Clint lay in the snow, surveying the base below. Brock was right. It was going to be difficult. Up until now he'd met with little real resistance on these solo excursions against Hydra but this base was different. All the previous ones he'd encountered had been people on the run, people packing up or scrambling to pull together a defense.

This was different. This base was clearly very much still in operation. The only thing Hydra's fall had probably done was cause them to tighten security further. Being based in Sokovia probably didn't hurt when it came to making them feel confidant they'd continue to fly under the radar. Plus you'd probably have to dig deep and long to find any mention of this place in the files. Clint had never heard of it. Never a hint. And it would have been hard to find without Brock's help. All of which filled him with foreboding. If Hydra kept it off books, that was ominous.

It would be nice to have the team here.

No. They're not the team, he reminded himself, at least they're certainly not your team anymore. They might not even be the Avengers anymore and if that's the case, it's your fault.

He shook his head and forced himself to refocus. He couldn't afford to let his concentration slip. This mission was too dangerous and the stakes too high. He might be acting under Fury's orders, but there wasn't going to be any rescue mission or back up team if he failed. He was still a rogue agent.

He could do this. He'd already planned his ingress point. Once inside, he'd just have to adapt. Brock had told him what he knew about the base, but it was sketchy at best, took in only a portion of it, and was years old intel. It couldn't be relied on, and it was impossible to say where the scepter was being kept.

It wasn't going to be an easy mission. But as long as he played it smart, he could do it. He had to. Failure wasn't an option. Fury was counting on him. And he wasn't going to let Fury down. Not again. Not after everything Fury had done for him. Not after giving him this second chance.

It was getting dark, and it was already bitterly cold.

As the last light from the setting sun melded into night, Clint began his slow, stealthy move forward towards the base…

Steve sighed as he glanced over the papers, maps and reports, spread across his kitchen table. "Not a lot to go on here. Half of this is just rumor."

"No," Sam agreed. "I'm sorry. I'd hoped my contacts could pull up more."

"It's not your fault. And I'm grateful for everything you're doing."

"Of course man. Barnes is one of us. And we're going to find him."

Steve nodded, but it lacked conviction.

"I've got a few more contacts I can reach out to," said Sam, "I'll see what turns up. They're less likely but you never know. Also…I thought we could try talking to Rhodes."

Steve looked up in surprise. "I doubt Rhodes is going to be willing to help on this. He's Tony's best friend."

"And he's military. With current, active, military contacts. Barnes was essentially a prisoner of war, and now he's suffering from the after effects and mental repercussions of that. Rhodes is a good man. I may not have known him for long but my brief encounters with him at the tower, left me impressed. He's reasonable, logical, and he cares about the men in his command. I think he might be willing to help. Especially when we explain the situation."

Steve frowned over this. "I don't know. It feels like going behind Tony's back. I don't want to put a wedge between them, not with everything else Tony's dealing with."

"What about what you're dealing with?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean, Captain America, maybe you should take a moment for yourself. You're so busy looking for Barnes, I'm just worried that you haven't taken care of your own needs. You've had a lot of mental strain lately between Shield and Barton."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, which is why you've moved back to this apartment and I'm the only friend you're currently talking to."

"That's not true. I'm not cutting anyone out."

"No," Sam agreed, "I didn't mean you're ignoring people. I more mean that the issues with you and your friends is a strain maybe ignoring it isn't the best call. You need to go easy on yourself and maybe worry just a little less about everyone else and a little bit more about yourself."

"Sam. I really don't need a lecture. I am fine."

"Except you're not. Steve you always look out for everyone else but you don't look out for yourself."

"Because I'm fine."

"Steve there is no way you've been through what you have these past couple of years and are fine with it."

"Maybe fine isn't the right word. But I can deal. What I need to do is find Bucky and help him."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive. You can have a life yourself and still help Barnes."

"I have a life"

"You have a life? Or you have a mission?"

"I'm fine." Steve stared him down.

With a sigh of resignation, Sam turned back to the papers. "Okay. But think about what I said. And I still think we should talk to Rhodes. Let him make his own choice and let Tony deal with Tony."

Half an hour later, Sam had packed up the papers and left, leaving Steve feeling rather dejected and alone in the apartment.

Perhaps, he acknowledged, Sam wasn't all wrong. He was so…tired. Tired of losing people, tired of losing pieces of his life. The Avengers had been just about all the people he had anymore. And now it seemed he'd lost those too.

Thank goodness he'd met Sam before this all went down or else he really would be alone.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he'd done the right thing moving back into his apartment and out of the tower. But he couldn't imagine that he and Tony could have continued on under the same roof. Not while he was actively searching for Bucky. And he couldn't give up on Bucky. The mere thought made him ache.

If only he could find him. He thought if he could only find him, help him, then maybe he wouldn't feel so utterly lost himself in this time that he'd never been intended for.

He wondered where Bucky was right now. He wondered how much Bucky could remember. Bucky had to remember him. Bucky had pulled him out of the water. But then if Bucky did remember, how on earth could Bucky keep running from him? Steve realized, with a start, that a piece of him hurt over this. It wasn't fair to Bucky to blame him if he ran and yet…it hurt so darn much.

Steve took a seat in an armchair and closed his eyes. He hadn't felt this utterly alone since waking up from the ice. He realized he was exhausted. He could feel it seeping through him, burrowing into his bones…

There was a knock on the door and with a start, he opened his eyes.

Reluctantly, he got up and answered it.

"Sharon?" He blinked in surprise.

"Hey." She smiled up at him. "I heard through the grapevine you were back."

"How?"

"I'm very good at my job, remember."

"I really hope Fury didn't assign you to protect me again because I don't need-"

"No. In fact it was Sam who told me."

"Sam?"

"Yes. Not you I may add."

"I didn't know you were still in town yourself."

"You should have asked." She grinned up at him, and then held up a bag of take-out. "I brought Chinese."

Steve hesitated for a moment, feeling strangely as if he was at a crossroads and then, with a smile, he let her in.

The base was well protected, and there weren't many easy places to sneak in. But, during his surveillance Clint had spotted one chink in the defenses. There was a pair of guards who routinely patrolled the east corner near where several armored vehicles were parked. There was one full minute, in which their path caused the two men to be separated from sight of each other by two of these vehicles. It wasn't a lot of time. Not enough for a full uniform change, but Clint could slip in, silently take out one guard, and grab jacket, hat, and weapon. As long as the other guard didn't look too closely, this would be enough cover until they reached the building and were just under the cameras, and Clint could take the second one out. A climb up to the roof the, and a minute later he'd be in the vents.

It all went beautifully. A smooth, promising start to the mission.

From there, everything went downhill.

Looking back, Clint realized he never could have succeeded. He was missing one vital piece of intel. Missing it so badly that he didn't even know he didn't have it, and without it, he hadn't had a hope at pulling the mission off. And even if he had known? He wasn't sure he could have managed it. Like Natasha had once said to him: there were some things they'd never been trained for.

All things considered. He'd done pretty well. He'd even almost made it out. Moving through the vents, he'd managed to find the armory. The scepter wasn't there. Next he made his way to the server room, and hacked onto the system.

There were floods of paperwork on the scepter. Lots of mentions of the lab and tests. He didn't have time to go through them. Those missing men outside would be noticed sooner rather than later. He loaded the files onto a flash drive, found a map of the compound, plotted an escape route, and then returned to the vents before making his way towards the lab.

He'd run into his first resistance in the lab. The scepter had been right there. But there were too many guards, too many people. There was no way he'd be able to reach it undetected. His best chance was to take out as many of them as possible before being noticed.

Five guards had been dealt with before the alarm was raised. He'd switched to his more explosive arrows then, creating a cover of fire and debris, as he sprinted across the room and grabbed the scepter from off its table, and fitted it into his quiver.

The alarms were ringing through the hallways now as he dashed down them. Running up stairwell, gunfire had rung out. A well timed arrow blasted a wall, blocking pursuit.

Down another hallway. Several guards appeared at the end of it, bursting out of a nearby room. He threw himself on his knees, sliding forward, coming up in front of them. A punch to one guard's throat, a kick out against another, sending him backwards into his comrades. One guard punched out and Clint grabbed his arm twisting it back. There was an ugly snap, and he threw the man back into the others.

He was running up another stairwell now, the door to the roof ahead. From there he knew his plan: a grappling hook arrow from the roof to the forest and he'd been nearly in the clear. Once in the safety of the woods, he was confident he could lose them. Five minutes more and he'd be out.

Clint burst out onto the roof, already reaching back for the arrow. He slotted it into the bow, paused for one fraction of an instant to take aim, and then wham! Just as he let it lose, something, some force smacked into him, knocking him back, sending the arrow flying off.

He staggered back, barely catching himself. He look round, ready for a fight, searching to see what had hit him. But what he saw didn't make sense. A young man was standing just feet away, looking perfectly calm. He was blonde, a little stubble on his chin, and he was definitely smirking. But there'd been no one on the roof when Clint had come out on it. He was sure of that. And whatever had hit him…it couldn't have been a person at that speed…

Clint was already reaching back for another arrow. The man moved. Clint assumed he moved. The speed was impossible. One moment he was there and the next, Clint was thrown back to the ground, his head hitting the concrete with a crack, and the man was standing over him, grinning.

"You're going to have to do better than that," he said, in accented English.

Blinking back the stars that had crowded his vision when his head hit the ground, Clint forced to stand back up. Keeping one hand behind him, he used the other to reach for the scepter. It was the distraction he'd hoped it'd be. In a blur, the young man rushed forward, grabbed his arm with one hand, and with the other grasped the scepter.

Clint pulled his knife out from its sheath in the back of his belt and sliced.

He made contact. The man let go of him, swore, Clint raised the knife again- and he felt hands clasp him on either side of his head.

For one panicked moment he felt a force, powerful and willful shatter its way into his mind. Internally, he screamed, desperate to force it out. Desperate not to lose control again. Desperate to keep his mind free and his own. Terror roaring through him that was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Terror at what this unknown presence was about to do.

And then his world went black.