Chapter Text
She spied through the viewing window into his room. They said she had to wait a few weeks before she could talk to him. Said he probably wouldn't remember her from their previous missions and might get violent in frustration. So she stayed out. Didn't mean she couldn't spy on him though. The fact that he lost everything important to a human, their mind, scared her. It had happened to her before, albeit not as bad. But she knew some of his pain then at least.
He sat on the standard issue desk chair most days, his head in his hands. Stark Industries installed false windows with projected scenery courtesy of Captain America, who thought a grey room was dreary. It was pretty amazing to her actually. But the scenic views had promptly stopped working when he put his metal fist through the both of them. Now they were simply black screens. Stark wasn't impressed.
"That cost me two million bucks and three sleep deprived nights!" He yelled out frantically.
"Oh come off it Stark. What's a few million to you, pocket change?" Clint shot at him with a snarky grin.
"And you don't sleep anyways," Bruce chimed in. Stark shut up.
She could understand why he wouldn't want the screens. He knew he was underground. He knew he was in a prison of sorts. Why pretend to have something you don't? Saves the horrible feelings you get from wishing and not receiving. And he definitely wouldn't be getting fresh air from those "windows" any time soon. It would be a miracle if he could breathe in non-circulated air within the year.
It made her feel an emotion she did not feel often because it usually followed with remorse or guilt. Sadness. She felt sad for his loss. Sad for his feelings of helplessness. Sad for the feelings that were lost between them. They were a few snippets of memory that would hit her during her nightmares.
"Natasha."
Natasha whirled around. She had gotten distracted, weak, and that could cost her her life. How could she not hear someone walk up behind her, especially the heavy footsteps of Captain America himself?
"Steve, you scared me."
Steve smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment. Not often you can sneak up on the spymaster herself." He walked up beside her and peeked through the small window in his door. Nodding his head he turned away and sat down on the couch Tony had brought down for Natasha to rest on.
"How's he doing?" Natasha asked, wrapping her arms around herself.
Steve frowned. "Nightmares of course. He's gaining some memories back though, the longer he's been out of cryro. The stuff Stark is doing with him is working too. The electricity."
"Like rebooting specific parts of a computer," Natasha said nodding. "I keep asking to see him, but Fury denies me every time."
"He's worried about the impact you could have on him."
"I could help him!" Natasha exclaimed, hands in her hair. She was so frustrated with all these men around her. Stark with his damned locked door, Clint with his damn caring, Bruce with his passiveness, and Steve with his goddamn kindness and understanding.
Steve looked at her sympathetically. "If it was up to me, I would let you see him," he said quietly.
Natasha bit her lip, trying to get her emotions in check. Ever since the death and resurrection of Fury, the emotions had been out of control. "Why do you get to see him and not me?" She asked. She knew the answer, and knew Steve would tell her that exact reason.
"I'm a positive memory. Our young days were good, innocent. Your memories with him are...tainted. I'm sorry Natasha." Steve stood up and put his hand on her shoulder. "You should probably get some sleep. You look terrible," he added, then turned to leave, hands in pocket.
Natasha sighed. Let out a whoosh of air that combined all of her feelings. She looked in the window one last time, to reassure herself about something she didn't even understand. And there he sat, never moving, the Winter Soldier. As cold and frozen as the name suggested. His hair was long now, needed a trimming, but the scarring on his body was the same. Familiar. And she hated how she was separated from something that was familiar. It wasn't often that she had that feeling.
Suddenly the Soldier twisted his head up, blue eyes staring into hers like ice. Natasha, not ready for any movement at all from him, moved away from the window, heart pounding, breath rushed. She was unprepared. She was, frankly, terrified of him. The only person who could single-handedly stop her.
That night she didn't sleep on the couch. She ran to the elevator, demanded JARVIS to take her to her apartment floor. She walked as briskly as possible, ignoring JARVIS's questions of concern, and opened her door, flinging it shut quickly with a bang. Heart still pounding, she got into her bed, unslept in for weeks, and tried to calm herself. Blanket pulls up to her neck, she closed her eyes, breathed in deep, counted to ten. Nothing helped. She fell into a restless sleep, full of nightmares of a silver arm taking her breath away, and ice blue eyes with no recognition in them as he took the life from her.
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It took Natasha about a week to get her plan set up. She knew there was a fifty-fifty chance of it working, especially since Tony's security was top notch. But she was a spy damn it. She could get in and out of a skyscraper without detection. She could slit the throat of a man, unseen as he ate breakfast. She could do this.
At least that's what she kept telling herself, to keep her bravery high and reluctance to a minimum.
She would feign going to the gym, conveniently kept on the same floor as the containment cells and the large kitchen. It was horrible having the gym and food so close to each other. After every workout she craved the smells coming from the large area.
She would work out, of course. She couldn't just disappear yet. Things had to seem normal. Afterwards she would hit the showers. With her gym bag of course. In that she had her photostatic veil that she conveniently forgot to give back to SHEILD techs after the events at the Triskelion. Loaded on it was the face of a SHEILD officer she seduced earlier on in the week. Not only did he give her his face unknowingly, the fingerprints he left around the house provided enough DNA to use with her TDNAA gloves (Temporary DNA Adjustor). She slipped them on, the standard issue SHEILD uniform, and activated the photostatic veil.
Step one was successful, and she let the breath she had been holding out. Natasha stayed in her shower cubicle, took out her trusty Mouse Hole laser, and cut a large enough hole through the tile to get her into the empty spaces between Stark walls holding the technology running the place. And the plumbing. Climbing in, she reversed the stasis of the laser and welded it back into place. Hopefully no one would notice for now. Later didn't matter.
The dim lights from various blinking apparatuses provided both enough cover and illumination for her to start traversing the tiny maintenance tunnels. She had hacked JARVIS's mainframe quickly and quietly a few days previous to gain access to architectural plans of the Stark Tower. With that in her memory, she traversed the thin halls until she arrived at a maintenance door just outside of the kitchen.
Slipping out, she waited for the real Aaron Moore to step around the corner carrying the Winter Soldier's early morning breakfast. With a quick jerk, she shocked in with her Widow's Bite, caught him, and balanced the food tray in her other hand. Slowly, she let him slip out of her arms to land on the floor with a muffled oomph. A quick search through his pockets wielded his ID badge. And with that and the meal in hand, she successfully completed step two.
Step three was perhaps more difficult, being in the sight of JARVIS's cameras. The door to the Soldier's quarters had an access pad that required both DNA/fingerprint data. A slot opened in the door, and a tray extended from the empty space. Instead of the tray, she stuck her hand through the slot and pressed her mini hacking device to the inside of the door. In about five seconds, the code was scrambled and she was given the access level of Stark. With that the door lock clicked, and Natasha was able to slowly open it.
The Soldier was nowhere in sight. She cursed herself for forgetting to use a scanner as a part of her plan, to scope out where he was. Natasha really cursed herself when suddenly she was jerked forward, a strong, cold grip on her arm before she went flying through the air, hitting one of the broken screens with a grunt. She picked herself up, slowly, and looked at the man stalking towards her.
"Stop," she tried to say, but her voice came out raspy, almost like with disuse. She cleared her throat and tried again as he neared her and grabbed her throat. "Stop!"
Her hands scrambled to find purchase on the smooth metal of the arm. His eyes were angry at the intruder.
"Who are you?" the Soldier asked, his voice blunt. Natasha tried to give an answer, but couldn't decide what name to use, what would be better to calm him.
"Who are you?" The Soldier asked again, this time yelling. She could see the veins in his neck straining. Her eyes travelled upwards to the day old scruff on his face, oddly familiar. She could remember the days when they weren't tasked on a mission, when they felt free enough to relax about their standard uniform rules. When he would leave the razor in his bag for a day or two, saying he liked the feeling of the scruff on her skin.
"Tasha," she gasped. "It's Tasha!" Her vision was slowly getting more and more spots in it. But she had to keep herself from retaliating. It would only make things worse.
Something flashed in his eyes, and his fingers sprung open and away from her neck like she had shocked him. Natasha slid down the wall and to the floor, gulping in air, trying to calm herself.
"Tasha," the Soldier mumbled. "I know you. But how?"
"Natasha. I go by Natasha. You might also know me as Black Widow in your assignment files."
"Tasha," his voice came as a whisper and he squeezed his eyes shut. "Natasha."
Natasha squeezed her own eyes shut in relief, then opened them, building up the courage to reach out and touch him properly. She reached her hand out to brush against the warm skin of his human arm, feeling his hair, the goosebumps slowly curling up his arm. He flinched away at her contact and squeezed his eyes even more closed.
"Bucky," Natasha began, but the Soldier cut her off promptly.
"I'm not that man. I don't know who he is," he said sharply. He was too scared to look at her. Her name felt familiar on his tongue, too familiar. He was frightened of the quick flashes of memory that would accompany him looking at her fully. They gave him migraines, seriously sharp pains bouncing around in his skull.
Natasha tried again. "James then. Is that okay?" She asked hesitantly. He shook his head vehemently. "What should I address you as?"
The Soldier grunted and ran his hand through his scraggly hair. He had to clear his throat for his voice to come out clear enough for her to hear.
"I'm no one. I'm the Soldier, the Ghost."
Natasha's heart sunk. "Everyone is someone."
The Soldier glared at her. "You used to be nobody as well."
"So you know who I am," Natasha stated, ignoring the jab. She knew if she kept pressing, he would give in. Steve had told her that the Soldier was desperate to regain his memories. Natasha knew that it was better that he didn't remember the Soviet years, the Hydra years, but the Soldier wanted to know. Wanted to know what evil he did, what bad he had done, to atone for his sins.
She knew now that his next step would be to go on the offensive. He felt trapped now, not knowing what was going on, or understanding anything that was happening between the two of them.
And boy, she wasn't disappointed.
"I've known of you and your...assignments," the Soldier leered, looking her body up and down. Just that one look made her feel dirty.
Natasha turned her face away, closed her eyes, thought for a moment. Without a moment's notice, her hand swung around and hit his cheek.
And yes, it stung. The Soldier was shocked. He was prepared for fighting words, but not fighting actions. And this wasn't the kind of hit that warranted starting a fist match. No. The Soldier knew, somehow, that this was the hit of a disgruntled woman. A wave of guilt crashed down on him, and he fell into his often occupied chair.
"I'm sorry. I slip into his mode unknowingly," the Soldier said quietly, staring at his hands. He curled his metal fingers into a deadly metal fist and gave a short, disgusted laugh. He hated it. Hated the things it could do. He remembered a time, however, that he relished the amount of power it gave him. Relished the fear that he inspired in people.
"James," Natasha began, but he flinched with the use of his former name. She noticed and continued with, "can I call you James?" With his nod, she slowly moved in front of him, knelt down, and--not without effort--uncurled his fingers. Her stomach turned in anticipation, in nervousness, as she placed her hand into the silver one. Immediately, a warm sensation flared.
"You aren't him, the ghost. Not really. He was created by the monsters in our nightmares, just as I was shaped into the Tasha you knew. But I'm not their assassin anymore. I kept the good parts, and shed their costume," Natasha told him. He shook his head but she continued. "And you can shed the bad times too. Just let them go, forget about them for now. You can erase the red in your ledger when you are better."
"It's not that simple Tasha," James began, noticing the way Natasha froze when he said her name. "They erased me, the good Howling Commando Bucky Barnes, Captain America's side kick. They erased the kid from Brooklyn that took care of a scrawny kid and kept him out of trouble. The minute I realized Zola's formula worked, I lost my identity. And they erased me further and made me into a robot. No feelings, no emotions. I've killed so many... innocent people."
"So have I James. But we're the good guys now, we're--" Natasha was cut off by a low voice behind her in the doorway.
"That's enough Natasha."
Natasha jumped up and turned towards the voice to see Nick Fury. She knew her time was up. She had been successful in her mission to get to James. She conceded and headed towards Nick without a second glance back to Nick.
"Did you see enough to know I'll be okay with him?" She ground out quietly while stalking past him. And for the eighth night in a row, Natasha headed towards the elevator and made her way to her room.
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It was the alarm blaring irritatingly from the ceiling that woke her up the next morning.
"What the hell?" Natasha groaned, trying to untangle herself from her sheets. "JARVIS, what's going on?"
The AI's voice came soothingly over the alarms. "Good morning Miss Romanoff. Would you like to join the others for breakfast in Mr. Roger's quarters? The others are unfortunately busy at the moment, but Mr. Roger’s has asked me to have you go to the upstairs kitchen."
"No JARVIS, I want to know what this bloody alarm is for!"
"Nothing to worry about Miss Romanoff. Just a little altercation on level B5 that has been remedied. Shall I inform Mr. Rogers of your impending arrival?"
"No JARVIS! I'm going downstairs," Natasha said, fixing her twisted pajamas as she hopped out of bed and threw slippers on while jumping on her feet.
"That would be unwise Miss Romanoff. The conflict has been taken care of by Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers."
Natasha got in the elevator and pressed the button to B5. She waited for the doors to slide closed, but they stood still. "JARVIS! Close the doors!"
"My apologies Miss Romanoff, but Sir has forbade me to allow you access to the lower levels at this time."
"I swear to god JARVIS, I will find a computer, hack the shit out of you, and change your voice to that of a little girl if you don't shut those doors and take me to B5," Natasha threatened, staring up at the mobile camera in the corner of the elevator.
There was a pause from the AI. "Right away madam," JARVIS finished and the doors slid shut. The button for B5 lit up, and Natasha let out a sigh of relief.
"Thank you JARVIS. I rescind that threat."
"Thank you Miss Romanoff. I was not looking forward to the changes, as Mr. Stark would have relished in my embarrassment," JARVIS answered.
Natasha could almost imagine the calm and collected AI breathing his own sigh of relief. And she felt bad. So she apologized. To a computer. To artificial intelligence. It still amazed and confounded her.
The elevator ride was smooth and with JARVIS playing her requested "elevator" playlist, she was content. It was peaceful.
Until the doors opened. And chaos erupted.
"PUT HIS HANDS IN THE CUFFS ALREADY!"
"I'M TRYING! SEDATE HIM! COME ON, I'M DYING HERE! No, DON’T CHOKE HIM UNTIL HE PASSES OUT! I swear Stark—"
"Did you want me to loose an arrow? I'm kind of missing the action from this corner of the room."
"WELL GET YOUR ASS IN HERE BARTON!"
"Where did Banner go? SOMEONE SEE IF HE HULKED OR NOT."
"Let me go you insignificant cockroach! I will squeeze your throat and watch the life flicker out of your eyes!"
"That's a bit morbid. No one is killing anyone!"
"I will kill all of you! Lemme shoot an arrow!"
"SHUT UP BARTON, you aren't helping!"
"ARRRGHHH! You cannot keep me captive!"
"Boys, I will sedate ALL of you if need be!"
Natasha's eyes grew as large as plates at the scene in front of her. Tony was in his suit, holding James in a choke-hold; Barton was perched on a chair in the corner with a smirk on his face, cleaning his nails with the tip of an arrow; Steve had a hold of James' wrists, trying to hold them still. James was half dressed, half his head shorn while on the other half, his wild, long greasy hair flew about his face. Natasha could see him try to spit some of his hair out of his mouth. Fury stood with his arms crossed, while his team of agents stood variously around the room, guns pointed at the three grappling men.
"What the hell is going on here?" Natasha asked, her voice going unheard in the chaos. She tried again. "STOP!"
Her yell froze everyone. Everyone except for James. Apparently he was having an episode as he looked at her stunned and then shook his head, like trying to dispel a thought. "I killed you! I shot you and you died!" James said frantically, eyes wild.
She stepped closer, slowly. "Evidently not. Although the shot stung like hell. You put me in the infirmary for two weeks buddy," Natasha said with a small smile, trying to diffuse the situation. It seemed to be working.
"I watched you die in front of my eyes-" James began again, a slight whine in his voice.
Natasha slowly began to uncurl both Tony's arms and Steve's fingers from James's body, pushing them both slightly away. "It was a dream James."
He shook his head vehemently again. "No... No it was—"
"Just a dream," Natasha reassured, kneeling down in front of James when he sunk to the floor without the support of Steve and Tony. She laid her palm on the silver finish of his arm and felt him shaking. From the corner of her eyes she could see everyone leaving. Clint narrowed his eyes at her, promising, by the look on his face, that Natasha would be speaking to him later. She sighed.
Once the room cleared, Natasha began to help him up, but he refused to be assisted. "What was going on?" She asked instead, leaving some space in between them.
"Captain America—Steve—suggested to change how I look to wrestle up some memories. They were trying to cut my hair. I freaked out, went into Soldier mode," James replied quietly. His head suddenly flew up and he stared at Natasha with frantic ice blue eyes. "I'm dangerous! Get away!" He burst out, propelling himself to the other side of the room by his hands.
Natasha jumped up. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Stop there. Don't come any closer-" James said, his hands held out in front of his as a warning.
"Why don't we put our hands down, go sit down on a chair and talk things out? Then I can finish with your hair," she suggested with a light voice, moving closer still. Her hands found his warm, human hand, and grasped it tightly. She relished the touch. And evidently James did too, as he closed his eyes like he was making a little prayer, his face lifted to the ceiling.
Natasha slowly pulled him back into his room and to his chair. Grasping him lightly by the shoulders, she pushed him down and pulled the remaining long hair to his back. She continued, taking James’s quietness as permission to keep going. Reaching for the shaver knocked to the floor, she picked up a rumbled newspaper and threw it on his lap.
“Read that to me. I haven’t been keeping up with things,” she ordered him. This would be safe territory for him. Hopefully.
The buzz of the shaver started up, as well as the voice of the man in front of her as he took his time reading each article. He made no comments and gave no opinions, but Natasha knew he was relaxed by the way the side of his lip would curl up in amusement as he read about a llama on the loose in a city.
And as she finished with his hair, and he with his newspaper, Natasha smiled knowing she was successful in keeping James as James. No slips into the Winter Soldier. She left him then, and went to find Fury to speak to him about a plan slowly winding together in her mind.