*I'm back, guys! Sorry it took so long to update. I've had things going on that caused serious writer's block. For those who have actually anticipated this, thank you for taking any interest in my writing it's really an awesome feeling. I made a promise and I'm keeping it. At long last, Buckanie has officially arrived! ;) Well, sort of. Enjoy!*
Surreal. That was the only word her reeling mind could conjure to describe how it felt to hold a tangible part of her past life. The revelation that she had always been property of HYDRA tainted what could have been a moment of excitement. Bittersweet was an understatement; the disheartening feeling was more akin to dread. Her previous belief that Steve was her only connection to the past was false. The journal clutched in her unsteady hands contained all her darkest, innermost thoughts and recollections of her most depraved deeds. All she had to do was flip through the remarkably preserved pages and it would all come rushing back, just like what happened in the elevator with Rumlow.
Apprehensive, she wondered what would happen once she recovered the memories HYDRA robbed from her. What would become of her mind? How much would it change her?
Tearing her eyes from the journal, Melanie met the green eyes of her mysterious friend. "Where did you get this?" she inquired, unable to mask her suspicion.
Warren regarded her indecisively and his thoughts were impossible to decipher. Just as he had hesitated when he officially introduced himself upon rescuing her back at the Triskelion, he internally debated with himself over whether or not to explain. "That's not important right now," he decided, his expression resigned. Grabbing hold of the door, he turned his head away to break eye contact and said, "Watch your leg."
Annoyed with his constant dodging of her questions, Melanie was tempted to pull a childish stunt and refuse to move her injured leg. But, considering the fact they had already lingered far too long in the parking lot where they could easily be spotted by patrolling S.T.R.I.K.E. agents, she did the mature and logical thing and scooted herself back on the seat so her leg wasn't in the way. Warren promptly closed the door and rounded the back of the car, buying himself some time to avoid her perpetually-growing list of questions. Melanie nestled herself in the corner of the backseat, keeping her leg propped up.
Hopping into the front seat, Warren turned the key in the ignition, starting the engine while his eyes carefully scanned the parking lot for any agents that could be prowling around. Melanie did the same; fortunately, no one seemed to be close by. They were safe, at the moment.
"We should catch up to Steve and Natasha," Melanie insisted, propping her injured leg over a pillow that just so happened to have been lying in the floor. Evidently, Warren had slept in his car at least once; there was also a blanket.
"Not happening," he told her curtly, shooting her a stern glare as he looked over his shoulder to back out of the space. "We're going somewhere they can't track us."
"'They' meaning HYDRA?" she asked for clarification. He merely nodded and trained his attention on driving out of the lot, shoulders tense and eyes relentlessly moving left to right. The man wasn't as confident and sure of himself as she previously thought, but that was probably because everything had gone to hell. Melanie knew she should let him focus, but she couldn't put up with his mysterious-and-heroic stranger routine anymore. She wasn't letting him take her anywhere without knowing the details. "Where do you have in mind?"
Steering out of the lot and into the street, Warren waited to answer. When they rolled up to a red light, he finally offered a backward glance. "A friend generously offered to let us crash at his place," he replied sarcastically; the resentment was clear in his tone. "By that, I mean the bastard bled me dry. All the money I saved; gone. If I gave him any less, he would have invited Pierce over for a drink."
"Oh, that sounds promising," Melanie remarked with an equal level of sarcasm.
Warren scoffed, glowering out the windshield as he stepped on the gas the second the light turned green. The streets were busy but otherwise nothing exciting or dangerous was happening. No police were speeding to the scene in response to the gunfire; likely thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D. No suspicious vehicles or aircraft were pursuing them, either. Melanie knew better than to be comforted by that.
"So that's it, huh?" she pressed, folding her arms while trying her damnedest to ignore the painful throbbing of her leg. "We're just running away?"
"That's exactly what we're doing," he responded shamelessly.
"What about Project Insight? Steve and Natasha need our help. I-we- can't abandon them like this," she protested, aware that was very out of character for her. She had always opted to run when the risks were overwhelmingly high. Recent events had definitely changed her perspective.
"I told you, my cover is blown," Warren reminded her tersely. "Going back would be suicide. If those two want to end up like Fury, there's nothing I can do to stop them. Now all I can do is prevent HYDRA from capturing you again."
"But why?" she cried furiously, losing patience. "Why am I so fucking important?"
Warren avoided her burning gaze and stared rigidly ahead. He was tight lipped, adamant about keeping his secrets and determined to transport her wherever in the world he was going.
To hell with playing nice! Snatching her gym bag from the floor, Melanie yanked the zipper open and her eyes fell on the knife still hidden away within. Warren had glanced up at her reflection in the rearview and narrowed his eyes, aware she was up to something. There was nothing he could do about it, though; he was in a very vulnerable position.
His hands tightened on the wheel when he felt the cold blade on his neck. Melanie rested the knife at an angle at the base of his neck, right over the artery; if she applied enough pressure, she could fatally wound him. "Take me to Steve and Natasha," she ordered, sick of being dragged around without explanation.
While he was certainly uncomfortable, he held himself together, showing no fear. Perhaps he didn't take her seriously. "You really want more blood on your hands?" he tested. Meanwhile, he brought the car to a smooth halt at another red light. "I'm just trying to help you."
"Then help us stop Project Insight from being launched."
Disgruntled, Warren let out a huff. Trying not to move with the knife pressed over his artery, he glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. "Don't you get it? It's over, Melanie..." he told her with aggravation that stemmed from regret. Doing his best to steer the car without getting them into an accident, he sighed. "My plan was to infect their systems with a virus to buy some time for Fury. He was onto them and I...I hoped he could handle it. You see how well that worked out for everyone...It's impossible, now; I have no access to their systems. I'm sorry."
Disgusted with him, Melanie pulled the knife away and leaned back in the seat behind him. Of course she never intended to actually follow through with her threat to cut him. Without his help back at the Triskelion, she would likely be tracking down Rogers for an entirely different reason after HYDRA brainwashed her for the umpteenth time. In all truth, she was indebted to Warren, but she wouldn't mindlessly follow his lead until she understood his motives. If he had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. to spy on HYDRA, then he uncovered the conspiracy before Fury had. Warren was either a vigilante with personal reasons to go after HYDRA, or he was working for an unknown third party with questionable interests.
"Maybe I was wrong about you..." she muttered, loud enough for him to hear. When he glanced at her in the rearview mirror, eyebrows furrowed, she shook her head in disappointment. "Maybe you are a coward."
Warren averted his eyes and she couldn't quite see his face enough to make out his expression. He shifted his grip on the steering wheel and absently rubbed his neck, where the knife had been positioned a moment ago. Melanie felt a stab of guilt for being so harsh, but he pissed her off with his secrets and how quickly he had given up. Even though she had only just met him earlier that same day, she considered him a friend; all she wanted was for him to trust her, like she decided to trust him.
"You know where Rogers and Romanoff are headed?"
Perking up at the question, Melanie leaned forward to rest her cheek against the passenger seat across from him so she could better see Warren's face. He wasn't scowling or sulking, instead he looked resigned. Something she said had affected him deeply. "You changed your mind?" she prodded, unsure how to feel about it. For some reason, his sudden lapse in determination troubled her.
"You're right. There's no running this time. Project Insight has to be stopped at all costs; otherwise, it won't matter how far we run," Warren explained his reasoning grimly. "So tell me where I'm supposed to be driving."
Brows furrowing, she pictured in her mind the location she had glimpsed on the screen of the laptop earlier. "Some place in New Jersey...Steve said he knew it," she informed and her heart sank when she realized how unspecific and utterly hopeless it was. Sighing, she admitted, "I don't know the address."
"New Jersey, huh?" Warren repeated, his tone indicating he had an inkling about the destination. "So they're on the right track, then."
He obviously knew more than she did, due to the fact he had been spying on both S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA for quite some time. Melanie frowned in confusion and waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she inwardly cursed him for being so difficult to pry information from. "What's in New Jersey?"
"The brains of the whole operation," he said. "Another old friend, Arnim Zola. I know the place. It'll be a long drive; plenty of time to refresh your memory some," he hinted, throwing in a smile and pointed glance at the journal she dropped on the seat beside her.
Tentatively, Melanie picked up the journal to place it in her lap, absently running her fingertips over the cover. "What should I expect?" she asked warily, wondering just how long it had been in his possession. How much did he know about her? More importantly, how had he gotten his hands on it? All the mystery surrounding the man made her uneasy despite how helpful he had been.
"Not sure," he replied with a shrug. "I haven't read it. I'm a hacker and a spy, but it...well, it never felt right to cross that line."
Hearing that felt strangely reassuring, as well as perplexing. Warren was difficult to figure out; he wasn't all that he appeared to be.
"Melanie?" he called gingerly, catching her attention before she could begin to read. He eyed her with an odd, thoughtful look on his face. "Whatever you read there...about who you were- just don't forget who you are, now."
Nodding mutely, she understood what he meant. His concern vindicated her own fears about losing touch with herself. Steve's words reached out to her as well, when he said he believed in second chances. Mentally prepared to face her past misdeeds, she opened the journal to the first entry. It was written in German, in clean and precise penmanship. Although she hadn't spoken or read German in years, she had conveniently retained it.
July 10th, 1943
Arnim insisted that I keep a journal. "To organize your thoughts," he said. "The mind can fall into disarray without proper therapy." The doctor knows better than I do, but I still think he fusses over me incessantly. Physical exams, performance tests, psychological evaluations- how much proof does he need that I'm ready for the field? So far, his so-deemed "super soldier serum" has improved my physical condition. Two weeks have passed since the injections. No side effects; nothing that would make me unfit for combat. I have trained restlessly, honing my skills which have been improved vastly since the first injection. That hurt like a son of a bitch, but it was well worth it...I'm supposed to demonstrate my skills today, in front of the high ranked officials, including Johann Schmidt. Whatever he decides, whatever he orders me to do, I must do it. My service to HYDRA, my success in this war...it is the only hope I have of locating him. Daniel.
Reading that single entry triggered another skull-splitting headache. The journal fell from her hands as Melanie clutched her head, grimacing in pain. Random images and phantom voices assaulted her mind, flashbacks of bloody battles and tense conversations.
"Melanie," she heard someone call her name.
A hand reached toward her and she flinched, slapping it away while cringing back against the seat. The confined space was suddenly filled with foul smelling black smoke, choking her and stinging her eyes.
"Melanie!" the voice called again as hands gripped her shoulders. She raised her arms to defend herself, prepared to sock her assailant in the jaw, but she recognized the concerned face of a very alarmed Warren. He had pulled the car over to the side of the road so he could unbuckle and lean toward the back seat to check on her. "What's wrong?"
"Can't...breathe..." she choked, all but gagging on the noxious smoke clogging her lungs. "Smoke! Let me...out...please!"
Warren frowned deeply. "There's no smoke, Melanie," he told her, struggling to keep hold of her shoulders.
She gave him a mortified look, unable to believe how he was breathing the smoke so calmly. "Open the window," she cried between ragged, rasping breaths. Reaching for the nearest window, she failed to locate the button that would roll the glass down. Her lungs were constricting painfully and her head was spinning from the lack of oxygen. Desperately, she began to pound on the glass with her fists.
"Melanie, stop," Warren told her, trying to restrain her as if he wanted her to suffocate. "Just breathe, there's no smoke in here, you're al-"
He was cut off when her elbow struck his chin hard, as she managed to break his hold. Recoiling in pain, he let go of her arm and she had just enough room to draw her arm back. With a desperate shriek, she slammed her fist against the glass and it shattered around her arm.
Instantaneously, the smoke cleared and Melanie inhaled a breath of fresh air. While she collapsed against the seat, breathing heavily, Warren recovered from the elbow she had driven into his face. He lowered the hand he had pressed to his face, revealing the bruise on his chin and the split on his bottom lip.
"Shit," Warren swore as he observed the state of her arm. Blood was dripping from numerous cuts and trickling in streams, enough to make her woozy. Despite the minor wound she had given him in her moment of panic, he gently lifted her arm in his hand and wasted no time ripping off the scarf from his neck. Patiently plucking out a few shards of glass, he wrapped the scarf around her arm to stop the bleeding.
Melanie had regained enough self-awareness to know she had a mental breakdown. "I'm sorry," she told him when she had her breath back, eyeing his swollen lip.
"No. I'm sorry," he countered, taking his time to carefully secure the scarf around her arm. "I shouldn't have given that journal to you so soon. If I knew it would cause this..."
"Don't-" she began to tell him not to beat himself up over it, but he held up his hand dismissively and spoke to cut her off.
"We'll go to New Jersey. But my top priority is keeping you safe."
His green eyes leveled at her sternly; it was clear that whatever his motives were, his determination was unwavering. Melanie simply nodded, and he smiled half-heartedly before shifting so he could climb back behind the wheel. "Why don't you get some rest," he suggested while he restarted the engine. "That's enough reading for one day."
Melanie fought the urge to cringe, feeling embarrassed by how easily she had become unhinged after just one journal entry. How would she react to the gory details? Disappointed in herself, she curled up on the backseat and winced as both her arm and leg throbbed in constant pain. She caught herself wishing she had allowed Warren to take her away; things were going terribly for her, surely none of this could end well. Regardless of those unpleasant possibilities, she couldn't find the heart to abandon the fight. What she really needed was rest.
Closing her eyes, she attempted to clear her mind so she could fall asleep. In spite of her efforts to suspend all deep thought, one name ceaselessly reverberated through her troubled mind. Warren had mentioned it earlier when escorting her to the elevator during their escape. "Do you want to end up like Barnes?" he had asked ominously, insinuating someone by that name suffered a tragic fate. That name puzzled her by how familiar it sounded and the inexplicable sadness clinging to it. Barnes. Battered and bruised, her fatigue finally won out and she inevitably drifted asleep, haunted by once-repressed memories that had overcome the blockades placed in her subconscious.
- Flashback to unspecified date, October, 1943 -
Enduring the assault of scalding water, Melanie Dampier stood beneath the showerhead with her eyes closed, preparing herself for the mission she had been hand-picked for. The hot shower relaxed her muscles but couldn't do a thing to calm her nerves. Idly, she made a mental note to personally thank Johan Schmidt for allowing her access to his quarters. Although, she suspected Arnim had been the one to convince him; the doctor had repeatedly expressed his concern about the prospect of her sharing the showers with the men. Melanie could handle herself and had no qualms with breaking the arm of any pervert who got grabby, but she greatly appreciated the solace of a private shower.
Unable to waste any more time in the shower, she turned off the water and quickly went about drying herself. Wrapped in the towel, she ventured out of the steamy bathroom to the lavish sleeping quarters none of the soldiers would ever have the honor to enjoy. At the foot of the bed, she observed the uniform she had laid out earlier. It was similar to what the other soldiers wore, with noticeable differences.
Her uniform consisted of an armored under garment, a jacket, and a pair of trousers; all of which were pitch black, aside from blood red lines. The jacket resembled the HYDRA soldier's, buttoning down the front along the crimson trimming. Her collar was simple, buttoning up to her neck. The sleeves were straight from the elbow to the wrists. The red lining created a different shape to her waist than the male uniforms, flattering her feminine figure without being immodest. Her belt secured higher on her waist, displaying the silver buckle engraved with the symbol of HYDRA; a skull with six tentacles. The boots provided for her cut off just below her knees, loose enough for her to stuff the legs of her pants into and secured with buckles at the top. There were also black leather gloves, which she could tuck her sleeves into as well. Last, she secured the sword to her hip. It was her most prized possession; a reliable weapon and a reminder of who she would be fighting for.
After prolonging the inevitable for too long, she sighed and proceeded to the door that would lead away from the secluded quarters toward the rest of the facility. Her own private chopper would be waiting.
James Buchanan Barnes; that was the name of her first target. He was an American soldier; a Sergeant stationed with the 107th Infantry Regiment occupying the city of Azzano in the region of Umbria, Italy. From what Melanie heard, he and his fellow brothers in arms fought hard against German forces and succeeded in pushing the line north, toward Austria.
"Their triumph has made them arrogant. Hubris cannot be tolerated. They need to be reminded that they are not invincible," Schmidt had asserted passionately as he paced behind his desk, his posture deceptively calm with his hands tucked behind his back.
Clad in the training fatigues she had been wearing when she was instructed to report to Schmidt, Melanie stood at attention and watched the fuming man warily. She held her tongue, knowing it was wise to wait for permission to speak and if she was allowed, she had to choose her words with the same care as one would defuse an explosive device.
"That is why I have decided it is your time to step onto the field," he continued, spinning smoothly on his heel to face her. "Zola has boasted plenty of your potential. You have left quite an impression on the doctor. Now, I want you to make an impression on the good men of the 107th Infantry Regiment."
"What task will I be undertaking, sir?" she finally dared to ask, sensing it was acceptable to break her silence.
Striding forward to stand a foot away, hands still tucked behind his back, Schmidt leveled a calculating stare at her. When she had first met him, she had been accompanied by Arnim and never had to subject herself to his invasive scrutiny without reassuring company. Being alone with his undivided attention on her, she was more than unnerved. The eyes boring into hers were not the eyes of a visionary but those of a power-hungry madman. Whatever orders he would burden her conscience with, she anticipated the worst.
"There is a Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes stationed with the 107th. I want you to bring him to me, alive."
Alive. That word had caught her by surprise; she had been convinced her first orders would be to massacre as many men as she could in order to prove her loyalty to the cause. If she hadn't known better, she would have been relieved. Revealing no lapse in resolve, Melanie nodded and saluted her commanding officer. "Sir," she responded simply, confirming that she understood her specific order.
"Do not disappoint, miss Dampier," Schmidt warned in an eerily calm voice, fixing her with a piercing stare that could intimidate the bravest of men. "You are of no use to me if you cannot capture a single man. HYDRA has no tolerance for weakness."
A wise subordinate would have lowered their eyes in submission, but Melanie was not one of those brainwashed drones enthralled by the Nazi theology. Her devotion was to her own cause. Schmidt knew that much; that made her allegiance to him unpredictable. There was only one reason she had chosen to join HYDRA.
"I will deliver the Sergeant, alive," Melanie replied, keeping her chin held high and refusing to show weakness by breaking eye contact. She held his penetrating stare with unflinching boldness. "I will do whatever you command, as long as you hold up your end of the deal."
The air had thickened with the tension and for a second, she worried she had angered him. He was infamous for his explosive temper; he would appear calm until he lashed out violently at whoever provoked his ire, or anyone within his reach. If she had aggravated him with her assertive attitude, Schmidt didn't show it. He simply cracked a smirk and his eyebrows raised slightly as if impressed she had the nerve to demand anything of him.
"Of course, of course," he assured her diplomatically, shrugging his shoulders a bit. "Succeed and your efforts will be rewarded handsomely. You are dismissed."
"Hold on," Melanie spoke out of line when he began to turn his back on her. He paused mid-turn, lifting a critical brow at her brazen persistence. "I was told you had news of him. Tell me what you found."
Johann Schmidt tilted his head and put on a face that was supposed to look innocent, but such an expression was false on a man like him. "My apologies, miss Dampier, but you were misinformed. There has been no sign of your Daniel Kingsman."
"That can't be true," she dared to persist, unable to believe the man had simply vanished into thin air like an apparition. "If there is something, even a false lead, I want to know."
Melanie could sense his patience was wearing dangerously thin. When he turned to descend the steps once again, strolling at a menacingly languid pace, she resisted the urge to back away. Schmidt approached until he stood directly in front of her, much closer than before; she could almost feel his breath on her face as she clung to her resolve.
"We have a contract, Melanie Dampier; the terms bind you to follow my command, correct?"
Melanie recalled the contract she had signed in the presence of Arnim, when she had officially agreed to join HYDRA. Among the terms and conditions, it had indeed stated she was obligated to follow the commands directly given to her by Schmidt. "Yes, sir," she said evenly, biting back her snark to avoid triggering violent retaliation.
"Then you are dismissed," he repeated in a tone so frigid it sent a chill down her spine.
In that moment, lowering her eyes was the wisest thing she could do. "Yes, sir," she replied quietly, before turning on her heel toward the door. Escaping the room with her life, she decided not to challenge him again until she had the right leg up.
Startled out of her grim thoughts by an unexpected hand that grasped her shoulder, Melanie snatched hold of the offending hand and turned a hard glare on the man who had accompanied her on the flight. A co-pilot and devoted soldier, it was his responsibility to ensure she was escorted safely. He respectfully withdrew his hand, before gesturing toward the open hatch.
"We've reached the drop off site," he informed her, shouting over the roar of the blades. "You're going to have to walk the rest of the way. If we get any closer they'll shoot us out of the damn sky. Good luck, Dampier."
Spying the fort nestled among the mountains in the distance, with at least two miles of forest in between, Melanie groaned inwardly while nodding to the man. Mentally preparing herself, she moved toward the open hatch and peered down at the ground; they hovered about fifteen feet above a small clearing. She wondered how much was simply a precaution and how much was staged to put her abilities to the test; either way, she wasn't backing down. Determined to complete her mission, she leapt from the aircraft and stuck the landing with the grace of a feline. Her body was certainly more durable and resilient than it had been before the injections.
Waving off the chopper, she pressed on toward the fort ahead. Hiking through the forest proved less of a challenge to her than most; she had enhanced stamina and endurance, along with stronger leg muscles that easily propelled her at a speed that could put professional track runners to shame. In no time, she had closed the distance between herself and the fort where her target took refuge along with the rest of the 107th division.
"Nothing personal, Barnes," she thought aloud, addressing him as if he could somehow hear her, mostly for her own benefit.
She had just taken the first step toward infiltrating the fortress, when she heard the rumble of engines as several planes shot overhead straight toward the fort. Her mouth fell open in awestruck horror as the planes each dropped what could only be bombs. One pilot had underestimate the distance and dropped his bomb short of the walls, causing it to land mere feet from where Melanie stood. It had to be one of Arnim's design, a weapon of deadly sophistication; from what she could decipher, it was similar to a grenade.
None of this was supposed to be happening- her mission was a covert operation that required stealth to infiltrate the building and the element of surprise over her target. Who had authorized an aerial assault? Too dumbfounded to react appropriately to her dire situation, she was frozen on her feet and vulnerable to the impending detonation.
"Get down!" a male voice shouted urgently, a split second before a sprinting body collided with hers. Sturdy arms wrapped around her and held tight as both she and the stranger tumbled downhill at the same moment the bomb exploded. Soil, leaves, and pieces of bark rained down as they rolled to the bottom of the hill, Melanie all but crushed underneath the man's body. Choking on the overpowering, foul smell that could only be smoke from the bomb, she mentally shook herself out of her stupor and managed to think clearly.
She had almost died, standing there like a brainless fool. Whoever this man was, she was fortunate he had been around to tackle her or she wouldn't have survived to kick herself for it. The man turned his face as he too choked on the fumes, before turning his head to look down at her, still leaning over her as if to protect her from any other falling explosives. Meeting his ocean blue eyes, she recognized him instantly.
"James Barnes..."