I fell, very behind on here, once again. In part it's because my work internet doesn't allow this site to be used, and I've been working a lot. And in part, I forget when I'm not at work. So there will be a little bit of spamming tonight while I catch you up with what's been posted on AO3.

With love, Dubs.

Один

Sore and tired, Anya snuck into Pierce's house, boots in hand to help her stay stealthy. All the lights in the house were off, once again indicating no one was home, but she took little chance and remained silent as she made her way to her room. As she passed the open-concept kitchen and living room area, the light flipped on. She closed her eyes and sighed before turning to Pierce, who was sitting on the couch with the Winter Soldier standing to his left. Pierce stared at her, a smug look on his face, while the Winter Soldier stood facing away from her, refusing to look in her direction. She felt her body stiffen instinctually.

"What did I tell you?" Pierce said looking up at him, "She's back and not all that long after you." The Winter Soldier's eyes lifted as he looked at her. Meeting hers, his blue orbs narrowed into a glare.

Pierce's smile fell as he looked back and forth between them. He had scoured their files and just as every time before, they were falling into their pattern of infatuation with one another. Although, he admittedly hadn't expected it to take so few encounters.

If Alexander Pierce had been one to believe in the idea of true love, he might have felt that the two in his living room were the truest he had encountered. But Pierce didn't believe in love. Love was a weakness. Love was blinding. Love was the greatest way to cripple even the best of soldiers. And in his line of work, love was unacceptable.

Pierce's eyes settled on Anya and began looking her over.

"You appear to have had a rough night," he said, "Let me see how much you've damaged yourself this time."

"I'm fine—" she began to protest quietly and his left eye twitched in annoyance.

"You know I don't like to repeat myself."

Anya walked toward him immediately, her movements mechanical. She stopped in front of him, just outside of his reach. He was silent for a moment as he looked her over, not moving from his relaxed position on the couch.

"Strip," he said. The hitch in her breath was almost indistinguishable, but the Winter Soldier noticed. He shifted on his feet, his eyes darting away from her as she began to take off her suit. He didn't want to see the damage he had caused.

"No," Pierce said, his eyes barely moving from her, yet knowing his Asset's reaction, "you watch too."

The Winter Soldier turned toward her fully, his eyes watching her as she struggled. He found his hands clenching into fists as she tried—and failed—to hide her pain from them.

Anya's breathing lost regularity as she began removing the suit, no matter how much she tried to keep it in check. Her shoulder burned from the bullet that remained inside her, the pain growing at every little movement. She felt the blood oozing from her shoulder and down her back from the open wound—it would continue to refuse to heal until the bullet was removed.

Pierce would be less than pleased at the mess she was making, but there was nothing she could do about it. She had not only failed her mission, but she had returned damaged and a liability. It was likely she'd be reset, and Pierce had promised that if she needed resetting, she was going to regret it. Panicked tears prickled in her eyes, but she blinked them away as she continued removing her black leather suit, hoping neither man had seen them… that neither man had seen her break.

Pierce took too much delight in watching her undress to notice. The Winter Soldier, however, watched only her face and witnessed all of her emotions, fleeting as they may have been. The knuckles on his human hand turned white as a sudden need to protect her rumbled inside him. Bucky side-eyed Pierce, weighing his options. The man would never see the blade coming but killing Pierce in his own home—which probably had cameras all over it—would only come back to haunt them. The Winter Soldier's gaze returned to Anya, and he stared at her, suddenly taken aback.

Out of her suit, she stood with her arms at her side, waiting for further instruction from Pierce. Beneath her jumpsuit, she had been wearing very little. She was clad in only a lacey bra and matching thong that left almost nothing to the Winter Soldier's imagination—which would have been running wild if he could have focused on anything beside his metal hand's imprint in the middle of her chest.

Alexander Pierce lifted his finger and motioned for her to turn. She immediately did as he commanded.

The Winter Soldier stared at her chest. He could see all the details of his metal hand in the bruising, which only made his stomach turn. She should have been dead, no doubt about it. To say she was resilient was an understatement. She was practically immortal. His eyes only left her bruised sternum when she had turned too far around for him to see. The Winter Soldier looked over her body. She looked sickly; her skin was so pale she seemed almost transparent. His eyes continued over her, taking in her damaged left side.

The outside of her leg, her side and under arm were not only bruised but looked as if the several layers of skin had been taken off. He was sure it was from when she wrecked her motorcycle earlier in the day. The muscles, he quickly took note of, appeared to have started healing at an incredibly fast pace. Faster than even his super healing speed. What exactly had Hydra done to her in those labs?

As she continued turning, he saw the other side of the damaged he had caused her. Her entire back was an array of ugly, angry, colors—bruised from the impact against the SUV earlier in the day. Although the bruise's ugliness was an attribute to her healing. The only wound she seemed to have that was not only not healing but still seemed completely fresh, was the gunshot wound in her left shoulder blade. The only spot on her body that truly made her appear mortal.

"Stop," Pierce commanded as soon as his eyes landed on the wound. She froze instantly, facing away from the two. She looked into her reflection of the windows but saw only herself—a complete mess of a human being. She heard the quiet unsheathing of a blade before Pierce's voice continued, "remove the bullet. Make it painful, to remind her of her failure."

The Winter Soldier looked down at the knife that had been taken from its sheath on the side of his belt, and for half of a second, he almost didn't take the knife from the man. Pierce noticed the hesitation and his eyes narrowed. He began to say something when the Winter Soldier took the knife from him and stepped forward. He looked at Anya's back, his eyes zoning in on the wound.

Anya closed her eyes. She heard the Winter Soldier's heavy footfalls behind her and counted three steps before she jumped at the touch of his skin against her neck. He moved her filthy blonde braid over her right shoulder. At the same time, his cold metal hand gently pressed against the front of her left soldier, applying pressure slowly until he held her firmly. She almost opened her eyes and looked at him, instead she took control of her breathing and lifted her head high; preparing for the torture yet to come.

He watched for a moment as silent tears ran down her face. She was in enough pain; he would certainly not be the cause of even more. He waited until she deeply exhaled before he plunged the knife into her shoulder.

It was a searing pain, just like the pain when she summoned her own blades, but no more than that. Anya had expected it to hurt more, a lot more. Pierce had specifically ordered him to make it painful. But as she heard the soft thump of the metal slug on the floor, and the pain dissipate as he removed the knife from her wound, she realized he was done. It was too good to be true.

Anya opened her eyes and began to turn her head to look at the Winter Soldier. He was staring down at her with an expression she couldn't read. He brought his metal hand to her chin and forced her to look forward again. Once she was and he was sure she wouldn't look his way again, he let go of her chin, sliding his metal hand across her skin softly. She looked into the reflection of the windows and their eyes met. She mouthed a Russian 'thank you' and he nodded.

"Do I detect disobedience?" Pierce said standing and walking behind her. He pushed the Winter Soldier out of the way and looked at Anya's wound once again. With the foreign object gone, the wound was already starting to heal itself. Watching her body work and heal egregious wounds was something Pierce had always found beauty in. He took pleasure in the pain he caused her and even more so in watching her body heal.

The Winter Soldier walked in front of her, moving to stand on her right side. His eyes glanced down at her face before returning to Pierce. He had seen the flash of fear in her eyes before her face went blank. She looked ahead to the windows once more, her eyes glazing over in dissociation. This was going to be the pain she had been expecting. Alexander Pierce held his hand out to the Winter Soldier as he continued, "give me your blade, soldat."

Bucky stared at the man, his eyes twitching ever so slightly in a calm sense of anger as he stared at the Secretary. The men glared at one another before the Winter Soldier handed the knife over to Pierce.

"When I said make it painful," Pierce said as he began carving designs into her back, "I meant make. It. Painful."

The Winter Soldier didn't move away from her as Pierce continued, occasionally plunging the blade deeper or turning it to just the right angle as if peeling an apple. He instead watched Pierce with a sudden and unbridled rage. Bucky tore his eyes away from Pierce to look at Anya.

Through it all, she hadn't made a noise and there had been a split-moment he thought she hadn't even reacted at the pain. Until he noticed his metal arm was shaking. He looked to make sure Pierce's eyes were elsewhere before he glanced down to see her hand gripping onto his wrist. He shifted and took her hand in his human one. She only held onto him tighter.

"As you may have already noticed, Winter Soldier," Pierce said as he continued carving and the Soldier looked at him with a glare. Pierce didn't notice as he continued on, "Our little Anya here has incredibly strong healing properties. They're necessary for the weapons she creates. She uses the iron in her blood to create them. You'll also notice how she's so pale and sickly looking right now—how all of these wounds are barely healing…"

"That's because little Anya hasn't eaten enough today," he continued on, "Her body can't keep up. If she had taken the extra time to eat as she should, these marks would have healed almost the moment I made them. Instead, they're just making another mess to clean up."

He took the knife away from her back and smirked cruelly at his handiwork. It was then he noticed how the Winter Soldier was positioned near her and his wicked smirk grew.

Pierce reached out and grabbed her blonde hair immediately pushing her to the ground. Her body crumpled as her left knee gave out under the forceful gesture and Pierce held her up by her hair. She let out a surprised and pained scream and without hesitation the Winter Soldier's metal hand was at his neck. Pierce looked between the two and saw their hands together.

"Interesting," Pierce said letting go of her hair. The Winter Soldier let go of his neck as Pierce released her hair. He kneeled down next to Anya, watching her, their hands still connected. She looked up at him, then at their hands. After a moment she looked at his face once more and terror ran through her body. She tried to take her hand away from the Winter Soldier, but he refused to let her go. She stood, swallowing the pain it caused her. The Winter Soldier helped lift her, his eyes never leaving her.

"Very interesting. You know," Pierce commented, and the Winter Soldier glared in his direction, "If you're that taken by her, I'd advise you take advantage of it tonight. She'll be reset in the morning, and you won't be seeing her after. As a matter of fact, keep it up and you won't be far behind her."

"Go ahead, take her and do whatever you want to her," he said nodding toward the back of the house where the bedrooms were, "it'll be good practice for her. She'll never amount to anything as an assassin. She's proven that time and time again. Maybe this type of job will stick."

Anya wasn't looking at either of the men, instead staring at her nearly naked body in the windows. Another reset. A hard reset. Maybe she could convince the Winter Soldier to kill her instead. He had taken pity on her on more than one occasion, what would be one more final time?

The Winter Soldier, however, caught his metal hand balling into a fist and his breathing growing heavy. He began roughly pulling her to the back of the house where all the bedrooms were. Pierce called out directions to her room behind him. It took every ounce of willpower for Bucky not to punch a wall with his metal arm as they walked.

The Winter Soldier kicked open the door to her room and as he began to enter her room, she started resisting him. He huffed in annoyance, before lifting her onto his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. He kicked the door closed the door behind them and quickly walked over to her bed.

Anya anticipated him throwing her, especially after she had resisted. Instead, he set her down gently. She looked up at him as he stayed close to her, his hands on the edge of the bed beside her legs. He put his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.

"Now I have to clean up another mess of yours," he whispered gently in Russian. She inhaled sharply, surprised at his tone as he continued, "do you need help taking a shower?"

"I—" she began but tears followed suit. He lifted her again and took her into the adjoining bathroom. He set her on the counter holding her against him until her tears lessened. After she calmed, he moved toward the shower. He started it up and began taking off his shoes.

"I'm getting undressed," he started, "I don't want my clothes wet." He waited to finish undressing until she nodded. She looked everywhere in the room except at him as he stripped himself. He checked the water temperature then walked over in front of her. He looked down at her bra and rubbed his thumb against the strap.

"Do you want to leave these on?" he asked. She shrugged, suddenly reminded of what Pierce had given him permission to do to her.

"Do whatever you want," she said trying to sound as tired as she felt. But her voice just sounded defeated as she looked away from him. He gripped her chin and lifted her face to look at his.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, "I'm not going to touch you or do anything against your will. I'm going help you clean up, get clothes on again and leave. Now, do you want to leave these on?"

Anya felt the tears welling up again and didn't trust herself to answer, so she shook her head no. He gently pulled her from the counter and took off her bra. After a moment of struggling with her underwear—in which she tried to help but he batted her hand away with a grumble—he reached over into his belongings and pulled out his knife. With a swift movement, he cut the material off her and threw the remnants on the ground.

"That was excessive, Soldier," she said quietly. It was meant to come out as a tease, but the playfulness never reached her voice. He looked her in the eye.

"I got tired of fighting them," he replied, his hands gently landing on the sides of her hips. He leaned his head forward against hers. Their noses touched and both of them closed their eyes. As he brushed his cheek against hers, her eyes shot open, and she leaned away from him. His eyes opened slowly to watch her.

"I didn't think that was something you were capable of," she stated as she stepped away from him and toward the shower. He grumbled, losing her warmth and closed his eyes briefly in annoyance. She would be the death of him.

He opened his eyes once again and turned look over her body as she walked toward the shower. He noticed immediately the knife wounds on her back were already starting to heal themselves—most of them having already scabbed up—the gunshot wound was still gaping, although the bleeding had long since stopped. He stepped after her, reaching her quickly. He grabbed her hand and turned her to face him once more.

"I didn't think you were one to give up either," he whispered.

She stepped closer to him, and he let her hand go. She looked down at his hand, then back to his face. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments before she looked down at his chest. He watched as her eyes traveled to his metal arm. Her hand lifted to the skin against the metal. He knew it was red and irritated, just as it always was. She looked at the scarring, her fingers brushing them softly. He shivered at her touch.

The scars weren't just from the wound and metal against the skin. There were marks that as she looked over them, she realized stopped where he could not reach. Sadness hit her like a wave, and she barely held the tears in. She leaned forward, burying her head into his chest as she wrapped her arms around him. He stood in surprise for a moment before he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight to his body.

He felt her body tense and relax several times and wondered what was on her mind but was too afraid to ask. As she took a slow deep breath though, he knew she was preparing to tell him.

"Maybe it's time to give in," she replied softly, "I've pushed back against our training for decades… and it's brought us both nothing but pain… Maybe it's just time for me to—"

"No," he said, practically a growl in her ear. He didn't know what he had been expecting her to say but that was certainly not it. He buried his head into her hair. Quietly he continued, "Never stop fighting back."

"Why?" she said, and he heard the tears through the inflection in her voice. He closed his eyes as he leaned his head closer to her, brushing his cheek along the side of her face. His lips brushed against her ear and moved his face, so his lips trailed across the skin of her neck until he stopped just at the top of her collar bone.

"You just can't. Not yet," he replied so quietly she almost didn't hear him. She shivered at the warm words against her skin. A small moan escaped her lips as she leaned her head away to give him the access he wanted.

His eyes shot open, immediately realizing his actions.

The Winter Soldier took a deep breath as he stepped away from her. He was not supposed to care about anyone at all, much less… whatever was happening with Anya. She completely captivated him and every time he saw her, it was if he had known her his entire life. She was always familiar, and the more he was around her, the more he seemed to remember of a past life he had never known he wanted.

She was there before and after every reset. She had been his mission on more than one occasion, and she had been the only missions he had ever failed.

He shook the thoughts from his head and guided her to the tub shower combination. She tried to step into it herself but struggled as she put pressure on her left leg. With little convincing he gently lifted her the rest of the way in as he stepped in behind her.

As soon as the warm water hit her skin, Anya felt the need for sleep begin to overcome her. She tried to ignore it and forced herself to remain standing as he ran his hands through her hair, releasing her braided hair. A tired smile reached her lips, and she closed her eyes, focusing on his hands running gently through her hair then across her body. He turned away to reach for the shampoo and she felt her body sway.

"Bucky," she quietly called to him as she began to stumble. He turned and caught her, helping her to sit gently on the shower-tub floor.

"I'm sorry," she said leaning her head back against his chest, her eyes struggling to open, "I'm just tired… and you're so gentle…" He watched her for a moment, absorbing her tired smile into his memory.

"Yeah?" he asked, his tone teasing as he placed his lips against her head, "is it going to keep you up all night thinking about it now?"

"Hmm," she mumbled leaning into his touch, "feeling it might."

The exchange sent a jolt of déjà vu through him. He forced a grouse and turned the water cold. When the drop in temperature seemed to do nothing but make her shiver, he turned the tap back to warm. He stood up to grab her soaps and shampoos, setting them within reach before leaning past her and switching the water to the tub nozzle. He sat in the tub behind her, kicking the drain into place as the water began to fill their space. She nestled into his chest, and he felt himself holding onto her in return.

She wasn't going to be reset, he knew that for certain—and he knew exactly how to keep her safe. In the early 90s he had been on a mission for Hydra, one of her failed missions. After they reset her and put her back into cryo, he had been angry. He had taken a property from the man who owned it previously in a less than desirable way, but it was kept under wraps from Hydra. It would be a safehouse for her, especially if he was reset.

As the tub filled nearly to the top, he turned off the water and began using his hand to cup it onto her head. It was working, but very inefficiently.

"I could really use your help, Mags," he said then froze. Maggie Hargrove, her voice seemed to whisper in his mind. A male voice that sounded like his responded, the future Mrs. Barnes.

"Maggie?" he said softly, testing the name on his lips. She drowsily mumbled a response and dunked her body beneath the water. Her hands pushed against his thighs, and he closed his eyes leaning his head backward as he took a calming breath. He looked back at her as she lifted herself from the water.

She turned tried to reach past him for her shampoo, but he grabbed her hand and held it to his cheek for a moment before pushing it away gently. He sighed and grabbed the shampoo, pouring some of it into his hand. He set the bottle back as he began rubbing his hands together before running them through her hair.

"Your hair is longer than I remember," he said although he wasn't sure why.

"I used to keep it curled more," she hummed, "add to that who knows how many years without it being cut…"

She trailed off as his hands went through her hair. She felt her pain slipping away and being replaced by pure delight. With a warm hum and a smile, she continued, "be careful, Soldier, keep this up I might ask you to take me."

"It's the sleep talking," he responded in her ear but found himself having to readjust his position at the proposition.

He tried to hurry her bath without causing her any pain. She seemed to pay little attention to the pain and instead seemed intent on sleepily coming on to him. Her playful banter caused a flame in his gut to grow and only solidified his decision to take her away and hide her from Pierce. When he was done bathing her, he wrapped her in a towel and carried her to her bed. He looked in the closet and found himself irritated with the lack of clothing for her. Nothing was suitable to sleep in.

"Anya," he said, placing his hand on her face gently. Her eyes opened slightly. "What do you wear to sleep?"

"Nothing. Pierce never bought me anything," she replied trailing off back into her half-asleep state. The Winter Soldier let out an annoyed grumble. He went back to the bathroom and put his clothes on and for a moment he looked at his shirt and debated if it was enough. He decided it wasn't and put it on himself.

He had to make a show of it anyway, he had to leave. He had to make sure there was no security footage to catch when he came back. And while he was out, he would get her something to wear, so she was decent while they traveled.

After getting dressed, he stepped into her room once more and saw her curled up and practically out of the towel. He sighed and walked over to her. Gently, he lifted her and removed the sheets from beneath her. As he set her down, she grabbed onto his belt. He stopped instantly.

"Anya," he whispered, "you have to let me go."

"Stay with me," she mumbled, her eyes still closed, "please, Bucky… stay with me?"

He gently removed her hand and instinctually leaned down. His lips hovered above her, before he leaned down closer to her ear.

"I have to go," he whispered, "but I promise I'll be back soon." He placed his lips against her forehead, kissing her softly before standing up. She smiled in her sleep and let out a soft hum. He tucked her in, then left the room.

As the Winter Soldier walked into the living room, he wanted nothing more than to kill the man who greeted him. He was wearing half-moon readers and had his nose in the book 'The Art of War'. The Winter Soldier cleared his throat and Pierce looked up with a smirk.

"Done already?" he asked, "So quiet too." The Winter Soldier felt his blood begin to boil in his veins, but outwardly remained indifferent.

"I will be back in the morning to take her in for reset," he said, and Pierce sat up, closing his book. He set the book down as he took off his glasses.

"No, you have a more important mission," he said standing, "You'll follow those leads and pursue Steve Rogers, not waste your time with a failure."

"Of course," the Soldier said and left the house. He watched from the forest as Pierce read for another hour, then made his way to Anya's bedroom. He knocked on Anya's door, then after a moment opened it. The Winter Soldier watched, prepared to kill the man, if need be, but after a moment Pierce smirked and closed Anya's door. He walked to his room and after another thirty-five minutes the Winter Soldier was sure he was asleep.

With that, the Winter Soldier was off. Time was limited, and he had a lot to do in one night still.