the soldier

June 23rd, 2016

Berlin, Germany

The lights went down, and Ghost felt a shock of ice-cold resolve spread through her. HYDRA had come for them.

Her own cell – running on its own contained power source – remained humming and alive. Blinded by the glare of the fluorescents, she could do nothing more than squint into the blackness beyond, muscles tensed and adrenaline running through her. When they came, they would find her ready and waiting. They would find her primed to kill.

The room remained undisturbed.

Anticipation grew and grew within her. She began to shake, beset by it. Where were they? She had no doubt it was HYDRA – their time in the sun had always been threatened by the shadows of their past. And the clouds were rolling in…

“НУ ЖЕ!” COME ON! The cry came from her near involuntarily; shouted into the void of her cell and the darkness beyond. “Приходите попробовать, сволочи!” Come and try it, you bastards! Spittle flew from her lips with the force of her ire, and she strained against the restraints. Electricity raced through her, buzzing through the water, coming through the electric-collar at her neck, but her blood was roaring in her ears, and all she did was scream. She shrieked and thrashed against it. Fuck restraint, fuck grace, if they were going to try and take her, they would have to rip her out, bloody and vicious like tearing stitches from a wound. “Я умру - я умру, прежде чем вернусь!” I'll die- I'll die before I go back!

She sounded deranged to her own ears, like the yowling of a rabid dog. “Я разорву тебя на части, если ты попытаешься-” I will tear you apart if you try to- The door to the room opened suddenly, and she snarled wordlessly at the figure that appeared silhouetted in the entrance. It was only the hours of her studious examination that stopped her from screaming again; because she recognised the build of the man.

Sam Wilson stepped into the glow of her cell’s light and looked her in the eye without flinching. He had a cut dribbling blood down his forehead and desperation in his eyes. “He got inside Barnes.” Her stomach dropped, and she went very still. He swallowed thickly, and sucked in a visibly frantic breath. “Tell me I can trust you beyond Nat’s faith.” His hand had risen to hover beside the control panel, and she tracked its movement.

She met his eyes again, unblinking. “You can trust me.” She could see him thinking, remembering, weighing up the long list of her crimes. Indecision and worry warred in his deep eyes – but then his hand slammed down on the release.

She sighed a deep breath of relief at the feeling of the restraints falling loose. She surged forwards as the glass door swung open, the water pouring forth with her exit. Wilson had taken three hasty steps backwards and was watching her with wide eyes. The collar still sat heavy around her neck, and the limitations made her breath short. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. Her bare, wet feet made no sound on the cold floor. She looked at Wilson, and he pointed her way. “He left a trail of bodies heading further in. I have to get after the guy who-”

She was already moving, and whatever he had been meaning to say faded into the roar building in her ears.

“Солдат ... пойдем со мной. Please.” Soldier... come with me.The stench of the city, of the tiny rooms, of his unwashed clothes, permeated everything. She did not recognise the confused shell of a man before her.

Ghost had shoved the broken bits of him back together once before. She could do it again.

She did not think about the fact that she had never tried to pull the man out of the Soldier before.

She followed the blare of alarms and fallen bodies through the facility. Whatever command her partner had been given did not seem to be one of distinct purpose. She could recognise the signs of casual dispatchment in the weakly stirring forms of the men strewn about the corridors. He had not been given a command to escape, elsewise he would have been gone already, and these men that had tried to stop him would be dead. Some of the semi-conscious roused at her passing, reaching half-heartedly for weapons and communication units. She paid them no mind.

Soon the artificial light gave way to natural as she reached the upper levels of the building, and as she approached a high-ceilinged hall, she could hear the sounds of combat over the high-pitched alarm.

Without the Grey she was forced to slow her approach, forced to curl herself into a position behind a pillar to observe the situation. She felt unerringly and frustratingly human.

The hall was taken up mostly with wooden tables and chairs; it seemed to be some kind of cafeteria, or casual meeting place. She recognised the gasping man lying in the remnants of a chair. Anthony Stark, Iron Man. He was watching her partner, who was engaged with a blonde woman. Her partner had the unfortunately human woman by the leg, and slammed her mercilessly into the flat-top of a nearby table. She did not get back to her feet. Ghost made to stand.

A blur of leather and copper gave her pause again.

Natalia-

Her form was impeccable, her technique only slightly distorted with the years of experience she would now have. For moment, Ghost dared to hold out a shred of hope for her star ex-pupil. And then her partner’s metal hand grasped the red-headed woman around her throat, and lifted her into the air before depositing her roughly atop a table.

Ghost could wait no longer.

She left her vantage point, and darted for her partner. She heard the edge of a choked gasp from Stark as she sprinted past him, but spared him no mind. Her partner’s back was to her, all his attention on the most obvious threat; and Natalia was a threat. Even with his crushing grip around her throat, she had her legs around his neck, squeezing. It was impressive but futile – her partner could stay conscious longer than a normal human.

As Natalia’s face went from red to white to blue, Ghost struck.

She kicked him bodily away from the woman, and her partner released the woman as he stumbled back. From behind her, Natalia gurgled, and concern made her turn back. If he had crushed her windpipe then she might-

His metal hand closed with bruising force around her upper arm, and he tugged her right off her feet. She was dragged a few meters before she was able to regain her footing, jabbing at the weakest point in his metal wrist joint to make the mechanism spasm and release her. There was no trace of James in his eyes; the cold steel of his gaze was totally the Soldier. He seemed more confused at her resistance than anything, and so she wiped her face clean of emotion.

“Солдат.” She barked at him, and he stiffened. “Встань.” Stand down.

He blinked once, a slow open and shut of his lids, a mechincal gesture. “Почему? Прерогатива миссии-” Why? The mission prerogative-

“There is no mission!” She hissed at him. She realised her mistake a moment too late. She should not have spoken in English.

“Солнце погасло, Месяца нет,” The sun is extinguished, there is no moon.Her partner began to speak the words as he moved towards her again, gaze intent. The lines made static burst in her head and white her vision for a moment, and she threw herself away from his reaching grip, going sprawling across the floor. No-

Wordless panic fuelled her scramble across the floor, crawling on all fours like an animal. The cold was descending upon her, the words-

Her hands closed around a pistol that had fallen from the unconscious grip of a uniformed agent, and she lifted it and whirled. He was stepping towards her, hands still outstretched to grab her. “Заревом алым, Запад блестит,” Scarlet blaze, glints in the west. She screamed wordlessly, trying to drown his voice out, and fired the gun. He moved, whip-quick, and the bullets pinged loudly off the bulk of his metal bicep. He grunted, and kicked out at her. She rolled backwards to avoid the blow, forcing herself up and to her feet a few paces away, and firing again. The frost clouding her vision and her rational mind was making her sloppy. She missed thrice, and still he advanced upon her. He reached for her, and grabbed her wrist. She felt the bones crack and shift and her mouth dropped open in a soundless cry. He forced the gun away from his face, and spoke; “Птицы на гнездах-” Birds in their nests-

She dropped the gun from her right hand, curling in towards him and snatching it out of the air with her free hand. Before he could stop her, she had the gun angled towards her head. His eyes widened with sudden surprise and horror, and he reached for her wrist again, desperate to stop her.

Ghost clenched her jaw – and pulled the trigger.

There was a ringing wail in Natasha’s head that had nothing to do with the sirens still filling the air.

She wheezed and gasped around the encircling bruising of her throat, and forced herself to rise. She couldn’t quite manage it; she went rolling off the table and onto the ground, but despite the new flare of pain, she forced herself to move.

Aleksandrina was still where she had fallen.

The gun shots were still echoing in Natasha’s ears, the dull thud as the other woman had hit the floor like a drumbeat in her head. She reared up over the pale woman’s body, and forced her trembling fingers to turn her over. Already, her stomach was turning at the blood pooling beneath her corpse-

Aleksandrina’s eyes fluttered open and Natasha recoiled. “Aleks-” She began to speak before she could filter herself, unable to equate the bloodied, living woman to the gunshots she heard.

“Уходи.” Get away. The other woman didn’t seem to notice her near slip, and though the guttural word was an order, Natasha just stared. What-? Aleksandrina’s eyes were rolling crazily, and the blood still leaking from the side of her head only served to make her look more like a member of the undead. She twitched, and turned to look wildly at Natasha again. Her gaze was unfocused and glazed. “Я не знаю, смогу ли я-“ I don’t know if I can-She broke off with a groan, shaking her head like a horse trying to rid itself of flies. “Триггеры ...” The triggers…

Understanding hit Natasha like a bullet and she scooted back quickly. Behind her, she could hear Carter and Tony stirring weakly. “Ghost, Вы должны пойти.” You have to go. She whispered as loud as she dared. Aleksandrina gave no signs of comprehension, but she began to get her legs under herself. As she stood, her short hair pasted to her skull with fresh blood, Natasha caught sight of what had kept the woman from giving in to the words that she had been conditioned to follow. This time when Aleksandrina swung her head around to stare at her with those glassy eyes, Natasha had her expression under control. She pointed in the direction that the Soldier had gone.

Wordlessly, Aleksandrina turned and left. Blood fell to the floor in fat droplets with each of her steps, and yet she did not falter.

Her neck was aching under the weight of the collar, her shattered wrist throbbed with every beat of her pulse, and the white-hot sting of her wound was making her eyes water. Worst of all was the acute deadened loss where her sense of hearing should have been.

The frost that had encroached upon her was still clinging to the contours of the world around her; it was keeping her limbs stiff, it was turning every face into a target, it was making her palms itch for a weapon. She should have closed her eyes and found somewhere to hide until she could think clearly, but she would have been struck blind and deaf if she did. She tried her hardest to blend into the screaming, fleeing crowds still running from the sirens and chaos behind her.

When a hand clamped down on her shoulder, years of instinct and the frost made her react blindly. She threw her elbow back savagely as she turned, catching her assailant in the face. Her other hand came around in a deadly hook, and it took a visceral effort to stop the blow. Sam Wilson was clutching his bleeding nose and eyeing her with the same wariness he had worn when he had released her. Immediately, her blood boiled hot-

A grip around the nape of her neck, and a sudden dizzying ascent towards the heavens. The earth shrank below her as the winged-man plucked her from the ground-

The grappling hook buried itself in the mechanic joints of his wings, and she grunted with the effort of pulling him back down to earth. The wing itself gave way under her terrific force; he went spiralling over the edge of the Helicarrier into nothingness-

Wilson was speaking to her, mouth moving too quickly for her to understand. Blood had dribbled from his nose and was wetting his lips. He was not a target. He was not an enemy. Ghost clenched her fists and forced her warring instincts into silence. He was still speaking, and had his hand half-outstretched to her, as if he was going to touch her. She jerked out of his reach and shook her head. If he touched her again, her control would snap. She pointed to her bloodied ears. “I can’t hear you.” He blinked and then nodded, turning to point towards a side street.

He was brave, she realised with a dim sort of admiration. He kept his back to her, and when he looked at her, there was no trace of the fear she saw in the eyes of regular men. She felt a renewed sense of determination to her initial decision. He was precious to Rogers, so she would defend him. The further they walked from the compound, the longer she had in the fresh air, the more she repeated the names of the men and women she had to protect, the clearer her head became.

They approached a dilapidated warehouse with a small car parked out the front, the only sign of occupation. Her ears were beginning to buzz as her body worked to repair itself. She’d never had her eardrums blown out like that before, and was more than a little grateful to know that she could recover from it. Whilst living deaf from that moment on was a fate she would have resigned herself to with enough grace not to complain, she was thankful she would regain use of one of her most precious senses.

Wilson fiddled with a heavy looking chain and padlock, looking around furtively, and she heard the dull clinking of the metal under the buzzing drone of her ears. He waved her into the dark space before himself, though he kept a wide gap between them, leaning away from her as he held the door open for her.

Steve Rogers appeared from the shadows in a damp shirt, and it was only years of growing hardened to the world that stopped her from flinching. He looked from her to Wilson. “Is she…?” she read his lips as he spoke, though missed Wilson’s reply with her back to him. Whatever the dark-skinned man had said, however, seemed to be enough to assuage Rogers. His face slackened in relief, and the shadows in his eyes turned to naked plea. He looked at her then, and his fists fell open at his sides. When he spoke again, she was able to make out the sounds of his words. “Help him. Please.”

Relief, all-consuming and overwhelming, made her knees buckle. Rogers darted for her as she swayed, eyes going wide. She avoided his helpful hands, catching herself on the tin wall instead. He was here. He had not been taken from her. Armed with the knowledge, she moved further into the warehouse without caution.

He was in the next room, sprawled unconscious on the floor. Someone – the Captain, she supposed – had made an attempt to bind his hands together. She eyed the thin metal that had been crudely twisted into restraints, and bent to remove it.

She ignored Rogers’ cry of alarm behind her, unwarping the metal and tossing it to the side. It wouldn’t have held him. Her partner had not stirred at her approach, and gently, she brushed the long locks of hair from his face, running her fingers over his scalp. There. She felt the lump growing just past his hairline, and gently rolled him over to expose the bicep of his metal arm. The back of her neck prickled at the feeling of their eyes on her, on her hands that were poised to do something secret and sacred. Just as her words had been taught only to her handlers and him, the workings of his arm had been entrusted to her alone. She forced herself past the feeling of guilt blossoming in her gut. She had to do this. If he was still the Soldier when he woke, then they would be hard pressed to stop him a second time.

Deftly, her fingers worked themselves into the hidden groove of the compartment concealing the mass of delicate wiring that powered and defined the arm. It popped open with a faint creak; the hinges had not been moved in some time. She switched the arm off. It went limp with a faint whir of protest, and as it pulled with deadweight at his shoulder, her partner groaned. It was with relief she realised she could hear him do so. She had to resist the urge to press her head to his chest and listen to the beat of his heart, to reassure herself.

Still, as her partner stirred again, and the two men behind her stepped closer, she could not stop herself from curling around him slightly. She eased him upright, his head lolling against her shoulder, and supported the heavy bulk of his arm with her own. Now she could see Wilson and Rogers; the Captain was looking at her pseudo-embrace with a crease on his brow. It made her want to snarl at him defensively. She held herself still and silent.

She could see her partner’s eyes rolling beneath the thin skin of his eyelids. James… she crooned to him wordlessly, hoping and praying. James, my дорогой, come back to me. His eyes flickered open, the blue-grey momentarily clouded with wooziness and confusion. His gaze found her first, and a soft relief slackened his features. His left shoulder jerked – he had obviously meant to touch her – and he looked down at his dead arm in sudden uncertainty. She relaxed at the sight; there was no Soldier in his eyes. Just her James.

He finally noticed the men standing over them, and his face shuttered still – but not before she saw a horrified realisation fall across his features. “Steve.”

Rogers twitched at his address, and Wilson crossed his arms, biceps bulging spectacularly. “Which Bucky am I talking to?” Rogers’ voice was harder than she thought he could muster.

Her partner swallowed thickly, eyes darting over the other man’s features. “Your mom’s name was Sarah.” A smile curled his lips up, and she watched him greedily. Дорогой. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” She almost smiled with him as he chuckled. She knew that titbit of trivia herself; her partner had told her about it laughingly as they passed through Madrid.

Steve’s face split into a relieved smile. “You can’t read that in a museum.”

Wilson remained unmoved. “Just like that, we’re supposed to be cool?”

Fingers on her tender wound turned her attention back to her partner. He was looking at the bloody mess of her ear with dawning understanding and burgeoning sorrow. “What did I do?” He whispered, face raw and guilty.

She leaned away from his touch. “This was not you. But you did…enough.” She said delicately.

“Oh, God.” His face fell, and he curled his fingers into a fist and dropped his hand from her face. “I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside of me is still there.” His eyes grew haunted; old memories and phantoms chased themselves through the shadows of his mind. “All he had to do is say the goddamn words.” He looked at her again, looked at her ears, and a sudden understanding bloomed on his face. His mouth tightened, and she caught a flash of rage she didn’t understand before he looked away from her.

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know.” Her partner said.

“HYDRA.” She was sure of herself, though her partner shook his head. She frowned. “Кто еще? Он знал слова.” Who else? He knew the words.

“Он этого не сделал - по крайней мере, не совсем. Он читал из книги.” He didn't - not really anyway. He read from the book. James pursed his lips. He seemed sure of it, and so she would trust him.

“Hey, hey,” Wilson snapped his fingers at them. “Less of the secret-spy talk.”

“It’s Russian.” She informed him, and he rolled his eyes.

Steve raised a hand as Wilson opened his mouth to retort again. “People are dead. The bombing, the set-up…the doctor did all that just to get ten-minutes with you.” Steve bent a little to catch her partner’s eyes as he lowered his head. She could feel the exhaustion in his body, in the slow rise and fall of his chest, in the tightness of his muscles. “I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know’.”

“He wanted to know about,” Here, he paused again, and looked at her. Wilson made a wordless noise of exasperation. She ignored him. “About Siberia.” She felt, for a moment, the dizzying sensation of freefall. The memory of an ancient cold, a stagnant chill from long ago, raised the hairs on her arms. “Where we were kept.” Her partner looked through her for a moment, doing his own remembering. “He wanted to know exactly where.”

“Why would he need to know that?” Steve was unrelenting – she could admire his doggedness even in the face of the recovery of his best-friend. He was a good man. Her partner, however, was still caught in the memories of the past.

A cage that functioned as a training ground. The heavy musk of mutated testosterone and sweat in the air. And the Soldiers – they fought without mercy. It was not friendly practice to them. She watched as her partner was forced to the ground, face screwed up in pain. It was death waiting to be dealt.

Her partner shuddered once, imperceptibly. Though it made her hackles rise to show such weakness to strangers, though it violated every caution she must follow, she reached up to gently brush back the hair that had fallen over his eyes. They all watched her soothing gesture silently. She looked at Steve then, met his curious gaze with a hard stare of her own. “Because he is not the only Winter Soldier.” Her partner squeezed his eyes shut briefly. Wilson visibly recoiled from the notion, and Steve’s eyes grew grave.  

As they detailed the program that had made him, that had made the others, Ghost found herself remembering.

A car, and a long stretch of deserted road. They were in the United States – they roared past a sign in American English. Her partner was bent low over the handlebars of the motorbike. A pop and flash of gunfire, and the car they were pursuing went spinning off the road.

A man. Bleeding and already dead on impact. A woman. Crying and begging. Beautiful for her age, and rich. The pearls around her neck glowed in the low light. Her hand in the woman’s chest, her fingers closing around her heart. The last two beats of life. Her gloves shining scarlet.

The boot. Her partner already collecting their package. And the ice and the poem. The poem beat in her head, the stanza playing over and over and over and over and over and over-

“Who were they?” Steve’s voice broke through the confusing thread of images, blowing back the frost.

“Their most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in HYDRA history.” Her partner was the one to speak now, and she was grateful for it. “And that was before the serum.”

“They all turn out like you?” Wilson asked, a little sardonically.

Her partner didn’t take the bait. “Worse.”

“The doctor,” Steve leant back against the wall, still watching her partner intently. “Could he control them?”

Her partner thought for a beat. She wasn’t sure either, uncertain just how extensive the other Soldier’s conditioning had been. They hadn’t been active for long before they were put into cyrosleep – they had been too unpredictable. “Enough.” Her partner said finally.

“He said he wanted to see an empire fall.” Steve was still clearly rattled by it; his clear eyes were troubled.

“With these guys, he could do it.” James’ jaw jumped. She wondered if he was remembering the way he had been hit. “They speak thirty languages, they can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They could take a whole country down in one night, you’d never see them coming.” They had learnt from the best, after all. She was feeling guilty, she realised, guilty for the hand she had had in creating those monsters.

Wilson walked towards Steve, and lowered his voice to speak. Though she could hear clearly now, she looked away, trying to give them some illusion of privacy. James was already looking at her. When she met his eyes, his mouth twisted. “Он спросил про 1991 год.” He asked about 1991.

The old couple, the package. “Что ты ему сказал?” What did you tell him? She asked him quietly. She was unsure of the significance, unsure why the memories had only returned now.

Frustration rose in his eyes again, more anger. “Я не уверен.” I’m not sure. He couldn’t feel it, but she wrapped her fingers around his lax metal fingers and squeezed.

“Неважно.” It doesn’t matter. She whispered. He looked at her hand around his, and she let it go in order to briefly touch his chin. The stubble there rasped at the pads of her fingers. She ached for him. “Мы найдем его и убьем их всех. Мы все исправим.” We will find him, and kill them all. We will make it right. Just as carefully as before, she reopened the compartment on his arm and turned it back on.

He let out a quiet gasp as feeling returned, flexing his fingers. When he looked at her again, his eyes were alight feverishly, desperately. “Мы?” We?

She almost smiled. “Да ты глупый человек. Мы.” Yes, you silly man. We.

Steve turned back to them. “We might have a plan. We might be able to stop them.”

She wondered if the Captain knew they would have to kill them. She wondered if he would get his hands as dirty as theirs.