Something isn't right. I don't know what.

I'm somewhere I think I should remember. I assume I'm still in the Hydra facility. But why am I in a hallway of all places? Am I escaping? I don't hear sirens.

Way confused, I continue down the hall. My pulse pounds. Nothing about this feels right. Things are too quiet, too calm.

Something's going to happen, I can feel it in my bones.

"I never wanted it to come to this."

I gasp loudly, hearing Jessabelle's faint voice. Though I know I'm going to regret it, I follow it. She sounds...pained. Like she's actually feeling something other than nothing for once.

"All it would have took was surrender."

I turn a corner, her voice is louder now. The first door I see is open just a slit. I can worry about attacking Jessabelle later, I want to see what's going on. The door creaks at my touch. I freeze when Jessabelle's eyes find me.

Her expression is off. She's confused, guarded. She's not shouting for backup, she's not restraining me. I mirror her befuddled expression. After a long moment, she turns back to whatever she's facing.

I pale when I realize what she's in—what we're both in. A morgue. Aisles of dead people locked away, sleeping for eternity. She's got a body on the table, I can see their legs and feet. I almost vomit.

Since Jessabelle is oblivious to me for some weird reason, I move in. She stands at her full height, sniffles, then turns on her heels. She walks past me as though I'm air, I watch her until she shuts the door behind her.

When I turn back to the body, it dawns on me.

My legs pull me towards the cadaver on the metal slab. My breaths catch. It's not Vanessa I see, or either of my parents. It's not anyone from S.H.I.E.L.D. I know. It's not even Bucky. While I'm glad it's none of them, I still recognize the corpse.

Her skin is washed out from death, she's in a state of eternal sleep. I want to touch her, but I know if I do, I may just go right through her.

I'm a ghost after all. And the body I'm staring at, the one Jessabelle had just—what? Mourned over?—is my own.

***

I'm sweating, and for a brief second, I forget I'm in pain. I pull away from Bucky, not intentionally. My breathing quickens. I look around with wide eyes. I'm not in a morgue, I'm still playing prisoner with Bucky. I let out a breath.

It was just a dream.

"Dani?"

I whimper, realizing I've woken him. "I'm sorry, Buck."

"No, what happened? What's wrong? What hurts?" He sits up.

"Bad dream. And you know everything hurts," I say bluntly. "It was nothing."

Bucky doesn't say anything, he embraces me gingerly. I take some deep breaths to still my aching, wired body. I'm okay. I'm not really safe, but I'm okay. Bucky's here, he's not going anywhere. I'm still alive, in pain, but still alive.

I look at the marks on the wall. I count them twice to make sure I'm not miscounting. Twenty-one days, three weeks. We're still surviving Hydra at three weeks. We should feel accomplished.

I cringe the moment I hear the door open. I don't need to look to see whose visiting; they're the same people who've visited for three weeks now. All I do is hold Bucky tighter. I'm not ready right now. I want a few more minutes—more like hours—of peace with him.

"Come on, Danielle, you know the routine," Jessabelle says blandly.

"No, no, no," I moan as I'm pulled away. I don't even fight them anymore as they drag me away.

What's the point?

* * *

The tips of my toes are skimming along the floor, I feel it. My head is hung very low, I'm only being propelled forward by the men that carry me from both sides. Every fiber in me is worn, pleading for mercy. With Hydra, there is no such thing as mercy. I've known that for a while now.

I'm more than eager to get back into the cell, back to Bucky. Back to the temporary peace.

I'm tossed unceremoniously back into the cell hell. Bucky runs to my aid like he's done since this fiasco started, helping me off the floor. The door slams shut behind me, and my entire body shakes from the sobs I'm holding back. Bucky has told me various times that it's okay to cry in front of him, but I refuse to let him see me so vulnerable. I already look the part with my beaten body.

Taking his time due to my pain, Bucky leads me to my assigned uncomfortable bed. Between my moaning and groaning, we get me situated. I weakly lift my head up so I meet Bucky's eyes. In his, I see annoyance, frustration, and a hint of pity. Some possible self-loathing.

"They don't even have the decency to clean you up," he hisses, pushing my hair away from my face to further look at the damage. "Make our stay comfortable my ass." He inhales deeply to calm himself. "What hurts, Dani?"

"Everything," I croak. "Like you wouldn't believe."

"I don't want to." He looks around, only to curse under his breath. "Here, let's get you in the bathroom. Let's wash some of this off."

I wish he had thought of that before I had reached the cot. Instead of acting as a crutch, he saves us both time by carrying me into the bathroom. He makes me sit on the toilet seat while he dampens a cloth. I can't help flinching as he cleans me up. I smile amidst the pain.

"Something funny?" he asks.

"No," I respond. "I'm trying to get through this. Ow."

"Sorry."

After a good twenty minutes of warm water on my face, Bucky picks me up and carries me back to the cot. With his help, I'm resituated. The pain doesn't bother me like it used to. It's become a normal thing now for three weeks.

I'm a human version of pain. I radiate it. I look like it with all my injuries. All the bruises, cuts, and burns.

"I hate this," Bucky snarls. "I let them get away with this!"

"Bucky—"

"No, don't go saying that I can't do anything about this, Danielle. I don't want to hear that again. I've tried countless times to prevent this from happening, and each time I've failed. I swear I'll make this stop, one way or another."

I shake my head, opening my eyes to look at him softly. "You can't, Buck. No matter what you say or do, they'll come here the next day, pull me out of here, beat me senseless, then toss me back in like I'm trash. They'll repeat this process until I'm dead." I look up at the ceiling. "I wish I was dead right now."

"Don't say that." Bucky sounds a lot darker responding to my comment.

"Why not? I wouldn't be feeling this pain."

"Danielle, stop."

"Why?"

"Because it sounds like you're giving up."

"I don't want to, Bucky, I really don't." I refocus onto him. "But do you understand how much pain I'm in? Nothing has stopped throbbing! I don't know what they haven't attacked yet, I feel like they've covered every inch of me in bruises and my own blood! I'm a walking, talking punching bag, fireplace, and cutting board all in one! I know you've undergone some torture of your own, but I don't recall you ever saying it was this physical." I cough.
"Danielle, we're in too deep to give up on this!" He grabs me gently, though my arms continue to pound mercilessly. Even the gentlest touch sends me into pain. "We've got to fight through it."

"Easy for you to say, you're superhuman." I whimper when I inhale, my ribs hurt. "You can take a lot more than me."

"It's more a curse than a blessing," he mutters gruffly. "We're still in this, Danielle. We're still breathing. We've got to fight."

"I'm—"

"No, I don't want to hear you say it." He shakes his head. "I refuse to hear it come from your mouth. You have determination in you, Dani, where is it?"

"It's gone. It was used to find out about my past...a past I wish I had never learned about." I shudder. "I deserve to rot in the ground for what I've done."

"Stop it. Just. Stop." Bucky lets go of me, stands at his full height before me. "Everyone has done bad things, Danielle. You know what I've done. Have I had times where I thought I'd be better off dead? Yes. But I didn't let them get to me. I fought against those thoughts. You can too."

"But I can't," I yell hoarsely. "I've tried, repeatedly to stay away from thoughts like that. But do you know what? I can't avoid them." I begin to shiver. "Why did you spare me that day? Why couldn't you have just left me there to die?"

Bucky isn't startled by my words. Judging by the look in his eyes, he's prepared to fight back. "So let me understand something. Right now, you feel that you are better off dead, in the ground, when here you are, alive, thanks to a second chance."

"I'm not in a good circumstance," I remind him bitterly.

"So what? You're still alive. You're throwing away your second chance that I gave you! I saved your ass and this is how you want to repay me, by wanting to end it all now?" He's quivering; I'm waiting for him to take out a wall with his bionic arm.

Bucky moves away from me, pacing rapidly. His hands occasionally fist into his hair out of frustration with me. At times, he gets dangerously close to a wall, looks tempted to kick or punch a hole in it. But he doesn't. He speaks rapid Russian under his breath, a language I have barely learned when being in his company. I can't even begin to guess what he's muttering.

He finally settles down on his assigned cot, still shaking. Anytime he looks at me, I drop my eyes off him. I don't want us locking eyes; I don't want to know what can come out of that. I pretend that a spot on the floor is the most interesting thing in the world while Bucky does whatever the hell he's doing.

"You want to know why I saved you, Danielle?" He asks this calmly. There's an edge to his tone, but it's less prominent than before. "You want to know why I pulled you out of that mess and got you to safety? Despite all that you had done for Hydra, you were the one person that I genuinely trusted."

This catches my attention; I pick my head up, eyes holding serious confusion.

"Sure, I took orders from them, but I never trusted them. You, I did. When we went our separate ways, and when I saw you again, I had a shred of hope that there was a chance that I could help you like I found help for myself." He rests his head against the wall. "Granted, I didn't want the help right away, but I was given a second chance by S.H.I.E.L.D. I wanted to give you that, because I believed you would have understood why."

I almost tear up. Even when the Winter Soldier, I had always been the most trusted by him. Even though he'd taken orders from anyone but me, he'd trusted me. Whatever I had done in my time with him, I'd done enough to convince him that I wasn't like the rest of them.

"Buck..." I can't get any other words out.

He doesn't say anything more; he sits on his respected cold, metal bed, not meeting my eyes. If his plan is to make me feel guilty, he's done it. I feel tears prick in the back of my eyes. How could I be so willing to wish for the end to come? How could I even dare to be the pessimistic one out of the two of us?

For once our roles are reversed: he's holding onto hope, whatever's left, while I'm the one who's developed a negative outlook. Not that he had a negative outlook before, but he stole my hope from me. Wait, no, Hydra stole it from me. Tortured it out of me. After a while, you want the suffering to end.

That voice has been in my mind lately: why don't I end it? I look and watch my main reason for still breathing. The main reason I'm here right now and not in the ground like I was supposed to be.

I'll never be able to make it up to him for saving me in that ambush. I'll never be able to repay him.

A life debt is rare to fulfill.