Chapter Text
For the first 12 hours of James Barnes's life, everything was normal. In fact his parents would say everything was normal until he was three days and two hours old. For the first 73 hours of his life, he was mostly happy, healthy, and his soulmark on the inside of his right forearm had disappeared shortly after the 12 hour mark. Then, when his mother changed his diaper at the 74 hour mark, words bloomed across his left shoulder then disappeared 10 hours later. The Barneses looked into it but couldn't find anything about marks appearing hours after birth. It was rare to have more than one mark, so much so that the book was mostly speculation and anecdotal but not a lot of fact. They decided if he ever asked, they would tell him they figured he would lose his first soulmate but would get lucky to have another though they agreed not to tell him the circumstances surrounding that second soul mark.
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Sarah Rogers on the other hand promised herself and her husband that they would never hide anything from their son. It became especially true to her once her husband died and once she saw sickly their baby boy was when he was born two months after Joseph's death. Her hope was that when he heard he'd meet his first soulmate at 11 and his second at 93 he'd have a reason to pull through and outlive what the doctors predicted would be a very short life. Sarah wondered why he'd meet a soulmate at 93 years old, but at least it meant her baby was going to live a very long life. She too worried about why their baby's second soulmark had appeared at 73 hours after his birth, but like the Barneses, she decided to not worry about it and enjoy her child while she could.
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Amy only believed a couple of things scientists said about soulmates by the time she was old enough to understand what they actually were. First, that the words written on your body were the first words your soulmate would ever say to you. Second, that the location of those words were approximately where your soulmate was looking when they said those words. And third, that the number of hours those words stayed visible to everyone after birth was the number of years it would take before she would meet her soulmate and they'd say those words. While you would always be able to see your own soulmark, no one else could see it after it faded until your soulmate said those words.
The one thing she didn't believe that most others did, was that soulmates were one soul in two bodies. Instead she believed that soulmates were like a well-made suit. That, while any pair of pants fit and would look good with a lot of jackets, there was only one, the matching jacket, that would accentuate everything. Only one person out there that would match you the best.
In 1991, there were a lot of books on soulmates, soulmarks, and what to look for. Amy's maternal grandmother had read most of them by the time her only grandchild was born, but none of that prepared her or her husband for the oddity of their granddaughter's mark. Their daughter's had been just like every other one they had seen, dark and clear. Their granddaughter's on the other hand, those three words on her chest, looked more grey than black and it reminded Grace of when she was a kid and would draw pictures in frost-covered windows during the winter. When she brought it up to her husband, Tim, he agreed and admitted he didn't understand it either. Their daughter, Amy's mom, Beth, just brushed it off and said her baby girl was special. Grace and Tim were lucky enough that their daughter and her husband let them stay for a while after Amy's birth. That meant that they were there 21 hours after Amy's birth when the mark darkened to look like the rest of the soulmarks they had seen. An hour later, the mark disappeared completely. Their concerns remained in the back of their minds but they tried not to let it come into play in their relationship with their granddaughter.
Then one night, shortly after Amy's fifth birthday in March of 1996, their concerns about her soulmark vanished when she did. One could not explain the panic in their daughter's voice when she called them and Grace, for one, did not ever want to hear it again. Tim would agree with his wife, if he could ever get past blaming himself. Grace talked him down after the Boston Police left their place, but wasn't sure how much it had helped, so she called a couple of his old war buddies down to help out. They also spoke with him, letting him know it wasn't his fault and that they'd do everything in their power to help find the little girl. What it actually took was a phone call to a friend in a high place, a new federal law Tim worked to help push through, and five very long years.
"Hi there, sweetie. My name is Clint; do you know what yours is?" Clint looked away from the little girl in front of him to the dirty room around them, no bigger than a walk-in closet. He had been in rat-infested cells bigger than this one. This cell was barely big enough for the rusted, metal cot the girl was cowering on. All the girl was wearing was what looked like a hospital gown or an old nightgown that was both ragged and as thin as the blanket over her lap. That's when Clint noticed there was a trail of red running down her left arm and she was watching him closely. He crouched at the end of the cot trying to make himself smaller and not as threatening looking, keeping his gun pointed at the floor.
"K—K—Kobik," she whispered.
"No, sweetie, the real one, not the one they call you."
"Amy," she said softly. It was almost as if she was afraid to say her real name.
"Would you like to go home?"
"This—this is home."
"It's okay, kiddo; I'm not going to hurt you." He slid his pistol back into its holster then held his hands up. "I just want to take you back home to your family."
She stared at him for the longest time her eyes narrowed at his face as though she was trying to figure something out. Finally, one word slipped from her lips. "Pop-Pop?"
"Your grandfather? Yeah, he sent me to get you." She crawled towards him on the cot and he backed off. When she reached the end she climbed off and stood in front of him, her pale, bare feet standing out against what he was sure was cold concrete. She blinked at him causing him to wonder about her treatment at this base but the voice on the other end of the comm line was telling him they needed to go. Clint stood and offered her his hand which she took skeptically, but followed him down the hall as he pulled his pistol back out. He was pretty sure he had taken out every agent he had come across to get to the little girl but there was always the chance backup was coming for him. He turned to go left towards the exit but the little girl planted her feet and pulled on his hand. "No, not without Soldat. If we're going home he comes too. They're mean to him. I can't—I won't leave without him," she cried.
"Okay, quickly," Clint agreed. He could see a passion in her eyes, that and a will not to leave without whoever "Soldat" was and he wasn't going to make her. His bosses would probably be angry about it but there was a chance they could break and flip this Soldat, which he knew was Russian for Soldier, and get more information about either the girl or the plans they had for her. She pulled him down three more hallways to another cage door. When there, she released his hand and pulled on the door but Clint could tell it was locked. "There's no key," he warned her softly.
"Soldat, can you open the door? We have to go," Amy asked.
"They'll come for me later," a soft voice from inside said.
"No, we have to go now. Open the door." A silver hand reached through the bars and pulled them inward. The door was ripped from its hinges then dropped and Amy reached up to the man who stepped out. He looked down at her then picked her up. She pressed her hands to his temples and after a moment he shifted her to his back. That's when Clint got a good look at the man. His uniform was nearly all black from his cargo pants to the jacket and shirt and the black mask across the lower half of the man's face. The only thing that really stood out, other than the bright blue eyes staring at him, was his left arm because it was entirely silver. If Clint didn't know any better he'd say it was made of metal. Then the man's blue eyes narrowed at Clint until Amy's hand pressed against his neck. Clint saw that somehow her little hand had worked between where the mask sat and where his shirt started as it covered almost his entire neck. Her other hand wound into what Clint now realized were straps on the man's uniform, almost like a straight jacket. The man suddenly blinked and brushed past Clint making his way down the hall. "Come, Clint," Amy told him.
Clint followed closely keeping his eyes and ears open for the rest of his team and any guards that would stop them. On the third turn, they ran into a guard, but before Clint could say anything, the man in front of him punched the guard out cold.
"The gun, Soldat, just in case," Amy said softly. The man nodded and grabbed the guard's gun then his knife as well before moving on. They took out four more guards before they came across a blond man holding some file folders.
"He's with us," Clint told them. Soldat lowered his weapon then moved on.
"So?" the blond asked, joining them.
"She says her name is Amy but she wouldn't leave without him. Calls him Soldat. It's Russian for soldier. Did you get the information?"
"Every file they had on Operation Kobik," he answered, tapping the files in his hands.
"Never let it be said that Coulson doesn't know his way around a field op," Clint said.
"Orders?" Soldat asked outside the facility.
"Car. Ten yards. Get the girl in the back seat," Coulson said.
Soldat nodded and put her in the back seat. He stepped back but she grabbed his hand. Coulson and Clint didn't hear her say anything but Soldat stepped forward and slid in next to her. What they didn't know was when he took her hand an image of a little, blond kid flashed in his mind along with the words 'Protect the child at all costs.' He wasn't sure if it was a memory but it was enough to drive him to not let the little girl out of his sight. Clint slid in on the other and Coulson took the front passenger seat. The driver took off as six other vehicles pulled up.
"When can I see Pop-Pop?" Amy asked, looking at Clint.
"Soon as the doctors are done. We just want to make sure you're okay," Clint said softly.
"No more pokeys please," she whined leaning into Soldat. Tears built in her eyes, her face crumpled, and she gave him the classic 'I don't want to' face.
"I promise, we'll do our best not to hurt you like they did," Clint tried to pacify her.
Amy's lip trembled but then something shifted. She blinked back tears, sniffled, then nodded. "Okay," she agreed.
Clint watched the little girl all the way to the clinic. She sat stoically, her hand wrapped around Soldat's. Not one tear rolled down her face. That worried Clint more than anything else he had seen in the last 20 or so minutes. He had seen that before. Survivors of abuse shut down, put on a brave face to stave off any further abuse and he knew that her childhood had been rough. Instead of saying anything, he just continued to watch her.
They arrived at the clinic to see two doctors standing out front with a gurney between them. "Soldat stays." Amy demanded when she saw the doctors. Then she flinched. "If that's okay," she added in a much softer voice. It was almost as if she was expecting to get hit and she probably was. He knew her captors had kept her for five years and had probably abused her.
"That's fine," Coulson said. Everyone exited the car and once again Soldat carried Amy. This time though it was in his arms instead of on his back. As he set her down on the gurney, she took his hand and he nodded to the doctor. They wheeled her into a private room and began the exam. Throughout it all, Amy kept a tight grip on Soldat's hand as he tried to stay out of the doctors' way and keep an eye on the door and both Clint and Coulson.
"Okay, can you take the nightgown off?" The doctor asked. Amy nodded and released Soldat's hand to pull the nightgown over her head.
"Doc," Clint warned. Amy looked at him as she lowered the shirt to her lap. While there was little chance of the doctor doing anything other than a physical examination of the child, Clint still knew it was a child and didn't want her exposed and more traumatized than she already was.
"I just want to make sure she's okay," the doctor answered. "I can't do a thorough examination with her wearing it. If you're uncomfortable you can step out."
"No way in hell," Clint nearly growled. He wasn't going to leave this child now that he had eyes on her. Coulson looked at his agent with a warning. He knew that the agent was one of the best and usually got the job done but he also had a soft heart and was willing to protect those he saw himself in but sometimes he needed to be reminded to stay focused.
"Agent Barton, get control of yourself. This man is a professional." Coulson warned.
"So were the men who did this to her."
The little girl spoke up softly. "I'm okay. Soldat won't let them hurt me unless you say so. Sometimes it has to hurt," Amy said.
"It should never hurt. Doctors are supposed to help, not hurt," Clint told her.
"Oh dear God!" The doctor exclaimed. "What happened here?"
Both Clint and Coulson looked past the doctor to see most of Amy's torso littered with bruises in various stages. "I couldn't stop Soldat," Amy answered. She stared down at the shirt in her lap, her face falling into a frown.
"He did this to you?" Coulson asked. Clint's hand instantly moved to his pistol in its holster.
"No. No," she instantly protested. Then she quieted down again. "They did. When I couldn't stop him. Said I was a bad girl and needed to learn. Soldat tried not to hurt me," she explained. She grabbed the soldier's hand again as she looked up at him. He glanced down but only briefly then went back to watching the pair by the door.
"I'd like to get X-rays of her ribs to make sure nothing is broken then clean and bandage the arm. It appears there is some kind of injury to her shoulder."
Amy's head shot up, her eyes going wide, and her hand came up and covered her upper left arm. "I not hurt. I okay," she said.
"Will you please show the doctor?" Clint asked gently.
"Yes, sir," Amy lowered her hand and reluctantly let go of Soldat's hand. He moved his hand to her right shoulder and rubbed his thumb across her back. The doctor turned her a bit and grabbed a couple wipes to wipe all the dried blood from her arm. Once the arm was clean the doctor, Coulson, and Clint all stared at the star engraved into her skin.
"Did they do that to you too?" The doctor asked.
"Soldat didn't mean it. They made him do it," Amy whimpered. She pulled away from the doctor and scrambled back to Soldat. He wrapped an arm around her as she stood on the bed in front of him.
That's when they noticed the girl wasn't wearing anything at all as her shirt had dropped to the ground when she stood. "What did you say happened to her?" the doctor asked. His eyes were suspiciously flicking back and forth between the two agents. The girl seemed to trust them and he knew they said they were from some government agency but this girl was showing signs of abuse and neglect and the doctor was required to report it as soon as he got more information.
"We didn't," Coulson answered. It was silent for a moment then the doctor nodded. He could see he wasn't going to get more information from them so his best bet was to keep everything calm and go back to treating the patient.
"I'm sorry," the doctor told them. He turned back to the little girl and tried to offer her some comfort. It was the least he could do in front of three armed men. "Little miss, will you sit back down? I promise I don't blame him for anything. I want to make sure you're okay."
Amy looked up at Soldat who nodded so she sat down. The doctor placed a sheet over her lap and continued his examination. Coulson took a few steps forward and crouched a bit to look in her eyes. "Amy, why aren't you wearing underwear?" he asked gently. The last thing he wanted to do is frighten her.
"I'm a bad girl. I got them wet and I supposed to keep them clean and dry." Amy pouted.
"And the nightgown?" Coulson prodded.
"They don't give me anything else. When can I see Pop-Pop? He's a 'mando, you know. I wanna go home. I promise I'll be good."
"Soon, sweetie," Clint said.
"What's a 'mando?" the doctor asked.
Amy gasped then bit her lip as she whimpered. Clint realized that the captors had probably punished her when she talked about home. "We're not mad; no one's going to punish you. Can you answer the doctor?" Clint said as Coulson backed away from her.
"A Howling 'Mando. From the war. You know, they fought with Cap. Cap and his Howling 'Mandos," Amy explained.
"You mean Commandos? The Howling Commandos?" Clint asked. He knew that the orders to rescue this girl had come from the very top but he hadn't realized why it had been on a need to know basis. That wasn't part of his need to know.
"Uh huh," Amy agreed.
"I see," the doctor said. He glanced at the two agents by the door as things began to fall into place. "Will you lay back for me?" Amy took a deep breath but lay down and took Soldat's hand again.
"Do they hurt you down there too?" Clint asked. Amy's hand tightened around Soldat's, her eyes shut, and face scrunched up as though in pain or bracing herself for it. It was another sign that she had been hurt in that position. Clint's mind begged for him not to be right. She was just a little girl; she didn't need to be hurt in that way too.
Her answer cut off his spiraling thoughts. "Only with the pokeys."
"Pokeys?" Clint asked.
"Yeah. Doctor says it has to hurt or it's not working."
"What do they poke you with?" Coulson asked.
"Pokeys with magic juice."
"Like a needle?" Amy opened her eyes to look at him confused.
"One of these?" The doctor held up a packaged syringe drawing her attention. The little girl flinched away from it. "Okay, no needles. I'm done with most of the exam I just need x-rays." The doctor looked at Coulson and Clint then at the Soldat. Finally, he looked at the little girl. "A nurse will be in to get you dressed for the x-ray. It's just a couple of pictures. It doesn't hurt, I promise. If it does, I'm doing it wrong."
"Can Soldat stay?" Amy asked.
"Only until we have to take the pictures. No one else can be in the room at the time," the doctor explained.
Amy looked away, a soft whimper slipping out. "Soldat can be right outside the door and as soon as the doctor is done,'' Clint said.
"Okay," she answered. The nurse dressed her then wheeled her down the hall to the x-ray room.