Chapter 12
The clearing opened before them like a white gash in the forest. Snow, now falling more lightly, drifted down in absolute silence. Only the distant hum of helicopter blades broke the stillness — a sound that was approaching far too quickly.
The Soldier stopped, his eyes fixed on the sky, jaw clenched.
616 came to a halt beside him, still wrapped in the heavy coat, her fists clenched tight. The helicopter appeared through the trees — a dark shadow against the dull sky, its spotlights sweeping over the snow-covered ground.
Then he spoke, without turning to her:
“You’re never going to talk about what happened here.” His voice was low, cold — steel-hard. “When they ask, you say the mission was a success. That I shot Volkov. That you dealt with the prostitutes.”
616 stayed silent for a moment. The wind tugged at her tangled hair, and the sound of the rotors grew louder, buzzing in the air like a threat.
“And…” she hesitated, her voice rasping, “the name?”
Rebecca… the name still felt strange in her mind, like a piece of clothing she wasn’t sure belonged to her.
He finally turned his face toward her. His eyes were dark, unyielding — and yet… something flickered there. A trace of what had been shared in the forest, in the snow, in that fleeting embrace.
“It’s just ours,” he said. “Yours and mine. No one else needs to know.”
She nodded slowly. She didn’t understand it all — not yet — but she understood enough.
The wind from the blades whipped through the trees, stirring up whirls of snow around them. Rebecca squinted against the gusts, feeling the flakes melt against her warm skin.
From the helicopter, Captain Karpov stepped down — his black overcoat flaring, his expression unreadable beneath the military cap. He walked toward them like a silent judge, each step sinking deep into the snow.
“Mission accomplished,” the Soldier said before any questions were asked. His voice was flat again, stripped of any trace of emotion.
Karpov studied them in silence for a long moment. His gaze shifted from the Soldier to the girl, lingering on her a second longer than necessary. Measuring. Calculating.
“And the target?” he asked.
“Terminated.” The Soldier gave Rebecca a brief glance. “No resistance.”
Karpov nodded, but he didn’t look satisfied. He stepped closer to her. Rebecca stood her ground, though every muscle in her body was tense, ready to react.
"You assisted?"
She hesitated. She felt the Soldier’s gaze on her, and then she remembered what he’d said just minutes earlier — what she should and shouldn’t say.
"Yes, sir. I handled the civilian part of the mission." Her voice was steady, her eyes unwavering.
Karpov stared at her. A slight tilt of the head. The shadow of a hard smile, almost approving.
"Very well. Get in."
She climbed in first. The helicopter smelled of oil, metal, and ice. She sat on the side bench near the door. The Soldier followed right after, but he didn’t sit beside her — he remained standing, gripping the ceiling handles like someone who didn’t know how to rest. Not even now.
As the rotors spun back to life and the helicopter lifted off the ground, Rebecca felt something stir in her chest. Something she didn’t have words for.
It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t pain.
Maybe it was… memory.
Of the name whispered in the dark. Of the arm around her. Of the silence they shared beneath the falling snow.
Rebecca.
She repeated it silently in her mind.
Rebecca.
As if trying to hold onto it before the world could take it back.
The underground base greeted them with the same metallic chill as always. Rebecca felt the temperature drop as they made their way down the concrete corridors, like each step was carrying them deeper into a place where time stood still.
The sound of boots echoed around them — sharp, rhythmic. Karpov led the way, the Soldier just behind him. Rebecca followed, shoulders straight, steps firm — the way she had been taught. The way they expected her to be.
In the hallway leading to the interrogation rooms, two security agents appeared to escort her. Karpov gave a brief nod, granting permission.
She felt the Soldier’s eyes on her back for a moment. She didn’t turn around. She couldn’t.
The heavy metal door shut behind her with a solid clang.
The room was small, cold, lit by a single bulb hanging over the table. She sat where they told her to, hands resting in her lap. The usual posture. Like an unloaded weapon — still ready.
Dr. Kraus entered first. Expressionless face, hands clasped behind his back. Alexander Pierce followed — his dark overcoat still damp from the snow. He sat across from her with the deliberate care of someone choosing which mask to wear.
"Are you injured?" Pierce asked.
Rebecca met his eyes.
"No, sir."
Kraus pulled out a chair but didn’t sit. He remained standing behind Pierce, like a sharp-edged shadow.
"Tell us what you saw," he said. His voice was flat, almost mechanical.
She took a slow, deep breath. Repeated the facts exactly as she had memorized them. Silent entry. Target eliminated. The woman. The silence. Nothing more.
"And the Soldier?" Kraus asked. "How did he behave?"
She hesitated — just for a second. But it was enough to feel the air in the room grow heavier.
"He followed protocol. Executed the target without error."
Pierce studied her closely. Hands clasped on the table, thumb tracing lazy circles.
"And you? Did you feel… any difficulty fulfilling your role?"
Rebecca swallowed. Not out of fear — but because she hated this part. When they tried to measure what was inside her, as if emotions could be turned into data for a report.
"No, sir."
Pierce nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Or maybe just adding another convenient lie to the record.
Kraus tapped something into a tablet. Then leaned toward Pierce and murmured something low and unintelligible. Pierce didn’t respond. He just kept watching her for a few more seconds.
“You’re dismissed. Dr. Mayer will see you shortly for a medical evaluation. And Dr. Wagner has requested to speak with you.”
His tone shifted slightly. As if that last sentence carried a different kind of weight.
Rebecca nodded and stood. As soon as she crossed the doorway, she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
The hallway felt longer than before.
She hadn’t mentioned the name. She hadn’t talked about the emotional breakdown. Or the crying. Let alone the moment when he held her. That wasn’t Hydra’s business.
They walked her in silence through the sterile, frigid halls of the facility until they reached the medical wing, where a nurse in white was already waiting. The place smelled of disinfectant and iron. The only ambient noise came from the soft beeping of monitors.
Dr. Mayer arrived minutes later. Her pale eyes looked like sharpened blades.
“Sit.”
Rebecca obeyed. Mayer examined her with mechanical professionalism — pulse, blood pressure, pupil reactivity.
"Any injuries?”
“I got kicked in the head. By one of the targets.”
The doctor stepped closer, picked up a small flashlight, and checked her eyes.
“Dizziness? Vomiting? Blurred vision?”
“A bit of dizziness on the aircraft. But it passed.”
Dr. Mayer nodded. She continued the exam, gently touching the back of Rebecca’s skull.
“No visible bruising. Normal response. Nothing serious.”
She scribbled notes on a digital clipboard, then stood up.
“I’m authorizing a 48-hour rest period. No training until further notice. And…” — she paused, glancing at the nurse — “get her cleaned up. Wash off any field residue.”
The nurse gave a curt nod. Dr. Mayer left the room without another word. To her, Rebecca was just another tool in need of upkeep.
616 remained sitting on the examination table for a few seconds, feeling the full weight of exhaustion finally catch up to her. Her eyes, still swollen and shadowed with fatigue, stared at a vague spot on the wall. The nurse — a middle-aged woman with hair pulled back in strict military fashion — was preparing fresh towels with brisk, efficient movements.
“Stand up,” the nurse said, her tone impersonal. “We need to remove these clothes to begin the decontamination.”
616 didn’t move right away. The woman’s voice sounded distant, as if coming through a thick veil of exhaustion and confusion. Eventually, she blinked and began to rise with difficulty.
But before the nurse could approach, the infirmary door opened with a soft metallic hiss.
“I’ll take care of her,” said a firm yet gentle voice from the doorway.
The nurse turned, barely containing her irritation.
“With all due respect, Dr. Elise, protocol is clear. Post-mission cleanup and initial monitoring fall under the designated medical staff.”
Elise didn’t move from the doorway. She wore her white coat buttoned to the collar, her hair tied back with almost military precision. But her eyes—serious and intense—told another story.
“The well-being of Unit 616 has been placed under my direct supervision by Pierce himself,” she said, her voice calm but carrying dangerous weight. “If you’d like to challenge that, feel free to take it up with his office. Right now.”
The name made the nurse freeze. Tension hung in the air like vapor holding its breath. Her lips pressed into a thin line—furious, but well aware of where she was.
“As you wish,” she said at last, gathering the towels and leaving with stiff, clipped steps. The door closed behind her with a sharp click.
As soon as the nurse disappeared, Elise’s body seemed to relax—but only for a moment. She brought a hand to her face and let out a shaky breath, as if the weight of what she’d just done had suddenly caught up with her.
She was trembling. Not because of the nurse, but because she had used Pierce’s name with such cold authority. Because for a brief moment, she had become more like the men she so deeply despised within that organization.
“God…” she murmured, barely audible, before pulling herself back together.
Elise approached 616 slowly, kneeling in front of her to be at eye level.
“Hey,” she said softly. “It’s okay now. It’s me. Dr. Elise.”
616 finally looked at her. There was a flicker of recognition, but also confusion. Exhaustion. Trauma.
“I heard you went on a mission with the Soldier. How was it?”
616 hesitated. Not because she didn’t know what to say, but because she hadn’t yet figured out how to put it into words.
“It was... different.”
“Different how?”
She paused for a few seconds, looking down at her hands. They were cold.
“He… didn’t leave me alone. Even when he didn’t have to.”
Elise stayed quiet. Leaving space — a safe space — in case 616 wanted to keep going.
“When it started snowing… he covered me with his coat.”
Her voice faltered at the end. It wasn’t emotion—not the kind that cried. It was exhaustion. Something deeper.
Elise leaned forward slightly.
“And how did that make you feel?”
616 bit her lip. Lowered her eyes.
“Confused. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t understand why he would do that.”
Elise took a deep breath. Soft, careful.
“Maybe… he cared about you. Even if he didn’t say it.”
616 shook her head—barely, but enough.
“You’re safe here. For now,” Elise continued, picking up a clean towel and dipping it into warm water. “Let’s get all this dirt off, okay?”
She didn’t expect an answer. She just wanted 616 to know that someone still saw more than just a number.
And then, with all the tenderness she had left in that cold, merciless place, she began to care for her.
The warm towel moved slowly across 616’s face, wiping away soot and the dry traces of blood staining her skin. Elise worked in silence, her movements gentle and patient, as if afraid any roughness might shatter the girl.
616 stayed quiet, eyes fixed on some distant point—but something had shifted. Her muscles weren’t as tight. It was as if, for the first time since returning from the mission, she could finally breathe.
“I’m going to take your shirt off now, okay?” Elise said softly, waiting a few seconds before moving.
616 nodded—barely.
The doctor helped her remove the clothes soaked in sweat, dirt, and memories that hung heavy like lead.
“Volkov…” she began, her voice slow and dragging. “He asked me to take my clothes off too.”
Elise froze.
She stayed still for a moment, trying to absorb what she had just heard.
“He said he wanted to see what was under the uniform.”
Elise didn’t move. She just stared at the girl, her stomach twisting, blood running cold.
616’s voice was distant, hollow—like she was repeating something memorized, as if recounting something that had happened to someone else.
Elise closed her eyes briefly, fighting the rage rising bitter in her throat. She had heard horrors in this place. She had seen the limits of human cruelty. But hearing that… from this child’s mouth… it was different. It was personal. Unforgivable.
With trembling hands, she set the towel aside and, almost like a ritual, gently took 616’s small, cold hands into hers.
“He didn’t touch you, did he?” she asked softly, barely breathing.
616 frowned slightly, as if trying to understand a question in a language she didn’t quite know.
“He kicked me and pulled my hair,” she replied, in a flat, almost innocent tone.
As if that were the worst thing that could happen.
As if she didn’t understand what Elise was really asking.
And that lack of understanding… hurt more than any confirmation.
Elise lowered her gaze, blinking fast to hold back the tears threatening to spill. 616’s innocence wasn’t comforting. It was a brutal reminder of everything they’d taken from her—before she even had a chance to know what was hers.
She squeezed the girl’s hands a little tighter, firm, like she was trying to transfer strength through the touch.
“You’re safe now. I promise. No one is going to hurt you here.”
616 didn’t respond.
But her fingers curled slowly around Elise’s.
As if that promise was something she wanted to believe in… even if she didn’t know how.
--
Three months had passed since the mission.
Since the snow. Since Volkov. Since the name no one else knew.
On the surface, everything had gone back to normal—or as close to normal as Hydra ever allowed.
Daily training. Regular evaluations. Long silences stretching between one order and the next.
616 followed protocol with chilling precision. She slept little. Ate only what was necessary. And never mentioned that night again.
But Elise noticed.
She saw it in the girl’s eyes—even when they pretended indifference. She saw it in the way she instinctively flinched at the sound of raised male voices. In how she curled into herself while sleeping, as if expecting someone to break into her dreams at any moment.
The Winter Soldier noticed too.
Of course, he never said a word. He never did.
But the training sessions had changed. They’d become less brutal. More strategic. He hesitated before knocking her down with full force. Sometimes, he stopped just short—like something inside him was learning how to pull back, just for her.
616 noticed that.
She didn’t talk about it.
But she noticed.
It was a psychological monitoring night. A cold, predictable routine. Elise sat in front of 616, clipboard resting on her lap, pretending the protocol still meant something.
The Soldier stood against the far wall, as always. Silent. Still. Part of the furniture.
616 kept her head down. Shoulders slumped, hands resting on her knees, her feet swinging lightly back and forth. She answered the questions in monosyllables. Never looked at anyone.
“Are you sleeping well?” Elise asked gently.
“Yes.”
“Eating?”
“Normal.”
“Nightmares?”
“Don’t remember.”
Elise made a note. But it wasn’t true—and everyone in the room knew it.
Silence settled like a fog. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
That’s when he moved.
Not much. Just straightened up and took a single step forward.
Elise looked at him, surprised. He rarely spoke outside of training. Outside of orders.
Outside of gunfire.
“She has something to tell you,” he said—his voice rough, but steady.
616 lifted her eyes, startled. Then looked away again, as if she wanted to shrink into herself and vanish.
Elise glanced between them, silently.
The Soldier kept his eyes on the girl. And something in that gaze—in that thick, wordless quiet—spoke louder than anything he could’ve said.
“Tell her,” he said, softer now. “Tell her what I called you.”
616 bit her lip. Her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
Elise leaned in a little.
“You... you got a name?”
A nearly imperceptible nod.
“Can you tell me?”
The girl hesitated. It was like she was reaching deep inside herself for the courage to say something that belonged only to her.
“Rebecca,” she whispered—barely a sound. “He called me Rebecca.”
Elise froze.
The name felt bigger than the room. Bigger than the walls of that base.
It was a breath of humanity from the place she least expected it.
“That’s a beautiful name,” she said with a gentle smile. “It suits you.”
Rebecca didn’t yet know what that meant. But she felt something—something unfamiliar.
As if the sound of that name was a key. A crack in the armor. A seed.
Elise looked toward the Soldier.
He had already returned to the wall. Eyes fixed on nothing. Body still as stone.
But she knew.
For him, that was the same as a scream.