Options One and Two

She had ended up in a small rural village in Siberia, simply because she could not resist the irony of it. This country had been her beginning, but it had also been her end. Her current strategy would more than likely be viewed by most as downright idiotic; but the way she envisioned it, was that the easiest way to hide from someone, was to be right under their nose and out of their line of sight. After everything that had happened, she knew that HYDRA had a hit out on her.

The Asset was their weapon. And she was garnering a massive secret that she swore to protect.

Living in Siberia was hard, but living in Siberia in hiding was even harder. It was winter now, and everything was blanketed in snow. The cold was unbearable, and made it impossible to talk for all the teeth chattering that it caused. This was okay, though, because she couldn't speak the language anyway.

Today was the first day in a long while that the sun had broken through the clouds. The air was still cold, but the light beaming down on the village was enough to have the entire community stirring. She got out of bed, washed and dressed quickly. Breakfast would have to be eaten on the go. She was starving, but there was no food in her small apartment. Truthfully, she hated going out. The risk was always so high, but she also has no choice. Her apartment was barren and in desperate need of more than just food. She grabbed her shawl and her money and left her sanctuary.

Getting to the market plaza was no easy feat. The snow had turned to a watery, black sludge and every step up and towards the village was tumultuous and risky. Taking her time, she reached her destination half an hour later, panting with the exertion of the strenuous climb. Her lungs burned from the cold, thin air. It was the kind of cold that froze you to the bone; and she had never felt more alive.

Despite the language barrier, everyone was friendly to her. They'd become accustomed to her presence and smiled at another familiar face. In no time at all, she was carrying at least eight bags of shopping, obscuring her entire body so that only her beaming face was visible. Resembling the unfortunate countenance of a pack mule, the young woman received many offers of assistance in helping carry the bags whilst she made her way back to her apartment. She refused them politely and continued on her way. She couldn't afford for anyone to know where she lived.

There was a thin layer of fog wafting off of the ground as the snow melted under the beating heat of the sun. It made seeing difficult, and she didn't notice the obscured, black-clad figure that followed her every move from the shadows.

Watching.

Waiting.

Intensity burning in the eyes beneath his covered face.

He'd been looking for her for a good, long while now, and he had finally found her. He wasn't sure at first. The only thing he could see was her face peeping out amongst a ridiculous hoard of shopping bags. But he looked harder and he knew that she was his target, one which Hydra had thought to have been eliminated, but had recently received reports to the contrary. He had a brief flash of recognition, a moment of déjà vu as an image crashed into his head.

An image of a woman in a white coat; one with kind eyes and a hesitant smile. He shook his head and banished the picture from his mind. It didn't matter.

His target was locked.

Finally, he could complete his mission.

*#*#*

"Soldat!" One of his handlers barked in Russian. "At the ready."

He jumped to his feet despite the pain, despite the fact that he thought that he was going to pass out. He'd been injured more severely during this particular mission than he ever had before. It had been on his previous assignment, when he'd incurred a similar but less severe injury, that his current doctor was discovered to be incompetent with regard to The Asset's medical management. The doctor's medical knowledge had been limited to his speciality, and he had no inkling as to the technology and anatomical implications of The Winter Soldier's arm.

The fluorescent lights seemed to be brighter this day, more painful and far too obnoxious for his current condition. The Asset's handlers continued to shout instructions at one another as cell gates around him were opened and slammed shut again. This was for "his own safety." He blinked wearily and squinted under the harsh luminescence. He was so tired, so sore. He found himself yearning for the peace of cryostasis for the first time in his miserable existence.

He didn't see her at first. He had his eyes squeezed shut in an attempt not to collapse to the floor – such behaviour was forbidden to The Winter Soldier. He was rigorously trained weapon, and he was not allowed to display any form of weakness. The blood continued to run from his left shoulder, where his prosthetic was attached, and almost torn off during the mission. He'd fought on despite the pain when it had happened. Just like weakness, failure was not an option for The Asset – punishment was not kind, either. He'd seen the mission through before collapsing in the snow, blood staining the flakes red from where he had bled. He had been positive that the mission would be his last, and that he was going to die.

As if he would be so lucky.

His handlers staunched the bleeding on site and brought him back to HYDRA's base of operations in Siberia; calls for a specialist physician already having been made. What The Asset hadn't known it at the time, was that this 'job offer' hadn't been an offer afforded to the specialist at all. Offers meant choices, and for this particular brand, she had not been given one.

"This is your new 'vrach'." One of his handers told him in Russian. "She may not look like much, but this doctor is also a biomedical engineer."

"And," he smirked, "she has no family. She won't be missed."

The Asset opened his eyes and took her in for the first time, unimpressed when he appraised a slip of a woman drowning in her own medical coat. She looked to be in her late twenties and The Asset concluded that HYDRA must have tired of him, to bring in someone so young, inexperienced and clearly incapable of managing and 'fixing' him.

He found that he didn't care though. If he hadn't been in so much pain, he might have found her bewildered expression as she appraised all of the soldiers around her speaking in a language she did not understand mildly entertaining.

Tiring, he looked her dead in the eye and he saw fear; pure and unadulterated. He doubted his appearance was doing much to calm her. It was common knowledge that he looked to be every bit the killer that he was and, adding blood and dirt and gore to that equation did not make for a soothing picture of innocent tranquillity.

He wasn't able to focus too long on the veracity of his thoughts, or the fact that they elicited a deep, cortical twinge that he vaguely recognised as sadness. His pulse become erratic and his blood pressure dropped low. Spots danced in his vision, and he couldn't prevent the moment that The Winter Soldier went against every inch of programming that he had been enduring for years.

He couldn't help it when he fainted.

*#*#*

He's made his way inside the apartment with all the noise and grandeur of a ghost. The beautiful weather, which had been eagerly anticipated and welcomed by all in the village, had turned dark in an instant; clouds pooling along the sky to make a dark grey blanket that blackened the village in an ominous shade. It was as if the village was welcoming him, and the dark thing that he had been sent to do. He's thankful for the cover, as it has afforded him the opportunity of stalking the apartment quietly, hidden in the dark thanks the shadows. He crouched down and waited and heard her climbing the stairs only a short while later.

Her footfalls are slow and laboured; clearly straining under the weight of all of the shopping bags that she's carrying. It's only the sound of her ascent that pierces the quiet. The Winter Soldier realised that she hadn't taken anyone up on their offer of help, and he was glad for that fact. It meant that he wouldn't have to kill an additional person today through his annihilation of her.

The jingle of keys as they turned in the lock startled him out of his reverie and he prepared himself. She pushed her front door open with her hip before stepping into the apartment and closing it again. There's nothing out of the ordinary, just a soft wind blowing a curtain through an open window and the rustle of snow outside as it fell.

She inhales deeply before throwing the shopping to the floor and grabbing the door handle, yanking it open to make her escape.

But she's too late.

The door slams shut before she can even hope to move through it, and she finds herself leaning against it with a brute weight behind her back and hot breath down her neck. She let her forehead rest on the door and sighed. So close. She had been so close, especially since she had always known in her heart that this moment would come. You can't outrun HYDRA, and you certainly can't outsmart The Asset.

Slowly, carefully, she turned around. His hands had slammed against the door on either side of her head and she was caged in by his body. The lower half of his face was covered by a mask that she was only too familiar with, and his eyes were shards of ice in the ocean in their cold, emptiness. The sight of it made her want to cry, at the fact that such a handsome face had once again been forced into obscurity. He towered over her, and she swallowed thickly as her heart hammered in her chest. There was no way that someone her size could take on the brute force of a notorious assassin who outmatched her in both size and weight.

The young woman exhaled heavily and whispered so softly that he had to strain to hear her. "I know better than to beg," she hesitated, eventually gathering her courage and lifting her head so that she could dive headfirst into the arctic of his eyes, "but just know that if you kill me, then you're killing someone else too."

Unwavering and unmoving, he stared at her over the rim of his mask, that horrid thing that muzzled him into subservience. The Asset appeared to consider her words, and his narrowed eyes fell down and widened when he saw it; her hand, so tiny and so fragile; resting on the bump of her growing child.

The Asset reeled back and faltered. This had never been a problem before. Nothing, absolutely nothing ever prevented him from completing a mission; not women, nor children nor the sick and even the elderly. But a pain, sharp and vicious and all-consuming pierced his head like a machete and he fell to his knees, grasping his head in his hands and writhing in pain. Images flashed through his mind like a pack of vultures fighting over a carcass; strange images, of needles, and blood and pain; but also of kindness, warmth and a touch that was gentle. He heard an echo of a voice straining to be heard over the barrage of noise that the flickering images created, like a flock of crows swarming in his mind and deafening him with their cries.

"- ames?" He heard, then, again, more desperately. "James!"

He opened his eyes and saw a face in front of him, a face that he had seen before. His mind attempted to fill in the gaps, attempted to dress her in a doctor's coat and place a stethoscope around her neck. His mind attempted to put the pieces together.

But then, his nose began to bleed and the echoing shouts became shriller.

"James!" He heard again, and it was like hitting an 'off' switch. His brain stuttered, short-circuited and then stopped altogether. He was free of the pain as suddenly as it had been thrust upon him.

Unfortunately, he was also free of his consciousness. The Asset did something that he had only ever done once before in his lifetime, after a mission that should have been routine, but wasn't.

He fainted, and he embraced his impending unconsciousness willingly.

*#*#*

When he eventually came to, it felt like he had been mauled by a pack of wolves and then left for dead. Everything felt so far away. His limbs were lead and sound didn't seem to travel to him as well as it used to. He knew straight away that he had been heavily sedated, and he had to commend whichever doctor was responsible. Not a single one, so far, had managed to mix a cocktail of drugs strong enough to withstand his serum for an extended period of time.

The lights were blinding, but he forced his eyes open and scanned the room; his training kicking in even when he was at his most vulnerable. He was in the same room where he was reprogrammed, wiped again and again after each mission right before cryostasis. The chair sat ominously in the corner, watching him, the straps and rubber mouth guard taunting him from where they lay, shrouded in the shadows. The visual was enough to force his senses into waking – for him to be assaulted across every sensory facet imaginable.

He was cold under the covers, and realised that he was lying in a makeshift cot that had been set up in the same room. The incessant sound of beeping could be heard, and he realised that he was surrounded by an array of medical equipment, all of which was attached to him. This was new. He'd never required such medical treatment before and this felt excessive, somehow. He didn't need it, and he didn't deserve it.

The Winter Soldier noticed her last, and once he had stared long enough, he wondered how she wasn't the first thing in the room that his eyes had landed upon. She was still wearing that ridiculous coat, an item which he knew to be significant but appeared to be little more than a costume clothing a child on Halloween. She'd curled herself up tightly to be nothing more than a foetal object sitting in a chair next to where he lay. She looked to be asleep and he narrowed his eyes as alarm bells screeching of caution went off in his head. No other doctor had ever done this before. What did this mean? How harshly was he going to get punished this time?

He didn't have long to contemplate his fate. The woman next to him shifted uncomfortably and opened her eyes ever so slightly. Blue met blue and her eyes widened in shock. She jumped up from the chair she was sitting in and took several steps back, her body slamming against the concrete wall furthest from him.

After a long beat of extended silence, she asked hesitantly. "How are you feeling?"

The Asset, as was his way, said nothing. His calculating, dead eyes never left hers as he sat up. She flinched and couldn't control her outburst. "Don't do that!"

He looked at her sharply in surprise, but also made sure that it didn't show on his face. It had to remain impassive.

'Brave or stupid?' He thought. Hmmm, he would have to find out.

"Y-your arm," she started by way of explanation, "the surgery was complicated. Moving it runs the risk of tearing and dislocation at the site of attachment. Not to mention the pain –''

But her diatribe was cut short as he threw the covers off of himself and stood up harshly; resolutely. Even though he was dressed only in sweatpants and looked able to keel over at any minute, the sight of him was absolutely terrifying. The doctor flinched at the movement and immediately held her hands out in a placating gesture. Not a single emotion flickered across his face. He advanced on her, slowly but with purpose, and the blood drained from her face. The Asset stood directly in front of her, looming over her figure. She was forced to tilt her head to look him in the eyes; her crown only coming up to the top of his chest. His face was menacing, a mask of pure evil and hatred, but she did not look away.

'Brave then,' he mused.

She looked pitiful; small and weak and unassuming. Bruises mottled her face and, he supposed, the rest of her body. She had very clearly been brought here against her will. He raised his arm as if it to touch her face. She swore that she was about to meet her end. She'd been briefed on what he was and the things he had done – his core purpose to the organisation.

"Soldat!" A voice shouted from behind them. The Asset's body stiffened. He turned his head and appraised the handler over his shoulder, his face a mask of pure resentment. "I see you've introduced yourself to the young doctor. Good," he smirked.

The Asset turned around to face the man, and blocked the tiny being behind him, out of his handler's line of sight. He couldn't tell you why he'd done that, he just had.

"It's time to go back into stasis," the man said dispassionately. The Asset's entire body went rigid, as it did every time one of his handlers uttered those words. The reaction was not lost on the woman standing behind him.

"Actually," she piped up, leaning around The Asset bravely, "that's not advised."

The handler narrowed his eyes menacingly. "And why not?"

It was clear that his tone of voice irritated her, and she stomped around and forward from behind The Asset before she could give it another thought. "The damage to both the arm and the tissue surrounding it is substantial. It needs a significant amount of time to heal, even if he is…" she trailed off and she caught his eyes again. He appeared to be totally impassive, a strong body that was nothing more than a shell "If you put him in stasis now, before it's healed, then he's going to be burdened with the same injury the next time he is brought out."

"He will heal in stasis," the handler said arrogantly.

The young doctor looked at him in genuine confusion until she realised that he was being serious. "Please tell me you're joking? Please tell me you're not actually that stupid? The body's physiology stops when it is frozen. Everything pauses when on ice, everyone knows that. You can't possibly heal if your body isn't even actively working."

When the handler gave no response but to turn red in the face with rage, she could hold it in no longer. "Is it any wonder that he's in the state he's in? Look at him! He's a fucking mess!"

The handler spluttered to answer. "How – how dare you speak to me like that! You pugnacious piece of -" He covered the distance between them in two quick strides and raised his hand to deliver the strike that she deserved; but the offending limb had no time to fall. The Asset had stepped between the two of them and had grabbed the handler's bulky paw with his prosthetic arm before anyone could register what had happened. In the blink of an eye, the handler was on the ground, screaming. There had been a sickening crunch as The Asset crushed the hand he was holding, breaking every bone in the handler's hand.

The man screamed and writhed with such abandon that it took only mere seconds before racing footsteps were heard and a small battalion of armed men burst through the door. The leader of the group quickly appraised the situation at hand before pointing his gun directly at The Asset's face, his comrades following suit.

"Soldat!" He shouted. "Release him!"

The only response he got was a slight tilt of The Asset's head and a minute, but noticeable, tightening of his grip around the fallen handler's hand. The main groaned in pain.

"Soldat! Now! This is your final warning!"

The Asset's expression was stone cold and detached. He was an unfeeling, emotionless being. The doctor squirmed at the sight of him, at the pure, unadulterated menace of his constitution. He was nothing but pain; pain and danger and heartache.

"Soldat!" The handler screamed for the final time, and The Asset appeared to come back to himself. He blinked his eyes furiously as a slight flicker of recognition spread through him, like he remembered his place and his purpose, but definitely not his identity. Hastily, he let go of the handler's, now broken, hand and stepped away from him, coming to rest next to where the doctor stood. It took all she had in her not to put foot and run. Standing next to him felt like standing next a crate of dynamite. She had no idea when it was going to go off, but she knew that she was done for the moment it did.

The lead handler looked at her and nodded his head. "Move."

She hesitated, knowing that the moment she did the armed men would pounce on The Asset.

"Move!"

She startled and jumped out of the way, looking at The Asset apologetically but not without fear. He didn't even turn his head to acknowledge soon as she'd moved, two of the armed handlers stepped forward and grabbed The Asset harshly. They steered him towards the chair in the corner and the doctor spoke up.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Clearly you've made an impression and that, quite frankly, will not do."

The doctor watched fearfully as The Asset was strapped down and the rubber bite guard was shoved into his mouth.

"I-I'm going to go," she started, trying to move around the head handler. "There's a lot of paperwork that I need to –''

"No," he smirked, grabbing her arm and steering her back in the direction of the dreaded chair that held The Asset prisoner. "You're going to watch this."

She stared in horror as the procedure was conducted and The Asset's screams filled the room. Being a doctor, it took a lot to make her squeamish, but watching the procedure made her feel faint and sick to her stomach. This wasn't a procedure, it was torture.

It was only later, once the handlers had dragged The Asset off and left her to her own devices that she made the realisation. She had watched one of the most horrendous acts of human cruelty and violence probably known in human history; and she had absolutely no idea what it had all been for.

*#*#*

"Tselitel?," he murmured, looking at her properly for the first time in weeks. He hadn't shown a single sign of recognition since the first time she'd seen him wiped. He hadn't shown a single sign of recognition since she'd seen him after the wipes following that one either. That hadn't stopped her, though. She was a healer, a 'tselitel,' and kindness and empathy were as engrained in her as her soul was. The Asset looked at her in confusion every time she displayed it, and it only mad her sadder. The fact that genuine goodwill and affection was so foreign to him was an injustice to humanity. It's why she went out of her way to bathe him in warmth, and express only the tenderest of emotions.

She liked to think that he was responding to her. That he was remembering her despite the wipes. She swore that she saw recognition, but she also knew that it was probably her imagination and desire more than anything else. Still, he was consistently calm and accommodating when around her – a gift which he did not bestow upon any of his handlers.

The doctor smiled at him. "Yes," she said, "I am."

He still looked confused, and her smile turned to a sympathetic frown. She turned to the tray behind her and tore open a webcol sachet, bringing it to disinfect the area around the gash on the front of his hairline. Of course he was capable of healing himself, but he already had so many scars, and she had it in her power to ensure that he did not acquire another. The Asset closed his eyes in response to the sharp sting but otherwise displayed no reaction.

"Sorry," she murmured, discarding the webcol and picking up the suturing needle and thread. He didn't need to be comforted, but she did it anyway. "It looks much worse than it is. Hold still."

The young doctor conducted her task quickly and efficiently, discarding the suturing needle and excess thread before opening another webcol and kneeling on the floor in front of The Asset, and dabbing it on the newly sutured gash just above his forehead.

Silence permeated the room around them; dark and dank and harsh with fluorescent, artificial lighting. A tap dripped somewhere in their surroundings and, for a while, it was only that, and the pair's breaths, that pierced the silent veil.

He watched her intensely, his eyes never leaving her face and his gaze seeming to devour everything. The doctor wanted to squirm in discomfort, but the energy around them was inexplicably calm, and she felt far too at ease to feel awkward or self-conscious.

She finished her task and smiled at him. Naturally, he didn't smile back, but his brows were furrowed and he looked troubled, like he was experiencing a new emotion for the first time and didn't quite know how to process it. The young doctor's smile gave way to a frown of concern, and she's placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

He blinked rapidly for a few seconds and made a decision. The Asset leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers; his good hand coming to rest gently around the back of her neck in a way that felt familiar to him – perhaps from another lifetime. Though the doctor did not reciprocate, she didn't move away either.

"Soldat!" Came a booming voice from just down the hall. The young doctor leaped away from him, knocking her surgical trolley over and cursing as she dropped to the floor to pick the supplies up.

"What's taking so long?" The handler asked in annoyance, rounding the corner and coming to stand inside the room.

"We've just finished," she muttered, keeping her eyes, and her hands, trained on her task. "He completed his mission without any major injuries. Congratulations. You must be so proud."

The handler reeled at her sarcastic tone of voice and kicked the supplies that she had managed to regather across the room.

"Congratulations," he mocked, "you're still a captive and you're still a nobody. You must be so proud."

She gnashed her teeth together in silent rage but didn't react. Strategy was crucial in an organization like Hydra's, and she was definitely using it to choose her battles.

"He can go," she waved nonchalantly, acting totally disinterested and not even sparing a glance from her position on the floor. She was choosing her battles, after all.

The doctor heard The Asset move as instructed until both he and his Handler had left the room. She covered her eyes with her hands and let out a deep sigh.

"Tselitel," he'd said. At least she was a healer in his eyes.

##

Being locked in an underground compound in Siberia was not conducive to the monitoring of time and its passing. She stumbled upon this realization when she found herself wondering whether it was weeks since she had been taken, or months. Was it months or was it maybe, in fact, years? She didn't know, but it felt like a lifetime. Idle hands lead to idle thoughts, and the doctor thought that she might burst from the boredom that dominated her waking hours.

There was no Intel, so there were no missions. There were no missions, so there were no injuries. There were no injuries, so there was no work. But worst of all, there was no Winter Solider so, for her, there was no purpose.

She knew he was in cryostasis and where he was kept when he was under. But she never visited because she never wanted to see him like that. It was wrong to hope for a mission, because it meant that he would be endangered and, more likely than not, injured; but she missed him more than anything, more than her freedom.

Who could fault her thoughts when she felt like that?

The young doctor came to regret this train of thought a week later, when The Asset was brought in post-mission, bleeding with three bullets lodged in his chest.

"What happened!" She screamed, getting in the handlers' faces and breathing raggedly. The Winter Soldier was screaming in agony. He had never done that before. This was an abnormal situation.

She helped the handlers haul The Asset onto the surgical table and tried to hear what had happened through the agonized screams bursting from the man in question. He was starting to quieten down, but he still groaned in pain and breathed rapidly. The Asset squeezed his eyes shut and whispered a single word. "Tselitel."

Without thought or preamble, she put her hand on his forehead and spoke resolutely and with conviction. "You're going to be okay." The Asset opened his eyes and stared into her own. They communicated a sort of silent understanding and she found trust hidden amongst the pain pooled in his eyes. Her heart warmed at the sight, and she immediately felt bad for it.

Ignoring the handlers that were standing in the room; the young doctor pushed her surgical trolley to rest next to the operating table and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. She gathered her supplies and grabbed a syringe with a menacingly large needle and began to fill it with Lidocaine. She didn't have the resources for general anesthesia, but an insufficient method of local anesthesia was better than no method at all.

"What's that for?" One of the handlers asked.

"For the pain," she said, curtly.

"Don't waste that on him. He can take it."

"Just because he can take it doesn't mean that he should have to! He's a human being above all else!"

"He is a weapon –''

"GET OUT!" She yelled, wielding the needle and syringe as her armament and blinking back the tears of rage that had gathered in her eyes.

The handlers looked at her and then looked at each other stupidly, clearly dumbfounded by the courage that the tiny woman displayed. For the first time since she was taken, her captors listened to her and did as she commanded.

She watched them leave with grim satisfaction and turned back to her patient. "Even with this Lidocaine, the pain is going to be excruciating." The Asset nodded his head in understanding and braced himself for the onslaught.

It took over three hours, by which time her nerves were wrecked and his throat was raw from screaming. Both of them were panting and sweating profusely from the sheer strain of the entire debacle. Boredom had been chasing away her sleep for a while now, but the young doctor was so exhausted she feared she might collapse. The Asset wasn't doing much better and his eyes were closed in a manner that indicated that he was drifting.

She knew it was wrong even before she said it. It was something that she had been expressively forbidden to say, but it came to her, unbidden, and rolled off of the edge of her tongue before she even had the chance to moderate it.

"You're okay, James."

His brows furrowed in bewilderment at the name, but he lost his battle with consciousness before he could give it more thought. The doctor sighed in aggravation and admonished her stupidity. If Hydra found out that she had revealed The Winter Soldier's identity to him she'd be done for.

She appraised her work space and acknowledged the utter mess that she had created. The room was in an absolute state of dissary and needed to be cleaned, but she'd be damned if she did it tonight. Actually, she'd be damned if she did it at all.

Fuck them.

The doctor made sure he was stable and comfortable before she left; informing the handlers outside that she was finished and that The Asset would need to stay out of cryostasis to heal. She didn't wait for their reply, and walked straight to where she was being housed, ignoring every single person that passed her by.

She showered methodically and got into bed, exhausted to her core but unable to find sleep despite this. Something bothered her about the entire thing. The Winter Soldier never showed fear. He was a weapon, a machine that conducted missions. He wasn't afraid of anything and he had never shown fear in any of the occasions that she had been required to tend to him before. She couldn't quite figure out why this time was different, why he was so afraid of dying this time in particular.

Thankfully, her tiredness overtook her before her thoughts began to spiral. She fell asleep after a deep breath and slept the whole night through.

She never considered the possibility that perhaps he was so afraid to die this time because he finally had something worth living for.

*#*#*

She fought back in the one way that she knew that she could.

She was cryptic and she was vague. They might have thought that she was just speaking nonsense to fill the silence, but she knew what she was doing. She called him "James" every time they were out of earshot and spoke of Coney Island and Brooklyn and how desperately she'd like to live there in an apartment with her best friend. The Second World War was relayed on a loop, and she spoke of random things like Bucking Broncos and dogs that howl on command. Her words were nonsensical and her stories appeared to have no point, but he liked the calming tone of her voice and the fact that they felt familiar to him, though he did not know how.

He continued to be wiped but, amazingly, he also continued to retain. He didn't remember, not really, but the prattling nonsense became a comfort, the words became more and more familiar, and he started to enjoy the fact that she called him James even though he had no idea as to why.

One day, she took a chance. She sat right next to him as she wrote notes in his file. She wrote her notes slowly, intricately. Naturally, she had to flip back and forth in the file to check and recheck certain facts of The Asset's history, all the way from his birth until the very moment in time that saw him sitting next to her on a surgical table.

She let him read over her shoulder for as long as she dared and closed the file after what she hoped was a sufficient amount of time. The young doctor held her breath and looked at him as she stood up to leave the room and call for the handlers.

A blisteringly pale face, contorted with opposing emotions, followed her movements, and she allowed herself a small smirk of satisfaction. The Winter Soldier was programmed not to feel or display emotion, but there was one currently on his face that stood out to her above all the others – recognition.

##

Considering the fact that Hydra was engaging in the small task of total world domination, the young doctor expected that their security methods would be both impregnable and unpredictable. After what she thought to be at least more than a year in the compound, she felt secure in her conclusion that this was, thankfully, not the case.

The doctor came to realize that the greatest thing about being small and unassuming in an organization such as this one was that people automatically assumed that she was meek and cowardly. Every single Hydra operative in the compound completely disregarded her as a threat. They didn't monitor or watch her outside of her treatment of The Asset because they knew that she would never break the rules. And so, naturally, this is exactly what she did.

The young doctor studied the Hydra operatives in the compound ad nauseam. She knew their routines and she knew their rotations. It wasn't long before she snuck into The Asset's holding cell every night that he was out of cryostasis. She brought his file with and they studied extensively. Every page was examined, not a single detail was missed, and with each passing day, The Winter Soldier started reclaiming the identity that was James Buchanan Barnes, and it was his to nurture and keep; within himself and in secret.

Of course there were blanks and there were relapses, especially after a mission and its subsequent wipe. But she was relentless. She forced her way into his mind each and every single time and made him pick up where he left off. Slowly, his retention got stronger and with it, his confidence.

"Tselitel," he greeted her each and every single time, but he reverted to English as his language of choice whenever he spoke to her. And he did. Oh boy, he did. The once silent, ominous enigma morphed into an animation that was astounding. His questions flew at her faster than a Concord, and soon their conversation progressed to include her life story and then to no conversation at all.

The first time it happened, he was scheduled to return back into cryostasis the very next day, once the mission report had been completed. He feared the cryostasis chamber more than he had ever feared for something in his life before, because he had nothing to gain from it now, and absolutely everything to lose. She was about to leave when she saw the true extent of it, the fear written on his face as plain as day; the slight tremors which he thought went unnoticed, his anxiety and hyperawareness to each and every sound.

He sat down on a chair closest to him and put his head in his hands. He didn't know what he was feeling. He knew what pain felt like; he felt it each and every single time he was out of cryostasis. He knew that what he was feeling wasn't physical pain but, honestly, it felt exactly the same, only not as tangible. The young doctor approached him slowly and leaned forward to cradle his head against herself and offer as much comfort as she was able.

The Asset moved from the sanctuary of her arms and looked at her, placing his hands on her hips. She was shocked to see the dampness in his eyes. He stood up and towered over her. It was in this moment that she realized what it was that she wanted to do. She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him.

It was a kiss that was supposed to be chaste, but it soon escalated into so much more. He returned it with all that he had, and his hand moved against her hip, anchoring him whilst caressing her. She was so much shorter than him, so delicate. He feared the strength of his arm and the possibility of losing control, but the trust and faith that she had in him dispelled those worries. In fact, they spurred him to try harder and be everything that she believed him to be.

Her head only just reached the top of his chest and the angle frustrated him. He bent at the knees and wrapped his arms around her waist, hoisting her up so that they were eye-level. She exhaled a small gasp of surprise but the air was stolen by him when he reclaimed her lips with his own. Though neither of them had anticipated or planned for it, things had accelerated from there.

After, when both of them knew that there was no going back, he whispered in her ear in Russian. He made a ritual of saying the same thing every night she visited him from then onwards; after every time that she solidified herself further and further into his memory and his heart.

"Spasitel," he whispered. She looked at him in puzzlement and he translated tenderly, smiling into her neck as he did so.

"Saviour."

*#*#*

He wakes where he fell; on the floor and in the dark.

It takes him a while to come to his senses, and he admonishes himself immediately for that fact. He was The Winter Soldier, a trained asset, a weapon. He couldn't afford to have such a poor response time. But even though his training yearned to kick in, his senses wanting to spark into overdrive and send him reeling into his violent, assassinating rage; his body withheld it.

He had no idea where he was. He had no idea who he was. But he knew that he was safe and that there was no threat around him.

Slowly, somewhat deliriously, The Asset turned his head to the side and realized that it rested upon a pillow. The movement caused a damp cloth to fall from his forehead where it had previously lain, and he furrowed his brows in mystification. He appraised the shadows across the empty floor as they creeped from the moonlight and his eyes travelled further still, and found the form of a young woman sitting on the window's pane and gazing out at the night sky. Her entire demeanor was calm, relaxed and peaceful. She was a vision of ease and serenity.

At the rustle of movement, she turned her head and gazed at him, something akin to sadness in her eyes – a knowing kind of look that felt familiar to him.

He simply stared back.

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes," she said, getting up from where she was seated, "'Bucky' for short."

His gaze didn't falter, and she crouched in front of him. "You were part of the 107th, and fought in World War Two. You then joined The Howling Commandos."

She picked the cloth back up from where it had fallen and placed it on his forehead again, her hand lingering. "Your childhood friend was Steven Grant Rogers, also known as Captain America. He's still alive."

The young woman sighed and stood up, reaching for a bottle of water which sat on the table nearest them. "You fell off of a train in 1945 after an attempted raid on an organization known as 'Hydra'."

She unscrewed the bottle's cap and kneeled to hand the water to him. "You were presumed dead, but you were captured by the very organization that you were fighting to dismantle."

He took the water in has hand out of pure reflex, but he made no move to drink and continued to watch her silently with wide, wide eyes. "They turned you into The Winter Soldier; a weapon to be used at their disposal and for their every whim."

She urged the bottle toward his lips and he drank. "I was kidnapped and held against my will, just like you."

Briefly, fleetingly, she thought that she saw some semblance of recognition. "I treated you and became your doctor, though that's not the only extent of our relationship – it's also a conversation for us to have another day."

The doctor took the bottle, stood, and placed it back on the table. She looked down at him and crossed her arms protectively over her front.

"If you're here, then that means that Hydra isn't far behind. This means that you have one of two options. One, you see your mission through, kill me, and go back to them. Or two, you come with me, find out who you really are and gain back both your life and your identity."

He sat up and looked at her desperately, beseechingly, the pain behind his eyes escalating in intensity as he tried to make sense of the situation. He screwed his eyes shut and waited for the pain to pass; only it didn't.

"James," she whispered, crouching down in front of him, bringing her hand to rest against his cheek, hot and damp with fever and delirium. "There is no third option."

*#*#*

"You know the way out," she whispered as she tried to leave. "Get us out."

He clung to her then like a lifeline; like she was the only buoy amidst a raging sea. She placed her palms on either side of his face and drew him near. Again, she whispered. "James," thumbs swiping over cheekbones, "you can do this. You've been trained for this." And he had. If anyone knew how to outsmart and outrun Hydra, it was The Winter Soldier. He could get them away. He could make them disappear.

Both hands, even his prosthetic one, grasped her wrists, a fleeting butterfly touch that belied the strength he had within them. He ducked forward, bringing his head down so that their foreheads could meet. In that moment, it was just the two of them; eyes closed, breaths shared and ragged, and pulses racing in a tandem beat. He grasped his lifeline that little bit harder and stole a kiss. This one felt dangerous and forbidden, more so than the ones prior.

The young doctor reciprocated with all that she had, tongues and teeth colliding in a kiss that was sweet in its bitterness. The moment became heated, as they were always prone to do, and she found that she wouldn't be leaving for a while yet. They fought the night and condemned the coming day, eventually admitting defeat once too much time had passed. The pair dressed in silence and found themselves facing the dilemma of parting once again. She kissed him goodbye and turned to sneak away in the dark, creeping through the compound and blending into the shadows.

Watching her go, this time, felt ominous somehow. The Asset slid down to the floor and contemplated from where he sat. He wouldn't find sleep that night and he had a feeling of immense unease.

He didn't like the feeling.

It felt like something was ending.

*#*#*

He'd been sent out on another mission, and had returned as battered and bruised as he always did, but with a significantly higher amount of broken bones.

They were in the medical wing, and she was crouched in front of him, finally tending to his flesh hand once the other bones in his body had been set. The hand sported disfigured fingers that had obviously been broken. There was a silence around them that felt forced, as it did every time The Asset was in medical and they were being watched.

There were an unusual number of armed guards in the wing, and all it took was one mistake. One mistake, and Hydra had their confirmation.

The doctor finished setting his fingers, binding the hand with fresh bandages to secure them for healing. She put his hand aside, rested her own on his knee and smiled up at him. The Winter Soldier smiled back.

It happened in the blink of an eye.

"Soldaty!" The commanding officer hollered. "Ataka formirovaniye!"

The young doctor was hauled up and away by two soldiers on either arm. The other soldiers in the room surrounded The Asset, and she saw him stand up to lunge for her just before they closed in on him.

"Strelyat!"

She heard two gunshots go off in succinct tandem followed by the agonized scream of the man she had come to care for.

"No!" She screamed as she struggled in their grip. "No!"

The soldiers moved away and relief flooded through her even though her heart dropped. They hadn't killed him, but they'd shot out both his kneecaps, totally immobilizing him. He was knelt on the floor and looked up at her across the room through the thick strands of his hair. The Winter Solider, the indomitable Asset, Hydra's prized possession, was collapsed on the floor in the organization's compound, useless and helpless.

The young doctor couldn't help the sob that burst forth from her mouth. She knew that he would heal, that this wouldn't kill him; but seeing him like that made her heart break. She cried at seeing him defeated, but she cried even harder at the knowledge that he would be repeatedly wiped and mercilessly punished for their indiscretions.

The chief officer in command sauntered up to her and smirked in her face with barely contained glee, his eyes ping-ponging back and forth between her tear-filled eyes and that of The Winter Soldier's.

"You know the way out," he mocked her words from before, modifying his pitch and ridiculing her feminine voice. "Get us out," he even dramatized her crying. In any other moment, she might have laughed at him, and the fact that his ministrations made him look like a simpleton, but she was riddled with the fear of being caught and the pain in knowing that the man knelt in front of her would pay for it. That James would pay for it.

Suddenly, his features morphed into a face of violent rage and he pounced and hissed venomously in her ear. "I can assure you, that whatever you think is going to happen, it will be immeasurably worse."

The young woman breathed in heavily and gathered all her courage, turning her head to look him in the eye so that she might challenge him with her gaze in her final moments.

"Oh," he said, smiling and stepping back. "You think we're going to kill you?" The commanding officer laughed childishly and brought his hands together into a loud clap. "Where's the fun in that?" He smiled gleefully. "It's only fair that we give you a fighting chance."

Both she and The Asset looked at the man in confusion.

"The snowstorms outside have been particularly heinous these last few days. What do you say to braving the elements?"

"Sir," one the soldiers interrupted, "we've been instructed to –''

"Be quiet." His superior dismissed.

"But, Sir –''

"I won't say it again soldier."

The soldier ducked his head meekly and stood down. Clearly, they'd been ordered to kill her on sight. It was common knowledge, however, that this commanding officer, in particular, did not like her. Yet despite this, she couldn't bring herself to regret the occasions in which she had publically humiliated him. It's little more than what he deserved.

"Remove her coat," he commanded, "and her shoes." The soldiers did as they were told and the doctor writhed in alarm, fearing the worst.

The commanding officer himself waltzed up to her and tore her identity card from her neck. He removed the compound-issued tele-communicator from her pocket and stripped her of all her devices, including her watch.

"Get him up and in the chair," he instructed. Four soldiers grasped The Asset and hauled him to the chair that was indicated; immune to his feeble struggles as he tried to free himself despite being so very weak. One of the soldiers forced the rubber bite guard into his mouth and they all knew what was going to happen next.

The Winter Soldier screamed until his throat was raw, until it felt that his lungs would explode from his chest with each onslaught of electric current. They tortured him in the chair, in the moment, to what morphed into a seeming lifetime of pain. He couldn't hear her screams over his own. Couldn't see when they dragged her, kicking and screaming, out of the door and through the compound.

By the time the electric current had ceased and the broken man had been robbed of his memories once again, the young doctor had been thrown out of the compound in just her trousers and shirt, and into one of the harshest snowstorms that Siberia had ever seen.

They told her that she had a head start, that she had an hour before they came after her. Naturally, she ran as fast as she could and as far as she could, until her speck of a person disappeared into the turbid distance. The soldiers laughed as they watched her flee and debated how long it would take before frostbite would kick in and she would die, completely alone and in the wilderness.

They never went after her. They were convinced of her impending doom and, frankly, didn't want to waste the time.

They never expected in a million years that she would actually survive.

*#*#*

She was scurrying about the room, packing the necessities in preparation for leaving. He hadn't uttered a single word, but she hoped that her actions would sway his decision. If she died, then her child would too, and her dreams along with it.

She wrapped a scarf around her neck hurriedly and picked up her bag, looking at the man who sat on the floor and who had still not yet moved.

"Alright, James," she said. "What will it be?"

He cocked his head and looked at her in alarm, grappling with his thoughts and memories as they warred to take root in his brain; absolutely none of it making sense.

She waited for him patiently and then impatiently. She waited for the answer that would determine the next phase in her life. The silence drew on and she became desperate. She knew what she wanted him to say. She wanted so desperately for him to choose option two.

The young woman waited a few minutes more and then sighed in defeat, unlocking her door and resigning herself to the fact that she would be leaving alone – if at all. She opened the door, but froze when his voice broke like gravel and rang out behind her, scared, confused, and penetrating.

"Spasitel?"

Tears sprung to her eyes immediately and she turned back around and met his gaze where he sat on the floor. A drop ran down her left cheek and she caught it with her hand even as she had begun to smile.

"Yes," she croaked in confirmation.

The Asset maintained eye contact and stood up, appraising her, his gaze never faltering until he looked down at her stomach and then back up at her face again before asking in English.

"It's mine, isn't it?"

Her smile widened and more tears began to fall. She nodded her head, ever so slightly, in confirmation and held her breath. She waited for his response, the thing that would decide her future.

Cautiously, he stood up and walked about the room. When he found what he was looking for, her breath caught in her throat and she waited. The Winter Soldier grasped the masked muzzle in his iron grip, and determinedly approached her. She shrank back from him in pure fear and dismayed at the fact that these would be her final moments.

She expected a familiar click of The Winter Soldier's gun and glared at him resolutely. What she didn't expect, however, was the sound of the steely muzzle clattering into the empty trash bin next to her as James Buchanan Barnes threw it away. He inventoried his weaponry and erased all evidence of his existence in the tiny apartment. He came to stand next to her and the pair shared a moment of loaded silence, one which was only made meaningful through the communication of their eyes.

The man, now answering to the name of James, took her belongings from her hand and then occupied the space with his own. She smiled at him and he took the lead. The two of them stepped through the threshold of the door and out into the future.

It was scary and it was dangerous and it was uncertain. But really, what option did they have when the only option was option two?