The Fallen

“The Soldier remembers her, sir.” One of the technicians whispers when he emerges from the lab. He says nothing about the woman terrified and backed against a wall. The tech is just as terrified of the man as she is. “He’s asking for her. He’s disoriented, confused. We’re calling this one a success.” After five weeks, a blessed success.

Markov doesn’t look at the small, timid man. He only nods and takes a piece of her hair between his fingers, lifting it so he can take a long inhale. Markov grips her chin and forces her to look into his dark eyes. “Of course the Soldier is asking after his whore. She’s so good to him. So kind and soft. Let’s him do whatever it is he wants to do without so much as a complaint. Isn’t that right, little bird?” Markov leans closer to her, grips her throat tightly as his other hand skims the inside of her thigh, curling higher and higher along her bare skin.

“You can tell him where all the bruises came from, darling. I’m sure he doesn’t mind sharing.” With a curl of his lip he presses his mouth close to her ear, “Or maybe he does. Maybe he’ll final snap. Or, even better, maybe he’s better than we think and will recognize you for what you are. You like it don’t you, little bird?” He gropes her roughly before laughing. She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

His fingers tighten with anger and then shove her away. She falls backward, back smarting when she hits the floor. The last few weeks have been torture as they tested some way to take Bucky’s memories away. Each day their frustration grew as whatever they attempted didn’t work. She could hear him screaming and begging and pleading for them to stop whatever torture they were inflicting daily, as the guards and tired, stressed scientists alike forced themselves on her again and again and again.

Her thighs hurt and she’s extremely sore from their roughness. She thinks she would be sore from the amount of times they had fucked her alone. In fact, every part of her feels raw and inhuman. She no longer feels like a person and she wishes they would just get it over with and kill her. They had saved her from her sickness, only to keep her as a doll, a plaything, and she knows she won’t get the bliss of death. She doesn’t want to see the Winter Soldier, Bucky, whoever. She wants to be left alone forever, to curl into a corner and never have to see anyone or anything ever again.

But she doesn’t get that. She's hauled up from the ground and shoved hard through a door. It slams closed behind her. Tears form in her eyes when she sees him, and then drip down her cheeks when he doesn’t know her name. For a few long moments he can’t remember her name. He stares at her from where they had left him slumped again the floor, and chatters wildly at her, trying to get her name to come to him. She doesn’t look anywhere but him, afraid of the blood and machines and leather.

Everything is horrible.

And she doesn’t want to go near him, not with the new metal arm they’ve given him, not when he’s unstable. She doesn’t trust it and she doesn’t trust him at the moment. It’s possible they’ve given him some sort of orders to trick her, to hurt her.

She doesn’t want anyone hurting her anymore. She finds it easier to give into pain. If she believed that this life is one she wants then the pain isn’t so bad. But she doesn’t want to have to pretend to endure pain from someone she’s come to care for.

But then the memory of only a few hours ago comes rushing back. Of Bucky begging for someone, anyone, but mostly her and his mother and Steve, to please, please, please end this horror. She remembers the laughter in her ear as she was bent over a table, pants yanked down, ass swatted until it was aching, fucked raw.

She kneels down. “You know me.”

Bucky glances at her. “Yes.”

“Are you under orders?”

“No.”

She creeps closer. “I’m sorry. I heard you calling for me.”

“I heard you calling for me too. What happened to you?”

She ignores him. “Did it really work?”

“It’s starting to.” He blinks hard and rolls onto his back, arms spread wide. “It’s starting to become fuzzy. For a couple hours…I didn’t know anything.”

They’re trying to make the brainwashing stick then. “You’re strong. Normal people couldn’t endure this,” she murmurs, and that’s when he looks at her, really looks at her.

“And what about you then?” He sits up, reaches out and grabs her ankle and yanks her out of her crouching position. A yelp rips past her lips as her sore ass hits the rough flooring. He pulls her to him with little regard for the grip he has on her or the current state of her body. “What did they do to you?” Rage coats his tone, a vicious righteousness.

“You’re hurting me,” she whispers, trying to squirm away, pry his grip from her ankle. “Stop. Please stop.” Her voice hurts for how many times she’s had to yell that the last few weeks.

She hates that word. Stop. No one listens to stop. Stop is a weak word. But he does. Bucky pulls his hand away and looks ashamed. “Sorry.” Then, “What did they do to you? Tell me, please.”

“You know what they did to me,” she spits. When he reaches out again she recoils and knows she must have a disgusted look on her face. “What? Do you want a turn too?” She looks to the door and screams, “Is that why I’m in here?!” She tries to keep the tears out of her voice but it doesn’t seem to work.

Bucky jerks away from her as though slapped but she can’t be bothered to care. It’s exactly what they want, she knows, for them to fight and distrust each other, to sow seeds of doubt. Because to ruin their friendship, to break them apart, and leave each of them alone when they had known friendship and companionship would be devastating. It just might break them.

She stands and wraps her arms around herself, doesn’t look at him. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you-,”

“I don’t know what you would and wouldn’t do anymore.” She backs away from him. “I don’t know you. I don’t know what they did to you.”

The door opens when she starts to pound on it, desperate suddenly to get away from her only ally. “Ready to come back to me, little bird? I told you, didn’t I? Can’t trust him. He’d rip you to pieces sooner than the rest of us.” Markov shakes his head. “Shameful. But maybe I’ve finally convinced you of your worth. You know what you are now.” His hand grips her hard, pulling her back flush against his chest so she’s facing Bucky, as his other reaches up to grope her through her dress, fingers deftly pinching one nipple.

She whimpers and tries to squirm away, but after what she’s been through she knows it’s a fruitless effort. But she’s so tired, she hasn’t been allowed to rest for weeks. Thinking is an effort, the world around her hazy and confusing. There’s no longer a person inside her body, just a floating husk of someone who used to be someone.

But somehow Bucky recognizes the person still hiding inside her. And that’s when all hell breaks loose.

The metal arm, as it were, has its uses.

She must blackout because the next thing she knows is that she’s being carried out of the room, people of all kinds scurrying out of their way. His eyes are blank, no sign at all of Bucky Barnes. Markov is laughing, someone’s blood is splattered against the wall. Someone is splattered against the wall.

Two terrified men follow them down the dark hall, guns pointed at his back.

They’re shut inside another cell where he puts her down on a filthy cot. And then, even blank and unknowing as he is, he murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

She lets out a strangled cry and wraps her arms around him, pulling until he’s on the cot with her. Nervous hands stroke his hair, “Come back. Please come back. Come back to me.” The thought of his humanity, his kindness, being ripped away from him makes her grip him tightly, protectively. “Don’t leave me alone. I’m sorry.” Numbness is starting to spread over her again, terror distorting everything around her.

When, after a few hours, he whispers her name against her neck and falls dead asleep, she breathes a sigh of relief. Not lost yet then, possible to bring home. His weight is heavy but good and definitely warm and so she falls asleep as well, no longer able to stand reality another second.

~

She shakes Bucky gently awake. “Please Buck…”

“What’s wrong?” He murmurs, blinking up at her dark outline.

“I’m afraid. Could I-,”

He’s already sliding over, making room for her body against his. She lies uneasy and stiff for a time before Bucky slides his arm down her back and pulls her closer as he turns on his side. “What is it?”

“Why did they make me remember?”

“Who?” He asks, immediately alarmed.

Curling against him she murmurs who she means. “They let you forget. Why didn't they let me forget?”

Something like irritation swells in his chest as he asks, “Wouldn’t you rather remember? I would give anything to be able to remember.”

She frowns against his neck. “No. Remembering is terrible and painful.”

“You lose yourself if you can’t-,”

“I don’t care,” she says viciously. “I would rather forget it all.” Her fingers curl into his shirt. “I would rather forget every goddamn thing.”

He sits up and looks down at her. “Even me?”

Her blood goes cold. “That’s not what I said-,”

“It’s what you meant.”

She sits up as well and climbs out of bed, apparently she’s doomed not to have a safe place ever again. “It’s not what I meant.” She’s stubborn about it, unyielding. “I want to forget the rape and the violence and the terror of every waking moment. I-,” She stops, thinks for a moment before whirling to look at him. “Is that why you pulled me here? Kidnapped me and forced me to-to remember-,”

“You need to remember-,”

“Why?” Her voice is cutting, “So you aren’t so alone and empty? I can’t tell you who you are. I don’t know you anymore either.”

The silence that follows is deep and revealing. “Is that what you think of me?”

“I was fine.” Maybe it’s because of the dream but she feels sick and disgusted. “Why did you have to rip me away from that?”

“Because it isn’t real!” He shouts, getting out of bed to pace the floor. “None of it is fucking real!”

Her mouth trembles, “So? What’s so bad about that? You just don’t want to feel alone.”

“And you just don’t want to deal with the fact that nothing is ever going to go back to the way it was,” he seethes. “You’re afraid to remember because you know you’re never getting that time, those people, that life back.” He glares at her until tears start to drip down her face.

His heart lurches when she looks him in the eyes and says, “I wish I’d never met you. I wish I had been cruel to you when we first met. I wish I would have fought against you. Then, maybe they would have killed me.”

“No,” Bucky whispers. “Please don’t say that-,”

“I hate you for dragging me here, making me relive the horror. Showing me around like I'm some fucking prize.” She pulls open his bedroom door. “I wish you would stay the fuck away from me. You tell yourself you’re taking me home but really you’re trapping me here with you and that makes you no better than them.”

Before he can respond she’s gone.

~

She takes to shadowing Steve.

Steve is calm and strong and kind. He doesn’t yell at her, he never makes her remember things she doesn’t want to, and he smiles every time he sees her. It’s almost like having a real friend. Unexpectedly she finds herself missing Kristina and she wonders briefly what happened to her friend.

But Steve quickly becomes someone she trusts. Bucky is never around when she’s around and vise-verse. She almost has to wonder if Steve knows they aren’t talking. Although, Bucky probably did talk to Steve about that sort of thing. For a moment, not talking to Bucky is fine. Once she gets some sleep however and thinks about what she said she feels the hot weight of guilt weighing on her. None of it is his fault and she shouldn’t have treated him as though it was.

He doesn’t come to her though and she doesn’t know how to reach out and so it’s miserable again.

One night she’s sitting with Steve on a common room couch, absolutely exhausted from the day’s round of testing and therapy and strain. He’s drawing and her head is resting against his arm as she watches. Usually he would give in and draw whatever she wanted, the movement of his arm and the soft sound of pencil on paper very soothing. Today is no different.

She had requested him to draw Bucky. Steve had hid his surprise well and started, making no comment about it.

“How would you like me to-,”

“Like now? Please? Exactly how he is now.”

Steve does just that, only pausing to glance up when Bucky himself enters the room. He freezes, taking in her blanket swaddled figure leaning into Steve’s arm, eyelids drooping, eyes never leaving his hand, seemingly at peace.

A hot flame of jealousy ignites in him. They both look at peace, calm. It’s obvious who she would rather be around. Steve opens his mouth to say something to his oldest friend but Bucky is already backing out of the room.