A/N: Sorry for the long wait guys, but here we go. Hope you enjoy!

Jane Foster was a scientist. A critical thinker at heart. Unconventional methods aside, she was the farthest thing in the world from illogical, even when faced with an angry mob of turncoats who wanted nothing more than to mount her head on a pike. As the man in black tightened his hold, seeming to forget that it was a living person in his arms and not a ragdoll, she forced down the need to scream and turned all emotion off.

This was not the time to panic, it was time to assess.

There were at least twenty men surrounding them, including Pierce. Ten guns trained on them, no one behind them as of yet. Her savior (if she could call him that) was unarmed but seemed unconcerned with the clear and present threat to both their lives. The only door they could reach without going through the mob was partly open and led into a broom closet. There were no windows, no sources of light other than the hanging bulbs. A few more men were coming, fortifying their defenses and raising the count to twenty-six. And they all had guns.

Twenty-six men, sixteen guns, no possible exits.

Somewhere out there, there were worse odds.

After making his proclamation, the soldier fell silent. The words rang in Jane's ears, but they didn't hit her as strongly as they should've. She was already numb, from Pierce's duplicity to her near-death experience, and couldn't process the soldier and his brilliant blues.

With five of his men down and their blood painting the walls, Pierce observed their attacker with an almost bored expression. His shoulders were back, hands in his pockets. At his nod, some of the braver men stepped up to drag them out of harm's way. The soldier watched them and did nothing. He was unarmed except for his fists, and that was all he needed. Still, he hadn't restarted the fight.

She swallowed. If she tried to speak, would he listen? He seemed dead to the world, nothing around him except Pierce. Old, frail, human Pierce whom the soldier nevertheless bowed to. When Pierce stepped forward, the soldier stepped back.

"She's yours," he said, turning the words over slowly.

The soldier nodded. "Yes…"

Pierce stopped moving, kept staring. The HYDRA agents waited for orders, ready to kill or die trying at a moments' notice. Jane tried not to look at them, but the only other option was Pierce. She closed her eyes instead. That way, she could pretend the arms around her were for comfort.

"You want them," Pierce glanced at the army behind him, "to stay away from her."

All traces of aggression were gone. He was barely audible. "Yes."

"Because she's yours."

"She's mine…"

The air was thick. Jane could hardly breathe. Despite her efforts, her eyes kept fluttering open. There seemed to be more agents crowding the hall every time. Their guns looked bigger, deadlier. There were too many barrels to stare down, and it felt like they were all trained on her. She tried to breathe, but her lungs revolted. The soldier moved his arm as if sensing her discomfort, but it did little to ease the pain.

He wouldn't let go of her. Maybe he couldn't. For once, his stoicism was fully outmatched. Pierce was like a statue, not even a twitch of his eye to give away what he was feeling. Jane had her ideas. If he had a gun, this standoff might have ended long ago. In that pressed silk suit and those polished shoes, he didn't look like a man who ever got his hands dirty.

Of course, he hadn't looked like a genocidal maniac either.

Whispers rose over the quiet, fingers grasping for triggers. Rumlow glared the perpetrators down, but he mostly went unheeded. If Pierce was bothered, he didn't let it on. The soldier was all he seemed to care about. Him and the shivering woman he clutched like a lifeline.

Slowly, almost painfully, his mouth formed the words. "All right. She's yours."

A collective breath seemed to go through the crowd, starting with the stragglers in the back and ending with Jane. It got lodged in her throat, leaving her to choke as the soldier's grip relaxed, allowing her to slump over. One of the agents tried to speak- "Sir, I-" only for Pierce to stare him down.

"You were bringing Dr. Foster to her room," he said. "The soldier will accompany you. Does anyone object?"

Everyone did. They would've rather shot the soldier right then and there. Like good little worker ants, they didn't say a word. It was never more clear to Jane just how deep the rot went until now. Pierce didn't just lead HYDRA. In many ways, the man Nick Fury called his friend had become HYDRA.

Slowly, a few at a time, the crowd dispersed. They went off talking about checking the exits for potential breaches or doing some target practice on the lower levels. Whatever useless thing got them out of there fastest. Soon it was just Jane, the soldier, Pierce, and the man who had questioned him. The latter waited patiently for further instructions and Pierce was quick to give them.

"Make sure they're both comfortable. And have a meal sent up in a few hours."

With that, Pierce turned and walked away. Like the last few minutes were just an average day on the job for him. Jane could swear she heard him whistling.

Now on his own, the agent, a balding man with a tiny nose and protruding front teeth, checked that both of his guns were in place before clearing his throat. "Let's go-" he started to address Jane, but as the soldier spread his fingers out over her arm, he seemed to rethink it. "Uh, if you both wouldn't mind."

Jane did mind. The soldier did not. Obedient as a scolded child, he followed the smaller man, shortening his stride to allow Jane to keep up. She nearly tripped several times, only for the soldier to catch her. Their steps barely echoed, even though the chaos had made way for silence. The ringing in her ears had mostly faded. Occasionally, they walked past an occupied room and Jane received snippets of conversation. The topics ranged from how to best neutralize a target with a long-distance shot to whether or not Daniel Craig was a better James Bond than Pierce Brosnan. As two men discussed what they should get for dinner that night, Jane wanted to scream until her voice gave out and then punch the nearest hard surface.

Why did they act so normal? Like they were the ones who deserved to go to bed at night and sleep a full eight hours. They probably didn't even have nightmares.

"Bastards…" Jane whispered.

She wasn't quiet enough. With a snort, the agent turned his head. The threat on his lips died before he opened his mouth as he caught the soldier's eye and turned back around. They kept walking. Jane tried to look up, but her position made it impossible without breaking her neck. The most she could manage was his mouth, set in a straight line, not a hint of a smile or a frown to be found. His full lips were sealed together, the stubble on his chin pronounced with a hint of sweat beading on his cheeks. Even in this faulty lighting, his skin seemed to shine. The leather straps started at the base of his neck and trailed down to form some kind of body armor.

Clutching tight to his arm, Jane felt the sheer strength of him in every move he made. Despite submitting to HYDRA, he carried himself like an apex predator. Each step vibrated in her chest. With just one hand, he could probably shatter her skull. That thought should've sent a wave of chills through her, but it came to her instead as a statement of fact. Merely a scientific observation. Just like how she determined their guide wasn't nearly as good with those guns as he wanted them to believe. Every time he checked them, he went straight for the trigger.

"This way," he said, for no reason other than to hear his own voice. They hadn't changed direction in the last few minutes.

Finally, they reached a plain white door with a rectangular window barely big enough to stick one hand through. There was no knob or visible hinges. The agent scanned a card and the door slid open. Inside was even blander than out. White walls reaching twenty feet up. A single light with a basic round cover illuminating a cot and a toilet. There were no chains that Jane could see, a kindness only a man as generous as Pierce could provide.

"After you." The agent bowed and stretched out a hand, presenting them with their luxury suite.

Jane knew better than to stand around or talk back. Defiance hadn't worked well for her so far, so she'd have to think of a new tactic. Though the soldier maintained his hold on her, she was able to steer him forward. The room was clearly built for one, and the soldier was so broad, Jane had to lean heavily on the wall so as not to get crushed.

"Thanks for the hospitality," she spat.

The agent shrugged. "Least we can do. Sorry, there's no TV, we didn't have time to install one." Backing out of the room, he smiled toothily at Jane. "Someone'll be here to get you tomorrow morning. I'd advise you to cooperate with them. Your little boyfriend here won't be around forever."

With a piercing 'schwing' the door slammed shut. The sound restored Jane's strength and she burst out of the soldier's arms to pound her fists against it. "Let me out! You son of a bitch, I'm gonna-"

The clang of metal drowned out her shouting. The whole thing could've been soundproof for all she knew, but that didn't mean she couldn't try. Again and again, her fists flew, bruised and bloody, but still furious. Jane's entire body shook with each hit. What she lacked in power, she made up for in determination. She could almost ignore her scientist's side, sadly shaking its head and reminding her that fragile human bones would do nothing against solid steel.

Jane searched next for a weak point. As she expected, there was no doorknob in here either. In fact, the door seemed to blend in with the blank walls. She couldn't even find the edges. Soon exhaustion seeped in and the pain-numbing adrenaline slipped away. With a moan, Jane fell to her knees, clutching her aching hands to her chest. Everything hurt as she fought back the cold hand of dread. It was growing stronger by the second, taunting her with the hopelessness of her situation. She was in enemy territory; a prisoner of war. As soon as she was no longer useful, she'd be killed without a thought, and she was already on borrowed time.

Holding herself up on unsteady feet, Jane almost forgot about the shadow lingering over her head. The soldier was watching her. This whole time, he hadn't stopped her from trying to break out. He hadn't helped her or ordered her to stop or picked up where those agents left off. No, he just… watched. With a face so blank it would look better on a robot. In so many ways he was inhuman. From the sheen of his skin to his ramrod-straight back. His eyes bore no recognition, no warmth. There was no spark of life beyond the basic bodily functions keeping him alive. He reminded Jane of a wind-up doll, he could walk and talk and punch and kill, but only as long as the key kept turning.

He didn't move when she approached him. Those blue eyes stared out as his pink lips pursed. If he did try something, there would be nowhere for Jane to run. She knew that, but she wasn't scared. It was the farthest thing from her mind right now. All she saw was his face, now fully revealed to her under the light. More than just his hair and eyes, his nose was a straight slope, nearly pointed at the end. His cheeks were thinned out and colorless. When she reached for him, his mouth twitched, like he wanted to open it but had forgotten the mechanics.

Cool skin greeted her, tight over his bones. They weren't feeding him enough. His complexion was even paler up close, the lack of movement even more unsettling. Was he even breathing? Jane stared at his chest and couldn't tell. Her fingers brushed every inch of his face and neck, seeking a scar or a blemish she didn't recognize. Everything was just as she remembered. The shape of his mouth, his strong chin, those veins peeking out around his Adam's apple. All there. All the same.

Except when Jane closed her eyes, he didn't disappear. She didn't wake up in bed grasping at empty air for a hand that wasn't there. Didn't cling to those last dregs of sleep in the hope that she could fade back into her dreams and feel his arms around her one more time. Under her hands was a solid form, and a face that hadn't changed in over seventy years.

"You're real…" she whispered, tracing his lips. "You're here… Bucky..."

It hit her like a freight train, an unstoppable force sucking her lungs dry and turning her legs to mush. She had no choice but to cling to him, burying her face in his jacket. He smelled like leather and gunpowder.

"Bucky…" his name was like a prayer on her lips, and she couldn't stop saying it. "Bucky… Bucky…"

In her dreams, this was when he hugged her back and scolded her for getting her pretty face all wet with tears. Those playful barbs were like an arrow through her heart, but she couldn't get enough of them. Sometimes, they'd go back into the forest for more target practice. Other times, she'd meet him on the roof where every star in the galaxy spread out around them. Every time, he was beautiful, love radiating from his very being. The darkness HYDRA left within him vanished and he was once again the cocky but sweet sergeant she danced with so many years ago.

Now there was nothing but darkness.

When he looked at Jane, his brows were furrowed, so subtly she almost missed it. His lips dipped ever so slightly into a frown. When his hands came up, he pushed Jane back.

"Bucky…" he said, like a word in a foreign tongue he couldn't quite grasp.

The right hand held her tighter, and the pressure would've made her wince if she was at all conscious of it. Instead, she saw shining silver. Moving plates. Spinning gears just visible within the crevasses. The fingers curled around her arm were cold, seeping through her shirt and making her shiver. Every time she moved, his arm would twitch. The joints would flex the tiniest bit, like real flesh and bone.

Jane stared at it, unable to look at his face anymore. Maybe if she couldn't see him, he'd disappear. He'd be just a dream again. The thought was horrifying, but also comforting. It was the last coherent thought Jane had before the dam burst and she fell into his arms with a cry louder than the day he died.

It was strange, but she missed the snow.

'Who the hell is Bucky?' he wanted to say.

That was another question he had no business asking. Not because it would be insubordination (or so he hoped), but because it just didn't matter. He could also ask what a Bucky was, but of course, he knew it was a name. Kind of an odd one when he thought about it. Probably short for something like Buck or Buchanan.

The woman had called him Bucky, most likely confusing him for someone else. If not that, then she was just spewing nonsense, a common side effect of being held in captivity. Some people would say just about anything to keep their bodies breathing for one more day. The soldier was pretty sure he'd seen it before, but either way, it meant nothing to him.

A weight settled on his stomach, like nothing he'd ever felt before (probably). Whatever it was, he didn't like it. The pain traveled to his chest and made his heart slow down. The woman was in his arms again, lighter than he remembered. As she cried, she clutched his metal arm like she wanted to rip it off and stomp it into the ground. She barely had the strength to keep her feet on the ground, so he wasn't too worried about that. The best thing he could do was sit her down on the bed and let her tire herself out.

The soldier watched the door, but it never opened. Food arrived an hour later and the man who brought it didn't look at the woman. He knew better. It went untouched as the soldier waited for the woman to stop crying, but she never did. After a while, he realized he was rubbing her back, making slow circles with his flesh hand. He tried to hold her steady, but every time his grip tightened that weight would sink further, and the room around him would seem to get darker, as the pain creeping through his heart grew deeper.

Every now and then, that name slipped out again. Bucky. Like a mantra. As thick as the ring in his hand was shiny. Whoever this Bucky was, he was lucky to have a woman who loved him so much.

The weight traveled higher. It was in his skull now, settling at the backs of his eyes. Moisture formed at the corners, dripping down his cheeks. They were alone in this cell with any number of hidden cameras spying on their every move. What would they think, he let himself wonder, seeing the woman in his arms, the brokenness of her cries, the wetness in his eyes. Maybe they'd catch his mouth moving, the indiscernible sounds he made.

"J… J…"

Somewhere in the fog was a full and meaningful word. When he reached for it, it slipped through his fingers like air. He kept trying until his head hurt, and there was nothing left to do but hold her and watch through blurry eyes as the ring made prisms on the wall.

There were three cameras pointed at different angles, leaving no room for blind spots. Knowing the soldier, he was well aware of that fact, so Pierce didn't worry when he looked right at the southeast camera embedded into one of the screws on the wall. Foster was still crying. The soldier held her like he was still capable of caring. Obviously, he was, as the men languishing in the infirmary with several broken bones each told him. Pierce dimly considered how that was possible, but it didn't matter. As long as the soldier completed his next few assignments, they could easily fix it later.

"This could be a problem," Sitwell said as Foster gasped a long-dead name for the tenth time and the soldier didn't flinch.

"No," Pierce said, sipping his wine. "I don't think so. In fact, it might work to our advantage."

Jane didn't know when she fell asleep. Or how.

Her head was throbbing when she was shaken awake. The hand on her arm was not gentle, not warm or metal. It jerked her around as a harsh voice pierced through dreamless oblivion.

"Wake up. Come on, Doc, naptime's over. Let's go."

It would've been nice to ignore him or let a fake snore rip just to taunt him. As consciousness returned and brought with it all the memories of the last few days, any energy sleep had given her fled her body. All she had now was her waning willpower.

Looking up, the first thing she saw was Rumlow's uninviting mug staring down at her. He appeared to be wearing the exact same thing as yesterday. That or he just had a wardrobe full of identical 'bad guy black' shirts in his closet. He looked like he hadn't slept. His nails, though cut short, were sharp enough to make her gasp as he applied more pressure.

"Get up," he said through his teeth. "I'll carry you if I have to."

Jane's free hand reached for the wall, moving through pure air. She groped around as if expecting a hand to reach out and grab her. There was nothing under her except concrete, and no one in the room except the impatient man waiting for her.

"Where is he?" she croaked, looking all around. There were few places to search and they were all within her line of sight.

"That's none of your concern," Rumlow said.

"I want to know what you've done with him."

"Then you'd better get the fuck up."

He pulled her off the ground, nearly dislocating her shoulder. Even when she was standing, he didn't give her time to right herself, simply dragging her down the hall with an unbreakable stride like she was a sack of potatoes. By the time she found her footing, they were at the end of the hall. From there it was endless twists and turns as if they were navigating a maze. No windows meant she didn't know what time it was. A clock on the wall read ten, but was that AM or PM?

To distract herself, she started talking.

"Steve liked you, you know," she said, not sure if her intention was to guilt him or appeal to his humanity. She had a feeling neither would work. "He told me. Said he respected you."

"I respect him, too," Rumlow said casually.

"But you're going against him and SHIELD."

"I'm doing what's best for the world." He led them down another, thankfully brighter hallway. "Steve's a good guy, but he doesn't understand. HYDRA is order. Only through order will we find peace."

"Yeah, and two plus two equals five. I read that book in high school, too."

Rumlow laughed mockingly. "Look at that, she can joke. Maybe we'll keep you around for the laughs."

"Well I guess they can't watch you in bed every night.".

With a frown, he continued on in silence for the next few seconds. A man ahead of them ducked into a room. As soon as he was gone, the breath left Jane's body as she was shoved into the wall. Rumlow's dry, cracked skin scratched her soft cheeks as he held her, making her tear up and increasing her shame.

"Let's get one thing straight, Doc, " he hissed in her ear. "The only reason you're still alive is that Pierce thinks you're useful. Personally, I'm not sure I agree, and the second he changes his mind, yours is painting the nearest wall. So how about showing a little respect. You know, while you can still breathe."

He must not have ever been held down by someone ten times stronger than him before. With his arm pressed into her throat, she could barely open her mouth much less take a breath. She pushed feebly at his chest, forcing a few word-like sounds past her lips as he took pity on her and let go.

"I've punched men scarier than you."

Rumlow stared at her, eyes slits and lips set in a heavy frown. The malice in his gaze was palpable, but he wouldn't hurt her. He'd already told her as much. Summoning strength she never should've had, Jane stared back at him without ever wavering. The ocean of fear in her gut would look like barely a drop to him. After a moment, Rumlow chuckled, a dark, menacing sound that almost made Jane jump.

"I can see why Barnes liked you," he said, leading her forward. "I'm starting to like you."

"Yeah, that's what the guy I punched said."

The rest of the journey was quick. Jane walked at Rumlow's side head up and shoulders level. When he sped up, so did she. They never spoke and Jane didn't spare him more than a glance. Eventually, they came upon a pair of double doors. Rumlow took Jane's arm as if afraid she'd choose now to run. A bespectacled man in a lab coat met them inside. He was much shorter than Rumlow and the shine on his lens left spots in Jane's eyes.

"Hail HYDRA," he nodded as they passed.

"Hail HYDRA," Rumlow returned.

Jane waited for the man to turn around and then flipped him off.

Inside was a dark reflection of Howard Stark's lab. White painted bricks replaced the worn and chipping brown ones. Black soot stains on the floors and ceilings looked like they hadn't been cleaned in months. Instead of a patented 'Stark Lamp' illuminating the basement space in a warm orange glow, the LED lights turned the entire room green. Empty metal shelves lined the walls. Desk lamps hovered over half-finished mechanical monstrosities Jane tried not to look at them for too long. If she did, she might figure out what they were.

Tables spread haphazardly around the room looked like they'd been brought in one at a time whenever a new one was needed. The oldest of them gathered dust in the corner. Up ahead, a series of monitors had been installed. Two men manned the keyboards, occasionally muttering in thickly-accented English. A few words stuck out to Jane like 'map' and 'missile.' They meant nothing to her, but sent lightning bolts of fear through her gut nevertheless.

None of the faces she saw were familiar. It would be impossible for any of them to stand out under normal circumstances. They wore more black than the most dedicated goths. The haunting visages of the men who'd taken her in and nearly ended her life were etched into her skull. Not a single one of them was in this room, but there were still so many. Jane tried to count them, but after thirty, she began to feel sick.

How many of them walked the halls of the Triskelion every day? How many saluted Steve when he walked by?

Five men were crowded around a long metal table. A single lamp illuminated something Jane couldn't see. Focusing on that was better than worrying about the man shoving her along or wondering where they'd taken Bucky. Then one of them turned around and Alexander Pierce smiled down at her.

"Doctor," he said, like her presence in their evil lair was an everyday occurrence. "I trust you slept well. How are you this morning?"

"The bed is lumpy and the food sucks," Jane muttered, "but other than that, I'm great."

Pierce chuckled warmly, but Jane didn't miss the ever so slight darkening of his eyes. "Well, I have something to show you that'll make you feel even better."

It went without saying that his idea of 'better' and hers would be very different. Still, with a gun at her back, it was probably best to play along for now..

On the table was a series of black and white photos. Several showed men standing in the rubble of a burnt building. A few more had the hazy outline of grotesque creatures ripping cars apart and shattering buildings. At least one had Ironman in the background. The one near the bottom of the stack was what got Jane's attention.

"Is that-" she squinted at the glowing staff in the picture, hardly daring to believe what she was seeing.

"It is," Pierce said. "Loki's scepter. The very one he used during the Chitauri invasion. I trust you're familiar?"

About as much as the rest of the non-superhero world. It wasn't something Steve or Thor liked to talk about. "I know a few things. I'm certainly not an expert."

"Fortunately for you, I don't need you to be." Pierce walked around the table to stand at the head of it. "The energy generated by this scepter is unlike any we've ever seen before. Truly otherworldly, and we'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who's been as off-world as you have."

Jane folded her arms. "So I went to Asgard once. It was a glorified hospital stay, not some great scientific expedition."

"But you had to get there, didn't you?" Pierce said. "You traveled on their bridge. The Einstein-Rosen Bridge. No matter how you try to minimize it, Doctor, you possess knowledge of the universe that no one else does, and while it may seem silly of me, I don't like when people know things I don't."

"You really think I'd just tell you how it works," Jane said.

"I think you're smart enough to realize you have no choice, Doctor."

Back straight. Head up. Show no fear. All wonderful pieces of advice that didn't stop Jane from noticing the three men to her left, the four to her right, and Rumlow right behind her ready to finish the job from before. But just because she was up shit's creek didn't mean she couldn't find a paddle. There was a way out of this. She just had to find it.

A flash of movement drew her eyes away from Pierce. The much more pleasant sight of blank white behind a glass window was only slightly marred by the silhouettes of various agents and scientists blocking the corners out with their shoulders. Inside, two men circled each other. The entire floor was covered in mats and, when she looked closer, so were the walls. One of the men was speaking, but Jane couldn't hear it. He turned his head, addressing someone out of view. Then he beckoned to his opponent.

The man stepped forward and Jane's throat closed.

"Bucky…" she whispered.

He's been changed into fresh clothes. Black pants and a black shirt. It only has one sleeve, because why stick a metal arm on him if they're just going to cover it up?

Fixed on his opponent, he said nothing as the man gesticulated wildly, giving him some kind of orders to follow. Bucky's head never moved, and when his mouth did, it formed words Jane understood far too well.

'Yes.'

'Yes sir.'

'Hail HYDRA.'

Then the fight was on.

It quickly became apparent this match was less training and more warm-up. Within seconds, the man was on the ground. Bucky stood over him, his breathing unchanged, as another man stepped up to take the first one's place. One by one, men fell to the soldier. At no point does he show signs of slowing down. If anything, the fight was energizing him. A hulking beast of a man at least twice Bucky's size appeared. He lunged without warning and Jane's heart stopped for one terrible moment before Bucky caught him. He lifted the man clear over his head and slammed him to the ground.

She could almost hear the bones break. Everyone else definitely heard her squeak.

At some point, Pierce had come to stand beside her.

"Do you know where they found him?" He let the question hang as they watched the trainers carry out a case of knives. There had to be a dozen in that box. "He was found at the edge of a frozen river. Legs broken, arm gone at the shoulder, nearly frozen to death, even with the first few doses of serum in his blood. By all accounts, he should've died right then and there. The report says he drifted in and out of consciousness while in transport. He'd mutter to himself, calling out for his friends and family to save him. Two names popped up multiple times. One of them was Steve. Would you like to guess what the other one was?"

Jane bit her lip as hard as she could. It was better than crying. He would not see her cry.

"But you didn't save him, did you?" He continued. "You got up the next day, and you had your breakfast, and you mourned his loss, and then you sat down at your desk to start your shift. Dr. Zola's men worked for days to find him and spent the next few weeks restoring him to full health. That's the difference between SHIELD and HYDRA. Our motto is 'cut off one head and two will take its place'. But in order to do that, you need two heads. You need many heads, and you don't get them by treating your men like they're expendable." He moved into Jane's space and put his hand on her shoulder. "If nothing else, Dr. Foster, can we at least agree that there's nothing more important than protecting your own?"

Bucky wouldn't look at her. The walls were as thick as the Earth's crust. Inside was a tiny planet that she wasn't part of. Jane took in the bullet holes, the flecks of dried blood on the floor. The broken men had to be carried out, leaving the soldier to wait for his next victim.

This wasn't new, that unbreakable focus in his eyes. He always had it back then when aiming at a pin-sized target. For him, it might as well have been an elephant. He never missed once. It was as simple as breathing. HYDRA couldn't change that, they could only refine it. Twist it into something ugly.

And still, it brought Jane back.

"You're holding it wrong."

That had to be the tenth time he'd said it. Not that Jane was keeping count, but if she was, she'd definitely have run out of fingers by now. Hell, she might be low on toes. What would she count next, freckles?

"Whatever you're thinking about, stop it. Just focus on the gun.'"

"I am focusing,'" she snapped.

Staring straight ahead, there was indeed a gun in her hands and a brand new target twenty feet away. Where he managed to find a clear spot among these swiss cheese trees, she'd never know. They were deeper in the forest than usual, but not by much. Jane could still see the path and the dappled light of the base. That was good enough for her though she'd still prefer to be stargazing or writing up reports or literally anything other than putting a bullet in this tree.

Bucky paced around her, inspecting her stance with the care of a scientist. She was his experiment. Could he train an unwilling novice to fire a gun well enough to adequately protect herself without accidentally shooting her own foot off? So far, the answer was no. If it were Jane, she would've given up long ago. Taken herself on a nice picnic lunch instead.

Not Bucky, though. No, he was single-mindedly determined to make this work. He would put as much effort into making sure Jane could shoot a gun as he did everything else in his life. It was a trait Jane was finding less and less attractive by the second.

"Your feet still aren't right." He bent over to adjust them himself. "Shoulder width apart, remember?"

"They were shoulder width," Jane whined.

"Not shoulder width enough."

"Any more shoulder width and I'll be doing a split!"

He laughed. "No offense, doll, but I don't think you're that agile."

Maybe she'd drop the gun on his head. She could make it look like an accident.

Once her legs were an acceptable distance apart, he got to work on her grip. It was too loose. He didn't have to say it for her to know. Every time she squeezed the cold metal, she felt like it would explode. As irrational a fear as it was, those were the hardest to shake. She let him wrap his hand over hers. Maneuvering her fingers into their proper positions, a smattering of red speckled his cheeks. The way he was facing, he had a clear and unobstructed view of her chest.

"See something you like?" Jane teased.

"Plenty of things," he replies, wolfish grin in place. "Everything."

Great. Now she was blushing. She'd long ago made peace with the fact that she was pathetically vulnerable to his charm. That didn't mean she couldn't play a little hard to get.

"I see some things, too." She let her eyes rake over him like a horny man at a bar. "Very fashionable, pretty eyes, nice full lips. Your ears could use some work, though."

Bucky gasped and brought a hand to his heart. "Oh. Ouch. I don't think I'll ever recover from that one."

"Eh, you'll be fine," Jane giggled.

Their faces were close, a fact she casually noted before leaning forward and meeting his lips. It was barely a kiss or even a brush, but it was perfect for them. All they needed after months of flitting around the issue and even more months of embracing it was there in that simple touch.

He lingered as she pulled back, assuming the stance he'd drilled into her. "Oh sure, now you listen to me."

"I always do." Jane hefted the gun. It was heavier than it looked and her wrists were already starting to ache. "Actually, why don't you show me one more time?"

She wanted to be annoyed when he rolled his eyes and plucked the gun out of her hands, but she did kind of deserve it. She moved aside, finding a tree to lean on. Best to give him room, not that it would take him long to find his center. The gun was a part of him. An extension of his body as she'd heard it said. When he aimed at the target, everything else disappeared. His eyes hardened, the veins in his hands popped, and maybe she should've been afraid, but she just never was.

Time flew so quickly. What had become of those bullet-ridden trees. Did they eventually rot away from the damage and have to be torn down? Maybe they were an old magazine in a landfill now. Some trees lived for hundreds of years. She could be born and die in the time it takes to grow roots. Yet she was still here, and those trees might not be.

Never before had she felt so ancient.

Bucky stalked around the room, waiting for either a challenger or a handler to put him back on his leash. He still wouldn't look at her. Odds were good it was a two-way mirror, but the thought that maybe he knew she was close, even if it was just a feeling, gave her a twinge of comfort. Even a wall away, they weren't truly apart.

But she had HYDRA to thank for that. They had found him, tortured him, turned him into an object to do their bidding, but they had kept him alive. He wouldn't be here right now without them. That was what Pierce would tell her as he conveniently forgot that they blasted him off that train to begin with.

"Well, Doctor, do we have an understanding?"

He wasn't touching her anymore. This was worse. If she put her hand in his, that would be his germs all over her bare skin. She remembered the first time she shook his hand. Had it looked so oily then?

This was more than a deal and they both knew it. This was signing her life away. Agreeing to be a hostage until HYDRA had wrung her dry. In the meantime, they'd dangle Bucky over her head like a carrot. They'd let her have him for the night only to take him away again in the morning. Every time could be the last, and every time, she'd take the bait.

Because she had no choice.

They'd been gone for ten minutes. Only one man had stayed behind to guard him. He was small and lean but tried to make himself look big. He didn't look happy with being a babysitter. The soldier understood. He was pretty sure he didn't like being babysat.

There was nothing to do without someone to fight. His last opponent had gone down too easily. It was like punching through whipped cream. Another one would be here soon, just as big and meaty and easy to knock down. For now, he cast his eyes to the mirror. His own face stared back, but it wasn't alone. There were at least two people on the other side of the glass. He didn't know who they were or what they looked like, but he could feel them watching.

Without the chair or anywhere else to sit, he was left to circle the mat, arms flat at his sides and eyes down. The babysitter scoffed at him between glances at his phone. Occasionally he'd get a text notification and then spend the next thirty seconds typing furiously. That was a risky move. Anyone could attack him in that time and he'd be completely unprepared. Then again, he didn't look like much of a fighter. His posture was horrible and his reaction time left much to be desired.

The door opened and a bald head peeked inside. "We need another few minutes. He giving you any trouble?"

"Does it look like he's giving me trouble?" The babysitter swept a dismissive hand at the soldier. "Creepy fuck just sits there staring when he's not punching something."

"Well, try not to look too punchable until I get back."

As the man left, the babysitter muttered something in French. He kept his voice low like he'd remembered that the soldier spoke French but had forgotten that his hearing was enhanced. The words were meaningless to him, having been directed at someone else. If they were ever meant for him, he would have done something to deserve it.

Minutes went by and the door remained closed. The babysitter put his phone away and took to glaring at the soldier. He stood tall, as much as he could at his unimpressive size, puffing out his chest and squaring his shoulders. This was a man who thought himself bigger than the world he inhabited. The soldier had seen this before in the faces of old targets, people whose ideas and actions were too dangerous to ignore. It was his job to make sure they died as ignorable a death as possible before their influence spread too far. More than once he was sent after defectors attempting to sell HYDRA's secrets to the masses. This man didn't seem like the type to think that far ahead, but if nothing else, he had the personality down.

Walking across the mat, unimpressive arms folded, the babysitter stopped directly in front of him. The soldier lowered his eyes, doing everything he could to appear small. This man was his superior, whatever the soldier thought of him. He didn't think anything of him, because he didn't think.

"You know, the way they talked about you," the babysitter said with a noxious grin, "I was expecting taller."

The soldier didn't answer. When they picked him up that morning while the woman was asleep, he was ordered into this training room and told not to move or speak unless directly ordered to. There was always room for interpretation, and they trusted him to know what they wanted without saying it. When the babysitter reached up and poked him roughly on the chest, the soldier knew he was meant to stay still.

"You're not so tough," the babysitter sneered. "What's Foster even see in you?"

Foster. He didn't know that name. It meant nothing to him and yet the babysitter said it like it should have.

"What's wrong? You wanna hit me?" The man feinted and likely didn't poke him again only because they were being watched. "Wanna go like yesterday? Go ahead, you brainless fuck. See what happens."

The soldier didn't, and he wouldn't. He didn't know why he lost control of himself like that but the woman wasn't here and though he had yet to be punished, he knew the time was coming. Brushing his pocket where the ring now sat, he stared straight ahead as the babysitter closed in.

"God, you really are dead in there," he laughed, nodding at the mirror. "She's watching, you know. Your little girlfriend. She's out there right now. Can you see her?"

That was bait. If he looked, he'd get in trouble. The soldier was smarter than that.

"Don't worry, they can't hear us. I could be reaming you out for all they know. So why don't you level with me, how good was she?"

He got right in the soldier's face. His breath smelled like rotten meat. The soldier didn't flinch.

"Did she suck and fuck?" The babysitter spoke softly, just in case they could hear him somehow. "I bet she did. Looks like the type. Not that you could get her going now."

He was to stand down unless ordered otherwise. Yesterday was a mistake. He would not move.

"What'll you do when we take her?"

He would not.

"Better hug her real tight tonight, because before you know it, your little slut is gonna be floating down the-"

The soldier grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. A brief gasp was all the babysitter could manage before his airways closed. His eyes bugged out, ready to pop. His face was the color of a blueberry. He clawed at the soldier's fingers until his feet left the ground. Then he kicked his weak legs out and missed by inches.

An alarm went off and people were coming. Soon the door would burst open and he'd be surrounded, told to let go and get down on the ground with his hands behind his head. He'd finally get that reprimand twice over. The soldier knew all of this and he didn't care. All he knew was that if the babysitter couldn't die, at least he needed to suffer.

"Soldier!" a voice shouted. He didn't know where it was coming from. More words in Russian and German flew. They came with guns, aiming at his head. He should've expected that. The man was unconscious. Had been for a while. The soldier dropped him. His breaths were shallow, but he was breathing.

As the soldier was forced to his knees and cuffed, he tried his best not to look at the mirror. The man may have lied to him. The woman might not be out there right now, watching him be dragged away like a dog. Except when he did look, the light had changed. He could see her now, standing next to HYDRA's leader. Her eyes were wider than the man's, hands clamped over her mouth. If she screamed, he wouldn't hear it. He wished he didn't see the tears. They hit him in a place he didn't recognize, made him feel shame like never before.

They pulled him out of the room, talking about thicker restraints and the chair. The clench of fear he always felt when he heard those words never came. He was too busy muttering that same start of a thought he couldn't complete.

"J… J… J…"