The Asset had failed. The target was not eliminated. The target was ...

Steve. You fought him, but he didn't want to fight you. He fell ... and you dove after him. You saved him, after you damn near killed him.

The Asset was damaged. The Asset retreated to a safe house and performed self-repair of the flesh and metal components of the body.

Why does your left arm feel so heavy, like it's fallen asleep? Holy hell - it's metal. What the fuck happened to your arm?

The Asset refueled and rehydrated; necessary after repair. The Asset slept.

You had nightmares. Falling from the train. Falling from the flying ship. Saving Steve. Not saving Steve. Fighting and killing. Fighting and dying. Darkness and silence and bone-deep cold.

It had been more than a little surreal - meeting Fury at the man's own gravesite. Steve hadn't had the courage to visit the Commandos memorial out at Arlington, not even after placing a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. He knew whose name was also on that monument, even though he wasn't buried there either. Turns out, Bucky wasn't even dead.

"You doing alright, Steve? It's getting pretty late..." He heard Sam's voice from the darkness beyond the reading light. The dossier from Natasha was open on the coffee table in front of him. He could only read a little at a time, but he was determined to make it all the way through.

"I just want to finish this." He'd managed to keep his voice steady, and was glad Sam was behind him, couldn't see his face.

"Let me know if you want to talk about it. No - make that when you want to talk about it." And that was Sam as Counselor. Sympathetic but firm. Always willing to listen, but impatient with evasions and lies. They would talk, just not right now.

"Okay.. thanks."

There was a voice in the head of the Asset now. Sometimes it talked to the Asset. Sometimes it just talked.

So, it's always been like that, for you. No memories, only missions and orders. Skills and information poured into your head, then purged once the purpose was served. That's no way to live.

The Asset had standing orders to return to base in case of mission failure. Now that the Asset had healed, it was time to report.

You are a fugitive - you can't walk out of here looking like that - not with that goddamn shiny metal arm.

The Asset obeyed the implied order and found a jacket and gloves to disguise the arm, and a baseball cap to cover the hair and shield the face.

That's better, punk.

The Asset walked from the safe house to the financial district. The voice spoke in a wondering, uncertain tone.

Everything looks so different... the cars, the buildings, the people. Sure as hell ain't Kansas anymore, Toto. Where is this, anyways?

The Asset replied aloud in a hoarse whisper. "Washington DC."

Huh... so you can talk. And you sound familiar... looked familiar too, there in the mirror.

The Asset discovered that the base had been compromised; surrounded by enemies. Additional intel was needed. The Asset would contact the Mission Head. It was not protocol, but it was necessary.

Steve still had contacts in the law enforcement community, and so when the FBI investigated what turned out to be a key HYDRA stronghold right in the center of the city, he was in on the initial raid. What they discovered in the bank vault made Steve ill, especially combined with the information in the dossier.

To think those monsters had been right here, under their noses. That they had tortured Bucky with that terrible chair, turning him into a killing machine. Steve had nearly torn the place to pieces with his bare hands. Only Sam holding him back, saying that they could probably reverse engineer the equipment and maybe help Bucky, had stopped him.

It wasn't clear how Pierce had been involved, but surely he had been. He'd had his dirty little fingers in everything else, and was just the kind of bastard to take a personal interest in a project like Winter Soldier. The news said that a body had been discovered at Pierce's house; his housekeeper, shot twice nearly point-blank. The police had the place on lockdown until federal authorities could perform a full search.

The home of the Mission Head was also compromised. Local law enforcement had stationed sentries, but the Asset would have no difficulty killing them.

No, you are not killing anybody. Not unless they're trying to kill you first. You claim to be an expert in espionage - so prove it. Sneak in, punk.

The voice had supplied an order. Orders gave purpose, provided focus. The Asset easily evaded the sentries, gaining access to the house.

Ain't this a high class place - surprised the likes of you were ever allowed in.

The Asset saw the bloodstain on the floor, from where the Mission Head had neutralized the potential threat.

She wasn't a threat, she was his goddamned housekeeper. And he was a fucking cold-blooded bastard. You shoulda shot him when you had the chance.

Harming the Mission Head was not permitted. Harming allies was not permitted.

And now harming anybody is not permitted, you got it? Unless they start somethin'. Even then, try not to kill 'em, okay?

"Standing order?" the Asset questioned. The Asset was accustomed to speaking whatever language the support team understood, and the voice's English was curiously accented and slang-filled, unlike the Mission Head and Team Lead.

Yes. Standing order... jeez. So, why did you come here?

"The base was compromised. The Mission Head will provide new orders; a new mission."

If Mr. Mission Head has the brains God gave a goose, he won't be coming back here any time soon. Any other bright ideas?

The Asset didn't have ideas. The Asset took orders, completed missions. Problem solving was only permitted within the scope of a mission.

Fine. Your mission is ... hell... I dunno. Return to the safe house for now. Without killing anybody.

Steve had finally talked to Sam about the dossier. To Sam's credit, he didn't say he understood. Riley hadn't saved Sam's skin a thousand times as they grew up together. Riley hadn't been drafted while Sam tried anything and everything to go with him, go in his place. But Riley had become Sam's brother in arms, and he felt the loss of that brother every day. So maybe he did understand a little.

After all, it was Sam's job to talk with combat veterans, helping them make their way back into the world. Steve had joined his friend at the VA center, sitting in on a couple of group therapy sessions. He learned it wasn't called shell shock anymore, and it wasn't something to be ashamed of. All too many men had come back home carrying more than just physical scars, and they deserved proper care for them as well.

And it wasn't just men. Steve was still trying to get his mind around that; despite Peggy providing a shining example of how well the fairer sex could perform in the field. The women he met at the VA were tough, and resilient and he would have been proud to have had any of them at his side in the thick of a fight. However, he didn't care for Sam trying to set him up on a date with them.

"C'mon Sam, I didn't have women figured out back in the 1940's, much less now!"

"You're not calling them 'dames' anymore, that's progress." Sam gently teased.

"Just give me a little more time to get settled into this century. You've seen the size of my list - heck, you keep adding on to it!"

"Just taking care of my boy. Hey, have you tried bibimbap yet? Korean leftovers with rice; you'll love it."

The Asset had determined the safe house was no longer safe. Another location in the city was selected. The quickest way to get there involved traveling on the subway. The subway is a non-preferred mode of transportation - it is too constricted. No escape routes.

Fine - if you wanna walk, walk. But grab something to eat, first. You're starving.

The Asset was not starving. The Asset had gone without food for much longer than this. Hunger was irrelevant to the mission until function was impacted.

There's a shitload of cash in the bugout bag you're carrying - just buy a goddamn hotdog already!

The Asset bought a goddamn hotdog. And a soda. The Asset wanted something sweet.

Don't look now punk, but you're developing preferences. About damn time.

The Asset didn't know how to process that comment. The voice complained that the Coke didn't taste right, and continued a running commentary on the surroundings. The Asset had tuned the voice out until it let out a strangled curse.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph ... look at that...

The Asset focused in on the large graphics on the side of the bus. There was a photo of the Target, and text. "Captain America: The Legend and the Legacy. Now at the National Air and Space Museum."

You gotta go there. You gotta learn about Steve. Gotta find out what happened. Do you know where the Museum is?

The voice sounded... emotional. The Asset reviewed the mental map of the city from the briefing. "Yes". And it wasn't far.

The horrors of the bank vault had spurred Steve to action. He'd sat around licking his wounds long enough. "Sam - I have to find Bucky. I don't know how... but I have to."

Sam, ever the voice of reason, tried to talk him out of it, at least at first. But when he saw how serious Steve was, he finally gave in. He steered his friend over to the corner of the living room where the computer was set up, and held out a flash drive.

"Natasha left this for you. Said if you were bound and determined to go ghost hunting, this might give you a leg up. It's some sort of search program designed to locate info in the SHIELD and HYDRA files about the Winter Soldier."

Steve winced at the codename. He was Bucky; he'd always be Bucky to Steve. He took the bit of plastic and metal, then had to ask Sam what to do with it, as he was still learning his way around 21st century technology. While they waited for the program to run, they went over what they knew so far, and started putting together plans.

The Asset saw the metal detectors at the entrance to the museum. "What is the priority of this mission?"

Huh? Um - pretty damn high, punk.

"Priority override of standing orders?"

What? Oh - oh no. No hurting or killing anybody. Damn. There's gotta be another way in.

The Asset scouted the perimeter of the building, making note of the loading dock. Conveniently, a catering truck had just pulled up. The Asset watched the driver interact with the guard, waiting until both their backs were turned. The Asset grabbed a box from the the truck and quickly ducked under the roller door.

"Hey buddy - where do ya want these?" The Asset imitated the voice's accent and cadence. The second guard grunted and pointed down the hallway. "Main Kitchen - second door on the left".

Heh - you'd fit right in on the docks Nice job.

The Asset walked down the hallway, glancing back at the second guard. Once he looked away, the Asset put the box down, and looked up and down the hallway for entry into the museum. The Asset located the proper door and passed through.

There were too many people in this enclosed space. The Asset scanned for exits, escape routes while the heart beat faster and the breathing rate increased.

Calm down already. You're okay. It's fine - no one's gunning for you. It's just tourists. Focus - look for a sign for the exhibit.

The Asset accepted the order. The voice remained surprisingly silent as the Asset reviewed the intel on display in the exhibit. The Target was identified as Captain Steven Grant Rogers, alias "Captain America." During World War II, he was Mission Head of a team called the Howling Commandos. He had been lost on a mission; frozen in ice for seventy years. He was discovered and revived, and was involved in something called The Battle of New York, working with another team, this time called The Avengers.

Good to know he's got someone watching his back again - Steve was always one to jump in with both feet, never mind the cost.

The Asset stopped in front of a sheet of etched glass. The image on the glass resembled the face the Asset has seen in the mirror. The face the voice said was familiar.

The Asset read the caption aloud. "James Buchanan Barnes."

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky Barnes. That's... you. Hell if I know how, but that is you. And ... me too.