HYDRA Base 1960's
The guards hauled him forward, the metal cuff around his wrist biting into his skin as they forced him toward the pit. His feet echoed against the cold, concrete floor, muscles tensed to resist. He didn't understand why he was here—why they hadn't just tortured him into submission like they always did. But then he heard them talking.
"She's the only one who survived."
"Let's see if she survives him."
Bucky stiffened. The Russian was easy enough to parse, but the meaning behind the words made his gut twist. Survived? Who?
They reached the edge of the pit, and he dug his heels in just enough to look at the scientist watching from the shadows. "What is this?" His voice came out raw, hoarse from disuse. He barely recognized it.
Dr. Kovacs barely spared him a glance. "A demonstration."
Two more guards entered from the opposite end, dragging a figure between them. Bucky's stomach twisted. A girl. Small, gaunt—her skin stretched too tightly over muscles that had grown too fast, every fiber visible beneath the pale surface. It was a miracle she was standing at all. No. Not standing. Being held upright.
Her head was shaved close to the scalp, but on one side, a raw, jagged scar ran from temple to the base of her skull. Her face should have been pretty—delicate, even—but there was something horrifying about the way her cheekbones jutted out too sharply, the way her skin was nearly translucent. Experimentation had carved itself into her, left her covered in evidence of what had been done—sticky residue from torn-off bandages clung to her skin, faint bruises from countless needles dotted her arms, and faded marker lines traced the places where scientists had planned their next "adjustments."
Bucky's chest tightened. He'd seen the aftermath of HYDRA's work up close. Heard about the newest batch. The ones who didn't survive.
And yet, she was still standing.
"She's perfect," Kovacs mused, watching as the guards shoved the girl forward. She staggered but didn't fall. "Strong but pliable. The right balance."
Bucky felt sick. The right balance for what?
One of the guards took a step forward, barking an order in clipped Russian. "Attack, soldier!" The command rang through the air like a gunshot, cold and absolute.
Bucky didn't move. He wouldn't. Couldn't. The blank look in the girl's eyes—vacant, waiting—told him everything he needed to know. She wasn't making choices. She was waiting for input.
He set his jaw. "No."
A second passed, then another.
The guard's expression twisted in irritation before he raised a prod and jammed it into his ribs. White-hot pain cracked through him. He staggered, but when he looked up, his stomach dropped.
The girl had moved too.
She hadn't been hit. No one had touched her. But she had mirrored his reaction perfectly.
Bucky frowned, exhaling shakily as he straightened. The guards prodded him again—he contorted and jerked to the side. She did the same.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. He took a step forward.
So did she.
No.
Not just so did she. She moved exactly as he did.
A perfect mirror.
His fingers curled into fists. What the hell had they done to her?
Kovacs hummed, nodding. "Half a second too slow," he murmured, almost to himself. Then he looked at the guards. "Bring her back. I'll make adjustments."
"No."
The word ripped from Bucky's throat before he could stop it. The guards stilled.
Kovacs arched a brow. "No?"
Bucky forced himself to unclench his fists, to keep his breathing steady. The girl was looking at him now, head tilted slightly. There was something distant in her expression. Not blank, not entirely—but wrong. Something missing.
She didn't know. She didn't even know.
Bucky took a breath. "She's fast enough."
Kovacs smirked and spoke in heavily accented English. "Leave the thinking to me, Soldier."
One of the guards reached for her arm. Bucky flinched first, instinct tightening his muscles before he could stop just like before—as if tethered to him by an invisible thread—she flinched too.
Bucky's stomach lurched.
They were going to take her back. Cut into her. Change her. Make her faster. Make her more like him.
His pulse roared in his ears. This was his fault. They had made her because of him. Because he was too strong to control, too volatile to be useful. They needed a failsafe. A replacement.
And if he kept fighting back, they would keep breaking her until she was enough to kill him.
He knew what he had to do.
Bucky exhaled sharply, shifting his stance. The guard with the prod took a step closer, anticipating resistance. There was always resistance.
Not this time.
Bucky dropped his shoulders. Unclenched his jaw. Lowered his gaze.
The guard hesitated.
Kovacs hummed in interest. "Hmm."
The guards dragged the girl away. She flicked her gaze to his, as though whatever, whoever, lurked beneath the surface had come up for just a moment.
Then she was gone.
Bucky swallowed hard. The ghosts of her movements still flickered in his mind. Not quite human, not quite machine.
He flexed his fingers once, twice, hearing the cybernetics of his arm whir.
That was the moment he began to let go of himself entirely.
By morning, the storm was gone, leaving behind a sky so clear and bright it almost felt like an apology for the forty eight hours prior. The field around the safe house was a mess—branches snapped like twigs, leaves scattered everywhere, the ground still damp from the downpour. It looked like nature had thrown a tantrum and then slipped away quietly before anyone could call it out.
Charlotte tugged at the tactical suit, borrowed from the stash in the Quinjet. "I swear, these suits shrink in the wash," she grumbled.
Bucky glanced over, his own suit fitting him like a second skin. "Or maybe we just ate one too many cans of old Spaghetti-O's," he teased, helping her adjust the straps across her back.
"Hey," Charlotte protested, swatting his hand away playfully, "speak for yourself. I'm in prime fighting shape."
"Could've fooled me," Bucky quipped, dodging her hand. "You looked pretty pinned down last night."
"That's called tactical submission," she retorted. "Learn the difference, Barnes."
With their gear in order, they finished gathering their belongings, half of which were still strewn across the floor in the entryway. While Bucky did a quick pre-flight check, Charlotte contacted the Compound.
"Mission Control, this is Agent Rossi reporting. The storm has passed, and we're prepping for takeoff back to base," she radioed in.
From the other end, the agent's voice crackled through the comm, "Copy that, Agent Rossi. Glad to hear you survived the storm—seemed like a rough one."
Charlotte grinned, shooting a look at Bucky. "It was touch and go for a while there, but we managed."
The flight back was smooth, considering Charlotte hadn't logged very many flight hours since her crash course a few weeks prior. The Quinjet touched down at the compound with enough precision that Charlotte gave Bucky a smug look. "See? Barely a bump."
Bucky raised an eyebrow as he powered down the systems. "I've seen smoother landings from Stark after a three-day bender."
They hopped out of the Quinjet, still ribbing each other, but their enthusiasm dipped the second they spotted Steve and Natasha waiting at the hangar—both holding coffee, both looking way too amused for comfort.
"Thought you might need this," Natasha said, handing the steaming cup to Charlotte with a knowing smirk. "Long nights can be a killer."
Charlotte rolled her eyes, accepting the coffee. "Here we go. Thanks, Nat."
Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder, resisting a comment but grinning all the same. "Welcome back, you two. Briefing room, ten minutes."
As they walked down the path towards the main building, Natasha shot them a look, a mix of amusement and concern. "Ready to face the music?"
Charlotte took a long sip of her coffee. "As I'll ever be. Let's just hope Maria's in a forgiving mood."
The briefing room was tense with expectation as they entered. Maria Hill sat at the head of the table, flanked by Tony and two SHIELD agents whose stern expressions didn't bode well with Charlotte's hopes. She and Bucky took their seats, the weight of the room's scrutiny settling on them. At least Tony's expression was amused.
Maria started without preamble. "Let's hear it. The mission was a success, but there were deviations from the plan. We need a full debrief."
Charlotte took a steady breath, pushing down the discomfort curling in her stomach. She wasn't about to apologize for what she'd done, but standing in front of Maria Hill and two stone-faced SHIELD agents still put her on edge. "Intel was spot on," she began, resisting the urge to look at Bucky for confirmation that she was doing this right. "We located the target, secured the thumb drive containing all communication logs—"
"At which point, Ms. Rossi decided to make an unplanned detour," one of the SHIELD agents interjected, his tone dry. She recognized him, one of the agents from her training group at the beginning of her stint at the compound. His face looked different when it wasn't twisted in spite after she'd thrown him to the grown during a sparring session. Go figure it was him assigned to the mission, of course he'd be intent on making her look bad.
Charlotte's smile didn't waver. "Yes, I retrieved a laptop with additional intel from the target's hotel room. Wasn't part of the original plan, but the opportunity presented itself, and I took it."
Maria raised an eyebrow, turning her attention to Bucky. "Sergeant Barnes?"
Bucky straightened slightly, glancing at Charlotte before answering. "She executed it well. No casualties, minimal exposure, and we retrieved additional intel beyond what we planned for. The mission was a success."
Maria's expression remained unreadable. "Give me an objective report, Sergeant. As if it were any other agent."
Bucky's jaw ticked as he exhaled sharply. He glanced at Charlotte again, but this time, there was no defense left to offer. "It...was risky. The hotel was crawling with security. We agreed to exfil immediately after obtaining the thumb drive."
Natasha, who had been silent until now, shifted slightly in her chair, her fingers tightening around her coffee cup. Steve looked down at his lap, his jaw set, clearly uncomfortable with how quickly the room had tensed.
Charlotte's eyes flicked between them, catching the way Natasha's expression hardened just a fraction, the way Steve deliberately avoided looking at her. She wasn't stupid. They were backing off, letting Maria take the lead—but they weren't exactly on her side, either.
Bucky exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. "It...was risky. The hotel was crawling with security. We agreed to exfil immediately after obtaining the thumb drive."
"And if I hadn't grabbed the laptop, we'd be missing half the story," Charlotte countered, her voice rising slightly. "Sometimes you have to adapt on the ground."
Tony leaned forward, his interest piqued. "What was on the laptop?"
"You name it. Their next moves, financial records, contacts, data that points to HYDRA affiliates—real valuable shit," Charlotte explained, her gaze flicking to Bucky, challenging him to disagree.
Maria tapped her pen on the table, her expression unreadable. "While initiative is often valuable, deviation from a plan without communication is dangerous. It compromises team safety. Especially in the case of a covert operation, this didn't exactly fly under the radar."
Charlotte narrowed her eyes, staring right back at Agent Hill. She liked her, respected her, but she sure as hell wouldn't be made to feel bad for potentially sending them further onto HYDRA's trail.
The other SHIELD agent chimed in. "We had a plan for a reason. Charlotte's actions, while successful this time, could have compromised the mission. It's very difficult to offer support when the field agents go off script."
Charlotte bristled, setting her coffee down with more force than necessary. "So, what? We just stick to the plan, even if there's a chance to end all this sooner? To get more than we hoped for?"
"Look, all they're saying is you don't make that call alone, Charlotte," Bucky tried to diffuse. "You were successful this time, but you put yourself in danger. You put the mission in danger. If those guys had gone rogue, you could have been hurt. Captured, even." His voice trailed off at the end, as if the oxygen had been sucked from his lungs.
The room fell silent, the tension thick. Charlotte's eyes flashed with defiance as she set her jaw, eyes boring into his. "I understand protocol. I can follow orders. But I saw a chance to get us closer to taking down HYDRA for good, and I made a judgment call. I thought you of all people would understand that, Sergeant."
Steve intervened before Bucky could reply. "Okay, let's calm down. We all want the same thing here—to stop HYDRA. Charlotte, your initiative is valued and so is the intel, but Bucky's right. We operate as a team, and that means communication and coordination. We gotta play it safe."
Charlotte crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. "Noted. Next time I'll send a memo."
Maria closed her folder, signaling the end of the meeting. "We'll review the full reports and discuss this further if needed. Good work, but remember, we're a team. Let's act like one."
Maria left the room first, flanked by the SHIELD agents. Tony followed closely behind, giving Charlotte a sympathetic look as he called, "I like the attitude, kid. I was never great at sticking to the plan either."
When it was down to the four of them, the air remained charged, the unresolved tension palpable. Natasha and Steve exchanged a look, as if they were deciding who would give the speech. Before they could settle it, Charlotte pushed back from the table and stood.
"Charlotte, wait," Bucky called.
"Don't." She whirled. "I get it. Why take a swipe at the organization that stole years from our lives, hell* stole* our lives? Why go after them when we can sit on our fucking hands and ask for permission instead?" Her words hung in the air as she stormed out of the room.
Bucky sighed, closing his eyed and tilting his head up to the ceiling.
"I'll leave this one to you, Cap." Nat spoke softly, patting Steve's leg before sliding out of the room.
"Hey, man, you okay?" Steve asked, his tone light but concerned.
Bucky exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Yeah. Just… frustrated, I guess."
Steve tilted his head, studying him for a moment. "Frustrated how? Because she went rogue, or because you get why she did it?"
Bucky huffed out a breath, shaking his head. "Both. She went off-book, yeah, but she got results. And I can't even say she was wrong. I just—" He dragged a hand down his face. "I don't like watching her throw herself into the fire like that."
Steve nodded, his expression understanding. "You mean, the way you used to?"
Bucky shot him a look, but there was no heat behind it. "Yeah, yeah. I hear it. Doesn't mean it's easy to watch."
Steve chuckled. "No, it never is. You know how many times I had to pull you out of some reckless situation before you finally figured that out?"
Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. I remember."
Steve smirked. "And now, look at you. Got your own 'Bucky' to deal with. Poetic, isn't it?"
Bucky huffed a laugh, but there wasn't much humor in it. "Yeah, real poetic."
"You know, from an outsider's perspective, you and Charlotte are almost comical with these mood swings."
Bucky shot him a glare. "Really? That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"No, but it might help to see the bigger picture. You two have been at each other's throats one minute and saving each other the next since she arrived. It's like watching a pendulum swing."
Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, I know." He leaned back, arms crossed, mulling it over. "We're either at each other's throats or—well, the opposite. No grey area."
Steve nodded. "Sounds exhausting."
"You have no idea." Bucky let out a dry laugh.
Steve shot him a look. "Have you tried just talking to her? You were just with her for like a week straight."
Bucky exhaled, shaking his head. "Look, we didn't exactly have a lot of downtime for deep conversations these past few days."
Steve raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Oh? And what exactly were you two busy doing that talking wasn't a priority?"
The question hung in the air, and Bucky's silence was answer enough. Steve's smirk widened into a full-fledged grin. "I see. Well, that explains the extra tension."
"It's not like that," Bucky started, but Steve cut him off.
"Buck, it's exactly like that. You two are like fire and ice. Remember the forest? The training exercises? The mission? You save her, she saves you, you fight, you make up. It's a cycle. Maybe this time around, you just added a new… element to the mix."
Bucky couldn't help but snort, the absurdity of the situation not lost on him. "So, what? You're saying this is just how it's going to be forever?"
"Not saying that," Steve replied, his voice becoming softer. "Just maybe try to talk before it turns into another fight. You both obviously care a lot—to fight that hard, to protect that fiercely, it means something, Bucky."
Bucky nodded slowly, the fight draining out of him. "Yeah, maybe you're right. I'll try to talk to her."
"Good," Steve clapped him on the back. "And hey, maybe keep the mission debriefs a little less… fiery, for all of our sake."
"No promises."
HYDRA Base Late 1960's
The guards hauled him through the dimly lit corridors, his boots scuffing against the cold floor. The walls were dark, clinical. No sound besides the echoes and the mechanical whir of cameras tracking his every movement movement.
Bucky blinked slowly. His mind was sluggish, like moving through water. He knew he had just returned from a mission. Knew his knuckles ached from something. Knew he was being taken back to the chamber to be wiped. Knew there was blood caked on his face and in his hair.
He didn't know who it belonged to.
Didn't matter. Nothing did.
The guards paused outside a glass-paneled observation room. Bucky barely registered the movement, barely cared, until a sharp, panicked sob cut through the air.
His body reacted before his brain did.
He turned his head.
Inside, a girl was on her knees.
Not just a girl. The only girl who'd survived around here. Their Project Mockingbird.
She wasn't as gaunt as before. Her hair had grown out just enough to fall in uneven tufts around her face. But her body—they had perfected it now. The skin stretched taut over enhanced muscle, every fiber visible beneath the pale surface. The scientist standing over her was speaking, his voice cold and measured.
"You hesitate." His Russian was crisp, unwavering. "You still believe mercy is an option."
The girl shook her head, her breaths coming too fast, too sharp. There were tears on her already bloodied and swollen face.
Bucky's stomach twisted. Tears wouldn't help her here.
The scientist gestured to the small, trembling shape in front of her.
A rabbit. White, fragile. Innocent.
"Kill it," he ordered.
Charlotte's whole body flinched. "No," she whispered.
A shock crackled through her. She cried out, her back bowing in pain, but still, she didn't move for the creature.
The scientist sighed as if he were disappointed and bored. "Kill it. Now."
She was shaking violently now. "Please," she choked out. "Please, don't make me—"
Another shock. Then a strike to the ribs. Bucky barely stopped himself from reacting.
"She still clings to weakness," the scientist murmured to a guard beside him. "She still feels."
Bucky's pulse pounded in his ears. Move. Do something.
The his body never listened to the command.
The scientist shook his head. "Enough."
A gun clicked.
The girl lunged forward. "No—!"
The shot rang out.
Blood sprayed across the wall and her face as she fell to her knees where the animal used to be.
Charlotte let out a sob, her hands shaking violently as she covered her face. She was too slow. Half a second too late.
The guards nudged Bucky forward. He didn't resist. Didn't look back. Didn't react as they led him to his chamber, forced him inside.
The sedation kicked in fast. He barely felt the needle.
As the darkness closed in, one fractured thought lingered.
Half a second too late.