Happy New Year everybody!

Hope everyone has had a good rest of their holidays. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorite this story so far; it really means a lot!

I don't own Captain America.

Enjoy!

-:-

Natasha woke with a gasp.

One second she was under, deep under, a force like the ocean pushing and pulling her down, crushing her under its weight. Then the next, she jolted awake, breaking the surface of the water. She sucked in several mouthfuls of precious oxygen, feeling her lungs expand and compress with each breath she took. Memories flashed behind her lids, a jumble of words and images that made her dizzy. She was crying, tears blurring her visons, tears for the man in red, white, and blue. A funeral, kept small, but she knew people everywhere were wearing black for the fallen hero. An emblem of an eagle, for Steve, to protect the people he had died protecting. The shattering of glass and the crackle of fire and her screams of defiance as the man with the metal arm took her away. They brought her God knows where; it was dark and cold and reminded her of the way she felt after Steve died. They tested her, questioned her, but she did not break, so they froze her.

Natasha let out a strangled cry. Her mind felt like it was splitting in half. Memories continued to rush forward. She tried to block the onslaught of emotions and images that were barraging against the walls of her skull. She went to reach up and clutch her head, only to find that she couldn't move. She looked down to see that leather cuffs bound her wrists and ankles, strapping her down to a metal operating table. She strained against the material, hearing the thick cuffs stretch, but they didn't come off. Not that she really expected them to.

Natasha wiggled her wrists, trying to get some leeway so she could at least get one of her hands out. While she did this, she looked around the room she was in. It was small, probably no more than fifteen feet across and ten feet wide. The walls were made of heavy gray bricks, with a single, heavy steel door set into the gray wall in front of her. She didn't see any cameras in the room itself, but she would bet money that they had at least one installed outside the door. Last she remembered, she'd been wearing nothing more than her bra and pants, but they'd put her in a t-shirt and her leather jacket was sitting on a small table next to her, along with a glass of stale looking water.

She took a deep breath and looked down at her right hand, which she was trying to release from its bond. She squeezed her hand together, making it as small as she possibly could. He tugged and pulled while simultaneously wiggling her hand bit by bit, watching the leather of the cuff crawl slowly up her skin. It took several more minutes and she glanced at the door often, expecting someone to come in any minute and sedate her, put her back under and tie her down so it would be impossible for her to escape. But it was quiet, eerily so. The only sounds were her own labored breathing and the pounding of her heart.

Finally, with a small gasp of victory, Natasha's hand popped free of its bond. She immediately rushed to undo the clasp on her left hand, freeing that wrist too. She made quick work of the straps around her ankles and then she slid quietly off the cold table and slipped on her jacket. Her combat boots were soundless on the stone floor as she crept over to the door. The door had a small, dirty window on it and she looked through it. She saw a hallway stretching out to the left, a dead-end to the right. There wasn't a security camera that she could see, but there were two guards posted outside her door. Though they were fairly heavily armed, with large assault rifles held across their chests, they both looked bored, half-asleep. They probably weren't expecting her to wake up any time soon, much less get out of her bonds. Natasha almost laughed at how easy it was going to be to take them out.

When she reached out to quietly test the doorknob, she found it locked, as to be expected. Natasha exhaled slowly, pushing her hair back away from her face. She looked back at the cuffs that had strapped her down just moments before. Even if she could get the metal tip from the buckle out, there was no way it would fit in the tiny lock. She had nothing on her to pick the lock, either. That meant Plan B. taking a deep breath, Natasha reached out and knocked on the door. She moved quickly, pressing back against the wall, hearing the guards outside react. Seconds later, one of the guards slowly started to open the door, gun held up. Before he could get any further, Natasha struck down on his arm, catching him by surprise. She twisted the gun out of his grasp and then swept his feet out from underneath him. As he went down, she smashed his head against the wall, knocking him out cold. By the time the other guy realized what was happening and moved for his rifle, Natasha had already fired two rounds into the second man's chest before he had time to put his finger on the trigger.

She fired two more rounds into the unconscious guy's chest for good measure. Natasha grabbed another of their pistols and a tactical knife and tucked them into the back of her pants. She held the other pistol aloft, listening to see if anyone else was coming her way. When she was sure she couldn't hear the sound of an army's worth of footsteps pounding her way, she moved forward down the hallway. She moved quietly through the halls, letting her instincts guide her. She came across a few more people who, too surprised to do much other than stare at her, were easily put down.

She was grateful for being so unchallenged, but it almost made her more uneasy than if the place had been crawling with Hydra members. She'd had tons of security on her before they froze her, so what happened between then and now? Even as she thought that, Natasha wondered exactly when now was. Had she been frozen for a few hours? Days? Weeks? Her heart plummeted to think it had been years, but the only way she would be able to tell was when she got the hell out of there.

Natasha rounded a corner and found all those Hydra agents she'd been thinking about a moment earlier. She counted six. Five of them rushed at her at once. As she dodged their blows and dealt ones of her own, she saw the other agent head over to the far wall and pull a red lever. Alarms started blaring, red lights flashing haphazardly in front of her vision. She fired into a Hydra agent and swung up on another's shoulders, squeezing her thighs together to bring him down. A minute or two later and the five dead bodies that surrounded her. She turned and looked at the last man.

He lifted up a walkie-talkie, talking quickly into it. "Call in the asset, now! She's awake! I repeat, she's aw—"

Natasha didn't allow him to finish before emptying a bullet into his head. Stepping over his body, she headed the way she'd seen the agents coming from, hoping that wherever that was, there was an exit. She came up on a steel door, and peering through its window, saw a series of metal stairs and catwalks surrounding a large floor area, filled with crates, weapons, vehicles, and other machinery. People were running around, moving things, and coming from the far right corner, she saw a hoard of at least a dozen Hydra agents, all heading her way.

Deciding she had no better route, she pushed open the steel door and headed quickly down the first set of metal stairs. She counted the seconds in her head. One, two, three, four…She made it all the way to seventeen before she heard voices shouting and she looked down to see several of them pointing at her. Cursing under her breath, she started heading across one of the catwalks, pushing a worker off, barely hearing his screams as he fell and crashed down onto a huge pile of crates.

Just as she leaped down onto another set of stairs—all that much closer to freedom—she was knocked down. She saw the glint of silver out of the corner of her eye and dread filled her stomach. She didn't even have to look up to know who the asset was that they had called in. He struck down with his metal fist, and he probably would have crushed her skull if she hadn't moved. Natasha rolled, grabbing onto the edge of the stairs and swung herself down onto the catwalk below her. She felt the catwalk tremble as he followed. She jumped off that last catwalk and landed on the top of a large crate. She ran, bullets scorching the wood beside her feet as she ran. Just as she was about to leap off the grate and onto solid ground, a bullet clipped her arm, and she gasped, stumbling. She picked herself up, not daring to look back.

She jumped down, landing in a somersault, ignoring the sudden pain in her right arm. Ducking amongst the crates, she spotted the Hydra agents arranging themselves in a loose circle around her, but they weren't attacking. She figured the man with the metal arm didn't want them getting in his way. As Natasha skirted around a large truck, bullets ricocheted off the metal body, right next to her head. She found cover, but when she looked to see where the metal-armed man had shot from, she couldn't find him. Her heart pounded in her chest. She was so close. She could feel it. But the only way to freedom was getting past this guy, and several times now he'd stopped her from doing so.

She listened for the sound of footsteps, but, aside for the blaring of the alarms, she heard nothing. Moving her position just a couple of inches, Natasha was able to look around the other side of the truck. There, on the wall opposite to her, was a door. Some of the weight lifted off her shoulders. She had a goal now, she knew where she was going. First, though, she needed to figure out where the asset was. It was risky to just run out in plain view, especially when he could, quite possibly, be up on the catwalks—a perfect position to gun her down from. But, she supposed, it was better than sitting here waiting for him to sneak up on her and executing her from behind.

Taking a deep breath, clutching her gun in her hand, Natasha darted out from behind the truck and ran. She weaved in between the crates, keeping her eyes on the door. Yet, nobody fired on her. It was too easy. But the door was right there and Natasha could practically smell the fresh air.

Then, out of her peripheral, she saw him. Just a flash of silver and she was throwing her arms up to block his fist as he attempted to rain it down on her, and she lost her gun in the progress. He wore no goggles again, but his mask was still there, and she grabbed for it, but he caught her wrist. He twisted and she was flipped over onto her back. She rolled and came up behind him, kicking out at the backs of his knees. He stumbled and she kicked him down, grabbed him in a choke-hold. He struggled for a minute before gaining some strength and throwing her off him. Recovering, Natasha leapt to her feet and exchanged blows with him, parrying his fists as much as he was with her blows. Then, with some stroke of luck on her part, he overreached and she ducked under his blow, grabbing his arm and throwing him to the ground. He was just getting back to his feet, twisting out of her grasp, when she yanked off his mask.

Natasha's heart plummeted to the floor and she stumbled backwards. He must've seen the shock on her face because he paused in attacking her. With the mask gone, she could see who clearly was beneath it, but her brain refused to process what she was seeing. Her heart, clenching in her chest, was telling her the truth of the situation, that it was really him, but it didn't make sense. She'd been there. She had watched Steve reach out, hand so close to that of his best friends. She had heard the metal creak and snap. She had watched him fall, watched him die. And yet, here he was, standing here in front of her. It was the same man, but a completely different man altogether. Natasha backed up, not wanting him to get any closer.

"Bucky," she breathed.

His brow wrinkled in confusion, but it quickly faded, and he moved towards her again. There was no recognition whatsoever in his eyes.

"Bucky?" she tried again. "James? Come on, it's me. It's Natasha."

There was a slight pause, and then he spoke, his voice familiar but completely different at the same time. "I don't know you."

Natasha could barely think; all she knew was that she had to get out of there. She pushed one of the crates closest to her, startling him just long enough to run the last hundred feet to the door. She burst through into a moderately sized warehouse yard. It was less busy than inside the warehouse, with just a few trucks going here and there, people too preoccupied with moving supplies to put all their attention into stopping her. She sucked in the fresh air. Focusing on breathing helped…kind of. She could hear shouting behind her, but she didn't dare look back.

She pushed her legs as fast as they would go, her lungs burning in her chest. Alarms screamed behind her and the gates started closing. A few guards were trying to rally in front of the gates, but she barreled through them before they could even flick the safety off their guns. She squeezed through the gate right before it closed and made a sharp turn into an alley. She made several more sharp turns, trying to get herself lost so there was no way they could find her.

Natasha finally decided it was safe to head out onto a main street. She slowed her pace to a walk, trying to blend in with the people walking alongside her. She felt better now that she was out of that place, but she wasn't safe yet. And as she walked, eyes flickering over her surroundings, her hopes were only dashed further. With the bustling of traffic and the sight of a—mostly—familiar skyline, she figured out she was in New York. So they transported her to the U.S. after freezing her. But that wasn't what bothered her. The buildings were different, the cars were longer and thinner, the clothes people wore were different. Natasha walked a few more blocks, the uneasy feeling growing in her stomach the further away she got.

She spotted a newspaper stand and stopped, ignoring the weird looks she got. She was bloody, beat-up, probably looked more than a little out of her mind. Overall, she was sure she looked horrible, but at the moment she didn't care. She looked at the top of the paper, eyes searching out the date. Just when she thought she couldn't lose any more hope, she just about broke down right then and there. May 27th, 1968. Her head was swimming and nothing was making sense. Except, it all made perfect sense. They'd frozen her. For twenty-two years.

-:-

SSR Base; December, 1943

During dinner Bucky cornered Steve.

Bucky was still getting used to looking up at his best friend versus down. Though he was shorter than Steve now, Steve still managed to look tiny as Bucky gave him a look.

"You recruited her?" he whisper-shouted, glancing over Steve's shoulder to see Natalia—or, rather, it was Natasha now—sitting at a table with Peggy Carter. The two women were conversing politely, but almost everyone else in the dining hall was giving Natasha wary looks. Rumors had flown fast around base that she was an assassin with dozens, probably hundreds, of kills under her belt. With her loose, bright red hair she stood out like a flame in the dimness of the mess hall.

Bucky looked back at Steve who was gaping like a fish. Bucky nearly laughed. His best friend may have grown almost a foot and gained a shit-ton of muscle, but he was still that awkward little kid Bucky had befriended on the playground when they were kids. And for all the clever one-liners Steve made, he was terrible under pressure.

"Well?" Bucky prodded.

"I didn't technically recruit her. It's more like she'll be part of the team till she repays her debt," Steve replied lamely.

"A debt, Steve? That's what you got her on? Seriously? She tried to kill you!"

"Yeah, and, well, now she owes me," Steve argued. "She'll be fine. She agreed willingly. Mostly willingly, anyway."

"You ever stop to think why that is?"

Steve shrugged, a look of uncertainty crossing his features. "It was her best bet, I guess."

"You don't know anything about her, Steve. How do you know she won't just end up stabbing you in the back?" Bucky asked, his worry—the worry he'd held since childhood—creeping into his voice, which he tried so hard to keep under control.

"She won't," Steve promised gently.

Bucky sighed, knowing he wasn't going to win this battle. "I could throttle you, you know that?"

Steve grinned and Bucky felt some of his worry melt away.

"You wouldn't know what to do without me," Steve quipped.

Bucky rolled his eyes as they headed back to the table Natasha and Peggy were at, but Bucky knew it was true. Bucky didn't have many friends, but Steve had always been there by his side. Steve sat down next to Natasha, on the opposite side of Bucky.

Before he sat down on the bench next to Peggy, Bucky held out a hand to Natasha. "I don't think we've been properly introduced," he said with half a smile as Natasha reached out to shake his hand, green eyes meeting his. "I'm Sergeant James Barnes, but everyone just calls me Bucky."

"Natasha," she replied, watching his every move as he sat down and got comfortable on the bench.

"I heard," he replied. "I've heard a lot of things about you the last few hours, actually."

Natasha's face went from polite openness to cold and shut down in half a second. Her green eyes watched him dangerously and she sat up straighter, her body becoming taut, like a wire. Bucky flicked his gaze over to Steve, who gave him a warning look. Peggy shifted beside him, clearing her throat softly. The lighthearted air around the table had disappeared, but Bucky didn't care. Natasha's pretty face made her look harmless enough, but that didn't mean Bucky gave her one inch of trust, especially around Steve.

Natasha leaned forward, gaze boring his. "Tell me, Sergeant Barnes, what have you heard about me?"

"Enough," Bucky replied, not letting her faze him. "You're an assassin. You've killed people. Tell me, is that, like, a dozen kills? Two dozen perhaps? Or are we talking more triple digits?"

"Bucky," Steve hissed softly.

"It's fine," Natasha said, one corner of her mouth quirking up the tiniest bit, though the rest of her features remained unchanged. "Let me ask you, though, Sergeant...how many people have you killed? Hmm? Tell me, what makes you so much different than me?"

"I am completely different than you," Bucky said calmly. "I don't go around killing people for no reason."

"The people giving me orders had plenty of reason for having me cross them off. Did I always know that reason? No. But I was following orders. Just like you are."

Bucky clenched his jaw, unsure of how to respond. Natasha seemed to notice that she had him and sat back in her seat. Steve and Peggy had been quiet for the rest of the exchange. Bucky risked a look over at Steve who gave the tiniest shake of his head. Bucky knew his best friend was disappointed, angry, even, at his behavior. And maybe he had been a little out of line, but it didn't mean he felt bad about it.

Peggy cleared her throat and stood suddenly. "I'm going to excuse myself. Natasha, I will make sure to get you somewhere to sleep. I'll come get you when everything's ready."

"Thank you, Agent Carter," Natasha replied politely, never taking her eyes off Bucky.

Peggy left, and a moment later, Steve stood. Bucky did the same, followed by Natasha. The three of them walked in a deafening silence. When Bucky looked over, Natasha seemed at ease, despite the tense air between them. Steve, though, was pointedly not looking at either of them, his back stiff as he took the lead through base. They had almost gotten to their quarters when Colonel Phillips stopped Steve.

"Rogers, a word, please," the Colonel asked, ducking back into his office.

"Yes, sir," Steve mumbled. He then turned to look between the two of them. He didn't say anything, but his gaze lingered on Bucky a moment longer and Bucky got the message: don't do anything stupid till I get back. Bucky nodded, but the second Steve disappeared inside the Colonel's office, Bucky turned on Natasha.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bucky hissed, pulling her towards the corner of the hallway so they had more privacy.

"Standing," she replied bluntly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I mean what the hell are you doing here?" he edited. "One minute you're trying to kill Steve and the next your best buddies? Agreeing to team up with him? Why?"

"I owe him. I'm just sticking around long enough to pay my debt to him, and then I'm gone."

"Don't give me that bullshit," Bucky snapped.

"It's the truth," she ground out.

"Right," he scoffed. "This is coming right from the goodness of your cold, dead heart. Don't even try to lie. This is about your own damn self-preservation!"

"Yes!" she shouted softly, an angry fire burning in her green eyes. Despite being quite shorter than him, she was intimidating, standing just as firmly as he was. "You're right. If I go back to Russia now, they'll find out I'm alive and eventually they will hunt me down and kill me. Sue me for wanting to not run the rest of my life. Doesn't mean I was lying when I said I wasn't going to hurt Rogers."

"Why should I believe you?" Bucky snapped at her.

"You shouldn't. No one here should. Trusting me in the first place is stupid. But if I make a promise, I keep it. You have my word that I will not hurt Steve Rogers." She paused. "Your precious Captain America."

Bucky kept her gaze, feeling his own anger bubble up inside of him. "You better mean that, or—"

"Or what? You'll kill me?" she was smiling, looking almost like she was trying to stifle a laugh. Apparently his threats were simply amusing to her. "I said I wouldn't hurt Rogers. I never said anything about not hurting you."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, wouldn't I?" she lifted one delicate eyebrow. "How do you know? The point is: you don't know. You don't know a damned thing about me, Sergeant. Just because you hear a little gossip while standing around the urinals does not make it true. So don't you dare presume to think that you know anything about me."

"Natasha?" Peggy came up just then, before Bucky could even think of a good response.

"Goodnight, Sergeant Barnes," Natasha dipped her head politely, but her face held no warmth.

Then she was next to Peggy and the two of them were walking away down the hall, disappearing around a corner just as Steve came out.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked as he approached. "Where's Natasha?"

"Peggy came and got her," Bucky replied flatly.

"Okay," Steve said slowly. "Well, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I just….I'm sorry about the way I acted," he muttered.

Steve sighed and nodded in understanding, giving Bucky a quick clap on the shoulder. "Look, Buck, I know it's a risk, bringing her on. But I didn't think she deserved to get killed for following orders. I think I can trust her for the time that she's here. I know you don't, but at least if you don't trust her, please trust me."

Bucky nearly laughed at how quickly Steve could melt his resolve with just a few words. Bucky shook his head and chuckled. "Yeah, I trust you, punk. I still don't trust her, but I'll at least try to be…polite, okay?"

Steve laughed. "Better than nothing, I suppose."

"Damn right," Bucky grinned.

Bucky figured it wouldn't do any good to crush Steve's hope in Natasha by telling him that she wasn't in it so much because she wanted to switch sides, but more so to save her own skin. So he followed Steve back to their quarters and, as he settled in for the night, tried not to think about the fiery red-head coming in here in the middle of the night and gutting his best friend.

-:-

So, there's chapter 4!

If you would, please take a moment to leave me your thoughts! I would love to know what you guys think so far!

Thanks for reading!

-DaughterOfPoseidon333