Mallory couldn't stop staring at the picture.

It was her. Her, in all her messy haired, pasty face glory. She wasn't wearing any makeup and it took a while to place where she was; her back garden around four years ago. The camera work was Liam's, slightly out focus on her and there was an arm around her shoulder, the cuffed sleeve of her father. James had folded that bit over and when she pulled it up she saw the equally pasty face of Sampson Smith, smiling at Liam directly whereas Mallory was looking at the lens.

She turned it over. Her address was written on the back. Well, her mother's address. Underneath that was her current phone number.

Why did he have this? Why was it in his jacket pocket? Why had he stolen this from her home? The questions ran through her mind as she was escorted to the cell he was in. The guard stopped outside of the small room and Mallory let herself in, surprised at how much the clinical surroundings reminded of the bunker where they'd first met. How appropriate.

He looked up when the door sounded and the once-blank look of his eyes faded with some semblance of a smile as she sat down at the table opposite his cell. One hand on the desk, she used the other to discreetly put the picture in her pocket, choosing to not mention it unless the time was right.

A moment passed and they were just awkwardly studying each other. Mallory didn't know what to say. Her voice had dried up and her thoughts were all over the place. She'd assumed this was a medical examination but nobody had given her any tools or even unlocked him from his cage. Perhaps Ross had seen through her smoke-screen of professional concern and knew she'd just wanted to talk to him. Hell, even just seeing him with her own two eyes was enough!

A memory clawed its way to the surface. The first time they'd met, with that misty eyed nostalgic tint, of him having a hand to her throat perceiving her as a threat. She cleared her throat and knew exactly what to say then, the words coming easily.

"Do you remember your name?"

He caught on and nodded, "No."

"Do you remember your duty?"
"Yes. To serve."

She imagined everybody watching them on the little camera, confused as to why they were having such a mechanical chat when they were supposed to be friends.

"How do you feel?"

"A little dizzy. Hungry, mainly."

It was surprising he remembered so much. Mallory broke the illusion and laughed, glad the feeling of awkward study had evaporated. James was smiling too, despite his situation, shifting in his cage to get more comfortable. He looked like an uncomfortable and pissed off king, strapped to his throne for eternal servitude.

"That doesn't look comfortable." She said, gesturing to the cell.

"You haven't seen me in so long and that's what you ask?"
Mallory blushed and ducked her head. "Sorry. I just..."

"I know." He was teasing her, "I wish we'd reunited under slightly less… constricting circumstances."

"Where would we go?"
He tilted his head slightly and said, "I don't know."

"Dinner?"

His smile was so gentle. "Anywhere nice?"

"Well, you've always liked that Greek takeaway around the corner from my mom's."

The two shared a smile but Mallory couldn't help but bring the mood way down to match the situation they were in. "I can't believe I'm even seeing you again."

"Huh?"

"I never thought I was gonna see you again. Didn't believe it."

"Didn't you get my letter?"
"Yes."
"I said I was going to come back-"
"Why didn't you tell me?" She interrupted quietly, "I would've understood. You left a good place with good people around you. I imagined you'd gone somewhere nice. Imagine my surprise when I find out you've been living in some shitty apartment in the middle of a crappy neighbourhood all by yourself like some basement-dwelling hermit. That couldn't have aided your recovery. And Romania? What the hell is in Romania?!"

"Seemed… appropriate. I remembered my mom was half-Romanian." And then he added, with a frown, unnecessarily in Mallory's opinion, "Before the war, when I was Bucky."

"What the hell did you even do for two years?"

"I'd rather not talk about it here." He replied with a shrewd look to the camera. Mallory rolled her eyes and leaned forward.

"Forget them. Tell me."

There was a long pause.

"I was writing." He said finally, "My memories." He added, when he saw her questioning look.

The time felt right. Mallory reached into her pocket and touched the top of the photograph, speaking quietly. "Is that why you had a picture of me?"
"I wanted to remember your face." He didn't seem to recognize how both creepy and romantic that was, "So that if I ever forgot, I'd still have that so I could find you."

That explained the address. Mallory withdrew her hand from her pocket and folded her arms, leaning back in her chair.
"I didn't do it."

She was offended he even thought he had to say that. But a nagging voice in the back of her mind that sounded suspiciously like Liam reminded her of the CCTV footage, the twin of the Winter Soldier spotted near the UN building. "I know."

"You shouldn't have come."

"What did you expect me to do?"
"You shouldn't have come. I've gotten you in trouble."

"James-"
"You need to go home." His voice was low and filled with authority. She almost laughed.
"If it were me, you'd come, wouldn't you?" He remained silent but to her, that just said it all. She chuckled. "Why are you any different?"
"I don't-"
"Let me guess. You don't deserve this? All the help and support you're getting." She leaned forward, "You do deserve this and don't insult me by telling me you don't or telling me to go home like I'm nothing to you. I'm riding this out with you. We all are."

"You might go to jail."

"Then we can rot together."

"Mal-"
"You don't get to decide what I do with my life." Mallory said, defiant till the end. "I do and if I want to put myself in harm's way for you, then I will. You can't stop me."

Annoyed, James huffed and sat back in his chair, straining so he seemed to be recoiling from the very sight of her.

"You have people back home who care about you. Who need you. Your mother… Liam."

She wanted to correct him but found herself viewing her romantic entanglements in a new angle. Would he think she dropped everything to come find him? How would it look, if the situation was reversed and James revealed his mother was in rehab and he'd spilt with his girlfriend on the off-chance he'd see her again? It'd be… creepy. Heartfelt. Romantic. Weird. Mallory, suddenly embarrassed at far she'd jumped for him, played it off as a shrug.

"You need me more right now. Especially if you're going to pursue this self-deprecation crap."

A knock suddenly reverberated through the now silent cell. Her minute warning that she was going to be pulled away to be read her charges, or imprisoned or whatever they wanted to do with her. Mallory stood and James's eyes followed her, as she dragged her chair around the table and left it in front of his cell, taking her new seat so they were much closer. She leaned forward and rested a palm on the glass in a comforting gesture, and James's hard face softened at her.

"I'm sorry you're here." Her voice was quieter, strained with worry, "If the worst comes and you're prosecuted, I'll vouch for you-"
"Mal-"

"Ssh." She murmured it as if she were talking to a child, "I'll vouch for you. Get you somewhere nice where I can see you. It's going to be okay, James."

The door opened. The guard who had escorted her stepped through and she could feel his eyes staring daggers at the back of her head. She lifted herself from the chair and still, eyes trained on James's form, walked backwards from the room. James raised his shackled-hand and waved his fingers in a goodbye gesture, that made her throat tighten and made it difficult to swallow.

She passed a blonde man who was also being guided towards James's cell by an escort and her brain pinged. She stopped her own escort, whirled on her feet and called down the hall.
"Excuse me?" They kept walking so Mallory caught up with them, "Excuse me!"
He turned. Blonde, he was far taller than her. He looked presentable enough, with polished and designer glasses settling atop his nose and a navy jumper.

"Do you speak English?"
The man nodded, "Yes. May I ask-"
"I'm Dr. Smith. I was the physician assigned to James- um, Mr Barnes's case."

His eyes, dark brown almost like her own, brightened with interest. "Oh. Well in that case, it's very nice to meet you Dr. Smith."
They shook hands and she registered the sheer number of callouses on the inset of his palm. Odd for someone who didn't use his hands much. Mallory frowned slightly as they withdrew but she realized how rude that was and composed her face into a polite smile.

"How is he?"
"He's… shaken." She folded her arms, remembering his little smile when she entered and how furious he became when he realized she was going to say, "I'm afraid he probably won't be very welcoming."

"Well that's expected. When was his last memory wipe?"
Mallory pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to remember, "God. A while back."
"I imagine he remembers much of his past."
"He tries to forget." She said, "It's painful."
"Any specific trauma he recalls?"
Mallory tilted her head to the side, a little perplexed at the question, "That would be violating patient confidentiality."
"Of course. Of course. I forget myself." He pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose and said, "I hear you're the world's foremost expert on brainwashing sciences."

Mallory arched an eyebrow, amused, "Expert? Is that what they told you? I have a good memory, that's all. Zola was the true genius behind the Winter Soldier programme. His research was moved to Department X which was blasted to smithereens some time ago. All we have left was what I read and my notes on the subject."

Which, when she thought about it, would make her the world's foremost expert on brainwashing sciences. A depressing thought, since there were many in neuroscientists in the field who had studied it but none who had witnessed the true effect in hand. There were many examples of brainwashing neuroscientists could use, such as the psychological effects of cults, religion to a lesser extent and even the social conditioning of countries through wartime propaganda. But none matched to the true psychological achievement of James's case.

Mallory practically slapped herself for thinking of it in such cold, clinical terms but it was. It was a scientific achievement to achieve a level of subjugation and control over an individual through the matters of external and internal conditioning, no matter how horrible the patient suffered.

She supposed, in a way, it would be comparable to the effects of Mengele and his kind, and the experimentations he did on his unwilling prisoners. They were vile, unscientific processes but sometimes, just sometimes… the results could be used to save lives in the future. It was the way her father and Pierce had gone about it, that ends justify the means mentality. God, never tell anyone you just thought that. She thought to herself, frowning. You're supposed to be ex-HYDRA.
"Department X?"

Mallory was brought away from her thoughts, composing herself once more to smile politely.
"The facility HYDRA kept Ja- Mr Barnes contained in." She explained. The psychiatrist nodded, pushing the glasses once more up his nose as if they weren't a proper fit.
"And this was before 2001?"
Mallory gave a short laugh, "Is this an interrogation or a chat?"

"I'm just trying to gather personal perspectives of the patient, Dr. Smith. Who else would know so much about him?"
"No." She decided, answering the question with as much honesty as she could muster, "Department X was the facility they transferred him too after 9/11. Pierce thought it'd be better to have an asset on American soil in case we were attacked in such a way again. Before that he was hidden away by the Soviets somewhere."
He arched an eyebrow, "You don't know where."

"No. Too high above my clearance. I didn't catch your name."
He pushed the glasses up again, "I'm-"

The guard stepped in, annoyed at how the conversation had eaten into a lot of time. "We have to go, sir."

"Sorry. It was nice to meet you, Dr Smith."
And with that he hurried away. Mallory lingered in the corridor, watching him go, a little perplexed at how uninformed the man seemed. It just showed that the UN was poorly managed and clocked in another reason why the Accords were a bad idea.

Mallory was escorted back into a room. Everybody was standing around a very tall dining table, topped with one of those expensive conference phones. Mallory tucked a few loose strands of her hair behind her ear and sought out Sam, who was sitting calmly drumming his fingers against the table. Once he saw her standing next to Sam, Steve came over, looking agitated.
"How is he?" He asked breathlessly.

"Fine. A little shaken up, a little scared I think. But he's fine."
Steve looked uncomfortable as he said, "Thanks for what you did. They would've never let me see him."

Mallory was equally as uncomfortable, responding with a small nod and, "It's no problem."

Both of their eyes focused on the screens just above them. There was no sound but Mallory could see the UN psych man pulling up a chair and James didn't look all that impressed with the intrusion. She fingered the photograph of herself in her pocket. The sliding doors opened and Sharon stepped through. She tossed her hair and slid a bit of paper across the desk toward Sam.

"Receipt for your gear." She announced, coming to stand over by Steve. Mallory was struck by how close they stood and the constant almost-flirtatious gazes they exchanged with each other.

"Bird costume?" Sam asked, sounding outraged. Sharon turned to him and shrugged.

"I didn't write it."

Casually, Sharon leaned to the side and her hand pressed the conference phone. Suddenly, there was a live feed on one of the screens in the room with them, accompanied by sound. Steve and Mallory both exchanged a glance of weariness then one of thanks to Sharon.

"-not here to judge you. I just want to ask a few questions." The psychiatrist was saying, "Do you know where you are James?"
James stared solidly ahead, unwilling to meet the cameras eyes or even the eyes of the man who was asking the questions.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me." The psychiatrist said, gently pressing him. Mallory shifted so Steve could walk around her, and she watched him pull out the file containing the picture the task force had released. His eyes were scanning the picture incessantly, then looking back up to the screen where his friend was shifting uncomfortably under the hot lights of the cell he was in.

"My name is Bucky." His words were quiet, but firm. Mallory hid her smile, feeling her two sides at war with one another, glad as a friend that he was being so defiant but unhappy with his uncooperative performance as a doctor.

Steve took everyone's attention away from the screen, throwing the photograph on the table. "Why would the task force release this photo to begin with?"
"Get the word out. Use as many eyes as we can." She shrugged, "It's a common technique with high profile targets."
"Right. 'Cos it's a good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken and get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier."

"You're saying someone framed him to find him." Sharon sounded unconvinced. Mallory interjected her, still watching the screen, "Makes sense. I mean, otherwise, the time-line is completely wrong."
"What do you mean?" Sharon asked her and Mallory turned, so she and the woman could make eye contact.

"Well… he's quiet for two years after the Triskelion incident. Then he bombs the UN for no reason, putting himself at risk for capture?"

Sam was playing devil's advocate, "They could say it was because of the Accords."

"The Accords don't affect him. In fact, if they're pursuing this course of him being evil then the Accords would probably work in his favour."

"How?"

"Him," Mallory said, nodding her head at Steve, "If they sent him to put down the Winter Soldier, they wouldn't send him because of a conflict of interest. So, that's one superhuman down. And the rest of the team would probably barter to get him captured instead of killed."

Sharon, more convinced, spoke next. "You're both saying someone framed him to find him?"

Mallory and Steve nodded, both once again uneasily united on a defend-James stand front. Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair, finally ceasing the drumming of his fingers.

"Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing."
Mallory's face felt warm with shame as she felt the prickle of Steve's accusing eyes on her back. Steve spoke quietly, "We didn't bomb the UN. Turns a lot of heads."

Sharon was back to he unconvinced tone, "Yeah, but that doesn't guarantee who framed him would get him. It guarantees we would."

"Tell me, Bucky, you've seen a great deal, haven't you?"
James shifted uncomfortably in his bindings, his face made of stone when replied. "I don't wanna talk about it."
The room fell warmly silent. Mallory could hear everybody's brains straining to think, stretching as they tried to gather information of the case. They all seemed to come to the same conclusion as Sharon was looking horrified, Sam somewhat disturbed and Steve was glaring accusingly at the psychiatrist talking to Bucky.

Mallory spoke quietly, "He had callouses." Steve looked at her and Mallory elaborated. "On the inside of his palm. I thought I was being paranoid but… no psychiatrist I've ever met has hands like that."

"You feel if you open your mouth the horrors might never stop coming." The psychiatrist was looking at his table. Everyone in the room was frozen to the spot, waiting for what he was about to say. "Don't worry. We only have to talk about one."

The room went dark.

A/N: I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY. I've started university and I'm doing a humanties subject which means essays-all-the-damn-time. But this was a fun chapter to write and the next one should be due soon. Soonish. Don't hold it against me if it's late again. I love you guys and as always, will twerk for reviews, favourites and followers. xx