Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 3

November 3, 1943 – Austria – HYDRA Weapon Facility

It was cold. Not in the temperature way, more of a clinical way. Like how hospitals were always cold to help prevent the spread of disease.

Bucky wasn't sure how long he'd been kept in this same room. Doctors traipsed in and out at their leisure, sometimes jabbing a needle into his arm and sometimes just watching his teeth chatter. It was kind of how Darcy was the last time he saw her. Like she'd had a fever but was so icy cold that not even his or Steve's body heat could warm her back up. And it had been the middle of summer in Brooklyn.

A loud crash had him calling out. "Hello? Anybody out there?"

He strained his hearing, trying – and failing – to hear through the steel door.

Memories swirled in his head. It was hard to differentiate what was real and what he'd made up inside his own head.

Bang!

Bucky looked up from his place on the metal slab, his eyes noticing a small man in the doorway.

"Sirena, zapreshchat."

A flurry of brown curls met his line of sight and he cringed when a blow landed against his cheek, his blue eyes watering.

"What in the fuck?"

"Yeshche raz."

Another strike and Bucky struggled to keep his eyes open. The world swam around him and he met the eyes of a girl. Familiar eyes.

"Darcy? Baby?" He tore against the restraints, trying to get to the woman, but she stepped back, a bit of fear in her posture.

"Sirena!"

He threw himself against the restraints, his voice raw and cracked as he struggled. "You leave her the fuck alone! Darcy! Look at me, baby. We gotta get outta here!"

She cocked her head to the side. "Detka?"

"Sirena, now."

Another perfectly aimed punch had Bucky's eyes rolling back into his head as he slipped away.

"Bucky? Oh my God, Buck…"

Bucky wearily blinked open his eyes, struggling to search for the girl that was just there. His girl.

"Where…where's my baby…"

"Bucky, it's me. It's Steve." The blond looked down at him in worry, unclasping the buckles that had kept him tied down. He sat him up and put an arm around his waist as he supported his weight with ease.

"Steve?" Bucky croaked, his head lolling back. "Where's Darcy?"

"I don't know, jerk… I thought you were dead."

"I thought you were smaller."

Steve grunted, hauling Bucky out of the room and down a narrow corridor. To the left, gunfire was blazing and the rest of the one-oh-seventh had been armed to take back the base. The blond just wanted to get back on the damned plane and somewhere safe. "Come on."

"What happened to you?"

"I joined the army," he quipped.

Bucky shook his head, groaning in pain when he did so. "Ya gotta get the doc, punk. He's got…he's got our girl. She's different now, but we gotta save her."

"Darcy…she's gone, Buck," Steve swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, holding Bucky just a little tighter. "Died in Honolulu – "

"I'm tellin' ya what I saw!" The brunet protested, coming to a stop and forcing Steve to stop along with him. "She's alive, Stevie. I saw her. She…she hit me real good and then ya found me…"

Steve nodded. "Let's get ya back to base and then we'll talk."

"But she's – "

"Already gone, Bucky. We'll talk when we get there."

November 5, 1943 – Russia – HYDRA Facility

"He recognized her."

Her handler met the eyes of the Krasnyy Cherep, fear lingering behind his words. "They have never been acquainted – "

"He called her by name, no? And she…hesitated when attacking – "

"Should she ever be compromised, we have vyzov words that would reinforce her training – "

"I want her in the krasnyy komnata. Immediately."

Sirena kept her focus on her handler, reading his body language. It wasn't often that he was unsure of himself. But the cherup had a way of making him a different man. Making him rethink his actions and his words to the point where she was sure of him anymore.

"The Red Room?" Her handler asked, appalled by the very idea. "She'll tear those girls apart. She's only been around men for her training; she's a loose cannon! She could decimate the entire structure – "

"It's best we learn what we can about her…personality before it becomes too late." He smirked, giving her a nasty look. "We've been injecting a few of the other girls with a lesser strain of what you gave her. They'll have the same abilities, but they still age, albeit much, much slower."

December 15, 1943 – Russia

Steve ripped off his suit with a huff, slinging his goggles against the wall of the tent. Boots met the same fate and he plopped down on his cot with a sigh.

"We gotta keep lookin'."

He groaned. "Do you have any idea how messed up you were when I got to you?" Steve asked, looking over at his best friend. He was covered in filth and dust from the crumbling HYDRA facility. "The Howling Commandos can't keep doin' this, Buck. We're chasin' after a ghost – "

"Why're'ya still wearin' the ring, then? If Darcy is just a ghost, why's it still on your hand?"

"Cause I can't get the damned thing off!"

Bucky recoiled as if he'd been hit. Hands scrubbed against his face and he sighed. It was a fight that was happening more and more. But he knew what he saw. He knew his girl was still out there. "She's in trouble, Steve. The things they did…if they got her, then I want them all dead. Every last fuckin' one of them."

"Bucky – "

"If you don't wanna, that's fine," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "But I'm goin' after her. Through hell and high water, Darcy is our girl, my girl. You didn't give up on me – "

"I haven't heard from Darcy since 1941! Since Pearl Harbor!"

"And they took her! A pretty dame like that was bound to get snatched up. And I'm gonna find her, punk. I'm not givin' up – "

"You think I gave up?" Steve stood and ripped a piece of paper out of his undershirt, tossing it at him. "I never gave up."

Bucky looked at the faded picture of Darcy, tears forming in his eyes. It was the same picture that he had underneath his own vest, over his heart.

"If you really think she's out there, we'll find her," Steve promised, his chest heaving in anger. "One HYDRA facility at a time."

December 28, 1943 – Russia – The Red Room

"You're new."

Her eyes met blue, similar to her own and she cocked her head. "Da."

"New girls do not last long."

Sirena studied the girl. She wasn't too young, maybe a bit younger than herself. Red curls and blue eyes, slight freckles, waifish body. She held herself with poise and if provoked could be lethal. Minimal threat. Befriend and betray. A grin cracked her lips. "I am new only to here, myshka. That means nothing."

The girl lunged, swiping her leg beneath Sirena, which she dodged and flipped the former onto her back with ease, a boot pressed against her chest to keep her down.

"They…they call you Sirena." The girl huffed, pulling herself to her feet when she was freed. "I am Natalia."

"Pleasure to meet you…Natalia."

January 18, 1944 – Unknown Location

"With me! We go in hot."

"We're goin' in blind, punk! That's not the best idea – "

Steve whirled around and grimaced at the look of his soldiers' faces. It was snowy and he knew that they were cold. The mountain was only providing so much cover after all. The metal wiring looked a little rickety at best and he could see the train in the distance.

Bucky looked at the wiring warily and back down to the equipment wrapped around his waist. He swallowed. "Remember when I made ya ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?"

The blond smiled at the memory. "Yeah, and I threw up?"

"This isn't payback, is it?"

Steve gave him a sly look. "Now, why would I do that?"

Gabe pushed his way to the front of the Commandos, a walkie-talkie in his hand. "Sergeant Barnes was right; Dr. Zola's on the train. HYDRA dispatcher gave him permission to open up the throttle. Wherever he's going, they must need him bad."

Bucky nodded. "Let's get movin', then."

"We only got about a 10-second window," Steve said, pointed to the train. "You miss that window, we're bugs on a windshield."

"Better get movin', bugs!" Dum Dum yelled.

It was a race against the time and the air bit into their skin like no other. Bucky barely managed to get his feet on the train when Steve was yelling at him to get down. A blast opened up the side of the train, causing Bucky to slip out.

"Bucky!"

"Fire again! Kill him!" Dr. Zola yelled at the troopers blocking the Howling Commandos path.

"Bucky! Hang on, grab my hand!"

"Steve!" Bucky was barely hanging on, his fingers slipping from the smooth metal of the train car.

The blond slid against the floor, wildly grasping for Bucky's hand. Gloves made gripping much harder and there were tears in his eyes as he fought for leverage to keep them both in the train.

"Steve! Find Darcy! Find our girl!"

"Bucky! Don't you dare let go!"

His grip faltered and Bucky fell into the vast emptiness below the train.

"Bucky! BUCKY! BUCKY!"

Steve watched the interrogation through the dirty glass of Howard's makeshift lab. Dr. Zola was different than other captives; more reserved, relaxed, happy. Col. Phillips was doing the questioning, but not getting much out of it. It was like a game of cat and mouse and the mouse was winning.

Bucky had died for Steve to be able to bring in this man. He believed that Dr. Zola was responsible for whatever had happened to Darcy. Steve wouldn't let his best friend die in vain.

"What are you planning?" Peggy asked him quietly, observing him. Tension was radiating from his body, his shoulders tight and unyielding.

"I need to speak with him."

She scoffed. "Col. Phillips will never allow that – "

"I'm a captain. I'll get what I want."

"I'll…make a few calls."

It wasn't long until Col. Phillips cleared out of the room with a harsh nod in his direction. Steve only took a few seconds to gather himself before he was strutting into the room, a grim set to his lips.

"Things are not as they seem, Captain Rogers."

Steve stilled for a moment, turning a curious eye to the man. "How do you know my name?"

Dr. Zola shrugged, adjusting his glasses. "I make it a priority to know my…asset's potential adversaries."

"Schmidt…is your asset?"

"In a way."

Steve slammed his hands against the table between them, a truly feral look on his face. "I'm gonna find what you're hidin', doc."

"I count on it."

March 4, 1944 – Greenland

"What have you done?" Schmidt cried, holding up the small blue cube and looking at it in horror. A stream of blue energy poured forwards, engulfing the red man and leaving nothing but ashes behind.

Steve blinked at the scene before he rushed to the plane's controls, his breath hitched as he realized the target is New York City. With a grimace, he reached for the radio. "Come in. This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?"

"Captain Rogers, what is your – "

"Steve, is that you? Are you all right?"

"Peggy! Schmidt's dead," he replied, his voice somewhat stable.

"What about the plan? The Valkyrie?"

He looked around. If the plan made it to New York, the entire city would be obliterated. Options weren't something he had in abundance. "That's a little harder to explain."

"What are your coordinates? I'll find a safe place for you to land."

"There's not going to be a safe landing," he said, shaking his head. "But I can try to force it down."

"I'll-I'll get Howard on the line, he'll know what to do."

"There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York. I gotta put her in the water."

"Please, please don't do this! We can work it out – "

"Peggy…this is my choice." Steve sighed, pulling the faded photograph of Darcy out of his suit and placing it near the gauges on the dash. Taking a deep breath, he pushed down on the controls, watching the clouds zoom past him as the plane nosedived. His eyes were drawn to Darcy, hoping that he'd finally get to see her and Bucky again.

Finding Darcy in Russia was a pipedream. Deep down, he knew that Bucky had only imagined seeing her. He'd been busted up real bad when Steve had found him and there was no way their girl could've done that.

But he could do this. He could spare New York.

His death would not be meaningless, not when there was so much to save.

"Peggy?"

"I'm here," came her voice through the scratch of the radio.

"Thank you…for everything."

There's a pause and Steve swears he hears a sniffle. "You're welcome, Captain. I…I hope you find her."

His eyes met the chunks of ice waiting to greet him and he gritted his teeth, preparing for impact.

"Me, too, Peggy," he said mostly to himself, "Me, too."

October 3, 1949 – Russia – The Red Room

"Sirena! We have a new igrushka."

Natalia floated down from the rafters, landing on her feet with a barely-there thud. She looked down at the girl she had come to see as her sister. Sirena was the only one that didn't leave, didn't abandon her. Six years and she still remained.

"Oh? What if it's not a toy for you, Natalia? There are other girls that need practice." Sirena smirked, looking down at the mats and noticing the bulk of someone new. "Or, what if he is your handler? You're of age to have one, no?"

Natalia sat up indignantly. "What if he's your handler?"

"I have a handler, myshka. He sent me here. I…I was much different before here. I imagine when I'm released, it will be different, too."

"You'll leave?"

It was an unspoken promise that she would never leave Natalia if she could help it, but her conditioning couldn't be overridden. If her handler came for her, she would go willingly.

"Sirena! Natalia!"

Both girls stood at attention, swinging down from their place by the window and onto the mats below, their faces clear of emotion. Sirena held her body loosely, ready for anything while Natalia was crouched like a tiger.

"Soldat."

The man snapped his feet together, his hands at his sides.

"Povernis."

Sirena took in his battle stance as he turned, her eyes catching the glint of metal where his left arm should be.

Man. Maximum threat. Two firearms. Three blades. Metal extremity that has potential for weaponry. Weak spots undetermined.

The steel of the blade was cold against her thigh, but she didn't reach for it. This was a test, to see how Natalia interacted with this…Soldat.

Crisp blue eyes met hers and her brows furrowed. Something was familiar. Something she couldn't place. Suddenly, she knew that his weak spot was just above his left hip, underneath his ribs.

Why would she know that?

"Natalia. Soldat is to become your handler. After your graduation. You'll do great things for mother Russia."

April 9, 1950 – Unknown Location

"Priyekhat, Sirena."

One foot in front of the other. The door to the North, the command front and center. Eyes forward, chink of her gun against her left hip.

"Prigotov'sya."

At attention. Boots together. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Novaya missiya, Sirena. Berlin skomprometirovany."

Compromised.

Focus on black boots, following up steep stairs.

New room. Three civilians, one commander. Minimal risk.

"I wandered so aimless, heart filled with sin."

Noise.

Radio in right hand corner of room, wireless. Next to a window. Civilian One is tapping her foot, heels clicking against the floor.

"This is it, Sirena. You must not fail."

A new folder, documents of target.

"I saw the light, I saw the light. No more darkness, no more night."

A flicker, something new. A feeling? Steve…

"Sirena."

"Tselevaya summa."

"Excellent."

April 2, 1952 – New York City, New York

It's like coming out of the ocean after diving in. Like a long awaited breath when air seemed to escape. Memories crashing over your mind and you just sputter into existence with no recollection of how you got there.

"Ma'am, are ya all right?"

Her eyes blinked open and she saw a man in his late fifties looking over her with concern. "Da, da. Spasibo."

"Sorry, ma'am, I don't speak whatever you're speakin'," he said apologetically as he helped her sit up. "You're lucky that car just knocked ya over. Coulda been a lot worse."

"Car?"

"Ya were crossin' the street. Damned thing came outta nowhere. Ya need me to call anyone? I can get ya to the hospital – "

"No!" She said more forcefully than she intended. She swallowed her nerves and gave him a smile. "No, that won't be necessary. Thank you."

She's not sure how far or how long she walked, all she knew was that she was standing in front of an old market that had long since closed. There was a foreclosure sign on the window and a weathered paper from the bank nailed to the door that was dated 1946. Reaching blindly, she snagged the key from the underside of the molding along the door, unlocking it and slipping inside before she could think better of it – or wonder how in the hell she knew it was there.

Blue eyes took in the scene, trying to piece together the sense of familiarity that had been invoked in her very bones. Papers were scattered across the till and she looked them over keenly.

Barnes, Joseph.

Barnes, James Buchanan.

Her hands stilled. That name…but it wasn't quite right.

The last will and testament of James 'Bucky' Buchanan Barnes.

She knows she shouldn't read it. She knew it wass none of her business what those poor people went through by losing their business. She knows. But she can't stop either.

I, James Buchanan Barnes, leave all of my earthly possessions to my fiancée, Darcy Marie Lewis. In the bank of…

She couldn't read it. The man hadn't even been married and left his fiancée all of his things. And Darcy…that name seemed natural. Normal. Like she'd heard it a thousand times over.

But she couldn't remember. It…her life was like a line she was struggling to hold onto and it just kept going out to sea.

The honk of an automobile outside made her jump in surprise and, before she thought any better of it, she stuffed the papers into her messenger bag and skirted out of the store.

May 3, 1952 – New York City, New York

It wasn't hard to get a job. She had done it relatively easily after forging a birth certificate and a social security card – when the hell did I learn to do that? – and she found herself working at Stark Industries under one Howard Stark.

She was a secretary of sorts, making sure everything was filed properly and in its right place. In a matter of a month, she'd secured an apartment in Brooklyn, had a fine paying job, a rented locker that held what she'd swiped from the market, and she even had a running commentary going with a few of the people that popped in and out of the office.

"Ms. Barnes, is my ten o'clock here?"

She smiled up at the man and glanced down at her calendar. "Mr. Quigley will be arriving in about ten minutes. His secretary called and said he was stuck in traffic. Would you like me to postpone, Mr. Stark?"

"No, no, that'll be fine, Ms. Barnes."

"Oh, Mr. Stark, a Ms. Carter has scheduled an appointment for tomorrow," she said, not missing how the man cringed. "Is that all right?"

He nodded curtly. "Perfect."

"Darcy, baby, come back to me."

She looked up and smiled at Bucky's full mouth, how his lips were stretched wide when he'd seen her.

"I can't, Buck. I don't know where I am."

He grimaced, reaching his hand for her. "I'll keep ya safe, baby. We gotta find Stevie. Ya know he's always gettin' into trouble without me."

"Bucky – "

"I gotta go, baby. Wait for me."

She woke up in a cold sweat, her sheets plastered against her body. It wasn't the first time she dreamt about a man with blue eyes and dark hair. Or a man with blond hair and blue eyes. They were like memories that she couldn't piece together. That her mind was allowing her to remember in bits and pieces.

Darcy's eyes traveled to the alarm clock on her nightstand and she plucked herself out of bed.

She'd swiped the name from the will. She had managed to become Darcy Barnes in a matter of a month and no one was any wiser. She was trying to put her life back together, or, rather, what she remembered of her life.

Her birth date, her parents, her home. Nothing stood out or made sense. She thought her name was Darcy since it seemed so familiar. She thought that Brooklyn was her home because she seemed to know all the shortcuts to get to where she wanted to go.

She'd tried the library to look up the names in her dreams, but was always coming up short. Records of the war were well guarded and she was definitely not important enough to have access.

Sighing, she pinned back her curls and pulled on a simple green shift dress before making her way to work.

"Agent Carter for Mr. Stark, please."

Darcy looked up and smiled at the red-lipped woman. "Of course, Agent Carter. One moment, please."

Agent Carter looked at her oddly. "You…you look like someone I've met before."

The blue-eyed woman cocked her head, a smile plastered on her face. "I'm new. I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you. My name is Darcy. Darcy Barnes."

"Not Rogers?" The agent said so lowly that Darcy shouldn't have been able to hear.

"Definitely Barnes, ma'am."

July 23, 1955 – Brooklyn, New York

Darcy shut the door tight behind her. It was becoming a strange routine.

Every night after leaving the office, she felt as if someone was watching her, waiting for her. She'd hoped that the feeling would pass, but it simply became worse.

Her eyes flitted around her apartment, taking stock.

Three pairs of shoes by the door. One coat hung up behind the door. Two glasses sitting in the sink. Right corner of blanket folded down on the bed. Closet door – ajar.

Someone had been there.

Without letting anything show, Darcy made her way to the kitchen, tugging out a small knife out of reflex. Reflex she didn't understand.

"Sirena."

"Natalia."

It was spoken with reverence. Like a prayer, like a plea.

"It is time to come home. You've played long enough."

Darcy shook her head. "I don't…I don't remember."

Natalia watched her carefully, seeing the knife in her hand. "It's part of your programming. You can't remember what was before, but you remembered me. Your myshka."

She looked at the woman in front of her. She looked to be in her twenties, with red hair and a straight nose. Her clothes reflected privilege and she carried herself dangerously. Darcy wasn't sure how she knew her, but she did.

"I don't want to go."

Natalia pursed her lips. "They've known where you are. This has been an…experiment. I am tasked with bringing you back – "

"I don't want to go back!"

"Russia is your home! You think because you've built a life for yourself that this is your home?" Natalia snarled, grabbing Darcy by the shoulder and barely managing to dodge her knife. "Sirena, stop! I take you in or Soldat does."

"No!"

"I will wipe you if necessary."

Darcy kicked her square in the chest, ducking under her arm and racing out the front door. She'd made a life before, she could make one again. Tearing the door open, she looked back at Natalia once more before rushing forward, smacking into a familiar bulk.

"Sirena."

Darcy looked up and shook her head, tears forming in her blue eyes. "No, please! No, I don't want to go back! Leave me alone!"

"Kamen."

Darcy jolted. Her fingers dug into the metal and flesh of the Soldat's arms. His hands were on his waist and he was clutching instead of restraining.

"Sem'ya."

"Please," she whispered, trying to find a bit of humanity in the handler. "Please let me go."

He groaned, low and deep. "Detka."

"Ogon. Chernila. Rassvet. Grom. Lenta. Shestnadtsat."

She screamed, loud and long. Tears leaked from her eyes as her body fought against her.

"Tsirk. Platit."

The part of her that was Darcy, the part that she'd rediscovered was locked away. A prisoner in her own body. A captive.

"Soldat," Natalia paused, catching sight of a single tear that had made it's way down his face, "Let's go."

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~Grace