"So, that's it?" Steve asks with an irritated air. His head begins to slowly sway back and forth as he firmly pinches the bridge of his nose, seemingly staving off a killer headache. "Just an address and a phone number? You didn't get anything else from her?"

Tessa shares a quick, rather conspiratorial look with Wanda before turning back to Steve and meeting his frustrated gaze with a matching one of her own. Tired, bloodshot eyes, complete with deep, dark circles that bruise her skin beneath bore into him, causing the faintest twinge of guilt in his gut. "No," she issues out with a long breath and a shrug. "Nothing else."

"I had her show us what was relevant," Wanda says simply. "I had her walk us through any memories related to her deal with Scofield. And that's what we got."

Tessa glances briefly up at the monitor on the wall, spying the broken blonde still sitting at the table, her head plunked down on top of its shiny metal surface. An odd mashup of guilt and unadulterated hatred mix together to spark a sick feeling in her stomach as she watches Atkinson's shoulders shudder just the slightest bit, vibrating with some sort of either physical or emotional anguish. Her eyes tick over to Steve's, the deep-set frown on her face only growing as she takes in his stern, silent stare. "What do you plan to do with her, Steve?"

He shakes his head slowly, huffing out a weary breath. "I don't know." His forehead wrinkles with worry as he studies her, looking her up and down and taking in her slumped posture, exhausted expression, pale skin and dull eyes. "You should go home," he tells her, voice suddenly soft and low. "Get some rest. We can talk more in the morning."

She shakes her head, wordlessly refusing him. "Are you going to let her go?"

He gives the smallest of shrugs and repeats, "I don't know."

"If you let her go…" she begins, pausing to swallow thickly, blinking languidly, as the awful realization washes over her. "James won't let her go."

He holds her gaze, hazy blue eyes tinged with fatigue – with trepidation and guilt – locking onto hers. "I know."

"And you told her you're a mutant," Sam states from the side, his utterance pulling her attention. He shakes his head, single, mindful brow raised high. "She's even more of a threat to you now."

Steve lets out an aggressive grunt and throws his hands up in the air, frustration and anger lacing his features as he says, "I don't know what we're supposed to do. We can't just… hold her indefinitely."

"We can't just let her go either," Wanda states with authority as she crosses her arms staunchly over her chest. "It's not just Tessa she's a threat to. She was part of the Avengers. She knows the team, the compound, protocol… she's familiar with – "

Before she can finish, Sam issues out a low groan along with, "And she's got an axe to grind."

"So," Steve starts, the confident expression he so often wears melting from his face and swiftly being replaced by one that reeks of defeat. "What then? What we do? We can't keep her. We can't let her go. We're not going to kill her."

"Why not?" Tessa asks softly, voice calm and subdued. When the others turn to face her, they see that her heavy-lidded eyes are directed down at the floor, seemingly focused on her feet as a single oversized sneaker harshly toes at the thick gray carpet.

Steve scoffs. "You can't be serious."

Without looking up, her tone never shifting from its even temperament, she asks again, "Why can't we kill her?"

"What? Because…" he sputters a bit as he works to wrap his brain around her inquiry. "Because she's still a… a person. And we don't… do that."

She looks up then, gazing at him through thick lashes. "You've never killed a person?" The question hangs in the air for a long moment, going unanswered. "How many people did we kill in Sokovia? How much collateral damage have we all left in our wake over the years?"

"Tess," Sam starts, his tone warning. He steps up beside her, his body heat radiating into her, helping to stave off a bone-deep chill that she's only just now noticed has taken up residence inside of her slightly trembling form. "None of that was intentional. This would be."

She looks over at him, narrowing her eyes pensively before returning her gaze to Steve. "You've both been to war," she muses thickly. "How many battles have you fought in? How many times did you train a weapon on someone and squeeze the trigger? Intentionally."

"That's different," Steve bites out, his jaw setting defiantly. "And you damn well know it."

"How?" Wanda asks, unconsciously taking half a step closer to Tessa's side. "We just established that she's a threat. An enemy."

He lets out a frustrated huff. "She's not an enemy," he very nearly shouts. "We're not at war!"

Tessa trains her eyes on him, fury suddenly building in her chest as a burning red tinge blossoms around her irises, causing his breath to catch. "We're not at war?" she asks through gritted teeth, every word dripping with bitter incredulity. "My family is missing. Kitty is dead. My people are being hunted. Not just singled out. Not just persecuted. Hunted." She shuffles an inch closer to him, then another, her deep green eyes forming a small blaze of a halo around them as she does so. "Experimented on. Tortured. Pulled apart and left for dead."

He takes a small step back, shoulders confidently set despite the obvious retreat. "I know, Tessa," he says, voice thick with a sort of cloying assurance. "I get it, but – "

She shakes her head firmly, chomping down on her lip and blinking back sudden, hot tears. "How could you possibly get it?!"

His face freezes into an expression of disbelief, of hurt. "You're my family," he stammers out. "You were hunted. And tortured. And nearly killed." His eyes narrow at her, gaze awash with disbelief. "You think I don't want her dead? Her and every other person who had anything to do with this… every other person who's still… hurting people. Tessa, I get it." He shakes his head adamantly, jaw clenching and setting stoically. "But there's a code of conduct. There's a way you behave. Even in war."

"I don't care," she nearly sobs, the building tears washing away the fiery light to her eyes. She shakes her head and folds her arms around herself as she petulantly argues, "She deserves it. I don't care about your code."

"Okay," Sam hums from her left. He sidles closer and places a soothing hand on her shoulder, noting immediately how her entire body seems to be vibrating with emotion. He gives her a firm but tender squeeze and says – in his most utterly therapeutic voice – "Let's just all take a minute here."

"If this really is war," Wanda chimes in from Tessa's other side, "then she'd be a traitor. A war criminal. And both of those crimes are punishable by death, right?"

Sam glances over at her and nods. "They are. But no legal war is going on. There's no court to take this to."

"So we make our own court," she suggests.

He gives her a patronizing look. "Wanda, that's not how the world works."

Tessa spins toward him, nearly knocking him off balance. She cocks her head, glassy eyes boring into him as she states, "This place isn't like the rest of the world, Sam. Here. Us. We're separate from everything else. That's what the Accords were all about. The world wanted us to work like it does. To play by the same rules as them. But we don't. We can't." She shifts her gaze to Steve, the eerie red glow all but gone from her irises, leaving behind nothing more than a pair of sad, exhausted, barely recognizable eyes. "You refused to sign the Accords because you knew that. You believed that. You thought that we could do better… be better."

He shakes his head slowly, steadily. "This isn't better, Tess."

"Would you have said that about any of the men responsible for taking James, for turning him into the Winter Soldier? If she were Hydra, would you still say that?" His lips pinch tightly together, refusing to part with a response. "Sarah Atkinson is a traitor. She's a liar… a conspirator."

"A homewrecker," Sam contributes with a raised brow.

Wanda pipes up with, "A threat."

"She has no remorse, Steve," Tessa states. "We were inside her head. We could see it. I can feel it. She can't see past her own selfish motivations. She won't admit that she was wrong."

"She's a liability for sure," Sam muses. "And if we did have our own code… or own laws… she'd be a criminal, Cap."

Steve stands utterly still before them, his eyes shifting slowly to each in turn, working to gauge their level of sincerity, their commitment to this idea, their conceptualization of better. "I don't think…" He trains his gaze on Tessa and sighs, long and loud. "I just don't want any more blood on our hands. On your hands. It isn't right. And it isn't fair."

"Isn't fair for who?" she challenges.

His light blue eyes slice through her, the pained, loving sincerity held within them cutting to her core. "For you."

She lets out a short scoff and turns away, saying nothing in return.

"What if," Wanda begins, her light, contemplative tone breaking the stiff silence around them. "What if we didn't kill her but we did end her?"

All eyes turn on the young woman, stares ranging from perplexed to hotly impatient to seemingly resigned.

She looks over at Tessa and says simply, "Like what Professor Xavier did to Anna."

Her brows knit tightly together as she thinks about that. "Destroy the threat and leave… something else in its place," she muses before beginning once again to nervously nibble at her bottom lip. "But we don't know where the Professor is…"

Wanda shrugs. "So we do it."

"Whoa, wait a minute," Steve interrupts. "You're saying you want to… mess with her head? What, make her forget?"

"I think it'd be more like, scramble her brain and turn her into someone new," Sam interjects with a rather intrigued eyebrow raised high. "Am I right?"

Wanda continues to stare at Tessa, her expression rather emphatic as she reminds her, "You… blew apart one memory in her head already."

Steve's eyes go wide. "Wait, what?" His stunned gape pivots back and forth between the two women. "What happened?" he asks, rapidly wracking his brain for any sign he may have missed while he and Sam watched the small group on the monitor not twenty minutes ago. But the entire time they'd been enveloped in Atkinson's mind, the three had been still and silent, putting forth no indication that anything internally was amiss.

Tessa lets out a long, deep sigh and pivots to face him. "She took us back to a memory that I… didn't like. So I… destroyed it," she states with a shrug. "Basically."

"You destroyed her memory?"

"Just part of it. Just that one part." Her heavy lids blink shut for a long moment, her shoulders drooping as he head shakes languidly back and forth. "She was… upsetting James. And I… I couldn't let her do that. Couldn't let her have that memory."

Steve's mouth hangs helplessly open, his eyes pinging back and forth between her and Wanda, filled with astonishment. "How is that even possible?!"

Another shrug. "I don't know. But I did it," She looks back up at him, tired eyes widening as her brows pull up contemplatively. "Probably obliterated part of her brain in the process," she mutters absently, earning her a horrified look from Steve and an utterly confounded one from Sam.

"I doubt that," Wanda says, leaning back to peer at Atkinson's image on the TV screen in the control room. She looks much the same as they had left her, a bit tired and stunned perhaps, but otherwise fine. Or, as fine as someone in her condition and predicament could be anyway. "I imagine any brain damage that woman has was there long before you shorted her out."

Steve once again begins tightly pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm so confused," he mumbles vaguely before looking up, pulling in a long, deep breath, and asking, "Whatever you did… do you think you can do it again? Make her forget?"

Wanda nods, encouraging smile growing. "Tessa could destroy the dangerous memories, or anyone ones we want to, really. And I could… build something new. It wouldn't be quite like what the Professor did…"

"No," she breathes out, picking up her friend's train of thought. "Because he kept the memories intact. He just built a barrier to keep the new me out."

"Right. Which didn't really work."

"I think that was actually his intention," she states with an annoyed smirk. "That someday the wall would break."

"Well that wouldn't be our intention. We'd kill the old Atkinson – "

"Good riddance," Sam chimes in.

"And build a new one." She smiles slyly. "A better one."

"And then send her on her merry way?" Sam asks, forehead crinkling in disappointment. "With no consequences?"

Wanda turns a scowl on him. "We'd take away her life. She wouldn't have her job… career. Her friends and family would be gone… unknown to her. She wouldn't even know herself."

Tessa rocks edgily from foot to foot, using the movement to try and wake herself up a bit. "Plus, we can give her the backstory of a down-on-her-luck stripper with a reality TV addiction."

He perks up a bit at that, nodding appreciatively. "Maybe set her up in a trailer somewhere in New Mexico…"

"Sounds like a pretty big consequence," Steve hums out blandly. He goes painfully silent for a long moment, thoughtfully pinching his chin between his thumb and forefinger as his head slowly shakes back and forth. "No one could know," he utters finally, softly, the words barely audible. "We couldn't risk it getting out… what really happened." He shakes his head absently and drops a defeated-sounding sigh. "We couldn't even tell… no one outside this room could know."

"No one outside…" Sam repeats in an astonished tone. "What the hell are we supposed to tell the others? At least Barnes and Romanov… and Clint… they all know the truth about her. No doubt Nat told Banner. Probably Stark too."

He spins and looks at Sam, lips tightly pressed together as he thinks on that for a moment. It's plainly obvious to everyone there that the person he really doesn't want to tell is Bucky. He lets out a long defeated sigh, eyes blinking shut as images of his best friend railing against him – far more violently the longer he's kept in the dark – dance on the insides of his lids. But Sam's right, he has no choice. They have no choice. No matter how much he'd like to keep this from his friend – the fact that they're about to give this traitor a new lease on life, and the fact that his wife is the one who's spearheading it – it's just not going to happen. "Fine," he breathes out. "We can tell just the people who already know about her. But to everyone else – especially the support team – she just… took off."

Wanda nods. "Good. You two can forge some ID papers and figure out a place for us to send her. With a trailer park. And Tessa and I can," she stops and connects eyes with her weary looking friend. "Well, we can make Sarah Atkinson… disappear."

000

It's been hours. How many, he's not entirely sure. But it's been hours.

He'd checked in just fifteen minutes or so after Tessa stormed out of their apartment – just long enough for her to land wherever she needed to go and for his own nerves to settle – and found out from Friday that she'd gone to see Wanda.

Good, Bucky had thought then. Good. Wanda will help reel her back in.

His next few hours were spent trying to forget about things – all things – for a while.

He runs the vacuum over nearly every surface in the apartment. He scrubs the kitchen and the baths. He does a load of laundry. He cleans out the fridge and roasts a chicken. He does everything he can think of to keep himself from thinking.

Thinking about his distraught wife down the hall, still physically recovering and now being met with so much… crap all at once.

Thinking about an unbearably broken Bobby upstairs, grappling with being a widower at far, far too young an age.

Thinking about Lobe – and all the others – still out there, still free, still experimenting and torturing and murdering.

Thinking about the X-Men, hopefully hiding from – possibly succumbing to – this new and terrible threat.

Thinking about the tiny blonde downstairs whom he'd trained and mentored and expected so much from.

Thinking about the hot rush of adrenaline that shot through his body, wrapping him in an oddly comfortable – familiar – cloak of hardened combat fervor as he choked the life out of her.

Thinking about how much he liked that.

But eventually, the washing machine dings, and the timer on the oven goes off, and the entire apartment is spotless. And he's left with nothing left to do. And that's when he realizes just how much time has passed, how many hours he managed to keep himself busy… how late in the evening it's become. And that Tessa is still not home.

He huffs out a frustrated sigh and trudges down the hall to Wanda's apartment, knocks lightly on her door. But there's no answer. He tries again, this time knocking a bit louder. Nothing. That's when Friday's voice issues out from the walls – still making him jump and scowl, even after all these years – and tells him that the two women are currently down in the secure detention unit in the basement of the compound. With Steve and Sam. And – not that Friday mentions it, nor needs to – Sarah Atkinson.

And all at once, he finds himself thinking yet again.

000

"Are you sure you're alright?" Wanda asks for umpteenth time, pausing as she wraps her hand round the doorknob. Tessa merely gives her a tired nod, saying nothing as she waits for her to open the door so she can finally fall freely into her apartment.

She'd put together a pretty solid plan for the evening – in the last five minutes or so as they traveled upstairs – that consisted of her taking just the few steps needed into her home to get her to the couch, where she could collapse face-first into the cushions. That's as much of a plan as her addled brain would let her concoct. But if felt like a good one. Even if she's not a hundred percent sure she can actually physically make it those handful of steps, her limbs each so heavy – and violently trembling – that even standing still is a battle, let alone walking. But even her most simple plan is immediately thwarted when – just after entering her apartment – Tessa very nearly collides with Bucky's broad chest as he sits awkwardly atop the arm of their sofa.

He reaches out to steady her, the oh-so-familiar look of concern – and displeasure – etched across his face as his fingers tighten around her shoulders. "I'm fine," she sputters out, the words falling from her lips in a rapid and well-rehearsed mollification as she leans back, attempting to haul herself upright.

Bucky drops his hands to his lap, lips tightening into a straight, firm line as he studies her pale face for a fleeting moment before shifting his scrutinous gaze over her shoulder at Wanda. "It's late," he mutters through tightly clenched teeth.

Wanda averts her eyes. She had promised Steve not to say anything to Bucky until he got a chance to talk to him, to tell him about what had been done with Atkinson. But she's not nearly as well-versed in lying as the other Avengers, so her voice comes out a bit too high, a bit too excited, when she says, "We were just at my place. We lost track of time. Sorry." She clears her throat and looks over at a still-trembling, now slightly swaying Tessa. "You should probably get her to bed."

He continues to stare at the young woman, unblinking. The seemingly calm, stoic set to his features causes a chill to thrum up her spine, his silence and intensity making him more intimidating than she'd ever thought him to be when outfitted in full tactical gear and a battle-ready grimace. "You know Friday can tell you where any of us are in the compound at all times, right?" He rises from the arm of the sofa and takes a single, deliberate step closer to her, still holding Tessa's shaky image in his periphery. "Try it out." His voice rises a bit as he asks, "Hey Friday, where's Steve?"

An almost startled breath pulls from Wanda's chest when the AI responds curtly with, "Captain Rogers is in the detention unit with Agent Atkinson."

"Atkinson," Tessa mutters under her breath, causing Bucky to still. She lets out a small huff and shakes her head just enough to throw her already wobbly body off balance. Catching herself with a swiftly planted foot, she glares at the side of Bucky's face and says, words slurring and curling round the edges, "You looked like you wanted to fuck her."

He pulls a short breath in through his nose and turns the stony stare away from Wanda – a thing that, admittedly, has her sighing in relief – and he furrows his brow as he looks to Tessa. "What?" he bites out, equal parts confused and irritated. When she doesn't immediately respond, doesn't even acknowledge his question, he shakes his head and pivots, turning his attention back to the woman still lingering by the door. "You took her down there?" he asks, anger flaring. "You took her down to see her?"

To her credit, Wanda does not cower, though, "I…" still stutters out in a voice far more nervous than she intends.

"You what?!" He barks at her, advancing in long, measured strides. "What the hell were you thinking?" he asks, voice low and dangerous.

Her shoulders stiffen and set, gaping mouth slamming shut for the fraction of a moment it takes for her to gather herself. Then she swallows thickly and states, tone certain and words clipped, "She had every right to be there… to confront her."

He blows out a disgusted breath, spinning around and beginning a furious pace across the length of the living room as his hands anxiously fist at his sides. "She left here talking about… she wanted me to kill her… I was afraid she might…" He turns back to Wanda, skidding to a halt in front of her. "And she could. And you damn well know that."

Wanda's chin juts defiantly. "Any one of us could. Any one of us still might," she challenges.

He tosses an exasperated hand back behind him, towards Tessa. "She's not… She's still… Jesus, Wanda, look what happened when she got back here, when we brought her home. You took her down there when you knew – you knew – that she might not be able to keep herself from… from…" His words fade off, tirade ending in with mere defeated-sounding sigh.

"She knows about Jessup," she admits solemnly, dropping her gaze to the floor. Bucky stares at her, long and hard, a small groan of a breath leaving his chest as he takes in her words, spilling regret and sadness into the air between them. When she looks back up, her expression is soft, eyes wide with understanding and a certain sort of comfort as she gazes at his strangled countenance. "She already knew. She just needed help… seeing."

His eyes glaze over for a moment and he pulls the corner of his lip in between his teeth for a quick, nervous bite before letting it pop back in place. "What happened?" he asks simply, nervous energy seeming to fade into a subdued sort of curiosity.

Wanda hesitates, unsure if she should tell him anything at all, let alone the everything she believes he deserves to know. But Steve had said to tell no one until he could explain… until he and Sam could figure out what precisely to do with this new woman they were looking to relocate. And she had agreed, as had Tessa, though with the stipulation that the conversation would happen tonight.

Her eyes tick over to her friend to see if she's undertaking the same internal debate, considering – as Wanda is – blurting out the whole mess and letting Steve just mop things up later. But as she looks at the slight brunette across from her, takes in her wan, unsteady appearance, thoughts of Steve and Bucky and orders and requests all go out the window. Her brow creases with apprehension, a sick sort of trepidation settling in her stomach and burning like the beginnings of an ulcer. "Tessa?"

Bucky turns to his wife, the concern in Wanda's voice shifting his train of thought entirely. She's simply standing in the same spot by the couch, swaying on her feet. Her countenance is pale – terrifyingly white – and beads of sweat have popped up along her hairline. And her eyes… her deep emerald eyes are glassy and… empty.

"I'm gon…" Tessa starts, the dangerous swaying only increasing as she takes one wobbly, haphazard step to the right. "Bed… should be…" she goes on, pivoting to go into the kitchen. A few more words slip from her mouth in unintelligible syllables before an easily recognizable, "Sleep," spills out as she grasps at the doorway.

Bucky's at her back in an instant, taking hold of her shoulders and pivoting her away from the kitchen and back towards the hall. "That's not where bed is, baby," he breathes out, cringing as he feels her body tremble uncontrollably in his grasp.

Again, garbled words tumble out of her, only a few – bed, good, wrong – sounding even remotely sensible through the slurring.

"She wasn't like this," Wanda says quickly, her tone anxious. "She was tired, but… fine."

Bucky barely spares her a glance as he tightens his fingers around Tessa's upper arms and steers her slowly towards the bedroom. "Friday," he begins, voice deep and commanding. "Get Banner."

"Maybe," Wanda tries, stepping forward as though she might help, but stopping short once she realizes there's nothing she can do. "Maybe she is just… exhausted." A tiny, nervous laugh bubbles out of her as she tries to convince herself that might be true. "That's probably it."

"Yeah," he mutters absently, still guiding her achingly slowly. Sure, he thinks, his own mind taking up a sarcastic tone within him. She's just tired. She's not, you know, still recovering from being starved and tortured and experimented on or anything.

Tessa stops suddenly, her right foot jamming into the floor and scraping along it, bending awkwardly backwards as though it's too heavy to even pick up from the floor. Her eyes peer down at the offending foot, making out fuzzy multiples as her vision doubles then triples. "Feel… funny," she breathes out softly before the darkness licking around the edges slowly envelopes her, and her trembling legs give way, causing her body to crumple.

Bucky grips at her, digging his fingers into her flesh so tight that he's certain she'll have bruises for weeks. Then he lets go and swiftly sweeps his arms around her middle as she collapses forward, frantically working to keep her from falling. She weighs next to nothing, but the sudden dead weight of her body in his grasp is unexpected enough to pull him off balance, and he nearly topples onto her as he awkwardly lowers her to the floor, the sound of Wanda's short gasp echoing in his ears.

"Baby," he utters stiffly, dropping to his knees beside her. He rolls her onto her back and sweeps the hair from her face, brings his hands up to her stark-white cheeks, the icy temperature of her skin sending a chill down his spine. "Tessa," he calls out to her, tone pleading and desperate. "Open your eyes, baby. Talk to me."

He taps at her cheeks, lays both palms atop them in the fruitless hope that she might lean one way or the other, curl into either the burning warmth created by his enhanced metabolism or the familiar cold put out by his vibranium plates. But she does neither. She doesn't stir at all.

"Tessa, please," he says – begs – as he hesitantly drops two shaking fingers to her neck to feel for a pulse. It's there – thank God – but it's weak. Too weak. The slow, unsteady rhythm beats into his fingertips with a terrifying vow, causing his breath to catch painfully in his chest. His hand recoils as though he'd been burned, and it falls to her shoulder, giving her a single swift shake. Then another. "Please, baby," he breathes out, barely even a whisper. "Please."

But she continues to lie prone, an awkward heap of brittle bones and cold, translucent flesh. Unresponsive. Unaware. Unreachable.