"Who are you?"

"No one of consequence."

"I must know."

"Get used to disappointment."

― William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Victoria stared at the detective opposite her. The past five minutes of their conversation written down on the well-thumbed notebook held in front of his nose as he took her statement. There was a particularly large bead of sweat resting on the man's chin, just waiting to drop. His broad forehead had turned an intensely violent shade of purple in the summer heat, the collar of his shirt looking altogether far too tight. Finally the police officer pulled out a greying handkerchief, dragging the threadbare cloth over his face he only succeeded in shifting the moisture.

"So you're saying this guy single handedly took out an armed assailant without hurting himself or any bystanders?"

"Yes," Victoria nodded emphatically. "Ex-military if I had to hazard a guess."

"Did you get a name?" the detective questioned Victoria, his gaze suddenly hard.

Victoria forced herself to remain relaxed, willing herself not to give anything anyway.

"No." She finally replied, tight lipped.

"No?"

"No, I didn't exactly have enough time to interrogate the guy." Victoria lied smoothly, flattening out an imaginary kink in her hair.

"Mrs. Sophie Lewis – the little girl's mother. She said you rushed out of the store pretty fast."

"I wanted to try and find him. But by the time I got outside he was already gone." Victoria sighed, glancing at the cop in front of her with weary eyes. As if it wasn't enough spending a horribly long day as the close protection for a senator's wife, but she had to get caught up in an armed robbery only to be rescued by a supposedly long dead soldier.

"Where do you think he went?" The police officer questioned, his pen poised.

"I don't know," Victoria shrugged. "He had a couple of days beard growth, a little tired. Pretty sure his clothes were new though."

"And what's the significance of that?"

"I don't know," Victoria shook her head. "Just an observation. Look – Detective Turner, I've had a long day. Is there anything else?"

"No, sorry to keep you ma'am. We've got your details, so if we need you for anything else we'll call."

"Great, thanks." Victoria nodded her head. "I'll get out of your hair then."

Victoria's hands fumbled with her keys before she finally found the lock. Swinging the heavy pine door to her apartment open she stepped into the dimly lit hallway. Toeing off her boots she left them scattered by the front door, next her jacket fell to the floor. Her gun and holster were quickly discarded on the sideboard.

Shuffling into the kitchen Victoria opened the fridge, a box of Thai food sat on the middle shelf. It was almost like the laughing Buddha that served as the restaurants logo was winking at her – tempting her to devour the contents of the carton. Smiling Victoria removed the foodstuff, without bothering to heat it up she pulled open one of the many drawers and withdrew a fork.

Her moment was short lived however as her phone began buzzing in her pocket. Resisting the urge to growl in frustration Victoria pulled out the piece of offending technology.

"Miller." Victoria snapped, not bothering to check who was on the other end of the line before she picked up.

"Ok, what happened to running a few errands?"

Victoria bit her lip, contrite. "Sorry Mikey, something came up."

"Something always comes up Vic."

"Did I miss anything?"

There was a pregnant pause before Mikey finally spoke, "Well my girlfriend came along, was kind of hoping I could introduce her to my sister…."

"Oh shit, Mikey, I totally forgot!"

"Yeah," Victoria's brother sighed on the phone. "Look it's not a big deal – she gets that you have a lot of commitments. Would have been nice is all."

"Mikey I will totally make this up to you!"

"Vic, don't make promises you cant keep."

"Jesus Michael, don't hold back or anything." Victoria muttered, her free hand gripping the Formica counter top.

"Sorry," Mikey breathed. "I just… Look, you still going to Mom's for dinner Sunday? I'm bringing Grace, it would have been better if she could have met you earlier – just so she isn't overwhelmed by the Miller clan or anything."

"We're not overwhelming Mike."

"You're kidding me right? Paige is totally going to give her the third degree.

Victoria sighed at the mention of their older sister, "Paige means well."

"Right and then Tom's going to hit on her."

"Tom will not hit on her. Tom may be many things, but he's still our brother. He wouldn't do that to you. Besides he knows I have a gun and you're my favourite baby brother."

"By like two minutes."

"Those two minutes count Mikey," Victoria laughed and some of the day's tension was released.

"You ok right? When you say something came up – it wasn't bad or anything was it?"

"Nah," Victoria shook her head, despite knowing full well that her brother couldn't see her. "Shit…"

"What?"

"I forgot the coffee filters."

"Go to Starbucks or something," Mikey laughed. "I'll see you soon sis."

"Yeah, sleep well Mike."

Hanging up the phone the blonde pushed off the counter top, taking the remnants of her food she padded into the living room before sinking into the sofa. Pulling her laptop towards her she powered it up, upon the arrival of her familiar desktop she opened up a search.

"James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes"

Quickly clicking on the image tab Victoria waited for the Internet to spit back whatever pictures it had, the first one was his service record photo. Squinting her eyes Victoria tried to envisage him without the hat, granting him long hair and a beard. It was a seamless transition but there was something missing. The more candid pictures of Barnes with the Howling Commandos brought it even further into relief. Despite the lack of colour in the pictures Victoria could see the life that was exuded from Barnes. The war had failed to taint him completely; there was something about his eyes that suggested he wasn't done fighting yet.

The man she had run into in the back alley was not the man from the photos. For a brief moment the ghost of a long distant memory was with her, Bucky Barnes was there, however broken and tarnished. But then he was gone.

Victoria grit her teeth, the resemblance was uncanny but he couldn't have been Bucky Barnes. It wasn't possible. And you thought aliens weren't real. A voice sneered in her head. Clearly the realms of possibility had been stretched for the world of late. But just how did a veteran of WWII suddenly end up in D.C. nearly 70 years later?

It was widely understood that Captain American had been frozen, the super soldier serum granting him the ability to survive the process. But Barnes? As far as she could tell he had been ordinary soldier, admittedly a sharp shooter but there was nothing else to suggest he was harbouring extraordinary abilities.

All accounts stated that he had fallen to his death.

Barnes was born and raised in Brooklyn. He spent the majority of his childhood in an orphanage. After aging out he worked various menial jobs. He quickly enlisted when the US joined the war. He was an NCO in the 107th, was granted the Distinguished Service Cross posthumously.

Victoria blinked; the facts weren't exactly giving much away. And it wasn't like she could just ask Captain America, right? Snapping the lid of her laptop shut she pushed it away from her. Grabbing the remote she switched on the TV, 24-hour rolling news coverage soon began to wash over her.

"Only known as the Winter Soldier."

Victoria's eyes snapped open at the news anchor's latest statement. A month on and the various news agencies had not come further in unmasking the man that had ended up in a very public brawl with Captain America.

Grabbing her laptop once more Victoria ran another search and began sifting through the reams of data. Unlike Barnes, there was far more speculation about the Winter Solider. The consensus being that he was a Soviet spy, a trained killer who had been active since the 1950s, only tailing off towards the end of the Cold War. He then went dark. Kills attributed to his name fell off. The fact that his career spanned such a long time and the assassin in question was always a young male in peak physical condition, seemed to suggest that Winter Soldier codename did not belong solely to one person.

That or he had a great skin care regime. Victoria stiffened, who else did she know who had the uncanny ability to put a pause on those wrinkles? Shaking her head Victoria ran a hand through already messy hair. She would have noticed a metal arm - wouldn't she? Doing her best to shake the thoughts from her overwrought brain Victoria slid off the sofa, switching off the TV on her way to the bedroom.

Strangely sleep came easy to her that night.

James stared at his hands. His right was skin and bone, callouses spread across his palm suggesting years of use, the scars across his skin speaking of unknown stories. Furling his left hand into a fist he could barely look at the silver appendage. The metal was as smooth as ever; any of the markings had always been buffed and polished out. Aside from the very obvious defining feature of a metal arm, the Winter Solider had not been allowed to keep anything else that might mark his character. Every scrape, every damaged component had been fixed and replaced; he wasn't allowed to keep any reminders of his mission. Not if they could help it. He was a blank slate, their plaything to be molded as they saw fit.

James shrugged off his shirt, the vest top underneath leaving more of his bionic arm exposed. Looking down over his shoulder he frowned, his right hand reaching out to rub the red star that was painted across his bicep. Or rather where his bicep would have been. The insignia was like a brand, the one part of his identity they had not wanted him to lose. Mother Russia.

James grit his teeth. He couldn't remember losing the arm, he'd had the metal one for as long as he could recall. But the man in the uniform, the man who had danced with the girls and offered them meaningless platitudes in exchange for a night together…. He'd been whole – two functioning flesh and blood arms. Not the monstrosity welded to his chest.

The Winter Solider bit back a scream, instead venting his rage on the rickety coffee table the run down motel had deemed fit to furnish his room with. He couldn't push the feelings of self-disgust down anymore. Not without their programming.

He didn't know when he'd stopped serving the Soviets and when HYDRA had started pulling the strings. It didn't matter – not really. Not with the conditioning. They just pointed him in the direction of the enemy and watched the carnage unfold.

He was their toy soldier – loyal to the last. Except memories of Coney Island, hot dogs and a kid named Steve kept scratching at the back of his mind. The wall they had put up in his head was dangerously close to breaking; memories were beginning to seep through the cracks.

James' left hand grappled with a small cardboard packet on the bed, hitting the pack of cigarettes against the flat of his hand he pulled out a cigarette with his mouth. Quickly lighting up he inhaled deeply, the end of the cigarette burning amber in the dark room.

The smoke curled upwards, and something settled in James' chest. It was if an itch that had been driving him to distraction had suddenly been scratched. He'd been jonesing for a cigarette since he'd met the girl. Inhaling once more James tried to relax; he hadn't had a cigarette since 1945 he was going to be a little tightly wound.

The sudden flash of a memory hit him like a punch to the gut.

He was down to his last box of Lucky Strikes; he'd traded at least three packs, a set of D-rations and a goddamn Luger with some GI for a set of boots. The cigarette was going someway to warm him up as he veritably hugged his mug of what could loosely be deemed stew.

"Those boots worth it Sarge?"

"Riggins, I'm not even thinking about that goddamned chocolate bar."

"Well, I'm gonna be honest Sergeant Barnes, I kinda am. You would have shared it right?"

Bucky laughed, "Like Hell I would've."

Quickly stubbing out the cigarette against his left hand James heaved himself to his feet. Pulling off his vest and reaching for a long sleeved Henley followed by gloves and a green hoodie James thrust his hands into his pockets. Quickly exiting the hotel room James pulled up his hood, taking the stairs down he managed to avoid the receptionist at the frond desk. Stepping out onto the street James headed towards his destination with purpose, blending seamlessly with the crowds.

The following morning Victoria was regretting not having made the trip out to buy coffee filters, the walk to her local coffee shop whilst ignoring her pounding headache had not been fun. But when she emerged back onto the quiet residential street, steaming flat white in hand her first sip already taken care of, she was beginning to feel more like a human being. Sitting down on a nearby bench Victoria took another sip of her coffee and tried to enjoy the last few moment of serenity before she was due to start her working day.

"Did you tell them anything?"

To her credit Victoria did not spit out a mouthful of coffee, instead her eyes widened as she glanced to her left. James Barnes was sitting there; cool as you please, totally ignoring the fact that like a total stalker he'd managed to track down where she lived.

"I told them enough of what they wanted to hear." Victoria shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant.

"My name?" James questioned, only a slight tremor of concern in his voice.

Victoria shook her head, before sending a sly look towards the man. "Do you even know your name?"

His intense blue eyes narrowed menacingly; clearly his minor break down was not a conversation they were to be having.

"How'd you find me anyway?" Victoria questioned, taking another sip of her drink.

"You told me your name and what you did. Do you know how much information you leave on the Internet?" James replied smoothly, his eyes firmly on the building across the street.

"Look my stalking skills only extend to looking up my ex boyfriend on Facebook. This. This is weird. I mean what kind of skill set are you boasting?" Victoria shot back, her brown eyes swimming with emotion, the most predominate of which was fear.

"I'm Batman, remember doll?" James shot back, and Victoria could have sworn there was something halfway teasing about his tone. The reemergence of the Brooklyn twang was noted.

"Not good enough. So you better start talking Barnes, because you're supposed dead."

A/N: First off thanks to those who reviewed - especially those who I couldn't PM back.

Just one thing really - I think the film seems to suggest that HYDRA are the only people behind Bucky's current predicament, I was however thrown by the presence of the Red Star on his arm, which makes sense in the comic book world where the Soviets were behind his programming. I've tried to somehow combine both elements.

I promise Steve will appear soon!

Anyway, please let me know what you think and leave a review :)