This is it, boys -- this is war!

She really was beautiful, he thought. Almost radiant, like in his memories of her. She had longer hair then, smaller hips, thinner legs. Winter wasn't kind, and so, neither was the man named for it.

Ты была ее жизнь до этого. Вы тренировались ее.

“Most everything about the missions,” he began, voice thin and hoarse but carrying none of the intent from before. “Who I killed, why and when and how. What I used to do it. What they called me. What they did to me to keep me young, to control me. And you…” His gaze met hers, searched it for some answer, pleading for it. “You’re there, too. With me, killing people.” He found himself turning towards her, tilting his head to the side as he watched her, as if the change in angle would give him the answers he so desperately wanted from her.

“Who am I?” he asked, voice weak and drained, as if the emotional upheaval from explaining all this sucked the energy right out of him. This was followed by the far more pressing question:

He smiled ruefully at that. A good soldier does what he’s told; maybe that made him a bad man, but Steve had always been the good man out of the two of them, and Bucky liked that just fine. Somebody had to get their hands dirty while Cap showed the Press a smile and a wave. “But anyhow, they kept me prisoner for a month and a half…and I tried to get away using every trick I could. But they knew all my tricks, countered every single one of them without batting an eye. I was starting to think I wouldn’t ever make it out. But, of course, Cap came and got me.” Steve was always getting him out of sticky situations, which was something Bucky was sheepish about but still held a bit of pride for, pride that little Steve was the one saving him these days.

“Still…they told me things, made me remember things.” His tone went dark, and he looked up at Natasha with something like understanding and a bit of bitterness in his eyes. They hadn’t told him everything, he suspected, but he understood why SHIELD had him seeing three head-shrinks and kept extra security around whenever he was called in. He understood why Fury kept the file labeled ‘Winter Soldier’ in the bottom drawer of his desk, where nobody could get their hands on it.  ”I’m sorry I lied to you about it before, but I didn’t want to tell you with SHIELD ears listening. And so help me, if you have a bug on you and they’re listening now, I will break you.” It was just a warning; he knew Natasha trusted SHIELD about as much as he did, but with everything that had been kept from him, he didn’t know who he could trust outside of Steve. And he doubted he could overcome Natasha, but with everything he now knew he was capable of, he knew he could damn well try. He felt his metal hand clench his thigh until he knew the flesh was bruised, and the air in this pleasant Brooklyn bar suddenly felt much colder.

"Most everything about the missions," he began, voice thin and hoarse but carrying none of the intent from before. "Who I killed, why and when and how. What I used to do it. What they called me. What they did to me to keep me young, to control me. And you..." His gaze met hers, searched it for some answer, pleading for it. "You're there, too. With me, killing people." He found himself turning towards her, tilting his head to the side as he watched her, as if the change in angle would give him the answers he so desperately wanted from her.

"Who am I?" he asked, voice weak and drained, as if the emotional upheaval from explaining all this sucked the energy right out of him. This was followed by the far more pressing question:

After a moment to gather his thoughts, he glanced up at her and began.

“They sent me to Russia. SHIELD did, I mean. Some malarkey about treason, some idiot with secrets important to SHIELD I had to take down. But I’m convinced the whole thing was a setup…” He paused to take a deep breath, trying to quell the anger growing in his belly. After all, it wasn’t Natasha’s fault if SHIELD had set him up — she’d had no control over where they sent him and why. She was an agent, just like he was. “But anyway, I was carrying on with the mission as usual, even shot the bastard and cleaned up the mess; but on my way home, I got jumped by this group of Soviet fuckwads. They black-bagged me and held me prisoner for a month and a half, but that isn’t what perturbs me so; the creepy thing is that I understood every word they were saying. I’ve never spoke Russian a day in my life…at least, not the life I’ve known.”

Natasha listened intently, more so than she let on, with an open look and blank expression, carefully showing interest but not too much of it. She was also observing him attentively, not that he made an effort to hide much or keep his reactions from her, but already with the first sentence he had caught the majority of her attention, and her interest was certainly piqued. 

At the mention of the Red Room her eyes might have narrowed a little, but she made sure that this was the only reaction to escape her. Natasha joined him in another shot, which served as a slight distraction as well as an opportunity to gather both herself and her thoughts, but she would still have to face his question. Well, there was no denying it. Natasha nodded, brows furrowed. “Soviet espionage training facility, thought to be inactive.”

He smiled ruefully at that. A good soldier does what he's told; maybe that made him a bad man, but Steve had always been the good man out of the two of them, and Bucky liked that just fine. Somebody had to get their hands dirty while Cap showed the Press a smile and a wave. "But anyhow, they kept me prisoner for a month and a half...and I tried to get away using every trick I could. But they knew all my tricks, countered every single one of them without batting an eye. I was starting to think I wouldn't ever make it out. But, of course, Cap came and got me." Steve was always getting him out of sticky situations, which was something Bucky was sheepish about but still held a bit of pride for, pride that little Steve was the one saving him these days.

"Still...they told me things, made me remember things." His tone went dark, and he looked up at Natasha with something like understanding and a bit of bitterness in his eyes. They hadn't told him everything, he suspected, but he understood why SHIELD had him seeing three head-shrinks and kept extra security around whenever he was called in. He understood why Fury kept the file labeled 'Winter Soldier' in the bottom drawer of his desk, where nobody could get their hands on it.  "I'm sorry I lied to you about it before, but I didn't want to tell you with SHIELD ears listening. And so help me, if you have a bug on you and they're listening now, I will break you." It was just a warning; he knew Natasha trusted SHIELD about as much as he did, but with everything that had been kept from him, he didn't know who he could trust outside of Steve. And he doubted he could overcome Natasha, but with everything he now knew he was capable of, he knew he could damn well try. He felt his metal hand clench his thigh until he knew the flesh was bruised, and the air in this pleasant Brooklyn bar suddenly felt much colder.

“You gonna keep your promise?” he asked, gesturing for the barkeep to pour them each a shot — Russian Standard, of course. “I intend to keep mine.” His eyes shone in the dim light of the bar. He’d been meaning to tell someone where he’d been sent; he’d been waiting for the right time to come along. It was important, and Steve wouldn’t understand.

But she would.

It didn’t pain her to see him like this, she made sure of that, but she had to admit to herself that the sight of him tugged at her heart. She’d never been completely cold hearted, in spite of popular belief, and after all he had been the first to discover that fact.

After a moment to gather his thoughts, he glanced up at her and began.

"They sent me to Russia. SHIELD did, I mean. Some malarkey about treason, some idiot with secrets important to SHIELD I had to take down. But I'm convinced the whole thing was a setup..." He paused to take a deep breath, trying to quell the anger growing in his belly. After all, it wasn't Natasha's fault if SHIELD had set him up -- she'd had no control over where they sent him and why. She was an agent, just like he was. "But anyway, I was carrying on with the mission as usual, even shot the bastard and cleaned up the mess; but on my way home, I got jumped by this group of Soviet fuckwads. They black-bagged me and held me prisoner for a month and a half, but that isn't what perturbs me so; the creepy thing is that I understood every word they were saying. I've never spoke Russian a day in my life...at least, not the life I've known."

After an exceedingly-long mission during which I may or may not have been held prisoner in a foreign country, I have returned.

And also, my shirt has opened? And I seem to have lost my shirt.

Ah, thank you. I've really been needing something to cover these rippling abs. Can't be having ovaries exploding like they have been.

And save the mister -- mister is my father. The name's James Barnes, but my pals call me Bucky.

He once told her she made him feel human, but that was a long time ago. It’s true that she knows who he once was, but she knows very little about who he was before that, and even less about who he is now. She’s not nervous, she’s expertly calm and collected. Natasha wondered briefly if this was an attempt at getting reacquainted, or starting again, but the thought leaves her none the wiser.

"You gonna keep your promise?" he asked, gesturing for the barkeep to pour them each a shot -- Russian Standard, of course. "I intend to keep mine." His eyes shone in the dim light of the bar. He'd been meaning to tell someone where he'd been sent; he'd been waiting for the right time to come along. It was important, and Steve wouldn't understand.

But she would.

I want to unlike every post of yours that I’ve ever liked. I want to delete every post I’ve ever reblogged, every conversation we’ve ever had. I want to forget that I wanted to hold your hand, to be your friend and so much more. I want to forget that I ever spent all that time with you.

But I can’t.