AUGUST 1981 - SIBERIA
In a small, damp room, a huddle of women shivered. A dozen women from all over the Union, plus a few from outside the borders, all crammed together.
Whispers flew softly throughout the group, languages and dialects all tumbling over each other in a mix of syllables that was more like a murmur than words. Screams echoed down the hall, but none of the women seemed to react.
At the centre of the group, a small figure sat on the floor, eyes closed. Sharp shoulders stretched the ragged fabric of her dress as she sat, hands pressed to the frozen ground beneath her. One by one, the women surrounding her knelt and whispered in her ear. Some only spoke, rapid snatches of language disguised by the whispers of the larger group. Others drew signs and symbols in the dirt before her, then guided her hands to replicate the motions. Between every woman, the dust on the floor was wiped flat again, ready for more.
JULY 30 1981
When the women had first awoken in the room each with their hands chained together before them, there had been so much confusion. Where were they? Why were they here? How did they get here?
Sharp breaths were drawn as several woman moved their hands in patterns, before the cuffs on their wrists glowed hot. Whispered discussions flew through the room, instroductions and questions.
A group of men with batons to open the door and file in, grabbing hold of 2 women, one of them visibly younger than all the rest. At first the group fought, confused but unwilling to release any of their number to these masked men, but when blue sparks lit on the end of the batons and jabbed into those closest they were forced to move back. The girl fought hard, kicking and punching, actually managing to draw blood until she was struck hard in the head and went limp. The other woman struggled in her captors hold, pleading for answers, but received no reply. The terrified cries echoed back into the room even after the door slammed shut, and the group, almost 50 women, huddled closer together, too scared to speak. Then the screams began.
Hours later, after the screams went quiet, the door slammed open again. As one, the women moved to the far corner, but the men were not there to take more. Only the girl who had been taken was thrust through the opening, shaking and soaked in blood, wincing at the slam of the door behind her. A breath passed, and the group converged, catching the slender figure as she fell and peppering her with whispered questions.
All of the women huddled in that room had been taken for their abilities, their magic. They would be forced to use their spells, so these men could make them into weapons. An angry mutter spread through the group as the information was translated, solidifying into defiance. They would not, could not allow their knowledge to be used in such a way. But when they asked where the other woman was, the girl looked up, green eyes haunted.
A cry went up, grieving the loss of friends, families, and the knowledge that would be lost. But these men had underestimated the stubborn fire of a witch.
They would happily die before they became weapons.
The girl before them spoke up softly once again. She had no great power, she said. Her mother was a sorceress, and powerful, but she herself was little more than a herbalist. No matter what these men tried, she was unable to give them anything. Her pretty little sparks and knowledge of healing herbs were of no use to them. They had already said they would need to find another use for her.
What she did have, and had not shared with those torturers, was memory. Her mind held every moment of her life, every second of her 17 years crystal clear as the day it happened. Every page she ever read, every conversation she ever held, word for word. If her Sisters were willing, she offered, she could bear their knowledge until her dying breath, and should they ever escape she would share it with her daughters.
The group fell silent for a moment, before the eldest woman in the room stepped forward, back bent with age. A gnarled hand came to rest on the girl's deep red curls.
"This will be a heavy burden, child."
Green eyes closed, before looking up at the woman before her.
"Yes Grandmother, but I bear it gladly."
A shiver spread through the group, and they all looked to each other. All across the room, eyes hardened in resolve. If this child, younger than all of them, would bear this knowledge, they would give it freely.
A tall woman walked forward, reaching down to help the girl up. Her legs buckled beneath her, and another stepped forward to help catch her. The group of women parted before them, and together they carried her to the centre of the room. As they set her down gently, the old woman followed. Standing behind the girl, she ran time-ravaged fingers through the girl's hair. The women formed circles, reaching hands out to join together, swaying. As careful fingers untangled fiery curls, the women surrounding whispered blessings, luck spells, and prayers of hope in every language they knew, ignoring the burn of the manacles around their wrists as they used their power. Then from her inside her boot, the old woman produced a tiny knife. Releasing one section of soft silver from the braided crown wound around her head, she cut away a long strand, then gently braided it into the girl's own. Scattered voices joined as the old woman hummed, softly building harmonies that ebbed and flowed like a pulse. Bright silver strands shone through deep red, the braid falling to rest beside the girl's face as the old woman whispered her name, pressed a kiss to the girl's head, and stepped back.
"Thank you, Grandmother", the girl whispered, eyes closed.
Another woman stepped forwards, then another, each repeating the process, the knife passed between hands as subtly as possible. As each woman took their turn, the group never faltered, joining each song as they knew it. Woman after woman, braiding her own hair into the flaming locks, giving her name and a kiss, and receiving a whispered "Thank you, Mother".
Hours passed, and as the last woman stepped away the old witch came back. Her wizened hands remained sure as she twisted the all of the braids into a crown on the girl's head.
When morning broke, a woman stepped to the centre of the group. She offered to be the first. She would give her knowledge, then place herself near the door to be taken. She remembered being captured for this place, her husband and son had been killed before her eyes. She was ready to join them. Green eyes looked up from the floor, and the girl gave a sharp nod. A whispered instruction had the women huddling together, sharing conversations in as many languages as possible, hiding the transfer of knowledge happening in the centre of the room. Feminine voices rolled over each other, hand braiding each other's hair, pressing palms together, from the outside looking like nothing more than a frightened group taking comfort in each others company. As the first woman took her place at the edge of the group, another stepped to the centre. One by one, the women took their turn. Each day the door would open, and each day more would be taken. The screams echoing through the halls were chilling, and none ever returned after being taken. Their numbers dwindled quickly, and within months there were only 2 women left. When the men came, the two smiled softly at the girl standing behind them, walking out the door hand in hand. She remained silent, closing her eyes when their screams began. It was only after their pained cries had stopped echoing through the halls that she let herself scream in reply.
She was alone for almost a week before she woke up in a bright white room, strapped to a table. The needle in her arm tugged painfully as she struggled, and a sharp beeping noise started from one of the machines around the edges of the room. A man in a white coat appeared from behind her, pressing a button on the machine to turn off the noise.
"Good Morning, Fraulein. I would recommend lying still, or you may hurt yourself. Those restraints are made for one much stronger than yourself."
The man, or rather doctor she supposed, shuffled around the room, checking instruments and machines, inspecting her IV, taking notes on a clipboard. She looked to the side, spotting an open file laid carelessly on a table. Her russian name, Irina Timofeyevna Devina, and another... James Howlett?
"Congratulations Fraulein, you appear to be in perfect health and the procedure was sucessfull. I'm sure your son will become an excellent heir to the Winter Soldier. Hail Hydra!"
She didn't know how long it was before she woke, but there was a loud bang as the door flew open. She heard the pounding of boots, and gunshots, but she still couldnt open her eyes.
"Come on, A stór, open those pretty eyes for me... Dammit Stark, if you don't get my daughter off this table in the next 3 minutes Carter is gonna have to scrape what's left of you off the walls!"
A huge hand cupped her cheek, and lips covered by a thick moustache pressed against her forehead. The smell of cigar smoke mixed with her mother's lavender perfume drifted across her senses and her brow creased.
"...Dadaí?"
Bleary green eyes opened and looked into worried blue, blinking at the large man standing over her.
The thick bands holding her down relaxed, and a sheet laid over her shaking body.
"I'm not seeing any injuries, you hurt anywhere little Dugan?"
She shook her head mutely, but reached for her father's large hands.
"Later, please. Can you help me up now?"
"Of course, and I think your Aunt Peggy is almost done with her fun outside by the sound of things. How would you like to get home?"
Warm arms wrapped around her shoulders, gently lifting her to sit up. Her head tilted to the side, noting that the gunshots had stopped.
"We're in Germany, right? How did you all get here?"
A sharp laugh ripped out of a thin man in front of her.
"We're in Russia Sweet pea, but if you think your daddy was gonna let international borders or the cold war stop him from coming to get you, you must be more shook up than we thought."
"Mr Stark? You came too? Who else?"
Her father's warm embrace shuddered, in sobs or laughter she wasn't sure even he knew.
"Dumdum here called in the Howlies, and Peg brought her little SHIELD club too... I think the plan is to burn it all down, right Dugan?"
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to sob. Her mind started to accept that this was real...she was safe, she was going home.
She looked up at the sound of sharp footsteps, and a grey-haired woman marched into the room, a worried scowl on her face.
"There you are Howard, Dernier set the charges but I cant find... Oh God in Heaven, you've found her!"
Peggy's brow relaxed minutely as she saw the thin girl wrapped in her father's hulking frame. She made her way over cautiously.
"Irene...can you hear me?"
A nod
"Are there any others here? Any other prisoners?"
This time her head shook.
"Alright then, Dugan you sure you can you carry her?"
"You calling me old, Carter? Of course I can, I'll always be able to carry this treasure o'mine."
A tiny smile peeked from scarlet lips as Peggy turned and lifted her gun.
"Well then, shall we? I believe your darling wife is waiting for us to bring someone home."
As they started to move, Irene made a noise. All of the room's occupants froze.
"The...the file..."
Dugan followed his daughter's outstretched hand towards a desk near where her head had been laid, and saw a stained manilla folder.
"Stark, grab that folder off the desk and the clipboard from the end of the bed. The docs back home might need the notes to help her."
Howard gave a quick nod and grabbed the papers before following the others out of the room, not bothering to close the door.
There wasn't much distance between the room and the outside, and before she knew it, the cold wind was biting her skin.
She burrowed as far as she could into her father's warm chest, clutching the sheet around her as he ran towards the plane in front of them.
"Peg, can you grab some real clothes for her? Something warm and soft, she's shivering..."
A hand soon appeared, offering a set of thermals, a pair of cargo pants and a thick knit jumper. The trousers must have been Peggy's, sensible and old-fashioned, but the jumper was definitely one of Dugan's old turtlenecks. She was so weak that Peggy had to help her into the clothes, her father right there with his eyes closed to give her some privacy without letting her go. She settled back onto his lap, still shivering, as Peggy helped her into a pair of thick woolen socks and army-issue boots. Her father's arms left her briefly, and she let out a whimper of complaint, but he slipped off his coat and wrapped it around her before encircling her with his strong arms again.
"Alright lads, she's decent, lets get this show on the road!"
She was already starting to drift off in the warmth of her father's embrace when he nudged her.
"You want to watch it burn? We're about to set it off."
She nodded, shuffling her way around so she could watch through the opening on the back of the plane as they lifted off. A nod from Dugan to Dernier had the slight frenchman pressing a button that had the whole building up in flames. The sight had her finally settling, the shaking in her limbs giving way to a soft warmth.
"That was pretty, Oncle Jacques...thank you."
The elderly frenchman shuffled his way to the Dugan pair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She took a quick look around the plane as they leveled out, seeing all of the surviving Howlies smiling back at her. Each face was age-worn now, with wrinkes and smile lines and grey hair, but to her they still looked as strong and brave as they did in all the stories from 40 years ago. Even retired, they had all come to collect Dugan's "Treasure", his miracle daughter.
At the front of the plane, Peggy and her husband Daniel stood with Peggy's new recruit, Fury, and a little huddle of Agents.
Her father started to gently rock her and hum, his deep voice vibrating through his chest as she curled tight against him and shut her eyes, falling quickly into sleep.
She woke a few times as they landed, dropping off different members of the team to their home countries along the way back to California until only her father, Jim Morita, and Howard Stark remained.
Peggy and Daniel had taken the SHIELD agents back to HQ for a debrief, and had offered to take the Dugans home afterwards so Stark could spend some time with his son, but he grunted and walked back onto the ship, shouting back that he was headed to California, so they might as well come. A shrug between the Dugans and Morita had all 3 kissing Peggy quickly on the cheek, shaking hands with Daniel, and walking back on board.
When she next woke, she was laid in her own bed, the warm californian sunlight streaming through lace curtains. A gentle hand stroked her still-braided hair, and the smell of lavender was strong.
"...Mama?"
"Irishka, moye solnyshka, you're home now."
Tears fell from 2 sets of matching green eyes as Irene sat up and threw herself into her mother's waiting arms.
"They wanted witches mama, there were so many witches...and they..they...Mama, I was so scared..."
Tatiana hushed her daughter, rocking slowly as sobs tore from her throat. She had learned to accept her own time as a prisoner of war, and all it had cost, but she had hoped that her child would be safe.
She looked up to see her husband's large frame in the doorway, eyes worried as he watched their daughter cry.
"Irishka, are you hurting anywhere?"
"..no Mama, but... theres something that I need to tell you and Dadai..."
His heavy footsteps made their way to her bed, sitting behind his wife and wrapping both women in his long arms.
"I'm here, A stór, I'm here..."
After a moment, Irene sat up, wrapping her arms around her stomach. She was painfully thin, and could already feel the slight bump forming.
Her mother drew a sharp breath, but her father only looked at her with a gaze the colour of summer skies. The warmth gave her the strength to tell them.
How she had been taken and beaten, electrocuted, drowned, before being thrown back into the cell with the others. How each of those brave women had gone to their deaths, leaving her alone in hell. How she had woken, cold and clad in nothing more than underwear on that table, with all sorts of wires and sensors covering her skin.The doctors there didn't think she spoke German, so they weren't careful about what they said. They spoke of the father, calling him Weapon X, how he had escaped his own captors a few years before. How they had acquired the required samples through their spy network. How they would take the child and have it trained by the Red Room, raise it as a weapon. How they wanted this child to become the new Winter Soldier, since the original was so difficult to keep compliant.
At the end of her tale, Irene buried herself in her parents arms once more.
"I want to keep it Mama. This child...it will be mine, but also it belongs to all of those Mothers who gave their lives."
Tatiana looked into the green eyes in front of her, identical to her own, then at the bright blue of her husbands, and nodded.
As recovered, Irene spent hours sitting on her parent's porch. Her father had built a large swing bed for her soon after she returned, so she could rest but still enjoy being outside. Peggy and Daniel visited as often as they were able, their sons popping in too whenever they were in town. Ana and Edwin Jarvis brought home-cooked food, and stories about the exploits of Howard's son Tony, who was busy raising hell at Boarding school. She was also happy to see Jim's son Ken come over often, bringing his son Harry. Harry's mother had left before his first birthday, leaving Ken a single father. He was more than happy to offer his advice about raising a child, complete with warnings about teething and diaper blowouts, a smile crinkling his eyes as chubby toddler hands tugged at his hair. Harry was a bright little boy, always happy to tell his "Auntie Rina" all about what he was learning at school that week. As weeks passed, he began to shyly offer his childish paintings as gifts for the baby. Irene decorated her room with them, along with polaroids of her friends and family. Her favourite, a photo of her, Ken and Harry on a recent trip to the beach, lived in a box along with the braids her mother had carefully cut after her return from captivity.
The three grew closer together, and visitors often noticed Ken and Irene's hands intertwined, both adults smiling as Harry chattered away to his Papa and Auntie Rina. As Irene's belly grew, Harry loved watching the baby kick at his father's hands where they were wrapped around Irene's waist. And when Irene went into labour in June, it was her mother and a midwife beside her, with Ken and Harry sitting with her father in the living room down the hall.
18 hours later, Alexandra Howlett Dugan entered the world with her lungs blazing.
As soon as Irene was decent, her mother went to retrieve the menfolk from their exile, and the patter of Harry's running feet came down the hall. He paused in the doorway, a bundle of daylillies and a stuffed rabbit clutched in his hands.
"Do you want to meet her, Harry?"
He nodded furiously, running to the side of the bed and offering his gifts.
"They're lovely, would you hand the flowers to Baba Tanya? Mama can you put them in a glass for me?"
Tatiana smiled and took the flowers that were thrust at her, Harry's eyes fixed on the bundle in her daughter's arms.
Ken approached the bed, lifting Harry onto his hip and pressing a kiss to Irene's tired brow.
"She's beautiful Rina, look at those flaming locks...guess the redhead genes won after all."
The gentle giant turned Grandfather approached slowly, eyes suspiciously shiny as his daughter offered her child for him to hold. His large hands carefully lifted the little blanket-wrapped bundle to his chest, a tear slipping out. The room wisely didn't comment, letting him have his moment with his new granddaughter. Harry tugged at his father's shoulder, leaning towards the bed to reach his little arms towards Irene. Ken sat at the edge of the bed, wrapping his arm around her tired shoulders as Harry pressed a sticky kiss to her cheek. Tatiana walked over to sit in a chair on the opposite side of the bed, hand reaching out to hold Irene's. Dugan walked over to sit beside his wife, beaming at his daughter.
"Papa, can I show Aunty Rina the present now?" Harry whispered loudly.
Ken froze for a moment, eyes flashing between the 3 Dugans, before nodding.
Harry's little hands reached into his father's pocket, pulling out a little velvet box.
Irene's breath caught, drawing her parents eyes.
"Its a ring Aunty Rina!"
"I can see that Harry, it's very pretty..."
Ken cleared his throat, hesitating.
"It..It was my moms, dad bought it just after he got back from the front. She gave it to me last time we were in Fresno. Said if I didn't ask you after all this I'd be a damn fool. And..she was right. Rina, you make me so happy, and I hope I make you happy too. I...would you give me the chance to try make you happy for the rest of your life?"
Irene was frozen, eyes fixed on the familar shape of the ring.
"Irishka, the man needs an answer, don't keep him waiting!"
She snapped back to life at her mother's laughing words, looking at her parents. Both smiled at her, and she looked down at the little boy wiggling in her lap.
"Well Harry, what do you think? Would you like me and little Sasha to come live with you and Papa?"
"YES!!"
His little body would have launched off the bed in excitement if Ken hadn't caught him. Irene smiled and reached her hand out to Ken.
"Well then, would your Papa like to put that ring on my finger?"
Ken grabbed the ring from the box with shaking hands, slipping it into place on her finger and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. She reached for his cheek, pulling him into a proper kiss.
"EWWWWWWWWWWW!" came the cry from the little boy between them.
The newly engaged couple looked down, tickling the child into loud giggles until a wail erupted from the bundle of blankets in Dugan's arms.
He quickly handed his granddaughter back to her mother, pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads with a murmured 'congratulations' and stepping back. His wife swept forwards, fussing over the new mother and helping her get arranged for feeding before she too pressed a kiss to her Irene's forehead. She stroked the soft head of downy red hair, and gave a quick kiss to each of the Morita boys cheeks before taking her husband's hand and leading him out of the room.
Her last view as she shut the door was of her daughter, wrapped in her fiance's arms with her daughter at her breast, Harry's eyes fixed on the tiny hand wrapped around his own chubby finger from his place on his Papa's lap.
They would be fine, she knew it.