Chapter Twenty-Eight
✭

"Mission report. Now."

The Asset could not tear his eyes away from the girl. She stood off to the side, facing to the right so all he could glimpse was her profile against a column.

Pierce sat in front of him, silent as the Asset gave a monotone recollection of the events at the overpass. To the Asset's left, a technician was soldering into the metal arm, fixing the damage the Black Widow and Captain America had inflicted earlier that day.

Everything cast in a green tint, dim, desaturated. He hated the buzz of the lights overhead, the shrill whine of the gas in the soldering iron, the heavy mouth-breathing of at least six different people. He didn't like the feeling of the chair on his exposed back (where had his jacket gone?), or the pain shooting up his shoulder and neck every time the technician hit a delicate circuit in his arm.

Back in the vault. The cold room, the cold faces. The Asset could not look any of them in the eye. Those who did, either glared back of flinched away. But it was Pierce's eyes that chilled him the most.

When he finished, Pierce sat back, folding his arms. The Asset tried to hide the sudden tensing in his own shoulders — he knew that expression all too well. Pierce was unhappy. It was how Pierce had looked earlier when he had struck the Asset, when the Secretary first entered the vault less than an hour ago. For being silent. For failing to kill his target.

For recognizing him.

According to Pierce, the Asset had encountered Captain America on a previous mission last week — but such memory was lost to him.

The Asset had thrown one of the men - the same man working on his arm. They called him "erratic". Images flashed in his head. Sharp, piercing light. Snow. A train. A man. A hand.

"Bucky, no!"

He shook his head, wincing.

Waiting for Pierce's reply, the Asset risked another glance at the girl. Her presence was both a balm and a concern. He didn't know why.

Pierce frowned slightly. The Asset tried to shift his attention back in time, but he was too late. Pierce had already glanced over his shoulder, before returning to the Asset with a mysterious smile on his face.

"You saved her life," Pierce commented. "At the cost of the mission. Tell me, was it worth it?"

The Asset swallowed, his mouth and throat completely dry. He could not answer, and looked away in shame.

That response was met with a backhanded slap. "Answer the question, soldier. Why did you prioritize her survival?"

The hit stung — but worse was the internal pain, the guilt and humiliation at having failed, at having disappointed HYDRA. Pierce did not treat failure with mercy. The slap was only a preamble to what would come later.

At last, the Asset managed to grind out: "I don't know."

It was little more than a raspy whisper, gravel on asphalt. But it was the truth.

The Asset closed his eyes, preparing for another blow. Not knowing was, perhaps, even worse than not answering at all.

But it never came. Instead, the chair creaked as Pierce shifted his weight, scratching his chin and studying the Asset with a long, contemplative look.

"Hm," was all he said.

The Asset was too terrified to look at the girl at this moment — even if doing so would bring him some manner of calm, of peace.

But the Winter Soldier shouldn't know peace. And the Secretary knew that.

Still, desperation had the Asset observing her from his periphery; the pale blur of her hair, her unmoving form amongst the milling guards and scientists. If she was listening to this conversation, she gave no heed.

"I guess I can't blame you for that," Pierce said at length, an answer that had the Asset jolting a little. Pierce's tone was surprisingly soft, understanding. Almost sympathetic. "She's just like you, a marvel. She's special to you, and you can't figure out why. Almost as if it's in your very nature, rather than a choice. The very nature we tried to snuff out years ago."

Pierce only shook his head in disappointment, chuckling. "I know the feeling all too well. I had to fight something like it constantly myself, when my daughter — did you know I had a daughter? — well, she decided to follow in my footsteps and dive into the dangerous world of politics. I tried to convince her not to, to become a doctor or a lawyer or, hell, anything where I wasn't lying awake every night, wondering if she's okay. As a father, you learn pretty quick that there's nothing you can do to stop your child once she has her mind set on something. The best you can hope for is that you can protect her when it matters, and that she'll even listen to you from time to time."

The Asset, indeed, did not know that Pierce had a daughter, although he remembered being vaguely aware the man had a family. The Asset couldn't remember where or when he learned this. As it was, he couldn't decipher just why Pierce was telling him this. Unfortunately, Pierce did not pose a question, so the Asset had no place to speak.

Pierce continued regardless, musing to himself now. "I know it's pointless, but I can't help it. No amount of rationalization or logic is going to stop me from trying my damnedest. It's in a man's nature to protect his daughter. Therefore, I suppose it's only instinct for you to want to protect yours."

Something lurched in the Asset's chest. He stared at Pierce, eyes widening. "W-what?"

His voice croaked, weak and breathless, as if he'd been shot in the gut.

Pierce smiled at his reaction, leaning in as if to speak with the Asset privately. "You think this is the first time you've failed us? Seventeen years ago, after a botched mission, you went off grid, ran into a certain nursing student in New York City. You've forgotten, of course. But we never did."

"What was once our worst disaster —" Pierce gestured to the soldatka behind him, and as she came to a stop by his side, Pierce appraised her with a fond expression. "— Became one of our greatest wonders. And we have only you to thank for that, soldier."

The Asset felt as if he were standing at the edge of a precipice. Vertigo, nausea, shot from his heels to his head, and he wobbled uncertainty on his seat. He could only stare up at the two of them, aghast, breathless. Pierce looked down at the Asset with a decidedly smug expression, but the Asset couldn't take his eyes off the girl. No, no, this is wrong…

"You don't remember, do you?" Pierce asked, standing up.

No. Yes. Maybe… More images flashed in his head. Underground tunnels. A winter forest. A deer. A village. Guiding her hand, teaching her how to hold a knife, a rifle correctly. The one who must learn.

A bridge. A cold, starless night.

Her hair had been shorter, then.

She had a scar now that hadn't been there before.

Words crept at the edge of his lips. He wanted to say something. To the soldatka. But his jaw wouldn't move, and Pierce's gaze froze him on the spot.

Daughter. The word was wild and unfamiliar, but at the same time… so correct. So right. The Asset knew Pierce was not lying to him. Perhaps the Secretary was right; the Asset had already known, somewhere deep down.

Family.

The thought came entirely unbidden, and despite the fear it sent through him, the Asset clung onto the word, repeated it. Embraced the truth of it. Daughter. Family. Daughter.

He watched as Pierce stroked a stray blonde lock, tucking it behind her ear. It had come apart, messy and loose, from the battle at the causeway. Carded fingers over her hair, placed a light kiss on the top of her head. Like a man doting on a child.

Or a pet.

The soldatka didn't react. Her eyes were focused somewhere over the Asset's head, unseeing.

Fists clenching. Metal clicked. Don't you touch her.

He wanted to rise from his seat. But couldn't. His muscles were locked into place by a force he could neither see nor understand.

Obedience.

"…Why?" he croaked, forlorn gaze turned to Pierce.

Why are you doing this? Why are you telling me?

"So you don't make the same mistake again," Pierce replied, intuiting the Asset's meaning. The secretary always seemed to have a terrible insight into his mind. It's part of what made him so terrifying. Pierce then shrugged, making a face, "And I suppose you had to find out at some point. You're a gift to this world. I know you can achieve great things, soldier. And to do that, you can't have any distractions."

Something in the Asset's chest seized. His eyes flicked between Pierce and the girl, a sudden fear rising at the implication. But Pierce, apparently amused by this reaction, just shook his head and laughed. "Oh, no, we're not hurting her. She's performed excellently so far. You should be very proud of her."

I am.

No. He suffocated that thought. He shouldn't feel proud. But he couldn't remember why.

Pierce seemed to sense the conflict behind the Asset's tense but still expression. His question was phrased lightly, but underneath was a veiled threat. "Is there a problem?"

Do not cause problems.

"Name." The Asset murmured, a curiosity rising inside him. From somewhere he had not ventured in a long time. He tried to crush it, but it was too late. Now he wanted to know, too. "Her name."

"You want to know her name?" Pierce tilted his head, smirking slightly. He placed a hand on the soldatka's shoulder, shaking her gently. "I'm afraid she doesn't have one. You ripped it out of her three years ago."

Me? That didn't sound right. The Asset didn't want it to be true. But he could see it in Pierce's eyes, it was true.

But the Secretary was also lying.

Because the Asset had heard a name. The man with the shield, Ste— the man had shouted it at her.

A—

The memory escaped him, just as the Asset recalled it. His mind grasped at the traces of the sound, the shout, the name. He'd heard it. He knew he had.

Am…

He knew the Secretary was lying. But the Asset had nothing. No evidence. No name. Therefore, proving Pierce correct. A lie that wasn't a lie.

"Not that it will mean anything, of course. This knowledge will just make the problem worse, I think." Pierce sighed, and checked his watch. Then turned to Branson standing just a few feet away. "Wipe him, and start over."

The Asset stared into the middle distance, hearing those familiar words. Wipe him. Decipher the meaning.

Erase. Destroy.

Forget.

Forget the man on the bridge.

Forget the girl.

No.

Two hands pressed against his chest, forcing the Asset back. But he didn't comply. Resisted. Eyes going up towards the soldatka. Her expressionless face. Reached for her.

Look at me. He wanted to say. Please. Look at me.

More hands. The Asset grunted. Felt the panic take hold. He didn't want to forget. He didn't want to be manipulated anymore.

And she just stood there. Still, unmoving. As if he wasn't there at all.

Her name. He knew her name.

"Amelia."

She blinked. Her eyes flicked down.

Skull hit the headrest. Vice clamped around his arm. His chest. Plastic shoved into his mouth. The Asset bit down, too angry, too scared, to do anything else.

He knew what was coming. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The Asset kept watching the girl. The name had done something. He knew. He'd seen it. It had to be her name.

Their eyes met. Gray on gray. His heart leaped.

Hope.

But it was dashed away when he saw her expression hadn't changed. She held his gaze as if she were one statue studying another. She seemed to give no acknowledgement to the gritting of his teeth, the straining of his muscles, the hand still open, reaching out for her.

She stood there, and watched in everlasting silence, as the metal descended over the Asset's eyes, and electricity crackled.

And he screamed. And screamed.

~o~

Pierce was gone when the Asset woke up.

The Asset didn't know how he knew that Pierce had been in the Vault earlier; just that he did. And that he was relieved.

Pierce was a strong leader. But a fearsome one.

His head pounded with a fierce headache. His throat felt raw, painful even to breathe. The sound bouncing off the walls did not help. The vault was a hubbub of activity. Prepping the assets, ensuring Pierce was ready and on time for the World Security meeting at the Triskelion. The Asset did not make a sound when he was redressed. The agents moved his limbs as if the Asset were simply a mannequin. Aside from the warm skin and beating heart, he might as well have been.

He was lost in his thoughts. Trying to recall the last few hours. But nothing resurfaced.

Not that this should be a surprise. The Asset recognized the chair he just emerged from. The sight of it brought a familiar ache, like a phantom limb. One of pain, of resentment. The chair, with its restraints and extra appendages, was specifically design to recalibrate the human mind.

To wipe it clean. Tabula rasa.

"The Secretary wants you on site in an hour," an analyst told him; trembling voice, wide, fearful eyes. Intimidated in the presence of the Winter Soldier. The card on his lanyard said Branson. "And the, uh, the soldatka."

"Who is the target?" The Asset asked in Russian.

Branson fidgeted. "I, uh, I don't speak that…"

Waste of time.

"It knows its orders," said another man, this one armed in black tactical gear. A STRIKE agent. "We make sure Project Insight goes off without a hitch. Eliminate any and all who get in the way. Rogers and Romanov are in the wind; Pierce expects them to make a move soon. If either of them arrive, the Asset's first priority is to eliminate them."

Rogers.

That name rang a bell, but it was silenced quickly. The Asset did not know where it came from.

He scanned the vault. It took him only a few seconds to find the soldatka, standing quietly against a wall of lockboxes. Analysts and agents passed back and forth in front of her as if she weren't there at all.

She did not move, did not acknowledge anyone, until the Asset approached her.

There was something different about her, and it took the Asset a second to figure it out. Snippets of memory came back to him — a fight in Pierce's home. But there was a laceration on her neck that hadn't been there before. The sight startled the Asset, just slightly, and he raised a hand to turn her chin, to get a better look at it. A wound made by a knife or dagger of some sort. Just barely sliced through the skin.

Not done by him. Already stitched up and healing, it did not look so bad. But the Asset had the strangest sense he'd known how it happened.

And had apparently forgotten.

The notion unsettled him. What happened? Who did it?

"How did this happen?" He asked quietly. He did not like speaking loud in a room full of people. As it was, no one seemed to notice or care that the Asset was speaking to the soldatka.

"The Widow," she replied in the same language, her eyes set straight ahead. The girl glanced at him once, gaze dull, before drifting away again. "Caught me by surprise. It won't happen again."

The Asset realized she'd tensed up under his hand, and she didn't relax until he retracted it. There was just the slightest hint of strain in her voice; the regret of failure, the fear of punishment. But the Asset wasn't angry.

Not at her, at least.

"Good." He replied. Some strange part of him wanted to make her not afraid. She had nothing to fear from him. But that was a lie. The Asset could kill her easily.

But he didn't want to. Not at all.

The Asset straightened slightly, this thought alarming him. HYDRA would not be pleased by that. The Asset was not meant to have reservations. He had to be ready to kill anyone, at any time. Including HYDRA's own, if need be. Even himself, if it was ever called for.

But Pierce hadn't ordered that. Yet.

"Status?" he asked her in Russian, looking over her gear. Everything seemed to be in its place.

"Operational." The soldatka replied. Injured but functional. Nothing to prevent her from participating in the next mission.

The Asset was pleased. And yet his gut twisted uncertainly…

Romanov. The Black Widow. She was still alive. The Asset winced as something flashed in his mind. A woman, red hair. Dark suit. Twin pistols. An overturned truck. A scientist. Dead.

Then it was gone again.

The Asset cast his eyes over her again. He noticed something, an errant detail, a new item. Tied to the straps of her shoulder holster with a spare bit of leather string, was a small, round metal object. The Asset furrowed his brow. Was that…?

A compass. Not regulation. But the Asset could not find anything wrong with it specifically. A compass was useful. If he lost track of her, the soldatka could find her way back.

One less thing to worry about.

"And what's your mission?" The Asset asked her, his eyes slipping away from the compass, back to the girl's expression less face. A specialist had added grease around her eyes, part of their prep. To protect against glaring sunlight, and subvert any facial recognition technology. It made her pale eyes seemed even paler.

"The same as yours," The soldatka said. "Eliminate Captain America."

A short nod of approval. The Asset fell slightly more at ease. They were on the same page. Project Insight would continue as planned. Pierce would be pleased, and neither of them would be punished for failure.

Failure. The Asset didn't want to think about that.

He switched his attention back on the soldatka. For whatever reason, it seemed to make him feel better.

Although he knew, deep down, that he shouldn't feel any sort of sensation at all.

But Pierce wasn't here. And no one else was sharp enough to know.

Took another once-over of her appearance. The soldatka's hair was long, longer than his, and hanging loose. A problem. Loose hair was easy to grab. Couldn't leave that vulnerability open.

"Turn," he ordered, not giving an explanation. Didn't think of it, really.

Not that he had to. The soldatka didn't question it; simply did as she was told without even blinking. When her back faced him, the Asset touched her shoulder to stop her moving. She now faced the wall, blank expression reflected in the small metal lock-box doors.

She did not move, said nothing as the Asset took pieced of her hair and began weaving them together. Smooth, practiced motions. He'd done this before. The Asset couldn't remember where, or how he had learned. But this felt… familiar. Normal. Traditional. Before every mission, every exercise, he made sure her hair was braided back. The sensation of her smooth hair in his right hand brought a vague sense of comfort to him. Rarely did he get to experience or appreciate a soft texture. He caught the faintest scent of shampoo — days old. It had a calming effect.

He was careful that the plates in his metal hand did not catch or pull at her hair. Not that he could tell if he did, as the soldatka gave no indication of pain or discomfort whatsoever. But the Asset was gentle. He didn't have to be.

But he wanted to be.

It felt… right.

"I also have a message for you," The soldatka began, her head rocking back ever so slightly as the braid went along. "From Pierce. Regarding the mission."

The Asset glanced up from his work, the edge of a frown lining his face. "What?"

"He said that if at any point during the mission, if I were wounded or stuck," The soldatka hesitated. It was small, almost imperceptible — but the Asset caught the slight hitch in her voice. "To leave me behind."

The Asset froze.

She continued speaking, not noticing this. "If I have to die for you to succeed, it will be considered an acceptable loss."

Acceptable.

The Asset had gone very, very still. A bitter taste filled his mouth.

He didn't know what to say. What he could say. How he could at all express how utterly unacceptable that notion was. But the Asset was not meant to disagree. Orders were orders. If Pierce made that decision, it was for a reason.

"Why?" The Asset demanded; his voice low. It wasn't his place to question orders; but the soldatka was an underling, and he was allowed to question her. A loophole.

She winced at his tone, which only worsened the bitter taste. "Because you must complete the mission at all costs. The Secretary said he didn't want you distracted." Another pause. She lowered her head, eyes squeezing shut in her reflection. "…By me."

"You are not a distraction." The Asset snapped — but immediately he knew the statement was incorrect. A lie.

"The Secretary thinks otherwise."

"The Secretary —" Is wrong. Is right. Can go fuck himself.

The Asset cut himself off before any of those thoughts could be released. Treacherous, traitorous thoughts. He shook his head, reevaluated. Pierce never did anything without a reason. Suddenly, the Asset felt exposed, vulnerable; like Pierce had read his mind, somehow. Knew the Asset better than himself. How did he know, before the Asset himself could, that the soldatka would be a distraction for him?

That old fear returned.

At length, the Asset finally managed to grunt, "Understood."

It wasn't a lie, at least.

The braid finished, he let go, arms hanging limp at his side. The Asset felt nauseous, and stared at the floor. What could he do?

"It's my fault." The soldatka said suddenly, turning around. With the braid complete, her face was now exposed, revealing the fear widening her eyes. "That I'm a distraction. That I'm not good enough. I failed you. If I hadn't gotten in your way, this would be over by now. Captain America would be dead. I… I'm sorry."

The Asset stared at her, unblinking. He didn't know how to tell her that her apology was unwarranted, unneeded. Misdirected. Don't be sorry. It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong.

"No," He said at last, his voice low. "You are not the one who failed."

He didn't think the others in here could understand them, but he dropped his volume nonetheless. Admitting such a thing was dangerous, even among those he did not follow orders from. The shame in his chest built up, because he knew it was true. Somehow, the Asset had failed Pierce — something had happened recently to cause this. Shame, and regret. His failure now meant the life of someone else.

The Asset knew, deep down, he should not care for her survival. But even deeper down, he did anyways. And didn't want to stop.

But it was difficult to look at her face, at the uncertainty and fear of a soldier who had been forsaken by the chain of command. The Asset wished he knew how to make this better. But he couldn't.

What's done was done.

Unable to bear her expression, his own self-loathing and confusion, the Asset turned away from her, and began heading towards the door. It was time to go.

"Wait —" But a hand caught his arm. More of a tap, really. The Asset looked around, maybe a little too fast. The soldatka flinched, snapping her hand back as if she feared reprisal. But he didn't move, didn't say anything, just waited for her to speak.

"The man with the shield," She asked, and something flickered behind her eyes. The slightest hint of confusion. Pain. "Did you know him?"

The Asset stared at her for a long moment.

Something echoed in his head. A voice both foreign and familiar. Although he could recall the sound, the Asset could not attach any visual to it.

A word. A name.

Bucky.

I knew him.

The Asset grit his teeth. His expression hardened.

"No."