Bucky and Steve sat on the wooden bench overlooking the lake. It was almost 4 a.m. with clear skies and an almost full moon that cast an ethereal glow on the water's surface.

"You sat right where you are now," Bucky told him.

Steve tried to imagine the scene—a much older version of himself sitting here with a new shield after spending a lifetime with Peggy. What had that other Steve Rogers' life been like?

One thing confused him about the whole idea. "I don't quite understand how I was here, if I created a new timeline," he told Bucky, glancing only briefly at his friend before turning his gaze once again to the pristine beauty of the pre-dawn lake.

Bucky shrugged. "Above my pay grade, man. I have no idea how it works. Maybe you did create a new timeline. Maybe, somehow, the two branches merged. Maybe…Maybe…Maybe." He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe you even figured out a way to hop timelines back to your original one, like I just did"

"I can't imagine I went back in time, stayed there, and left you in the hands of Hydra." Steve really had no idea what the alternate version of himself had done. Had he tried to rescue Bucky? Or had he just led an unassuming domestic life with Peggy?

Bucky looked over at him. "It would be nice to think there's some version of me out there that never became the Winter Soldier."

Steve met Bucky's sad gaze. "I hope there is. I hope that guy had a happy, normal life."

Bucky managed a smile and looked back over the lake. "Maybe with a wife, a couple of kids. Barbecues. A dog. A swimming pool." His smile turned into a grin. "Maybe he even lives near his best friend, and they hang out, spend holidays and birthdays together with their families. His kids come over to play in my pool." He gave Steve another glance.

Steve smiled as he imagined such a life. "That would be beautiful…but why do you think you'd have the pool?"

Bucky laughed, and Steve relished the sound of it. It was so rare to hear these days.

Steve heard the subtle hum in the distance. "That Sam?"

"Yep."

Moments later, Sam dropped beside them. Steve took a good look at the alternate version of his friend—the new Captain America. He liked the upgraded suit and the shield behind the back. He smiled as Sam removed his goggles.

Sam's dark eyes fluctuated between a range of emotions—confusion, joy, sadness. "Steve?"

"Hey, Sam." Steve stood to face him. "I like the new look."

Sam gestured toward Bucky and shook his head. "Thanks to him and the Wakandans." The new Captain reached out and pulled Steve into a hug. "Where are you from?"

"Another timeline—the one Bucky saved." Steve pulled back and turned to look at his other friend.

Bucky rose from the bench. "Hey, Sam. It's good to see you again."

Sam's eyes glistened as he studied Bucky, then said, "You saw me a little over a day ago. How long has it been for you?"

Bucky shrugged. "A few days—a few very long days."

"How are you alive, man?" Sam walked up to him finally and gave him a firm, solid hug. "How are you here?"

"It's a long story." Bucky cleared his throat as he returned Sam's embrace. "But the gist of it is Steve had Dr. Strange use the time stone to bring me back after I fixed things with the gauntlet."

As Bucky pulled away, Sam gave him a final clap on the side of his arm.

"So," Bucky took a breath, "you're going to bring me in."

Sam looked stunned for a moment, then cocked his head in dismay. "What?"

"I'm turning myself in…to you."

"That's…"Sam shook his head. "I don't understand. Why did you come back here if that's what you're doing?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," Bucky explained. "Because you already risked too much for me. I saw the news. I know they've got enough on you to make your life miserable with or without bringing criminal charges. But I won't risk you going to prison on my behalf."

Sam shook his head. "I can handle this, man. You don't have to worry about me."

"Take me in, Sam, or I'll turn myself in. If I do that, someone's likely to start shooting at me. They're less likely to start shooting if you bring me in."

"Damnit, Bucky." Sam's dark gaze drifted from Bucky to Steve and back again. "You're serious about this?"

Bucky nodded.

Sam sighed. "Well, we better do it soon. I wasn't followed, but I don't want to risk them figuring out anything if they were eavesdropping." He paused, his face somber. "I hope the fact that you're here, Steve," Sam looked directly at him, "means you have a plan?"

Steve reached down and picked up the satchel and the case. "I'm going to knock on some doors."

-0- -0- -0

Steve used his photostatic veil to remain incognito at the corner of the long city block. He watched from a distance as Sam walked Bucky up to the large concrete steps leading to the New York City Police Department building. A cluster of armed officers lined the steps, and the top doors were already open. Sam had called ahead only a few minutes ago, not wanting to give the media a heads up. Even so, somehow, there was already one news chopper hovering overhead.

Sam was in full Captain America gear. Bucky's hands were clasped behind his back. Even though Steve knew this was all planned and what Bucky wanted, his chest physically ached as he watched it go down. Seeing Bucky paraded up steps, past a line of steady rifles ready to take him out if he moved one step out of line, was an image he knew he'd never get out of his head. It brought him right back to Bucharest, watching as armed officers descended on Bucky after the disastrous chase, handcuffing him, searching him, and manhandling him into an armored vehicle.

Sam and Bucky disappeared through the doors, and Steve took a deep, steadying breath. He trusted Sam to watch out for Bucky for the next few hours. In the meantime, Steve had a few people he needed to drop in on.

-0- -0- -0-

Pepper jolted awake at the sound of the doorbell. "Someone is at your front door," came the voice of the AI over the speakers. She glanced at her window. It was still fairly dark outside, but a hint of the approaching sun hinted through the curtains. The blue digits of the AI screen on her bedside said it was 5:20 a.m.

"FRIDAY, show the front door," Pepper instructed. The screen switched to the porch view. The face she saw there had her scrambling out of bed. She grabbed the robe from the back of her door and slipped it over her T-shirt and underwear.

It couldn't be….

She broke into a jog and slid to a stop in front of her door. She peeked through the pane in the door and saw him standing there, looking just like the day he left. A cross-body bag hung on him, and he carried a medium case in one hand and a round brown satchel in another. It seemed like just the thing that would carry a certain shield.

She opened the door. "Steve Rogers?"

He smiled at her, but it looked sad. "Hello, Pepper. I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour. Can I come in?"

She backed up a step, not completely sure whether she was dreaming. "What are you doing here? How are you here?"

He walked in, and she closed the door behind him, then flicked on the switch. Soft light flooded the room, and she studied him closely. It really was Steve Rogers. What was one supposed to say in such a situation? He couldn't be here. She knew the story. Steve Rogers was gone.

He turned to her. "I need your help." He set the round satchel down, propping it against the wall, then lifted the gray case. "Do you have a table I can set this on?"

She nodded. "Uh, yeah." She still wasn't sure she could believe her eyes. "Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Tea?" It seemed the appropriate question to ask someone who'd just returned from…wherever.

He shook his head. "I'm fine, thank you."

She guided him into the dining room and pulled out a chair for him. He sat down, and then gestured for her to take a seat. Wordlessly, she dropped into the chair across from him.

"This is going to be difficult for you, and I'm sorry about that. It's a lot to explain. I'm not from your timeline."

"Well, that's a start," Pepper said. So, this had to do with another timeline? Okay. She could get behind that idea. Bucky and Sam had stolen the time travel device they'd turned over to Stark Enterprises in the first place…and the Steve sitting before her must be the result of that little act of misappropriation. Although, since it had been in their possession to begin with, she supposed it might not exactly qualify as theft.

"I need your help with Barnes," he told her.

She nodded. Now it was really beginning to make sense. "Go on."

"I understand he borrowed a time travel device."

"You could say that. I'm guessing that's how you're here?"

He nodded. "He went back in time and saved Tony."

The air left her lungs suddenly. Tony…

"I'm sorry. I know this is hard for you," Steve continued, his voice soft. "In my timeline, Tony's alive. Bucky used the stones. He brought back…a lot of people. He's made my timeline a much better place. This will help explain it all."

Steve opened the case and withdrew a small device that looked about the size of a large thumb drive. He closed the case lid, set the device on top of the lid, and tapped it. A holographic image sprang above the case.

She sucked in a sharp breath as she stared into the faces of herself, Tony, Morgan and two other people she recognized from photos and videos—Howard and Maria Stark. She couldn't take her eyes off the image, but she listened for Morgan upstairs. She didn't want her plodding down to see this. Fortunately, the house was silent, until Tony's holographic image spoke….

"Hello, Pepper," Tony's image began. "I'm sorry to do this to you. I'm really sorry I'm…not there…in your timeline. I wish I could be there for you both. I hope you're both doing okay. I know you are. Hopefully the alpaca isn't still decimating the berries?" He cleared his throat. "Well, this is all going to be one heck of a story, so I'll just dive in. Bucky Barnes from your timeline went back in time to the playdate we had with Thanos." He glanced at Morgan on his lap. "Barnes got the gauntlet before I did. He saved the universe. He brought back my parents. He brought back a lot of people. Hell…" Tony glanced at Morgan again. "I mean, heck, he reversed climate change, cleaned up the planet's air and water, and even gave Rhodey a new pair of legs."

Tony put his arms around Morgan, who leaned into him. "This little girl here gets to know her grandparents."

The holographic projection of Maria Stark waved at her. "Hello, Pepper." She glanced at the holo-version of Pepper next to her. "It's been wonderful getting to know you and my granddaughter."

Pepper felt tears in her eyes, and the holographic image blurred. She wiped quickly at her eyes as her own voice rang from the display.

"Barnes needs your help. I can only imagine what you're going through, because I imagine what I would be feeling right now, if I were where you are, watching this. There's a timeline—our timeline—where all this is happening," holographic Pepper placed her hand on Tony's shoulder, "thanks to James Barnes. I know he's done some things over there that maybe weren't the best, in hindsight, but we all know that's happened before."

"Sokovia," Tony said quickly. "The Mandarin." Tony raised a hand in the air. "My fault. Totally. Here I am with my happy family, getting a chance to watch Morgan grow up, spend time with my Mom and Dad. Dad even kind of likes me a bit," Tony glanced at his father and cocked his head. "Though, he likes Morgan way better."

The holographic projection of Morgan giggled.

"Thank goodness," Howard Stark chimed in, "that she has her mother's disposition."

"But her father's sense of humor," holographic Pepper added.

Pepper found herself laughing as renewed tears spilled down her cheeks. Was all of this real?

"Okay Potts, do us a favor here," Tony said, "Help that guy. Use all the resources you have. Lawyers. PR. Call in markers, favors, throw your weight around. Throw the weight of Stark Enterprises around, even if you have to bulldoze through the board. Barnes gave us a chance at a life. He deserves a chance at one, too. If you have the ability to make anything right over there, use it. What else is all that for, anyway? You told me that once. See, I do listen…I love you. The other me. Me. It doesn't matter. You know. I'm sorry you're having to do this on your own. I know you're up for it, but I wish the other me had been able to be there for both of you." He covered Morgan's ears with his hands, and the little girl smiled and grabbed his hands with her tiny ones. Tony continued. "I expect you'll never remarry. Carry my picture with you everywhere. Kidding." He cocked his head. "But when you find someone, for the love of God, don't let him convince you to get rid of Gerald. I know you love that little alpaca."

The display ended. Pepper sat in silence, staring at the empty space previously occupied by the happy family from that other timeline. She'd managed these past months to fill the hole caused by Tony's death with work, Morgan, and all the other things that went along with a life like hers. But now, suddenly, she felt it all over again. The loss. The grief. Tony….

"I'm really sorry, Pepper." Steve's voice brought her out of her thoughts.

She looked at him, pushed her grief aside, and squared her shoulders. "What do you need, Cap?"

-0- -0- -0-

T'Challa gazed at the screen somberly, watching the grim news as the man he'd come to know as White Wolf was paraded up concrete steps, hands clasped behind his back, with Sam Wilson behind him. He could not condone the actions of the man whose image hung on the crystal display, but it nevertheless pained him knowing what lay ahead for him.

A bead on his wrist chirped, and he rolled it into his palm. A holographic image sprang above, and the person that greeted him caused him to find the nearest chair and sink into it.

"It seems like I'm always coming to you for help," the image of Steve Rogers said.

T'Challa could barely believe his eyes. "Captain." He nodded at the man. "Or, perhaps I should ask who I am speaking to, exactly?"

Steve gave an understanding tilt of his head. "I'm not from your timeline. When Bucky escaped, he went back in time to the battle with Thanos. He got the gauntlet before Tony did, and he saved the universe. He made our timeline a lot better than it otherwise would have been. He brought back a lot of people—Stark's parents, victims of the Winter Soldier. He even reversed climate change and cleaned up the planet. Dr. Strange used the time stone to resurrect Bucky. That wasn't part of Bucky's plan."

T'Challa was glad he opted to sit down for this conversation. He tried to imagine that world—a clean planet, a world with Tony Stark still in it. That seemed like a good world.

"I know what Bucky did with Zemo had some pretty dire consequences, especially to a couple of people, in particular. I am not here to make excuses. However, you understand the dangers of the supersolider serum. You also understand the things that have been done to Bucky over the past 80 years. There's someone who has a message for you." Steve raised his hand. "Give me one minute. She showed me how to do this."

The image flickered and was then replaced with one of himself standing next to Shuri. He wore a long brown dress jacket. Shuri wore a black, sleeveless shirt. They both stared at him.

"I hold no love for what the White Wolf did in your timeline," T'Challa's other self began. "Nevertheless, I urge you to help him. He made difficult decisions under difficult circumstances, much like Rogers had to do when Thanos sought the mind stone. Decisions do not have the benefit of hindsight, and many more lives would have been lost had the serum been used on additional subjects. We only just finished fighting one battle. While war seems a constant across the universe, our world needs to breathe. It cannot be allowed to decay into another war so soon. Wilson and Barnes helped stop such a war." His holographic self paused and seemed to consider his next words carefully. "You and I are not strangers to making grave mistakes. It was our own actions that helped lead to the rift between the Avengers. We did not listen to Rogers or Barnes back then, when our father was killed. We sought only vengeance. Do not make the same mistake again. Listen to what Rogers has to say, but first, my sister will explain further why we would ask that you use the resources at your disposal to assist the White Wolf."

Shuri nodded. "Brother, I understand that in your timeline, shortly after the battle ended, James Barnes was arrested. He had no opportunity to return to Wakanda to continue his recovery. You know the great burden he carries. His wounds are deep. While we were able to remove the effect of the code words, he still suffers from the affects of decades of conditioning that Hydra inflicted upon him to twist his mind to their purpose. He had a mission to complete. He completed it at all costs. That is how he was conditioned. He is not to blame for what was done to him. We cannot denounce him for not being allowed to continue his therapy, or for suffering the lingering effects of decades of abuse. He wanted only serenity, but we asked him to fight, and he did. We must help him learn how to live outside of a mission and to integrate into society. He cannot live the rest of his life on a field, in a hut, and he does not deserve to spend the remainder of his days in a prison cell. The White Wolf is one of us. We must help him, big brother. It is the right thing to do." She nodded firmly. "If you have any doubts about the authenticity of this recording, Captain Rogers will deliver the Kimoyo bead I gave him to your Shuri and she can verify that the bead is indeed, from Wakanda, and that this recording is authentic."

The holographic display shifted again, and Steve Rogers appeared once more. "I know I've asked this before. I'm asking again. Can you help him?"

T'Challa considered the situation. It was not an easy decision, and there were grave consequences for whichever path he chose.

"I can help him, I believe," T'Challa replied. "However, this is not like Vienna. In this case, I believe, our friend has committed the crimes for which he is accused."

Steve bowed his head slightly. "I understand what you're saying. He freed Zemo in order to stop someone from creating an army of supersoldiers. You know what such an army is capable of. Zemo is locked up in the Raft in your timeline, and he's not getting back out. I'm cannot second guess Bucky's decision. I've made some bad calls myself…bad calls that cost lives. I've broken the law, too." Steve met T'Challa's gaze. "You know the man that he is. If you believe justice is served by him spending the rest of his days in the Raft, then I will respect your decision. I'll do my best to make sure that doesn't happen to him, either way. He saved a lot of people in my timeline, and he didn't have to come back to this one to face the consequences of his actions. He chose to do that. I tried to convince him otherwise. He believes himself unworthy of a life. He believes he deserves to be locked up. He refused to leave Sam to take any of the fall for what he did. That's the kind of man he is, and that is not someone I'm going to leave in a cage. One way or the other, I'm going to help him."

T'Challa studied the image of Steve Rogers. He thought back to the man he knew as James Barnes…the White Wolf. As a friend, he wanted to help the White Wolf. As a King, however, he had to think more deliberately.

"I will consider the matter," T'Challa told Rogers. "Where is our friend now?"

"In a federal detention center. Pepper has paid a retainer for legal representation. He's got the best lawyers, so that should keep him relatively safe for the time being."

T'Challa nodded. "You are concerned for his safety?"

"I know there are still people who would like nothing more than to get their hands on him."

T'Challa took in a deep breath, settling on a decision. "I will do what I can for you and the White Wolf."

Steve released an audible breath. "Thank you, T'Challa."

T'Challa offered a gentle smile. "I know better than to argue with any version of my little sister."

-0- -0- -0-

Steve broke into Bucky's Brooklyn apartment using one of the lasers that Sam provided him. He cut through the deadbolt, then forced the knob. It was less conspicuous than breaking the door in. The photostatic veil had effectively kept him incognito, and he'd been able to navigate the city without drawing too much attention…although the round satchel and case he carried did turn a few heads. It was late, just past midnight the morning after Bucky had turned himself in, and no one was around to see his forced entry. He'd had a long day, and though his mind was racing with the recent events, he knew he'd need to try for sleep.

He carried Bucky's bag with the tablet, the gray case, and the round satchel with his shield and kicked the door closed behind him. It didn't latch, but it had a flip lock inside that he used to keep the door closed. He'd deal with the latch and deadbolt replacement later. Sam had been good enough to take possession of the platform, promising to keep it safe until Steve needed it. He figured 'safe' meant somewhere with Pepper.

Steve looked around the small apartment. Bucky said he was paid through the end of the month, and that he'd left his key on the counter during a previous situation. He hadn't known if or when he'd be back at that time. Bucky didn't elaborate on what that other situation entailed.

Steve spotted the key on the kitchen counter. His gaze drifted over the rest of the apartment. A large, sofa-style chair rested against the far wall, and a television set faced it, slightly askew. A makeshift bed with a pillow and blankets lay crumpled on the floor next to the couch. The place was barren, minimally functional.

Now that Bucky was in custody, no one should be watching the Brooklyn apartment. Steve walked past the chair and television toward the small kitchen in the back of the apartment. He set the bags and case next to the kitchen counter and eyed his options as he reached a hand behind his ear and pulled off the photostatic veil. The sofa chair was far too short for him to sleep comfortably, so it looked like he'd be crashing on the floor. He wondered how long Bucky had lived in this apartment and why he didn't at least have a mattress like the one he'd used in Bucharest.

He thought back to his conversation with Sam when he'd first met the Falcon…that lying on a bed felt like sleeping on a marshmallow. Looking around the sparsely furnished apartment, it was obvious that Bucky didn't put too much emphasis on physical comfort. Steve could only imagine the conditions Bucky had lived in under Hydra…or when he'd been on the run for two years after the helicarriers had been destroyed. Perhaps this was his idea of comfort?

Steve grabbed the remote from the T.V. stand and turned on the television as he dropped onto the chair. He flipped until he found news. He sat through talk of the Global Repatriation Council, the fallout from the Flag Smashers, and then, finally, Bucky…

A female newscaster sat behind the desk, an image of Bucky's booking photo on a square graphic to the right of her head. "Former Winter Soldier James Barnes has been transferred to a federal detention center in an undisclosed location," she said.

Steve knew Bucky was still in New York thanks to the lawyers and Sam. Pepper had given him an encrypted cell phone, so he was able to communicate with her and Sam to give and receive updates. Tony—from his timeline—had given him $25,000 in cash, and that, too, was in the gray case, stashed in the lower compartment beneath his uniform.

Steve listened to the broadcast. It was all information he already knew…until the anchorwoman mentioned Bucky's jail break.

"We have obtained a copy of the security footage showing the breakout. In the footage, Barnes can be seen clearly emotionally distressed moments prior to his escape. Experts are calling into questions Barnes' capacity to stand trial, and his attorneys have insisted on a full psychological evaluation prior to any transfer or extradition proceedings."

The image shifted to footage showing a jail cell. Bucky was sitting on a bench, his shoulders slumped. Then, suddenly, he toppled sideways, slamming into the wall. His chest heaved, his shoulders shook, and he buried his face in the elbow of his right arm. The video had no audio, but the visual was enough. Steve clenched his fists and took a slow, deep breath as he watched his friend break down for all the world to see. He knew how closely Bucky guarded his emotions these days, even from his closest friends. It felt like another violation to have his suffering paraded across televisions all over the world.

Steve then watched as Bucky got hold of his emotions—lifting his head and rising to his feet. His wet eyes scanned the area briefly before settling on the camera. Steve saw the moment decision settled on his friend's face.

Bucky raised a hand and gave a two-finger wave at the lens, then turned around, pulled back his vibranium arm, and punched a hole in the wall. He followed through, bulldozing his way through the brick and out to the parking lot.

"The cost to repair the damage to the detentions is estimated at over thirty thousand dollars," the newscaster said as the camera cut back to her. "However, given the rise of enhanced individuals, the governor is considering upgrades to select prisons across the state. At this time, the cost to taxpayers of such an endeavor is unknown, but financial experts estimate it would likely be at least several hundred million dollars."

Steve clicked the power button on the remote and turned off the television. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, then dialed Sam.

"Hey, man, how are you doing?" Sam asked as soon as the line connected.

"I'm…tired."

"You landed?"

"Yep." Steve leaned back in the chair. "How is he?"

"He's…Bucky. Stoic. Quiet. That's what I hear, anyway. I still haven't been able to actually see him…after turning him in and being the hero," Sam almost spat the last word, "but the lawyers have, and they've kept me in the loop. He's in a secure building in New York City. Heavily guarded."

"Do you know the location?"

"Yep. I'll text you the address. How did things go with T'Challa?"

"He's onboard."

Steve heard an audible breath from Sam.

"That's great," Sam said. "Pepper and T'Challa…that will help."

"What are the lawyers saying?"

"Well, there's some good news!" Sam's voice raised to a hopeful pitch. "The Germans don't actually have any hard evidence against Bucky on the prison break, but they also aren't backing down on extradition. They've got a lot of circumstantial evidence they're hanging their hats on. It doesn't look great that he and I showed up with Zemo in Madripoor, and that was all caught on video. I'm working on a statement with the lawyers. Basically, top secret government undercover stuff to stop the Flag Smashers, which we did. Since I'm now Captain America and brought in the infamous former Winter Soldier, I'm pretty much off the legal radar and everyone's new hero. They have Bucky solid on the jail break in Louisiana, unfortunately. It sucks. I'm out here. He's in there. He saved an entire universe, and the world hates him right now… Well, except for a few people."

Steve knew exactly who Sam was talking about. He hoped they'd be motivated to help. "Have you been able to reach them?"

"Yes. Carrying the shield has its perks, that's for sure."

"And?"

"At least three of them are willing to make public statements," Sam said.

Steve felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. They were off to a good start—things seemed to be going their way. The variables were lining up in the right direction, at least.

"They wouldn't be here today without Bucky," Sam added, "and that would not have been an easy death. I'd say that's some solid motivation. I think we can count on them, politics be damned. If anyone knows the stakes of what we were up against, it's them. I'm pretty sure I can get Perez onboard, too. That'd be four total."

Steve closed his eyes and tilted his head back. The exhaustion was starting to set in. "Thank you, Sam."

"Thank you, Cap. You didn't have to come here, into this shit-show."

"He's my friend. I told him I'd be with him to the end of the line. The version of me here didn't honor that. I can't stay here forever, but I can see him through this. Whatever it takes. And if it comes down to it…"

"I know," Sam said. "I'll miss him, but he deserves a life. Just like you do. Don't beat yourself up over this. You couldn't have known. Well, the other you, anyway."

Steve managed a tired smile at that. "Goodnight, Sam. I'll touch base tomorrow. I'm keeping the phone on. Call me if there's any change."

"Will do. Goodnight, Cap."

-0- -0- -0-

Eva Klein was a night owl. She always had been, but at her age, sleep came harder and harder. She was the queen of naps, but staying asleep for more than a couple hours at a time was a super power that belonged to others. She envied those special individuals.

As she sat in her recliner and watched the man on the screen curled into himself in the prison cell, she found herself going through a kaleidoscope of emotions. Initially, she felt a certain satisfaction watching his agony. Her grandson could no longer cry or grieve or feel anything. Then, she felt guilty for taking pleasure in his suffering.

She was old, but she knew how to use the Internet. Some technology was a bit perplexing since her five-year blip hiatus, but she had always been good at adapting, and she prided herself on being self-sufficient, no matter her age. So, she knew how to look up information on her tablet. She even kept in touch with her many children, grandchildren, nephews, and nieces on social media.

When she searched for information on the man who had helped free the person who killed her grandson, she read things she wished she could forget. She remembered things she often tried to forget. Screams. Faces.

The Nazis had destroyed so many lives. She'd been only a small girl when they'd destroyed hers, but she had rebuilt another one—a good one—despite them. Decades later, they were still destroying lives.

She knew that man on the screen was over 100 years old—older, even, then she was. He had lived through the Nazis. He had fought them, and then he had been captured by them. Experimented on. Turned into a killer. She learned all that from the Internet. She'd read the words, but reading and knowing were two different things. She'd tried to imagine what those words truly meant to the man on the screen.

What kind of man had he been before the Nazis captured him? What had they done to him? Most importantly, what kind of a man was he now?

-0- -0- -0-

It was his eighth consecutive hour of staring at the wall. He had no clock to reference, but he'd had decades of experience keeping internal track of time during missions. It had been a necessary skill. Missions involved waiting, watching, hunting, and knowing the precise moment to strike….in whatever conditions he found himself in.

The lawyers had come and gone. The collar around his neck itched and elicited an unwelcome sensory memory that made his fingertips tingle. The gray cotton shirt and pants they'd made him change into were comfortable enough but provided little warmth. The floor was cool against his bare feet.

He was hungry. Breakfast was still several hours away and would probably be eggs and a piece of fruit. Such a meal would be enough for anyone with a normal metabolism, but the two meals they'd hastily provided him over the last couple of days were insufficient for his serum-enhanced physiology. Between his surrender, transfer to a secure location, visits from the lawyers, and the powers that be dealing with the media, feeding him had been an afterthought for everyone until his stomach grumbled audibly. The lawyers were working on that, too, they'd told him.

Hunger didn't bother him too much. He'd never had a problem dealing with the sensation, at least not over the past 80 years. As the Winter Soldier, it had been a perpetual state of being and a secondary concern he barely noticed. After the helicarriers, during his initial weeks on the run, food had been scarce and obtaining it often meant risk. He'd learned to function on the bare minimum.

Bucky had tried for sleep, but it wasn't coming easily. Sleep would help pass the time, at least. He spent an hour doing pushups and sit ups, trying to keep his body active and his mind occupied enough to ignore the unpleasant sensation of the collar around his neck, but ultimately, he realized he was just burning energy and inflaming his hunger.

He was only on Day Two. It wasn't so bad, other than the collar and the boredom. They'd explained that the collar was a necessary safety mechanism. It had a GPS tracker in it and could deliver a supersoldier-sized electric shock. His lawyers had argued that the collar was cruel and unusual punishment. Apparently, they were filing a motion. There'd be a hearing in a few days.

His lawyers. He managed a smile at that. Leave it to Steve. The lawyers had told him that their retainer had been paid and a trust account formed. Bucky had a pretty good idea who to thank. There was only one person around with that kind of money who would have any interest in helping him. He wasn't sure how Steve had convinced her, but he knew his friend was at least partially responsible, somehow, for the assist.

He wondered what Steve was doing at that moment. He assumed Steve had found his way to the apartment, gotten in, and probably realized he had nowhere to sleep except the floor. Bucky should have warned him about that. They'd discussed where he'd stay. Sam was too high profile, and they didn't want to risk the press getting a glimpse of Steve Rogers.

Bucky wondered what Steve would think about his paltry apartment. It wasn't set up for guests. It was a place to store a few things, sleep, eat, shower, and watch the news. That was all. He hadn't had a home in a very long time.

Come to think of it, his prison cell wasn't all that different than his apartment. It was a place to sleep, eat, go to the bathroom, and shower on a schedule. He hadn't had a shower yet. It wasn't much of a priority, and he had no idea when they'd decide he needed one. He figured they probably wanted to handle him as little as possible. He saw the way the guards looked at him. He knew they were aware of his history and capabilities. He somehow suspected they had all drawn the short straws.

They had nothing to fear from him, but they didn't know that, and that made them nervous. He knew nervousness often led to overreaction, so he tried his best to give them no reason to react, for their own welfare as well as his own.

When they brought his food, he moved to the far wall as instructed, away from the tiny slide-in shelf that he couldn't possibly escape from, anyway. When the lawyers came again—an older woman with wild white hair and a younger man with European elegance—he spoke to them through the glass barrier of his cell. It was a cell much like Zemo's in Berlin, except that the transparent barrier was reinforced with a micro mesh and three times as thick. A comm system in the wall allowed him to hear and speak to people on the other side. Cameras were focused on him at all times, even when his attorneys were present. Except that, apparently, the audio on the cameras was turned off for the lawyers. That's what they'd told him—attorney-client privilege.

The lawyers asked him a lot of questions and encouraged him to tell them the truth so they could provide a proper defense. He did. He told them everything. There was no use lying or trying to cover up facts at this point. He told them that Sam had nothing to do with breaking out Zemo. Sam didn't even know about it until after the fact, and he'd objected the entire time. The only reason Sam had gone along with it was because it had already been done and Zemo had information that they needed to find who was making the serum and where the new crop of supersoldiers were located.

He told them about the note he'd slipped the prisoner that had started the fight and allowed Zemo the distraction he needed to make his escape.

They'd asked him question after question. Had he talked with Zemo before that visit? Had he ever had prior communication with Zemo after Siberia and before the prison break? Did he know Zemo would kill someone? How did Zemo know where to meet him? What would he have done had Zemo not made the rendezvous? Why didn't he let Walker or the Dora Milaje take Zemo when they wanted to? Why didn't he secure Zemo when Walker and the Dora Milaj were fighting? How did he know where to find Zemo to turn him over to the Wakandans?

They interrogated him for three hours. It reminded him of his debriefing back in the War, after escaping the Germans. The lawyers finished for the day and said they'd be back tomorrow. They told him to comply with all orders given and that, if he had any issues, he should ask to speak with his counsel as soon as possible.

He had no problems complying. That was something he'd been programmed to do, and as Shuri pointed out, while the programming may have been removed, the underlying conditioning was still very much a part of him. It felt like slipping into an old coat. Heavy. Frayed. Worn. But familiar.

-0- -0- -0-

Steve carried the case as stepped off the private jet Pepper had generously provided. He'd had about nine hours to kill in flight, and he'd used every bit of that time working. He'd checked in with Sam, and Bucky was still in the same holding facility and his lawyers were successfully giving everyone involved in Bucky's prosecution and detention a massive legal headache. From what he'd heard, they'd filed three separate motions for injunctive relief and a civil lawsuit related to Bucky's prison conditions…and it only been a little over 72 hours since his surrender.

Pepper had sent him the files he requested. That had been a delicate discussion, and one he hadn't relished. Fortunately, she knew what files he meant and even where they were located. She had not, she explained, watched any of them except for a few seconds to confirm she would be sending him the right ones. Tony, she'd told him, had warned her about not viewing any of them. He'd said she'd never get the images out of her head.

-0- -0- -0-

The Chancellor had just ended her call with the Governor of New York when her aide entered. She tapped her pen on her notepad and pondered her options. Things were getting complicated, and she did not like complicated.

"Frau Bundeskanzlerin," Karl began, looking nervous.

"Yes?" she answered in English. She'd been on the phone with so many American politicians and journalists lately that she had started speaking German to the Americans and English to her own staff.

"You have a very insistent visitor."

"I have nothing on my calendar."

"I think you might want to meet this one."

She eyed him skeptically. There were very few unscheduled visitors who would merit such an announcement. "Who is it?"

"Captain America."

She leaned back in her chair, peering at the young man across her mahogany desk. "Captain Wilson flew all this way unannounced to talk to me about his friend?"

Karl shook his head. "No. Captain Steve Rogers."

She dropped her pen. "Where is he?"