911 | james barnes

004

7:01am, April 29, 2007

Cincinnati, Ohio

"Happy birthday my little Princess. Daddy misses you so much. The FBI are still looking for you, but the director said he's nearly given up. That Mr Ross guy that you didn't like asked me to come work for him. I don't want to. You said he was a scary man, and I think I'm scared of him too. I need you back here to protect me from him. I just want you to come home darling. I need you. I don't know what to do anymore. I have nothing left. And the big green guy just wants to come out all the time. I think he'd like you though. All he sees is the bad in the world, and you're just so, so good. I don't want to know you're gone. It was hard enough burying an empty casket, I just try to tell myself the reason it's empty is because you're still out there. Waiting. I promise Daddy's gonna come find you. I pinky promise baby girl. As soon as this green problem's gone, you're gonna be back in my arms, okay? Anyway, happy ninth birthday Violet, I love you." Bruce wipes away the tears flowing from his eyes, standing up from his position on the ground beside his daughter's grave. He fought so hard to not have a service, that she was still waiting for him to find her somewhere in the world. But until he got code green sorted, he would leave the searching to the FBI. His feet trudged slowly out of the cemetery, a plane ticket to South America burning in his coat pocket. It was so hard to say goodbye to his daughter, but it was getting too stressful staying in Ohio. It would be the best thing for him. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself.

11:36pm May 16 2007

St Petersburg, Russia

"AGAIN!" The soldier barked, spurring the nine year old into action. Attempting to disarm one of the strongest and best trained soldiers in the world was difficult, impossible when said soldier had a metal arm. Violetta stood back up, brushing off the dignity she left there on the ground, staring into the Winter Soldier's eyes. She heaved a silent breath before striking. Her movements were too slow however, as before she was able to make contact with the soldier, she was on the ground, his metal hand wrapped around her throat, the gun in his hand pressed against her forehead. His stare was disappointed as he stood, turning and walking out of the door without saying another word. Barely a minute later, the soldier returned with Madame Bouffier in tow. Gulping, Violetta stood at attention, awaiting her next commands.

"Disarm the Soldier." Madame's voice was cold, much harsher than what Violetta was used to from the woman. The Winter Soldier stepped onto the mat once again, pulling the pistol from its holster on his hip. Violetta breathed again, calculating her moves before striking. Hooking a leg over his metal arm, her left hand pushed the gun away from her face, using the leverage to hoist herself up onto his shoulders, using the infamous takedown that Madame Bouffier had said was attempted by many, mastered by few. As the soldier's hands attempted to remove her legs from around his neck, she tightened her hold, using her hands to pull the gun from his right hand. With her thighs wrapped dangerously around his windpipe and his arms held tightly within her own, he seemed to have no other way out. Until the soldier pulled the knife she had holstered on her bicep, slicing the arm that was holding his own, he then stabbed the knife into Violetta's right thigh and used the distraction to pin her down on the mat. There was no emotion within his icy blue eyes, sending a chill through Violetta's entire body.

"That's enough for today I believe, Soldier. I thank you for your assistance." Madame Bouffier's voice cut through the fear building in Violetta's body. The Winter Soldier stood, retrieving the knife from the girl's body and holstering it within a pouch on his thigh, sending a small smirk toward the nine year old before leaving the room.

"You need to be better." Madame's voice was cold, and Violetta had never felt more ashamed of herself. One thought would remain in her mind for the rest of time.

Is no one proud of me?