Picture: Dariya Romanova

Music: Lullaby - Pan's Labyrinth

All rights go to their rightful owners.

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SEVEN

Dariya Romanova P.O.V.

The only thing on my mind was that I had to get out of here. Ward hasn't come for me yet, and it's been hours since Strucker left. Zola hasn't contacted me either, which probably means one of two things: either he is planning how to kill me easily, or something else entirely is going on. On normal missions, ones where I don't get shot, he's either at my doorstep or calling me the second I get in.

Out of the ordinary is never good with HYDRA.

"Romanova," a sharp voice shouts, entering the medical room I remain in. "Time to go back to holding. Strucker will give you your next orders there."

Hopping down from the table, I wince from the pain in my shoulder. "What about Ward? Or Zola? Usually they give me mission updates."

"Does it look like I care why? Get moving, bitch."

I duck my head and walk ahead of him down the hallway, looking for any chance to escape.

There's gotta be a way. There has to be a way out of here.

The guard shows me to an empty room with only a table and a couple chairs. A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling, giving the room an all too familiar eerie glow. "What am I doing here?"

The guard doesn't reply; he only shuts the door and locks it behind him. "Hey!" I shout, banging on the metal door. "What am I doing here? Answer me!"

But no one does, not for almost four hours. Eventually, I sit down in one of the chairs, trying to find ways to create music with my powers. Not only can I stop sounds from happening, I can manipulate existing sound waves to sound differently than they normally would. I can make a gunshot sound like a violin, or a scream sound like a lulaby. And vice versa.

I raise my hands to show all the sound waves around me. I see a red strand, very jagged and harsh. It's probably someone shouting. There's another sound, a blue line that flows up and down gently like a wave. That is probably a shower running, or perhaps a water faucet being left on. Others are golden, probably being old jazz music. Yet even more are purple and high pitched; those are probably radio waves.

Everything is sound. Everything creates its own, distinct noise. Even the perfectly still table and chairs make a low, barely visible hum. It's enough to drive anyone mad. Luckily, I've had practice.

There's a sharp, black stream of sound that seems comes from out of nowhere. I turn my eyes to the door, finding it to be it's source after it screeches again. I lower my hands, powers disappearing for the moment, as a familiar, tall, broad-shouldered figure enters the room. The glint of a metal arm catches me completely off-guard.

"James?" I ask, surprised and shocked. "I thought they froze you again. I thought they wiped you! Why are you here?"

James Barnes, The Winter Soldier, turns slowly around, allowing me to see his face for the first time in what seems like years. It's not what I remember. It's not kind, and selfless, and remembering. This James Barnes is cold, cruel, and calculating. I can tell, just by his face, that he doesn't remember me, nor does he care about what happens to me. I am his mission, to be fulfilled no matter how much it hurts either of us.]

"Sit," he orders in Russian, pointing to the chair I had jumped from.

He might as well have been a completely different person, but I've heard of the things The Winter Soldier does to his enemies. If they do come back alive, it isn't because he failed. It's because his mission wasn't to kill, and he never does more than what his mission peramaters are. He's HYDRA's oldest and most reliable weapon.

"Sit," her orders once more, and this time, the shock is passed enough that I obey.

"James, don't you remember me?" I ask in Russian, my expression begging for him to remember me in the slightest.

He doesn't. He merely stands in front of me with arms crossed, a firm and focused look on his face. "Why did Agent Barton shoot you in the shoulder? Why didn't he aim to kill?"

"I don't know."

"Did you know Barton before your time in HYDRA?"

"No. James-"

"-My name is Winter Soldier. My name is not James. My name is Winter Soldier." He repeats it over and over, a mantra, more to himself, I think, than me.

"I didn't know Barton. I don't even know who Barton is now, only that he has one hell of an aim and a merciful heart."

James leans over the table, bracing his hands on it and glaring me in the eyes. He's trying to read me. Most people know of The Winter Soldier the assassin. Not many knew of his interrogation tactics. Next to no one knew how good he was with prisoners of HYDRA. Even less knew of his ability to read people like an open book. Like I said, oldest and most valuable weapon to HYDRA. "I will know if you are lying, Romanova."

"Why would I lie?" I reply, wincing as I move my shoulder. "I've been shot for God's sake. If I knew of this Barton, I would tell." I keep eye contact as The Winter Soldier continues to read me.

After a few moments, his gaze lightens, and he backs away to stand in front of me again, arms still crossed over his chest. "I believe you."

"Why is he so important?" I ask. "What could this Agent have possibly done to make HYDRA so mad?"

James turns away from me with emotionless eyes. "He took one of our own years ago." He pauses, and for a brief moment, I can swear I see a flicker of emotion in his eyes. Hurt, maybe? Regret? "The Black Widow."

"I've heard the Old Russian myths. I thought they were just that: myths."

"Natalia..." He turns back to me, eyes once again dead inside. "She is a myth now."

"Do you know her?" I ask, confused at his strange reaction to the code name of the infamous Black Widow herself.

"I knew her."

A realization hits me. "They wiped her, didn't they? They wiped you because you got too close... just like they did when they found out that we had become friends, somewhat."

James turns back to me and reaches across the table and jerks me forward by my shirt collar, making me scream in pain as my shoulder moves abruptly. "She is nothing to me! You are nothing to me! I am Winter Soldier. I have no friends, only enemies. I have no memories, only missions. I have no life, just HYDRA."

I can't help the couple tears that fall. "My God, James. What did they do to you?"

There's a sharp pang on the door to the interrogation room. "Da?" James shouts, still keeping eye contact with me as I'm held at his mercy.

A guard comes through the door and gulps at the sight of the Winter Soldier in action. "We have a problem. Pierce is on the line. He wishes to speak to you."

"Tell Pierce I am busy."

"He says it's urgent."

James groans, throwing me back down into the chair. "Keep an eye on Romanova. I will be back." He shoves the guard out of the way and makes his way towards his master, Alexander Pierce, like a dog being yanked on a short leash.

The guard stands firm just outside the door, closing it once he's through. I'm left alone again, this time in much more pain. I place a hand on my shoulder to test the pain, and instantly regret it. "Gah!" It's bleeding again, and hurts more than ever.

I can't escape like this.

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Clint Barton's P.O.V.

Note to self: never ride with Natasha Romanoff in a Quinjet when she's on a mission. She flies like a hurricane. "Natasha, please don't do any more barrel rolls. I think Hill's gonna be sick."

Maria kicks the back of my chair. "I'm not the one getting queasy, Barton. You look a little green there."

"Oh, right," I chuckle. "I need a bucket."

Maria taps me on the shoulder, placing a helmet on it. "S.H.I.E.L.D. grade equipment can handle anything, even a hurling Clint Barton."

"Thanks," I mumble, closing my eyes and trying not to blow chunks all over the cockpit of the plane. "How much longer, Nat?"

"It's hard to tell," she admits, keeping her eyes glued to the sky. "By the time we got in the air, they had already left for ten minutes. I barely have a trace on them, and since our satellite feeds are out, well..."

"It's a long shot. I get it."

"Remind me why we're doing this?" Maria asks. "Not that I don't like being out in the field for once, but what's so important about this girl? We only just found out of her existence."

"I don't know," I admit. "I can't put my finger on it. I just feel the need to get her out of that place. I think we could use her."

"Is this love, Agent Barton?" Nat chuckles.

"Love is for children. This is called being a good Samaritan." Sighing, I finally admit, "She reminds me of myself, Maria. She reminds me of myself and Barney who were trapped in a place that felt like hell, and there was nothing I could do to save us." My fist's clench. "You didn't see her face. She looked absolutely terrified. I-"

Maria places her hand on my shoulder, and I turn to see a small smile on her face. "You don't have to explain a thing to me, Clint. I'll follow you anywhere. You're my friend."

"Coming to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. when you were trained in the Red Room and have been killing all your life wasn't an easy thing to do," Natasha says, her voice softening. "I was scared, to be honest. I was afraid I'd wake up one day and find myself at gunpoint, or worse. You made certain I was safe and protected, both physically and any other way." She turns to me, looking at me with those big, green eyes. "I owe you a debt."

I wave her off. "You don't owe me a thing, Nat."

"No, I do. You don't have to explain anything to me either."

The communications panel starts baring a noise at us, signalling that we have an incoming call. The caller I.D. reads "Phillip Coulson."

"Remember when I said you didn't have to explain anything to us?" Maria says, uncomfortably. "Well, you might have a lot of explaining to do to him."

I turn to Natasha, my expression plain on my face: oh shit, I forgot to let Dad know we'd be home late. She just shrugs and smirks. "We're out here. Can't make things worse, right?"

"Goddamnit, Nat," I groan. "Don't say that, don't say that, don't freakin' say that." I just look at the ringing panel and wait for it to stop. "Maybe he's not mad." The ringing stops, and I breathe a sigh of relief, only to find Maria laughing in the back seat when it starts up again.

"Yeah, in your dreams, Barton."

I hit the answer button on the panel. "Heyyy, Phil. What's up?"

"What do you think you're doing?"

Oh yeah. He's mad. "Just taking a midnight flight. What about you?"

"Headed home to D.C., on the plane where you're supposed to be."

"I, uh, am, Sir. I'm on the plane right now. You must've missed my seat."

"Not likely. I'm staring right at the seats where you, Agent Romanoff, and Agent Hill should be." He pauses, and I gulp loudly. "So, where are you three?"

"Would you believe me if I said bathroom?"

"All three of you?" Phil sighs. "It is illegal?"

"Yes. Well, sorta. Maybe?"

"Da," Natasha butts in.

"You're not helping," I growl at her through gritted teeth. "It's barely illegal."

"Is it dangerous?"

"No-"

"-Da."

"Shut up, Nat!"

"You're going after the girl, aren't you?"

I slump back in my seat. "Maybe."

"I'm not bailing you out of prison, I hope you know that."

"Uh, Phil, you're... breaking... up... Can't... he... you... Sorr..." I cut the transmission short before Phil can catch onto my lie. "I am so getting kicked out of S.H.I.E.L.D."

"This girl better be worth it," Natasha mumbles. "Or else, we all are."

END.