Road to War Part I: Terrible Lie

I Lost My Ignorance, Security, And Pride

They drive in silence.  He watches the headlights pass by, looking away at the last moment to keep from being blinded.  Whatever scenery they pass is unknown to him.  It's dark, so not cities.  Most likely it is forested.  Occasionally lights dot the darkness on either side of them, but not enough to see beyond their road.  It doesn't matter, he thinks.  The lack of information bothers him, as it should, but he's willing to accept that she knows what she's doing.

She shifts her weight from time to time, causing the seat beneath her to creak.  Every time this happens, he looks at her sharply.  And she smiles gently in response, sometimes glancing at him, sometimes not.  Her wariness of him seems to have decreased, perhaps as a result of their conversation.  He doesn't know.  It isn't something he's practiced in a very long time.  Eventually, he leans back and makes himself comfortable.  He won't sleep here, and is somewhat apprehensive about sleeping when they get where ever it is they are going, but it's nice to rest for a while.

"Do you remember when we ... met before?" she asks quietly.  Perhaps she thinks he is asleep, and is willing to let him go on sleeping if he doesn't answer the question.  He considers feigning unconsciousness to avoid answering, but doesn't see any reason to do so.  He doesn't think responding to it will be particularly compromising.

"No.  I read about it, though," he answers.

She bites her lip, nodding.  "In both files?"

"Yes."  He waits, but she does not pursue the topic further.  He clears his throat.  "I'm sorry I shot you," he says when she glances over at him.

Smirking, she shrugs.  "Don't worry about it.  It wasn't the first time someone's shot at me, and I'm sure it won't be the last."

He raises an eyebrow.  "Do you have a lot of bullet wounds?" he asks in surprise.

She pauses, and he can see her consideration of whether or not to tell the truth.  When she finally answers, he can't be sure which option she chose.  "Only from you," she says at last with a grin.

"I see."  He watches her, searching for some tell that will indicate her truthfulness.  Or lack thereof.  People have been lying to him for decades, you'd think he'd be able to spot it easily by now.  Instead, he is just wary of any information he receives.

"Don't worry, I'm not interested in revenge," she assures him, her tone more sincere than before.

"I'm not worried."

She laughs, a quick, harsh sound.  "I'd be surprised if you were.  You nearly killed me last time," she adds, one hand briefly going to her shoulder to rub where he'd shot her.

The conversation makes him uncomfortable.  "You kept me on my toes," he offers.

Her glance is appraising, serious, when she turns in his direction for a moment before looking back at the road.  "Did I?"

He nods.  "More than any other opponent I can remember."

The familiar smirk returns.  "How many can you remember?"

Cocking his head, he thinks for a few moments.  "I read the file," he says at last.  "The memories are... harder to untangle."

An unreadable expression crosses her face.  "Yeah, I get that."

"Do you?"

"You're not the only one who's had people play with your brain," she answers darkly.

He thinks of her file, of her past in the place called the Red Room.  She would know what it's like, he concludes.  Not to the extent he does, of course, but she has more basis for understanding than Steve does.  Than most people do.  Perhaps that's why he was more drawn toward her than the others.

"Natalia," he says quietly, thinking.

"What?" she asks, sounding surprised.

"That was your name.  I had to remember it to find you in the data banks in Kiev," he explains slowly, confused by her reaction.

She smiles slightly.  "I go by Natasha now, James."

"James?" he questions.

Shrugging, she takes a sharp turn as they leave the main road.  "I didn't know if you'd want anyone besides Steve calling you Bucky," she explains after a pause.

He considers.  "It's fine," he decides.

She is silent for a long moment, clearly thinking.  "It's important to reclaim your name.  It's one of the first things they take."

Looking down at his hands again, he curls them into fists and nods.  "Only Zola called me by anything other than my codename.  And only at the beginning."  He pauses, clearing his throat.  "Not that he called me Bucky, of course."

"Of course," she agrees with a grim smile.  "What did he call you?"

"I remember...  I remember him calling me Sergeant Barnes.  I think.  It may have been a dream," he adds.

Nodding, her nervousness appears gone completely.  She appears to be honest – earnest, even.  He isn't sure why, but it makes him simultaneously feel better and more uncomfortable, to talk about what happened to him and have her respond this way.

"Steve tells me that talking to you brought you out.  Do you remember any other times you got close to breaking their influence?" she asks quietly, gently.

"I don't remember.  But there were a few anomalies in the file," he answers, glad to have something solid, something he's sure of, to discuss.  "One was after I was sent on a mission to Brooklyn.  I didn't come back for a few months."

"Months?" she clarifies, looking considerably startled.

"I guess," he says, backtracking from the strength of her reaction.

Noticing, she glances over at him, and gives him a reassuring look.  "Sorry, I just didn't think they'd be unable to find you for that kind of time period.  I mean, it's not like they had anyone else like you they could use if you were lost," she adds hastily.

He nods slowly.  "They weren't very happy about it."

Laughing, she shakes her head.  "I'm sure they weren't.  If I'd known, I wouldn't have let Steve go after you.  If you can hide from HYDRA for months when you don't even know why you want to, then I seriously doubt Steve would be able to find you if you don't want to be found."

He smiles hesitantly.  "I was keeping tabs on him.  Subtlety isn't his strongest suit."

She laughs again, seeming pleased to have a common subject.  "He is a terrible liar."

"Well, I'm not sure that's a bad thing," he suggests.

Sobering slightly, she nods.  "It's admirable.  But makes working for a secret organization of spies a little challenging."

"I can imagine."  He thinks about how Steve would deal with a world full of grey and blurred lines, and shakes his head.  "He must have hated it."

She purses her lips.  "You're probably right.  I suppose he's glad it's gone now.  Do you remember knowing him from before?" she asks abruptly.  "Or are you usually this intuitive?"

The second question throws him briefly, and he collects his thoughts as she weaves down silent streets in a small town.  When was the last time he had a real conversation?  "I remember some things.  Some before the war, some during.  A lot after."

She pulls into a parking lot and comes to a stop, turning to look at him.  "I'm sorry about that," she says, putting her hand over his.  "And about this," she adds, looking truly apologetic as he feels something prick his skin.

"What are you doing?" he asks in a slight panic as his thoughts start to feel muddled.

Smiling ruefully, she holds up her hand to show him a tiny needle.  "It's not that I don't trust you, James, it's just that I wouldn't have survived this long without taking some precautions.  You'll wake up feeling just fine, I promise."

He blinks rapidly, struggling to keep his eyes open.  "This... HYDRA... please," he mutters confusedly.

Gently, she pushes on his shoulder to get him to lean back in the seat.  "Don't fight it, James.  Go to sleep." 

The Winter Soldier follows orders.