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A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant	By : TheConstant1944 Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Captain America Views: 2391 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel characters. They are solely owned by Marvel and MCU. No money is made from this story.

Chapter List
- 53
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- 55
Chapter Fifty-Four
Winter Soldier & The Constant - New Duties

It has been twenty-four hours since you saved the Winter Soldier's life. You still feel that it's selfish of you. If they had gone for a head-shot he would be free but it is you that is keeping him here. You forcing him to stay in a life that you know James Barnes would not have wanted.
Why do you always do the wrong thing?
You have been called to Caldwell's office, and when you arrive the Winter Soldier is also there. From the look his secretary gave you when she ushered you in you can tell the two of them have been arguing. The Winter Soldier is not supposed to argue with the director, his handler; he is supposed to obey everything he is told to do. It is clear that he has been out of cryo too long, his programming is breaking down - but from the look on Caldwell's face he doesn’t seem too upset by it.
Caldwell invites you to sit down and does not take long in coming to the point.
“He...” meaning the Winter Soldier, “has asked for you to be trained in certain areas.” His voice is neutral.
You look to the Winter Soldier for guidance but he says nothing. He is studying you, you can't read what is going through his mind.
You clear your throat. “Which areas? I don’t think I understand.”
The Winter Soldier moves in his chair. “You can't even fire a gun,” he says.
“I don’t want to fire a gun,” you say, looking at him.
“You need to learn.” He just glowers at you, and you have both forgotten Caldwell is there too.
“No, I don't.”
“Yes...you do!”
“No, I don’t!”
“Children, children...” Caldwell says, bringing you both back down to earth.
You look at him. “I'm a nurse, not a bloody...soldier.”
That is news to the Winter Soldier - it is not what they told him in programming.
“I want her to learn to drive as well. As I said I think she can be useful...more useful than we currently use her for.”
“What!” You turn back to him. “I don’t need to learn to drive, why would I want to drive? I never leave the base, I never use a car.” You've barely ever been in a car.
“I want you trained up so that if I need you out in the field...”
“Me? I'm not a soldier. Why would you want me out with you?” Then what he said dawns on you.
You both look at each other.
To him, it is simple. “You saved my life. Out of all the soldiers and guards on the base you were the one who protected me.”
You don’t know what to say.
“We were discussing training you so that you can be used as another point of exit on missions,” Caldwell says. It is something that Adam Morton had been talking about for some time now.
He can see your confusion and continues: “Whenever a mission has been completed, the hardest part can be extraction...” you try to interrupt; after all, the Winter Soldier always travels with a team of highly trained soldiers. But Caldwell holds his hand up. “...let me finish. Most of the time, it is a case of getting him in and out of secure facilities, but sometimes the missions take place in public areas...” You don’t want to know what happens. You really don’t want to hear any more but you have no choice. “When a hit has taken place, they are looking for a lone assassin or a group of soldiers. What do you think they will do when they see a car full of Russian men with weapons? Much better that he is in a car with a young woman, as if they are out shopping...or on a date. The world is changing out there, and we need to keep up with it.”
Caldwell is coming to the end of his time as director of the facility and is gearing up to become something far more important. He has plans to move the Winter Soldier maybe to the States under a new handler, a man named Alexander Pierce. Pierce has been under observation and is believed to have potential. When he hands him over, Caldwell wants to show that he has kept up with the project, improved it, covered all bases.
The initial idea of training Freya may have come from Adam and the Winter Soldier, but the more he thinks about it the more he likes the idea.
You don’t know what to say. “But...” you look from Caldwell to the Winter Soldier and then back again. “But I'm...I...wouldn't it be better to have a female soldier? Someone who knows all the…I don’t know...hand-to-hand combat...”
Caldwell leans forward. “Freya, my dear, you underestimate yourself. Don't you realise how innocent you look? How naïve? Tell me, if someone right now was to burst in and attack him what would you do? Hmm? Would you sit there and let them? I don’t think so. I think you would kill them for even thinking of hurting him.”
Caldwell sits back. He knows you, he knows you so well when it comes to the safety of their most valuable asset.
You sit, biting your lip. You can't think of a thing to say. Neither Caldwell or the Winter Soldier are bothered by silences, but you are.
“So, what...what is going to happen?”
Caldwell points at the Winter Soldier. “Starting tomorrow, he is going to teach you how to drive.”
“And shoot,” adds the Winter Soldier.
“What...both at the same time?” you joke because you are feeling so uneasy.
“If necessary,” says the Winter Soldier taking you seriously.
“Whose idea was this?” you ask.
“Both Adam's and his,” Caldwell says. “But I have to say I think its a good one.” Then turning to the Winter Soldier. “You have two more days until you are both back in cryo, get it done.”
He nods.
Two days, you think, two bloody days. He may be the Winter Soldier, but he is not a bloody miracle worker.
*
The Driving Lesson
And so the next day you find yourself in the garage complex looking at some huge black monstrosity with the words Jeep embossed on its hood. You don’t think you will even be able to get into it, yet alone drive it.
“Here,” The Winter Soldier takes down some keys and throws them to you.
You just about catch them.
“I can't drive that...its too...too big.”
“You can and you will.” He waits for you to unlock the doors.
You look around the garage and see a small car tucked away in one corner.
You look back at him. ”That one.” You point to the smaller car and he shakes his head.
In the past you have always let him have his way, but you know now that if you are going to be of any use to him you need him to know your limitations. You are not good with technology, and you are not good with mechanics. He may not know this, but you do.
You toss the keys back to him which he isn't expecting but catches them, fast reflexes.
“That one.” You fold your arms and he frowns at you. Weighing up the look you give him he goes back to the rack and exchanges the keys.
This time he carries them over to you, and together you approach your chosen vehicle.
“I guess it will do for learning,” he says grudgingly.
He has been out of cryo for enough time to start to remember you. His tone of voice and the way he responds to you is beginning to change, and you are relieved. If you had to do these things with him as he is straight after programming you know he would end up killing you. Literally.
He unlocks his door and then passes you the keys. Somehow you get them into the lock and twist. The door pops open. He climbs in on the passenger side and you climb in on the driver's side, immediately intimidated by the dashboard monitors, buttons, and gear stick. Lucky you are tall and you can reach the pedals. You wonder what people do if they are too short to reach them.
You sit, holding the keys. He looks at you and frowns.
“I don’t know what to do. You're the teacher,” you say.
“You put the key in the ignition,” he says simply.
“Great,” you say, “and where's that?”
“What?”
“Where's the ignition thing?” You look along the dashboard, trying to see somewhere to insert a key.
He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you.
You sigh. “Look, lets get one thing straight. I've been in a car maybe three times and one of those was in the boot. I have never driven one. You will need to talk me through it.”
He frowns as you speak; it's as if you are talking a foreign language, one that he doesn’t know.
“Well?” you ask.
He turns and looks out of the window. You can see that he is thinking. Then he looks back at you.
“That is the steering wheel, you use it to steer the car...” he bends forward over you and points “that is the ignition you put the key in, turn and it will start the car.”
“And those things on the floor?”
“Pedals.”
“I can see that! But what do they do?” It's like getting blood out of a stone, you think. He may be a top assassin but he knows sod all about teaching someone to drive.
He indicates them in turn. “That one is the brake. This one you use to put the car in gear...” he taps the gear stick between you. “And the final pedal makes the car go faster.”
Then he sits back and looks out of the front window, waiting for you to start the car.
Taking a deep breath you put the key in the ignition and turn it. Nothing.
“Two clicks,” he says.
You turn it again twice and the car jumps and stalls.
He turns to look at you, frowning again. “You haven’t taken it out of gear.”
Your heart is hammering; you hadn't expected the car to lurch like that. “You didn't tell me to...I don’t even know what you mean!” It is rare for you to lose your temper, and it is even rarer for you to lose it with him but you can see this day ending with him sporting two black eyes if he carries on like this.
“It's simple, you make sure the gear stick...this...” he taps the gear stick “...is in neutral first, then you put your foot on that accelerator peddle and then you turn the key in the ignition.”
You follow what he has said looking at him when the stick won't move and he indicates you press one of the pedals which seems to then allow you to move the gear stick. It pops back into neutral.
You turn the ignition twice and again the car jumps and stalls.
He looks at you.
“Don't blame me, I did what you told me.”
He looks down around the steering wheel and sees a small handle next to the the column. “You need choke,” he says, pointing at it.
“And what is that?”
“You don't need to know what it is, you just need to pull that handle up!” he growls this at you.
You pull it up. You start the car again and this time it works, with coughs and splutters.
“Keep your foot on the…pedal that makes it go faster,” he says. You end up sat with the car idling.
“Now what?”
“You need to drive.” He looks at you. You look at him. “You need to reverse it out of this garage onto the track, and then we can drive,” he adds looking behind him at the huge empty garage floor and giant doors.
“Reverse it?”
“Go backwards.”
You look at him.
“Put the gear stick into reverse and then drive it backwards. It's simple.”
You still look at him and he frowns again. “Put your foot on that peddle again.” You do as he says.
“Press it down. Just a little bit! Okay, now...” He looks at the strange diagram on the top of the gear stick. “Push the gear stick down until it clicks and then move it downwards.”
You do so, but the car is not moving. It seems to be straining against itself and you wonder if it is broken.
“You need to take the handbrake off.”
“The what?”
“The handbrake...this.” He does it for you and the car lurches back fast.
“Brake!” he cries.
You pull at the handbrake.
“No! Not that one!” he yells.
The car stalls just before you hit the big black monstrosity calling itself a Jeep.
He sits with his eyes closed and teeth clenched. He breathes in, opens his eyes, and looks at you. “Look, it's really simple...” he says one word at a time through clenched teeth.
“If you say it is simple one more time I will hurt you,” you say before he gets any further.
He smirks at you. “You couldn't hurt me.”
“You're in combat trousers and a tee shirt with no battle gear...believe me the way I feel, I could hurt you!” you snap, and your expression leaves him in no doubt.
He looks at you for a few seconds then opens his car door. “Out...now!” he says as he exits and you get out too.
He walks around to your side and gets in the driver's seat, having to move it backwards to accommodate him. Even so, he looks cramped.
He looks at you stood next to the door. “Get in the other side.”
You do.
As simple as anything he starts the car, and reverses it out of the garage and onto the track. He stops it leaving it idling in neutral. He gets out and you follow suit, guessing that you are back in the driving seat now.
You both get in and you can't find how to pull the seat forward so you can reach the pedals. He reaches under the seat whilst pushing the back of it and you go forward.
“Thank you.”
He looks at you. “Drive.”
You had watched him as he drove out, trying to take in as much as you could. You put your foot on the pedal that moves the gear stick and try to make sense of the diagram. After a few seconds he takes your hand puts it on the knob and presses the stick into what you think is called first gear.
“Thank you.”
You then put your foot on the pedal that makes it go faster and the engine revs, you take your foot off so it barely touches it, it goes quieter. You take a deep breath and release the hand brake and the car lurches forward and you grab the steering wheel which spins in your hand.
“Brake!” he shouts for the second time today. “Brake! The middle pedal, push it down now!”
You slam your foot on the pedal.
The car stops, both of you nearly going through the windshield. The car is now facing the exact opposite way to where you started.
Just in front of the wall of the garage.
“For God's sake its simp...” he stops mid-word.
You look at him. He is quiet for a few moments, then he gets out of the car again.
“Get out.”
You swap places once more. He drives the car back into the garage and sits there.
You feel hopeless. You want to try and explain that you are no good with machinery or technology of any kind but you are also angry. You can't be programmed to do something, you have to learn the hard way, and this is what you end up saying to him.
He looks at you. “I wasn't programmed to drive,” he says.
“Well, bully for you.”
He studies you. You are close to tears but you don’t want to cry. None of this was your idea.
“Out.”
“I'm not getting in that seat again,” you say.
“Too damn right you're not,” his tone is final.
He gets out, waits for you to get out, locks the doors and goes and puts the keys back. There is no way he can teach you to drive in the time that he has.
He walks off and then realises you are not with him and turns to find you. You are still stood in the garage. You don’t know what to do. Are you supposed to follow him, or has he given up?
He takes a deep breath and walks back to where you are stood. “You're to follow me.”
“Thanks for telling me.” He blinks, and then turns and walks away again. This time, you follow.
It is when you get nearer to the bunker that you realise where you are going.
“Oh great...” you mutter to yourself. “Wasn't able to kill him in the car so now I get to try and shoot him.”
“What?” he asks, turning.
“Nothing,” you say.
This is turning into a brilliant day.
*
The Firing Range Lesson
You have only been in here once before. The only guns you have ever touched were the ones you used yesterday, and the first of those was by accident and you ended up using it as a club instead. The second time it was the Winter Soldier who had his finger on the trigger using yours to depress it.
You have to sign in to say who has used the range, and you look at what he writes.
It is an X. That is what they have reduced him to.
“Put these on.” He hands you a pair of safety glasses.
Then he selects a gun from the cabinet, thinks for a moment, and then changes it for a smaller one.
“Hold out your hand.” He puts the gun in it.
You can't believe how heavy it is as you pick it up and look at it, turning it around. Then you peer down the barrel.
“What are you doing?” he asks in disbelief.
“I'm seeing if it's loaded,” you say.
He looks at the floor as if he is counting to ten, then he looks back at you. “It's not loaded.” he says.
You look at it. “Good.”
“Never...” he says teeth gritted, “ever, look down the barrel even if you don’t think it is loaded and...” He pushes the gun barrel away from where you have it pointed at him. “Never point it at someone unless you are about to shoot them.”
“But it's not loaded. You said so yourself.”
“That's not the point.”
“But if it's not loaded then it's not dangerous,” you say.
He closes his eyes briefly. “Come over here.” He takes you into a type of cubicle. “You see that target at the end?” He points to a poster of a man which is embossed with rings over the torso. “Lift the gun up using both hands, and line the barrel up with the centre of it.” You do.
He then moves behind you, close to you and extends his arms along yours, slightly altering your line of sight. “Now, feel how it sits in your hand and grip it hard...” you can't help but burst out laughing. He has his body pressed so tightly to yours you can't take the sentence seriously and you lower the gun.
“What are you laughing at?” he asks, puzzled.
You look at him and shake your head, still laughing. “If you don’t know what I'm not telling you.” You are naïve in a lot of ways, sheltered even, but living and working around soldiers you have heard enough innuendo to last you a lifetime.
But this is the Winter Soldier, he is serious and he genuinely doesn’t know what you are laughing at. He is frowning again so you lift the gun and he comes back behind you, kicking your feet apart slightly more. Then with his hands on your arms he helps you line it up.
At last, something you are able to do. “When you press the trigger the gun will buck back slightly. This is called recoil and it changes from gun to gun so you need to find one you are comfortable with and stick to it. We'll try several types to see how they feel in your hands before you shoot anything.”
You try three of them but you are happiest with the first one he chose, so you tell him you will stick with that one.
“Now. I'm going to load the gun, and you are going to shoot the target.” He takes the weapon and adds the bullets.
He hesitates slightly when he hands it back to you.
“Always keep it pointed at the floor.” You point it at the floor and he hastily steps back.
“The floor, not my feet!”
“Sorry.”
He stands behind you again in the cubicle and helps you line your sights up. You love the way he is so close to you, the way his strong fingers curl around the yours...and you find it distracting.
“I'll help you control the gun for the first shot.” It is lucky he does so; you are not expecting such a recoil or noise when you fire it. He has forgotten to give you ear defenders and your ears ring within the close confines of the cubicle.
With his help, the bullet almost scored a direct hit.
“Your turn, but wait a moment.” He disappears and comes back with two sets of ear defenders. He places one set over your ears and then puts the second set over his.
“See how simple it is? You can try it on your own now,” he says, loudly. You are a little disappointed as you would love him to hold you again but you do as he says. You stand feet apart, line up the target, and fire.
And even the highly-trained Winter Soldier cannot work out where the bullet went.
“But it was simple, all you had to do was...”
He looks at you and you see alarm in his face. “Don't point it at your feet!” he cries.
“I didn't!”
“Yes you did!”
“No I did not,” you emphasise the did not.
“You...”
That is as far as you let him get.
You gently lay the gun down on the shelf next to the ear defenders and then remove the safety glasses.
“Put those back on.”
“No.”
“Put those back on. I want you to try again.” He scowls at you. You look at him.
“What you want and what you get are two different things. I'm going to lunch.” You walk away.
You are not hungry, but you need to get as far away as possible from this confrontation. You feel sick, as though you can't do anything right. All the way back you argue with yourself. You are a nurse, not a soldier, you save lives not take them. Then you think back to the men you killed yesterday: you clubbed one to death, you didn't just shoot him, you continually hit him until he was nothing, until he was of no danger to the Winter Soldier.
And then the age old question that haunts you. What have they turned you into?
He gets back to your room half an hour later and you can see he is annoyed. You put food in front of him and you both eat quietly.
“You are coming back to the range this afternoon,” he says in a tone that brooks no argument.
You are quiet for a moment. “All right, if you want. But first I need you to do something. It will take half an hour, and then I'm all yours,” you say.
He looks at you and nods.
You disappear for ten minutes and when you come back you are holding a medical kit. You pull up two chairs opposite each other and next to the table, and you ask him to sit in one of them. Then you hand him the kit.
“I want you to take my blood,” you say.
He frowns. “Why? Are you sick?” He looks down into the kit and you can see he has no idea where to begin.
“I'll tell you why afterwards. Which arm do you want?” You hold out both and you can see he is confused.
But after looking at both your arms he taps your right one.
“Okay, we'll do the right,” you say.
He puts the kit on the table and goes to take something out of it.
“Have you washed your hands?” you ask.
“No.”
“Well you need to do that first.” He goes and washes his hands at the sink.
He is more confident now as he remembers the times he has had blood taken from him, it is more than a regular occurrence.
It's simple. He can do this. He rubs the inside of your elbow with some dry cotton wool.
“You need to use the swab, not the cotton wool.”
He looks into the kit and holds up a wipe and you nod. He opens it and swabs your arm.
Next he picks up the needle and you shake your head. He puts it back down.
He picks up the tourniquet and you nod and then he fastens it to your arm tightly, so tight it is nipping your skin and you shake your head. He loosens it and now it slips down.
He tries again. He gets it right, more or less. He picks up the syringe and you shake your head.
“Swab.”
“But I just did.”
“I know, but you need to do it now, not then, and don't forget to put gloves on,” you nod to the gloves in the kit.
He opens a set and puts them on, then re-swabs your arm. You can see he is growing mildly annoyed.
You know this is going to hurt.
He picks up the needle and syringe and without any help makes a good job of screwing the needle into the syringe.
Just like a silencer on a gun, you think.
Then he takes your arm. He has seen the doctors pat the arm so he does but he has no idea why and then he just pushes the needle into the middle of your arm.
“Jesus!” you jump, yelping.
He removes it. A bead of blood drops onto your knee. You look him in the eye.
“It's simple! You put it in a vein to take blood! You don't just stick it anywhere.”
He glowers at you then tries again, this time he puts it straight through a vein and you yelp again. You can't help it; it bloody well hurts.
But you hold back your temper. “Here. Let me show you,” you say sweetly.
You get your other arm ready, swab the arm, tap it, hold the vein and gently push the needle in bevel side up.
Then you take it out again.
You give him back your other arm which is now showing signs of bruising. “Now you do it.”
He tries to do it but he can't find the vein so you guide his hand until finally the needle is in.
He looks at you and you smile. “Okay, take some blood.”
He looks at the needle and back at the box and picks up the bottle. Whilst he is doing that the needle slips out of the vein and blood trickles down your arm.
He looks back and realises and without stopping just jabs it back into you again.
You feel like a pin cushion. You yelp. He sits back.
“I don't know why you want me to do this. I don't need to know it. Why don't you just do it yourself if you need blood taken?” he growls, frustrated. He doesn't realise what you are trying to do.
You remove the tourniquets and show him your arms. The one you used has no mark, the one he used is now covered in a large unsightly bruise which is getting worse and there is blood still trickling down your forearm, which throbs.
“I'm a nurse. I know how to take blood. You are a soldier, so you don't. You know how to fire a gun because you are a soldier. I'm not a soldier.”
You can see him working it out in his head. He dry washes his face.
“Do you understand?” you ask. He studies you, and then nods.
You get up and pack away the kit throwing away the used items. He is still sat watching you.
“So?” you say. “Off to the gun range?”
He shakes his head “No.” Then he gets up, picks up his jacket and leaves without another word.
You think you may have upset him. You haven't.
You don't see him for the rest of the day and when he returns he doesn't say any more about your lessons so you guess that it is a subject that has been dropped.
Right up until the next morning.
You don't know why but you are to follow him and when you get to where you are going you are more confused. The three members of his team are there. You know Adam well, but the other two are new. You know their names: Abram Fyodorov and Marat Volkov. Both Rodion and Viktor no longer travel with the Winter Soldier mission team, but they still teach here on the camp. New, younger blood has been brought in.
“Abram he is going to teach you how to drive. Marat is going to teach you how to shoot. And Adam is going to instruct you in hand-to-hand combat.”
He says it so simply. You smile at each of them whilst your stomach drops. “But...” you start to say.
He holds a hand up, and then thanks and dismisses his men. When you are by yourselves he leads you over to a seat.
“I'm going back into cryo and you will follow only when you are proficient. It doesn't matter how long it takes but you are going to learn.”
He is firm.
He hasn't told her and next time he won't remember but he doesn't just want her there to protect him, he wants her to be able to protect herself. By being part of his team she will become more than just the whore they tell him she is. He feels somewhere in his past he has had someone else watching his back, and that it is a good thing. He knows already that she watches his but this way he knows he will watch hers even when he doesn't know who she really is.
Then he leans forward and kisses your forehead. “I want you safe,” he murmurs.
*
It takes them three months of intensive training and a lot of patience on their part. At the end of it they would trust you with their lives, but more importantly they would trust you with the life of the Winter Soldier. They agree on one thing, it is obvious you were not born to be a soldier, it does not come naturally to you but you know enough now. You will only be there on some missions as an exit point. You will not know any details of the missions, who he is to kill, why, nothing but the fact you are there to give him an extra safety net.
You can now handle most of the simple situations that may arise.
He will be safe. And more importantly to him, you will be as well.
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A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant