A/N: Guess who gets a one-on-one with Bucky this chapter! *wink, wink* Let me know if it's everything you thought it'd be.


Chapter 10: Reward

Sokovia 1997

The facility isn't quite how she remembers it. The structure has aged and when Hermione rolls down the window of the backseat, she studies the dreariness of it. She recalls it looking foreboding and strong, but that was a different time. The unruliness of Sokovia has taken its toll on everything. Such new countries are so hard to handle.

She's not brought to the parking garage like she'd been when she was seven. Instead, she brought to the front entrance where a guard is there to open the door and greet her. He offers his hand, and she takes it, climbing out of the backseat.

"Kristof?" she inquires. "Is that you?"

That man chuckles warmly. "It is I that should be asking if this is you? My, my. How lovely you've become. The Baron asked me specifically to be the one to see to you. He wants to you to feel at ease. He's so proud of you, 17."

"Milas," she corrects gently.

He dips his chin. "Milas. Of course." He crooks his fingers at another guard and points at the trunk. "Get her suitcase."

"It's only one. I've acquired little over the years," she tells him.

"I'm sure that's not true." He grins. "Most baggage we acquire in life cannot be locked away in a trunk. Come. The Baron's been beside himself with excitement. He's waited so long for this day."

"Me, too." Hermione is hot on Kristof's heels. Oh, she can't believe it's finally happening. Her reward is finally due, and she can't wait. The Baron promised her painless power. No more headaches. No more exhaustion.

They enter the facility, and she's taken to The Baron's office. The Red Skull's portrait is still there in all his glory, and Kristof knocks on the door. The barrier swings open, and The Baron smiles broadly, and Hermione can't help but think he's aged somewhat, though his features are still not unappealing. He's only his mid-thirties, she guesses.

"Milas," he says pointedly. He clasps her shoulders and squeezes. "Look at you. So beautiful. I knew you would be. How did the surgery go? Were there any complications?"

"No, sir"

"Are you in pain still?"

Hermione is hesitant in her answer. "A little."

"Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure. Come in. Sit. Let us have lunch together. We'll catch up on the necessaries."

They eat at the same table where he forced her to kill that rabbit. She shoves the memory away and focuses on her meal. It's much fattier and richer than she's used to. Her tongue only tingles in delight for a few moments from the pork and butter-heavy cuisine before she has to put her fork down and focus on her salad and tea which are both refreshing and phenomenal.

"Not to your liking?" asks The Baron.

"It's delicious, but I haven't had red meat since I left here."

"I understand you were under a very strict diet. The orthodontist I arranged expressed concern you were being starved."

"We all were sometimes, but usually we didn't go more than two days without food."

"How do they expect strong soldiers if they don't feed them properly?" The question isn't meant to be answered. The Baron laughs and pours himself another glass of wine. He then offers the bottle to her, and she shakes her head.

"No, thank you."

"No alcohol, either, I take it." He sets the bottle down.

"I had a glass of champagne after the first part of my initiation."

"And how did that go?"

"It was bubbly and upset my stomach."

"I meant—"

"I know what you meant." She smiles blandly. "And it went fine."

"You didn't hesitate?"

She nods. "I did, but then I reminded myself it wasn't for them. It was for us."

The Baron salutes her with his glass of wine and a prideful grin. "Hail HYDRA."

She clinks her teacup against the glass. "Hail HYDRA."

They both sip from their respected drinks and set them down to return to their meal. As The Baron cuts into his meat, he informs her of some news.

"The Soldier is here. For a short time."

"Is another being submitted to the program?"

The Baron sighs, setting down his utensils. "Unfortunately, the program had to be put on hold." He then adds. "Indefinitely."

"A waste of resources."

"You have no idea. The cost to fail in the end was terribly high. And risky. I doubt you heard anything of worth in the Red Room and this wasn't in any message I sent you through Dr. Eli, but Howard Stark is dead. His son and the company's board have taken control of the company but has nothing to do with S.H.I.E.L.D. He doesn't even know about it. His father kept him in the dark about everything. It's a shame. We could use his expertise."

"Mmm. So I have a question. Why let me know the Soldier's here? Am I going to meet him or…?"

"My dear, you're going to fight him."

"Excuse me?" She can't have heard right.

"Twice, I might add. The first time this evening. The second time, later this week."

"But, sir—"

"You will not speak unless it's of gratitude. You have no idea what I had to do in getting this arranged. He is a high valued asset of HYDRA and convincing headquarters to wake him up and borrow him to merely spar with a trainee at my facility was no easy feat."

"Trainee?"

"Regardless of graduating both this program and from the Red Room, you are still considered such."

Hermione exhales loudly and attempts to carefully get her words right. "It's not that I'm ungrateful, it's just he's a scientifically enhanced super soldier, and I never did beat Natalia Romanova…at anything. And she was just a girl."

"I won't let him kill you."

"He might not do it on purpose." She drums her fingers on the table. "Please just tell me this isn't my reward. Because dying or close to it doesn't match what you told me."

"It's a part of it. Tonight, I want you to show me you've earned that reward."

"I'm going to lose, sir."

"So did Josef Schlagel and all the other brats we threw at him. I'm not concerned you'll lose. Of course you will. Look at you. Tonight what I want to see. What I want to know is how long it takes him to win. You've been training nonstop for eleven years. If you go down in the first two minutes, I'll be sorely disappointed."

She swallows and puts a hand to her lower stomach. "If he gets me in the gut in those two minutes, I will go down."

"Then don't let him."


Following lunch, The Baron takes her to a room which is nothing like the one she left here or in Moscow. It's an actual bedroom with a queen canopy bed, a mahogany vanity dresser set , a walk-in closet, and an en suite bathroom. At the sight of it, she turns to The Baron with a perplexed expression painted on her face.

"I had this room built for my wife," he says.

"Wife?" She arches her brows. He's never worn a ring in the time she's known him and while she was here, it was like he never left. He was constantly on site. But then again, if his wife was here…

Huh.

She wanders the room, resisting to flop on the bed and test the lushness of it. Always a spring mattress she's dealt with.

"Both she and my son no longer visit as often as they used to."

Hermione looks over her shoulder at him, surprised he's telling her this. Like they're close friends. What surprises her more is that he's no longer at the threshold but right behind her. She had been so entranced by the idea of sleeping on a comfortable mattress, she hadn't noticed he crept up on her.

"Sir, is there something you need?" she asks despite knowing the answer. She may have spent her adolescent years with girls, but the Red Room did prepare and inform her of situations like this. In all honesty, she's a little flattered but more bewildered than anything. She's never seen him as a father figure. He's a tad too young for that, but she got the impression he's seen her as nothing more than another child to send off on HYDRA's behalf. Sure, she got more attention because of her abilities, but the attention wasn't special or pleasant.

Then again, she'd been a child. She's eighteen now, and he has seemed to notice.

"I think there is." He takes a step closer, and she turns around to face him. He puts his hands on her waist and ducks to press his cheek against hers. Her heart picks up in pace, and her skin tingles when he thumbs her jawline. He cups her face and goes to kiss her when she whispers, "I'm still healing."

In more ways than one. Taru is still fresh on her mind.

The breath of his chuckle hits her lips and then he pulls away. "I can make you comfortable when you've completed your training. The FSK. They will not pay you the way you deserve. You'll get a cut from HYDRA wired into a private account, but even then, you'll deserve more. I can arrange a flat for you to live. Among other things."

"In exchange for," she pauses, "my company."

"I promise not to visit so often your cover is compromised."

Hermione scans the room, liking the space and luxury and privacy. She has been afforded nothing of the sort the last eleven years, and she doubts the FSK will provided such provisions for her post-training. She'll likely be rooming with another agent or several which could be risky. She managed seven years in the Red Room but this would be different. She'd be in the field and quite possibly doing side jobs for HYDRA. Accepting The Baron's offer to be his mistress could prove worthwhile.

Biting her lip, she touches The Baron's tie, rubbing her thumb over the silk, and she looks up at him through her lashes. "We'll see. After my reward."

There's a flash of annoyance in his eyes, but it gives way to moderate respect. He smirks. "I have good reason to believe you won't be disappointed." He takes her hand and kisses the back of it. "And did I not promise to make you unstoppable?"

"It got me through some rough times these past seven years." She wraps her hand around his tie and tugs hard, making him hunch as to better get him to her level. "And if I'm disappointed, sir, I'll make a promise to make your next seven years unbearable."

Lust washes over The Baron's face, and she has to guess he's a kinky bastard which makes her stomach churn in distaste. Not for him in particular, but she can imagine the weird shit he's into. She can't really say she's happily anticipating his companionship, but she doesn't look forward in going longer without comfort.

"I have no doubt you'll make do on your promise." He pats her hand, and she releases her grip. He adjusts the tie, clearing his throat. "Rest up. You'll be up against the Soldier tonight. There are trainers in the closet. They should fit you. I'll see you soon, my darling Milas."

He leaves her room, closing the door behind him.


Staring up at the balcony she once looked down from years before, Hermione clenches her hands and swallows. She'd be a fool not to be afraid. She remembers quite clearly how easy it was for the Winter Soldier to kick Josef across this very room. Her hands come to rest on her stomach which is still very tender. Whatever she does, she can't let him land a blow there.

The memory of catapulting 54 across the room emerges, and she wonders if she has it in her again to do it. Some of the unique things she's done, she's only been able to do once. One-hit wonders. Like what she did with Robert on that boat after he ripped apart her Lord of the Flies book. She…froze him somehow. She hadn't been able to succeed even replicating that with animals when working with The Baron.

Soon. Soon she'll be able to do it again and possibly more. Hopefully. She'll make good on her promise. If whatever The Baron planned for doesn't satisfy, she'll make his life a living hell. HYDRA or not, she won't forgive him.

Speaking of, The Baron enters the area, the Winter Soldier in tow. Behind him are several of Hermione's old teachers, but there are also some new faces, as well. They come up to her and politely shake her hand and congratulate her on completing the Red Room program. Ms. Bērziņš is among them. There are wisps of gray in her hair now.

The teachers stand off to the side as does The Baron. She had hoped for a few more words of encouragement but what good would that really do. He already gave her his own version of a pep talk earlier.

She inhales, filling her lungs with as much air as they could handle, and rests her gaze on the stoic-faced man who hasn't aged a day since she last saw him last. His hair is still a brown mangled mop, and his eyes are still a deep set of crystal blue. He's not as tall as she remembers, but he's not short either. He's…imposing. Perhaps it's his armor. Or just his vibranium arm.

His face is still handsome, but his expression is void of opinion. He's neither surprised or expectant in seeing his opponent. He doesn't call out to those on the sidelines saying she's too small. Too feminine. He expresses no worry in his body language or features that he'll likely kill her.

"Hello," she tells him with a respectful nod, her tone perfectly neutral. "My name is Milas. I've heard much about you. It's an honor, sir."

One thing she was not taught in this facility was etiquette. The Red Room taught her being lethal was no excuse in being impolite. Always show respect to your opponents. You are potentially depriving them of their lives. It's a courtesy she thinks HYDRA should learn.

The Winter Soldier replies.

He replies by attacking.


She wakes up on a gurney in the infirmary and everywhere hurts like she got hit by a fucking car. Her right arm. It's broken. So is her left ankle and right femur. Definitely some bruised ribs, too. Ms. Bērziņš is beside her, hooking up an IV bag. The woman sees she's awake and offers a grim smile.

"You broke a few of his ribs and his wrist, Milas. Everyone was impressed." She displays a needle and pumps the contents into her IV line. "This is for the pain. It'll also knock you out, so we can set your—"

Hermione's out.

When she wakes up it's because her veins feel like they have electric fire coursing through them and her bones are shifting and her muscles are contracting and swelling. Every capillary wants to explode. Every pore wants to bleed. She lets out a scream, and she wants to remove herself from her own body to kick the pain. Oh, God, it's other worldly. Hellish. Like her mother's God has officially forsaken her and the devil has finally come to collect and rake his venomous talons into her soul.

Through the dense fog of pain, she can make out she's strapped to a cot. She rubs and jerks against them, feeling one of them give. The one around her legs. The ones binding her arms go next, but the one around her middle is resilient, and she lets out a howl of anguish. The lights above her burst and glass showers down. The monitor beside her fritzes and the frame cracks, sparks flying out of the chipped chasms.

Finally.

Finally, after what has to have been hours of torture, the pain starts to subside and fast. Endorphins flood her system. It's so pleasurable. It's like she was plucked from lava and buried in the Arctic. Her surroundings come into focus, and she can finally breathe. Her erratic heart slows, and she relaxes, melting into the firm pad of the cot. Her eyes drift close, but she doesn't fall asleep. She's not tired. She's just…not ready. Her blood is static, and she's unsure how to handle that.

The sound of a door opening and light pouring into the dark room causes her to peel her eyelids back and watch The Baron and Ms. Bērziņš come into the room. Ms. Bērziņš
grabs her wrist and then fingers her neck, catching her pulse. The Baron crunches broken glass beneath his shoes in getting to Hermione's other side. He rubs her forehead and then cups her cheek.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

"What did you do?" she asks, breathless.

"I injected you with a modified version of Dr. Erskine's formula. The abilities you were born with, they're in your DNA. This formula is to allow you access to your full potential. It has strengthened every part of you, enabling you to project your powers to their greatest extent."

Hermione stares.

"Say something, Milas."

"You've made me into a weapon."

"For HYDRA, yes. I plan to show you off to Gideon Malick and Alexander Pierce in a few days. They've been waiting a lot longer than you have about that reward. To them, this is a thirty-year investment."

She frowns, at him and at the band over her middle securing her. She yanks on it, the binding breaking from the buckle with ease. She gasps in surprise, shocked at her strength and toned forearm attached to her hand. Her eyes run over her body, and she's astounded at the changes. Gone is the supine, ballerina physique. In place is a more athletic form, and she feels…

Starved.

"I need to eat. Now."