A.N.: [Russian]

*Text* Imagine as Strikethrough Text, where the character crossed out what he originally wrote.

The first time Natalya's Soldier didn't recognize her, they met at night, in a dark alley in Prague. She would attend a gala the next night to finesse some intel out of a certain man who'd be attending, and she was now casing the area surrounding the building in which it would be held, looking for signs of any potential complications. He was to send a message by assassinating the same man while at the function, and thus, was looking for the best position to set up his sniper rifle in preparation to be one of those complications.

Neither knew why the other was there. Both had been trained (she, by him) to eliminate obstacles first, and ask questions later.

He attacked first, and her eyes widened as she caught the glint of his metal arm in the moonlight.

[Soldier?] she whispered in surprise, even as she dodged.

His lips twitched, as though in an aborted attempt at a smile, as he answered, [Scared?]

The Black Widow scoffed, [You wish.]

As they fought on, a familiar dance taking shape between them, she continued, [It's been a long time, my dear.] She suppressed a shudder at the image of the last time she'd seen him; part of her wanted to cry, while the rest wanted to murder someone. Her voice shook slightly as she said, [I thought I'd never see you again.]

Her opponent's brow wrinkled in confusion, and he demanded, [What are you talking about?]

That was when she realized their fight wasn't just a spar. They'd done something to him.

He didn't remember her.

She focused on the fight, then, refusing to think beyond her immediate survival because if she thought about what she'd lost…

[What did they do to you?] she couldn't stop herself from whispering in despair, remembering what they'd done to her, the false memories she'd had to sort through.

He hesitated, then, and while part of the redhead wondered whether she was getting through to him, she didn't take that chance, but rather, took advantage of the opening his confusion gave her, landing a blow to his head that would have knocked out most men.

The Winter Soldier wasn't most men, but his reaction was more volatile than she'd expected; he stumbled backward a few steps, staring at her with wide eyes.

[I know you,] he said, but he sounded uncertain. The way she fought had seemed familiar from the beginning, as though they'd fought together countless times, and she'd spoken to him so casually, with a warmth that didn't make sense.

She kept her guard up, watching him warily. She tried not to get her hopes up, but she couldn't bring herself to believe that this was a ploy; he was a soldier, not a spy. He didn't use subterfuge because, quite frankly, he didn't need it.

The Winter Soldier's head pounded with an intensity that seemed disproportionate to the strength of the blow she'd dealt him, and suddenly, he was inundated with images of the woman before him, overcome by a flood of memories, some more fragmented than others. He flinched at one of the clearest – the last time he'd seen her, trying desperately to fight her way back to his side, even after he'd given up.

Returning to the present, he looked at her with new eyes, and whispered, "Natalya."

The next evening saw the Black Widow in a little black dress. She got the information she was after, and reached up with one delicate hand to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

The Winter Soldier saw the agreed upon signal from his vantage point atop a neighboring building. The Black Widow didn't distance herself from the target, but then, he hadn't expected her to; after all, she wouldn't want to draw suspicion by moving away from the man just before he was killed.

The assassin took the shot, and smirked at the woman's bloodcurdling scream. If he didn't know her, he'd believe her show of terrified distress without a second thought. He'd always loved watching her work, but unfortunately, he had to leave before he was found out.

As she sobbed in apparent horror, the Black Widow felt more content than she had in a long time. The Winter Soldier always impressed her, and she'd missed working with him. The window to which she'd guided the mark had not been large, and she'd been standing very close to him, but it had never crossed her mind that her partner might miss. And, as always, the shot had been perfect.

If her employer pointed out that the plan had been to leave the target alive, she thought wryly, well, it was hardly her fault someone else's plans had differed, and it wasn't like she'd been hired to protect him. She'd been told to get the intel, and she'd done it.

Years later, Natasha Romanoff stood over her best friend, another partner turned against her against his will.

"Why am I back?" he asked. "How did you get him out?"

"Cognitive Recalibration," she joked, remembering the night when she'd literally knocked some sense into another assassin in a dark alley in Prague. The past few days had brought back so many memories, most of them painful, but this was a good one. Clint shot her a questioning look, and she clarified, "I hit you really hard in the head."

"Thanks."

They got up and dusted themselves off, preparing to face whatever came next, like they always did.

But, he knew something was wrong.

"You're a spy, not a soldier," the archer said. "Now you want to wade into a war…" She hesitated.

"Natasha…" he prompted softly.

"I've been compromised," she told him. That smug alien ba&%ard had dredged up all her worst memories and forced her best friend through an experience she'd have done anything to protect him from. But, Clint had to know that already. So, she told him what he really needed to know – that she was ready to face this, "I got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out."

Because, for all that he knew her better than just about anyone else on the planet, he was wrong.

She may have been first and foremost a spy, but she'd been trained to be a soldier – by the Soldier, no less – and she was going to put that training to good use.

Legs wrapped around the Winter Soldier's neck, the Black Widow drove her arms repeatedly downward toward his head with as much force as she could muster at that awkward angle, but her attempts at "cognitive recalibration" didn't faze him. As he slammed her down on the table, hand closing around her neck, she felt more sorrow and frustration than pain or fear. She hadn't hoped to completely override his programming, hadn't expected him to stop his attack; she'd been prepared for him having to complete his mission, but, "You could at least recognize me," she choked out.

And, then he was gone, dragged back into the melee, lost to her once more.

James Buchanan Barnes set aside the pen and handed the sheet of paper, now covered in Cyrillic letters, to Steve.

"Give that to Natalya for me?"

"Natalya?" the blond asked. He looked confused, and Bucky paused. Had she changed her name? He was still fuzzy on a lot of details, and he hadn't had much contact with her in…longer than he cared to remember. He thought he might have read in a file once that she'd anglicized it, but he wasn't sure.

"The Black Widow? Red hair, hot as he%%, can probably kick your butt without breaking a sweat?" he smirked.

"Oh, Natasha, yeah. Do you two…know each other? Why'd you…What was it you called her, again?"

"It's a long story. Just…make sure she gets this, and you can ask her."

"Yeah, okay," he took the note, then smirked, "Let me guess; it's a conversation neither of you want to have, and she'll probably kick my butt for asking."

"Let's just say…Aside from her, I don't exactly have a lot of good memories of that time, and I figure it's the same for her."

Steve nodded, smile fading as he considered the sort of memories "that time" held for Bucky, and they lapsed into a short silence before he asked, "You sure about this?"

"I can't trust my own mind," his best friend replied. "So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head I think going back under is the best thing…" A woman with red hair flashed in his mind's eye.

You could at least recognize me.

"For everybody."

He'd shot her twice, and sure, she was tough enough to handle anything he could throw at her, but he wasn't. He couldn't take the chance of hurting her again.

That thought was the only thing that gave him the courage to willingly go back under.

"He what?"

Natasha had greeted Steve with a hug, glad to see him – until he became the bearer of bad news.

The super-soldier winced, saying, "He said, he thought it would be the best thing – just temporarily, until we can figure out how to fix whatever they did to him. He didn't want to risk having his mind not be his own again, y'know?"

And, Natasha softened, then, because she did know – better than she'd ever wanted to.

Still, [Idiot,] she muttered, mostly on principle. She wondered at him going back under willingly, but she supposed it made sense; one fear had outweighed the other.

"He, uh, he asked me to give you this," Steve said, offering a folded piece of paper. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before curiosity won out, and he added carefully, "He called you, uh…Natalya?"

The redhead rolled her eyes. Tactful Steve may strive to be, but no one could ever accuse him of being subtle.

"We met in Russia," she said shortly, taking the proffered letter. "That was my name, before I anglicized it. I haven't gone by Natalya in a long time."

She waited until she was alone to read it.

[Uh, hey Little Spider. *I don't really know how to* You must be going soft, I totally won our last fight. I'd apologize for shooting you, but you'd probably take it the wrong way, as if I thought you couldn't handle it or something. And, I'm sorry I didn't recognize you earlier. Guess your concussion trick didn't work this time.

Look, when you let us go earlier…I don't know if that was for Steve or for me or if you had some other reason for it, but thanks.

And, on the off-chance you still care…I'm sure Steve was characteristically melodramatic about me choosing to go back under, but it won't be for long. Between the two of you, I'm sure you'll figure out how to fix me and have me woken up in no time.

*I still*

*Natalya, I*

Take care of yourself. And, stay warm, yeah?

- Your Soldier]

At times, she laughed at James's attempts at humor.

At other times, she laughed because it was the only alternative to tears.

She vowed his sleep would be a short one, and when he awoke, it would be to her and Steve ready to help him through the fight he'd have ahead of him.