Part 2: Winter, Early 1945

Over the next few weeks, Bucky was increasingly exposed to more dangerous (and painful) sessions, all with the goal of refining his fighting skills. Bucky was forced to fight other soldiers that HYDRA had experimented on until one of them could be declared winner. At first, Bucky was typically out with a swift blow to the head (as he often refused to fight despite the promise of protection and a reward), but he was soon fighting back—and harder.

Meanwhile, Liesl's nighttime visits to her favorite soldat, as she called him, had only increased. Bucky reluctantly began to trust her, and they spent most of their time talking in hushed voices about their past lives. Bucky was grateful for the reprieve—to feel like a person again—and the small flame in Liesl's heart was stoked every time he smiled at her.

As time went on, it was becoming clear among the murmurs in their little corner of HYDRA—the serum was working. Perhaps not at the same strength as Captain America's, but it was nothing that a little training couldn't improve.

"The only remaining problem is his behavior," Emil explained during a meeting. Around them, the pained moans of their patients and beeps from the machines monitoring their lives filled the room. "Liesl, how is the machine coming?"

Liesl knew he was referring to her project—a mind-eraser intended to control erratic patients. Liesl had put off working on the machine once she saw its dangers, but lately, Zola and the others were clamoring for an immediate completion date. It was in those moments, as she spent long days tinkering with the mechanics, that she thought of Bucky. She often wondered if he was right—would it be better to escape and die in the Siberian winter than live here and perpetuate evil?

"It's coming," she replied simply. Some men huffed at her answer, so she clarified, "Should be done shortly."

"How much longer?" another scientist asked. "Do you need assistance?"

"Barnes would be the perfect test case for it," a third man said.

Her airway tightened. "Not yet," she said hastily. "I'm not at the testing phase."

"You must hurry, Liesl," Emil said warningly, "We may not have much more time."

"I'm aware of the pressure," she retorted.

"I can assist," the scientist insisted. "Prep Barnes. We'll make him cooperate."

Her heart tightened with nerves. Just like that, more pain was going to come speeding at Bucky like an out of control train.

With that thought solidified, the men in the room stood. Liesl obeyed a second later, just as they instinctively barked, "Hail, HYDRA!"

Her lips did not move.

Almost immediately after the meeting, the scientist descended on the brainwasher. Liesl busied herself by testing medications and variations of the serum, but she kept peeking at the man out of the corner of her eye. The truth was the machine was essentially at completion—but she loathed the thought that she had created this machine, a pathetic, desperate attempt to earn the approval of her superiors. How quickly she learned approval was not what she needed—it was survival.

After a few hours, the scientist left triumphantly. Emil entered moments later, towering over his daughter.

"Franz says the work is done," he said casually.

"Good for him," she replied, not bothering to make eye contact. "It helps to have another pair of eyes on a project."

"Enough, Liesl," he boomed, smacking her workbook out of her vision. "You need to stop protecting the soldier. Zola and the others… they are suspicious."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she maintained her neutral tone. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do," Emil insisted, "And if you don't keep your distance, the consequences will be bigger than you can handle."

"They'll eliminate me?" she asked as casually as if they were discussing lunch plans.

"I have stuck my neck out for you too many times," Emil replied simply. "If you have persuasion, tell him to cooperate… it will be easier for him and for you."

His tone indicated a threat. Liesl met his stern eyes. "I cannot make him do anything because I have no power over him."

"If you are not loyal," Emil warned, "You will pay the price."

That night, Bucky lost his temper after a round of forced fighting. His anger was to be expected, and the medical team usually solved the problem by sedating him. Tonight, though, they tested the brainwashing machine for the first time. The sounds of electricity flowing through his head mixed with his agonized screams so potently that Liesl sought refuge in an operating room on the other side of the compound. Her heart pounded so uncomfortably against her chest that she thought she might pass out. It was her fault he was in pain. Her fault, her fucking fault…

Her nails dug into the exposed skin on her arms. Maybe she didn't deserve to live.

Later, after a warm cup of tea and positive conversation amongst her HYDRA cohorts about the potential success of her evil creation, Liesl slipped into Bucky's holding cell. She brought him cool cloths and numbing medication. His eyes were closed, and some of his hair around his temple was still smoldering slightly.

"Soldat," she whispered, gently touching his face. "I'm so sorry."

Bucky groaned, rolling his head into her palm.

"How are you feeling? How is your memory?"

"Like hell," he mustered, his voice gravelly.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated.

Bucky's eyes fluttered open. He still looked like the scared soldier they rescued from the snow weeks ago, but his face and body had hardened. His metal arm, once a foreign addition, moved like it was a part of him. Even if they managed to escape, Bucky Barnes would be a different man than he was in the military.

"Where's home for you?" he asked as she began to tend to his wounds.

"Berlin," she answered. "But I doubt there's anything left of it now."

"Where would you go if you got out of here?"

One town immediately came to mind. "I use to travel to a small town with my mother for the holidays… down by the Swiss border. It's called Froelich." Bucky stared at her with blank eyes. She teased, "Your German could use some improvement. It means happy."

He grinned, revealing a deep cut stemming from the corner of his mouth. "Your happy place?"

She smiled in return. "Where's your happy place?"

"It was Brooklyn. You ever been to the US?"

"No."

"I'll take you when all this is over," he said with a smile. "But first, we'll rendezvous in Froelich."

She shook her head. Over, in her understanding, meant death.

"Whatever you say, soldat."

She resumed her work in silence, freezing whenever she thought she heard footsteps outside of his cell. After a few moments, Bucky broke the silence.

"Do you think it will work?"

"Was?"

"The machine," he said nervously. "Do you think I'll actually lose my memories?"

"It was designed to stimulate brain damage," she explained, "So most likely, yes."

"I would rather be dead," he said bitterly.

"Me too," she agreed.

Bucky held her stare for a beat that felt like hours. When her mind swirled with images of him kissing her, she pulled away.

"Good night, soldat."

He did not call after her.