Paris.

It had been a while since he’d been here, but it was hard to forget this place. It wasn’t just the fact that the Invaders and he had liberated the city from Nazi control during the war and the celebrations that followed, but it was more about the feeling of Paris. They call it romantic for a reason, and while all the romances he had had there were not at all long winded romances, even he had succumb to that. But this time he wasn’t staying for celebrations; he wasn’t here for nights filled with booze and girls; he was working.

They were calling it a cold war. There were no trenches in the middle of Europe, sure war was brewing, but none of it was out right. It was like one gigantic game of cat and mouse between Russian and the United States, and he was just one of the many soldiers caught up in it. Tonight might’ve seemed like the last time he was here--he was going to a party after all, but he wasn’t celebrating anything.

A peace summit had been held earlier in the day; it was a joke, as far as he was concerned--just something to distract the public for a little while. But he knew the peace of the city wasn’t going to last long, or at least, Russia was going to try and stop it from lasting through the night. The intel had come through the CIA just a few days ago, and he’d been in Paris since then trying to find anymore clues. All he had was a gut feeling and the words of a really bad KGB agent that he was easily about to uncover in the city.

<”Widow.”> 

The word...no...it wasn’t a word. It was a title--someone’s title. When he’d gotten the agent to say this, he immediately called Nick, and his response only lead to more questions than answers. Nick had met a Russian spy during the war who went by the title of Black Widow, so he had suggested that this Widow person might be related to that. But if they were, were they the same person or someone completely different? Russia was bound to have their own secret weapons the other side didn’t know about. He should know, the CIA had him. 

According the US Army records, James Buchanan Barnes was killed in action right before the end of the war. He was just as much of a ghost as whoever he was chasing, but that’s the way he liked it. He always got more of a thrill out of chasing some unknown over chasing exact information.

The car he was in slowed to a stop outside the venue, drawing the soldier’s thoughts back to the present.

“We’re here,” the driver said, looking at him in the rearview mirror.

“Thanks. Don’t worry about waiting around. I can find my way back,” he said to the agent driving as he checked to make sure he had everything he needed on him.

Bucky got out of the car, the cool night air whipping around his as he car drove off. He adjusted his coat, hat and gloves before he headed up the stairs and into the gala.

Inside, live music filled the air as guests made their way towards the coat check. Bucky followed their lead, showing his invited to one of the door man before he stood in line to drop off his coat. He stripped off his coat and took off his hat, keeping his gloves on to cover his cybernetic of his left arm. The soldier looked into the ballroom as best he could, keeping an eye on the slowly moving line as he took in the scenery. When the people in his peripheral moved forward, Bucky took a step forward as well, not noticing that the woman in front of him hadn’t moved.

James took a drink from his flask and tightened the cap before replacing it on his belt. He was going to run out before the day through, and he was getting low on cigarettes too. The soldier sighed as the two of them waited on a rooftop surveying their target. This was their first mission together. The Red Room wanted the soldier to take the Black Widow out on a test run. Really, he was just there as a babysitter--not that he needed to be. But with the way things were going at the moment, this wasn’t going to work out.

It was just them on the rooftop. No one was watching, no one was listening in...just them. And yet, they hadn’t spoken a word to each other once they’d arrived. James shifted in his spot, checking his pack of cigarettes before pulling one out and lighting up.

“How’s the target lookin’?” he asked.

The end of the war came for the world, but it didn't stop. Not really. A new war began underneath it all. It'd been brewing since the beginning, and it wasn't surprising when all efforts shifted. VE-Day. VJ-Day. This might have end this war for the world, but war never stops. There's always a war to be fought and men to be lost. 

James was given a choice weeks before the end: hang up his uniform and live out his life, or join a new effort against Russia. He was born in war, raised there, that was all he knew. So he did what every other soldier like him did: trained one war for another.

The CIA as you know them now was small and unofficial then. The ask him to give Russia exactly what they wanted: James Buchanan Barnes. They'd been eyeing him for a while. So it'd be easy to get them to capture him and make him their own. 

That's how he ended up in the Red Room, new cybernetic arm, being bounced between the CIA and the Red Room--programing and deprograming his mind, always leaving him with the feeling that he was missing something. James thought he could do this, but everyday he'd have to do the same thing:

"My name is James Buchanan Barnes. My friends call me Bucky. I was born in Shelbyville, Indiana. I was the mascot at Camp Lehigh where I met Steve. In 1944...no that's not right...fuck..." James took a long drink of vodka before trying it all again from the beginning. 

This was his morning. Everyday. Never fail. And after that, it was back to pretending, back to being the Winter Soldier--a soldier without a name, without a past, with nothing.

Today was another part of his weekly routine: evaluate another Black Widow candidate.  So he walked into the general's office to receive the information on the latest girl.

"<Her name is Natalia Romanova...>" Bucky stopped listening. 

Natalia...surely there had to be other people who had this name in the Red Room...right? The general showed him a picture of her, and he could feel his blood run cold. This was it. This could be game over for her. If she remembered him...

The soldier walked out of the office and headed towards the training room, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he moved, trying to think of how he was going to get through this. 

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, dropping his cigarette in a snowbank before heading into the building.

She was waiting for him alone, but Russia had eyes everywhere. There was no way he would be able to talk to her here. He'd have to figure out another way to speak to her in private. 

"You? Letting yourself go?"

This was the first day in weeks that the soldier was sleeping in a cot. After everything, the war still continued, time moved forward, and Steve had been replaced. He couldn't stand it. He wanted out, wanted nothing to do with his old costume and that's how he'd ended up in the Commandos. Nick didn't questions it, and he didn't let Bucky sit still for too long after he was back in full health. This was the first breather he'd gotten.

Not that he was complaining. Fury was right to keep him busy. He could sleep in the trenches, in a foxhole, inches away from the front lines; he couldn't sleep in a cot, the sound of the front barely audible over the sound of the soldiers snoring around him.

Bucky rolled over, pulling his blankets up over his shoulders as he rolled onto his side. His cot groaned slightly under his weight brining a wince to his face as he looked around him to see if he'd woken anyone up. Dum Dum let out a particularly loud snore, but there was no other movement beside his own.

The soldier shut his eyes as tightly as he could, taking in deep breathes as he tried to clear his mind. He didn't want to spend another night reliving Steve's death and his near death, waking up feeling like you're drowning was never appealing, and the tingling in his cybernetic fingers that followed after was always unnerving. 

"Get your asses out of bed, boys," Fury's voiced broke through the snores in the tent, sending all the Howlers scrambling to get out of bed each standing at various degrees of attention and sleepiness. "We've got a new mission. Be ready by 0300. We're heading to Russia.

"Barnes," Fury pointed at him and motioned for him to follow.

Bucky dressed quickly and followed the sergeant towards the command tent.

"You sleep?"

"No."

"Are you good?"

"Yes."

"You think you can--?"

"Yes," Bucky cut Fury off, a slight scowl on his face. "I'm not a child, Sergeant. Don't treat me like one. And please tell me there's another reason you called me in here, or I'm going to go grab myself some food before we have to leave."

The concern left Fury's face but lingered in his eyes. Bucky hated the way the Howlers always ended up babying him. He'd spent the last four years fighting along side the Invaders, going toe-to-toe with HYDRA's baddest, just because he'd lost his best friend didn't mean he couldn't handle himself.

"I need you to act as advance scout. You're the best the army's got to offer. You think you can handle that?"

"Of course."

___

One plane ride later, the Howling Commandos were in Russia--waiting to meet with their contact.

This wasn't the first time Bucky had worked with Russians before, and before the war ended, it probably wouldn't be his last. The team waiting in cover, each doing their best to keep quiet will they messed around in true Howler fashion. Bucky kept to himself, cigarette between his teeth as he check his gun to ensure it wouldn't jam in the cold. At their first sign of moment, the team grew still. Nick was the only one who knew what their contact looked like, so he was the one that took a peek over the snowbank they'd set up behind.

"Медведи и волки," Nick spoke, just loudly enough for this new arrival to hear.