The Other Rogers

Chapter 16

Bucky remembered the snow, the pain in his left arm. Opening his eyes, he watched as his body was being dragged along the snow, painting a stripe of red. Turning to look at his arm, he almost blanched at the sight. He was missing the limb from just above the elbow. He knew what was coming next. He would close his eyes again and when he opened them, he would come face to face with Zola. He would wonder if Steve had failed the mission or if Steve had also died.

He hated this part of remembering. He remembered the last thought he had before agony in his arm and head, then darkness. He remembered that he smiled to himself thinking that he would at least be with Anya again.

When he first opened his eyes and saw Zola, he thought just how wrong he was. There were no pearly gates or a dancing Anya in the living-room of their dream house.

Instead, there was a metal arm glaring back at him and a scientist being choked by his new arm. Zola's face peering down at him before a needle being inserted.

Memories of missions flooded his mind until finally he had the first memory of Anya since being taken by Hydra. She was in a room full of nurses, her eyes drained of life. He had feared she was dead, until he saw her chest rise with each breath. He couldn't believe it, she was alive. But of course, at the time he hadn't remembered who she was.

All he remembered was seeing a blonde woman who ignited emotions that had been zapped out of him. He didn't know her name, but her face was a prominent flashback whenever he closed his eyes. The first day he saw her, chained up against the wall while other nurses laid sleeping on the floor, was the first day since they had broken him had he shown emotion.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

His handler had wanted to see him. About what the soldier didn't know. That was apparently his name, Winter Soldier or as the Russians called him, 'Зимний солдат'. He hadn't gotten the hang of speaking Russian fluently despite speaking it for several years.

Although years passed, he would have only been awake for maybe a few months at a time. Walking quickly the soldier made his way to a room made of several cells, afraid of punishment if he were to be late. The sight that greeted him made him pause, with the feeling of... something he didn't recognise.

Laying on the floor of the cells were women, numerous women. Majority of them wore uniforms that for some reason felt familiar to the soldier as if he had seen them before. But that was impossible, he had no memories. He couldn't even remember the last mission, as he was always wiped after each success.

Women of all sizes and ages, from eighteen to forty were crammed up in the cells, heads touching neighbouring toes, as they tried to all fit in the small spaces.

Icy blue eyes searched the room until he can across a woman who was chained to the wall of the cell on his right. The woman with blonde hair hung from her wrists high above her head, her dress crumpled and dirty. Her body barely made movement as she breathed, if it wasn't for his enhanced eyesight, he probably wouldn't have been able to see the fact that she was indeed breathing.

Stepping forward his foot scuffed on the floor gaining the attention of the woman. She looked up; her eyes dead as his victims until they finally rested on him.

Blue eyes lighter than his own widened in shock, her mouth trembling as she fought tears.

The soldier had no idea why the thought of this woman crying affected him, but it did. He clutched his chest as subtly as he could in case the higher ups were watching and made his way through the throes of sleeping women till, he ended up in front of the woman whose hair despite dirty and limp, reminded him of spun gold, not that he ever remembered seeing it.