October 4 1943

The screaming never stopped until sunset. Christiane sat in the corner, keeping to herself as she had to hear the screams of the one she loved. Each pause was hope deteriorating as it resumed again. Christiane hadn't slept since she awoke in the cages with Dugan, Jones and the rest of the 107th amongst other prisoners watching her.

Each sound made her flinch, trying to keep at bay the memories of Paris with the Resistance - the shouting, the heavy boots stepping on cold concrete floors. She pulled her knees closer to her, as if making herself into a ball would protect her from everything around her. Protect herself from guilt with each eye contact she made with them in a second.

Dugan watched her since they threw her into the cage alone without Barnes. She paced around, muttering to herself at first, before pulling herself into the corner, taking in the sounds of screaming before it looked like she had to block it out altogether. In glimpses, he saw her cheeks stained with tears, dark circles around her eyes.

"Pst. Psst." He walked over a sleeping Morita, getting closer to the cage's edge to hers. He couldn't bear watching her consume herself in grief and guilt.

Her eyes moved to his, focusing against the darkness.

"Christiane, right?"

She nodded, pulling at the sleeves of her jacket over her hands.

"I'm Dugan, Dum Dum Dugan," he tried to smile to her encouragingly as she nodded in return, her eyes going back to the floor, numb and empty.

Dugan hesitated, trying to think of a way to bring the girl back. He took a look at her as she laid herself on her side, back towards them.

He elbowed Jones, "Come on, that's Bucky's girl there. She looked after us at one point. She's part of us now."

"Dugan, we don't know what she or Barnes have been through up there," he looked up to the balcony where Zola and Schmidt occasionally looked out.

Morita yawned, getting himself up, "Who knows if Barnes is still alive at this point. No one's made it out except for her," he pointed his head to her direction.

Dugan slapped him in the back of the head, as Morita immediately clasped his head in pain.
"A bit louder, why don't you?" Sending a glare towards Morita as he put his head down.

"Point is, we can't let her eat herself up like that. Barnes looked out for us, and she looked out for us too. She made sure we were safe." He looked to her, taking a deep breath.

Jacques took an eye towards her, then back to Dugan, his voice low, "Barnes did mention she is French."

"Your point?" Jones leaned in closer, pulling Dugan by his side.

"Let me try something," his accent heavily laced in French, "we Frenchmen and women are proud and victorious. Barnes said she was once in the Resistance. She just needs a little push," as Jacques got up, a hand grasping a bar on the cage as he readied himself.

"Jacques, what are you going to do?" Dugan looked between the Frenchman and Christiane.

Jacques glanced at the girl, her back towards them. He thought of the song that rallied rebellion fighters in his home country, that brought partisans and countrymen hope and that lifted the spirits of French men and women, even for just a moment. It surely had to work for this girl. He turned around to his men, "I am going to sing our country's anthem".

He cleared his throat, trying to find a moment to begin.

Dugan stood beside him, elbowing him as encouragement, "Go on Jacques, come on."

He took a deep breath, singing the first words.

Allons enfants de la patrie.

He paused, singing slowly but surely in his mellow voice.

La jour de gloire est arrivé.

Christiane's ears pricked to the sound of someone singing, goosebumps forming on her arms. She felt herself slowly getting up to face the man singing it.

He paused again, waiting for her to face him. Christiane felt her heart beat faster, a sense of hope as she stood up, getting closer to the edge of her cage with theirs. Men around looked up, suddenly seeing the girl stand for the first time, her voice loud and clear.

Contre nous de la tyrannie, L'étendard sanglant est levé,

He joins her,

L'étendard sanglant est levé. Entendez-vous, dans les campagnes.

"Louder Jacques! Louder Christiane!" shouted Dugan, glancing between the two.

They looked each other in the eye, breathing in unison and singing together, their voices louder.

Mugir ces féroces soldats?

Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras. Égorger vos fils, vos companges!

Their voices grew louder, as Christiane and Jacques started smiling, tears in their eyes.

Aux armes, citoyens! Formez vos bataillons! Marchons, marchons! Qu'un sang impur. Abreuve nos sillons!

The two took a breath, smiling to each other in hope as men around looked to them hopeful, their voices echoing through.

He heard his screaming stop at one point, the point in which he wasn't aware of the pain anymore. Zola had left him alone in his experimentation room, silence aching his ears.

Suddenly, he heard the voice of Jacques, the Resistance fighter who had joined the 107th in Italy. It was joined with Christiane's voice, singing loudly and clearly. His body wanted to move, to swing himself off the the experimentation be, out of the bindings and go to her, yet he stayed there, unable to move. He felt his lips start to turn, a smile forming with each verse of singing.

As the last words were sung, echoing against the cold walls of their holding, Bucky realized he had been holding his breath in, letting it out as he whispered, "You're alive." He felt his heart beat vividly, against his tired body. He wanted to go to her, to protect her, for the woman he loved and lived for. He had something to live for again after the torture Zola had put him through. No matter what Zola did to him, he would have to make it back and make it through for Christiane. He repeated to himself that he would always find her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zola return, a machine being wheeled in and a syringe in his hands.