James was already staring at the ceiling when the lights went out. For a moment, he was total darkness; the silence of the tomb, a throwback to the time he'd spent dancing in the amniotic confines of his mother's womb. For a brief flash, he saw his mother's face. Her dark hair, her bright eyes and that dark tone to her skin that marked her out as European. His father's paleness had taken most of that skin tone out of him but the eyes, oh, the eyes were the same. How he wished he could remember more.

He was jolted from the sudden trip down memory lane when the lights flared up again, the static whir of a backup generator, alarms and flashing lights. Something was seriously wrong and the psychiatrist across from him looked unconcerned, tilting his head slightly to the side to study him further.

"What the hell is this?" James asked, trying to sound unconcerned but a dark, sinking feeling was plunging his gut deeply. Fear. A bad taste was in his mouth and he knew somehow, that his hands would feel someone's throat beneath them before the day was through.

"Why don't we discuss your home?" For some reason, James thought of Mallory. "Not Romania or Department X or that doctor you were living with. Certainly, not Brooklyn. I mean your real home."

As he spoke, he pulled a notebook out of his bag. He took his glasses off and James finally registered the dark, predatory look in the psychiatrist's eyes, a look no caregiver was supposed to know. A man on a hunt was standing before him now, but the only weapon he had to take down his prey was a mere book. A leather skin journal. The flashing lights and muted setting didn't allow him a good look at the colour, but he saw the symbol on the cover. A star.

James knew that book as he knew the stories behind his scars, the vein pattern on the back of his hand or way Mallory looked when she was sleeping. He knew that book intimately, like one knows a lover but instead of it filling him joy, his lips parted in silent shock, his blood froze in his veins and the bad taste in his mouth was burning.

The man stood and with a flashlight began reading in pitch-perfect Russian. "Longing, rusted-"

James hit his head hard against the backdrop of his confines, "No. Stop."

"Seventeen, daybreak-"

He clenched his fist. A panic attack was coming along, alongside the subterranean levels of his brain awakening and beginning to respond to those words he knew so well. "Stop."

"Furnace. Nine."

James screamed. Howled, more likely. The sound reverberated around the room. He was pulling tightly against his iron-clad shackles and he knew if his arm were still flesh, it would be bleeding.

"Benign-"

James yanked. The confines broke. The man reading those words from hell stuttered, watching, interest in his reaction but in a way that denied James the littlest shards of humanity he'd finally managed to recover; he was watching him in way a child watches animals at the zoo, understanding nothing of the world and its cruelty.

The man was walking near the cell. I'm going to kill this man. He hoped his fingers would feel the last pulses of his heartbeat. He used his metal arm to rip the confines off his other hand then stood, shaking with rage and fear. The caged beast was free and James drove his fist through the glass, howling as he tried to shatter it.

"Homecoming."
His brain was starting to blank. No, no, no, please not again please don't let it happen again. It had been so long since he'd been under control and he couldn't do it. Not again. There were too many people in this building he cared about who would wipe out of his mind and who this man would command him to hurt. Steve. Mallory. God, he'd told her to go home, why was she so stubborn?

"One."

One word. One more word and James was going to be drowning again. Drowning under servitude. Would he lose his memories this time? He had worked so hard to make something that was his own. He had revelled in remembering things. He wanted to recall the mundane and the extraordinary and the hurt just so he could feel and think for himself again. He missed the familiar weight of the picture in his pocket.

"Freight car."

His last real thought was no. The glass finally broke and the force of his frantic fists blew the door off its handles. But it was too late.

The Winter Soldier straightened up. His surroundings were unfamiliar. He was breathless, wearing clothes he didn't remember putting on. The man in front of him had said the words so the Soldier was his.

"Ready to comply."

"Mission report." The man spoke in English now. "December 16th 1991."

The Winter Soldier complied.

Mallory was breathless but she kept running, following the slipstream of Sam and Steve as they raced to the basement level. How could she be so stupid? It had been mere minutes since the lights had gone out but that was more than enough time for the faux psychiatrist to do and say what he had planned for. Her stomach quivered anxiously at the thought of James. She wondered what kind of state he was in, if any. There was a chance he was dead and she prayed to every god that it wasn't true.

Steve came to a stop and his face went pale. The basement level made sure that the alarms reached but they sounded distant, as Mallory slowed down when she reached Steve to see what he was looking at. The body of a man was slumped on the floor. Mallory bent down and reached two fingers by his throat.

"Well?" Steve whispered.

"Alive." The sweat on her brow faded somewhat and she stood. "Just about."

But Steve was distracted. He left them both and continued walking through the basement. As he walked, his eyes became alive with shock, roaming the floors of the basement to check just how many bodies. Who had done this? The psychiatrist surely couldn't take all these men out himself-

Unless… unless…. She couldn't bear thinking about it but in her mind's eye she saw the Soldier on their foray into the field, first in the prison and secondly on the highway. That's impossible. Nothing but brain washing tech could reverse him back.

"Help me." A voice croaked in the doorway. Steve stood and walked over, compassion guiding him but his expression changed when he saw who it was. Mallory's did as well, as the psychiatrist was slumped to the floor pretending to be injured.

"Get up." Steve sounded just as pissed off as Mallory was. When the man didn't comply in the second Steve gave him, Steve picked him up and slammed him against the wall. Despite her anger, Mallory winced as the cracking sound echoed through the empty room. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"To see an empire fall." The man responded, the faux injury in his voice fading to a roughness.

Mallory was just behind Sam when a shape attacked him. Sam ducked and the man's fist contacted the wall, echoing a loud metallic crunch. No… Mallory was teary when she got a proper look at him. Oh, Bucky, no. Somehow, the psychiatrist had switched the Soldier back on.

It was over before it began for Sam, as James threw him roughly into the cell he had inexplicably escaped from. Mallory gasped and moved forward, but quickly leapt backwards when Steve lunged. The pair began to fight, moving backwards towards the place in which they'd came. She needed to tend to Sam but she couldn't help but follow at a distance. Usually, she'd place her money on the Captain to win in a fight but the two were so equally matched that it was impossible to tell. Mallory edged behind them and realized with a sinking feeling James was winning.

He threw Steve into the elevator shaft. Mallory heard the crash of metal and thud of a body hitting the floor. Mallory gasped again and James turned around slowly, breathless, his eyes returned with that dead stare.

He reminded her of a great white shark. His eyes were usually warm when looking at her but here they were black pits, zeroing in on her like the scope on a sniper rifle.

She was his target now. Mallory opened her mouth to speak but James took a rough step forward.

Mallory bottled it and fled on her heel.

Mallory had never run so fast in her entire life. Even then it wasn't enough. James was hot on her trail, seemingly putting in no effort to keep a pace with her. Sweat was soon pouring, down her front, down her back, down her face and her legs were aching, with the speed and force she was pushing them to propel her forward. The stairs were the real killer; Mallory had walked up some flights on the Eiffel tower but here, her calves were shaking as she tried to progress to the top level, to find someone, anyone who could help.

James grabbed her leg. Mallory had almost reached the top but she went down like a sack of stones, her shin cracking hard on the edge of the step. Cursing, she scrabbled on the concrete floor to move forward but James was too strong, that iron grip grabbing her left leg tighter and dragging her toward him.

"James, please!"

She turned, her tears staring to fall. His body was crushing her as he used his weight to keep her down. She kicked and screamed. Hands left her legs to wrap around her wrists tightly, pinning her down to stop her from hitting him. What was he going to do?

"James! It's Mallory! Stop!"
Useless. He didn't know who Mallory was. Heck, he didn't even know who James was. Mallory was sobbing now but her sweat was losing up the grip on his metal arm, so she used it as a lubricant to slide it free. James was shocked and immediately began trying to get her back. Mallory punched him in the throat and the Soldier choked, spluttering. As he coughed, Mallory kicked him free and started running through the door.

The room was open air, bright, sunlight filtering in through the beams. People were sprinting all directions, panicking like headless chickens. Mallory fitted in well and she started to sprint again but James had recovered too quickly, and had wrapped his fist around her hair. Mallory screamed as he dragged her towards him, back through the threshold into the dark hallway again. Pain blossomed in her spine as he slammed her against a concrete wall.

He spat something in Russian. His metal fist closed around her throat, choking her. Applying a few more inches of pressure would break it. She kicked and punched but he just tightened his grip. She could barely speak. His gaze wasn't cold; it was hot, hot with fury, hot with a pure anger that Mallory had never experienced before. He hated her. He wanted to kill her. Mallory was going to die.

She heard a blaster and the grip on her throat was gone. James dropped her carelessly and turned to see what was happening; Mallory saw through the film of tears and through hacking coughs, Tony Stark dressed in only a suit heading towards him.

"Get out of here." Tony said, not quite looking at her. Mallory didn't need to be told twice, scrambling upwards. She was instantly forgotten by the Soldier, the rifle scope of his eyes choosing Tony.

She hated that her mind called him the Soldier again. She headed through into the open-air room and finally caught her breath.

She whirled again when she heard a sonic blast. Tony had calibrated his metal-glove to fire one off and it affected James, causing him to stop fighting and to sway. Would it be enough to break him out of the groove? Mallory had read up on all of the Winter Soldier project brain-washing tech and had never heard of him being reset without the spider-like apparatus Pierce used, that washed his brain.

Tony sent off a flash and raced towards the man. The Soldier crouched but was bent back up in time to start fighting. Mallory's breath gasped roughly in her throat when he unquestioningly tried to shoot Tony in the heart. Her mind transported her briefly to the forest with Kohl, and how he'd shot him without thought. James was gone.

Sharon diverted the Soldier's attention and behind her Natasha was preparing to run up. She spotted Mallory ducking behind a table and shot her a look of pure confusion.

"Get out of here, Mal!" Nat's voice was rough, her eyes fixed on Mallory before she reached the Soldier.

She couldn't get out of here. She couldn't move. She could only watch as the Soldier continued to decimate her friends, injure her enemies and disappear up the stairs to carry out whatever order the psychiatrist had given him.

He didn't even turn his head as he left.

Steve was running through the atrium when he saw the destruction; the broken tables, splattered drinks and food, the shattered glass. Bodies littered the floor and he hoped they were alive, even though he didn't have time to stop and check.

Until his eyes caught a woman, crouched by a table. Her eyes were red with tears and she was alive, breathing, thankfully since he knew if she was dead James would never forgive himself. Steve slowed to a jog.

"Mallory?"
The woman looked up; shell-shocked, he recognized the stare as a thousand-yard the soldiers would wear after a hard battle. There was a ring of red around her neck, the splodges bearing the mark of fingertips. For a moment, she was a thousand years old and weary. Steve was fearful of approaching, anticipating a violent reaction. Then she blinked and became her age again, standing up.

"He went that way." Her voice was unnaturally calm. He guessed it came with being a doctor.

"Come on then."

Side by side they raced up the stairs. Mallory's eyes were blank. A question occurred to Steve just as they reached the level before the stairs.

"Where's Sam?"

She shrugged, "Haven't seen him. He's good. He's fine."

The comforting words were said casually but Steve felt his stomach thicken anxiously. He hoped Mallory was right. They reached the top step and heard beyond the iron door that someone was activating a helicopter, the blades starting to whir.

Steve ripped open the door handle and the blinding sunlight temporarily plunged the world into white. He heard Mallory gasp beside him and his eyes adjusted, seeing Bucky sitting in the pilot seat starting to take off. Steve didn't even think; didn't even guess if he could even do it, just raced up the steps and jumped as high as his abilities would allow. Luckily, the strength the doctor had given him with the serum allowed him to jump high enough to tip the nose of the helicopter down.

Bucky glared at him. He started inching left off the helipad and Steve strained, trying to drag the helicopter down, flexing his biceps and groaning. His shoes scuffed against the concrete floor as he reached closer and closer to the edge. Bucky was edging the speed up and up and Steve was really straining now, the strands of his t-shirt starting to buckle slightly under the hard strain, a headache beginning to pound as he ached to keep the helicopter anchored to the ground.

Soon, he was the only link keeping the helicopter on the ground.

Bucky smirked at him. Then, as the alarms began to whir, he nosed the joystick into the helipad. Steve let go and dived, his head thumping against the concrete ground. As he rolled, he caught sight of the doorway he'd entered and saw that Mallory was gone; where had she gone?

The blades almost decapitated him but the helicopter soon came to a stop. Steve caught his breath then jumped, as Bucky drove his fist through the glass window and caught his throat.

The hate in Bucky's eyes was breath-taking. He had assumed he would've been used to being stared like that now, what with his war experience and the aliens and the robots but it was uniquely unsettling, seeing the expression worn by the Chitauri being worn by a man who had comforted him in his darkest moments.

The helicopter was starting to sink over the edge. Bucky didn't care but James did, desperately trying to yank himself out of the iron grip as he choked. It was no use. The helicopter crashed to the ground and splashed in the water. He took a deep breath as he went under.

Steve resurfaced, choking, his fallen friend in his hands as he bobbed in the water around the debris of the helicopter, knowing deep in his heart that this was something neither of them would ever get back too.

A/N: I suck so hard at action scenes but this is a multi-perspective chapter. Yay! Anyway, as usual, love to you all (seriously i never say this enough but oh my god people actually read this and like it!) like, review, favourite, PM me, ask me questions