Author's Notes: And we're back for another chapter! Thank you, again, to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story. Once again, we're taking a trip to the past. Let's get the Soldier/Natalia ship sailing, hmm?

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Marvel related. Nope, not me.

Chapter 4: Past

Karpov stood in the back corner of the room, a red leather-bound journal open in his hands as he occasionally wrote down his observations. The journal was embossed with a Soviet star, just like the one on the Soldat's metal arm, and Natalia wondered just what the journal contained. If she could get her hands on it, perhaps she could find an advantage against her newest instructor. Training was brutal and invigorating. She regarded each sprain and bruise as a mark of progress and yet a reminder to do better. The Soldat was a good instructor.

He was skilled. Powerful and quick. And smart. Natalia thought that was a trait that everyone seemed to overlook. The Soldat was one of the smartest men in any room, and yet no one, especially Karpov, seemed to know or care. It made Natalia suspicious. In fact, everything about the Soldat made her suspicious.

Well, curious, really.

He was inhumanly disciplined. Every order followed without hesitation, almost without recognition. Mindless. And it didn't make sense to Natalia how that could be, how a man could be so mindless and yet so incredibly clever. She watched him as he trained the others, as she stood to the side and waited her turn. She watched him analyze every little tick, every minuscule twitch of muscle. He was aware of every movement in the room, and she watched him track everyone even as he beat his current trainee.

It was more than observation. Anyone can observe. It was the subtle way he reacted that let Natalia know there was a brain in his skull, a brain that made connections fast. Whenever the Madame entered the room, he grew just the slightest bit gentler with the trainees. Natalia doubted anyone but her could see the slight restraint, and she also doubted that Karpov realized the Soldat was doing it strictly to make the Madame happier (since it implied her Widows were progressing), which would make her amiable to any of Karpov's requests, which last week had involved a weapons upgrade to the Soldat's entire arsenal. Natalia had seen him appreciate the new sniper rifle. His examination was entirely tactical and yet she sensed something of a caress in the way he ran his fingers along the barrel.

For all of the Soldat's mechanized habits, there was something human lurking beneath it all, and Natalia Romanova had never been so intrigued in her life.

"Romanova," the Soldat called sharply, and she snapped to attention, bowing her head before she stepped onto the mats.

The Soldat's answer was to launch an attack, but this was expected. The Soldat never exchanged pleasantries. His only job was to train the Widows, and so that was what he did. Karpov wanted them broken and made stronger, and so that was what the Soldat would do. Within just three weeks, he had managed to break every trainee except one.

Romanova.

She was . . . different.

She was better.

He tried every trick he knew, and while he beat her just as viciously as he did the rest, she always got back up. And there was something about that simple act, about getting to her feet and putting up her hands when all common sense told her to stay down, that the Soldat . . . admired. It was refreshing. It was different. It was new.

She was refreshing. She was different. She was new.

And he pushed her. Harder than the rest. He knew she could take it.

Natalia ducked a powerful swing that was nothing but a blur of silver to her eyes but still found herself on the mat in the next second, entirely unsure of how she'd gotten there. She cursed under her breath, voice full of frustration and annoyance at her own weakness. The Soldat felt his lips twitch.

"Eще раз," he said.

Again.

She looked up at him in surprise as he waited for her to get up. It was an allowance that he had never made before, and she wondered what had caused him to break his pattern. In the background, she could hear Karpov's pen scratching against his journal. "Never go for the obvious strike," he said, switching to English as he often did. Natalia thought the words sounded easier in his American accent. "If you see it, so will they, and they will be waiting for it. Be smarter, Romanova."

Natalia nodded her head sharply and got to her feet despite the way every fiber of her being ached. In the brief silence before the Soldat attacked once again, she studied him. There was something different about him today. He had never given advice before, trusting the Widows to either learn through pain or die trying. She didn't understand how she was any different, what had made him break is pattern, and it only intrigued her further.

If she were particularly bold, she'd think that she was becoming a teacher's pet. It wasn't a place she wanted to be. She had always avoided the spotlight. She was a survivor. She was a spy. Spies were meant to be invisible. Being invisible was how she had survived.

But perhaps . . . perhaps she could work this to her advantage. Perhaps it was time to make her move into the spotlight, to draw attention to herself. There were only five Widows left in the program, and she was determined to be the last. If she could form a relationship with the Soldat, it could only benefit her. She could bargain for more training. Special attention. Attention and skills denied the rest.

Natalia had just enough time to make that assessment and feel firm in her resolve before she was forced to deflect the Soldat's next volley of attacks. She dodged and spun—twirled really—around the Soldat. Fighting was like ballet in so many ways, and she had always been a brilliant dancer. The Soldat was a good partner, every step, every beat, firm and sure. The choreography was harsh, nearly cruel, yet when Natalia landed a kick to the Soldat's jaw and received a brutal punch in return, anyone who bothered to truly look at the pair would have seen a relationship developing that was founded not in violence but in a mutual, growing respect.

The saving grace for the Soldat and Natalia was that no one bothered to look.

And so the next time Natalia was laying on the mats, defeated yet again, Karpov didn't notice how his Soldat smiled through his eyes when the Widow Romanovna pushed herself to her feet despite her bruised ribs, a sprained right wrist, and a twinging right knee and said, with a dark, challenging smile, "Eще раз."

Natalia chose her timing carefully, artfully managing her time so that she was last Widow left in the training room with only Karpov and the Soldat for company. She purposefully caught the Soldat's eyes when she confidently strode toward him, cataloging the slight curious raise of a single eyebrow. Another new tick. The Soldat was full of surprises today.

Karpov eyed her with mild curiosity. "Yes?" he prompted as she stood before him like a soldier at ease.

"I would like to make a request, General." She glanced at the Soldat. "If the Soldat would be amendable."

Karpov's lips quirked in amusement. "And that would be?"

"I would be grateful if I could be granted more time with the Soldat for personalized training," she said. "I believe that such training would allow for greater progress in my skills."

"You have already made considerable strides."

"I could make even greater strides if I did not have to share his time with four other girls." Natalia allowed her lips to curve in a slight, teasing smirk.

And Karpov smiled indulgently just as she'd suspected he would. "Are you sure that is your reasoning behind this, ah, alone time with my Soldat? Perhaps you are thinking of enhancing a particular set of skills? He is handsome, no?"

Natasha made of show of glancing at the Soldat out of the corner of her eye. "Really?" she quipped. "I hadn't noticed."

Karpov laughed as if it was all a lovely joke, taking Natalia's bold assertions as those of overconfidence instead of tactful. "Fine," he said. "You may meet here tomorrow night for an hour."

Natasha gave him a close-lipped smile. "Thank you, General."

"Dismissed, Widow Romanova."

The Soldat watched as Romanova left the room, an extra sway in her step in victory, and he wasn't sure how he felt. Confused. Curious. What did she think she had to gain? The training was obvious, but he sensed there was more to it than that, and it . . . intrigued him. He wasn't accustomed to dealing with someone so unpredictable. Karpov made no secrets of his thoughts and desires. The guards were open, and frequently talked around him as if he could not hear which of the little Widows they wished to fuck or how much Petrov owed Krupin from their last game of cards. The Soldat was invisible.

And so was Romanova.

Which was why the Soldat did not understand why she was choosing to draw attention to herself now.

"Soldat."

Karpov started for the doors, trusting that the Soldat would follow, and he did. The Soldat walked silently through the halls, hanging back behind Kaprov like a menacing shadow, giving no thought toward the soldiers they passed. They had long stopped giving him questioning, ascertaining looks. The fear and awe and mystery had passed once they realized that he was nothing to admire. He was a tool for HYDRA. Nothing more.

And so they treated him like they would a shiny new toy that a child had grown tired of.

The Soldat didn't care. He preferred it. He was more efficient alone.

"The girl," Karpov suddenly spoke. "Romanova. Assessment."

"She is capable," he replied immediately. "Quick. Deceptive."

"Is there chance for growth?"

"She is stronger than the others."

Karpov nodded. "Good," he said. "Break her."

"Yes, General."

"Take this." He held out a file he'd held with his journal. "You have a mission, Soldat. Dmitri Kozlov, 34. He was a HYDRA scientist until we lost the war and has since turned against us. He feeds information to America from one of our research facilities in Austria. Kill him. Make it . . . theatrical."

"You want to make a statement."

"I do, Soldat. And you shall make it for me. Hail HYDRA."

"Hail HYDRA."

Gah, having Bucky say "Hail HYDRA" will never not make me squirm. Ick.

Moving on! This one is short, I know, but most of the past chapters are like that, though this is the shortest one by far.

Okay, preview, preview . . . again, it's only 50/50 so . . . Natasha! - "I didn't like that table anyway."

See you Friday!

-AC