I am the daughter of a king
Who forgot my name.
L.L. Tyrrell
Her ears were ringing and her heart was pounding as two pairs of black boots stalked outside of the mansion that Svetlana had not left for two years. She should have felt relieved. She should have jumped for joy. But she couldn't even process it as she passed through the tall wooden doors and into the pale white sunlight. Her father, her papa, was by her side and he didn't even know who she was to him. She was nothing to him. She had thought she knew misery. That little girl had been tormented her whole life, but this was something different. To have the only person that you care about look at you as if you're nothing; that's a feeling that a person can never heal from.
The soldier was a lone black figure and this was the way it used to be, the way it had been for more than a year since the girl had been taken from him. In the beginning, right after she was taken, he was erratic, insane, rebellious. When the guards dared to touch him, he snapped their bones just quick enough to break a few before he was forcibly stopped. When he was compelled to do missions, he would simply glare at them with his hateful ocean eyes. Then the superior was called in and all of the men trembled at the sight of him; all but one man: the soldier. His fear of the superior had crumbled, broken, and dissolved into something so much stronger than fear: rage. This rage was something that the superior was smart enough to know would never go away, unless they "prepped" the soldier.
And then the soldier's agony ensued.
He could feel each memory tearing away, ripping, clawing, biting, flaying, destroying. He fought them; he wanted so badly to remember the child known as Plan B by them but known as Svetlana to him. The one thing that was his. The one thing he had found that didn't make him feel dirty, feel guilt-ridden and despicable. Everyone believed him to be incapable of feeling anything close to what the world called "love", but, God, he loved that little girl, more than anyone had ever loved anything. And they took her away, just like they took everything else. He hadn't begged in so long, but he allowed himself to do so when they strapped him to the machine.
"Net! Pozhaluysta, net, net," No! Please no, no.
They shoved him back into the metal throne that belonged to him and him alone.
"Don't take her away from me," he ground out in English, finally meeting the eyes of the superior as he never did.
The superior simply nodded towards the guards and scientists so they jammed a mouth guard over his tongue.
"Prosto pozvol'te mne vspomnit'!" he screamed in a raspy, ragged panic. Just let me remember!
He could see the scientists working out of the corner of his eye.
"Net!" he gave last one enraged scream. No!
The machine began to whir to life, ready to take his.
Even as they slid the metal pieces of the machine down against his face, he couldn't stop the last plea from escaping, "Please."
But it didn't matter. It never did. Then he was gone. Slowly, as more blood was spilt until his ledger was nearly dripping in it, he would begin to remember her. The child that was resilient, stubborn, beautiful. He wouldn't know not to ask about the girl. He didn't know what they would do if they knew he remembered her.
He would peer up at them with this foggy distance in his eyes, "Devochka, rebenok, kto ona?" The girl, the child, who is she?
The scientists would worriedly glance at each other.
"Rebenok s krasnymi volosami," he winced and shook his head. The child with the red hair.
The red hair! Why did he always, always remember the red hair?
"Gde ona? Ona zhiva?" the mixture of agony and hope in his voice did nothing to sway his superior. Where is she? Is she alive?
The last question he'd always ask was the one that would always stir HYDRA into action.
So, for exactly one-hundred-and-twelve times, it was the same hoarse whisper that came out of the soldier's mouth, "Ona moya?" Is she mine?
Then they'd take her away again.
His screams grew louder each time they wiped him and, oh God, did they wipe him. Again and again and again. And then it would happen again because everything had begun to remind him of his little girl. He saw her in all that existed around him. He saw her when he sat in their quarters and stared blankly at their writing wall, mumbling all of the English words he had taught her. He saw her when his morning trays of food came and he could remember how hard the small redhead tried to split an apple as he did. He could see her in the morning missions when the pale blue sky appeared before him; it was as if he were seeing her eyes peering at him. She was everywhere and she was nowhere. And then she was no one. Not a face, not a memory, not even a whisper of one.
It had been that way ever since.
It made it easy for him to leave her if he had to. After all, that were his orders. If the girl succeeded in assisting him, she would be transferred to Siberia. If she slowed him down, got hurt, or was captured, he was instructed to leave her. He was the most important asset after all. The girl would be reclaimed by her academy's instructors, 'retrained' as they called it, and then she would have the ability to try once more before they disposed of her. The only reason she would be allowed a second chance at all was because she was Plan B, whatever that was the soldier did not know.
Failure was not tolerated.
For this reason, he learnt to never fail.
But this would be the first of the three times he did.
The year was 2009 and Svetlana's first mission with the Winter Soldier was set in Ukraine. Their target was a nuclear engineer; he was being transported out of Iran with an escort of sorts. They had orders to shoot on sight, leaving no witnesses behind. It was simple and clear. The soldier liked those missions better; the ones where he didn't have to torture anyone. For some reason, those always seemed harder for him to complete; not that he didn't, but they just took more effort.
He wasn't blind to how the girl had been staring at him. Her pale, morning sky eyes had been watching him ever since she exited the surgery room of the Red Room Academy. He ignored her for a good long while before it finally began to grate on his already very thin nerves. They had been travelling for nearly three hours in the back of the black truck before he suddenly snapped. Not much could surprise Svetlana anymore, but he turned on her with such ferocity that her eyes involuntarily widened.
He hissed in his usual gruff and deep voice, "Osmotrite, Plan B, ili ya sdelayu vas." Look away, Plan B, or I shall make you.
Svetlana's body may have flinched slightly, but her face only hardened, "Eto ne moye imya." That is not my name.
"Eto." It is.
She knew she was taking a risk even by speaking to him, much less arguing, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. She hadn't spoken to her father in two years and she missed him more than she had ever missed anything. She had very early on decided that him not being with her was the worst torture of being in the Red Room. It was not the lessons, not the fights, not the ballet, not the killing, or even the ceremony. It was being away from her father. She thoroughly believed that her papa was still within the soldier. He had merely forgotten. All of who she was to him couldn't be lost forever. Things can be remembered. Everything can be remembered.
"Net," she shook her red head as she said simply in her eight year old voice, "I vashe imya ne yavlyayetsya 'Soldatom'." No. Neither is your name 'Soldier'.
She knew he had a real name. Everyone had a real name! Even Svetlana had a real name, after her papa gave her one. She couldn't imagine his parents, her grandparents, not giving her papa a real name.
His ocean eyes flicked away from her and it was quickly determined that he had had enough of her. Svetlana curled her arms around her abdomen as her mind drifted back to the events of only a few hours before. When she felt her nose begin to burn just as her eyes did, she quickly blinked and readjusted her body in a way that her position didn't hurt. It wasn't easy. What the doctor had done was painful and that pain wasn't going away anytime soon it seemed. Svetlana messily rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, clearing away any remnants of her tears.
Her small lips puckered in thought and her fingers habitually touched her opposite palms. The Red Room immediately decided that this habit needed to be broken, but being around her papa again seemed to trigger it. The silence lengthened as Svetlana looked around, attempting her hardest to come up with a way to get his attention once more. She'd much rather have him even yelling at her as opposed to ignoring her entirely.
"Vy davno byli v Belarusi?" She attempted before wincing at her stupidity. Have you been in Belarus for long?
The soldier would never tell her his whereabouts. Even when he did remember her, he still never told her anything about where he went or what he did. It was for her safety of course, but it was also protocol and the soldier learnt to never break protocol.
He stared out the back of the truck with that infuriatingly blank expression. She frowned and bit her lip, considering her options and weighing the potential consequences. She was very aware that she had a very high likelihood of being murdered in the next minute if she decided to go through with it. She did it anyway.
She suddenly sent a jabbing finger into his ribs and hurriedly pulled back with wide eyes and cringed, gritted teeth. He jolted at being touched and then he scowled at her darkly. She summoned up everything within her to create a smile, something her cheeks and teeth found foreign. It wasn't like any kind of smile that anybody would really do. It looked more like a grimace than anything. The soldier merely raised an eyebrow at her before looking away.
"The guards don't know English."
His eyes snapped back to look at her.
"It's just you and me."
It always was.
The guards angrily looked between the two of them, shouting and scolding them in Russian. They didn't like them communicating, especially in a language they didn't understand. They knew who the girl was to the asset. They didn't want her divulging anything to him. She wasn't just leverage anymore. She was considered a weapon now, and they needed to make sure they kept these two weapons divided.
The soldier stared at her with slowly furrowing brows.
"You know me," she whispered as the panic and fear of him never remembering her built up, "Please. Remember me."
"You want to survive them, you comply. Poymite?" he emotionlessly dropped back into Russian, dashing all of her hopes. Understand?
She nodded stiffly.
They fell back into an uncomfortable silence as she stared at the ground with sorrowful expression. Perhaps he would never remember her. Maybe she was alone. Maybe he was gone.
The hours painfully continued to pass as they made their way into Ukraine. Svetlana let out a tired yawn, stretching her mouth wide and her arms out a bit. Her eyes were just sliding closed when a thick finger thumped on her temple a little too hard. She pulled away with a wince before she squinted in the finger's direction. One of the guards was clearly mocking her as he babbled, making the other guards laugh. Her little lips puckered ever so slightly. She naturally never liked being mocked, but it was something that she had grown accustomed to after all this time. The soldier did not move or even make a face that showed that he was listening, but Svetlana could tell that he was.
"O, takaya simpatichnaya balerina, ne tak li?" the infuriating guard cooed at her. Oh, such a pretty ballerina, aren't you?
Svetlana kept her face blank as a slate when she blinked at him.
"O da, vy znayete, chto vy simpatichny, ne tak li? Dovol'no na ulitse," the man slid his calloused fingers along her cheek. Oh yes, you know that you are pretty, don't you? Pretty on the outside.
The soldier's shoulders stiffened just slightly, not enough to be noticed by the others, but he could feel it. He wasn't sure why he was so bothered by the guard touching the girl. She wasn't his concern. If anything, she annoyed him or maybe she didn't. Maybe it was her words that annoyed him. It was all too tangled and twisted to work out in his head.
"No vnutri," the guard tsked mockingly as he shook his head, "O, o, balerina, printsessa, u neye serdtse chernoye, kak ugol', ne tak li?" But on the inside, oh, oh, the ballerina, the princess, she has a heart as black as coal, does she not?
Svetlana's small hands slowly curled up into fists as they rested on top of her thighs.
"No, ne boytes', moya malen'kaya printsessa, eto to, chto delayet vas ubiytsey, ne tak li?" But, don't be scared, my little princess, it is what makes you a killer, does it not?
He gave a laugh when the girl's face turned into a scowl. He found her to be overwhelmingly entertaining. She was nothing to him but something to mock, something to play with like a cat plays with a mouse. With that sickening smirk and a slight bob of the head, he gave a hard tap upon her nose. In a fury, Svetlana moved quickly to slap his hand away from her. The man bit back a small cry and he winced, holding the skin that was now stinging from the girl's surprisingly hard slap. The other guards fell silent, awkwardly glancing at each other in wait of what their comrade would do. The soldier's eyes stayed staring straight ahead; his ocean eyes trained solely on the girl who was still glaring at the guard.
The guard's dark face rose up from his hand and his teeth bared in a rage, "Vy dumayete, chto mozhete sebya vesti, kak khotite? Ne zabyvayte chto vy prinadlezhite nam! My mozhem delat' s toboy vse, chto khotim. I ty budesh' uvazhat' menya, kogda ya budu govorit' s toboy!" You think you may behave however you wish? Do not forget you belong to us! We can do whatever we want with you. And you will respect me when I speak to you!
He swiftly raised up a hand to smack her, but he never got the chance. The soldier's hand suddenly jerked out and caught his wrist just before his fingers made contact. Svetlana felt her lips part in surprise.
He had stopped the guard from hitting her?
Why would he do that?
The soldier himself didn't know even as he threw the man's hand back at himself. The guard jerked in shock and one of the other guards immediately retaliated by jabbing the soldier in the neck with a cow prodder. Svetlana let out a sound of protest as she saw electricity zap out of the stick and slide into the her papa's skin. His head twitched to the side slightly, but, as soon as the device was pulled away, his eyes moved back into his usual vacancy and his face blank.
Svetlana simply stared at him in shock and horror. Her mind flashed with different apologies, but none of them seemed worth saying aloud. Her words were always a currency to her and she didn't want to spend them on something he likely wouldn't answer or wouldn't even know the answer to.
Suddenly the truck was stopping and Svetlana's eyes shifted quickly among the men, trying to figure out what was going on. The soldier jumped from the back of the truck bed and adjusted a strange black mask over his eyes and mouth. She watched soundlessly as he picked up a sniper rifle and then began to piece the gun together methodically. A hard object was being jammed into her abdomen and she looked up to see the still fuming guard shoving another rifle into her hands. She nodded and leapt from the back of the truck as well, immediately setting to work on the weapon just as her papa had. When she finished sliding in the magazine, perfecting her scope, and arranging the silencer, she looked up to see the guards staring at her in surprise. She felt her lips quirk up into a pleased smirk. They knew she had been trained, but they had never seen her in action. And they most certainly were about to.
The trees flew by them as they leapt over fallen branches, brush, and rocks. It was painful for Svetlana to run, especially when she was expected to keep up with the Winter Soldier. He, on the other hand, had movements that were clipped and perfect as if each were thoroughly thought through. He suddenly stopped and used one hand to motion her on, solely focusing on the mission and only the mission. She obeyed and began to duck through the bushes and trees alone, glancing back once to see him begin to take position. It was a white sky day and the air was cold as she winced and slid on her hip down the side of a slope. She stepped from the edge of the forest as she reached the dirt road. She pressed her back against a tree, sucking in a deep, pained breath as she did.
This wouldn't be hard. She could do this. She was trained to do this. She had taken numerous lives before. It was simple. She was only a cog in a very large machine. It was so terribly, bitterly easy.
A large black SUV suddenly pulled down the dirt road that lined the edge of the high cliff. And then a lone figure, a ballerina, stepped from the shadows of the trees and stepped right in the middle of the road. The driver of the SUV, a woman with black hair, didn't hesitate at the sight of the young girl, obviously on a mission of her own.
She did press hard down on the car's horn, but she didn't stop. It wasn't in her nature. Instead, the car barreled straight towards Svetlana, speeding closer and closer until she feared that perhaps that this was some sick execution instead of a mission. But, then, the front two tires blew and the car spiraled out of control as Svetlana narrowly stepped out of the way. The car rapidly turned and then flipped, plummeting over the side of the cliff.
Svetlana stood there, breathlessly.
What had she done?
Her boots carried her to the edge of the cliff as she watched the car roll further and further down until it landed in a mangled metal heap. Her knees felt weak and she felt sick. How could this be any worse than what she had done in the Red Room? How could this feel any different? There was only one reason. It was different because she wasn't Svetlana in the Red Room, but she was Svetlana when she was with her father. And it was Svetlana that had just been the reason two people died.
Then something odd happened.
A sudden foot kicked through the front windshield of the mangled vehicle and then a woman, the queen, came struggling out after it. In an effort to free herself, she furiously pulled off the extra material covering her until she was only in a tight suit. Then she yanked the black hair from her head to reveal a vibrant mess of red. The redheaded queen was clearly more resilient and stronger than most Svetlana had seen. She watched with shocked eyes as the woman then reached into the car and began dragging out a man, presumably the target Svetlana and the soldier were sent to terminate. The woman and the man were both bloodied and bruised, but both very much alive.
They had failed?
They couldn't fail.
No witnesses.
No witnesses.
The words chanted in her brain as she swiftly pulled up her rifle and familiarly adjusted it against her shoulder. She rolled her shoulders back and tilted her head from side to side, stretching out her neck. They had to die, it was a simple thought in the eight year old's brain, they had to die. But the more she watched the redhead, the more confused she became. Something about this woman seemed familiar. She had never seen her before. She had never seen many women before, other than Zoya back in Siberia and then Madame B. in the academy. So what made this woman so important to her? God, what was it?
One pair of boots crunched behind her and, as she saw the shadow out of the corner of her eye, she did the one thing she was trained to never do: she panicked. With a quick gasp, her finger twitched down on the trigger and a bullet pinged down against the mangled car. The redhead below hurriedly spun around, looking for her attacker. She dove in front of the man as she raised a pistol of her own. As the bullets began flying, Svetlana shrieked and a hard hand yanked her down to the ground. Her eyes fluttered up to meet the soldier's as he glared at her and covered her body with his. His glare slowly softened as the father and daughter stared at each other. His lips parted slightly and his brows dipped as if in pain. He winced as the flashes of memories came back to him.
A small, barebacked girl was huddled in the corner of a dark cell. The same girl with red hair slumped into his chest as he cautiously held onto her. His metal and flesh fingers ran through the red hair as he tried to clean it of blood and dirt. Five little fingers pressed into his throat as he spoke one name on repeat.
"Svetlana," he breathed out, his eyes squinting and then widening at the girl.
The red hair. Why did he always remember the red hair? And then it came back to him, even if it was just for a moment. Red bangs drifting over a pale forehead. A quiet but sincere laugh. He had only seen red hair like the girl's on one other person. And that person happened to be standing at the bottom of the cliff where he had put her.
No witnesses.
No witnesses.
A king never fails.
But he did that day.
His daughter didn't even have time to react before the king whirled back up to his feet, positioned the rifle, and then shot the queen directly through the stomach. She cried out as her engineer fell dead to the ground. No Soviet slug, no riflings. But she was alive and that was enough.
All was silent as the wind caught up and blew around them.
Svetlana stared at her papa with wide eyes. He knew they couldn't stay, not when the witness could see them, not when he had even left a witness. Not looking at her face, the soldier carefully took hold of Svetlana's arm and hoisted her to her feet. He guided her across the road and into the trees as she numbly followed. They walked silently for a long time, the soldier lost in his thoughts as Svetlana simply couldn't think of anything to say. As the black truck began to show itself among the towering trees, the soldier suddenly pulled Svetlana to a halt. She looked up at him with her blue sky eyes and miserable guilt infested him.
Oh, how could he have ever forgotten her?
How could he have ever forgotten his own child?
"They must not know," he spoke in English, still hating the taste of it on his tongue.
Her brows dipped in confusion, "Papa,"
As much as he liked the way his heart felt when she called him that, he knew that was a luxury they couldn't afford.
He tightened his grip on her arm and his stare darkened, "No. You can't call me that."
She confusedly watched his mouth move.
No? She couldn't call him 'Papa'? But he remembered her!
"They'll take you away again," his voice broke as he bent down so that he could be on her level, "They'll take you away."
Her eyes burnt with tears as they had never before.
"I can't let that happen," his dark head shook a little, "I won't let it happen."
She had never seen or felt his voice like this before. Soft, young, smooth, gentle, yet strong all the same. He seemed like a different person, but somehow it was still him. Whoever he was, whoever he used to be, he was still that person. Svetlana gently touched his throat.
"I won't," he repeated so she could be comforted by the feel of the words against her small fingers.
He stared at his little red haired girl with her morning sky eyes. His fingers gently brushed her cheek and she offered him a small, pink smile. His two hands cupped her still babyish cheeks and his face contorted in both anger and pain. He wished he could just pick her up and run. They could go somewhere far, far away and it could just be them. He wished it was just them. He'd keep her safe, and he'd love her and treat her as she should be. They could be happy. But it was only a dream.
They'd find them.
HYDRA would always find them.
He took one last glance at the truck to make sure the guards couldn't see them. Then he leant tentatively forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. He savored this last kiss, this last contact he would have with his daughter for what would be another five years.
"Poymite?" he whispered against her forehead, holding her small frame to him. Understand?
"Da, Soldat," she eased back away from him with a small, cautious nod that seemed painful for the both of them, "YA gotov otvechat'." Yes, Soldier. Ready to comply.
*Cries* Okay. Tell me what you thought! I hope you liked it and I hope you didn't think it was slow! And we got to have gifs of all of our main characters in this one so that's fun. I hope you liked the beginning quote. It was very fitting, I'd say. Please share your thoughts about the chapter- I'd love to hear from you! Did you like how Bucky slowly came back to himself in the end? That is such an important part of the story of how that little girl can draw him out! It's so sweet. And how about the woman, hm? Yes!
Well, okay, see you in a few days with Chapter Ten! The next chapter will have some good Natasha Romanoff scenes so I look forward to hearing your thoughts!
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Funny Thingamabob: When Bucky woke up in the Hydra Facility
Hahahaha, oh my gosh. I saw this somewhere and I DIED!