A/N: Thanks to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta, and the brainstorming. And to Lady Pandora, and Black' Victor Cachat for additional brainstorming.

Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage we did not take,

towards the door we never opened, into the rose garden.
― T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

Namaste,

Sunny

Captain America

Echoes in the Memory

Chapter 37

"That's his watch," Natasha said flatly. "The tattoos are relatively new. He's only had them a couple of months. That's the Chinese character for heart, and on the right he has the character for soul." No one said a word. They knew about her relationship with Bucky, and were kind enough not to make the usual morbid jokes used to relieve the emotional turmoil they felt at the tragic loss of life, whether they knew the victim or not.

She often wondered how Justin had chosen to have those particular words tattooed on the inside of his wrists. His girlfriend couldn't have been an influence because he hadn't known her when he got them.

Bruce crouched beside the arm, hesitating a fraction of a second before beginning his examination. "It was broken recently. I'd say seven to nine days at the most. Bruising around the wound is inconsistent with injuries sustained in the accident. It was broken later, probably in a fall from a height of at no more than five meters, probably a little less." He pointed to the end of the bone. "It was an open compound fracture. See there? I'll need to get the arm to the lab to be certain of my findings, but I'm willing to venture that Justin was alive for at least a day," he gestured at the limb, "Just long enough for a massive infection to set in, which tells me he had no medical treatment for the injury after it happened. Not right away."

Natasha pounced on his description, hope flaring. "Does that mean he's still alive? That someone amputated the arm?"

"Yes, and no. He could've been taken down by the local wildlife. The, uh, arm wasn't amputated by someone with surgical knowledge. It was ripped off. The flesh has been chewed on. I understand black bears roam the woods all along the Appalachian Trail."

His friend and teammate digested the information as Hill stepped forward, speaking to the remaining squad members. "Get back to work. See if you can find the rest of the body."

The squads scattered back to their grids, leaving Natasha alone with Hill and Bruce. "I have to call Carolyn and Martin. We'll need them to formally identify Justin's property."

Bruce wrapped an arm around her shoulder, turning her into his embrace. "I'm sorry, Tasha. Would you like me to speak to them?"

"They're my family. It's my job."

"I'll have a private room set up at the Triskelion. Helen Cho will help with the autopsy."

Natasha pushed away from Bruce, gesturing at the surrounding. "Thank you. What can I do to help?"

"Don't. As you said they're your family. Sit this one out, Tasha. No one will think less of you."

She nodded, climbed back up the hill, and stood next to the vehicle staring at a large oil spot on the ground. Crouching, she ran a finger through it, rubbing the result between thumb and forefinger, and sniffed it. Fresh.

Getting to her feet, Natasha glance right and left, not sure what she was looking for until she found it. Someone had stepped in the oil, and tracked it to the west. She followed the trail consisting of only the toes of the right shoe. The owner had been running, and fast. Soon, the trail all but disappeared as it veered to the right. She located another footprint, this time in the dirt where the path ended.

Returning to the vehicle, she helped herself to one of Bruce's laptops to go over the analysis he'd done comparing Justin and Bucky's medical histories. Not only did the boy resemble Bucky more than any other male member of the family, their EEGs were almost identical. Not the only differences, but the most notable ones were when Bucky had reacted to her name, or photo. Which also explained the boy's reaction to the song that sent Bucky into a frenzy.

If she kept this information from the family for their peace of mind, when it came out-and it would, eventually, Natasha would have to the bear the pain of betrayal from everyone, including Bucky. She snorted to herself. It happens more than you'd think.

An idea popped into her head. She pulled up a map of their current location, and found another stream on the other side of the path. The original search had only gone fifty yards or so, and the stream was much farther in, at the bottom of a moderate cliff. That and the footprint spurred her to action.

Bruce had everything in the 4x4 needed to take samples. Natasha went to the back of the vehicle and opened the hatch. She loaded several pairs of gloves, evidence bags, vials, and all the tools she might need to gather evidence, slung a coil of rope with a grappling hook on the end over her shoulder, and closed the doors.

One of the guards seemed overly interested in what she was doing. She nodded as she passed him, and he followed her into the woods.

~~O~~

With Hill assisting, Bruce packed up the samples the teams had collected so far. They were just closing up the back of the vehicle when Natasha and one of the guards returned. "Where've you been?"

"Had a hunch I wanted to work on." She shook a small vial of water in the air. "Found another stream through there," she nodded to the right. "Had to rappel down a cliff, and cross a field of clover to get to it. Found blood too."

Natasha and the guard loaded the evidence bags into the back of the 4x4, and moved out of the way so Hill and Bruce could close up. She smiled her appreciation to the guard. He tipped his hat, and rejoined the squads still searching. Bruce held the shotgun door for Natasha, and closed it after her. Hill got behind the wheel, and Bruce climbed into the back seat. "There are streams all over the area, Tasha. Why that particular one?"

"I told you, a hunch. Justin's intelligent. More so than he wants people to think." Natasha turned in her seat as much as possible with the seat belt buckled. "I read over the reports from the MPD. Their forensic team located oil on the path. The analysis wasn't much help because the brand was fairly common. It was fresh, meaning someone had parked on the path long enough to leave it behind. It couldn't have come from Justin's SUV because he uses a synthetic, eco-friendly brand. Not to mention the SUV was found down the hill, and not on the path. I'm sure whoever orchestrated these events didn't mean for him to survive the crash.

"One of the things the MPD missed was a partial footprint in the dirt about thirty meters east of where he went over the side. I recognize the unusual tread pattern. It's from a pair of sneakers Justin recently bought. The angle of the footprint indicates that he went into the woods at that point.

"What I think happened is when they realized he'd regained consciousness before they could take him into custody, they went after him. He tried getting away by going down the hill, but the clever boy that he is, Justin let them think he'd run off into the woods in a panic, and doubled back to the road, hoping they'd left their keys in the ignition. It's been done to death in the movies, I know, but that's because it happens in real life. Not this time.

"Justin ran along the path to where I found his footprint, and into the woods until he came to the cliff. At that point, he either fell or was pushed over the side. Probably where he broke his arm because I found blood on the rocks at the bottom, and in the clover. Good thing it hadn't rained, or I'd never have found it."

Bruce nodded. "I'll get on it right away."

Hill held up an evidence bag containing a smashed cell phone. "I had Klein trace the serial number. It's Lockwood's." She passed the bag to Bruce who stored it with the rest of the evidence in a locked case. "I'll see what Klein can do to restore its memory. Failing that, Klein could hack the cell company's site and get his call logs."

The Lockwood Home

Springfield, Virginia

"Isn't there something you can do, Dad?" The pleading note in Carolyn's tone cut Bucky to the core. "It's been over a week, and they're no closer to finding Justin now than at the beginning."

Bucky held his daughter close, brushing his hand down the back of her hair the way he did when she was a child. "I've done all I can, honey. Let's just let the professionals do their job."

He let her go when she stepped back, and he was relieved to see she wasn't crying. "I heard that the first two days are the most important, that each day after that it gets less and less likely we'll find anything to tell us where he's gone, or was taken."

"Carolyn, we've discussed this. If he was kidnapped, they would've already sent a ransom demand. That's why the FBI moved out last night." Bucky sat on the sofa in his daughter's living room, the ankle of one leg resting on the knee of the other. "You've taken a leave of absence from work?"

"Yes. I can't concentrate on my job, but being at home while Martin works is nerve wracking." She dropped down next to him. "I just don't know what to do." Taking his hand forced him to look at her. "Is this how you felt when they were looking for Steve after he ditched the plane?"

Bucky examined those old memories, taking them out one at a time, reminding himself of the waiting that made the days pass so slowly. Steve was the only family Bucky had after his parents passed away within a few months of each other the year he turned twenty-one. "It was different for me. We knew approximately where the plane had gone down, and were certain he'd died on impact, so it wasn't a search and rescue. It was treated as a recovery. The Army doesn't give an extended leave of absence during the war unless you're injured. As the months went by, the Army gave up, and Howard Stark continued searching on his own. Eventually, Howard gave up too.

"The Howling Commandoes were kept busy for a while, then they split us up. By that time, it was easier, mostly because Dugan and I were assigned to the SSR working with Peggy Carter."

"So keeping busy helped." Carolyn's features fell into that thoughtful expression she inherited from Connie. Coming to a decision, she picked up the phone on her way up the stairs. "Ahmed? Carolyn. Cancel my LOA. I'll be there in an hour… Yes, I'm sure… Have Jinny get the Spanowietz file ready, and put it on my desk… Absolutely… We'll talk when I get there."

Anything more she might've said was cut off when her bedroom door shut.

In spite of the situation, Bucky grinned smugly. Martin had called the night before asking for his help. All Carolyn had done since Justin went missing was mope around the house, cleaning over and over. When she started talking about repainting the living room, dining room, and kitchen, he knew it was time to call in reinforcements.

Mission accomplished, Bucky thought. Connie would be proud.

The Triskelion

Washington, D.C.

Two Days Later

Bruce returned from taking a break to find Natasha reading the instructions on how to use the mass spectrometer. The guard leaned his arm on the wall, watching over her shoulder. When she seemed uncertain, he pointed. Natasha nodded, and soon she had the device whirring through the process.

"What're you doing, Tasha?"

"Got tired of waiting for you to finish. Needed something to do so I thought I'd see if I could give you a hand."

The mass spec made a strange sound, and Bruce rushed to shut it off. "Please let me handle the machinery from now on."

"What can I do to help?"

"Uh, you can…" he looked around for something that would fit her skill set. Not much to do in a lab that would benefit from the skills of an assassin. "Put on gloves, and hand me tools as I need them. I can keep up a running dialog so you know what's happening. When you get bored, and you will, I won't be insulted if you leave."

Natasha gave him that look. The one all the men she knew experienced at one time or another. The closest interpretation Bruce could come up with involved her calling each of them putz, or the equivalent in Russian, Italian, Latin, or any of the many other languages in which she was fluent.

"Thanks for all you're doing, Bruce. I should get home." She hung her head, and if she were any other woman, he might've expected to see tears when she looked at him again. Except for the fact that her eyes were shinier than normal, there was nothing. "Won't mention the arm for now."

"Good. No sense in worrying them." He looked down at his hands, and back to her. "Just a thought, but maybe we should think about not mentioning it. Here me out, please." Natasha pulled over a stool, and sat down, her feet perched on the higher bar bringing her knees up to her waist. "The moment they're told about the arm, they'll lose hope. They'll mourn, grieve, have a memorial service, a funeral, whatever, and go on with their lives."

One side of Natasha's mouth turned up, but not with amusement. "That's how it works. Birth and death. What matters is the 'and', the living he did in between. Justin was kind, thoughtful, creative, intelligent, and fun-loving. Had a good head for business. But most of all, he was happy, and well-adjusted. And that's what counts. His family, our family, should get to say good-bye. Not keep looking for him in every young man they see on the street. Hoping that one day, he'll walk through the door as if none of this had happened."

"We don't know that he's dead, Tasha. What if this whole scenario" Bruce waved his arms, "is being played out by the people who took him so that we wouldn't look for him?" He took her hand, and drew her over to the main computer. A few taps on the keyboard, and the screen brought up a truckload of information. Most of it would mean nothing to her. He minimized what he didn't need, and enlarged one particular document. "This is the autopsy Helen and I performed. I know it looks like a bunch of random numbers, charts, and graphs, but it paints a very specific picture to anyone who can read it."

Natasha crossed her arms. "And what does the picture tell you, Bruce?"

He paused, though not for dramatic effect. "The limb was most definitely Justin's. The DNA comparison is conclusive. The tattoo, as you said, is approximately three months old. The watch came with a certificate of authenticity that gives the buyer's name as Justin P. Lockwood."

"And?"

Bruce turned around to lean on the edge of the table with his arms crossed. "As I said before, the skin on the underside of his arm," he used his arm as a model, indicating the underside of the bicep, "was torn, not cut. Whoever removed the arm," he mimed twisting and pulling, "wanted it to appear that he'd died at the hands, uh, claws of a bear.

"What does it all mean?"

His friend and teammate was tiring of his long-winded description. "What I said at the site. It means that Justin was alive when the arm was removed." Natasha's eyes widened as she took in what he was saying. "I don't think he's dead. And if he's not, the family shouldn't stop looking for him."

~~O~~

Out in the hall, Natasha paced to the lift doors and back to the lab entrance, thinking over the conversation with Bruce, and her description of Justin. …But most of all, he was happy, and well-adjusted.

She knew her assessment was correct. Why had Justin started seeing a therapist, and why Heath? He'd only gone to the office at night according to security footage from the traffic and security cameras in the vicinity. Heath and the people he worked for had their eye on Justin long before now. But where did their paths cross?

Before the thought was fully formed, Natasha had her phone in hand and hit speed dial. Bucky answered almost immediately. "Tasha! What's going on? Where have you been all day?"

"Later. James, think back. Was there ever a time when you introduced Heath to Justin?"

"No, never. At least not that I remember. With all the crap he put in my head, would I even know I'd done it?"

The next time she came to the lifts, she called for a car. "Maybe not, but then Justin's strong-willed, and hard-headed, like the rest of the family. If you suggested he see a therapist, he'd want to know why you thought he needed one. I'm good at reading people. That boy has carried very little emotional baggage. There was no reason for him to see Heath of his own free will." The lift doors opened, and Natasha got on. "My guess is they didn't meet by accident, and the incident was removed from his memory. Heath and his people didn't want anyone to know what was going on, that much is certain."

"Too bad all of his records are gone. Do you think he was doing it to other members of my family too?"

"No. When we found out Justin had been seeing Heath, we checked the GPS records for every member of the family who carries a cell phone, as well as Heath's. Their paths came close a few times, but there was no interaction between them."

Bucky let out a relieved breath. "Thank God. When are you coming home? Want me to make dinner?"

"I have a few errands to run, so seven-ish. And I'll pick something up on the way." Natasha disconnected, and dialed another number. "Joi? Nat. Can we talk?"

Bucky's granddaughter sounded harried, the way she did during a lunch rush. "Sure. Say three-thirty?"

"Perfect. And could you make us something for dinner? Anything will do."

"Absolutely. See you in a bit."

Now all Natasha had to do is come up with a good reason for wanting to speak to Joi away from her family. Easy-peasy. She also needed to speak to Mia. Even easy-peasier.

The lift opened on the underground parking level. Natasha got into her car, the engine roared, and she pulled out into traffic, headed for Abraham Lincoln University. She was leaning on Mia's red Volkswagen Beetle convertible when the young woman got to the parking lot.

~~O~~

The young blonde brightened when she saw Natasha standing by her car. "Nat! What're you doing here? Did the cops find Justin?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Java Junction?"

A few minutes later, the women were sitting in a corner of the coffee house, away from the other patrons. Natasha brought them each a drink, and took a sip while toying with her keys. In anyone else, Mia would think it was a stalling technique, but Natasha wasn't like that. She was refreshingly straightforward when she had something on her mind. "Mia, do you know anything about Justin's sessions with Dr. Heath?"

Mia was taking a drink, and almost did a spit-take. She wiped her mouth, and took another sip before answering. "Justin? Seeing a shrink? Of everyone in the family he's the least likely to need therapy. He's always been disgustingly well-adjusted. He's never had a car accident, been kidnapped, assaulted, abused, bullied, stalked, or been afraid of cats, dogs, spiders, snakes, clowns, small spaces, open spaces, or the dark."

"That was my take as well."

"Why do you ask?"

Natasha sipped her coffee, and set the cup on the table. "He was being seen by the same therapist who caused your grandfather's episode."

"And you think these people, whoever they are, took Justin. Why? Retribution? To replace Gramps? Meanness? Ransom?"

"Not sure, though I'd say ransom is off the table. If they wanted money, or to make an exchange, we'd have been contacted by now. It's been two weeks." The women sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, or so Mia assumed until Natasha asked a question out of left field. "Besides creating electricity, can you do anything else out of the ordinary?"

Mia snorted. That was not what she expected Natasha to ask. "I don't really create it. I pull it out of the air, and can channel it through my body, up to a point. Doing it for too long drains some of my own body's electricity, and I'll pass out. Only done that a couple of times while Louis was helping me learn to control it."

"And Louis is…"

"He's sort of a guru. Met him when I took off a few years back. This," she made a small spark between her thumb and forefinger, "was making me think I was going crazy. Dad was no help. He was busy working all the time, so I had to find my own way. As for your question, we should go somewhere private for the answer."

Natasha followed Mia outside. They got in Mia's car, and she drove back to the university, where they went into the Creating Arts building, and into one of the private practice rooms. Setting her purse on the seat of a grand piano, Mia face Natasha, arms hanging at her sides. "Pick a color."

~~O~~

Not completely sure where Mia was going with this, Natasha went along with the game. "Have you ever seen the state flower of Texas?"

Nodding, Mia closed her eyes, and soon, her blonde hair had changed to blue-purple color of a Texas bluebonnet, including the lighter shades of the younger blossoms.

As she moved closer to the young woman, Natasha could see variations in the coloring all over her head. "Nice work. Multicolor?" Starting at the roots, Mia's hair changed to resemble a rainbow. Holding in a grin, she made another request, more to gauge how fast and how often the changes could be made, "Brown, the same shade as James."

Again, Mia's short hair changed, now resembling the hair color most of the family sported, holding her hands out as if to say, "Ta-dah!"

"Can you change anything else? Length, or texture?"

"I've tried, but no." Her hair faded through the brown spectrum until it was her usual shade. "I prefer the blonde. Makes me stand out more."

Natasha crossed her arms, biting on her lower lip in thought. "How does this relate to the electrical discharges?"

"Huh! You're asking me? It's like driving a car, or using a computer. You can do both without any real idea of how they work." Mia's expression changed to doubt. "You're not gonna tell anyone, are you?"

"In the family? No. Though I'm thinking about consulting Dr. Banner, to get an idea not only how it works, but why." Leading the way out, Natasha kept her voice low. "Just out of curiosity."

They got back in the Beetle, and Mia pulled away from the curb. "If he figures it out, share."

"He may want to do a DNA profile. You up for it?"

Mia leaned on her horn when another car pulled out in front of her, though her expression didn't change. "I'm up for anything."

Unknown Location

A strange fuzziness permeated his brain, making him dizzy. Blinking rapidly in the bright light, he tried to sit up, but he couldn't move. His eyes roamed over his body. He was shirtless, with shiny silver shackles on his arms above the elbow, and around the wrists. Farther down, the same had been done to his legs, and another over his torso. Taking a deep breath, he looked into his memory for anything that would tell him how he came to be in this place.

"Doctor, he's awake." The voice was accented, and harsh, the way you might speak if you were a hardened and jaded soldier. No, it was just an accent. The man spoke Russian. How could he understand him, and the others?

To his right, someone moved into the peripheral of his vision. He was dressed all in black, and held an enormous assault weapon the way most people would a newborn.

Two men and a woman in white coats crowded around him, shining a light in his eyes, their fingers probing his left arm and shoulder. Then he remembered. He'd broken that arm falling off a cliff running from… he couldn't remember. Had they done surgery? Would he be able to play the piano again, or even dress himself?

One of the men leaned over him, smiling in a way he didn't like. "It's good you're awake. Now we can admire our handiwork in action."

He tried to speak, but nothing would come out. The man patted his hand, and nodded. Another pair of hands, female this time, released the metal restraints on his arms.

But something wasn't right. He held both hands up, turning them over to examine the palms and backs. The right was pale, and soft, and when he moved the fingers, he could see the play of muscle and tendons under the skin. But the left was made of segmented metal pieces that fit perfectly. He flexed those fingers as well.

The first man came back, smiling, though not in a way that he liked.

"The surgery went better than expected. With your unique physiology, we do not anticipate that the biomechanical arm will be rejected." He leaned close, the smile taking on a sinister appearance. "We knew that it would only be a matter of time before the previous Asset broke free of his programming. Now you will be the new fist of HYDRA. Hail HYDRA!"

TBC

Electroencephalography (EEG) is an electrophysiological monitoring method to record electrical activity of the brain. It is typically noninvasive, with the electrodes placed along the scalp, although invasive electrodes are sometimes used in specific applications. EEG measures voltage fluctuations resulting from ionic current within the neurons of the brain. In clinical contexts, EEG refers to the recording of the brain's spontaneous electrical activity over a period of time, as recorded from multiple electrodes placed on the scalp. Diagnostic applications generally focus on the spectral content of EEG, that is, the type of neural oscillations (popularly called "brain waves") that can be observed in EEG signals.

Diatoms are algae with distinctive, transparent cell walls made of silicon dioxide hydrated with a small amount of water. Silica is the main component of glass and hydrated silica is very like the mineral opal, making these algae, often called "algae in glass houses".

Diatoms are also unique to each body of water.

Note: I didn't have to look that up. When you watch the Science channel, and the Discovery channel, like the geek I am, you learn stuff.