A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for such a long wait - but I'm back and ready to go!
Anya had remained frozen behind the stall for a few moments, before the vendor chased her away. She burst back out into the market, but it was too late; he was gone.
He didn't know her
He had no reason to know nor trust her
A sinking feeling was stirring in her stomach; she was all alone again. Her one choice had broken before her, and she was alone again. Her eyes scanned the market, and she saw a payphone.
She remembered her conversation with Natasha before the flight. She'd asked her to come home. Right now, all Anya wanted was to go home. But she wasn't sure where exactly home was. It couldn't be with Natasha, it just couldn't. They may be blood, they may be related, but Anya had learnt enough now to know she had not come the normal way, that she was a failed experiment that Natasha probably felt she owed a responsibility to. She may even love her, but Anya doubted that their relationship would ever be normal. Her eyes moved from the phone box and lingered on a young mother; her red hair painfully similar as she played with the toddler sat smiling in her lap.
She hastily brushed away the tears and made her way back through the market in the direction she believe the man to have gone; but she lost sight.
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8
Natasha stared out of the window of the compound, arms crossed, her face pale, dark circles under her eyes. Behind her, the desk was scattered with photos; her computer screen showed news footage of a fight in a street, a strange blue light coming from a young girl. She continued to stare out the window, as the rain poured down the glass in streams.
"Hey," A quiet voice spoke, as Tony came to stand next to her. His fists were stuffed inside his pockets. "I've had a drone head over the city, nothing so far. Nd nobody seems to know who the chicks on the motorcycles were – plates were false."
Nat said nothing, just continued to stare out the window.
"Fury wants you on this next one. You know he means it when he tells me to pass on the message." Tony rubbed the back of his neck. "But, um, he said he's gonna keep those agents out there, just so they're sure she's still not there.
"What about the blonde she was fighting?" Natasha spoke, every last inch of her strength used as to not let her voice crack.
"Nothing. No one got a clear look at her. Not a single camera caught her face or anything, so no leads there." Tony sighed. He looked down at his shoes, before resting a hand on the assassins shoulder. He'd done as much as he possible could, and more. Pepper said it was not his fault, and that he would burn himself out. Natasha had stopped grilling him since he apologised for the twentieth time.
But the guilt still lay thick in the bottom of his stomach. He'd said those words – the kid had run, not just because of him, but he certainly hadn't helped. He couldn't imagine how Nat was feeling, she certainly didn't outwardly show her emotions. But her actions and decision making certainly showed how scared she was. He wondered what he would be like, if he had a kid. He imagined a daughter, the same as Natasha. Would he go to the ends of the earth for his kid? He hoped so.
"Come on, we need to suit up." He broke his mental train of thought. "If there is any sighting, any hint of where she could be, ~Fury's given you clearance to leave immediately."
Natasha said nothing, but gave a small, curt nod in acknowledgement. Tony tried to give her a smile, but felt himself fail as he left the room. After staring at the rain for a little while longer, Natasha's eyes swept over the documents and pictures on the desk. The most recent picture was the phone booth, which she had flown out to see herself, where Anya had called her from.
"I love you too, Mama." Those were her last words. Natasha refused to let anymore tears out. She would save them for when she had Anya back. She pulled her eyes away, and headed towards the briefing room before she suited up and did what she did best.
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8
The routine was strange, but he had become accustomed to it for the last week.
He would wake at sunrise, groaning from the uncomfortable sleep on the thin mattress. He would wash, dress, and head out of the small apartment. He would purchase one small coffee and a badly wrapped sandwich from the café across the street. She would be sat on the café doorstep; either until he arrived and left, or until the café owner chased her away down the street. It had bugged him, the first night. He thought the girl would leave him alone after the confrontation at the market. But she persisted.
He woke one morning and looked out the grimy window to see the girl sat on the steps of the café opposite. The first time, he walked over in usual routine, and nudged her awake with his boot.
"What are you doing here?" He had asked, peering down at her from beneath his cap. She groggily opened her eyes, clearly not a morning person. A slight flutter of worried ran through him; had she slept out here? The big jacket she was buried in, and the backpack used as a pillow suggested so.
"Hello Papa." She said, and he gritted his teeth at the name. The girl would not accept anything else. He was no-one's papa. Christ, he didn't even really remember his own papa.
So began the new routine that had started: he would awake, journey to the café, and as he left, his little shadow would follow him to the construction site. He would stay all day, come dinner time, eat his sandwich on a nearby wall, before purchasing another hot drink, and continuing. Of course, there was a park opposite the site. Some days she would merely sit on the bench and watch the site. Sometimes, she ventured in for a couple hours, swinging, and trailing the climbing frames, all in effort to keep a closer eye on him.
Whenever her eyes were on him, he could almost feel it. The familiar prickly sensation that he was being watched. Only this time, it didn't remind him of the people who would watch whilst they kept a leash on him. It was different, but he still did not like the girl's persistent watching.
On day eight, it was the same. The chill was deeper when the evening returned, and Bucky bought some soup from a vender on his way home; his little shadow not far behind. He was tempted to buy the girl some food. He couldn't remember the last time he saw her eat. He hoped she had a blanket and some food in that backpack of hers. He reached his apartment block, and as usual, the girl stayed on the opposite side of the street. He tried not to think about her when he let himself into the single room. Her face was forever etched in his mind now; her words at the market, calling him "Papa". He couldn't remember any life from before he was the Soldat. If she was looking for her father, she wasn't going to find it in him.
"Steve told me," She'd said. The man with the blond hair he'd fought with, who kept trying to make him remember a life he could only just start to recall. A face hauntingly familiar yet unrecognisable.
He placed his steaming soup on the scrubbed table and went to the sink to wash his face.
Outside, Anya sat herself down in the cafe doorway again. She pulled a large jumper that must have been Wanda's and buried herself inside it. She watched the apartment with the dim light. He'd already shut the curtains. Her breath became steam in the cold air. It was cold; colder than any other night so far. She shivered into the jumper and tried to huddle deeper into the doorway. The clouds above looked heavy and dark; rain impending. The doorway wouldn't fully cover her, and if she tried to find somewhere else, what if her Papa decided to leave and she couldn't find him again?
As if triggered by her thoughts, the sky rumbled and it began to pour. The remaining people on the dark street ran from the downpour, and soon, Anya found herself soaked to the bone.
"ну это чертовски фантастика" Well that's fucking fantastic She mumbled, remembering the soldier who used to mutter the phrase whenever something didn't go his way – normally whenever he was stuck dealing with her.
The rain did not give any indication of letting up anytime soon. She peered through the haze to the window, but the curtains were still drawn and the dim light barely visible. If she didn't find shelter, she'd certainly die out here. She thought about her route, and knew there to be a restaurant round the corner with a covered outdoor area. It would be cold, but atleast she wouldn't be far and she could try and dry off. She pulled the jacket over her head and collected her bag, before dashing off down the road towards the restaurant.
As she turned the corner, the curtains twitched as a face peered out.
He had heard the storm start as he ate his soup. He felt a twinge in his gut, thinking of the cold out there. She was just a kid. She'd followed him for days; if she was anything to do with Hydra, they'd have played their hand a long time ago. He stared at the remaining half of the hot soup and bread, and sighed. Bucky pushed the chair back from the table and pushed back the curtain lightly. Looking in the doorway, he frowned. She was gone. The doorway was lightly flooded, so she couldn't have stayed there, and he wondered where his little shadow had gone. She'd been there from night until morning, so clearly had nowhere else to go.
"Cholerny dzieciak" Damned kid He grumbled as he pulled his jacket back on and baseball cap. She couldn't have gone far. He wondered if she'd tried to find better shelter nearby, and thought he would walk back towards the construction site. He couldn't let her freeze to death, no matter how annoying he found her. He stepped out into the rain and pulled his coat tighter round himself. He made the trip round the block when he heard the tyres come to a screeching halt, and words shouting on a nearby vacant street.
"Хватай ее уже!" Grab her already!
"Надень на нее этот гребаный ошейник!" Put that fucking collar on her!
Bucky looked in the general direction of the shouts, and could see a strange blue light from over the next building. His gut twisted, telling him to run. But instead of away, he ran towards the commotion. He ran faster when he heard the girls voice shout out:
"Не трогай меня! Я вас всех убью!" Don't touch me! I will kill you all!
He came round the corner to see blue lights pouring from the girls hands and men in dark clothing to fly across the street. As he rushed up, one had gotten behind her, tackling her off guard and strapped something round her neck.
"Не трогай меня!" Don't touch me! She shouted again, but was brought to her knees as the collar flashed, and she screamed until Bucky felt his blood go cold. Despite his speed, they hurled her into the back of one of the three black vans and began screeching down the road.
Anya struggled against the men who tried to put restraints on her wrists. They were shouting in Russian and Ukrainian, but she was too busy screaming at them to hear their words. She tried to force the power out of her chest; she could feel it boiling over, but every time it tried to reach her fingertips, the collar sent a shockwave down her spine and she screamed more.
"Hold her steady!" One shouted in English. One soldier tried to hold her head down by the jaw, but he misjudged her strength, and her teeth clamped down on his hand.
"Fucking bitch!" She received the blow to the jaw and her head was thrown back and banged off the floor of the van. Dazed for a moment, they managed to get the cuffs on as she tried not to see stars.
"Get us out of here, Dmitri!" The man speaking English shouted to the driver, but his words were drowned out by a heavy thud on the roof of the van. "What the -"
Before any of them could question the sound, the driver – Dmitri – was ripped from the driver's seat as the windscreen was smashed. They heard the man scream and a thud as he met the road. The van started to skid, and soldiers within grabbed their guns. When the van halted, they waited for a fraction too long; the back doors were ripped open and gun fire rained. Anya grabbed a hold of her senses, and curled into a ball as she heard the bullets rain. She screamed as she heard the gunfire and the bodies fall. She tries to cover her ears, but the cuffs refuse to separate her hands. Suddenly, it stops.
"Come on, get up!" A voice calls and she's pulled from the van to her feet, back in the pouring rain of the street. Her hair in her eyes, a hand pushes it back and she sees her rescuer.
"Papa?" she says quietly. He gives her the strange look he always does when she calls him that. He finds the latch to the collar and rips it from her neck, frowning when she violently winces. The collar and cuffs are left on the ground in the rain and they run from the spot. She's sluggish on her feet. The suddenly cold air on her face and the bash to the back of the head made her dizzy. Bucky noticed and decides they need to get indoors quickly. He threw the young girl over his shoulder, who has become sleepy and does not protest. He rushes into the dark night and disappears in the mist.