Someday, we'll be okay. The words were like a promise that was more a wish, a hope to cling to when the days were darkest. This was 1943, and if the war in this world went anything like it had in hers, they still had two years to go before they would see the other end of this dark tunnel. If they made it that long, then they would just have years of wartime horror piled on top of their gruesome experiences back in that compound. If. There was a very good chance that one or the both of them wouldn't live to see the end of this war. A war that might not end at all, or at least not the way it was supposed to.

She appreciated Bucky's kindness, though. That gentle teasing was sweet, and the words that followed gave her a little bit of hope, even as she knew that it was false. "You're right," she said softly, her gaze finding his face again, sad eyes catching on those strong lines. "At least, I hope you are. You're a good man, you don't deserve to spend the rest of your life haunted by what happened in that place."

When it came to her own haunting experiences, she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. The reminders were written in her skin, with ink and scarred flesh, and she'd never be able to get the sound of those screams out of her mind. She would never forget the feeling of being utterly abandoned and having no hope left except that one day they might finally let her die.