Alright, this is a long one. I went to see CA: TWS again and worked through the night on this, so hopefully it's up to par. Thank you so much for your continued support and enthusiasm; it does not get old, promise.

In case you're interested, I went back and edited some stuff, most notably Lina and Steve's conversation in chapter five. It doesn't change the story any, I just wanted to get Steve's voice right and it took some doing, but I think I finally got it.

Chapter 10

"In that small café,
The park across the way,
The children's carousel,
The chestnut trees, the wishing well
I'll be seeing you…"

– Billie Holiday, "I'll Be Seeing You"

James awoke some time later to a pounding in his head. He was disoriented and groggy, but on edge. An attempt to open his eyes resulted in a hissing wince, the light painful. The room, from the quick glance he had gotten, was fuzzy and spinning. The shrill beeping noise coming from his right sent sharp stabs of pain to his head. It really wasn't helping him focus. He tried lifting his right arm to cradle his head, but couldn't move it at all. James' eyes flew open to stare at the strong cuff that kept his arm no more than six inches from the rail, made from the same strong metal as the restraint. He looked at his other arm, only to find it magnetically cuffed to the railing on the other side of the cold metal table he was stretched out upon. There was a chair before the table and a pillow under his head, indicating that this was not a Hydra facility, not a Hydra operating table, and not in a Hydra lab. He was not a lab rat anymore.

This, however, did not change the fact that he was in a very unfamiliar location and in a very vulnerable position. James felt his hackles rising defensively. He could hear some movement on the other side of a door located about fifteen feet away from him, but it was biometrically locked and there was no window to break through that would allow him to unlock it from the other side. All in all, he was not a happy camper.

A raised voice on the other side of the door caught James' attention. It was masculine, commanding, but not cruel. Definitely not a Hydra facility. It leant him a modicum of comfort. The voices in the corridor hushed, followed by muffled beeps and the door swinging open.

A middle-aged man with mousy brown hair, a receding hairline, kind brown eyes, and a middle-of-the-line suit walked in. "Sergeant Barnes, I'm Director Phil Coulson," he said, voice soft and kind, but neutral. "I'm sorry about the restraints, but we didn't know what kind of state you would be in once you awoke. How are you feeling?"

James nodded. He understood the necessity of such precautions and felt a pang of regret. "A little worse for the wear, but I think I'll pull through," he said dryly. His head gave a very painful twinge, causing him to wince. "What happened? And why isn't Fury in here tanning my hide?"

Coulson snorted amusedly, gently closing the door. "You – or, rather, the Winter Soldier – had an encounter with one of our top operatives and received a mild concussion after she hit you over the head with a weight. She calls it 'cognitive recalibration.' Your enhanced healing abilities have left you with no brain swelling and no laceration, although I imagine you probably have a killer headache."

The twinkle in the man's eyes left James with the nagging suspicion that he was more amused by the situation than he let on. "Cognitive recalibration, huh? It's effective, I'll give your operative that."

Agent Coulson huffed out a laugh as he fished a set of keys from his jacket pocket and began to unlock the cuff on James' right arm. "She gets us the results we want with minimal advertisement of our movements – usually. Mind filling me in on what happened in the gym? I've watched the security footage already, but I'd like to hear it from you."

James eyed Coulson coolly as he set to work freeing the cybernetic limb, flexing his arm to loosen the tensed muscles from being tethered for however long he was out. He sat up and licked his lips, wondering how to go about divulging information about his reversion back to the Winter Soldier, wondering if he had the choice to opt out of this conversation. He harbored no delusions that it would be ignored in his next meeting with Reno and then Coulson would know anyway.

Debrief now and build a rapport. There's no way you can switch over to civilian life; you're too useful to them and too big a target for Hydra. Maybe you can help enough to see the light of day again. Maybe… maybe you can work with Steve on this, an optimistic little voice whispered to him.

With that thought, he lifted his carefully hopeful eyes up to meet Coulson's and began telling him about the encounter with the woman with the fiery hair. His memory of the fight was fuzzy, but he did the best he could to describe the trigger and the encounter to the best of his ability. Once the short narrative was over, the older man sized James up. His face was carefully neutral as he seemed to come to some sort of decision.

"Sergeant Barnes," Coulson began, settling into the chair directly in front of James, "you're aware that we have been keeping track of your recovery, and I think that you have made great progress since your introduction to Agent Balitiu and Dr. Reno. If it's alright with you, I would like for us to sit down and discuss your tenure with the Red Room and Hydra in detail. As you may have guessed, Captain Rogers and a couple other Avengers have been working to gather intel and take down key Hydra leaders and suppliers. It's highly personal to them, as it is to you. Any information you can provide would be greatly appreciated. It would also go a long way towards proving that you can work with us as part of a team. Should this prove successful, and should you continue to recover, you'll be given certain privileges."

James could hardly believe his ears. This was so close to his earlier thoughts that he almost asked the man to repeat himself. He was being given an opportunity to work towards making up for – maybe even righting – some of the wrongs he'd committed as a Hydra puppet. It was almost too good to be true. If it wouldn't be the equivalent of looking the gift horse in the mouth, James would be peppering Coulson with suspicious questions. He was being offered a chance at redemption – maybe he couldn't make up for all of his sins, but he could try to get a few tallies in the 'good' column and close the gap a little.

Lina had received a call in the middle of an advising session, the shrill melody cutting the flustered undergrad off in mid-sentence. She held up a finger and took the call; as the end of the semester loomed ever closer, the literature students assigned to her for advising began appearing for their required meetings. She felt very little pity for taking S.H.I.E.L.D.'s call in the middle of one such meeting; it was the kid's own fault for procrastinating until right before the Thanksgiving break.

"Yes?" she chirped into her Android phone.

"Agent Balitiu, Sergeant Barnes has suffered a minor relapse. He is currently in the medical bay with a minor concussion. You are to report in as soon as possible," the cool female voice on the other line said.

She paled, imagination immediately conjuring up the various scenarios that could land the Winter Soldier in the hospital with a concussion, of all things. "Alright, I'll be there in twenty minutes."

With a quick tap, she disconnected the call and began packing her necessaries into her backpack. "I have some personal business to attend to. Enroll in these classes when you get back to your dorm, okay? I promise they'll all be interesting. I think you'll really enjoy the Harlem Renaissance class with Dr. Benavides; she likes to incorporate a lot of female authors, so that should be a good fit with your women's studies minor. Okay, have a good one, bye."

Lina shrugged into her green coat and her creamy scarf, slinging her backpack on as she trailed the bemused girl out of her office. She was in a rush to get to James, worry clouding her features as she rushed through the bustling hall. She was so focused that she didn't know someone was trying to catch her attention until a hand shot out to grasp her upper arm tightly.

Adrenaline spiked and instinct kicked in: she fisted her right hand, whirling to forcefully bring her forearm down on her captor's, breaking his hold on her and eliciting a pained curse.

"Shit, Lina, it's just me! For fuck's sake, what'd you do that for?" David exclaimed, clutching his arm to his chest. People were staring at the scene they were creating.

"Oh, David! Sorry, it was instinct; one too many self-defense classes as a kid, I guess." She shifted impatiently, blushing at the attention. "Did you need something?"

His head shot up from examining his injured arm. "Hm? Oh, yeah! I was kind of hoping to talk to you about your schedule next semester –"

"Look, David," Lina interrupted, hurriedly, "I don't really have time for this right now; a friend of mine is in the hospital and I'm his emergency contact. I need to go." It's a white lie, and not entirely untrue; no need to feel guilty, she rationalized, eager to move again. She bounced on the balls of her feet as the hallway started clearing. People were going into classrooms and heading home for the afternoon, and she needed to be walking out the doors too.

David's gray eyes crinkled with dejection and mild annoyance. The combination made her wary. "Who is this guy you're so anxious to meet?" he demanded.

"A friend, no one you know." His sudden jealousy sent another shot of adrenaline through her system. Her hands were starting to shake, so she curled them into loose fists to hide the tremors. "I really need to go –"

"You'd be surprised how many people I know in this city; I probably know this guy too, or at least I probably know of him." He suddenly grabbed her hands in his, staring intently into her eyes. The contact was awkward, his palms clammy and too soft. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip. "We can discuss next semester later, maybe over dinner one night?"

"I don't know. My evenings are pretty booked, and then we go on break –" Lina was starting to panic now. The hall was empty except for them and his persistence was really putting her on edge.

"Surely you can make time for a colleague," he wheedled, stroking her palm with his thumb.

The motion made her nauseous. "I don't think so, not this close to the end of the semester."

"Then over the winter break. We'll both have plenty of time then." He shifted closer to her and she backed away.

They were close to a wall now, Lina trapped between it and him. "I doubt it; I plan on being at out of the state for most of the break. Now if you'll excuse me…" She yanked herself out of his grasp and used the forward momentum to continue her flight down the hallway. She could feel his heated gaze burning holes in her back the entire way out of the building.

She arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Acme Paper front fifteen minutes later (the bus was running on schedule, a small miracle) and sped down to the underground med bay, still shaking from her encounter with David. A nurse gave her James' room number and she rushed on, barely stopping to receive directions and nod her thanks.

Just as she arrived at the biometrically locked door that held James behind it, Coulson exited with his mouth curved into a small, satisfied smile. Lina froze in her tracks, not believing that he was alive. She had seen him around before the Avengers Initiative was kicked off, had heard that he was serious, but kind. Everyone in every department, from R&D to the engineers to comms, knew of the heroic, almost legendary way he'd died. All agents spoke of him reverently, and now he stood before her. Lina had gathered that S.H.I.E.L.D. had some way of magically saving lives of their most valued members, but the extent of the injury Loki had inflicted upon him had seemed too great to overcome.

Apparently they were all wrong. She stared, eyes wide behind her glasses. "S-sir," she stammered.

He nodded to her. "Agent Balitiu, it's good to see you. I'm glad you could make it here so quickly. I'm sure Sergeant Barnes will be happy to see you."

Coulson turned on his highly polished heel to join his companion, a striking Asian woman with an intimidating glare, who stood just down the hall.

With a quick shake, she collected herself enough to ask, "Sir? I'm sorry, but –"

He turned back around, almost releasing a weary sigh. His impeccable self-control kept it from escaping. "Yes, I'm alive, don't worry about how. I wanted to debrief the sergeant about the circumstances that landed him here; I'm sure he'll tell you the rest. You've been doing really good work with him, thank you. That, and how many times do you get to meet the long-presumed dead best friend of Captain America?" he asked with an almost childlike glee glittering in his brown eyes.

"It is pretty wild stuff," she agreed, "but I was just going to ask for clearance to unlock the door."

"Oh. Right." Coulson sheepishly moved to do just that. "Don't worry about clearance; go right in. It will open right up when you two need to leave."

They nodded to each other, and she stepped into the stark white room: white walls lined with stainless steel cabinets and medical equipment, white floor tiles with a drain under the table, and the smell of bleach and disinfectant leant the space a sinister feel. The metal slab that was anchored to the middle of the floor stopped Lina dead in her tracks, heart hammering. This was where they had put James after a relapse? It had to be some sick joke. The stainless steel chair in between the door and the table only added to the room's creepy vibe. There were metal rails on either side of the table with cuffs dangling.

Her eyes frantically searched for James, desperate to ensure his well-being. They landed on him examining his reflection in a side panel of one of the cabinets. "My hair is so long; I look like a hooligan. Do you think they have a barber stashed around here? I want to cut it."

Lina swallowed, dislodging her heart from her throat, leaning against the door for support. "Are you okay? I got a phone call saying you had a concussion. What happened?"

"I had a minor relapse and the redheaded woman from the overpass fight last year hit me over the head with a weight. They're calling it 'cognitive recalibration,'" he snorted. "That sounds ridiculous, right?"

"Which part?" she asked weakly, heart rate finally slowing to normal. The stress from the past half hour was fading, leaving exhaustion in its wake. "You're okay, though, right?"

James nodded, still avoiding looking at her. "My head is still ringing a bit. Coulson is in charge now, did you know that? Fury only steps in for special cases, like the Winter Soldier. He offered me a chance to work with S.H.I.E.L.D. to take down Hydra once and for all."

"What did you say?" Her interest was piqued. She knew something big had to be happening now that Coulson was revealed to be alive; it seemed logical that the agency was working to dismantle Hydra. The two organizations had an almost age-old feud, going all the way back to ancient Egypt and Imhotep. The Brotherhood of the Shield and the Brotherhood of the Spear may have morphed and adapted to the various eras of civilization, and they may have disappeared for periods of time, but they never truly died. It made sense that James would want to be a part of the fight to eliminate the Brotherhood of the Spear – Hydra – once and for all.

"I accepted. We're going to meet next Thursday to share intel." He saw her open her mouth to extend an offer to stay and support him through the meeting, and cut her off by saying, "Reno will be there to monitor it. Don't worry about it, go home to your family." There was no hiding the wistfulness in his voice.

"Maybe, if you're cleared for it, we can get you Christmas clearance to venture off-campus. Either way, I'll be happy to fly back here on Christmas Day to spend it with you," Lina offered, already planning to change that flight plan once she got to a computer.

James thought about it for a moment before nodding. The idea of spending his first real Christmas since the forties alone was bleaker than even he was comfortable with. "If you can manage that, and if your family is okay with it, I won't complain. I've finally started to enjoy your company," he joked, flashing his crooked smile at her.

"Yeah, yeah. You're not too bad either, Sarge." She cleared the distance between them in a few steps and wrapped her arms around his waist, worry causing her grip to be a little tighter than usual. "Now I just need to figure out what to get you for Christmas…"

His flesh and blood arm pulled her body closer. He avoided touching anyone, himself included, with the cybernetic limb that still had that grotesque red star emblazoned on it. The familiar intimacy of the hug did more to calm all of her worries than any self-defense know-how and seemingly-immortal agents ever would. "Lina," he murmured. She loved the sound of her name on his tongue. "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth."

Lina scowled up at him, playfully poking her tongue out. His responding chuckle reverberated through her body and her heart fluttered happily. "I can't do that, but I can cut your hair after I get back. Deal?"

"Deal."

Travelling the week of Thanksgiving was no mean feat. Lina landed at Hobby Airport in Houston three hours later than scheduled, thanks to a chain reaction that all started with snow in Milwaukee. The bustling hub of international transportation was packed to the seams. She was glad she'd decided to rent a car instead of attempting to find her family in all of the madness. After more waiting and squeezing herself through the crowds, Lina finally collected her suitcase, Ziggy's cat carrier, and her rental keys and hit the highway south towards her home.

The commute that normally took half an hour turned into a two and a half hour nightmare. The freeways were congested with the after work rush, the home from school crowd, and the out-of-towners, and there was a four car pile-up to boot. Still, Lina had her iPod plugged in, so she was content to uninhibitedly sing along.

Ziggy, used to such antics from her human, was peacefully curled up on her favorite blanket with her favorite jingle toy in the backseat. She liked her cat carrier and occasionally slept there in the apartment, so taking long trips in it was unpleasant, but doable. She had cried for a while on the flight, but her human had saved her from further indignity before too much time had passed. Soon enough the calico would be free to roam around and she was content to wait.

Eventually they made it to Lina's parents' home on the bay. Her family came rushing out of the lovely two-story, Spanish-style house when they heard the car door slam shut, enthusiastic exclamations of "Oh, honey! We've missed you so much!" and "It's good to see you, Lina-bear" echoing off the water and around the cul de sac. Bear hugs and secret sibling handshakes were exchanged, Ziggy's carrier was liberated from the car (Lina's oldest brother, Gerry, warned her: "keep an eye on your jungle beast; Lily likes to tug on tails."), and the happy party ventured inside.

She deposited her suitcase and carryon in her childhood bedroom, noting that very little had changed since her years at a local university. The bookcases stood empty, except for the board games for the kids. The posters were gone and had been replaced with lovely landscapes and photos of Galveston. The feminine glass and metal vanity and full-sized bed remained exactly the same, the black and white floral print comforter unchanged. Lina toed off her flats, feet sinking into the plush carpeting with a sigh of relief.

The calico began crying shrilly, eager to be set loose. Lina, knowing the unhappy cat was in no state to handle her rambunctious nieces, quickly reached down to open the pet carrier. Once Ziggy was freed, she stretched and began exploring her immediate surroundings. The window seat instantly became the cat's perch of choice, and the only sound she emitted was that of a contented purr.

The cacophony of voices, toys that played music, and the television filled the sizeable house with the noise that Lina hadn't realized she'd been missing. She was home; it smelled like her mom's favorite hazelnut air freshener, something savory bubbling on the stove, and her father's aftershave. They were the three best smells in the world.

Well, maybe not the only three… Her thoughts inadvertently flashed to James and his piney, soapy scent. Even though no one was around to see or guess where her mind had wandered to, she still blushed.

She shook the thoughts away and headed downstairs after a quick trip to the hall bath, where she splashed cold water on her face. The smell of their late dinner grew stronger, as did the din of people and a too-loud news show. Everyone, excepting her mother and grandmother, was settled in the living room, and no one had noticed her quiet appearance in the living room entrance. She took this rare chance to watch her family fondly, leaning her shoulder against the archway. Pawpaw Gerard, the firm believer in all things Fox News (except Glenn Beck; he was too nutty for the pragmatic Southern man), was playing peek-a-boo with the two year old Rosie Leigh, completely disregarding the television in favor of his great-granddaughter.

Gerry, the eldest of Eileen and Beniamin's brood, was seated on the love seat with Greg, the middle child, discussing work (Gerry worked as a biochemical engineer at a refinery and Greg was out at NASA with their dad) and raising little girls. There were no male grandchildren yet, but Sara, Greg's long-term girlfriend and now fiancée, was pregnant again. Greg was praying for a son. They already had twin six year old girls, Mackenzie and Laurel, so a boy would be a welcome addition. Gerry, named after Pawpaw, was about to celebrate his ten year anniversary with his wife, Julia, and they had two daughters running around. Little Rosie, now poking Pawpaw's puffed out cheeks, and their four year old, Lily, who was entertaining herself with her G.I. Joe in a tutu over by her mother. Gerry and Jules were perfectly content with their two girls, and they felt no rush to have another child.

Sara and Julia were chatting in the plush chairs by the floor-to-ceiling bay windows, keeping the littlest ones in line with Etch-a-sketches and Lina's old Beanie Babies. It sounded like they were discussing the pros and cons of being a stay at home or work-from-home mom as opposed to working outside of the house and leaving the kids with their aging great-grandparents or hiring caretakers. Sara worked seventy hours a week or more and felt guilty about it, Lina knew, and Jules was a work-from-home mom; her office (she was some kind of techie whiz at an oil and gas company) allowed and encouraged that. Sara was an attorney, and convincing her boss to let her telecommute was proving to be an exhaustive battle. She looked close to angry tears just talking about it.

Beniamin, or Benjy as Pawpaw teasingly called him, was nowhere to be found in the living room; Lina assumed he was setting the table.

The hubbub and chatter made their large family home seem cozy. She could hear her mom and Granny in the kitchen chattering away about the house being full again and some of the girls' antics from earlier.

Lina loved the holidays – the smells, the foods, the uninterrupted family time – but she always felt a hollow pang in her chest when she looked around and saw everyone joyously paired off with little ones vying for attention and affection. She'd had it all for a couple of years, that someone to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her close. She'd even been close to having a child with him, but she had torn herself away from all of that two years before. Her arms crossed protectively across her belly as the pang grew stronger.

A part of her still mourned for that baby she'd felt growing, the baby she'd miscarried after Andrew had gotten violent one early December morning. They had been engaged to be engaged, but kept stalling after he returned from his second tour in Afghanistan. That was a mutual decision, so Lina had continued focusing on work and her studies. After almost five years together, she really didn't mind waiting some more. They'd had other, bigger concerns than marriage.

She had just been starting her doctoral program at Georgetown when they discovered the pregnancy. He had been doing so well, going to appointments and meetings, and the baby encouraged Andrew to do even better. The fights had almost stopped, his violent outbursts and flashbacks dropped to zero. Her bruises healed and they laughed more. He'd been less volatile and more like his pre-tour self: the joyful, funny man she'd fallen in love with. They didn't even make it through the first trimester before he'd had a really terrible relapse that resulted in her being rushed to the ER and the loss of the pregnancy. After that, they only made it another three months before Lina had to end things with him for good.

As she watched Rosie Leigh playing with Pawpaw, Lina tried to imagine what her child – who would have been the same age – would have been like. Would it have been a girl with her curling golden hair and rosy cheeks? Would it have been a boy with wild sandy hair and mischievous eyes? Lina released her melancholy in a heavy sigh, turning to use the hall entrance to the kitchen, when a heavy arm wrapped itself around her shoulders. The smell of her father's cologne enveloped her, his bearded jaw tickling her temple.

"How are you, my bear?" Beniamin asked softly, his deep bass voice rumbling like thunder.

"I'm fine, papa. Just nostalgic, imagining the impossible. Don't worry, it's a passing flight of fancy," she answered with a smile. It didn't convince him.

He drew back a little to get a better look at his only daughter. "I saw you watching the girls. I know what that look meant. Your mother used to get the same expression before we had you; she always wanted a girl, and was jealous of those who had one."

Of her family, only her parents knew the whole story about the extent of the abuse and the pregnancy that only started because of Andrew's PTSD. Her brothers and sisters-in-law knew about his trauma from being in combat and about the fights, but that was all Lina would allow them to know. It had been two years since it all ended, and she was doing incredibly well. That was all that mattered. These little musings were normal, especially in a single twenty-eight year old woman at the holidays who'd always dreamed of being a mother.

She nodded. "I know, but I am fine. I promise. Besides, we all know that it was you that wanted a daughter the most," she joked. "Come on, I think I smell granny's cornbread. You know we won't get any if we don't get in there now…"

Beniamin smiled at his youngest child as she gave him a peck on the cheek and wandered her way into the kitchen. She smiled so brightly and deflected so well that almost no one knew anything was wrong. He knew how to read her though, as did her mother. Hopefully she'd find the peace of mind she needed from being home with her family for a week. That was one of the best cures for any ill, according to his mother, Elke, may she rest in peace. Family, pretzels with brown mustard, and a good beer could repair anything.

The middle-aged man followed his daughter into the kitchen, chuckling as she received a delighted play-smack with a kitchen towel for snitching a slice of her granny's delectable cornbread. He snuck behind his wife and pulled her flush against him.

Eileen was a full-figured woman who had raised three good children and made good food; her blonde hair was shot through with silver and she had lines around her eyes, but their stormy gray hue remained as vibrant as they were on the day he'd met her. He murmured something in her ear and delighted in her blush, blissfully unaware of the two other sets of eyes on them.

Lina and her granny, Henrietta, exchanged a pointed look. The older woman grabbed the squirt bottle full of water that was usually reserved for the dogs (currently sleeping in the backyard) and pumped three shots of water at the man canoodling with her daughter. "You may be married, and you may be parents, but I do not want to see you making love to my daughter," Henrietta teased in her heavily accented English. "Check the rice, ma petite. Call in the troops, Benjy. Lina, ma coeur, will you get us some bowls down, s'il vous plait? Merci, the beans are done." The woman ran her kitchen with military-like precision. It was a thing to be admired and feared.

It's good to be home.