Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of the characters other than my OC Lily.

Warning: Rated T for slight language...idk

I never had any real intentions of returning. I needed the time away to get my head together and I don't put that lightly. The months after walking away from Steve were the hardest I've ever experienced. I lived on the streets, taking from no one and trying to pull my thoughts into line. I had been brainwashed, that much was for certain. But I couldn't seem to remember the faces of my captors. I scrounged around New York in attempt to find out who I really was. I was James. I was Bucky. And yet, I was also The Winter Soldier. The two different parts of me fought in my brain like the ocean against a cliff, the waves of my true self, pounding again and again against the stone of the monster I had become only to draw back and slam once more in a cycle that made nights long and breaths short.

The winter was the worst. I distanced my self from the public and slept in alleys and tunnels. I never really slept. I would more or less pass out from exhaustion every other week or so only to wake an hour or two later from a nightmare. They were the worst, the nightmares. I thought that staying awake would rescue me from them but then they started coming to me during the day, screaming at me every time I shut my eyes. I had never known anything more vivid and by the end of my isolation, I had a hard time telling what was true memory and what was a demon in my head. My flashbacks when I was conscious were vicious. The pain in my head was excruciating. I forced myself to resist the urge to vomit. I would cower into a corner, hunched over trying to fold into myself and clenching my teeth so hard I thought they might crack. It was too much. I couldn't live like this. I considered taking my life. More than once.

But then I thought of Steve. He's lost me before, too many times. I couldn't do it to him again. I remembered our life together before everything went wrong. HE was my friend. I owed him so much.

So I went back. I found Steve. And everything was okay.

Everything was okay for Steve.

But not for me. I had an empty apartment, an empty fridge, and an empty life. S.H.E.I.L.D. let me in but I had to go through three months of hell and trial to do so. But they let me in nonetheless. I wasn't necessarily happy nor was I unhappy. I was indifferent. I was of no use to S.H.I.E.L.D. because of my previous extremely dangerous enemy status. So I lived my days sitting alone in my apartment, eating small meal in the cafeteria (that I mostly puke up later), and training with Steve.

Training was enjoyable for the most part. It gave me something to do and Steve's endless chattering kept my brain distracted enough to where I rarely had an episode in his presence and when I did I kept them repressed so I didn't alarm Steve. I didn't need him worrying about me of all things.

I was surviving. I had a roof over my head and food to eat and people that at least acted like they liked me. I didn't really want to be better, but at the time I didn't know it could get better.

Until she happened.

It all happened faster than I expected it. I never meant to take notice. I never meant for her to crawl under my skin. But I did. And she did.

Eventually Nick trusted me enough to let me in on some of the Avengers' meetings. I still wasn't aloud in the field with them but listening to some basic information was satisfying enough. It was then that I saw her first. She was invisible enough visually but the second I stepped into the room I saw her. I noticed her.

She was small, smaller than anyone in the room and definitely the youngest. She sat in the corner where she thought no one could see her. She wasn't well built and muscled like Natasha or stiff and strong like Maria. She was lean and flexible like a dancer. She hunched into herself, clutching a notebook tightly to her chest. I knew the moment I saw her that she was not human. She sat too still and her eyes were too intense. Her petite body perched in the chair with her toes barely reaching the floor and still managed to look like an owl, sitting peacefully and waiting for…something. She looked plenty out of place but what I noticed so quickly about her was her energy. She radiated power.

I sat as far away as possible from her and tried not be distracted by her aura. She barely took notice of me. I don't think her eyes ever left Director Fury as he paced before those in the room, lecturing. Afterwards, I ventured to ask Steve about her since I had never seen her before.

"Her," he asked, nodding to her just as she swooped around the corner and out of sight. "Trust me, you don't want to know. It's best you keep your distance from her."

I was puzzled but not put off. I admit she intrigued me in the way chess intrigues a child. I wanted to learn more about her even though I felt it was too much for me to handle.

The second time I saw her I inspected her a little further. She was no older than a teenager with pale skin, a round fresh face, and a splash of tomboyish freckles. Her hair was thicker than anyone's I've ever seen and long enough to brush the middle of her thighs and light blonde like corn silk. She didn't wear the professional clothes that everyone else wore. She had on a T-shirt with a soda logo, worn and faded jeans, and muddy converse sneakers. She wore no jewelry or makeup but she didn't really need it. She was naturally attractive but I forced myself not to think like that. Instead, I looked at her eyes. They never met mine but I was amazed at how focused they were. The only time I've ever seen a look like that was on the face of a lion just before a kill. Her eyes were large and deep and so very, very brown. I didn't want her to notice me staring so I looked away and didn't look back.

This went on for months. She wore the same style of clothes (once she traded the jeans for some flannel pajama pants) and always sat in the back holding the journal, unused, to her chest and not speaking a word to anyone. The mystery of who she was killed me. I drilled Steve for more information. If I knew who she was, then perhaps she wouldn't perplex me so. This time he told me.

"She's been in S.H.E.I.L.D. her whole life nearly," he explained while we were running one morning. "Came around during its darker days. Her name is Lily but I don't think she has a last name. Coulson trained her and she's one of Nick's most trusted agents. At least I think she is. She does whatever the hell she wants and when she wants. Doesn't train at all. She just shows up for briefing and for missions. She has the job of going in first and clearing the area of bystanders and anyone who might be a threat or get in the way of the mission. The girl's good enough to do big stuff but no one will let her 'cause she likes it too much."

I stopped. He stopped. "What do you mean by that," I asked.

"I mean she likes it," he continued. "She likes the adrenaline, the killing. I've seen her kill before. She's only nineteen but she kills like a hundred year old predator. She disarms them, gets them submitting, and then looks them in the eye before cutting their throat as slowly as she can. I've never seen anyone as ruthless as her. And she's just a teenager. She's obedient though. When Fury or we tell her to do something she does without question. I guess that's why Nick gives her so much freedom." He pauses to sip from a water bottle. "She's quiet for the most part and keeps to herself. Only ever says a short sentence at a time. In my opinion, the girl has seen something. Something she shouldn't have. And it's affected her. I wouldn't press things when it comes to her. Something isn't right there."

The conversation went dead at that and the day went on. The weeks went on. The months went on. She was still there. Every meeting, every briefing, she was there. Things stayed the same until one particular meeting in late July. I disagreed with something Stark said in a meeting and ended up leaving pissed off and fighting off an offensive headache. I went straight to the massive gym and sat on one of the pads, wrapping my good hand and preparing to punch the shit out of something. That's when she sat next to me.

Lily. Seeing her lower down to sit cross-legged like a child next to me was the first time I really saw her move. She was as gracefully as she looked. As she settled, tucking dainty legs beneath her, I kept my gaze on my hands. I wasn't scared but what Steve told me…unsettled me.

I stole a glance sideways at her to find those brown eyes locked on me as intently as I'd seen them before. The only difference was her lips. Soft and pink, they were curved into the slightest of smiles; just enough to let a hint of dimples embellish her cheeks. I managed a grin though I'm pretty sure it was more of a grimace. She kept watching me.

"You have nightmares."

I wasn't expecting her to speak and I almost started at her quiet words. Her voice was soft and silky like a child's.

I looked at her fully, letting myself drown in the melted chocolate color of her eyes. "Yes," I responded. "How did you know?"

"Your eyes," she said, blinking slowly and tilting her head slightly. She was starting to creep me out. Her stillness and intensity and aura made me uneasy and my stomach started to turn.

"Well thanks for informing me," I said, standing. "I'll be sure to start using night cream."

I walked away from her feeling a little guilty for being so sarcastic to her. Years of training caused my brain to scream at me not to turn my back on her but I forced my legs to keep moving and relax like she didn't scare the hell out of me. When looked over my shoulder some five minutes later I saw the pad empty and no sign of the endless blonde hair and pale skin.