AN I don't own Marvel or any of its characters! Time for Bucky (my love) but I promise I'm only incredibly biased. From this point on, all chapters will be any mix thereof of the already mentioned characters but I don't plan on adding any new ones. Enjoy!
As she stepped out of the long session with Tony, Coulson stopped her.
"I swear to God, Coulson. If you say you have another agent for me to tame I'll kill you." But Coulson didn't laugh.
"This one's a little more serious, actually. Please just say the word if you can't do it, okay?" She hesitated but nodded, confused now. If she couldn't do it? What the hell was that supposed to mean? What kind of fucked up did he think she wouldn't be able to handle?
Coulson led her to the hospital wing to one of the secure rooms. Restrained to a medical bed, the man tossed and jerked in his sleep. Sweat covered his brow and he was shaking.
"Who is he?" Coulson just motioned towards the door. She got close enough to hear him before she stopped. He was mumbling in Russian. She looked to Coulson in question but he just motioned towards the room again. Silently, she slipped inside.
"Please please stop please don't make me do this!" She stepped closer, watching his body constrict and twist in pain at the dream. "Please not her-" He stopped suddenly.
"Ready to comply." It was her turn to stop. No… She knew those words, that voice. There was no possible way. No, it was a coincidence. She didn't move closer but decided to speak.
"Wake up." The man jolted the second she spoke and tried to lunge-for her, or away from her, she couldn't tell-but was restrained. He stopped and collapsed back onto the bed. His body was covered in bandages and monitors but any sliver of skin that was somehow undamaged was covered by the shield insulating hospital scrubs. Down each arm, each leg, and up his neck. The long hair hid his face but she couldn't breathe and she wasn't totally sure she was ready to see him. Regardless, he wouldn't look at her.
"Let me see your face." He just turned away. There was a mask on the table that she could guess they'd taken from him but he looked so unsettled and uncomfortable with the idea of her seeing his face. He shuddered and tensed like he was trying to brace himself.
"Let me." For a second, neither of them were breathing. There was no way, right? She couldn't let herself even consider the possibility but… It didn't matter. At the command, he stopped. Then, slowly, settled back into a motionless, stiff way of existing that turned him to stone.
"What's my task?" Natasha felt her stomach drop. Task? There was no way. It was impossible, right? She had to see his face. Suddenly, it felt like the floor was falling out from beneath her and she was barely standing, gasping for oxygen somehow. She stepped closer, moving towards the center of the room where he wouldn't be able to hide as easily from her eyes, and tried to see past the long, matted hair and the bandages.
"No, no assignment." She was trying to reassure him, but he jolted even more violently than before. This time, though, it was at her English.
"You speak English?" She nodded, staring at the barest hint of his jaw she could glimpse from under his hair. "In Russia?"
"No, this is the United States. New York, to be exact." The man stiffened even more on the bed. His left shoulder was a little too smooth, too spherical, right? Could it be metal? She edged closer, feeling like every breath dragged her closer to a truth she both needed and dreaded. If it was him… She honestly wasn't sure if she wanted it to be him. His chest heaved on the bed like he was seconds away from a panic attack but then, just like before, he suddenly just stopped. He stilled and, like a machine, settled into a rigid position. The longer she watched him, the more she noticed that there was a darkness in the way he breathed that she didn't really like... It put her on edge, but she couldn't figure out why.
"What's my zadaniye?" She shook her head, though. Zadaniye... That word settled in her gut like lead weights and she wanted to throw it back up, to get rid of it as fast as possible. Like the person she was sent to kill was just an object, a correction. Like pulling the trigger was as easy as putting a fallen book back on the shelf or dusting the mantle. Simple.
"No task," She saw his attention zero in on her word choice, but kept going. "Not from me, at least." Zadaniye meant a lot of things: job, mission, target, assignment… the list went on. But she'd chosen the word task. It wasn't even the best English equivalent, from a language standpoint, but it was the word that carried the same meaning with that same mindless connotation. Killing someone was just completing a task. No different than a child's math homework or the day's chores.
"Who are you?" She stayed quiet for a few beats too long, making him uncomfortable, but she succeeded in making him uneasy enough to shift on the bed. And, then, when she stayed quiet he turned to look at her. Her chest seized in on itself. Outwardly, she was sure she showed no reaction because that was what she was trained to do but internally? Colors swirled and blurred until it seemed like she was breathing in images rather than oxygen, shaking in place and just trying to understand. He stared at her, though, waiting for a response.
"I think you know." He gave her a blank, empty look, even as she grabbed the end of the bed to steady herself. There was so much weight in his face, now, and so many new scars. But those eyes were the same. Cold and grey with only a slight tinge of blue to rival the coldest Russian winter.
"You work with Hydra?" She didn't grimace, though. She couldn't-not when she was staring into those eyes and watching them dance and deepen like swirls of snowflakes under moonlight. He didn't know her. She repeated that to herself over and over again but it didn't help the ache in her chest.
"Not anymore." The thought crossed his face before he could hide it: there was no escaping Hydra. People didn't leave Hydra. Not alive. He really didn't know her...
"Am I dead?" He was so serious, so completely deadpanned, that she wanted to cry. This wasn't the beautiful kind of cold that she was used to, this was like frozen steel. He sounded almost… hopeful? He wanted to be dead. Looking at him, she felt tears sear inside her, refusing to fall. His face was so apathetic, so empty, like he didn't care if he was alive or if he was dead or if she was going to haul him off to cryo again. This wasn't winter.
"No, you're not dead." He looked honest to god disappointed.
"Are you a hallucination?" She had to bite her lip to keep from saying something she would regret. Deep breaths. Slowly, she forced oxygen through her lungs as she stared at him.
"No." He didn't mean it as a compliment, there was no twist of you're so beautiful I must be dreaming. He meant it as a serious question. He didn't trust that she was real. He didn't trust that this wasn't some sick game, some play at his emotions, even though he didn't recognize her. He was still afraid of her, he still thought of her as a weakness, even when he didn't know her...
"Who are you?" She bit her lip harder, drawing blood, but couldn't stop her feet from stepping closer to the hospital bed. He was restrained. He couldn't hurt her, not easily at least. But her hands still shook as she stilled beside the bed. She knew she shouldn't try to spark anything in him because it was cruel and she would only be disappointed if it didn't work but she couldn't stop herself.
"You don't recognize me, Zim?" On the bed, he froze. He stared at her, his eyes not really seeing, for what felt like centuries. There was no recognition in his face, not yet, but there was a lack of indifference that let her hope. He was so confused, his brow furrowing in thought, but he just stared at her.
"My name is Zimniy Soldat." She smiled at the full title-Winter Soldier-because they both knew that wasn't his real name, that wasn't even what anyone had ever called him, but the words bubbled up from her gut before she could think to stop them.
"Yeah, and mine is Krasnaya Shapochka." He stared at her, unblinking. Little Red Riding Hood. No one had called her that for years but it rolled off her lips like honey. The heart monitor beside the bed began to shriek in protest but she didn't need to hear it to know his heart was racing out of control, or that he was scarcely breathing. She didn't feel much better, honestly.
"Krasna…" he whispered, rolling the nickname around in his mouth like he was trying to remember the taste. She shouldn't have said that, she knew. It was too much too fast and it was probably better if he didn't remember but it was too late for that now. Too late to go back… Her hand brushed along the leather of the cuff on his wrist.
"Are you yourself right now?" He stayed quiet, just looking at her. "Will you hurt me if I take these off?" Slowly, he swallowed and just looked at her like he was trying to steel himself to speak.
"Probably." There was so much defeat laced into his voice she wanted to scream and throw something because she hated the way it pooled in her gut like poison. He sounded so fucking helpless! But she didn't let herself hesitate or overthink it, she just reached out and started loosening the leather. And, honestly, if he did hurt her? She wasn't sure that she cared anymore.
"The door is reinforced from the outside…" It was supposed to be a deterrent against escape but he just nodded, refusing to look away from her. He didn't care if it was locked, she could see that plain as day. That choked sadness in his face wasn't at being held captive, it was at trying to remember. Slowly, she undid the latch on his left wrist. She had to sit on the edge of the cot to reach over him but, surprisingly, she didn't jump when her fingers touched the cold metal of his left arm. He just stared at her.
"They'll shoot us both before they let you escape…" Again, he just nodded. She moved to his right wrist but hesitated. The left was stronger, realistically, and she should have feared that if she was going to fear him at all. But the skin to skin contact seemed so much more daunting.
"I hurt you, didn't I?" His voice trembled out into the air almost as badly as her hands did, fumbling with the latch.
"Yeah, but I hurt you too." Then, suddenly, his wrist was free. They just sat there in silence, unable to look away, and she was so caught up in that steely grey that she didn't notice he'd lifted his hand. She jumped when he touched her cheek, but only for a second. He startled more than she did, actually.
"You're warm." She nodded, barely noticing that he'd slipped back into Russian, but he looked so shocked by that… She had to reach out, to cover his hand with her own and hold it a little tighter against her cheek. His skin felt like ice. She shuddered at the thought, imagining the crystals of ice on his hands and the frigid bite from the cryo gas. How many times had they froze him like that?
"Do you remember me?" He started to shake his head, to just deflate on the bed in front of her, but she didn't let him get that far. "Do you remember this?" She grabbed his hand and moved it to her stomach. Carefully, she lifted her shirt and pressed his palm against the scar there, where he'd shot through her. As she watched, his eyes closed and he traced it slightly. The longer she let him, the more he tensed and started to grimace until his face was as twisted up in pain as the scar tissue on her stomach.
"I hurt you…" he whispered again, letting his fingers brush against her skin. She stopped him by taking his hand again and moving it back to her cheek, holding it there. Slowly, she felt his palm relax and cup her cheek as he ran his thumb gently beneath her left eye. Dear god she wanted to cry. She felt like she was seven years old again, watching the winter soldier massacre entire cities worth of people. But, the longer they sat there, the more his gaze softened. That hard, bullet-grey in his eyes let a little more blue leak into it.
"Krasnaya Shapochka…." He said it blankly, like he was repeating her rather than remembering it or calling her it, but it was progress. "You… They told me you were dead?" She shook her head before the words were even out of his mouth, though, trying again in vain to reassure him. That sentence alone seemed to do more damage than any other phrase they'd ever spoken. He thought she was dead.
"No, I'm alive..." Her lower lip started to tremble, even as his thumb reached out to wipe away nonexistent tears. She wouldn't let herself cry, not now and not for this reason, but they were both far closer to tears than they'd been in a long time. He still didn't look like he'd aged a day.
"Krasnaya Shapochka… Krasnaya..." he breathed, barely letting the words ghost out over his lips. "My Krasna…" She felt the tear, just balanced in the corner of her eye, but the way his voice broke over that damn nickname was enough to send it tumbling down her cheek. He caught it, barely, but before she could even react she was in his arms. She didn't want to push him too far or force it but she couldn't stop herself from reaching out and clinging to him at that one fucking word. His Krasna. It shattered her right then and there, and she felt every aftershock tremble through her body and into his. He didn't push her away or fight, though. She curled into his lap and buried her face in his chest as the tears came pouring out but he just held her, smoothing her hair with one hand as he did.
"I'm so sorry Zim-" But he shook his head before she could finish. She thought maybe he was going to tell her to stop apologizing for this display of weakness because he didn't understand that she was apologizing for so much more but he didn't say a word. Instead, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and let out a shaky breath. He was crying, too, she realized. Tears fell as he hid his face in her hair but she managed to free her arms and wrap them around his neck, hugging him back just as tightly. She just needed something, some way to hold onto him and hold his pieces together as tightly as he was holding hers.
"I thought… They told me you were dead. I heard you were dead, Krasna.." She bit her lip, barely feeling the whisper against her ear, but refused to let it send her into another round of sobs.
"The same rumors could be spread about you, if you wanted them to be." It meant the world to her that he hesitated on that. Because he wasn't dismissing it. Hesitation meant he was considering it, meant that he trusted it was actually an option, a choice. Meant that he still trusted her. Even after so long.
"No, Krasna. They said-after Belarus…" She let a sob slip out before she could stop it and tried to clamp her hand over her mouth but he wouldn't let her. That.. ruined it. That changed everything. Belarus. The one time she'd failed the Red Room. The time he was sent after her.
"You thought you killed me?" He just held her, his cheek pressed against her forehead, and let out a few shaky breaths against her skin. There was so much guilt and so much shame even in just hiding his face from her that she wanted to scream at the world, at everyone who had done this to him. They'd told him that he killed her.
"You really think that isn't something I'm capable of?" She winced but just squeezed his hand to make his grip a little tighter. It was like he was afraid she would shatter if he touched her.
"You really think I'm that easy to kill?" He laughed beneath her and it rumbled up into her body but it was so foreign and so pure that she almost started crying again. She made him laugh. Even when they'd first met she couldn't remember even making him smile, let alone laugh. It's taken years to get close enough to him to even see his smile… He was remembering her.
Thanks for reading! I love WinterWidow, if that wasn't clear, but Clint and Steve are definitely still in the picture as well as the other platonic relationships. Please review!