"Buck? Is that you?" Steve blinked hard and stared into the darkened room. A sliver of light crept in under the door behind him; it cut through the utter blackness to allow the faintest of shadows. "Damn it. I told you not to follow me." Slow efforts to clear his vision didn't bring Bucky into focus. "Don't just stand there looking sheepish, get over here and help me." His words fell thick and dry into the empty room. "You're such an asshole. It's my job, now, protect you. But no, here you are, that old woman is right - unruly defiant child." A fresh wave of sweat broke across his chest as he scolded the shadows with slurred words and an unfamiliar ache in his heart. "I can save you, Buck, I can - I thought I could. I wanted to, but you came here, you followed me. Jerk."
Time slipped away in his consciousness, the medications flowing into his arm overpowered the serum and stole his sense of self. The constant gnawing ache in his leg peaked with each flex of his arms or drag of his leg to escape the bonds. Thick straps on his undamaged ankle resisted his efforts to pull it free. Leather dragged across his bare skin; the restraint was looser now without his boot. A deep steadying breath helped counter the screaming pain at the break when he tugged his foot free. Another wave of nausea filled his gut, he closed his eyes and willed down the pain and urge to puke. "I don't know how you do it, pal, all that vomiting. Worst feeling in the world."
The distant popping noise of gunfire filtered into the room pulling him from his attempts to settle the ache and nausea. He searched the shadows again, "Buck? I know you're here, I saw you at the doors, I can see you, stop hiding." He glanced at the blank wall in front of him and murmured, "I saw what they did to you." The images from the grainy films played across his mind's eye in the darkness. An emaciated body, a bloody stump, rough hands pushing and pulling an unwilling participant into the chair. "I'm sorry," he choked, "You didn't want me to know, I'm sorry." The spinning intensified when he swung his head to scan the room, sure that Bucky was there with him. "Don't be an asshole for once, come over here and help me."
He gave up waiting for a response, "Fine, be that way, punk. I'll do it myself." The deep breath steadied his head and dulled the pain enough; his jaw set tight, arms flexed and strained to push against the straps. The sound of the leather tearing away from the chair preceded the searing jolt of pain from his leg when the straps broke away, and his arm shot forward. Bile made it to the back of his throat, he choked it down and shook through the sweat-soaking tremor. "Damn, that hurt." The needle in his arm gave easily to his shaking fingers. The tremor hampered his attempts to unbuckle the strap holding his bound arm. He drew a long slow breath.
"I saw him, Buck. You and that handler." His whispered confession sent a cold chill through him giving life again to Bucky's soft sounds pulled by the man who looked like himself. The calloused fingers dragging across Bucky's skin, digging deep into his hips, raking across the coarse hairs of his abdomen nearly overwhelmed Steve's resolve and shook his unwavering devotion. The memory of what he saw and heard settled into his mind unimpeded by logic or choice. "Guess that was the whole point of this. Break me down, show me this shit, shake my faith in you." He locked his eyes on his arm to beat back the pictures from his vision. "Nat was right, that old woman knows what she's doing." A stab of pain in his groin cut short the huffed laugh. He pushed ahead, "I don't care. I don't care what happened. Not your fault, no choice. You had no choice."
Shaking fingers struggled with the buckles holding the restraint on his arm; he shook his head to clear the sweat from his vision, the distant sounds of gunfire fell away. The quiet that followed crept into his awareness, he held still to listen. "Really hope you won that fight, but just in case." The rush of urgency pushed him through the inevitable stab of pain when he ripped the strap from his arm. "Hold on, Buck, I'll get to you." The reach for his right ankle was held back by the strap across his forehead, he groaned and shoved it upward. "I promised I'd protect you. I meant it; I'll get to you. Not gonna let her hurt you again."
"This is a glorious day, Steve. A truly glorious moment in time." Shostokov's hands gripped his shoulders tightly; his thumbs dug deep into his flesh sending a numbing fire down his back. An arm slipped around his neck to slowly tighten down, choking out his air.
Steve ignored the nausea, pushed aside the knowledge that any movement would bring blinding pain from the fractured leg. He threw his arms up desperate to tear at the red face, to drag his choking hold away from his neck as it took his vision and consciousness. He fought to break this hold. Bucky needed him.
Bucky shook his head to dislodge the high-pitched muffled words that underscored the screeching sound in his right ear. A struggling push to his hands and knees left him swaying and dizzy from the shock's after-effects.
His vision slowly cleared as he steadied himself, his focus fell to what was immediately beneath him. "Shit." He blinked for certainty and still found the unconscious Widow lying under him less than a foot away from his face.
The screech in his ear peaked again, he winced and dug the comm out, tossing it across the entrance-way. He rocked himself back onto his haunches, leaving his full weight to straddle her legs. He studied her face, taking advantage of what he'd never seen before. Mother out cold. His finger moved cautiously forward to brush against the pulse at her neck.
"You killed her Soldat. You've killed Mother. Bastard."
The Voice often had piss-poor timing, he jumped and pulled his finger back. He groaned, "Shut up."
"So much for the vow of no killing. Loser."
"Wasn't trying to kill her, I think." He pressed his finger to her neck again with less caution. Her body remained limp, her expression blank even as his weight shifted forward across her legs. The ragged throb that bounced against his fingertip pushed him to his feet. He staggered back until his leg hit the guardrail surrounding the launch silo. Post-shock nausea rose and fell, he swallowed and licked dry lips trying to find saliva. "I hate this feeling; I fucking hate this."
"Damn medication side effects. Oh, wait, you've missed how many doses? Now it's withdrawals. Great. Should be seeing the ghosts here soon."
Bucky shook his head more than his baseline nervous tic or tremor, "For the record, I did not miss you." He absently poked at the swelling where the stun prod burned into his neck as he fought with his memory to recall what he was doing there. "Where's Steve? Come on you've got an opinion on everything, help me out. Where's Steve?" He leaned forward and closed his eyes, chasing down the flashes of events, black-clad men pressing in on him, Mother's stun prod, the recoil of the shield hitting his metal palm. Those damn Russian trigger words that he overcame somehow.
"How the hell did that happen? Maybe Mother made good on her promise."
Steve remained elusive though, except for a picture of him as a kid at Coney Island on a roller coaster, puking.
"Hello? I've been talking to you. Are you talking to me, her, yourself or that voice in your head?" Sharon made a circling motion towards her temple when she mentioned the Voice. She stumbled forward towards him but stopped far out his reach. "You know, that was horrible, what she did to you. It must have hurt like hell." Her voice had an added sing-song fake sympathetic tone. She clutched at her stomach, limped a few steps then gave a mildly dramatic groan. "That old woman packs a punch." She glanced sideways at him and waved towards Sokolov, "She's a tough old bird, let's hope she wakes up. She kicked the crap out of me. Look." She pointed to the blood on her face and torn clothes. "Who knew a ninety-pound granny could beat the hell out of a younger, stronger, smarter operative." Her hand dropped to finger the weapon on her hip.
Bucky raised his head to take her in once her words registered. The search for her name didn't matter, the flash of anger at an image of Steve trusting her was all he needed. Bucky didn't let the stumble over Mother's body deter him from stalking towards her. His eye didn't have to fall to her hand, that move was a given, there was no need for him to telegraph that he was ready for her. The rush of adrenaline that came with chasing down a prey put his exhaustion aside and fueled the recollection that he was there to save Steve.
The distance closed between them quicker than she expected, "You can move pretty quick for an over-medicated disoriented has-been assassin." Her back-pedaled steps ended at a wall with his flesh hand wrapped around her throat. She spat at him when his metal hand stripped her of the weapon. He pressed the full weight of his body into hers pinning her tight to the wall.
"That old woman's got quite the bag of tricks. I feel for you. No wonder she took your manhood." Her words were defiant, but she fought for her breath as his fingers tightened around her neck. She choked, "Rumor has it you won't kill anyone. Growl and posture all you want, I know you aren't going to kill me." She drove her knee towards his groin, clawed at his hand and face, dragged her fingers down between them straining to reach his balls, anything to distract the tightening grip that began to take her consciousness. Her face flushed with a red heat as she fought his hold and gasped for each breath. She flailed and squirmed with increasing desperation under the press of his body. She sputtered "Fuck you," and scratched the burn on his neck. Nothing she did moved him.
Bucky had murder on his mind. All the guilt from remembering was shoved aside when he saw her. He could break her neck quickly, without an afterthought giving in to the cold, efficient Soldier without regret. His anger wanted this kill to be slow and painful; she deserved punishment, he wanted her to realize her life would ebb away slowly and she wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it. He pressed his body close against hers, letting her share the tremors that coursed through him. They were worsening with every passing minute, reminding him that a seizure would take him soon. He steadied his forehead on her temple, his sweat mingling with hers. "Hearing is the last to go." He whispered, "I want the last sound you hear to be my breath hot on your cheek."
He pushed up against her throat, lifting her off her feet, leaving her dangling and kicking at him.
"This right here, Soldat, this feeling, so familiar, so strong, we've missed this haven't we."
He'd had this feeling countless times before, the sensation of life flowing away from this world through his hand. He'd allowed others to kick, claw and scream their protests when he came for them. The sound of diminishing choking breaths, spit out words of defiance, desperate pleas for mercy were hurled at him in the past. Her response was textbook. It fell into that familiar comforting pattern of bringing death to the deserving and the innocent. The surge of feeling in control filled him. A fleeting hint of disdain for her -for life, crossed his mind. With his forehead pressed against hers, he could see the veins in her eyes begin to pop red; her pupils started to dilate. A cold, impassive study of her death brought back the memory of a feeling that only came when he killed. He never felt it anymore, now that he was overwhelmed by guilt and shame. This old sensation fell away in the battle for his sanity. He felt powerful. Ending her life filled him with the overwhelming sense of power. He always imaged that this is how his handlers felt. Omnipotent, all-encompassing, without mercy.
Something he never wanted to feel ever again.
"Do it Soldat, kill her, she deserves it. This is what you were born to do."
Bucky let go.
Sharon fell curled at his feet and sucked in long, deep and desperate gasps of air.
"Where is he?" Bucky grabbed the discarded weapon and shoved it in his holster.
"You are pathetic aren't you?" Her voice was barely audible.
"Where is he?" He didn't look at her as he crossed to Mother's unconscious form.
She could read from the tight coil of his body, the balanced stance that he was more than capable of doling out a fate worse than death. She vowed to take her new found respect for him to her grave. "Down there." She waved a dismissive hand towards the dark corridor beyond the launch bay.
"Where exactly?" He tilted his head towards her.
"I don't know exactly." She mocked.
Sharon thought she was ready for his move but still found herself careening across the floor towards the silo, catching the railing post with one arm to stop the eighteen-story fall.
A metal hand dragged her up, shoved her against the rail and wrapped it tightly around her waist.
"You asshole." She spit at him.
If his soul wasn't aching, he would have smirked at her.
"Go on be the hero. Go find your lover. You two deserve one another."
Bucky crossed to the stun prod and slowly picked it up. It was lighter than he expected. He chewed at his lip wondering if he'd ever touched it before now. His gaze went from the prod to Mother and back again.
"Gave her a taste of her own medicine Soldier. Now she knows how it feels."
"No, you're wrong. Not the plan. You know why. I can't fight her. It was the only way to break her hold." He didn't hide his conversation with the Voice.
"God, you really are crazy, talking to yourself." Sharon huffed a strangled laugh.
The prod snapped easily in two, he dropped the pieces on Mother's body before picking up the shield.
"All that strength and power and look at you now. A pathetic idiot."
"Perhaps you should choke her again, her voice is coming back."
He allowed a small sigh. "Ok, Steve. On my way. Really hope you still have that damn cord on you." He shook the tracker to life and studied the slow red blink as he stared down the dimly lit corridor.
"Look at you now, ineffective, emotional, weak. Controlled by an old woman and Rogers. You're a loser. You couldn't even kill me."
The last thing he heard her scream sounded like "And your hair is too damn long you fucking hippie." He murmured "Steve likes it."
"Soldat, he does like your hair that way, doesn't he. By the way, what's a hippie?"
"We need to get in there, Fury, now. We need to get to them now." Natasha stood toe-to-toe with him just beyond the damaged doors.
"I know that Romanova. We've got torches on the way. Explosives, we will get it open as fast as we can."
Sam grabbed her arm, "Who the hell was that big scary-looking dude? Red face, tall, buff, very buff."
"He's someone from the past. He knew Barnes years ago, in the Red Room."
"Oh, a fraternity brother? A friend from his Red Room days? Wasn't that fifty years ago? How old is that guy?" Sam was not going to hide his skepticism.
"All we have is what Sharon told us and what I overheard. His name is Alexei Shostokov, he's serum enhanced, and he knew Barnes years ago in the Red Room. Sam, we need to get in there."
He waved for her to follow him, "Come on, I've got an idea. What happened between them?"
Natasha shook her head as they ran towards the air vent pipe, "Barnes will not be happy if I tell you this story."
"Come on, Nat, Barnes is chronically unhappy. Besides, the need-to- know-level is elevated, that guy's trying to kill them, I may need this information to save them."
"That's BS." She paused, a sure sign she was about to spill the beans. "You are sworn to secrecy. Barnes, the Winter Soldier, was brought to the Red Room as a trainer. He had an affair with one of the girls. She was promised to someone else; she chose Barnes."
"They didn't exactly live happily ever after I take it."
"No. When the handlers learned about it, they pulled him from the program, erased his memory, brutally erased it, and put him in cryostasis."
"The girl?"
"She died. I don't know those details."
"Let me guess. The big guy is the jilted promised man?" Sam slowed his run as they approached the stone vent.
"Correct."
"He's looking pretty good for ninety-nine or so years. I'm guessing he's serum enhanced gone wrong."
"That is my guess."
"This is it. I'll boost you up, see if you'll fit."
"So you've already tried to get down here I take it?" She tugged on his arm to glance at the linear tears on the front and back of his uniform.
"Yeah, yeah. It's got a lot of buildup in there."
"Good thing you didn't get stuck." She raised an eyebrow as he laced his fingers to push her to the top.
"So you were going to drag the shield down here with his weapons? That was the plan?" It was Natasha's turn to be skeptical. "I can barely fit in here."
"We were planning on the go. Barnes came up with it." Sam blamed him since he wasn't there to defend himself and would never remember who dreamed up the plan in the first place. Sam mumbled, "Ah the upside of Barnes' memory wipes."
"Remind me when Barnes became the brains of the outfit?" Natasha still blamed Sam.
"I think I can get down here, barely. Meet me at the control room door."
"Yes, Ma'm." He saluted.
"I heard that, and I felt that salute. You are on thin ice, Wilson."
"He's coming for you." Shostokov's words were tense with excitement. His whisper broke through Steve's fog after being choked into unconsciousness. "Can you hear that? The sound of gunfire bouncing off the shield. I can barely contain my anticipation. Can you feel it?"
Hands pawed through his hair, tugging his head back against the chair. Steve pulled away, but the move sent his head into a dizzying spin. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "So, tell me what this is all about?" His words slurred slowly.
"Too much medication, Steve? Or not enough air? I'm sorry. Here just sit back and relax, this will soon be over." Gloved hands pressed his shoulders into the chair. "Yes, I suppose it is time to tell you my sad story." Fingers stroked his neck, "To answer your question, the asset destroyed my life." He leaned close to Steve's face but dodged his sluggish headbutt easily.
He gestured with a flourish towards the far wall as a new video began. "The beautiful Alena. So much promise, so gentle and pure."
Steve turned away, but the image was larger than life and hard to ignore. A beautiful young girl with long red hair smiling shyly at the camera. He could imagine Bucky taking a liking to her.
Shostokov's hands on his ankle brought him back into the moment, "Your friend, the asset killed her with his bare hands. Or should I say his bare hand, singular? He is a monstrosity after all."
Steve braced to stay silent when the pain from the twist shot up his leg.
"So much control, Steve. Not like your friend. In this incarnation. So emotional. You know he wasn't that way as the asset." He tapped his foot to emphasize the words. "He was a cold-hearted killer. Did you know that he once wiped out..."
"I prefer to call him well rounded. Yin and Yang, in touch with his sensitive side. Works for me." He pushed the words out through gritted teeth.
"There it is. Listen." Shostokov pointed excitedly towards the door. "You must be accustomed to that sound, the distinctive noise it makes. The shield, when it flies through the air. Although I'm sure, you are much more proficient at it than he is. Too bad he won't have time to perfect it. You can hear it clang to the floor when he misses." His laughter was high-pitched and weak.
"He got past your goons out there, didn't he? I'd say he's doing fine."
"Yes well, you may find that sick old woman had something to do with that. But he is getting closer. Time for me to go. For now." He dragged his hand up Steve's abdomen to his throat, "He soiled her, Captain. Took her from me and destroyed us. He humiliated me in front of her. I vowed he would pay. That day is here."
Steve pushed his hand away, "I thought you wanted his memories? You said the Widow hid information in his memory."
"Yes, indeed, she did. We will get the information. I will get my revenge. He killed the one I loved. I will kill the one he loves. We will be even."
Steve pulled himself up to watch as Shostokov left the room. He fought down the light-headedness and nausea that assailed him with every movement. The flicker of the video feed cast sepia-toned light around the room, enough for him to get a better look at his leg. He could just make out the outline of the bone protruding out of his thigh at a distinctly awkward angle. "Damn."
Every movement to reach the strap around his right ankle brought a fresh wave of sweat-soaking pain. He pulled at his left pant leg to get it under himself and tried again to reach the restraint. Each attempt sent his head spinning. He fell back to let the dizziness subside. The video played on in front of him. Young girls and women grappling with one another, an instructor walking the room, demonstrating the moves, speaking the fluent Russian words. The girl with the sweet smile and red hair spoke shyly with the instructor who returned her warmth. "Only a fool would miss that connection." He murmured. Steve wasn't surprised when the long-haired instructor turned around; he recognized the smile. Not cocky or a smirk from the days before the war, but innocent and warm, like the day they first met.
A shuffling sound followed by a break in the shadows on his left drew his attention. He braced for yet another visit from Shostokov. "Did you miss me, asshole?"
"As a matter of fact, I did," Bucky spoke quietly as his eyes fell on the images of himself and the girl from the Red Room. He sighed and whispered, "Alena."