A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, and Captain America: Civil War.

As always, many thanks go out to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta and Winter-Soldier-88 for the brainstorming.

Note 1: I know it's been a while since this story was updated, but it couldn't be helped. Not only is my muse a fickle little scamp, my family has been experiencing a great deal of emotional turmoil that may not get better any time soon. Such is RL.

Note 2: This story is being revamped. Some scenes will be removed completely. Others will be changed to better conform to the MCU movies. Also, parts 2 and 3 will be eliminated and the chapters posted all under one title.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;
And you will know me still.
I shall be only a little taller
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems

Winter Soldier

And You Will Know Me Still

Chapter 10

A small sound that was out of place put all of James's instincts on alert. And just that fast, he was no longer a man on a date with a pretty girl. In the wink of an eye, he turned back into the Asset. Whispering in the back of his mind like voices overheard, barely loud enough to be understood, he heard the name Winter Soldier. The only name he'd ever been called before liberating himself was the Asset, and never to him. He was only addressed directly to demand a report on the current mission. Mostly they spoke about him as if he wasn't there or couldn't understand.

Dust floated down, landing in Tracie's hair and on her clothes. "What the hell?" she exclaimed, brushing away the pieces of concrete and running fingers through hair to shake it loose.

He silenced her with a sharp gesture, cocking his head to the side and listening intently. It was close, whatever it was, and above them. "Stay here!" he ordered, backing up to the street so he could see the roof.

The statue of an angel rocked, accompanied by the scratch and scrape of metal on stone. James gauged the distance for his climb up to the roof, his eyes automatically finding the hand holds.

"Jamie, what's going on?" Against his order, Tracie came down the steps to the sidewalk as the statue tilted precariously.

It nearly fell then righted itself. James heard a male grunting and swearing, the scraping louder this time. Just as Tracie reached the curb, the statue took a nosedive, the extended wings making it look like it was flying at her like an angel of vengeance.

James pushed off with both feet, diving through the air. His arms went around Tracie, holding her close against his chest as he rolled onto his back at the same time to absorb the impact and minimize her injuries. They were moving at such a velocity that he hit the edge of the sidewalk and skidded through a row of bushes, rolling over and over, coming to a stop against the base of the building next door. The scrapes, lacerations and bruises would show themselves in the morning and be gone within a day or so. At least some good had come from his captivity with HYDRA and their experiments.

James rolled once more, using his body to protect Tracie. She buried her face in his chest as he covered his head with the metal arm when the statue smashed where they'd been standing. It shattered into a thousand pieces that flew in all directions, breaking windows and setting off car alarms. A chunk the size of a walnut hit James, at the base of his skull, the blood a warm trickle down the side of his neck. Smaller pieces pinged off the metal of his arm, shredding the sleeve of his shirt.

Shouts of alarm went up from pedestrians and drivers who'd come running to the scene. He could hear them on the phone to police, and above that, the sound of someone running along the roof toward the back of the building. Pushing himself up so he could see her face, James whispered urgently, "Are you okay?"

She gawked at his metal arm then turned her head to look at him again, stunned at everything that happened as well as the reveal of his prosthesis. "What?"

"Are you hurt?" James demanded, shaking her slightly to get her attention.

"I-I…no. I'm fine. What happened?"

He ignored the question as people gathered around to gawk at the scene, all talking at once. The shrill whine of sirens split the air, far away and coming closer with every second. If he wanted to catch whoever had nearly killed them, he had to go now.

Leaning close to her ear, he whispered urgently, "When they ask, you don't know me." She gaped at him stupidly. "Tracie!"

"Okay. Okay. Fine. I don't know you."

As though she hadn't spoken, James pushed to his feet and ran toward the rear of the building, jumping over hedges and climbing over the tops of cars in the parking lot next to the building. As he reached the dumpster enclosure, someone came thundering down the fire escape, the metal framework shaking and rattling. James looked up into the face of a man holding both rails to jump down to the next landing.

They saw each other at the same moment The other man's eyes widened in alarm. He spun around and returned to the floor above. Using the butt of a gun, he smashed a window, knocked the glass away and disappeared inside.

Eschewing the ladder, James jumped up to balance on the fire escape's rail. From there, he hoisted himself up several floors. He was about to shove his fist through a window to gain entry into the building when he saw a young woman cowering in the corner, holding a screaming bundle wrapped in a blanket. He wanted to say something to reassure her, but a woman's scream and a male voice swearing sent him up to the tenth floor.

Climbing in through another broken window, he ran through the apartment and out into the hall. A scuffle was taking place off to his left.

Again, the swearing, this time in a female voice then an unmanly scream followed by, "Shit! You bit me!" The woman's response was lost when James stopped next to the wall of the apartment from where the voices were coming. "Let go!" the man yelled.

"And let you shoot me? Screw you, jerk! Ow!" was the woman's response, and James took a moment to admire the fact that women no longer waited for men to come to their rescue. The wall shook as the pair slammed against it while continuing to wrestle for possession of the gun. James wanted this to be easy and relatively quiet, but that moment had long since passed. The sound of a body falling to the floor, accompanied by a grunt of pain, and a round being chambered helped him make the decision to rescue the woman at the risk of being caught.

Drawing his left arm back, he shoved his fist through the wall, grabbed the gunman's arm, shifted his aim away from the woman on the floor. The shot shattered the side window. Keeping hold of that arm, he dragged the gunman through the hole and into the hall, swinging him around so that they were now face to face. Gripping the other man's shirt and jacket in his right hand, James yanked him close, his metal hand already around his throat.

From his expression, the other man expected to die in the next few seconds. His chin came up, accepting his fate. "I saw you talking to that girl, pretending to be human," he scoffed. "But you're not, are you? You're an asset. Nothing but a tool for HYDRA. You were made to kill, so go ahead and kill me. Cut off one head, and two shall take its place. Hail HYDRA!"

But death wasn't on the agenda tonight. James got up in the man's face, his voice a deep growl. "I am not the Asset! I will never be the Asset again."

The gunman's lips twisted into an arrogant smirk. "Yeah? Then who the hell are you?"

Tugging him closer still, their noses almost touching, James stated clearly, and for the record, "I'm James Buchanan Barnes!"

~~O~~

Armored and armed to the gills, SWAT burst in through the building's main entrance. Within five minutes, the entire building had been searched and evacuated, except on the tenth floor.

Sergeant Gamble found the unconscious man slumped next to a hole in the wall outside of apartment 10B. He shoved the silenced weapon out of sight and checked for a pulse, satisfied the man was alive. A woman's face appeared in the hole. Gamble nodded a greeting. "Ma'am. You okay?"

"Yeah." She climbed out through the hole, glaring at Gamble. "No thanks to you guys. I didn't do nothin' and he tried to kill me! Pervert!"

"You know him?"

The woman crossed her arms, one hip thrust to the side. "Hell no." She kicked the man on the floor. "Jackass here broke in, tried to take me hostage. Then, he was fighting with the other guy."

"What other guy?"

She shrugged. "Said his name was Seamus Runyon Karnes, or somethin' like that."

"Can you describe him?"

Huffing loudly, she rolled her eyes. "Duh! I was lookin' right at him while they was fightin'. Brownish hair, a goatee, not tall, totally hot bod. Uh, blue jeans, cowboy boots and a long sleeved shirt with a silver stripe down the left arm. Kinda like the racecar drivers wear."

"Thanks, ma'am." Gamble tapped his headset. "Got 'im, Captain… Apartment 10B… No major injuries, no casualties… Witness advised the perp fought with a second individual who stated his name as Seamus Runyon Karnes…" He ran down the vitals given by the woman who was now standing in the hall, her fists jammed into her hips, waiting for another chance to kick the alleged perp. "No, sir. He's gone… Roger that." To the woman, he said, "I need you to give a statement."

Looking down at her torn nightshirt and pajama pants, she lifted and dropped her arms to slap against her thighs. "Might as well. My night's already gone to hell thanks to this wise-ass."

The guy on the floor moaned as he regained consciousness. Gamble took out his handcuffs, snapped one side around his right wrist and flipped him onto his stomach, eliciting a grunt of pain. Twisting his left arm behind his back, Gamble snapped the cuffs around that wrist as well. His eyelids flickered open. That meant he could probably walk. Good, because he hadn't relished carrying him. "On your feet, pal."

"But I got an 'pointment," he declared groggily.

"Yes, you do. With the booking sergeant down at the 104th." Gamble dragged his prisoner down the hall and rang for the elevator. He was tempted to make the creep walk down all ten floors, but some a-hole of a public defender would probably call it cruel and unusual punishment. The soft padding of feet came down the hall and stopped next to him. The woman from the apartment. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I forgot to ask your name."

"Meryl Whitaker. I'm a bartender at Political Animals Bar and Grill." She looked him in the eye and smiled. "What's yours, officer?"

"Gamble, ma'am. Sergeant Noah Gamble."

Just as Meryl, Gamble and his prisoner reached the first floor, the power went out. Angry and excited voices from the street told him it wasn't just this building. Freakin' great. This night just keeps gettin' better.

~~O~~

With the aid of lights set up by the fire department, the paramedic taped a bandage over the last of Tracie's cuts and handed over her purse while a second paramedic attended to another's injuries. She took the purse absently, scanning the crowd for Jamie. If he was here, she couldn't see him. And considering that he told her not to tell anyone they knew each other, it was for the best.

The CSU team had taped off the front and back of the building after evacuating all the tenants. From what she'd overheard, no one would be getting back inside for a while. She pushed the hair off her face feeling the bandage on her cheek. The paramedic had assured her it wouldn't leave a scar. Relieved, she wandered away from the reporters and spectators, keeping her head down as she made her way behind a fire truck only to be stopped by a plain clothes cop before she could make a getaway.

"Excuse me, Ms. Mayfield. I'm Detective Ingram."

Sighing wearily, Tracie resigned herself to not getting to sleep anytime soon. "You're 5-0 just like the other three guys I've already talked to. If you don't mind, there's a pillow on my aunt's sofa calling my name. I gotta bounce."

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. "We need to go over your statement one more time."

"Why? I've already given my statement three times. It's not gonna change." She huffed at the man, speaking in a sing-song voice. "Tonight was the first time we met. He told me his name was James. We had a couple of beers and he walked me home. And that's when everything got FUBAR'd…"

The detective typed notes into his tablet as she talked. Annoyed she had to tell the story again, Tracie thought about fudging a few of the finer points just to make it more interesting. In the end, she stuck with her original version without changing any of the details.

"There's a discrepancy between your version and that of the other witnesses."

"Like what?"

He scrolled back through his notes. "At least four people saw him make a pass at you."

Tracie laughed out loud, the sound ending on a snort. "He didn't kiss me. I kissed him." She shrugged unconcernedly. "He was sweet, so I laid a lip-lock on him."

"Seems you left that part out of your original and subsequent statements."

Waving her arms dramatically, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "It was like kissing my brother. Can you blame me for forgetting?"

Eventually, the detective accepted her explanation and grudgingly had an officer give her a ride to her aunt's home in Silver Spring. She let herself in, flopped down on the sofa and wondered what the hell Robbie had gotten her into this time.

~~O~~

Steve's internal clock awakened him at 0347. After a brief moment of confusion at the unfamiliar surroundings, he tossed back the covers and padded into the bathroom down the hall next to the stairs, yawning and rubbing the gritty vestiges of sleep from his eyes.

He relieved himself, washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face to clear out some of the cobwebs. For one of the few times since he'd awakened in the SHIELD facility, he felt as if he hadn't gotten as much rest as he needed. The other item of interest on his mind was the fact that Clint hadn't relieved him at 0300. The archer was almost pathologically punctual.

Behind the bathroom door, he found a cupboard with towels and other necessary bathroom supplies. He grabbed the top towel, drying his face as he returned to his room to get dressed, shivering in the early morning chill. It was bearable, but still, he snatched up his jacket on the way out.

Steve now heard the soft susurrations of breathing at two different levels. The first was slow and steady, the person calm and at ease. The second came a little faster, though not as though he were scared.

He peered into the darkness of the living room, seeing a small patch of bright light shining on Clint's face. As he got closer, he saw the archer was playing a game on his phone with one hand and holding a handgun in the other. Following his aim, he saw a young Asian man tied to a chair, his eyes transfixed on the Glock's business end that didn't waver even a fraction of an inch. The bow and quiver lay on the floor beside Clint's chair.

"What's going on?"

Clint finished his game, powered down the phone and got to his feet before responding. "Caught him watching us from up the street."

Steve faced the young man, his expression neutral. "Steve," he pointed his chin at the archer, "Clint."

"Daniel Wong. Danny to my friends, which isn't you, dude." Danny shouted the last at Clint. The archer looked back impassively.

Steve dragged a chair over and sat down. "We're not going to hurt you, Danny."

"Speak for yourself, Rogers."

The super-soldier tossed a warning glance at Clint and returned his attention to Danny, who still glared at the archer. Finally, Clint put the Glock away and Danny visibly relaxed. Steve nodded, and Clint left them alone. Steve untied Danny's hands and feet. "Sorry he scared you. We just need to know why you're watching us."

"I wasn't scared. He broke into my apartment!"

"It won't happen again."

Rubbing his wrists, Danny kept glancing at the hallway leading to the kitchen where Clint had gone. "No one's been anywhere near this place since they took the bodies away more than two years. Crime scene clean-up and a couple of potential owners, but no one else. Then a bunch of strangers drive up in the middle of the night. A guy gets curious, you know? I gotta live here and wanted to know what you're up to."

"Your curiosity is understandable, but our reason for being here is confidential."

Danny's expression brightened at the prospect of being in on something clandestine, falling when he realized that Steve wasn't going to hand out details.

"I know who you are and what happened in D.C. It's all over television and the Internet, trending on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram. Some people are even making memes. Never believed what they said about you being a traitor and all. I mean, why would Captain America turn against, well, America?" He scooted closer, lowering his voice even more. "What I wanna know is where were the other Avengers while all that was hittin' the fan." His eyebrows drew together in thought. "Waaaait a second. That Clint guy. He's one of the Avengers, isn't he? What was his name?"

"Hawkeye." Suddenly, Clint was in the room with them again, neither one having heard him return.

"We 'bout done here, Cap? I gotta hit the sheets."

"We're good." Clint grabbed his bow and quiver, and took the stairs two at a time, his footsteps eventually fading. Steve's superior hearing caught the click of the attic door closing then all was silent once more. Every now and then, the old building creaked and sometimes he could hear the others moving around on the upper floors. And far away, the sounds of the city that never sleeps provided a strangely comforting background to their current situation, reminding him of his childhood.

Danny stood when Steve did, signaling their conversation was at an end. He put a friendly hand on the boy's shoulder. "Go on home, son. Don't tell anyone we're here or what you've seen."

"But I haven't seen anything! He dragged my ass in the front door and tied me up. Told me not to scream or even talk. I thought he was gonna kill me, or worse, you know?"

Trying not to laugh, Steve nodded gravely. "He won't bother you again, son. As long as you keep your nose out of other people's business."

Nodding vigorously, Danny made a hasty retreat to the front door. He stopped for a moment, looking at Steve with a question in his eyes. "So those guys, the ones calling themselves HYDRA. They're the real deal, huh? Nazis? Bad news all around?"

"Extraordinarily bad news, so watch yourself out there. Also, if you see anything that doesn't look kosher, let me know." Steve walked Danny to the door, watched him jog down the street and duck into the brownstone Clint had pointed out, shaking his head. Walking softly, his sneakers making almost no sound on the wood floor, Steve let himself into the garage where he retrieved his shield from the trunk of his car. They had to keep a low profile on this op. If he went around brandishing his shield, they might as well call up HYDRA and invite them to dinner.

RSVP

Black tie optional

Weapons will be checked at the door

BYOAS. Bring your own Avenger or SHIELD agent.

Steve chuckled to himself. That sounded like something Clint or Natasha would say. Or Tony.

He put the shield back. Exiting through the side door into the small garden that curved around to the front and surrounded by an iron fence painted black, Steve stood for a moment taking time to breathe in the atmosphere of his hometown. SHIELD had kept him so busy he hadn't been to his apartment in more than six months. Now, with HYDRA rearing their ugly heads, he didn't dare go near the place or risk putting his neighbors in jeopardy. Being anywhere near h

is home was a risk, but he was willing to put his life on the line to save Bucky. And it felt good to have people backing him up that were willing to do the same.

He started his perimeter check in the back, hopping the fence and making his way to the end of the narrow alley where he made an about face and did the same in the other direction. At the house on the corner, a light came on in an upstairs window and a moment later, he heard the shower come on.

Going up to Selah Court, he walked down to the next street, not seeing anything that didn't look like it belonged. But then, looks could and did deceive.

On the contiguous corner sat a silent and lonely looking playground with a basketball court attached. Back in the forties, a mom and pop diner had been on this corner. It burned down sometime in the eighties and had been replaced with the neighborhood playground. The side of the building had been painted over with a mural.

As a kid, his asthma had kept him from being involved in sports. Now, he could run twelve miles in under thirty minutes and be only slightly winded. The foods he'd been allergic to he could eat as he liked. He only wished his parents had lived to see how he turned out, knowing they'd be proud. Then again, he wouldn't've wanted them to go through the agony of thinking he was dead after he purposely crashed the Red Skull's plane into the North Atlantic.

Steve finished his tour of the block back at the brownstone, jumped the fence and stood on the sidewalk that led to the porch. The roof provided the best vantage point for keeping an eye on the neighborhood. From there, he would be able to see cars and people coming before they saw him. Now he understood what the archer meant by seeing better from a distance.

He examined the outside of their temporary home. Naturally, there was no fire escape, but then, he didn't really need one. Bending his knees, he jumped up to the porch roof, and from there, made his way to the roof. He landed lightly on the black tar, turning in a circle to check it out.

Looking over the side, he brushed dirt from his hands, taking a startled step back when he came face to face with one of the ugliest statues he'd ever seen. Glancing around, he saw others, not as big, but equally as ugly. If he'd been superstitious, he would've worried that they'd come to life at night. He didn't give the myth another thought.

Steve settled in for the time being, resigned to keeping company with the stone sentinels. One part of his brain worked out the logistics of their plan to find Bucky. Another part kept watch and another smaller part wondered what Clint had been thinking when he chose this as their base of operations. The gargoyles and eeriness of it being the scene of a triple homicide had obviously been a selling point, but why?

~~O~~

"Because it's cool!" Clint exclaimed from the window seat, a plate of food in one hand and a cup of coffee within easy reach.

Annoyed at the laughter from their companions, Steve scowled at the room in general, coming back to Clint. "Let me get this straight. You chose this house because you thought the gargoyles looked 'cool'?"

Grinning, Clint scanned the faces sitting in various positions about the room. He shrugged. "Yeah. That and the provenance."

Steve was ready to continue the argument, and was stopped by Sam. "I got this one, Barton. Steve, 'looks cool' is commonly known as The Fonzie Rationalization." More laughter greeted the explanation. Steve nodded understanding. "As for the provenance, my guess is he was hoping the place would be haunted."

"See? Wilson gets it." The two men shared a fist bump. The rest of the group, all but Newcomb, hid grins behind coffee cups or not at all. "Everyone but you gets it, Rogers."

Their leader chewed a piece of toast and swallowed before responding. "Fine. It's cool that we have creepy statues on the roof. And come to think of it, the front has a creepy feel to it too. Probably the overgrown garden and squeaky gate."

From the back of the room, seated next to Maria on a love seat, Kiba's voice swept over the group. "That could work for us. Anyone who gets the heebie jeebies from the statues and the murders won't set foot in the place much less send the welcome wagon knocking on our door."

Nine heads turned when someone knocked on the front door. Clint pulled back the curtain a fraction of an inch. "Bogie at eleven o'clock. Soccer mom armed with a cake." He dropped the curtain back in place, leaving a thin sliver of the morning sun. "Want me to take her out, Cap? Just say the word and it's done. No one'll ever find the body."

Clint was kidding about taking out their visitor. Still, he aimed an annoyed glare in his direction that he had to have learned from Hill. They heard talking, and in a few minutes, Steve was back carrying cake pan. Through the plastic wrap they could see pink frosting slathered on a rectangular cake and the words "welcome to the neighborhood" hand lettered on top.

Santino, towering over everyone but Steve, rubbed his chin and grinned. "I'll take the first piece."

Natasha silenced him with a slash of her hand. "It could be poisoned."

Newcomb snorted. It was the first sound he'd made since Steve and Sam had come back with breakfast. "You really think she's capable of being anything but a bad cook?"

Poking Newcomb in the bicep, Kiba gave him a mock scowl. "Book, cover, judging again, Wyatt."

Sullivan pushed his way to the front to get a look. Before anyone could stop him, he lifted the wrapping, swiped a finger through the pink goo, getting some of the cake underneath, and stuck it in his mouth, chewing contemplatively. When finished, he shook his head, his expression grave. "It's worse than we thought."

Natasha moved to her temporary partner's side, concerned. "Worse how, Ty?"

From where Clint was standing, he could see a blip of humor in the other man's eyes. Sullivan was about to spring a trap. Not the best, but might be good for a chuckle or two.

"And it's good." He took the eye rolls and grumbles with poise. "My uncle ran a bakery when I was a kid. This cake may not look like much, but as far as this group is concerned, the only foreign substance in it is love." Grinning, and listening to the group groan, Sullivan took the pan from Steve and carried it to the kitchen. "You guys are too easy."

~~O~~

Sitting at the only computer up and running, Kiba tapped the keys, creating firewalls and next gen security for the systems they'd be using to keep their search grid on track, perform facial rec and even plot out probabilities based on what they knew, or guessed, about James Buchanan Barnes.

Natasha, Sullivan and Santino were unpacking and setting up the equipment they'd procured. Where Natasha and Clint had gotten it, Kiba didn't want or need to know. As long as it got the job done.

Maria had taken Sam and Newcomb in hand for a trip to the grocery store. Kiba didn't cook, but she could order delivery with the best of them. However, that wouldn't keep then under the radar. This morning, before the nosy neighbor had come knocking, Natasha had suggested, and the group agreed, that only Steve, Maria and Santino would answer the door or allow themselves to be seen in the front of the house, especially during the day. Their cover was Steve and Maria were a couple and Santino was her brother. Everyone else would come and go only through the back alley.

With Natasha, Steve and Sam's help, she entered everything they could tell her regarding their encounters with Barnes as the Winter Soldier, especially what he might do if cornered. Steve added his knowledge of his friend prior to the war. However, the computer could only do so much. What they really needed was a trained psychologist to give them insight into Barnes' mindset since he'd broken away from HYDRA's influence. Did he have a clear agenda in mind? A plan or strategy? Was he going strictly on instinct or making it up as he went? Doing the one-day-at-a-time thing? Or was he progressing in a logical, rational manner toward a specific goal?

Kiba paused in her typing. "Captain Rogers?"

Steve sidestepped Sullivan's legs sticking out from under the table doubling as a desk, pulled a chair over, turned it around and straddled the seat. "Steve. And if you want help with that," he pointed at the code flowing across the screen faster than the average human eye could see, "you're barking up the wrong tree, Kiba. Computers are way above my pay grade. Most of the world is above my pay grade. I'm getting better, though."

Steve was a lot like her brother. Jack died of leukemia when he was fifteen and had been equal parts sweet and infuriating. A typical teenaged boy. The old fashioned way Steve had about him was adorable. Just like Jack. Hopefully, they wouldn't get to the infuriating point any time soon. But then, he was a guy, and weren't they all infuriating at one time or another?

Sitting back and crossing her arms, Kiba tilted her head to the side, thinking how best to approach the subject. With Captain America, it was best to be honest and straight-forward. "I can help with that, if you like."

His smile of appreciation had a touch of shyness and naiveté that would be out of place in most people. On him, it come across as completely natural and guileless.

"I'm good. And it's not as hard as in the beginning."

"If you change your mind…" He nodded, and urged her continue. "We need to bring in a psychologist. Someone who can take a look at the evidence and tell us what Barnes is likely to do next."

Steve's smile dimmed. "Bucky and I have known each other since we were kids. We fought side by side in WWII. I was there when he died. When I thought he'd died. Anything you need to know, just ask."

"He tried to kill you, Natasha and Sam in D.C. and almost succeeded. You have to consider the possibility that he's no longer the man you once knew."

"None of us are." His voice was adamant, filled with absolute certainty that his opinion was correct. "Kiba, he could've let me die when the helicarrier crashed into the Potomac, but he didn't. I would've drowned if he hadn't dragged me ashore where the medics could find me. He risked capture to save my life." Steve looked down at his arms resting on the chair back then at her again. "We've always had each other's backs, no matter what. The Bucky I knew is still in there. I'm sure of it. He just has to be reminded."

"I admire your faith in your friend, but how can you be so sure?"

A nostalgic and wistful smile came over him. "Because, even when I had nothing, I had Bucky, and when push came to shove-literally-he was there for me." I'm with you to the end of the line, pal.

Tilting her head to the side, Kiba thought about everything Steve said. His unwavering faith in Barnes was contagious. Had to be because she was starting to believe it too. She gave him a smile. "I should get back to work. These programs aren't gonna write themselves."

~~O~~

With Newcomb pushing the cart and Sam taking cans and boxes from the shelves as directed, Maria went down her mental grocery list, checking items off one at a time. The only deviation came when Sam slipped a couple of boxes of sugar laden snack into the cart. They were her favorites, so she pretended not to notice.

Newcomb had hardly spoken during their excursion. The man wasn't shy. Just quiet. His light brown eyes were never still, constantly checking out their surroundings, even on the ride over. They'd driven into Jersey City to a large chain store to avoid being too conspicuous.

As they approached the check-out, Maria's phone vibrated. She dug the device out of her back pocket and glanced at the caller ID: Mom. That meant Eli Harrington, left in charge of their hideout in D.C., had an urgent need to speak to her.

"Hi Mom… Uh-huh… I see…" She listened and nodded as if responding to a long, involved rant from an annoying yet highly cherished parent. "I'm sorry Dad's being such a butthead… Yes, of course I'll talk to him… I have to go now. See you soon."

Keeping his voice low, Sam leaned close, barely moving his lips. "What's up?"

From her back pocket, Maria took out cash, motioning for the men to follow her to the register. "That was Harrington. The signal he was tracking is now somewhere in Canada. He tried tapping into the satellites, but that was bust. Without the resources we enjoyed before, this is gonna take longer than I hoped. On the upside, he did hear from a contact. Barnes was spotted in Nashville."

"What would he be doing in Nashville?" Newcomb asked while he helped Sam put their purchases on the conveyer belt.

Maria chewed her lip for a moment, one shoulder twitching in a shrug. "If it is Barnes, we're in the wrong damn place."

TBC

A/N: The fake name the witness gives the police, Seamus, was suggested by Lady Pandora.