Colliding Worlds (A Buckynat Story)

He wasn’t sure how far to keep going, or if he was going to say too much, but she was making progress and it seemed like a time he could finally say a little more. Natalia didn’t seem to be overly in pain, either, and so he continued on, following what he could see of her train of thought.

“I only just learned the surname myself,” James told her, hesitation clear in his voice as he continued. “From the file.”

She didn’t feel his hand on her knee. Natalia was too absorbed in her own thoughts and apparently memorized by them. Winter… James seemed to catch her reaction as she gazed at her wrist and confirmed her idea, or at least how her body remembered it happening. 

“I didn’t tell you?” she pointed out, before he continued hesitantly.

What file was he talking about? Her mind was feverishly searching for an answer, but nothing came. Then a brown folder with her writing on top of it.

”Question…” she snorted over the report. It had felt so easy to tell him back then, hoping he would finally listen. Yet Natalia had no clue how hard questioning actually was. It had been second nature to her.

“What is inside the file?” she asked him tentatively. Somehow she knew that whatever he replied with would bring her pain.

"You did." He corrected the contradiction he'd accidentally created. "You've given me everything," He explained with a quiet reverence. He looked down at his hands and slipped them both on his legs to clench and unclench them. He wanted her to know that... even if she didn't get any further, which she would... Natalia should know that she had given it all to him. He would still be nothing but the Soldier's commands if it weren't for her.

He thought it had been too early for him to speak of the file until she asked what was in it. How she said that made him wonder if she hadn't remembered it. Was he wrong? He wanted to make the right decisions for her until she was able to on her own again. Like she had for him. 

How did he answer, though.... he hardly knew.

"James Buchanan Barnes," He spoke and turned his face up to her, his hair falling back out of his eyes with the motion. He felt oddly disconnected from this identity right now. He was talking about a stranger.  Perhaps he shouldn't, but that file, even the memories, felt unreal. An extraordinarily foreign concept except when the memories washed over him suddenly, but they always left quickly and he felt no more attached to them.

“All the answers to questions I never had before... dangerous answers… with consequences." He glanced away from her, feeling shame again. She'd paid for those answers.

She watched him as he explained that she had given him the file. Natalia frowned as she didn't remember doing so. Yet she apparently didn't remember much. The tone of his voice didn't match his body language. He seemed almost guilty that she had given it to him, or was it shame..?

She tried to remember the file, but nothing came back except for the first page and the picture. Natalia didn't remember anything else, and she looked down at her fingers, where she fidgeted with her nails. 

“Was it worth it?” she asked suddenly and looked at him. 

Despite him not really mentioning it, she knew the said file was the reason for her memory loss. Something about this man had made her believe it was worth whatever fate came from the file.

“How… how did I get the file?” she asked, but somehow it seemed to answer itself. A dark room, and she was being nosey. The scientist's office, and she broke into it going through files, but there was one that stroked her interest. It had the Winter Soldier's name on it. So she opened it and in seconds decided that she would… 

“I stole it from Pchelinstov,” she answered her own question in a mumble.

“That's something you’ll have to tell me someday,” He explained with a sad smile, his gaze unsure as he looked at her. He couldn't say…. he didn't think it was. This pain that was never hers to feel…. all for a file and her refusal to play by their rules entirely. James knew she never did, file or not. One day they might have crossed paths with this secret Natalia. If that were the case, the results might have been the same. It was all maybes and what ifs, and he couldn't know for sure. It felt like it rested on his shoulders.

James shook his head slowly at her. Honestly, he didn't know. With those sorts of… words, codes, he couldn't think of them without pain, the pain of his other half pressing in. Someone high up must have had them.

Pchelinstov? A shock ran down his arm, and James gritted his teeth with sudden tension as his mind grew colder. 

“No wonder they re-conditioned you,” He sighed, working hard to keep the English present and his focus on Natalia. They hurt her, James reminded himself. He had to fix that, help her. Anger wouldn’t aid him in that task.

“You left me a note,” He told her and her little game helped pull more of him back. Helped him look at the her sitting before him. “After a trail of colored riddles. Which, Natalia,” He turned a lopsided grin on her, “Took me longer than you likely anticipated. Thanks for that.”

Natalia noticed how he didn't immediately tell her that her stealing the file had been worth it. Instead, he hesitated to say that it was worth it. She crinkled her mouth over his hesitation and looked irritated. Apparently, he didn't think so, which started bothering her. 

“I'll remember that for the next time,” she muttered under her breath. Natalia had no clue what was inside said file, but apparently, she had deemed it worthy of going through the cursed chair.

Her eyebrow rose slightly as he mentioned she had left him a riddle. She blinked at him and frowned. 

“Really? Where did I leave them?” she asked, suddenly interested but equally unsure if she wanted those memories back. Natalia was sure that as soon as she returned to the Red Room, the men would find out what she knew and punish her. That almost immediately managed to stop her curiosity and drop her mood drastically.

Next time?

"I hope not, how many hidden identities can one man have?" He asked, raising an eyebrow with the same grin. One, he thought cynically, was far more than enough. If he were honest, it was almost more than he could handle. 

"Yes," He grinned. Natalia seemed a lot younger, then. It made sense. He saw her mood diminish and decided to just power through the answer. He let out a low hum as he thought of them. 

"Under the floorboard in the room you were kept in the first few days. I met you when you were young and gave you more personalized training." He glanced at her. "In a patched hole in the training room wall, you made it during one of our sparring sessions.... a hole in the ground, outside of the fence you escaped from... I assume, that one was difficult for me." He paused and then studied her, knowing this one might mean something. It had been the red scarf with the most critical information parts she didn't want to be kept in the red room. "The last in the alley outside a ballet studio in town."

“Well, I’m supposed to have more than one...” she replied, thinking about what she had learned in the Red Room. Thinking about it, she remembered the lessons with the Mistress more vividly than the sparring sessions with the Winter Soldier. It fitted the current pattern that she had mainly forgotten things that involved him. So she knew what it took to spy, which meant having more than one identity at once. The thought of the Red Room Academy seemed to bring the Black Widow mindset back and thrust Natalia aside.

He told her about the different hideouts and Natalia stared at him. He made a short pause before telling her the last one. A ballet studio… that one studio. Images and memories flooded Natalia’s mind and she pressed her eyes shut.

“Marina…” she whispered, suddenly looking unhappy. The Black Widow was gone, and Natalia was left. The scientists had failed to remove her memories of the ballet studio. Mostly they hadn't known about it or had simply forgotten.

The prima had a broken leg and wanted to retrieve her things. Natalia had been angry - the beautiful woman who had been so good. Her husband had taken the one thing away they both loved. She stomped hard on the roof of the car. 

<”Why’d you have to do that? Why? She was excellent!”> she screamed at the man inside the vehicle. 

Shortly after, the driver exited the car and followed the two girls. Natalia had pushed Marina out of the way so she could hide on her own. The driver still chased Natalia though not even realizing there were two girls. Natalia grabbed the gun from said wall and hid. Not well enough, as the driver found her seconds later. 

She pulled the trigger twice but missed the driver… 

No, she had struck her target. 

Both women were older now. It was one of their first missions outside, and Natalia had shot the dark-haired woman - Marina. They were standing in a bathroom now. Blood and brain scattered everywhere.

“I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to,” she whispered aloud the exact words Natalia had said as a child after killing her first person as both memories seemed to blur. Natalia didn't look at the Winter Soldier anymore. Shame was written on her face as she violently stroked some tears off her cheeks.

Marina? He didn’t know who that was… but apparently, it was someone to her. One of the other girls, perhaps? He knew their names, he supposed, but only those who did exceptionally well or he was told to did he remember names of. Names weren’t often emphasized in the Red Room.

Whatever it was, it affected her greatly. He watched her breathing get heavy and her chest rise and fall too quickly. James glanced around, unsure of what to do. Should he interrupt whatever memory was giving her problems? Or should he simply wait? Let her go through it. It could be important… she didn’t grip her head as usual, so he waited.

As she spoke, James couldn’t wait it out anymore, the… shaken lull in her voice prompting him. He shifted so he was closer to her, hoping he didn’t trigger any violent response, but even if James did, he could handle such things. 

“Shhh,” he soothed, hoping to catch her attention only if she needed it. Just noise that she could focus on if she needed to or tune out if her mind needed to remember this. When tears came, and she started to swipe at them, he decided whatever it was, she’d remembered enough. He couldn’t read this look, either, but it was clearly not good.

He reached up and set metal and flesh hands along her jaw, guiding her face gently to look towards him. “Natalia,” He muttered softly to catch her attention this time. 

“What is it?” He asked instinctively, a frown shaping his own stoic face.

Faintly she heard a noise. It was almost like a rustling, and she tried to slip into the comfort of the Black Widow’s mind. Unfortunately, emotions didn’t count for anything, only the result and feelings were said to be only obstacles to anything going on. So to her, this wasn’t helpful. In fact, it felt way too real, like she had just killed this young woman - her sister… Moments ago. Why the thought of this woman… girl being her sister constantly slipped into her mind was beyond Natalia. The redhead only knew that Marina had been a Black Widow like her. Everything was something between a blur of alternative facts and real ones.

Natalia almost jerked back as she suddenly felt his touch on her jaw. Her gaze quickly went upwards as soon as her body tensed. But she sat still, looking into his blue eyes for a quick moment. 

Only when she looked away - somewhere else- she found herself slipping back into reality. She didn’t want to answer, but the mindset of the Black Widow was taking over. It was welcomed, though, and would mean that the emotions of both grief and remorse were shut off. Simultaneously, she felt herself growing distant from the man before her. Surprisingly enough, that was something Natalia didn’t want.

Her gaze flicked back to his face, and again, all she felt was guilt and shame.

“I…” she began; her voice felt unnaturally shaky and hoarse, so she became quiet again. The redhead cleared her throat, hoping it would force the weak voice away, but it didn’t help. So she babbled quickly, hoping it would conceal her voice as she slipped back into the comfort of her own mother tongue, <“I… I killed her, Marina. I killed my sister. It’s my fault. I showed her a different life as a child. The ballet studio and… and leaving the Red Room. All I wanted to do was watch the woman dance ballet, but her patron wouldn’t allow her… The wall, a-a gun. I shot the driver of the prima-no; I shot Marina. Only because she wanted a different life. A life with a boyfriend, family… not even away from Russia-just, something different… I put those ideas there.”> 

She forced her jaw out of his grip as she spoke and turned away.

Suddenly her gaze turned cold as she continued to think about it. It was the woman’s fault. Their life belonged to Russia and their will. They would do whatever was best for Russia. The handlers knew better and Russia’s plan. It wasn’t up to them to question those missions. Marina had become a liability and threat to those plans. Nothing stood above Mother Russia’s will. They were simply tools to ensure Russia could survive in the best way possible. It was an honor to work for Russia, after all. 

“No,” she spoke coldly. Her voice was firm as she objected to her statement, “She deserved her death penalty. She was a threat to the mission. A wrong word to her boyfriend, and Cuba and Russia would’ve taken the blame for the assassination. It was for the best. We are not to question the orders. Perhaps I was even too gentle with her. A straight shot through her skull. Her actions and inability to become a part of the target’s circle of friends almost cost the mission’s success.” 

It was almost like she came up with a logical reason for why it was the correct thing to do. To the Black Widow, it almost seemed like her remorse and memory were laughable now. Still, something made her flinch over her own statement.

She was undoubtedly warring with herself, which was clear from her eyes. James was sure this story was what she must have meant at the opera. Something she regretted. He watched her face and decided it was the same sadness she’d carried with her that night. That she’d wanted such a reprieve from.

James watched, keeping his face as soft as he could manage. Like then, in the opera, he couldn’t connect with her grief or her story. It sounded like treason to him, and the Winter Soldier felt no remorse for betrayal… if it was an order, then it was what needed to be done. Yet, that mind frame also wanted him to pick her and their gear up and find somewhere to report immediately. James knew that was wrong, and he could focus on that inner war later.

He took a deep breath in, and Natalia's sudden switch in speech did not make it any easier for him to ignore the protocol he'd been ignoring for days. He wasn't sure what to say, to either correct or agree with. Of course, he did have an answer immediately, but he also knew it wasn't the right answer. Simply because the words were not like Natalia's. She was the opposite of him… and questioning was in her nature. It still took him further minutes to shape words he could speak without his throat closing up and stopping him.

“That is not what you believed before,” He spoke, going around directly saying it because thinking about it before had derailed him and he needed to be focused…. On her, though… this shouldn't be so difficult. It frustrated him. 

“Do not change your thoughts,” He told her. “That is only the conditioning… and it is not you, Natalia. That is what you must come to fight.” James struggled. He had wanted to say it was their words… and not hers, but he couldn’t manage the comments without pain… and then the pain simply disrupted his thoughts until he gave up trying to speak of them. That would need to be sufficient for her. He was capable of no further.

Natalia looked at him and frowned as he told her that it wasn't what she had used to think. It felt like the right way to think and say, not the opposite. Everything else would get her in trouble and kill her sooner or later. She looked at him, doubtful. How was he supposed to know something like that? The Winter Soldier was only her teacher, nothing more. So him knowing what she had been like was very unlikely. Still, she knew that thought was wrong. 

“It doesn't matter if that wasn't the way I used to think: this is the correct mindset for Russia,” she spoke, sounding like one of those scientists and continued, “Why does that matter to you? You were my teacher and partner prior - neither would care about that.”

The redhead sighed and seemed to be concerned about this. There seemed to be no reason and remembering was exhausting and brought headaches. None of the two options sounded inviting to her. All she wanted was for this to end and for her body to heal. 

“How do you cope with memories you don't want to have?” She suddenly asked.

He couldn't argue that. In fact, it made him wonder why he had other thoughts either... he didn't before. He simply did as the department wanted and had... something with Natalia. Closeness. Now, these memories.... this person's memories he could hardly connect to. All he felt was conflict. Some small part of him tried to roar against her answer, but mostly it felt correct. Correct for Russia meant that was how it should be.

Then her next question shoved the coldness seeping into him away momentarily. Why did it matter... maybe he had no actual answer. His eyes swept over her lips and back to her eyes... it mattered because he yearned to be close to her again, for her to act familiar with him. For her to see things in him again, for her to be herself and not in pain and fighting something they’d tried to instill in her.

<"You are wrong,"> He said simply, his tone offering no nonsense. He looked down and then back at Natalia warmly as he tried to decide on an appropriate response.<"I was, and am your... friend,"> That seemed correct, too. They had definitely become more, but at the base of things... he thought she would have said that. The Winter Soldier... James... wanted that either way. He clung to it quite obviously here. Them.... being close had no poor effect on Russia. It helped missions and his efficiency. It may not matter for the state... but it had grown to matter to him. She had grown to count. Where they sat now was a precise result. He couldn't let her die there... or come in weak where they might discard her.

<"It matters because you are important to me,"> He clarified, fully answering her question. He smiled, just a tiny one, then. <"I dislike seeing you stifle your natural thoughts. I dislike your lack of memory."> He explained rather honestly. He may be too honest… but he should be clear on the subject. He wouldn’t let her disappear like he had.

"I... don't know," He said, losing the hard edge to his voice. His voice became more lost as the English spilled from his tongue. He was trying to himself now... with James Barnes. Mostly he felt pain or ignored it until he slept and could not. Instead, he focused on his mission... or at least his goal of helping Natalia recover.

"I suppose you need someone to see something in you," He repeated quickly, a mantra that was not his... but he realized after saying it that it was something she had said once. At the opera... with her head rested so peacefully on his shoulder. He’d felt her so alive next to him, her chest rising and falling. It brought a second smile to his face that lingered there. Everything important seemed to go back to that night. Apparently, it had affected him because it came as readily as that.

Natalia noticed how his gaze swept over her lips and seemed to linger there briefly. It brought a slight frown to her forehead as she wondered what that had to say. She quickly managed to mask that facial expression like she hadn’t noticed where his eyes had lingered. Still, she wondered why… It also made her realize how he preferred sitting close to her instead of leaving some distance between them. It established a comfortable closeness and something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Before, she had thought it had something to do with him desperately trying to regain her memories. 

The redhead dwelled over the thought until he spoke. She noticed the change in his behavior as he tried to explain that to her.

She looked at him, listening closely to see if he would be making any sense out of his unusual behavior toward her. A friend… She looked at him, feeling like this was the correct and wrong label for her. Natalia thought she didn’t have friends before him, but that was also wrong. Also, he seemed to falter before calling her a friend. Did he want her to be more? His gaze to her lips and his short falter before calling her a friend. Hadn’t Marina been some sort of friend for her, too? Perhaps even closer than the Winter Soldier if her voluntarily remembering her came more effortless than the memories he seemed to want from her.

“I know…” she eventually said and continued, “I mean that we are friends.” 

She looked at him a moment longer until she was sure it wasn’t a lie. So yes, despite the part that thought that it wasn’t entirely correct, she knew they had been friends of some sort.

The way he talked about her lack of memory made her almost become sheepish and apologize; but it seemed like nonsense to apologize for something so minor. So instead, she looked at him as she carefully reached out her hand to place it on his own. This felt somewhat familiar and not from the times he had done it to catch her attention during her troubled times. 

“I…” She started but quickly became quiet before speaking again, “Well, I guess you’re the one seeing more in me?” 

Natalia tried to gauge his reaction to see both their friendship's nature and what he wanted. Perhaps he was her friend and she could not see that yet because of the lack of memories. He kept trying to gain her trust and be there for her. Her gaze softened a bit and she sighed. She should accept that she couldn't remember and see what he brought up. He was good at that and maybe she would eventually remember their friendship.

His smile stayed as she declared she knew that. It made sense; she did show a certain amount of trust to listen to him as she did. It was a step; if it were the only step, it would be good enough for him. She set her hand over his, and his smile curved up one side.

“This time,” He assured her. She'd seemed hesitant before she spoke. It was gone now, but he was sure he'd seen it. That was very true and he wondered how far to go into such things… it would be… very dangerous if he did not successfully get her to a point where she had recovered enough of herself to be able to learn to skirt around their questions without disobeying… as he did at times. If she did not, or would not, she could end up giving up his newfound thought… thoughts of his own, and his shoulders tightened. Then he would face not only the chair… but the unmovable cold once again.

His critical gaze swept over her then, the hollow eyes of the soldier analyzing her…. and then he looked away, and James decided he would simply have to trust Natalia's strength. If he did not, what was the point of this limited freedom? He decided he didn't care for the file or that person. It was not in the interest of Russia for him to know… and he knew, deep down, he couldn't leave to take her away from it. Even if the thought crossed him, it was impossible to physically speak of, much less do. She was all he had.

“It is only right that I return the favor, Natalia. I was empty, once…” He said in a faraway voice as he looked past her, out her chosen window. “More than they could hope to try and mold you into being or that you could be conditioned to.” 

He'd been nothing, nothing but orders and compliance. No thoughts, really, no focus other than on his mission. Whoever James Barnes was… he was weak, useless, or a coward because he had quickly become nothing, it would seem. But Natalia... she was too strong for that. James Barnes must have been very weak. Was it strange he sort of hated him for it? None it mattered, because that wasn’t what happened with Natalia.

“You questioned everyone, I think…” He mused on her younger self. The string of questions of why he helped her, how he got his arm, what his name was… these things had become endless. She had sculpted his free thoughts with questions he couldn’t avoid or answer. She showed him the emptiness, and once noticed… it began to be filled with things. Somehow…

He didn't know how it unwound like that. It may have meant there was something underneath once. James Barnes must have been there shoved down, completely silenced. Or where else would it have come from? He didn't know, but the thoughts sent that aching pain to him again. 

“You made me begin to see things for myself. You saw things I still do not fully believe, and…” He paused, pain racing momentarily, “…and we are here now.” James ended with a shrug toward her. He had run out of things to say… lost whatever train of thought he’d been headed towards. His mind seemed to jump, but whatever point he’d been trying to make, hopefully, it had been made. That she should as well, correct?

Yes, the importance of questioning or… or to at least keeping your own thoughts. Even if they followed orders, they could have themselves too. It did not need to be so absolute; if anything, that was what she'd taught him. With all her mocking his efficiency, he wasn't supposed to let her forge herself into nothing. Perhaps that was how he had gotten there if he had been something different once, as the file and these troublesome memories implied.

He smiled at her, and his smile seemed to turn into an amused ...or was it a happy... smirk? It reinforced her thought that he thought of something else about their friendship. Natalia couldn't bring herself to care and would keep quiet until she was sure. Perhaps she was only misinterpreting this situation. His smirk, though, reminded her of something and it made her heart beat almost unrecognizably faster. It reminded her of the day he had laughed so freely with her.

It reminded her of a small room back at the Red Room.

She had gone to get the soldier for the guards. Natalia remembered him sleeping and mumbling before she spilled water on him and he had sprung to action. It looked so ridiculous seeing the usually composed and cold self.

She had laughed hard back then, and it even made her giggle right now at the memory.

“Good morning, Sleeping beauty,” she repeated. Her eyebrow rose as James's hand darted out and his metal finger wrapped around her wrist. 

<"Oh goddammit!"> she suddenly squealed as he pushed the wet cloth down her back. 

"Winter!" she complained and used the last bit of the water to splash it into his face in defense as he laughed hard and loud. His laughter felt so good and natural. It was nothing a person was able to fake. Still, she would try to use the moment of surprise to wrap one leg around his midriff to push him back onto the bed and sit on his torso. So she would at least be on top while trying to remove that goddamn cloth from her back with one arm. He seemed surprised by something, but Natalia couldn't tell what it was. She leaned closer to him.

Again she stopped only mere inches away from his face as her lips were right next to his ear. "Can you let go of my wrist, please, James? Or at least remove the wet cloth from my suit? It's getting kind of uncomfortable because of that," she asked him softly, almost purring again. She felt his body shiver against her. Indeed it was an answer to her luring voice and almost inviting voice.

Her gaze flicked back to him. Trying to make sense of that memory as she stared at him emptily. Natalia hadn't been able to catch half of the things he had just told her, still dwelling over what she had just remembered. Clearly, that wasn't the nature of a friendship, was it?

She only caught his last sentence, not even realizing that this memory had come without real pain. There might be a dull throbbing, but it was nothing major. Even her resting leg hurt worse than her head at the moment. She glanced at him, wondering what he would do now if she pulled the same stunt on him. Would he be angered or laugh like he had?

“They still must be true, though. If only a part of those facts is true, the rest must also be true, mustn't they? After all, they all come from one source, don't they?” she spoke, not noticing his pain for once, but a slight annoyance broke through as she caught the part that he still did not believe completely? Hadn't he just said that said information brought her into this condition..? So he better believe that. Natalia bit her lip to stop herself from blurting that out.

She giggled? While welcomed, that did not seem the sort of response he would expect during this situation. A confused and slightly exasperated expression played with his face and dropped into simple confusion as she continued to talk. She didn’t seem to notice. What must be true? He couldn’t follow the conversation and it took him a minute to reorient himself and bring it back. To sort the words and find the likely obvious meaning.

<“Yes… facts, yes, they are,”> James conceded, but he hadn’t really been talking about that, he didn’t think. <”I meant the parts that are not… facts.”> He said slowly, words still tricky. Personality, or something… his merit? Mostly he just remembered how strongly he disagreed that he was as good as she wanted to believe he was. 

<”Although being born in 1917 still seems far-fetched,”> He grunted. Despite the pain, it did slightly amuse him. He almost expected the pain accompanying connecting with such an odd fact. He couldn’t, honestly. He knew James Barnes was real… now he knew these memories were real, but perhaps the dates were mistaken. He diverted from those thoughts, trying to go that far… trying to think so clearly and directly on it did nothing but squeeze the inside of his skull. None of that mattered so much as Natalia did.

Natalia listened and simply looked at him. If his date of birth had bothered her before, she merely shrugged it off. 

“But having a fully functioning metal arm is normal?” she pointed out and gestured to his left. Both seemed very unlikely to the ordinary person, but at least one fact was true. Besides, who cared about such a minor detail if the rest was factual? 

“Perhaps you simply look really good for your age?” she offered and placed her free hand on the side of his face while her fingers wrapped about the hand she had been somewhat holding before, “Besides, would that really be the most bizarre fact you've ever heard?” 

As real as it was and as much pain as it brought, to her, a wooden chair that inflicted so much pain and memory loss and apparently was able to change a person's behavior sounded odder. Yet she wasn't able to voice that.

She looked at him and tried to find any indicator that he was so old. As he seemed to be in pain, Natalia ran her hand through his hair and eventually stopped as she cupped the side of his face with her hand. Her thumb was still caressing his jawline while her hand lay gently on his skin. 

“If I were you, I wouldn't worry about that. Either you're born on that day or not. At least you have a date to celebrate your birthday. I don't. I don't remember anything from before the Red Room and they don't tell you such things there,” she told him to show how lucky he was to have something to go with. Even if that wasn't true. Sometimes a lie helped better than the actual truth.

He blinked up at her, her question causing friction. Yes? He knew the answer logically must be no, but it was all he'd ever known. It was a tool. It was effective; what else would matter? He did see the validity of her point, though.

He chuckled at her joke, but it dried in his throat as her hand settled on the side of his face. He knew she was responding to whatever form of pain must have made itself known from his thoughts, mimicking what he'd done for her so far... but that didn't stop his body from reacting to her touches. She was so… so close.

"Likely," He added, keeping his voice notably even. Something he was rather impressed with, considering how she'd stolen his focus once again. Being that old might be, but facts were hard to come by for him.

Any acts of being unmoved by her actions fled as her fingers brushed through his long hair. He closed his eyes, focusing on the far too-calming motion, his pain seemed to ebb away and James was left quite relaxed.

He had to work to control the shudder he felt instinctively as she ran her hand over his stubbled jaw. So close... it would take hardly any energy to lean forward and capture her lips. No, he shouldn't; he had to continually remind himself. She was simply trying to comfort him, sensing her own pains in him, and he needed to keep that line quite clear. It was only fair to her. Fair or not,  it didn't erase his desperate want.

"You are very wise as always," He commented as she spoke again. It made it easier to concentrate on the situation than how close she was and how utterly alone, unrushed and unbothered they could be here. Her lack of knowledge must bother her and it sufficiently returned his focus to her words, her worries.

He didn't bother to tell her that he did not celebrate anything. Fact or fiction, his date of birth meant nothing to Russia or its Soldier. This was Natalia and he had grown fond of her idealism.

"Perhaps there is a file out there for you, too," James suggested, squeezing the hand she was holding onto with his own. It was a small comfort, if any. If there was one on him, it stood to reason they'd keep one on Natalia as well, right? "Or we could create one for the future.

“You did remember a few things from before," he coaxed her. She had told him, hadn't she? Yes. Once when he latched into her story as he continued to wedge part of himself free.

Natalia noticed how he only answered her with a one-word sentence. She saw him relax but also try to conceal something. Unfortunately, she wasn't entirely sure why he tried to hide whatever reaction he had, but she noted so and would keep an eye on him in the future. She may be able to figure this man out. As it sounded, she had him figured out once but apparently forgotten about it. She sighed a little over the thought but busied herself with watching. Seeing him so quickly relax under her touch told her he obviously trusted her a lot. To people like them, this wasn't a normal reaction. They were the most relaxed during the moments of being alone. Times when they were allowed not to think. To her, it was the times when she prepared for a mission. Cleaning one's weapons and making sure that they would work properly.

Natalia wanted to tell him that she wasn't very wise, was she? After all, she had stolen some kind of file filled with nonsense - only to get punished with so much pain. It was almost, but only almost, worse than death. At least pain meant you were alive and alive was better than death. The thought made her face seem grim for a moment.

“I don't think there's a file on me. I'm not… I'm not…” she spoke, unsure what to say. She wasn't what? Irreplaceable? Deadly or dangerous? Natalia had no answer but guessed they didn't keep one on her. Unlike the Winter Soldier, they knew everything about her. Her past, body, and future belonged to Russia, after all. They wouldn't care for her death. After a moment of silence the redhead finally finished her sentence “I'm not important enough to have a file.” She gave him a short yet unconvincing smile.

“I did?” she asked, surprised, and looked at him eager. Her gaze was something in between hope and skepticism that he knew something about her past. All she was able to remember was training. So much training with both him and Kudrin. “What… what did I remember?”

She struggled with her words, and he knew what she meant despite her lack of ability to say it. The Black Widow program had many young girls and many candidates. Many options to go back to if one failed or was too much trouble. Still… <“You have defined yourself as unique in the program. The top.”> He explained to her, thinking it might give her peace of mind. <“Otherwise, you would be dead.”>

He could tell her something about it right? The hopeful look Natalia sent him made him try to think back to that conversation in real detail. He’d needed details to latch onto at the time, information to see things differently. To believe there were different ways. Not that he had recognized all that at the time, it had all been subconscious work.

<“According to the department, and Lyudmilla Kudrin, you were orphaned at four. Found on the department’s doorstep. You said you remembered more, but it was hard to differentiate between stories the young girls passed onto one another, some lie to fill in the blank parts, a lack of memories to fit in, I think,”> he explained, trying to remember how she’d said things. This was her memory and he wanted her to have it as she would have remembered it. Her story…. <“You had one memory you… shared with me. You said it was the real story and that Kudrin’s was untrue. Your family home was under attack by soldiers. You remembered lots of shooting and hiding in the cellar with your mother. There was another boy there, you said, likely an older brother. There was a fire. Your mother handed you over to a soldier and begged for your lives. It was your belief the soldier brought you to the Red Room.”>

He watched her and hoped rigorously that she remembered it herself, that his detailed description would trigger something for her. As it had before now on a few occasions.

“Hold that close to you, Natalia,” He paused and tilted his head down to really look at her. “For it is your truth.”

Natalia listened to him talking about her reputation and why she was still living. It didn’t convince her properly. She doubted that she was as irreplaceable as he made her out to be. Perhaps she was only lucky. The thought made her snort. Lucky was the wrong word for her situation if he was correct about why she had lost things. One file causing all this. What had she been thinking?

She tried to remember what he had told her, but nothing came. It almost felt like a disappointment, and she slumped a little. On the other hand, it felt like it was made up. She connected more to the story that she was found on the Red Room’s doorstep than that a soldier brought her to the academy. Natalia looked down before giving him a polite smile. 

<”Thank you,”> She replied, having trouble with the input. It didn’t even cause a headache. It was simply a story that she wasn’t able to attach to. She only had difficulty remembering things from her childhood in general, except for training.

<”Did we… did we ever do something other than training?”> she asked him, saying she apparently didn’t remember anything. Even his rather detailed description of her apparent past left her with nothing.

Winter told her that she should keep it close to her. Yet she found it to be rather complicated. There was no reason for her to link it with herself. No memory. Nothing. 

“That’s easier said than done…” she mumbled with a sigh and crinkled her mouth.

He felt his body still. Even his breathing seemed to become more shallow.

"James..." She'd whispered against his skin, her hand sliding into his hair; the way she said his name like that drove him crazy. Completely irrational as he pulled her in further against him and moved his flesh hand up into her hair.

…

Their bodies fit so perfectly against one another, so perfect he was unsure how he existed before these moments. Before he was able to pull her into him, taste her breath, or before her hands roamed over him so freely. It didn’t matter now that he could feel her skin on his, sink his metal hand into her hair and…

He blinked, struggling to focus on her before him, not his memories of them together. 

Did she remember something? Or was it simply an innocent question? His breathing returned to normal and he nodded. Of course, it was a harmless question. James knew too much for him to simply have trained her. It was a logical approach. Right.

How did he answer her without thinking of sneaking into her bedroom or stealing passionate moments on a mission? He needed to think of something because she did not remember and that was not the sort of thing he wanted to have to tell her. It was… too important… James swallowed.

<”Yes, we went on missions, were effective partners, saved one another a few times...”> When that was not something ‘effective’. <”We talked with one another when we could, confided in each other, but not of missions.”> He felt satisfied with that answer. Was that what 'friends' did, right? James didn't really know; he only knew Natalia, the red room or his missions. He was under qualified to answer things for her, but he did his best without saying too much.

She asked that in English, which he took as a sign of improvement. He grinned wryly, then. 

“Yes, I know,” -and he did understand that in perfect clarity. He was qualified for that. “But these are the things that help later on,” He assured her, facts to cling to when you did not feel. When you doubted any of it was true or not when emotions were too hard to stick to. Simple facts were easy to cling to when the confusion was too much.

He seemed to grow confused by what she was asking. It changed his breathing, but still, his answer left her disappointed. It wasn't what she had asked him. Either she had voiced it wrongly, or he had misunderstood her. 

She had actually wanted to know if there had been something else between them when she was such a child. It felt like he had been some sort of father figure or at least friend if she allowed him to know such things about her. 

Natalia was cutting Winter’s hair. She laughed about something he had said but couldn’t remember it. The young redhead simply laughed and grinned joyously. The rest of the long hair fell to the ground, and the Winter Soldier stood up. No, it wasn’t him - it was James Buchanon Barnes. The guy from the picture, which she had seen in another life. He wore his American uniform and that ridiculous hair. 

He smiled gently down at her like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. His gaze was so soft it made Natalia look down in shame over what she had done. Blood trickled down from her hands. Both were covered in so much blood it looked like she had washed them in it. Suddenly she felt his hand on her cheek - almost like he wanted to caress her temples.

“It’s okay, you can do this, dollface,” he whispered and kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes and breathed out, “James… Help me.”

Only a second later, she opened them again, but the man and the room were gone. Instead, she was standing in the middle of the opera hall from her memory. She was panting but still holding the scissors from cutting James’s hair. She looked around, and just as she turned her head to the left, she felt a metal hand colliding with her nose. It made an unpleasant sound, and she fell back on her butt.

<“Obedience, Romanova!”> the cold voice snarled at her and continued as he kicked against her chest and placed his food down on her throat, so breathing became incredibly hard for her, <“Sentiments make you weak, Black Widow! Only the mission and its success count!”> He kicked her stomach hard, and Natalia closed her eyes as she curled up into a ball to protect her beaten body. 

Suddenly, she felt the soft touch on her hand. It was almost like the man wanted to help her back to her feet. She looked up and into the blue orbs, which belonged to the American soldier from the picture. Again all this guilt rushed over her, and she whimpered silently in her sleep. 

“It’s okay, dollface,” the man repeated and continued, “It gets better. Trust me. I’m always here with you.” 

His voice made her battered body relax, and she instinctively reached for his hand. It was like she was holding onto dear life. She didn’t want to, but she closed her eyes on the American man.

This time she opened her eyes and was in the middle of an area with chairs and people sitting on them. Americans. In the middle of the row in front of her sat her target. Ridiculous old American uniform, watching some sort of ballet performance. Perhaps the redheaded girl next to him had forced him to go, but it was none of the Black Widow’s concern. She walked silently up to the man and his military hat like a predator finally getting to kill its food. 

The Widow opened the scissors, which she still was carrying, and slid through the man’s throat like butter. The girl next to him was screaming and crouching down next to him. Desperately trying to hold onto the wound, but blood splashed out. She looked so oddly familiar with her red hair and green eyes. Suddenly she realized it was her. The poor girl needed to be killed for her to become efficient like no one else from the Red Room ever had. So she rammed the scissors into the girl’s throat.

Suddenly the rest of the people were gone, and only Winter - her Winter - was dead on the ground. His beautiful long hair was covered in the blood she had caused. He was lifeless and defeated. She screamed loudly over what she had done.

The scream also elicited from her throat and caused Romanova to wake up. She sat up panting, looking around the room panicky. She clutched her heart,  it was beating like crazy underneath her hand. The young woman was bathed in her own sweat, and a single tear ran down her cheek.

James had foregone any more rest when she turned over and fell quickly asleep. Instead, he did his perimeter checks, ensuring nothing had been disturbed and wondered if he would need to set up any traps for animals. Upon another sweep of the house, he found the far basement corner had more canned goods and a few fruits jarred. It would be sufficient to keep Natalia’s energy up.

He carried them up to the main floor while he still had some light filtering down into the basement. His compact flashlight was adequate enough for the rest of the trip and he scouted for anything else useful in the unfinished basement before he closed it and put a dirtied cloth against it to keep the draft out.

James had gone back to change Natalia’s dressings; he did not want to wake her, but the infection would be worse and the burns… while nearly gone now, still needed constant changes and some lotion to keep hydrated so they would not grow worse again. 

When he’d finished he ducked quietly into the attached bathroom to wash his hands, untie his hair and wash it as well. Then the cleaned the rags out so he’d be able to reuse them later… and then her scream pierced through the simple silence.

He was back in the room in nanoseconds, his gun raised, safety off, and eyes trained on the entrance of the doorway and the window, back and forth. The Soldier’s eyes swept again but found nothing; he was about to clear the rest of the cabin when he took in her state for new injuries.

Nothing… just sweat and she cried or at least had been. James was pulled to the forefront. He switched the safety on and tucked it into the back of his pants again. There was no intruder, just the memories. He sat next to her on the bed and his hand instantly raised to cup her cheek. 

To bring her back to the present. With him. <“Natalia,”> He soothed. <“You’re awake now.”> 

She was panting and pressed her hand against her chest, ignoring the pain from her healing ribs. She tried to even out her breathing, but it seemed to become harder and harder. Then, from the corner of her eyes, Romanova noticed something getting near her. Her vision was unfocused, but instincts kicked in, and her hand darted upwards and wrapped around his wrist. Her left hand was pulled into a fist like she was still holding the scissors from her dream.

She was about to ram the imaginary scissors into his throat but stopped her fist in midair. Something made her stop, and she almost forcibly pulled her hand backward. Her vision finally focused on him, and she took in her surroundings. She must have stopped because he had talked to her. Her eyes took him in for a second, trying to figure out whether his neck was sliced. 

Natalia dropped her hands next to her like nothing had just happened.

Finally, she seemed to relax, but her brows furrowed. She was sure where that dream had come from but not why she had called the short-haired man James. It didn’t matter. After all, it was just a dream. Perhaps it was the name of one of her initial targets, and she subconsciously linked both men to one another.

<”I didn’t kill you...”> she whispered to herself and rubbed her temples again, wondering why she thought she would do that. Her body was obviously too battered to fight him.

He glanced calmly down at her hand wrapped vice-like around his wrist, she’d thrown her hand backwards, aimed towards him as if it had a knife. She seemed to grow more shaken, but slowly more present too. It took her a moment to come out of it and he drew his hand back when she appeared to grow calm and grounded in reality.

“No.” A sharp frown drew across his face as she announced that. He didn’t know if he should be flattered that her killing him was a nightmare for her. Or if he should be upset, she caused herself worry over this. He shook himself and looked over her briefly.

“If it helps your conscience, it would be very challenging for you to kill me if you could,” He offered, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he tried to make light of her previous distress. If she could, he did not know. They were on the same side of the world and, therefore, not pitted against one another. Natalia would have quite the chore of it, though.

Her gaze went almost instantly to him as he told her no. The change in his voice made her obedient, and almost instantly, her mind went blank, awaiting further commands that would never come. She tried to shake the thought and empty her mind, but she couldn't.

“You said you were afraid to die here. No one’s around but me to kill you, so it’s not that ridiculous,” Natalia told Winter honestly as it left her lips based on his ordered voice prior. He was trying to be gentle again, but her mind was set on the voice of the Winter Soldier. Even his gentler one didn’t make her relax and spill the beans. Something about the Winter Soldier’s voice made her want to please him and follow orders.

“Hm?” He gazed at her confused, trying to trace when he'd said such a thing. He was nearly sure he had not. Certainly, death was a concept he hardly thought of… for one reason or another. Of course, there were many things like that. Perhaps in a dream of hers?

‘I'm not dyin' here.’

Bucky gave a last, frustrated jerk to the binds when he paused, hearing the clatter of footsteps down a corridor. 

German hit his ears, and he could suddenly remember what they said. He, too, remembered not knowing the language… but he did now, suddenly.

Translating the once foreign babble. Another soldier… a Brit, had died of some… potion? No, that word was more along the lines of an elixir or serum, maybe. Something wasn't perfected? Line up the next… the next one... Him…

That voice… the German he could now translate, he knew that voice… 

Sergeant Barnes… he shuddered violently. That scientist… did more to him than any of the others for some reason. He'd had many men look over him and do things… and none bothered him. Even old memories did not bother him… but that voice… stirred something in him. Something old… something foreign to him now… something like Natalia nearly dying… something like fear. 

'We've only begun.'

A needle digging under his skin in his mind made him jerk straight suddenly, metal hand whining as he tightened it too quickly and his other fist wrapping around the old blanket he sat on.

The scientist only chuckled contritely and reached into James' shirt. He tugged out the dog tags hanging around his neck and scanned them.

James's chest heaved up and down, his shoulders rising and sagging with the motion. Now he could only hear ringing and an intense pain he hadn't felt so strongly before except when he was sometimes waking… or falling… when he awoke and was falling. He felt it again now, and his body shivered with it. His eyes darted wildly as he saw Natalia sitting there. That's right, she'd…. said he was afraid to die, that he'd said it… maybe not in her dream… but in his?

“No,” He corrected, but his voice was still raspy as he looked at her. There was still fear there… so abnormal for him. He couldn’t shake the irrational feeling that man must be watching him suddenly. 

“Not you… just not here. Someone else…” 

Barnes… 

He shuddered involuntarily again, his eyes still cloudy with the memories despite looking at her.

“A long time ago.” Long before he… before he was this, back… his face cringed, eyes half closing as another pain seemed to stab at his brain. That goddamn file… didn't… it made things worse… sometimes. He knew he shouldn't think that, but he didn't want this man's voice in his head suddenly. He just didn't want it there. Yet he couldn't unhear it now. It was stuck, haunting him.

Natalia looked at him as he seemed in denial of what she had said. She shook her head and looked away. He appeared to become unfocused and concentrate on other things. The redhead turned to the window and looked out of the window. The leaves that moved in the wind caught her interest and were somewhat meditative.

Eventually, she turned to him again, placing her hand on his cheek as he declined. Natalia smiled gently despite the serious topic. Her thoughts were dispersed again, and she sighed a little. 

Then, she frowned as he told her it was somewhere else and someone else he had mumbled about during his sleep.

“It’s okay…” she whispered as instincts kicked in again. Just like prior when she had attempted to kill him. Yet this time, it was gentler than just a moment before. She caressed his cheek.

“I’m here…. concentrate on my voice. Things are going to be fine,” she told him gently, trying to soothe whatever was happening. Her gaze was soft, almost like she was back to her usual unbrainwashed self.

He struggled between focusing on Natalia and hearing different words, different bits of hell from that voice.

“Hydra’s fist…. I’m here….” 

Concentrate? It felt like an order, one he could attach himself to. The Soldier was good at that. It didn’t quite work right away, but eventually, her voice lured him back. It seemed to drown out some of the noise in his mind and he suddenly recognized her hand on his cheek. He couldn’t feel it before, and now her voice seemed stronger and louder despite her quiet soothing.

James blinked as the accented voice died away ultimately. Then, finally, he could retake note of her, watching him patiently, fingers running softly against his cheek. James closed his eyes to it and did his best to compose himself. When he did, he opened his eyes again and they were calmer. He felt exhausted, his small amount of sleep catching back to him while Natalia’s soft gaze had calmed him.

<”Thank you, Natalia,”> He said softly and reached up to set his hand on top of hers against his cheek. “We are some pair.” 

James managed a soft chuckle and slipped his fingers around hers.

She watched him react, running her thumb back and forth on his cheek soothingly. He seemed still unfocused, but she didn't know what else to do. She was simply mirroring his action towards her as she wasn't sure how else to handle it. Natalia needed to gain experience in getting him out of this state. His prior statement was true, though. He apparently did know what was going on inside her brain. So she kept her ministrations on his cheek while trying to anchor him in reality.

Once he seemed to calm down and become focused again, Natalia was about to drop her hand but he placed his on top of her and intertwined their fingers. She frowned at their hands and wondered why this felt so familiar. Nothing came, so she tried to unsuccessfully shake the familiarity off, but his voice and gentle body language allowed her to dwell on it a little longer. Natalia analyzed his body language, which was open and gentle towards her despite the terror he had just felt.

“You're welcome, James,” she replied gently, not even realizing the name she had used. It slipped from her tongue without a second thought, and she was lost in her realization completely. Natalia brought her other hand up and gently ran it through his hair. She smiled over his sarcastic comment, or at least what she thought was sarcasm. 

“We'll get by. At least that's what I think,” she smiled gently.

He’d almost missed it because it felt normal, and he was only half aware of everything, more focused on the exhaustion. When Natalia added her unsure answer, it reminded him he was supposed to be the one helping her. It made her statement suddenly stick in his mind, and his eyes snapped up suddenly, widening.

James? She’d called him James… he hadn’t imagined it… it was something; he danced around telling her it because of her reaction in the mess hall. He wondered momentarily if he should let her slip go… but she’s said it, and it wasn’t him telling it to her. So that was why he kept quiet, right? To not force her into it, he hadn’t… but he didn’t want to disturb her soft smile. It was hard to measure the correct course of action, but this must be it. She had said it, after all, and he found it hard not to.

“You remembered my name,” He told her, looking intently at her face.

Natalia dropped her hands as he seemed to get wrapped up in himself again. She was trying to make him feel better, and it seemed like it had worked for her. He didn’t seem to be in pain anymore. So, she had successfully taken it away, hadn’t she? After all, it helped neither him nor her if the only person who could protect them was in pain and unable to move.

He again caught her attention as he mentioned that she had used his name. Confusion was shown on her face as she wasn’t sure what she had said anymore. 

You’re welcome, Winter… had been her answer, hadn’t it? No… she knew better. She had used James. The name of the man with the short hair from the house. The one who had dressed up to watch the ballet performance in her dream. She frowned and looked at him. The tiring headache came back and started pounding in her head. Again, someone was hitting her with a hammer against the skull to split it into two. By now, she knew that it was only pain from the chair and no one was hurting her.

“I-” she began but became quiet again and crinkled her mouth. Natalia wanted to go for the easy road and believed it was her target’s name. 

“Your name is James…” she eventually spoke unsure and looked at him. She pressed the palm of her hand against her eyes. It was like a scene displayed behind her closed eyes from a memory of sorts.

They were in a living room away from the Red Room. He had short hair and was dressed like a soldier. They were talking about something that she wasn’t able to remember. 

“What if I told you… your name’s James,” she had told him. He had looked at her like he didn’t believe her. After all, it had been his name on the cover. The name she had given him in hopes that he would remember something. But, like always, it had left her unsatisfied and a little annoyed. No matter what she tried, nothing helped. 

“Why do you think answering the name comes so easy? You don’t even need to remind yourself it’s your cover. You just listen to it instinctively, Winter. Like someone was given the name,” she had told him to persuade him into believing him. Or at least that’s how she remembered it. “I know this for sure. There’s even more, where your name is coming from,” she had told him, but he seemed so transfixed on the name to realize that she had continued talking. 

Her wrist was aching like he suddenly had wrapped his metal finger tightly around it. Natalia looked down at it and remembered his angered self wrapping his fingers around it in frustration. 

“I walked out on you…” Natalia gasped out in pain as only small parts of that occurrence were coming back; but the big picture of that day was still missing. She suddenly looked at him with big eyes as she realized what that meant.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, not Winter Soldier,” she said and blinked once, then twice as she tried to process this. Finally, she vaguely remembered the name attached to an old picture from the second world war of the person she had killed in her dream. The same person who had sat next to her during that opera.

He nodded again to confirm her memories were correct. Her voice grew  heavy so he reached out and hesitantly set his hand on her knee. 

“I reacted poorly,” He said, his voice still shamed. Her hands were busy, but he wanted to do something. 

Her saying it… he hadn’t really heard the name aloud like that. James Buchanan Barnes…. this was who he was. It felt strange, but… it seemed right that it wasn’t simply the Winter Soldier; part of him roared against it.