90.

?

?

The first time Madame Hydra wakes Isabel up, she's frightened by the sensations. The cold of the tube slowly dissipates, replaced with an intense warmth that thaws her out almost immediately and penetrates every inch of her, inside and out.

It's like stepping into the hottest furnace in the world.

It's like walking right on the sun's surface.

Suddenly, she takes a gasping breathe and her eyes flick open, a few icicles still stuck to her lashes, meeting Madame Hydra's expectant face on the other side of the glass.

Madame Hydra opens the door to the chamber and Isabel falls out onto the floor, her legs weak beneath her. She feels around on the cold concrete floor, running a hand over her face and hair that is still unnaturally cold to the touch. She's shaking, shivering, every inch of her covered in cold water from the condensation of the chamber.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Madame Hydra greets cheerfully, standing over Isabel. "Take your time. I understand coming out of cryostasis is quite wrenching on the body."

Isabel coughs. "W-what are you doing to me?"

"We're preserving you," Madame Hydra says, as though it were the easiest thing in the world.

"W-what?"

"We don't want you to age. Especially since it's taken us many years of work to break the Asset down to the level he's currently at. We're keeping you in cryostasis until the Asset is ready for deployment, which is when we will need you for the next part of your job."

"H-how long has it been?"

"I can't tell you," Madame Hydra says immediately.

When Isabel looks up at her, looks at her properly, she notices the effects of age on the woman – lines and wrinkles on her face, a streak of grey hair in the front of her fringe. Madame Hydra looks nearly fifty, not thirty as she had when Isabel had last seen her.

"I did what you wanted. You nearly killed me, and that made Bucky give in. You knew it would. You knew he wouldn't be able to stand me get tortured. You've got him. He's yours. What else do you want from me?" Isabel snaps, pushing herself to her feet and glaring at Madame Hydra.

"We're trying to train the Asset to obey our every command–"

"Like some kind of dog?" Isabel spits in disgust.

"No, like a loyal soldier. That is what he is – a soldier. The Winter Soldier. That's what we've named him. The Asset, the Soldier, the Winter Soldier; any of those names will do."

"His name is Bucky," Isabel argues defiantly. "His name is James."

"Not anymore. He won't answer to it, either, so I wouldn't bother trying. The memory wiping process is nearly complete. We couldn't complete it when we first began as we hadn't researched enough about the workings of the human mind. He's been in cryo-freeze along with you for a time while we planned a new strategy and researched. Now we're prepared. We've moved onto the final strategy in his reprogramming. There are still only a few details of his past life that he remembers, and we must eradicate them before he is ready for deployment."

"What strategies are you talking about? Y-you're machine doesn't work?"

"It does, but it needed more. You'll see, in time. We need you now for something else. You'll play a large role in our new tactic, should it be successful. And don't forget what happens should you refuse to play along, fraulein."

Isabel nods in understanding.

Madame Hydra leads Isabel to the other side of the room where a metal door sits in the wall, closed securely. She puts a code into the small keypad beside the door and seconds later it clicks open, enough for Madame Hydra to wrench it open and for the two women to slip inside.

Isabel's eyes widen at the sight. They've got Bucky sitting in a chair, different to the usual mind-wiping chair, tied down with the prongs of the chair at his temples. It isn't wiping his memories, though, but shocking him with bursts of electricity.

"You will forget," a man says as he stands over Bucky, holding a piece of paper up toward Bucky's face for him to look at. Bucky's eyes have been forced open by little prongs that pry his eyelids open painfully. Then, the machine starts up, shocking Bucky and making him scream. "You will forget," the man says again, giving Bucky the time to stare at the photograph before the machine takes off again.

"What the hell are you doing to him?" Isabel hisses, watching Bucky scream and writhe in the chair. He hasn't even noticed his sister standing in the doorway watching. "What, did you just bring me out of cryo to make me watch?"

"This is a form of aversion therapy. A psychological treatment," Madame Hydra tells Isabel. "The patient is exposed to a stimulus while simultaneously being subjected to some form of discomfort. We show the Asset pictures of his friends and family, and we pair that with shocks from the machine. He'll be conditioned to associate the people with unpleasant sensations, he will forget them, and it will mean he won't try to remember them. This form of therapy ensures that if he ever breaks away from Hydra, he'll become physically unwell if he attempts to retrieve his memories. Just the thought of his family or friends will make him sick," Madame Hydra explains proudly.

"That's a bit extreme, isn't it? You've already wiped his memories. He barely remembers any of them. He doesn't even know that there is someone to remember…"

"Not true. The chair sends shocks into certain parts of the brain responsible for memory-retention and personality production. The shocks damage the brain, causing memory loss for specific types of memories. He needs to retain his sensory and short-term memory in order to complete his tasks, and he needs to retain his procedural memory – how to shoot, fight, everything he already knows. But he needs to forget his conscious memories, of facts and events and experiences. In this way, he will retain the memories that are vital for him to survive, such as how to walk, run and talk, and such. It also prevents damage to the brain for the involuntary bodily functions, so his heart will still beat, and he'll still digest food. However, he doesn't remember his life. The chair has jumbled his memories. He recognises that these people in the photographs are repeatedly shown, but he doesn't know where they're from or how they're related to him."

"He remembers nothing that makes him Bucky?" Isabel whispers, looking brokenly at her brother.

Madame Hydra leans against the wall beside Isabel, like they're two friends talking in the cafeteria over the water fountain. "He used to remember, but he couldn't make sense of it. Before we began the aversion therapy, the true personality of Sergeant Barnes sometimes slipped through the cracks. He's tried to escape multiple times and has called out for you and for the Captain and for his mother, even though he wasn't entirely sure of who you were anymore. We couldn't proceed until we overcame this, and luckily, we discovered this therapy. This, what you are witnessing, is the final round of therapy. We've eradicated his memories, pushed them so far down along with the pain that he won't want to remember them, ever. They're locked away in a little filing cabinet in his mind, and that cabinet is guarded by a bouncer, of sorts – that's the pain. He won't be able to access these memories without dealing with the pain."

Isabel turns to Madame Hydra then in disgust. "How could you?"

"There's always a chance that he could go rogue and could break away from Hydra. In the event that we are unable to track him down, or it takes a long time to recover him, we can't risk him quickly working through the programming or being triggered by anything to remember these people," Madame Hydra explains. "If he remembers one, even one memory, the entirety of the brainwashing could be overridden, and the memories could flood back like a tidal wave."

"Programming? So, you've done more to him than just wipe his memories?" Isabel inquires, feeling quite sick to her stomach.

"Of course, to turn him into the Soldier. We've been training him, intensely. He's a true soldier; he was already very skilled before we got our hands on him, and so he hasn't needed much training, apart from in weaponry and vehicles, things he has never accessed before. And languages. We've taught him almost every major language in the world, and he is fluent, along with the accompanying accent. He could slot into any country anywhere in the world and be invisible."

Madame Hydra hands Isabel a small red book, like a journal, and shoves it into her hands. Isabel looks at it and turns it over, running a thumb over the black star imprinting onto the front of the red cover, an opposite colouring to the black star they've painted onto the shoulder of Bucky's arm, which, now that Isabel looks, is a new version of the arm and seems to be much better constructed than the last.

"We've drilled into him that you both work for Hydra, and he believes it. He thinks he has no family, and it will stay that way. He believes his entire life is devoted to the Hydra cause, and you are going to be his handler that will guide him through," Madame Hydra explains, watching Isabel, who's eyes roam over the changes to Bucky since she'd last been awake.

"I-I don't understand."

"The programming features a set of trigger words. When these words are spoken in order, it will awaken the programming that lies recessive within the Asset's mind. Once the trigger words are read and the Soldier is awakened once, it will be likely that Sergeant Barnes will never be recovered again. The programming will always have a hold over him and will always be strong. His true personality will never reemerge again," Madame explains. "And that's exactly what we want."

She flips to a page in the book that has a list of Russian words written down its length and the correct English pronunciation beside it.

"When the programming is dormant, he is just the shell of a man with no memories. It is not until the programming is employed that he has purpose. Whoever reads the words has complete control over the Asset. Whatever they instruct him to do, he will do. He will have a handler who he is programmed to protect from harm within an inch of his life. We've tapped into the protective side of his personality and we're twisting it, focusing that protection on Hydra and his handlers rather than… well, you. But there is still that deep protection for his family, that much is clear. So, we figure that if you were to be his handler, he would not attack you, particularly if he still, somehow, recognises his connection to you. Any other person who's attempted to become his handler has had their neck snapped immediately."

"Perhaps it was more the way they treated him," Isabel suggests, watching as the man slaps Bucky hard across the face while yelling for him to forget. "What am I supposed to be telling him?"

"We have a list of targets that Hydra needs eliminated, and that list will surely grow as we grow. The Asset's purpose will be to dispose of these targets," Madame says, showing Isabel the next pages in the book, most of the book blank in preparation to be filled out with future targets. "You'll say the trigger words and if he complies to you, you will be his handler from here on in. If he complies with his programming, it means we have reached full submission. He'll become the Asset."

"We are so close," another man says, looking excitedly at Madame Hydra.

As Isabel digests this, she takes the liberty to flip through the pages of the book. The first half is filled with notes on how Bucky's been changed into the Soldier, all the experiments and tests and therapies they've tried on him to get him to break, and its extensive. Cutting, burning, aversion therapy, beating him within an inch of death, breaking bones, nearly killing her as bait, wiping his memories, waterboarding, drowning, sticking him out in the coldest Russian winters. Any way they could possibly break a man down and rid him of himself, they've tried over the last however many years they've been stuck here. Isabel swallows down the bile that rises up from her stomach.

The man who was giving Bucky his "therapy" session finishes up, exiting the room and leaving Bucky sitting in the chair, breathing heavily, his eyes glassy and his forehead sheen with sweat. He doesn't even look at the two other people still standing a few feet from him, his eyes downcast and staring blankly at the ground in front of him. He doesn't move, not even an inch, from where he was left.

"Say the words, Miss Barnes. He has a mission to complete," Madame Hydra urges.

Isabel turns and glares at Ophelia. "I won't do that to him," Isabel argues, throwing the book away with a defiant flick of her wrist.

Madame Hydra dodges and catches it easily in mid-air, almost as though the book were too sacred to touch the dirty ground. When she stands she's holding a gun toward Bucky's head where he sits motionless in the chair, the therapy finally finished.

Madame Hydra pushes the book back into Isabel's pale hands. "You will. Say the words or I'll hurt him," she warns, eyebrow raised.

She knows Isabel and Bucky's weaknesses and she's been exploring them ever since they both arrived in their captivity. But Isabel's found a weakness of her own.

"You wouldn't hurt your precious Asset. All this hard work, however many years this has taken, you wouldn't undo it," Isabel sneers, shaking the book in her hand to emphasise. "If you kill him, you have no Soldier. You lose your Asset, and then Hydra's work will never be done. You said it yourself, we're the only two to survive a dose of your lethal super-soldier serum. Without Bucky, you have nothing. And if you kill me, you have no one to control him–"

"We will find another," Madame Hydra promises, though she sounds unsure of it. She knows that Bucky is their only super-soldier, at least until they manage to develop another, but it still hasn't been done. "Or we will continue to wear him down until he'll submit to any old person. This is your choice. If you are his handler, you hold onto some control over how he is treated. You can ensure that, despite anything, he lives a relatively comfortable life. You can protect him."

"I can protect him by sending him out to do the one thing he'd rather die than do. I don't think so," Isabel argues. She can admit she can see the logic in it, but she still can't stomach it. "You already tortured me so that he would give in and let himself be brainwashed. It would have killed him to see you do that to me, and I was too stubborn; I made him watch. I've already done too much to hurt him. I won't do it. It'll hurt him more to do those things to people. Bucky isn't a killer."

"He'll never remember it, I promise," Madame Hydra says, a hint of sympathy in her tone. "We'll be wiping his memories periodically to ensure the memories do not slip through on their own. He will forget what he's done."

"I can't–"

"Say the words. Please," Madame Hydra pushes. "Please, or else I'll be forced to hurt him. And that, will be on you."

Isabel looks at Bucky, who is slumped in the chair, the electric shocks finished, and the photographs hidden away again. He looks up slowly when he feels her eyes on him and meets her eyes with blank, cold grey orbs that show nothing – no pain, no sadness, not even recognition.

"Bucky, please wake up," Isabel whispers to him. "Don't make me do this. Please." Bucky just stares back with a blank expression as though he were a living doll, not a human with rights and a personality and emotions. "Bucky. Bucky, please."

Then, for just a split second, Bucky's expression breaks and his eyes well with tears. He looks incredibly desperate and pained and heartbroken, and his eyes flash with recognition for the woman standing in front of him, holding that familiar red book.

"Say the words," Bucky begs her, a part of himself seemingly slipping through. "Finish it. This is hell, being in between. If it has to happen, just do it. Let them wipe me. I-I'd rather not know."

Madame Hydra looks concerned about this. She looks at Bucky, looking for recognition, but he goes back to the blank-faced shell of a man he'd been when Isabel walked in.

Isabel starts to cry, watching as Bucky quickly slips away again as though something within him is pulling him away again, only letting him through for a few seconds before pulling him away back into the darkness of his now-empty mind. She wonders just how much he fought to be able to speak to her like that, how long it took him to gather the energy to come through for only a few seconds, just how strong the programming is drowning him in its depths.

Madame Hydra looks alarmed that Bucky managed to speak, because it means that the aversion therapy is not entirely finished. But Bucky slips away just as quickly as he comes, and she seems to relax knowing it won't affect him. Once the trigger words are said and the programming is activated, the voice of Sergeant Barnes will never be heard again.

"You heard him. This is what he wants," Madame Hydra says, putting a hand on Isabel's shoulder comfortingly. "Put him out of his misery. Read those words and he will never be himself again. He'll be freed from pain."

Isabel shrugs her off, glaring at her with a deadly expression. She knows that Madame Hydra could have forced Bucky to say that, that it could have all been an act. But his eyes, they'd been so Bucky and so terrified, Isabel doesn't know if this Bucky could have been so convincing.

"Bucky, please, come back," Isabel tries, but the broken man in front of her remains as he is, staring at her expectantly with a childlike innocence, eyes wide. She gets close to him, gets down to his level, and stares into his eyes, but there's absolutely nothing.

"Read it!" Madame Hydra screeches, making Isabel jump.

"I'm so sorry, Bucky. I'm so sorry," Isabel whimpers, finally unable to take it.

She can't deny him, if this is what he wants. She can't stand to leave him in this hellish in-between state. He either needs to be fully Bucky, or fully the Soldier. Anything else and it's a personal hell.

She takes a deep breath and looks down at the book, at the Russian words on the page. Isabel doesn't recognise the words or what they mean, apart from a few numbers. Madame Hydra's grip on her shoulder gets tighter, so tight it hurts. Isabel takes another, shaky breath.

"Zhelaniye, rzhavyy, semnadtsat'…"

Bucky starts to whimper and convulse in the chair, groaning and gritting his teeth as the Winter Soldier reveals himself and the Asset comes out to fight.

Isabel pushes on, not daring to look at him. The sounds don't even sound like Bucky, which helps, instead resembling a pained animal. "…rassvet, pech', devyat', dobroserdechnyy, vozvrashcheniye na rodinu."

Isabel finishes and finally looks up, and a new expression on Bucky's face replaces both that of fearful and desperate Bucky Barnes, and the broken child-like man Hydra left behind. Instead, Bucky looks deadly, his eyes cold and emotionless, his eyebrows furrowed darkly. This is the Soldier. This is the Asset.

This isn't Bucky.

Isabel doesn't know whether that makes it better or worse.

He stands slowly from the chair, facing Isabel. "Gotovy soblyudat," Bucky – no, the Soldier – says, his voice barely even recognisable as his own. Isabel can't even believe that deep, monotone voice came from Bucky's mouth. No, not Bucky. The Soldier.

Isabel looks down again, at a new page that Madame Hydra turns to for her, the next in the book. It's got a sole name on it, one Isabel doesn't recognise, a location in France, and mission parameters to return within seventy-two hours with no witnesses. Isabel reads it aloud and the Soldier stands for only a moment before nodding. A group of men walk into the room, the Soldier's personal strike team, and motion for the Soldier to follow, and he does with no resistance, following them out of the room.

The second time Madame Hydra gets Isabel out of cryostasis, she awakens Bucky at the same time. They both fall out of their respective chambers to the floor, and the guards give them the time they need to recover from the cold and their frozen bodies.

Bucky looks up first, his eyes landing on the brunette woman slumped on the floor a few metres away from him. His eyes are wide and questioning, slightly curious. Then, his brow furrows at her in recognition. Not recognition for her as his sister, but because he remembers seeing her before, and that she has control over him, somehow.

Madame Hydra doesn't waste time. She gives Isabel the book before Isabel's even got her breath back or even sat up. She grabs Isabel by the back of her shirt and slings her upright so she's sitting on the floor, putting the open book in her hands.

"Read it, quick," Madame Hydra hisses. "We haven't long."

Isabel resists the long-suffering sigh that tries to escape. "Zhelaniye, rzhavyy, semnadtsat, rassvet, pech', devyat', dobroserdechnyy, vozvrashcheniye na rodinu," she reads, her voice quiet and exhausted.

Once again, Bucky twitches and spasms on the floor, before he goes still. When he stands, tall and strong, he towers over Isabel who's still on the floor. The Soldier stares at his handler, awaiting his next orders.

It all goes to plan.

Isabel gives him the name and then he follows his personal strike team, the same as before, out the door to the room.

This time, Madame Hydra lets Isabel stay awake until the Soldier returns safely.

"While we wait, you train," she says simply.

Madame Hydra takes Isabel to a rifle range somewhere within the factory and puts a gun in her hands. She makes Isabel shoot, over and over, until her hand cramps. Her aim is significantly better than it had ever been before. She hits nearly every shot dead on. She thinks it may have something to do with the serum that they never explicitly told her she'd been given but she knows she has. She can see further and clearer when shooting, which helps. But perhaps, the serum has amplified any natural ability she had for shooting, just as it had for Bucky, who'd been an even better shot after his experimentation at Hydra.

Madame Hydra seems impressed by her efforts.

She takes Isabel to a gymnasium type room next and forces Isabel to spar with her. Isabel hesitates, having never fought before, or at least, not properly. She's only thrown the odd punch and wrestled out of others' grips. She's never had the ability or the will to do anything else.

Madame Hydra doesn't hold back at all. As soon as Isabel hesitates, the woman rushes forward and flips Isabel backward, slamming her into the hard concrete below. Isabel groans, her head throbbing where it hit the ground.

"Again! You'd better try this time," Madame Hydra sneers, climbing off Isabel.

Isabel stands, swaying slightly, and gets herself into some form of fighting position, protecting her face. "Why am I learning to fight, exactly?" Isabel asks. Madame Hydra swings at her and Isabel blocks, surprisingly easy. "Aren't I just a handler? I won't be fighting."

"Should the Asset break loose of your control, you need to be able to hold your own, at least until back up can come to assist you," Madame Hydra explains, swinging again at Isabel's face. "And you never know. Perhaps one day your other skills can be of use. You are a super-soldier, after all."

Isabel jumps away from an incoming kick, only to run straight into Madame Hydra's hook punch that slams into the side of her face. She hits the ground with a sick thud, her elbow smacking into the concrete with a crunch.

"What's the use of keeping me cooped up here if I'm a super-soldier? Why aren't you deploying me as well?"

Madame Hydra leers over Isabel. "You received that serum out of necessity. This was not the plan. You lack training. You lack discipline. Your memories are intact, and it would take us years to prepare you. And you are much too vital to our cause as the Asset's handler. We cannot risk you dying on a mission."

Over and over, the two of them spar. Madame Hydra attempts to teach Isabel, to show her different moves for taking down the enemy, different punches and kicks and blocks. And Isabel learns very quickly that if she doesn't copy the motions successfully, she pays the price by being injured. If she doesn't block quick enough, she earns a punch or kick to the face. If she doesn't punch back, Madame Hydra punches first, hard enough to rattle her teeth in her mouth. If she doesn't pin Madame Hydra to the floor first, the woman takes her down and slams the back of her head into the concrete for good measure. And if she refuses to fight at all, Madame Hydra pulls a taser from her pocket and shoots electricity at Isabel until she promises to cooperate and begs her to stop.

A part of Isabel knows that, should she have to defend herself against the Soldier as Madame Hydra warned, she needs to have the ability to. The Soldier could crush her with his metal arm within seconds. That new arm is different from the first. It's impossibly strong, and the Soldier has a better handle on using it.

Every moment she can starve off his advances will be another moment she has a chance to live. And the longer she lives, the longer she has a say in the Soldier's treatment, or at least as much say as Hydra will allow her.

But another part of her – perhaps the naïve, innocent, stupid part – likes to think that would never happen, that whatever is left of Bucky could stop the Soldier from harming her. Perhaps what little Bucky remembers of their connection will be her saving grace. And perhaps, with some careful planning, Isabel can use her role as the Soldier's handler to her advantage.

First, Isabel needs to become efficient in all of the skills Madame Hydra is willing to teach her. Anything she learns and masters will only come at her own advantage, no matter whether she's using them against the Soldier or against someone else.

If Isabel can learn and get stronger, maybe she can still get them out. Living outside of Hydra with a brainwashed Bucky would surely be better than being here. She could get them out. Bucky would follow her and trust her as his handler. They could get help. But she needs to know what to do. She's only got one opportunity, if she gets one.

Isabel will learn from Madame Hydra.

Isabel takes the time to watch the other woman as they spar. For someone who's at least fifty, Ophelia Sarkissian isn't bad. She's incredibly flexible and fast and strong, jumping around their makeshift ring and avoiding any punches or kicks Isabel sends her way. Isabel watches the way she moves, the lightness to her step, and she tries to copy, bouncing around on her toes.

Still, Madame Hydra slams her into the concrete more times than Isabel can count. Once again, every inch of her body aches. There's a few patches of blood on the grey where Isabel's hit her head or Madame Hydra sliced her open with a sharp knife, causing Isabel to cry out. Madame Hydra never gives Isabel a weapon of her own, instead making Isabel rely on her brute strength and agility.

Their training session is interrupted, thankfully, as Isabel is fighting for air after being winded by a final blow, when a Hydra agent bursts into the gymnasium, looking flustered.

"Madame Hydra," he pants. "The Asset is back. The mission was successful. But we're having some issues getting him into the memory-wiping machine. He's… distraught."

Madame Hydra sighs. "Just like last time." She turns to Isabel, who still lies on the floor where Madame Hydra had just slammed her, hard. She's just managing to get her breathe back, gasping for precious oxygen. "You're up, Barnes. This is why we kept you awake."

Isabel stands slowly, clutching her chest and her back and her elbow and everything else that hurts. She follows Madame Hydra back toward their designated experimentation and sleeping room, stumbling at first before regaining her balance.

"The Asset displays distress when he first returns from a mission. As soon as he steps foot into the base room, the programming cuts out as the mission is complete. As soon as this happens, he becomes distraught. He cries and screams and thrashes about. It makes it impossible for us to wipe him. He is always to be wiped after a mission. It allows him to have a clear conscience, as he has no memory of any previous missions. Last time, we manhandled him into the machine, but he killed five of our agents in the process. We can't allow that to happen again."

Isabel gulps. "What am I supposed to do?"

"We need to see if you can comfort him long enough to get his memory wiped, maybe coax him to the chair," Madame Hydra says easily. "He knows you. He trusts you. You're his handler."

They walk into the room, and immediately it's chaotic. The room has a heavy feeling to it. The Soldier is sitting in one of the corners of the room, curled in on himself. He's crying, loudly, sobs racking his body and tears and snot dribbling down his chin. His metal hand is outstretched to deter any of the Hydra personnel coming closer. When one man risks it, the Soldier lashes his arm out, the metal colliding with the side of the man's face and sending him flying into the far wall.

"He remembers what he did, Madame," one of the men informs them, looking worriedly between his thrown co-worker and the Asset. "He's upset."

The sight of Bucky so upset pains Isabel so much she'll do anything to rid him of his distress, even if it means him having his memory wiped. She put him in this situation, she brought up his programming and sent him on his mission; the least she can do is calm him and clear his conscience.

Madame Hydra pushes on Isabel's back, making her stumble toward Bucky. Bucky looks up at that, just a small upturn of his head at the odd sound of shuffling feet. Isabel glares back at Madame Hydra before turning back to Bucky, approaching him hesitantly.

"Bu–"

"Do not call him by name," Madame Hydra hisses from behind her, slamming a painful hand into the back of Isabel's head that leaves a throbbing pain behind it. "Never by name. He is not a person. He does not have a name."

Isabel closes her eyes a moment, unable to believe she's being forced to refer to her own brother as not a person, but as a weapon. "A-Asset? Soldier?" Isabel tries, correcting herself.

Bucky looks up slowly toward her hesitantly slow, his eyes wide like a child's.

"You remember me? I-I'm your… h-handler?"

Bucky nods slowly.

Isabel kneels in front of him, at the same height as him to rule out any intimidation. She keeps her hands to herself, not wanting to touch and scare him no matter how much her mind screams at her to hug him, to hold him tight and not let anyone ever touch him again.

"Good. Hey, you're okay. Everything is going to be fine. I won't let anything bad happen to you, okay?" Isabel promises, her voice quiet and soft.

Bucky nods again, and he somewhat uncurls himself. One of his hands, his flesh one, reaches out toward Isabel and he makes a grabby motion like a small child. Isabel raises her hand slowly and lightly grasps Bucky's hand that makes the hand gesture. He latches on slowly, looking at her as though for permission, and eventually, their fingers are threaded together. Bucky seems to calm down at the touch, his eyes closing slightly and a content half-smile on his lips. Isabel almost smiles.

His eyes and nose are still running and red. Slowly and gently, she reaches up to wipe away Bucky's tears. He jolts away when her hands come up near his face, but he pauses and lets her touch him, her fingers ever so gentle and light that he barely feels them.

"Come on," Isabel says quietly in as soothing voice as she can muster.

She stands slowly, dragging Bucky up with her. He comes willingly, following on unsteady feet. Then, Bucky follows blindly and entirely trustingly as Isabel walks him over to the dreaded chair. Bucky's breath catches in his throat and he pauses, looking at it with horror.

"It's okay," Isabel promises. "We gotta do this. It's gonna make you feel better, okay? It will make you forget what happened. That's what's bothering you, isn't it? What happened?"

Bucky nods slightly. "I-I killed s-someone," he whispers, and Isabel's never heard his voice so pitiful and broken.

"I know. I know, but it's okay," Isabel promises, her voice breaking.

She wonders whether this reaction, the way Bucky's reacting, is because Bucky is shining through the programming, not because of the chair. He doesn't seem to be worried about the chair, but about what he was made to do. If this is how Bucky's feeling… It makes Isabel's heart clench painfully. She reaches up to cup his stubbly cheek and Bucky flinches away again momentarily, but then rubs his cheek along her palm like it's a drug.

Isabel reminds herself she isn't talking to her brother, she isn't controlling her brother to do such things. This isn't her brother before her. It makes it so much easier to do this when she thinks that way.

"This will take the pain away, I promise. It will hurt for a moment, and then it will be all better."

Bucky nods. He mechanically sits in the chair, allows one of the guards to tie down his arms and legs, and then opens his mouth willingly for the bite guard to go between his teeth. Isabel steps away and the machine whirrs to life, shocking him as he screams and grits his teeth against the guard. Isabel looks away, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut, only looking up when the screaming stops.

When Madame Hydra doesn't protest, Isabel walks back up to Bucky who's slumped in the chair, panting heavily, sweat lining his forehead. He looks up at her with entirely trusting eyes. He's got the body of a man, but the eyes and expression of a child. He doesn't remember anything that happened, thankfully, and the guilt is gone from his eyes.

"See, you're okay," Isabel says with a small, comforting smile. "You ready for bed? You must be tired? Come on, let's get you ready for bed, okay?"

Bucky seems to respond well to such mothering, to being spoken to as he was when he was a child. Isabel supposes most of his memories have been lost. Perhaps he is only a child mentally. She honestly has no clue.

Bucky nods and holds out his hand again. Isabel takes it gently and helps him out of the chair. Bucky stumbles a bit, weak, and Isabel props him up. They walk slowly over to Bucky's cryostasis chamber. Bucky steps inside and turns around to face the right way, smiling down gratefully at Isabel.

"You're okay. Everything's okay," Isabel tells Bucky, though it's partly for herself. "Night, Soldier. I'll be here when you wake up. 'Til the end of the line, remember?"

Bucky never remembers, but it makes Isabel feel just a bit better to remember it herself.