as you guys can see, blue eyes!!  The amount I mentioned blue eyes in this chapter is all part of the plan 🫡

Tw: BURNING. FUCK U IRINA

BY THE WAY, we're back to the old man!!

October 17th 2003

"I WANT TO SEE THE BABY!" Soldat's words pierced through the hallway. "I want to see my baby!" Shouted Soldat.

Bucky Barnes, known to HYDRA as the Winter Soldier, paced the cold, dimly lit confines of his cell. His mind was a tangled mess of fragmented memories and a gnawing desperation he couldn't shake. His instincts screamed that something vital was missing, something more important than any mission he had ever been given.

His words were met with silence at first, the only response the distant hum of machinery. He felt like an animal trapped in a cage, his enhanced strength useless against the emotional torment tearing at his heart. Every fiber of his being ached with the need to see her, to know she was safe.

The old man finally appeared at the end of the hallway, flanked by a pair of stoic guards. His expression was as unreadable as ever, a mask of cold calculation. He approached Bucky's cell, the heavy steel door sliding open with a hiss.

"You want to see the baby?" the old man said, his voice a chilling calm. "Very well. Bring it."

One of the guards disappeared down the corridor, and Bucky's heart pounded in his chest. Moments later, the guard returned, cradling a small bundle wrapped in a soft, white blanket. The sight of the tiny infant made Bucky's breath catch in his throat.

The guard handed the baby to the old man, who stepped into the cell and extended the child towards Bucky. With trembling hands, Bucky took her, holding her gently but securely. Then way he grabbed her was desperate, like he craved it, craved to even look at his baby again.

The baby's blue eyes blinked up at him, wide and curious, the exact same shade as his own, she looked like him actually, a lot like him.

Those blue eyes, so pure and innocent, seemed to pierce through the fog in his mind, grounding him in a way he hadn't felt in years. He traced a finger over her delicate features, his heart swelling with an unfamiliar but profound sense of love and protectiveness.

Blue eyes baby
Blue eyes baby
Blue eyes baby
Blue eyes baby
Blue eyes baby

"She's beautiful," Bucky whispered, tears welling in his eyes.

For a moment, the world outside the cell ceased to exist. There was only Bucky and his daughter, connected by a bond that transcended the walls of their prison. He felt a glimmer of hope, a fleeting sense that maybe, just maybe, they could find a way out together.

The old man watched this tender exchange with a detached interest. He allowed the moment to linger, then took a step forward. "Time's up, Soldier. Hand her back."

Bucky's grip tightened instinctively. "No, please. Just a little longer."

The old man's expression hardened. "Now, Soldat."

Reluctantly, Bucky handed his daughter back to the old man, his heart breaking as she was taken from his arms. He felt as if a part of him was being ripped away, a pain deeper than any physical wound. He hoped if he just listened, maybe they would let him see her again.

The old man cradled the baby with an eerie gentleness, then turned to one of the guards. "Prepare him for reprogramming."

He knew.

"No!" Bucky lunged forward, but the guards restrained him, their grip like iron.

"Memory wipe, but leave enough to maintain functionality," the old man ordered. "We need him to remember just enough to obey."

The guards dragged Bucky to the reprogramming chamber, his mind reeling. They strapped him into the chair, securing his limbs as he struggled.

"I'll won't forget her!" Bucky shouted, his voice filled with a desperate defiance. "You can't make me forget!"

The old man's cold eyes met his. "We shall see."

A technician activated the machine, and a searing pain shot through Bucky's head. His vision blurred as the device did its work, erasing the precious memories he had fought so hard to cling to. He tried to focus on those blue eyes, her innocent gaze that mirrored his own, but the pain was overwhelming.

As the process neared its end, a sliver of awareness remained. He could still see her eyes, a faint echo in the depths of his mind. The old man had been careful, not erasing everything, but leaving just enough to keep Bucky compliant and controlled.

When it was over, Bucky was left slumped in the chair, his mind a fractured landscape of disjointed thoughts. He felt the loss acutely, even if he couldn't fully remember what he had lost. The image of those blue eyes, however, persisted, haunting him.

He could still see the eyes, nothing else, but the eyes. Those eyes.

The old man leaned in close, his voice a whisper that cut through the fog. "You belong to us, Soldier. Remember that."

Bucky was escorted back to his cell, the steel door clanging shut behind him. He sat on the cold floor, staring blankly at the wall, feeling an emptiness that words couldn't describe. Somewhere deep inside, he knew he had once held something precious, something worth fighting for. And though his memories were shattered, the echo of those blue eyes remained, a silent promise that he would never truly be broken.

WHEN SEVEN WAS TAKEN, she didn't eat, didn't sleep, didn't cry, didn't talk, didn't listen, didn't do anything. Her papa had forgotten her. He didn't know her.

But two long year passed, two. She was eight. Her once long blonde hair had been cut shoulder length for her training. The training she went through everyday for the past year and a half.

She had a new trainer, her name a Irina.

She hated Irina. She missed her papa training her. He wouldn't hurt her.

Irina was a tall middle aged woman, dark hair that was always pulled into a bun, a woman who would burn the hell out of Seven if she so much as messed up a little bit.

Scars.

So many scars.

Mostly in her arms, some on her neck, her back, her legs, her hands. She blamed herself when she should be blaming Irina. Irina.

Seven stood in the training room, her small frame tense with anticipation. Irina circled her like a predator, eyes cold and calculating. "Ready position," Irina barked.

Seven snapped into position, her body rigid with fear and discipline. Irina moved closer, examining her form with a critical eye. "Sloppy," she sneered, striking Seven's arm with a thin rod. The pain was immediate, but Seven didn't flinch. She had learned long ago that showing pain only made things worse.

"Again!" Irina commanded. Seven reset her stance, trying to remember the movements that her papa had taught her. His training had been tough but compassionate, focused on skill and improvement. Irina's training was about survival and submission.

For hours, they went through drills—hand-to-hand combat, weapons training, endurance exercises. Each time Seven faltered, Irina was there with her rod, her words cutting deeper than any blow. "You are weak," Irina spat, striking Seven's leg. "Do you think your enemies will go easy on you because you are a child? Pathetic."

Sweat poured down Seven's face, mixing with the blood from fresh cuts. Her breath came in ragged gasps, but she refused to give up. She couldn't afford to.

Irina forced her through a particularly brutal series of kicks and punches, pushing her to the brink of collapse. Seven's limbs felt like lead, her vision blurred from exhaustion and pain. As she executed the last move, she stumbled and fell to the ground, gasping for air.

Irina loomed over her, a look of disdain on her face. "Pathetic," she repeated, striking Seven across the back. The pain was excruciating, but Seven bit her lip, refusing to cry out.

"You will learn," Irina said coldly, kneeling down to grab Seven by the chin. "Or you will die. And no one will care."

Seven met Irina's gaze with a defiance that surprised even her. "I will learn," she said through gritted teeth. "But I will never be like you."

Irina's expression darkened, and she stood, motioning to the guards at the edge of the room. "Take her to her cell. No food tonight."

The guards hauled Seven to her feet and dragged her down the dimly lit corridors, her body aching with every step. They threw her into her small, barren cell, the door slamming shut behind her. She lay on the cold floor, curling into a ball as the pain and fatigue washed over her.

In the darkness, Seven allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. She touched the locket she had hidden beneath her shirt, the one thing she had managed to keep—a small photo of her and Bucky, taken during a rare moment of peace. She traced his face with her finger, tears silently falling.

SEVEN SAT IN HER CELL, her back against the cold wall, hugging her knees to her chest. She had grown accustomed to the harshness of the HYDRA base, but it never ceased to chill her to the bone. The sound of footsteps approaching made her tense, and she quickly stood up, ready for whatever might come.

The door swung open, and the old man entered, his presence commanding and terrifying. His face was a mask of cold calculation, and his eyes, like ice, held no warmth. He regarded Seven with a scrutinizing gaze before speaking.

"Seven," he began, his voice as cold as the cell itself, "we have decided that you will be accompanying the Winter Soldier on his missions from now on."

Seven's heart skipped a beat. Her papa. She hadn't seen him in two years, not since they had taken her from him and erased her from his memory. A mixture of fear and hope surged through her. Would he recognize her? Would he remember?

The old man continued, his tone devoid of any sympathy. "He does not remember you, but you will be reintroduced. Your skills will be useful, and your presence will ensure his compliance."

Seven nodded, keeping her emotions in check. She had to be strong. For herself, and for her papa.

The journey to her new quarters felt surreal. The guards led her through the labyrinthine corridors, finally stopping at a familiar door. They pushed her inside, and the door closed behind her with a finality that echoed in the room.

Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, stood in the middle of the room, his posture tense and alert. His eyes, cold and detached, scanned the room before landing on Seven. For a moment, there was no recognition, only the gaze of a hardened soldier assessing a potential threat.

The guards nudged Seven inside and the door closed behind her with a resounding clang. Bucky turned, his expression indifferent, not recognizing her. He studied her briefly, his eyes void of any memory of the child he once held dear.

"You must be the new trainee," he said flatly. "Do as I say, and we'll get through this."

Seven's heart ached at his words, but she swallowed her pain, stepping further into the room. "Yes, sir," she replied quietly.

Please remember me.

THE FIRST FEW DAYS after Seven was moved back into Bucky's quarters, their interactions were strictly professional. The memories HYDRA had wiped from Bucky's mind left him unable to recognize the little girl who was once the center of his world. To him, she was just another trainee, albeit a remarkably skilled one for her age.

Seven stood at attention as Bucky paced in front of her, his expression stern and unreadable. "We'll start with basic hand-to-hand combat," he said, his tone cold. "Follow my lead."

They spent hours going through drills. Bucky demonstrated each move with precision, and Seven mimicked him perfectly, her body moving with the fluidity and speed of someone who had been training for years.

"Good form," Bucky acknowledged curtly, giving her a rare nod of approval. "Keep it up."

Seven's heart ached at his impersonal words, but she kept her face neutral, determined to prove herself.

The next day they moved on to weapons training. Bucky handed her a knife, its blade glinting under the harsh lights. "Show me what you can do."

Seven went through a series of intricate moves, the knife an extension of her arm. Bucky watched her with a critical eye, noting her precision and control.

"Not bad," he said as she finished. "But you can be faster. Again."

Seven complied, her movements even sharper this time. Bucky's praise was minimal, but she took it to heart, hoping each small acknowledgment would bring a glimmer of recognition.

They started endurance training, running laps around the perimeter of the facility. Bucky set a brutal pace, and Seven pushed herself to keep up, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She refused to show weakness, knowing that HYDRA's eyes were always watching.

After the run, they moved to strength training. Bucky lifted weights effortlessly, his enhanced strength making it look easy. Seven struggled but persevered, her small frame trembling under the strain.

"Don't stop," Bucky said, his voice devoid of empathy. "You need to be stronger."

Seven nodded, sweat dripping down her face. She pushed through the pain, her mind clinging to the faint hope that he would remember her.

The days blurred together in a haze of relentless training. Seven followed Bucky's instructions without complaint, her skills improving under his rigorous guidance. Despite the grueling schedule, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, judged by eyes that should have looked at her with love.

One evening, after a particularly intense sparring session, Bucky handed her a bottle of water. "Hydrate," he ordered, his tone softer than usual.

"Thank you," Seven said quietly, taking the bottle. She drank slowly, her eyes flickering to his face, searching for any sign of recognition.

Bucky noticed her scrutiny and frowned. "Something on your mind?"

Seven shook her head quickly. "No, sir. Just... tired."

He nodded, accepting her answer. "Get some rest. We'll start early tomorrow."

They worked on tactical maneuvers, Bucky explaining strategies and techniques with military precision. Seven absorbed everything like a sponge, her sharp mind catching on quickly.

As they ran through a simulated mission, Bucky was momentarily taken aback by her efficiency and insight. "You have a good grasp of strategy," he noted. "Who trained you before?"

Seven hesitated, a pang of sorrow hitting her. "My papa," she said softly, hoping the term would trigger something in him.

Bucky's expression remained unchanged. "He did a good job," he said, turning back to the simulation. "Let's continue."

The pattern continued: grueling training sessions filled with minimal conversation. Bucky treated Seven like any other trainee, albeit one with exceptional potential. Despite the cold, professional demeanor, he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that there was something familiar about her.

And then week had passed, and Bucky's curiosity about his young trainee grew. Her skill, determination, and those haunting blue eyes—so much like his own—left him with a sense of unease.

After a particularly intense day of training, Bucky watched as Seven methodically cleaned her weapons. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something important. "Seven," he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. "How did you get here?"

Seven looked up, her eyes meeting his. She saw the flicker of confusion and curiosity in his gaze and decided to take a risk. "They brought me here two years ago," she said slowly. "I was with my papa before that."

Bucky frowned, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. "Your father... what happened to him?"

"They took him away," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. "They made him forget me."

Bucky's eyes narrowed, confusion flickering across his face. He didn't move, his mind struggling to place the voice and the small figure before him. Seven took another step closer, her eyes locking onto his.

Those blue eyes. They mirrored his own so perfectly that it stirred a distant, almost forgotten memory in Bucky's mind. He frowned, trying to grasp the elusive thought.

"Seven," he whispered her name. "your name is Seven, correct?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes," she replied, her eyes meeting his.

Bucky's heart skipped a beat. The name tugged at something deep within him. He looked at her more closely, studying her features, and then those blue eyes—his blue eyes.

"Seven?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "How... how old are you?"

"Eight," she replied, hope blooming in her chest.

Bucky's hands trembled as he put down the weapon he was cleaning. He stepped closer, kneeling in front of her to get a better look. "Look at me," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Seven lifted her gaze, those piercing blue eyes locking onto his. In that moment, the fog of HYDRA's manipulation began to lift. Memories started to flood back—memories of holding her as a baby, of their whispered promises, and of the unbreakable bond they once shared.

Those blue eyes.

The blued eyed baby.

Bucky felt a jolt, as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. He stared into her eyes, and a flood of fragmented memories surged to the surface. The image of a little girl with those same blue eyes, the way she looked up at him with trust and love. He remembered the feel of her small hand in his, the sound of her laughter, the promise he had made to protect her.

"Seven?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

Tears welled up in Seven's eyes as she nodded. "It's me, Papa. It's me."

Bucky's breath hitched, and he took a shaky step towards her. He reached out, his hand trembling as he gently touched her face. "Sev." he murmured, pulling her into his arms.

Seven clung to him, sobbing into his chest. "I missed you so much, Papa. They took me away, and you didn't know me. But I never forgot you."

"I'm so sorry," he choked out. "I never wanted to forget you. I never wanted to leave you."

Seven clung to him, tears streaming down her face. "I know, Papa. You're here now. That's all that matters."

They held each other for a long time, the bond that had been torn apart by HYDRA finally restored.

The door opened again, and the old man stepped inside, watching the reunion with a clinical detachment. It was like there were cameras. He came just a queue.

"About time." The old man said, his was low and ugly as always. "You will work together from now on. Her presence will ensure your loyalty, Soldier."

Bucky's grip on Seven tightened, his eyes flashing with a dangerous glint. "You won't hurt her again." he growled, his voice low and menacing.

The old man smiled coldly. "As long as you comply, there will be no need for such measures."