"I'm to inform you that Captain Rogers' friend has woken up," Jarvis' voice sounded from the ceiling speaker, waking Bruce up.

His head felt heavy, as if after a night of excessive drinking – he still remembered those, even if it wasn't the part of his old life he missed the most – and Bruce knew it would be a while for it to go away. It was the same each time Hulk took over – Bruce was the one left to deal with the fallout, the exhaustion, the remorse.

Hulk was an inherently selfish creature after all.

Bruce dragged himself up, shaking his head to knock the rest of the sleepiness away and yearning for a coffee. Despite what he had been giving the others as an excuse, the rise in blood pressure it offered wasn't anywhere close to triggering a transformation, but it still made him jittery and put him on edge and that was much worse to deal with than being sleepy.

The summon didn't sound too urgent, but it was hard to tell with Jarvis sometimes, so he forewent a shower – luckily, he had washed off the worst of the blood and grime before crashing onto his bed – and quickly threw on his clothes.

The elevator stopped at the penthouse and Tony stepped in, dragging his armor suitcase behind him. He looked just about as Bruce felt, tired and disheveled.

"Hi, Bruce," Tony said and grinned at him, a bit too enthusiastically for it to come off as genuine.

Bruce replied with a small bow. He didn't feel like talking, his throat seemed sore – even though he knew it wasn't, Hulk's healing factor would have dealt with that – from all the roaring Hulk had done.

"I'm curious how that little reunion is going to go," Tony said, his grin fading to a smirk, then disappearing completely.

"Reunion?"

"I did some digging. Well, I basically googled the name Rogers used – Bucky – and look what popped up." Tony handed him a tablet he kept stashed under his arm until now.

There was a Wikipedia page opened on it. "James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes Jr," it said, member of the "Howling Commandos". Killed in action on the twelfth of February, nineteen forty-five.

"Hmm," Bruce murmured and scrolled down to the photos. He hadn't taken a good look at the man, back on the plane, but from what he had seen, it could be him just as well. "Any guesses how that's possible?"

"A couple. The guy has some form of supersoldier serum in him, that's non-negotiable, because a mechanical limb might be sturdier, but wouldn't do shit without a force to propel it and, believe me, he packs quite a punch. Besides, he took a hit to the face from Iron Man without breaking a sweat."

"Okay, but how could he still be looking like he does? I mean, sure, the serum can prolong your life, but we're seventy years later and he still looks as if he was in, what, the late thirties at best?"

"So does Rogers," Tony pointed out.

"You think he had been frozen, too?"

"I suppose we're about to find out," Tony said with a shrug, and just as he did, the elevator stopped. He gestured at the exit. "Shall we?"

Bruce chuckled under his breath. Tony truly had a sense of showmanship built into his mainframe.

Everybody else had already gathered in the hallway by the cell. Pepper and Loki stayed by the back wall, Natasha and Clint in the middle of the room, while Rogers was fighting an unfair battle with the control panel that wouldn't respond to him, no matter how hard he tried to press it.

"Stand back, Cap," Tony warned, "we don't want the bird out of the cage just yet."

In the corner of his eye, Bruce saw Loki shudder at the notion, then wrap his arms around himself, although the reason was escaping him entirely.

"Tony…" Steve started in his scratchy, half-healed voice he definitely shouldn't be using yet.

Stark sighed. "Look at him. Does he look communicative to you?"

Since they came in, the man in the cell – James – was standing in the middle of the enclosure, with his chin up, his back straight and his arms pressed to his sides, completely unmoving and staring at nothing.

"Just… Let me try to talk to him," Steve said.

Tony grunted and kicked his suitcase armor open. It unfolded, wrapping around him. "Okay," he said, then gestured everyone back. "I'll let you in and close the door behind you."

Steve nodded, picked up a coffee cup and a sandwich from his chair, and stood in front of the cell, while Tony operated the panel.

James' jaw twitched when the door opened, but he didn't move from where he was standing, hell, even his eyes remained focused on the same spot and that didn't change when Steve walked inside or when the glass closed behind him.

"Hi," Steve said, his voice now coming through the intercom.

James glared at him through slanted eyes.

"Do you know who I am?" Steve asked.

The man set his shoulders and frowned, but did not answer.

"You don't recognize me?"

James nodded, curtly. "You were in my cell."

Steve sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "That's right. My name is Steve."

There was some hesitation from James, before he gave Steve another terse nod. "Are you my new handler?"

"No! I…" Steve started and his voice broke. He took a long breath and cleared his throat. "Here. I brought you something to eat." He presented the drink and the sandwich to James, and the man's gaze focused on it with vicious ferocity, but he made no move to get it from Steve's hands.

"You're not hungry?"

James peeled his gaze from the food in Steve's hands and it looked like it took a lot of effort, then met Steve's eyes. "I'm only allowed to accept rations from my handler," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and Steve was trying to test him.

"Then I am your handler, for now, at least," Steve surrendered with a sigh. "Come on, you need to eat."

James didn't need to be told twice. He edged closer and carefully took the sandwich from Steve's hand, and – when he already had it in his hands and Steve could no longer snatch it away – he tore at the packaging and shoved the sandwich into his mouth, not really bothering with chewing properly and swallowing it down a chunk at a time.

It was gone in ten seconds, tops, and James wiped his lips with the back of his normal hand, then stood there, nervously crumbling the grease-stained paper and tinfoil between his fingers.

"Here," Steve said, handing him the drink, then wiggled his fingers until James placed the paper-tinfoil ball on his palm in exchange.

James popped the lid off the cup and gulped it down without pausing, then handed the cup back to Steve, already figuring out the rule.

"You want some more?"

James frowned and eyed Steve with suspicion.

"No strings attached," Steve promised.

James nodded, then and Tony was already tapping away on his tablet, ordering some express food delivery, more likely than not.

"Okay. I'll bring you some in a moment. Is there anything else you need?"

James stared, as if he couldn't comprehend the meaning of the question at all.

Steve sighed and turned around to leave, so Tony opened the glass pane for him. As the panel slid apart, the actuators in Tony's armor hissed, getting ready for action, but James didn't make a move to get out, just remained standing where he was, in the middle of the cell.

The moment the cell closed and secured again, Steve's shoulders drooped and he hid his face in his hands. Tony placed an armored hand on his arm, but Steve shook it off. His head snapped up and his gaze trained on Loki, along with an accusatory finger.

"You said you can fix him! Do it!"

"I don't…" Loki started, dropped his head, took a step backward, and raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "I can't. Not like this. I told you, it will take days, at least, and that's only if you let me…"

"Okay!" Tony interjected, stepping into the line of Steve's accusatory glare. "I feel like there's some confusion going on. Let's talk it through like reasonable people before we're at each others' throats again. How about that?" His eyes dashed between Steve and Loki. Loki nodded and let his hands drop to his sides. Steve sighed and did the same.

"Great. So, powwow time, penthouse, now," Tony decided, urging them all out of the room.

"We can't leave him here like this, Tony," Bruce protested, pointing at James. The cell wasn't equipment for long time containment, it had no utilities, not even a cot and it didn't really matter how dangerous the guy could be, they couldn't deny him his basic rights.

Tony didn't comment, just tapped on the control panel again. There was a rumble, a mechanical whirr and the back wall split along one of the grooves in the middle and slid apart, revealing the second part of the cell, more or less the same size as the front part. There was a wall-mounted bed, a table with a solitary chair, a toilet and a sink, and a translucent curtain hiding shower facilities. It wasn't offering much in terms of privacy, but it was still a significant upgrade.

James tensed up when he heard the noise, but he didn't even turn around to see what was happening.

"I'm pretty sure he needs your permission to use any of it, Steve," Natasha said in a numb, hollow tone, then turned around and left the room.

Bruce followed, sparing himself the scene of Steve ordering his long-lost friend to use the toilet. He really didn't need that vision in his mind.

Saying the atmosphere at the table was morbid would mean giving it too much credit. After Tony dropped his revelation and Steve confirmed it, and after Loki told them – not without some prodding from Natasha – about the machine and SHIELD's efforts, there was a stretch of silence no one was too willing to break, so that questionably pleasant responsibility was on Natasha, yet again.

"You think SHIELD had him the entire time?" she asked.

Steve tried to protest, choked on his tea – or maybe just air – and sent himself into a coughing fit.

"Here," Bruce said, pulling a box of lozenges out of his pocket. "If you don't intend to spare your voice, have one of those at least."

"What?" she said, looking around the gathered people, when Steve finally got his breathing under control. "It's the most immediate connotation, isn't it? You were with SHIELD when your friend was presumed dead, we found him with SHIELD now. There's a rather straight line that connects those two dots, Steve."

Rogers shook his head in dismay. "No, it cannot be..."

"How so?" she pushed.

"That would mean Peggy and Howard…"

"I wouldn't exactly be surprised," Tony interjected, then added, prompted by Steve's outraged glare, "I didn't know Carter all that well, but the Howard I knew wasn't the most pristine or moral character. I suppose he couldn't be, working the field he was and holding the position that he did. He always had some hidden agenda in everything he did, who can say what exactly he was pulling under the table? I wouldn't be shocked if it turned out the machine was his design."

"How can you speak like that against your own father?" Steve said, resentment and indignation thrumming in his tone.

Tony shrugged and laughed, a nervous kind of laugh that didn't carry any humor. "I always believed respect is something to be earned, not freely given. And Howard was a terrible father. Maybe not Loki's father's level of awful – sorry, buddy – because he never locked me in the basement for years, but not much more than that. So, yeah, if you ask me, Howard could very well be in on that."

"Peggy would never!"

"If you say so," Tony sighed, cutting the discussion short, although it was obvious he was far from being convinced, pretty well mirroring her own feelings on the matter.

"It doesn't matter for the moment," she said, mostly to placate Steve. "Whether SHIELD had him from the very start or whether they somehow interjected him somewhere down the line, they had him when we found him, and were keeping him in lockdown under the influence of harsh conditioning. It doesn't exactly spell good news by my book."

Tony scoffed. "Don't tell me this is not the level of shit the government has been pulling under our noses all this time."

"No," Clint said, twirling a teaspoon between his fingers. "I mean, yes, for the government part. But this is way below Fury's usual level of shadiness. If the guy was a threat, Fury would have him eliminated or locked up, but this? Nah, this doesn't smell like Fury to me. Whoever did that, they did it behind his back."

"We know it wasn't Fury," Natasha pointed out. "We know it was Pierce. Whether Fury knew about it… I don't know. I'm inclined to agree with Clint, it doesn't seem like the kind of op he would support. He is pragmatic and he does what he thinks that needs to be done, but is not big on cruelty for cruelty's sake."

"Like that makes it better," Stark snarled and sat back, crossing his arms. "We're focusing on the wrong thing, guys. Fury's involvement in all this – or lack thereof – doesn't change the basic facts. We know this wasn't an official operation, we know it was authorized by someone above Fury in the ranks, presumably Pierce or someone pulling his strings, we know they can't come at us officially or the tower would be swarming with SWAT teams by now. But that doesn't mean that Pierce won't want his stolen assets back and our necks in a noose for the trouble. As long as we sit on our asses in a brightly lit spot, we're safe, but there's no telling how far they will be willing to go and it's not feasible to imagine we remain sitting on our asses forever, and even if we do, there's the whole ominous death cannon Helicarrier project which is going to be a problem. Judging from their orders and the queries Fury has been sending me for the last year it's still at least months off from being operational, but the sooner it's dealt with, the better. And we have to be the ones to deal with it, because there's nobody else."

"And what do you propose we do?" Clint asked. "We have no idea who is compromised and who is not and I don't see how we can find that out without sticking our necks out."

"I didn't promise it's going to be easy, did I?"

"I'm not asking for an easy plan, Stark. I'm asking for any plan at all," Clint shot back.

"We take the whole thing down," Tony said with a smirk. "Pierce, SHIELD, their bullshit mass murder projects and little torture playgrounds all over the world. Everything."

"You're naïve," Natasha said. "This is so much bigger than Pierce and whatever side hustle he is having under SHIELD's banner. A lot of it has been authorized by the UN. The Council agreed to Project Insight and has been financing it for years now. They might not know Pierce is trying to use it for his own purposes, but it doesn't change the fact it's a potential weapon of mass destruction they have agreed should be made."

"Then we take that down too."

"You shouldn't," Loki said.

They all looked at him, but he didn't even lift his gaze from where it was focused on his hands.

"You're forgetting one important thing. Thanos is coming for your world. He is coming to kill and to destroy. Any weapon you can use against his armies is going to be useful, and from what I'm hearing – this could be."

There was another stretch of silence.

Yeah, being reminded of some big bad from outer space who went by Mad in their nickname and was coming to raze one's world to the ground could take a person off the mundane subjects like bringing down worldwide conspiracies.

"Party pooper," Tony scoffed. "Either way, Pierce needs to go. So does his entire playground. As for his toys – we will have to wait and see if any of it is salvageable for the Light Side of the Force. But we need to figure out what he is after first. And I've got a feeling that whatever is hiding in the brain of our basement guest might be a key to it."

Steve frowned. "Why?"

"Stark's right," Natasha said. "Whatever it is that Pierce's after, he needs tools for it. And your friend looks like a perfect candidate to be just that – a fine-tuned weapon. He has been given the supersoldier serum, you can tell he had been trained in combat just from the way he reacts and how he almost beat the shit out the two of you, and was precious enough to be kept under control that needs constant reapplication rather than just be discarded. And he has been around for a long time so he has seen a lot. If we can get him to talk, I'm sure there's a lot of interesting things he can tell us."

"You said you can fix it," Steve said, looking at Loki.

Loki lifted his head and took a deep breath. "I told you I can try," he said, quietly, "But that would require my magic back, for which I need my Æsir form."

Natasha beckoned him to go on, again, and Loki closed his eyes. Just like when he'd showed it off in his room, the blue faded from his skin and the lines on his face and arms disappeared, returning him to the form he was wearing when she met him first. At this point though, Natasha was so used to the updated version that it looked incorrect, somehow. Or maybe it was only how uneasy he looked while he was keeping the change up.

"Nice," Tony said, and the tone made Natasha sure he would spend hours replaying the recording and looking over the readouts of the change, with Bruce in tow.

"I can only hold on to it for a short moment for now," Loki said, his voice strained. He let the change revert and gasped in relief. "But it would be possible to prolong the effects with more energy stored. If I can keep the source, in a couple of days I should have enough of it to attempt using my Æsir magic."

"Of course you can keep it," Tony scoffed. "That's what I made it for."

Loki bowed his head. "Thank you," he whispered, "it's a magnificent gift."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony said waving his hand dismissively. "That's great and all, and you should definitely try getting it to work, but we have to figure out what to do now."

"I can tranq him again," Clint suggested. "Then you can keep him under a drip until our resident wizard gets his shit in order and fixes this."

"That's not the best idea," Bruce interjected, before the conversation got carried away too far in that direction. "It's still a potent neurotoxin. An enhanced body should process one dose without it leaving many lingering effects but using it long-term would lead to irreparable nervous system damage."

"Let me try," Natasha said, then added, following Steve's impressive scowl, "to talk to him."

"And what exactly is that supposed to accomplish?" Tony said, raising an eyebrow.

"The kind of conditioning they are inducing with the machine seems just like a fast-forward version of regular conditioning – where the subject is taught to react to commands under the punishment of pain. That's what the electricity is doing. The rest… If I had to guess it's supposed to put the subject into a certain mindset to make the conditioning part quicker and more efficient, binding the responses to a set of keywords. I'm guessing it can be highly effective, but there's no way it's permanent, or even fully stable, because it relies on blocking the higher functions of the brain, leaving only surface-level instincts and reactions. The subject is ought to follow every command he is given because they simply don't know they can say no. That's the advantage of the method – at least from a certain perspective. The disadvantage is that the procedure needs constant repetition because it will start to unravel after a while. It can take days or weeks even, but it can be sped up with certain routines. Like prompting the target to use the locked portions of their brain."

"How come you're an expert all of sudden?" Tony asked.

Clint scoffed.

"I've done my reading," she said. "Among other things."

Steve folded his arms on his chest in a defensive pose and glowered at her. "How is it done?"

"By asking questions, Steve. I'm not going to do anything harmful to your buddy. I'm not that kind of agent," she said, running her hand through her hair in exasperation, then added, much more quietly, "not anymore."

"Then why do you ask for my opinion at all?"

"He won't do anything without your order now, including talking to me. You overpowered him back in the prison, establishing your dominance, then named yourself his handler. He has to obey you now."

The expression on Steve's face was a perfect mix of disbelief and horror. "It wasn't me… I was trying to protect him, it was Clint who…"

"It doesn't matter, Steve."

He groaned and rubbed his eyes.

Before he could formulate an answer, Jarvis' voice sounded from the speaker. "Mr. Stark, your order has arrived."

Right on cue, the elevator pinged and the door opened. There was a crate standing in the middle. Stark got up and brought it over to the table. "Indian take away, anyone?"

While Steve was completing items to take down to the cell, she discreetly checked her gun and the hidden blade she kept in her boot, for there was no way to tell how the man would react to her needling and she had a creeping suspicion Steve wouldn't be of much help if James attacked her. Stark volunteered to go with them as backup, but she shot him down. If James didn't remember Stark beating the shit out of him, it was better not to remind him, for now at least.

"I'm ready," Steve said, showing off the tray he was carrying: a few bottles of water, two boxes of curry rice, a bundle of gray fabric – a change of clothes, most likely – and a box of toiletries, in which Natasha could sense Pepper's hand, gods bless her heart.

"Yeah, let's go."

Steve stayed silent and pensive the whole way down which was probably for the best, because there weren't many questions she could answer for him without conjecture anyway.

James was sitting cross-legged on the cot, his back against the wall when they came into the room, but jumped up and returned to his attention position in the spot in the middle of the cell the moment the panel started to move. Another conditioned response, that one.

They entered the cell and James' eyes dashed to Steve, just for a split-second, before they returned to staring at nothing.

Natasha elbowed Steve in the ribs.

"At ease, soldier," he said. This was what Loki told them they referred to him while they think he was under the influence of the machine.

It seemed to have worked, because James' posture relaxed and he folded his hands behind his back.

"This is Natasha, she is going to talk to you," Steve said. His voice was thin, both from excessive use so soon after injury and the emotions thrumming in it.

"Yes, Sir," James said.

"Here's some food and water, for later," he said, placing the tray on the table. "You're free to use everything I've brought."

"Thank you, Sir."

Steve sighed and left, then the panel slid close and secured with a hiss and Natasha tried not to think about how she was now locked in here with a brainwashed supersoldier.

"Sit down, please," she said, gesturing at the chair and sitting down on the cot herself. A difference in perceived position was one of the basic methods used in conditioning and purposefully offering him a higher seat might put the first chip in it. And if not – well, at least it would give her the fraction of second it would take him to get up to react in case of an attack.

James sat down, and rested his hands on his lap, looking at her attentively.

"Do you know where you are?"

James looked around, as if he had to make sure. "It's a prison cell," he said. His voice sounded rough and carried a lilt of an Eastern European – or perhaps a garbled Russian – accent, which was weird because Steve claimed his friend was originally from New York. Something he acquired then?

"It doesn't bother you?"

He shook his head.

"Why?"

He frowned and the fingers of his metal hand furled and unfurled in his lap. The way they moved was mesmerizing. The movement was fluid and natural and had more in common with Stark's creations than the commercial prosthetics she had seen so far. Another proof that he was an important piece of the puzzle. One didn't waste this kind of technology on random soldiers.

"This is where my handler wants me, Ma'am," he said finally, deciding on an answer.

"Do your handlers decide that often?"

The wrinkle on his forehead grew deeper, his breathing quickened and his hands curled into fists. He didn't know the answer and was growing agitated.

"If you don't know the answer, you can tell me. You're not going to be in trouble for that," she said.

"I don't know," he said, with a relieved gasp.

She smiled at him but kept herself from telling him he was doing well, despite it being her first instinct. Positive encouragement had its own role in conditioning and there was no telling what sort of reaction that could trigger.

"Do you know where this prison cell is located?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, Ma'am."

"You're no longer with SHIELD. This is a safe place."

She hoped at least for some sort of reaction, but got none. And, since it wasn't a question, there was no answer, either, just James staring at her with a politely blank expression.

"Do you know what SHIELD is?"

"No, Ma'am."

Hmm. "Do you know who your previous handler was?"

He blinked and his lips pulled into a thin line. "Yes," he said, but there was a hint of doubt in his tone now.

"Do you know their name?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Then how do you refer to them?"

His hands were back to their nervous dance.

"You didn't, did you?"

"No, Ma'am. The asset does not speak unless spoken to."

Damn. "Do you know what happened to them? To your previous handler, I mean."

His brows drew together, this time in consideration. "I… She brought me to the facility to be fixed, Ma'am."

She, then. Could it be the same woman Loki had talked about or was it just a coincidence? She could ask James for a description, but he seemed agitated with the subject, and pushing it too far might end badly. Asking Loki for more details and then running them across James seemed like a more reasonable course of action, so she skipped it for now.

"Fixed how?"

James gasped and a shudder ran through his body. He wrapped his arms around his torso and started hyperventilating, his eyes dashing around nervously.

Touchy subject. Besides, she already suspected what "fixing" meant in the context. "You don't have to answer that," she said quickly.

The effect wasn't as instantaneous as before, but he did calm down, somewhat.

She gave him a moment to get his breathing under control.

"Does the name Bucky mean anything to you?"

He blinked. "That's how Sir has called me."

So, as long as he wasn't put through the procedure, his memory was functioning properly, which might mean his brain wasn't irreparably damaged by their efforts.

"Anything else?"

"No, Ma'am."

"How about James?"

This time, he hesitated before answering. "No, Ma'am."

"How did your handler call you, then?"

"An asset."

She sighed. "Anything else?"

"A pet."

She didn't need to see it to know what Steve's face looked like right now. "Anything else?"

James' features drew in and his jaw worked for a long moment, before he came up with an answer. "The Winter Soldier, Ma'am."

Fuck me, was all Natasha was able to think that very moment.