome, and hard eyes of an indeterminate colour.

He blinked a little and glanced around, staring at the man in the chair for a moment before looking back at the door as it shut behind him. When he looked back at the man, the man beckoned him forward, and he obeyed.

The man spoke, voice smooth and deep, Russian accent thick. "Have a seat."

Hesitantly, he obeyed.

"What do you know? Or rather, what do you remember?"

"…I only remember that I woke in a cell with a terrible headache." Was that his voice? Why was his throat sore?"

The man in the chair smiled, but it didn't seem genuine. A knock sounded on the door, and he turned.

"Enter."

The door opened, and a woman came in. His breath almost stopped as he tried to analyse her like the man in the chair…not that he knew how he knew how to do that.

She was…late twenties, he guessed, and was tall, probably very close to his height, and from what he could see of her form by the way her clothes hung, she was all lean muscle. Pale-golden hair, pulled back in a severe braid from…stunning blue eyes. His gaze lingered there for a moment before taking in the rest of her face. Narrow chin, slightly prominent cheekbones, tall forehead, strong jaw, and lips that…his eyes lingered again, before he realised she was looking right back at him and he turned away, cheeks starting to redden.

Something within him told him this was not the first time he'd seen her, that he knew her, but…how? He could remember…

The woman looked away from him and approached the man in the chair, her voice laced with the same accent…and something else, some other accent perhaps, lurking underneath.

"You summoned me, Sir?"

"Zola's procedure worked."

His brows furrowed a little. Zola? What was a Zola? What procedure? Why was he even there?

The man in the chair shifted a little. "Agent Ruskin, allow me to introduce your new trainee…" The man paused for a moment, seeming amused. "It seems he does not have a name…that he knows of. Perhaps, since you will be spending the next…approximately twenty years with him, you should do the honours of thinking of something to call him."

He frowned, but then she looked at him and their eyes met. He stared at her.

She stared at him, then said something in Russian. "Зимний Солдат."

'Sir' nodded. "The Winter Soldier, trained by the Ice Queen. Fitting."

The woman – Ice Queen did not sound like a name, but okay – smiled a tiny bit.

He looked between the two of them. First he was Asset, now he was Winter Soldier, or…whatever she had said. Who was he supposed to call himself?

"Most likely I will call him Zima more often than that; quicker to say."

Sir nodded again. "Very good. You are dismissed."

The woman looked at – Winter Soldier? Zima? Maybe he should ask what his name was… - again, and gestured for him to stand. "Follow me."

He obeyed. Her footsteps were completely silent as she led him down the hall. He stared at the back of her head, thinking, trying to remember.

"I can feel your eyes on me, Zima."

He blinked, then looked down the hall instead.

"But I suggest you keep an eye on me, or else you will get lost."

"Sorry, ma'am." So he was polite…something he should definitely remember.

"You are forgiven."

They walked in silence for a while before she spoke again.

"You need better clothes."

He looked at himself, suddenly realising that he was in some sort of grey hospital wear, then looked back up, only for his eyes to meet hers again. Something flickered in hers, like a mask wavering, before she gestured for him to continue following.

She led him to a room full of racks of clothing, looked him over and wrote something down in a book on the desk, then pointed him to one of the racks.

"Try them on until they fit."

He studied the rack, then grabbed a few sets that seemed like they'd fit him and looked around for…something. Whatever he was looking for wasn't there, so he just changed where he stood…it all fit. Nice. He guessed his size well.

He grabbed a few more sets of different kinds, some boots, and some underwear…why was so much in black? That didn't make sense. Either that or grey…several of the shirts were white, though. Anyhow…

"I finished."

The woman looked at him and nodded. "Now time to get you properly cleaned up." She took the clothes he had picked out, tucking them under her arm. "Follow me."

"I can take them."

She looked at him, then handed the clothes back.

He followed her to another room that looked…like a very small barracks. How did he know what a barracks was?

Four beds lined the walls, a simple metal wardrobe beside each one. The two closest to the door they entered through seemed taken…there was a scent to each of them that the two closest to the other door did not have. Well, he had a good nose, that was now certain.

The woman pointed him toward the other door; on the opposite side of the room. "I hope you remember how to take a shower."

He nodded. It seemed like he remembered everything…except who he was and who he knew…so perhaps it was more like…instincts?

"Good. Go do that."

He nodded again and strode through the other door, closing it behind him.

The bathroom was just as austere as the bedroom; shower, sink with a mirror above it, toilet, and that was it, mostly metal, though the walls of the shower were fogged glass. On the back of the door however, was another mirror, full-length and seeming quite nice in comparison to the rest of the room, and on the wall beside the door was a set of four hooks, two holding…rather thin-looking white bathrobes.

He did a small double-take at the mirror and the robes compared to the rest, but didn't dwell on it much, setting down his stuff and stripping down to hop in the shower.

When he turned on the water, it was deathly cold, and he jolted…why did it make his head feel strange? His eyes slipped closed as images took over his mind.

There was a train…on a snowy mountain…he and some tall blond guy were fighting a…human tank? The blond guy got shot back, and he picked up the blond's shield and started shooting at the tank…he was shot through the side of the train…he was slipping…the blond grabbed at him, shouting something…he fell.

Fog and falling snow blurred his sight…he turned around…he could see the ground…it was coming so quickly…something struck his left side, and he nearly went unconscious from the pain as his scream gained a new note. He hit something else and landed in the snow on his back, only able to register it briefly before his vision went black and all sensations disappeared.

When he opened his eyes, he was kneeling on the shower floor, clutching his head, the water now warm and hitting his back gently.

Something pounded on the door, and the woman's voice sounded. "Zima? Are you alright in there?"

He gripped his head harder, groaning a little.

"Zima?"

"Yeah?" His voice cracked a little, and he cleared his throat.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

He stood carefully and washed…then tripped as he stepped out of the shower. "Ow."

He started to get up again, but suddenly went lightheaded and grabbed onto the closest thing he could…which just happened to be the door handle. The door flew open, and he toppled over…on top of…something.

He blinked a few times, and when his sight cleared, a cold chill ran down his spine at the sight of the woman beneath him.

He wasn't even sure what he said, aside from an apology, before he scrambled back into the bathroom, slamming the door, bracing his hands on it for a moment just to make sure it was shut, panting.

After a few moments, he sighed and rooted around for a towel, finding on under the sink. His cheeks reddened as he dried off, what had just happened playing back in his mind, though he tried to shake it off as he dressed.


Liron lay where she had fallen for a second, blinking. Well that had been unexpected. Shaking her head, she stood and walked to her bed, sitting to wait.

She heard the door open, but didn't turn. His scent and footsteps approached, then stopped.

"Uh…where do I go?"

She looked at him…oh goodness he looked…no, stop it, Ruskin, you're not making any sense. "For?"

"For a bed…"

She indicated the two that weren't hers or Natalia's. "One of those."

He looked between them, then chose the one next to hers, putting his extra clothes in the wardrobe, then sat on his bed.

She turned so she was facing him directly. "Tomorrow, your training starts."

His face twisted in confusion. "What training?"

"HYDRA stole you to be their perfect weapon, and requested that you be trained and programmed her, since our agents are leagues better than theirs. Sir accepted, and chose me to be the one to do the training."

"Who's HYDRA?"

Liron sighed, then told him very bluntly everything she knew about it.

When she was done, he frowned.

"Then…who am I? And why am I so special?"

"I am not completely sure. You were not very forthcoming with information when I interrogated you five days ago."

His brows furrowed. "I don't even remember you…"

"I am aware of that."

He sighed deeply and leaned down to bury his face in his hands, gripping his head. "I don't understand. I don't remember anything."

"You can blame Zola for that."

Her trainee looked up. "Who is he?"

"A cockroach in human form with an unfortunate talent for science and mechanics."

His brows furrowed deeper. "Cockroach?"

"Yes."

"So he's tiny?"

"About this tall." She gestured.

"But why is he called a cockroach, then?"

"Because he is an abomination."

"Why?"

She ran her hand over her hair. "Several reasons…" She gave him the short explanation, her face expressionless.

He frowned. "So…he's the one that made me into this…machine?"

"You are no machine yet, but he removed your memories, yes."

He rubbed his head. "Then…who are you?"

"I am your trainer."

"I mean…your name."

"You may call me Agent Ruskin or Ma'am. When we go on missions, you will call me Ice Queen or just Queen. My first name is something you do not need to know, and probably never will need to know."

He nodded a little. "Yes, Ma'am."

"And you are the Winter Soldier; Zima informally. Sir has forbidden me from revealing your past name at this point."

Zima frowned. "Why?"

"I do not know, and it is not wise to question Sir's orders."

"Sorry."

"No need to apologise. You did not know."

He nodded.

"I suggest you familiarise yourself with this room. Do not touch anything in the wardrobes by any bed other than your own."

"Yes ma'am."

Zima looked around, then shifted a little. "So…what do I do now?"

"Settle in, as much as you need to."

"And then?"

"And then training starts tomorrow."

"Alright."

Liron grabbed one of the books under her bed and began to read. At some point, Zima fell asleep, and some time afterward, Natalia returned, then stopped short.

Liron did not look up. "Sir assigned me to train him."

"This isn't good." Natalia's scent moved to her bed.

Liron turned a page. "Agreed. But orders are orders, and Sir must be obeyed. Even if I'd rather otherwise…often."

"And what will happen if something were to happen to him?"

"I…I do not know. I would think I would do as is required of me, but this is a new situation."

"You'll be expelled if not punished severely."

Liron looked up. "I mean I would think I would follow orders as requested."

"I know what you meant…and I also know you can't control your actions around him."

"I do not think there have been enough instances to make that ruling yet."

"I believe it."

Liron put her hand down and ran her hand through her hair, then got up, changed, and went to bed. The cuff seemed colder than normal…it was actually somewhat soothing…somehow. Odd.

"Night."

"Night."


"Wake up!"

Zima jolted a little. "Oh gosh." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't do that."

Trainer quirked a brow.

He rolled over onto his back and sat up.

"Get dressed. Training starts after the meal."

"What meal?"

She gave him a Look. "Food, Zima."

"I know that. But breakfast, lunch…?"

She frowned a little. "Whichever one is morning. Get up, and get dressed."

He obeyed, putting on what he had on the day before.

The redheaded woman that hadn't been there the night before was out the door first, Trainer following with an order for him to follow them.

Zima titled his head, looking at the redhead. "Who is that?"

"Agent Romanova; my partner."

"Oh…I didn't see her yesterday."

"She was on a mission."

"Oh."

They led him to the mess hall…it was just as austere as the other room; metal tables, cement walls and floor...very simple looking food...but much better looking than army food – how did he know what army food was like? - on the counter. Zima's mouth watered.

Trainer and her partner approached the counter, and the person behind it handed them each a tray…up close the food looked…well…still better than army rations.

Zima stared at it, not sure what it actually was…

"Zima. Get some food."

He turned to her. "Ma'am?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not even sure what some of this is."

"Does it matter?"

"I just want to make sure I'm not eating anything weird…"

"I guarantee it is safe…also, this is the only option, and the only meal we get today."

"Oh." He took it, and they went to sit down.

Zima poked around at his food before tasting a bit, as Trainer and her partner just…ate. It was…okay.

When they were done, Trainer led him to a…shooting range.

"Do you know how to handle a gun?"

"Yes Ma'am."

She handed him a pistol. "Show me."

Instinctively, he checked it, then aimed and fired at the targets on the wall, hitting the centre or near to each time until the magazine was empty.

"Very good. Now clean it."

Zima looked around for a table or something to do so on, and then obeyed, taking it apart methodically, his hands knowing what to do much more than his brain, before cleaning it and reassembling it, then laying it flat.

"Well done."

He looked at her, and their eyes met…how had he not noticed how captivating her eyes were? Several long seconds passed…and then Zima jumped at the sound of shots firing from a few metres away. He turned to see a tall, redhaired man at one of the other stations, just the barest glimpse of a – spider? – tattoo behind his ear.

Suddenly Zima couldn't…sense…smell?...Trainer next to him anymore, and he turned. Oh. There she was. He joined her at a table, upon which were set various weapons…including a sword for some reason.

"How many of these can you use well?"

…How was he supposed to know that? He couldn't remember anything…but he found himself answering anyways. "Knife, machine gun, sniper rifle, pistol."

She nodded a little, then walked off. "Take the knife and follow."

Zima grabbed the knife and stuck it in his belt, then jogged a little to catch up with Trainer.

She led him to a mostly-empty room, a few people sparring in the corner, and drew a knife of her own from behind the pistol in the holster on her hip. "Come here."

He stepped closer, wary.

"I am not going to bite you, Zima."

He stepped closer, and she melted into a ready stance. He tried to mirror her.

"You know how to knife fight, yes?"

"Yes…just never like this."

"Show me."

"I usually just snuck up on them."

"So you know how to kill but not to fight."

"…yes."

The ready stance dropped away, but as she seemed to relax, Zima realised just a bit that for her the ready stance was almost unnecessary…that was intimidating.

"Do you know how to fight hand-to-hand?"

"Somewhat."

Her knife went back into its sheath. "Show me."

Zima shifted his stance, and she mirrored him. He lunged at her, trying to hit her side…she dodged nimbly, striking his kidney before he had a chance to turn and block it. Zima grunted, and went for another punch. Trainer dodged again.

Something about the movements clicked in his head, and images appeared behind his eyes…a boxing ring. He knew what he was doing. This was just like another match at O'Dooley's.

Zima aimed for Trainer's stomach, but she dodged again, kicking his rear lightly. He turned quickly, this time aiming for her face and as she blocked that, his knee caught her in the ribs.

Trainer grunted softly…then one corner of her mouth crooked up and he found himself on the ground, his other leg kicked out from under him.

Zima rolled and stood, settling back into his stance. Trainer was still smiling.

"You were a boxer."

"I just remembered I was."

She nodded. "I see it in how you move."

He smiled.

"But boxing and army basic training are nowhere near enough." Suddenly she was a blur, one fist hitting his gut then redirecting into his jaw, the other grabbing his shirt and spinning around as one foot takes out both of his knees, sending him to the floor, Trainer pressed right up against his back, her mouth by his ear and his arms locked behind him.

Zima groaned and tried to struggle but to no avail. Wow.

Trainer's breath was warm on the shell of his ear. "So you will learn weaponless combat first."

The hairs on his neck stood on end, and a shiver than down his spine when her lips brushed his earlobe.

"Now break free."

Right…how was he to do that? One knee rose up, planting his foot against the floor as a brace as he fought against her grip, the muscles of his right arm straining and the plates of his left whirring. With some wiggling, he managed to break out of Trainer's hold…but he had a sneaking suspicion that the only reason he had was that she let him…she was strong.

Zima turned, and Trainer melted back into a fighting stance. He did the same.