bakerstreet | I wish I could wake up with amnesia

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[meme] shipping

I wish I could wake up with amnesia

an amnesiac shipping meme

You have no idea who you are.

One day, you just woke up from the darkness, confused and alone. You barely remember your own name, much less why you're here...or where here is, even. Your own body is strange to you, and if you have some kind of power or ability, that must be frightening. Perhaps you're angry at everything so new and different, lost in this strange world you don't understand or know your own place in. Maybe you feel the need to hide away, lest you be crushed by everyone out there who is sure to hurt you.

You are so, so alone.

Only you're not. There is one person, one person who's found you and taken you in. They've shown you kindness, looking after you while you can barely look out for yourself. Out of the goodness of their heart, they've shown you things, taught you things. Most importantly, they're giving you a new sense of identity. And for that, you've begun to appreciate them. More than words can say, actually. You care for them so deeply that your heart hurts around them. Is that normal? What is this feeling? You can't imagine life without them, and leaving them- That's something you could never consider. Is this lov...

The word's on the tip of your tongue, but you can't figure it out, exactly. What you can figure out is that you want to give everything you can to the person who's done so much for them. You want to stay by their side and make them happy. You want to protect them at all costs.

So no one would blame you for getting confused when you see them with someone else or getting angry when you believe they're in danger. And certainly it's only natural for you to get frustrated when you want to tell them what you think of them, what they mean to you, and you can't figure out what to do. Perhaps following instincts will do?

One thing you know is that this bond and these emotions will never go away, not even when you learn who you are.

RULES
- This meme is for examining what happens when someone with no memories, potentially someone with powers or skills that could be dangerous at the very least, develops deep feelings for the person who's taken them in or is helping them realize their past. It can be played as awkward, adventurous, tragic, cracky, fluffy, truly romantic, or anything in between. You can play at the beginning, the part where emotions have strongly developed, or even when the amnesiac has regained their memories and must now deal with new feelings.
- Reply with your character and preferences. Mention if you'd like to play the amnesiac, the caretaker/help, or both.
- The role of caretaker does not have to always be beneficial. Maybe they caused this condition in the first place so the other character would be dependent, loving, and loyal towards them.
- Reply to others and play.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

[Slowposting prose preferred]

(up for something with natasha? maybe after she does a mission that requires her using the red room programming and she comes out of it with amnesia?)

[Sure, that sounds like it could be interesting to play out. Would Bucky be the Winter Soldier or after?]

Edited 2020-01-02 02:05 (UTC)

(ooh, i could see it being interesting either way. one has bucky struggling with his own memory, the other puts him on the far side of going through it. which would be more fun for you to write?)

[I'm kind of siding with the idea of Winter Soldier!Bucky being in deep cover too long himself and starting to want to get free, but he also has a tie with amnesia!Natasha. So it's like wanting to be free for survival but also wanting to take Natasha with him]

(i like it! take a peek at this, let me know if it needs any edits!)

There are only two things she knows for certain: one, what she looks like in the mirror and two, that she trusts the man that comes to visit her. The man that pulled her out of - whatever mess she was in. She doesn’t know her own name or where she’s from. Part of her suspects that she’s better off not knowing. At night, she either disappears down a dark, featureless well or into a confusing labyrinth of blood soaked violence. All things considered, she prefers the well.

She’s not even sure why she trusts the man. Or if she should. At times he is a remote, frozen ghost. But he gave her money for the hotel room she’s in. He brings her food. She doesn’t feel trapped. Just...lost. It’s a terrible thing, to be adrift in your own mind. But she can think of worse places to look for it. At least she has the company of another nameless person with haunted shadows in their eyes.

There are probably other things she can add to the list. They’re both Russian. They’re in Russia. They both seem to have a great capacity for violence and no inclination to use it in the hotel room. Her capacity is largely conjecture – there were a lot of weapons in the clothes she woke up in, and she sometimes absently finds herself effortlessly twirling a knife between her fingers. Like they’re itching to work. She definitely prefers the well.

The door opens and she looks up from her perch in the threadbare armchair. “Long time no see,” she remarks idly. It’s been – what, a whole day? Maybe a day and a half. “I’m going to go stir crazy in here.” Add that to the list of things she knows without knowing how. She’s not meant for hiding.

He knows, in the back of his mind, that Natalia is a liability. Something went wrong with the programming. A mission that went sideways. The truth is, he's saddled with an asset who doesn't know who she is or where she came from.

In short, HYDRA's best case scenario.

Natalia has been on HYDRA's asset wish list for awhile now. He's known that, faintly, but it hadn't ever seemed like a scenario that would present itself. The Red Room had a close eye on its assets, and the past missions he had with Natalia - that he can remember, at any rate - had always been text book. Carry out the mission. Report back. Separate. No room to fraternize like this. It occurred to him just as he reaches the door, hand outstretched, that he can't recall the last time he's been out in the field this long. Too long. Maybe he'll wonder why he hasn't dragged her back to his handlers yet. There is, after all, some level of plausible deniability. With what happened a few days ago, the Red Room would have every reason to believe that she's dead.

When the door opens, he isn't flanked with backup. It's just him, lurking in the doorway, his cold, tired blue eyes scanning the room for threats before they settle on Natalia. She used to call him "James" during his deep cover mission. Now that he's missed checking in with his handlers, he isn't sure what she should call him.

"I can see that," he says, almost mildly.

The door shuts behind him. He sets the shopping bag down on the table, and a silent glance will invite Natalia to inspect the contents. She'd always done that - even if she thought he wasn't looking - and he assumes that must've been ingrained in her like the weapons training. There are little glimpses of familiarity there, even when she goes blank as a canvas when asked about her name, her birthplace, and about Red Room's classified secrets.

"Food, water. More," the Winter Soldier grunts, and for once he's unsure if he's said too much or too little. "We'll need to leave soon: can't risk staying in one place too long."

It’s a slow kind of madness, like grains of sand trickling through an hour glass. To not know herself, but to have access to – flashes of preferences and skills. The things she knows without knowing make it all the more frustrating that she can’t find her name, or where she came from. But sure, she can flip a knife in the air and catch it by the handle without looking. What a great comfort that will be if she decides to enter a cooking competition.

Perhaps it would grate on her less if she could figure out the man’s motives, or a likely name for him. The soldier came to her easily enough that she suspects it’s more than background static. He’s obviously finely trained. He obviously knows her.

She meets his eyes, then gets up, crossing the room to unpack the bag. That’s unnerving in its own way – that sort of silent communication isn’t built over night. Even though she’s looking through the contents of the bag, she’s standing at an angle so she can watch his movements reflected in the mirror on the wall.

There’s a moment’s pause after his comment, and she looks up at him. There’s an assessing look in her eye. Thus far, she hasn’t bothered to question his motives. But the more certain she grows in her disorientation from the world, the more it chafes at her. “Disposing of me makes more logical sense than moving me to a second safe location. Unless you want to use me as leverage for something, or you know me personally. Which is it?” She says it with a surety that surprises her, but her easy poker face doesn’t give away even a flicker of it.

In short: more fodder for her to unpack later when she’s alone.

The fact that Natalia has to take a peek herself is...oddly reassuring. Granted, the Natalia he knew would've been more discrete about it - she'd had far more deep cover training than he did, and it showed - but he supposes this is who she is when everything else is stripped away. Thorough, distrusting (good), and efficient.

While she looks inside, he's stripping off his kit. The jacket comes off, followed by the ratty knitted scarf. The gloves are next, revealing the chrome glint of his left hand as it flashes in the dim lighting. His hand stills for a second at what Natalia says next, betraying that very rare, blue moon flash of faint surprise even he's capable of. A tactical assessment of the bag had been expected. Not of her own worth. For a second he'll almost look human from how his eyebrows flicker up from their usual mask-like state.

It takes him a moment to realize this isn't just about her strategic worth.

Natalia, apparently, whats to know the truth. Or at least more than what he's said (not much).

Problem is, he isn't sure what to say. Like this, she's suddenly not classified to know the details of their last mission. But he also hasn't dragged her back to HYDRA, and he isn't sure if he will default to that directive tugging insistently in the back of his mind. His eyebrows knit faintly together. His version, it seems, of a thoughtful frown.

He folds his gloves before carefully setting them down.

"I know you professionally," he says, and he can't make himself admit it was personal, too. His handlers always expressively forbid personal relationships, and if Natalia can't remember, she can't have it weaponized against her if she's interrogated. "Disposing of you would be a waste of your skill sets."

It's the closest thing to an open compliment the Asset can manage right now.

She watches the way his expression changes. It’s the first time she’s seen anything more than studied neutrality and careful distance. In short: it’s interesting, that this is what breaks through. Even though the flicker of his eyebrow is barely a whisper, to her it reads like a shout. It seems some skills are so hard won that they don’t even disappear even when their root is gone.

So. He’s more or less telling her that this is a professional courtesy. Her gut is telling her that he’s lying – or lying in part. The soldier is a practical man. If he says disposing of her would be a waste of her skill sets, then he means it. But that doesn’t unravel a thread so much as a whole ball of yarn.

How hard does she want to tug on the end?

Even on a bad day, Natasha is masterful. She can root out secrets with such casual precision that the person hiding it won’t even feel the pain of it coming loose. But this isn’t a good day, or a bad day: this is just another day of a woman lost in her own mind. Natasha prefers subtle instruments. She prefers answers.

“Then why not bring me back to your superiors? My superiors?” she questions. “Maybe they’ll know what’s wrong with my head.” It’s a pointed question, but a tricky one. Because there’s a whisper at the back of her mind that says if he flipped the question back around on her, if he asked if she wanted to go back...she’d say no.

Why?

The Soldier, without realizing it, has faced Natalia completely now. His full, undivided attention. The one thing that HYDRA has always forbidden. There should always be a part of him thinking about HYDRA, about its wants and punishments and the cryo, always waiting.

Right now, though, he's just staring back at her and it's like seeing her for the first time. The cool stare. The tilt of her chin, as if she isn't afraid of him like he knows most HYDRA personnel are (and they should be). There had always been something somehow...confrontational about Natalia, knowing. Staring him down. The fact that she's doing it even when she's been stripped of her memories is - it's...

He doesn't know what to do with it. He hasn't decided if he wants to submit to HYDRA beckoning in the corner of his mind, reminding him about the orders. About its wish list. About how much better Natalia would perform for HYDRA compared to the Red Room.

The Winter Soldier pauses. The thoughts click away. This long away from his handlers, from freshening up his mental conditioning, and even he can tell that he's not operating at 100%. His lips purse, chapped and wind-bitten, and he isn't the charming, handsome man who introduced himself as "James" long ago. The ghost who might appear in impressions of sight and sound. His eyes lock onto hers as he visibly weighs pros and cons. Tell her the truth. Don't. Take her to HYDRA.

Or don't.

"Because our superiors will over-correct," he says. "You should avoid correction at any cost."

That seems safe. While he hadn't been able to see the deepest of the Red Room's secrets, he had seen enough to make a judgment. If Natalia goes back to the Red Room, she will be tortured and because she was the best produced from their ranks, she will be given plenty of rest and food and water in order to be interrogated again. To be trained. To have any secret thoughts laid bare. To be remade. It's why HYDRA would do, too. That's the problem with being an exceptional asset: you're too valuable to write off as a lost cause.

It’s...interesting, the things that she notices without knowing why. Her eyes skim his face when he turns to look directly at her, and she’s not sure if it’s the first time he’s put all of his attention on her, but it feels both like it is and it isn’t. There’s something almost mechanical about him. He’s all – ruthless efficiency at the expense of all else. His chapped lips, the tired circles under his eyes, the stubble, the unkempt cut of his hair. He is trained within an inch of his life but not well cared for.

She has spent time studying herself in the bathroom mirror. By contrast, she is very well groomed. The clothes she had on, her weapons – they all fit in a way that was comfortable but well maintained. So. What does that say? They have different superiors. Why care for one asset so carefully and use the other like a hammer? Different skill sets only account for so much. He’s so well trained that he must be indispensable. And she clearly is too.

So if they have different superiors, why bother with all of this?

“You’re not telling me everything you know,” she says after a moment as she holds his gaze. Her tone is even. “And I think there’s not a lot of honor in whatever it is we do.” It’s not a hard thing to guess. She keeps him in her peripherals as she crosses the room to open the first aid kit. “But I think you might be someone worth knowing. I’m sorry that I don’t.”

Is it calculated? Maybe a little bit, on some dormant level. But she means it. Extracting a small tub of vaseline from the kit, she turns and tosses it to him. “For your lips.” He’s certainly done enough to help her. If she’s going to take him at his word – that she should avoid correction at any cost – then she might as well try to get comfortable and give him a little more than her distrustful, worrying silence.

Finding out that Natalia has already realized he's less than truthful isn't surprising. It's the second part.

Honor.

Honor isn't even a thought to him. The very idea of it goes against everything HYDRA - and therefore, himself as well - stands for. So she is right, in a way: there isn't honor in what they do (or did) and yet, why should there be? Natalia used to be very at ease with that, at least in their time together. Perhaps this sense of "fairness" was corrected out of her, until now. The look he gives her is flat and silent, and he holds the stare until she breaks it by digging into the first aid kit.

He catches the vaseline tub easily. Plastic clicks against silver fingers. Test of his reflexes, he assumes. There's a small, secret part of him relieved that Natalia remembered to throw it at him. To always poke and pry and see if HYDRA can keep up with the best the Red Room has to offer.

It suddenly occurs to him that she must've pieced out a part of him that will stand out as...distracting to the general population. He'll open the tub and apply the greasy mixture to his lips. The strange this is, he finds that it's almost - almost pleasant. An itch he didn't know he had until now.

"I was your partner in the field," he'll say, eyes down as he screws the vaseline's cap down. "Don't be sorry. Be relieved that I was there and not someone less qualified."

He sets the vaseline down on the nightstand, eyes sweeping back to Natalia.

"Do you want to go back?"

It's a question he's never asked before. A question he shouldn't be able to ask, considering HYDRA's desire to fold Natalia into its ranks. The words feel strange in his mouth, alien and unnatural, and yet they come out anyway.

Edited (typo fixing) 2020-01-15 11:33 (UTC)

Her partner in the field. She wonders how true it is. She wonders if she should be relieved that it was him there and not one of their superiors. Cross-departmental cooperation. They must be a force to be reckoned with if these nameless, faceless figures are willing to work together towards an end. Is it her superiors bad luck, or hers?

She watches his face after he asks his question, silent and cautious. Do you want to go back? The answer is a swift and immediate no, but she knows better than to give it. Whoever she is, suspicion, caution – they’re well worn grooves in her mind. She’s someone that’s used to walking a tightrope. Must be a hell of a way to live.

But it’s also a great way not to die.

The track of her thoughts confuses her. They feel familiar. And the question feels genuine, but it also feels like it could be a test.

“Well,” she says, after a moment. “I’d just as soon figure out who I am.” It’s an answer and it’s not. It can be spun both ways. Maybe she wants to find herself before she goes back. Maybe she never wants to return. Her arms cross, and she gives her head a quick nod. “We should leave soon. And you should comb your hair or put a hat on.” He already sticks out with his arm. Might as well not give people an excuse to look.

She searches his face. For weakness. For answers. The Winter Soldier stares back, without a shred of self-consciousness, expression flat even as his body language opens up for her.

He almost says that she might not have the luxury of figuring that out. By now, there must be teams from the Red Room and HYDRA searching for them.

Protocol says he should stay, delay this until he can make contact with his handlers.

The silence stretches for a bit before he breaks eye contact suddenly and turns away, the gesture almost business-like as if they weren't talking about her future. They will leave and he will follow her advice. They will leave soon and he knows that she can run without sleep or rest for much longer than anyone else he's operated with - she's done it before. The Asset will wander into the bathroom and clean up - a splash of cold water and his fingers working out the tangles kinking in his hair - and when he wanders out, hair tucked neatly behind the ears, he almost looks human again. The hand, always glinting in the room, has been covered with a glove.

"Eat and drink before we leave," he says, and he'll place a small tray in front of her. It's been reheated, the water lukewarm. Even he isn't entirely sure what it is, only that he's had this sort of meal before and the calorie count seemed acceptable: therefore it's good. "We'll leave once you finish."

She busies herself in the room when he disappears into the bathroom. She packs what meagre belongings have been identified as hers. She hides a bottle of water some of the pre-wrapped food in her bag - a safety measure, a just in case. Her eyes flick over him when he returns, but she doesn't comment on his appearance. The lack of comment says it all. It's an improvement. She suspects a night's sleep would go even further, but that's going to be in short supply for both of them.

Sometimes she wonders why she cares. Why the state of this operative with a distant storm in his eyes is any concern of hers. It's the general desire to not get caught, sure. But why should she give a shit if he sleeps or not?

More things about herself that she doesn't know.

There's a moments pause when he slides over the rations try. She eyes it warily and spins it so that it's angled in his direction.

"You first."

She didn't see him prepare it. And if it's been reheated already, it's not tamper proof.

There's a flicker of something inside, like movement out just out of the corner of a dark, cobweb-filled room. Approval? Something else? He studies the feeling for a moment, almost as if he wishes to place it under a microscope, and then nods. If she simply sat down and tucked in, he would've been...disappointed, he thinks, might be the word.

He sits down, pulling the tray closer. Taking the spoon, he samples each portion: most of it seems to be in a halfway point between a liquid and a solid, and the taste is bland. He finishes it with a bite from the slab of something that might've been aiming for bread, but has been condensed into a hard tack. It immediately dries out his mouth, feeling like it soaks up his saliva. He chews, swallows. Washes down the tack with water and relief floods him at the simple pleasure of erasing the meal from his mouth.

Waits a few minutes and then pushes the plate back toward Natalia. (He'll remain sitting right where he is if she wants to continue monitoring him for any side effects).

"You should do something about your hair," he remarks suddenly, taking in the bright fire orange that had drawn his attention the first time he met Natalia. Or the first time he remembers meeting her. Maybe there had been several first meetings. "It stands out."

She watches impassively as he samples the food. It's good that he takes a bite out of everything: she would have been suspicious if he'd left a portion untouched. There's a flicker of something almost - almost - like displeasure after he tries what may be bread and may be a sponge. She decides to skip the sponge.

When he passes the plate her way, she takes it and eats a few bites. Interesting. Everything on the plate tastes the same, despite being a different color. If this is the kind of food she has to look forward to with her superiors, she's now certain that she doesn't want to go back.

There's a pause when he mentions her hair and she reaches up to touch it, almost absent minded. There was nothing in her inventory that would serve to dye it in any way that would fool even a casual passerby. She'll be better off with a tight braid.

"Got a hat I can borrow?" Her eyes flick up to meet his for just a moment, the first time since she started eating. They're not exactly eating together but - there's still something familiar about it. She's going to be driven mad by déjà vu.

Unsurprisingly, he had clearly been watching her the whole time, even as she sampled the rations on by one.

"Of course."

He leans over, unzipping one of the bags and rifling through it before he comes up with a beanie, off-white but the knit material will feel serviceable under her fingers. He holds it out.

"This should do. You rated it personally against the cold." There's a pause, then, as if the Winter Soldier is reviewing his words and he'll realize that he should've made it less personal. The Red Room rated it. HYDRA would've rated it acceptable, too. If he feels more...close than he should to Natalia, he assumes HYDRA will scrub that out if they get their hands on the both of them. So far he remains undecided about contacting his handlers, although he figures it's only a matter of time. HYDRA's top assets are fewer in number than the Red Room's rotating classes of deadly girls - more motivation, then, to retrieve what belongs to them. What could - another thoughtful glance at Natalia - belong to them.

"You should have this as well," he adds. A small knife, neatly sheathed, and clearly taken care of, will thud onto the table as he slides it over. "Show me you can handle it without slitting your own arteries."

No guns. They need to keep their exit quiet and he has to wonder how much of her training she instinctively remembers.

Interesting. She thinks that she’s almost starting to make a map of his tells. It’s challenging, because he truly doesn’t have any. He’s impassive. But sometimes there’s a moment of stillness that’s even what he usually gives. It’s a careful neutrality instead of an easy ingrained one. It means he’s thinking. She doesn’t have the impression that he’s used to doing that. Well. It’s at least a thread for her to tug on.

Part of her wonders how many times she’s made this same study of him. Is this even the first time they’ve gone off script? Is this all a test? Maybe they’re experiments or prisoners locked in an endless loop. Forgetting and remembering and forgetting again.

“It’s not for the cold,” she answers as she takes the hat. She lets it sit on the table as she braids her hair back out of her face. The motions are slow but steady. Her eyes flick down to look at the knife on the table, but she doesn’t pick it up until she’s done with the braid and has it tied off with a rubber band.

Only then does she pick up the knife and remove it from the sheath. It slips easily between her fingers, rolls over a knuckle and then balances there. Even as she does it she’s marveling at it, silently. What else does her body know so instinctively?

One corner of her mouth curls in a smirk. “Don’t be insulting.”

Muscle memory really is something.

From the way his eyes follow the knife playing across her knuckle, it seems as if that isn't new, either. It's expected. Assessing this, he comes to the conclusion that he's seen it before and he may have had a slight sensation of disapproval. Unnecessarily "showy". But further study of this and he realizes that in this case, it's a positive. A sign that the Natalia he knows is alive, in a fashion, even now.

She isn't a blank slate.

His lips press together. Unaware that the corner of his mouth may or may not have twitched up in response, he continues: "Unintended. Good to see that you can handle being armed. Come on."

He gets up to pack the bag and clean up the meal's tray, tying it neatly in a plastic bag to dispose of once they're far away. Ideally they would leave no trace of their presence here. But he doesn't have time to go over the place with a fine-toothed comb, searching for fibers or hairs, or some of the blood that Natalia may have dripped when he carried her inside. Not ideal. But he suspects that HYDRA will have feelers out now that he hasn't responded, and if it isn't them, it might be Natalia's own handlers. They'll go down the list of places they could've stayed. They probably only have a few hours, maybe a day, before they come to this one.

Once they're packed up, the Winter Shoulder will motion that they're to head out. The key is left on the bed and he'll leave the "DO NOT DISTURB" sign hanging on the door knob.

Nine days go by. They move from place to place, holed up in hotel rooms that seem to degrade in quality by the hour. Her mind is still shattered like a mirror, but sometimes – it feels like maybe the pieces are drawing closer together. Like if she can just pick up a shard without cutting her fingers she might be able to hold on to something. Her trust in the soldier grows in fits and starts. It’s risky. But it’s undeniable – if he wanted her dead, she’d be gone and buried a hundred times over by now.

She doesn’t usually fall asleep with him in the room, but it’s been a long day. She’s on top of the covers with her boots on. The knife – her knife – is on the bedside table. Her sleeping is restless – she’s frowning, her limbs twitching and jerking. It’s not a dream, but it feels too true to be a nightmare. She’s handcuffed to a bed before she goes to sleep. She’s strapped to a medical table and sedated. She’s strapped in again – this time to a chair – there’s apparatus all around her head. Sleep, Natalia -

Her hand grabs the knife as she comes awake and bolts upright. Sleep, Natalia. Desperately, she grabs the fragment as she stares at him from across the room. It’s quiet. She can hear her heart pounding and she forces herself to breathe slowly, to regulate it. Without speaking, she stands up and moves to the window, peering out between the slats in the blinds. It’s an automatic gesture. A quick perimeter check. Only -

Sleep, Natalia. She frowns and stares out at the parking lot. All the lights are out. And it’s much too quiet.

“They’re here.”

At some point the Winter Soldier needs more than a few minutes of sleep snatched here and there.

After nine days, his assessment is that Natalia isn't likely to draw a knife on him if he closes his eyes. Nine days would've been plenty to wait for a moment of weakness, if some sort of mental conditioning kicked in - and there have been periods of inattention on his part, more than he would like to admit. By now he believes he trusts her more than his handlers...wherever they are. So they hole up in this room that's got a bed, a chair, and what may technicallyclassify as a bathroom. Blinds instead of thick, light blocking curtains. There are plenty of locks on the door but the door itself is flimsy. Options by now are not optimal. Exhaustion creeping up makes it a little easier to let the unacceptable slide.

He takes up position in the chair, folding his form into it as best he can with one of the spare coats bunched under his head. Sleep takes him. It's numb. A void. Maybe he would've even embraced it, except -

Natalia's hushed whisper cuts through it.

Training kicks in before regret. The Soldier's eyes flare open, glittering in the dark of the room. Pushing aside the pounding of exhaustion, he slides out of the chair in one motion, snapping up the gun he left on the fruit crate substituting for an end table. When Natalia gives her assessment, he takes it for what it is. Truth. A warning. She'd always had a good eye and ear.

The Winter Soldier hisses between his teeth. "Packs on. If we engage, we leave."

He shoulders his pack - ratty but functional, and heavy with kit. A figure darts around the corner of the parking lot, small. Not heavily armed, he thinks, and he wants to say that one is female from the size and gait. Red Room? Surprising. He would've assumed HYDRA would've beaten the Red Room to Natalia.

"One down there, one probably on the roof," he has to pause, call back to what he was permitted to see of the Red Room. "And probably two in the hall. You can defend yourself, yes?"

Too bad Natalia doesn't seem to remember much outside of her training, outside of moments they stole together. Her intel could've helped. Maybe she would know who they're up against. A standard team or four of...well, her.

She turns to watch him as he makes his assessment, her brow furrowed and posture tense. The circumstances aren’t ideal. Are they ever? She suspects not. “I just had a dream where people were calling me by my name. Natalia.” Dream is a bit of a generous term, but she doesn’t want to dive too deeply into it. Time is of the essence. The last few times it happened, it had just been people talking about her. A subtle distinction, but still there – her identity is catching on to firmer hand and footholds. And she doesn’t want to let go.

So, a counter plan. “They’ll be planning like we’re still asleep but will get up and run when they break down the door. Get up on the roof. Take out whoever’s up there. I’ll take care of whoever comes inside. Then we leave.” They’d have to drive fast and hard as soon as they finished to get away, but it might buy them a few minutes of peace. Maybe long enough to make a plan to get out of the country.

When he asked if she could defend herself she paused and looked at him. Her expression was clear and familiar: resigned, but determined to get the job done. “Give me my weapons.” Not the one knife that she’d had by the bedside. She knew there were more. And she knew she was going to need them.

From the slight, unconscious dip of his chin at hearing that name, it seems as if her dream's right. Natalia. Good that she's finally remembered her name. Or at least, that's the alias Red Room gave her, because even the Soldier doesn't know what her birth name may have been. He assumes it was scrubbed away before she was recruited. It isn't important, at any rate. HYDRA doesn't care who she was born as, only who she is now - the new weapon waiting to be molded by proper teachers instead of being wasted carrying out Russia's lesser work. The weapon that he should deliver -

It takes a concentrated effort to cut off those invading thoughts from taking control.

The Winter Soldier moves quickly, aware of Natalia's face walling off like it did all the other times where death was closing in. She had a talent of partitioning it off, better than her peers. She's handed the small backpack that he'd kept close, heavy with another knife, batons and tasers and a pistol.

"Here."

After a final, silent look at Natalia, he eases toward the window. The blinds were drawn and they're old - it feels like a lifetime before he can lift them without rattling. The window itself is rickety and he has to ease it open, listening to the sounds of Natalia arming herself behind him. He glances over his shoulder, as if checking to make sure Natalia is real and functioning, and then he disappears through the window like a ghost, taking the fire escape to the roof.

I wish I could wake up with amnesia

Bucky Barnes | MCU

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Gonna play around with a few things here, lemme now if I should change it

it looks great!

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Can you timeskip us?

absolutely! sorry for my delay, it's been hectic!

understandable!

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Mind if we timeskip the combat part since they're separated? To avoid npcing a lot

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