Once in bed, her fatigue was forgotten. It made her feel sheepish when she tucked her gun beneath her pillow. It made her even more embarrassed that she considered locking her bedroom door. Rather than sleeping, she stared a hole through her door. What was he doing? Was he gone? Had he gone on another rampage? Finally, she couldn't stand unanswered questions and threw the sheets back.

The hallway was dark. If she wasn't mistaken, she'd left a hallway light on, along with the only other lamp in the living room. There was only complete darkness now.

"…James?" She forced out. The couch was illuminated in the moonlight and remained untouched, made up with the pillows and blankets she'd placed there. A ball of nerves grew in her stomach; neither of them won if he'd split. Quickly, she hurried down the hallway, only to run right into bulk. It was him, blending into the shadows of the hallway. She could only make out the faint outline of his body and focused on his eyes. He didn't blink. "James…" The ball of worry in her stomach had grown twice its size. Truthfully, if he were having another episode, she wouldn't have the strength to fend him off.

He continued to stand there, glaring down at her. Bellamy could hear her breathing picking up, and the faint sound of her pulse in her ears.

"Bucky," She tried. His eyes flashed.

"Don't." She wasn't sure what he was referring to, but it was likely the name, and she was afraid she had triggered him again. Still, she was brave enough to keep trying.

"You told me, back at those cells, that you were nameless. A machine that kills and gets your task done. But you're not. Do you hear me? You're Bucky." His eyes began to narrow, something pooling in them that looked like recognition. "You told me, in reply, that I was to call you nothing, because you wouldn't hear me talk again. But I did. And we had a talk, do you remember that?" His head tilted ever so slightly.

"You quoted someone." He told her, and she nodded encouragingly.

"Ayn Rand."

"Something about thinking. About virtue."

"'Thinking is man's only basic virtue, from which all the others proceed.'" She began to quote shakily, a quote she memorized and felt as a personal mantra. Like the first time she had spoken it to him, he watched with expressionless eyes, though this time, they grew thoughtful. "'And his basic vice, the source of all his evils, is that nameless act which all of your practice, but struggle never to admit: the act of blanking out, the willful suspension of one's consciousness, the refusal to think - not blindness, but the refusal to see; not ignorance, but the refusal to know.'" He blinked once. "Do you understand what that meant?"

"You should have listened and not spoken." With that, he moved from the shadows of the hallway back to the living room, pacing. She followed quickly.

"You remember that, I know you do. And you did understand it. You chose to not listen to them, you pulled Steve out of the water," his pacing stopped momentarily as his eyes flashed again. "You chose not to kill me. You know what HYDRA did to you, and you know they're at fault. That they were wrong."

"I don't know what I know anymore." He snapped. "I don't remember, I don't know, I can't piece anything together." Frustration made his words sharp, his fingers gripping his hair. Silently, she watched him pace. It was frustrating being close to a breakthrough, but his shakiness, paranoia, and uncertainty halted his progress, and her own.

"Do you want to sleep?" He stopped walking and looked at her. "I made a bed for you on the couch. Maybe it will help you." He eyed the loveseat distrustfully, his eyes going back to her, and she realized it wasn't the makeshift sleeping area he didn't like, but her. "Try to sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Back in her room, her finger hesitated on the lock. Her hand was shaking. It made her feel powerless and afraid in her own home, however, and she decided against it, but did check her gun under her pillow. Again, she thought she would be shifting restlessly and staring uneasily at the door, but at some point likely due to exhaustion, she faded to sleep.

When she awoke, she nearly wished she hadn't as her eyes first landed on her bedside nightstand, the drawer missing and the contents inside—two books, a flashlight, and hair ties with bobby pins—scattered on the ground. Immediately she sat upright, gasping at the mess around her room.

Her sheets had been pulled from her bed, the other bedside table had been torn apart as well, along with her dresser and her entire bookcase. The reading chair in the corner was missing its cushion, every painting on her wall was removed and her rug was tossed to the side. Finally, her gaze landed on James, sitting on the ground beside the bookcase and a huge pile of books, staring a burning hole at her.

"What…" Many things were running through her head but she couldn't decide on anything. All she could do in actuality was shake her with her mouth open.

"Who are you," he questioned. Her S.H.I.E.L.D badge on the ground caught her eye.

"I'm surprised you can't tell me more about myself than even I know, considering you have my file." They glared at each other.

"I don't have it. But you have mine."

"You took my file. And my fathers."

"I don't know your father." She gritted her teeth so hard they grinded.

"Yes. You do."

"Just give me my file and let me go. I know you have it." He stood and she reached for her gun, realizing it wasn't underneath her pillow. She threw him a frantic look, trying to see if her gun was in his hands, or anywhere near him.

"You took my gun?" She demanded, before her hand slid under the pillow next to hers, and touched it, pulling it out in realization. James' face, when she looked back to him, had darkened.

"You slept with a gun?" Defensively, guiltily, she put it down.

"You can't leave. You know that. And yes, I do have your file, but it's not here. I have to go and retrieve it for you. But this," She stood from her bed and swept her arm around her room. "Is completely unacceptable." He wouldn't look at her. Her eyes focused on her books, all first edition copies she had meticulously collected and acquired from her father, now on the ground, some lying open and creasing pages. She felt her mouth hanging open as she stared, before she huffed. "Do I have to tie you up like some kind of animal?" As she snapped, his gaze did the same to her eyes, wide and fearful. The guilt rushed back.

How cruel of her to say, even in anger, and like a subconscious punishment, all she could think of was the image of him, strapped to a chair as HYDRA forced him to forget he was even human.

"I—listen…I didn't, I mean, I'm…" She sighed, her eyes squinting. One of her worst flaws, that Fury liked to point out, was her inability to admit she was wrong, as well as sorry. "…I'm sorry, really. I didn't mean that. You must be hungry, I'll make breakfast in a moment." He glared at the ground, for a moment before he began walking away, stiff and lifeless.

"I'm not hungry." He disappeared around the corner. With a long sigh, she stared blankly at her books before she began to pick up the ones that were carelessly tossed about. Her fingers landed on an Ayn Rand book and she stared at it, realizing it had been closest to where James was sitting, and placed somewhat more carefully than the others. As she finished, she looked at the rest of the mess and elected to ignore it with another long sigh.

"Authorities around the nation continue their high alert search for the notorious Winter Solider, going as far as grounding flights out of Washington D.C. and other large airports across the east coast. Citizens are encouraged to remain on watch as well as indoors to aid in their safety." The TV volume was low, but the news was still heard by Bellamy as she cooked breakfast, and James, who glared at her bookcase with a still missing chunk. He appeared to be ignoring the TV, a piece of technology she wasn't sure he had been familiarized with. At least she didn't have to remind him he couldn't leave again.

"Howard Stark had a son?" His question confused her, until she looked up from the omelets and noticed he was watching the screen. The headline at the bottom read 'Billionaire Tony Stark unveils new Avengers tower' with accompanying footage of him answering questions from a frenzy of press in front of said tower. She resisted the urge of rolling her eyes as James watched her.

"Yes." She confirmed almost with reluctance. Stark was a can of worms she never liked opening.

"Mr. Stark, how difficult was it to rebuild the tower after the attack in New York and have you been involved with the efforts in rebuilding buildings to make them more fortified in case of another attack?"

"Yes, of course that was me, who else is going to pay for all that? This baby right here is the overseer of protection in New York; in it will be the entire team of Avengers, including a Demi-God, so I'd like to see anything try and attack New York again. Also, it's self-sustainable, good for the environment and all that. Go ahead, say what we're all thinking: I'm a genius."

"Mr. Stark, I believe the self-sustainability idea was an idea and initiative brought forward by your partner and CEO of Stark Industries, Pepper Potts—"

"Yes, but I made it happen. Next question? C'mon, I don't have all day." Bellamy rolled her eyes.

"He builds things?" James asked her, and she nodded. He turned back to the TV, almost in wonder, before he looked down. "Just like his dad." She looked at him quickly, surprised he remembered that much of Tony's father, though it made sense, seeing that Howard was a close friend of Steve.

"Mr. Stark, why are all the Avengers going to be staying here, and is it permanent? Is there a threat we don't know about and will you be able to prevent it?"

"Does it involve HYDRA, Mr. Stark?" James' entire attention was captured again at the name, and he walked closer to the TV anyways, his eyes narrowed.

"I can't reveal things like, then everyone would know, now wouldn't they?" Tony pointed out thickly, thought the last of his words were drowned out by the sound of the press reporters growing more frantic. Steve had exited the building and moved to stand next to Tony, a concerned frown on his features.

"Captain Rogers, are the Avengers still searching for secret HYDRA bases?"

"HYDRA is being dealt with." Steve confirmed assuredly.

"Captain, how do you feel about the FBI and their search for the Winter Soldier, and do you think he'll be brought to justice?" James had uncrossed his arms, making fists at his sides. Steve visibly seemed to have to contain himself, his jaw flexing.

"Bucky—…James Barnes isn't a criminal or some fugitive." Tony was even looking concerned now at Steve, who looked uncharacteristically angered.

"Captain, he killed several people and assassinated an extensive list—"

"The man you all call The Winter Solider, that's not James Barnes. The man the FBI is hunting is a lost soul. He's hurt. He's broken, he's dangerous because he has no other choice. He isn't responsible for the lives lost. HYDRA is, and that's why they're being taken out. But, Bucky, I know you're out there." Steve looked directly at the camera, peering directly at every viewer in their homes. His anger faded to a forgiving look of reassurance. "Bucky, if you see this, if you're watching, I want you to know it's okay. I want you to know that I—" She jumped as the TV screen shattered and fizzed as James punched his arm through it.

The pan sizzled and James caught his breath as she stared silently at the destroyed TV, fizzing. Very slowly, she released the breath she had been holding in.

"I could've turned it off."

"Sorry." He muttered absently, before he moved and sat down on the sofa as if he had been aged. She continued cooking, knowing his mind was in shambles.

"Steve still has a world of faith in you." She began, eyeing the back of his head cautiously. He stood up later, when she had nearly forgotten she had spoken at all, looking at her with unbelieving cynical eyes.

"He shouldn't." He said as he took a seat at the dining table. What could she say, that she agreed with him? Seeing him now, she didn't have a lot of faith in him either. In fact, every time she looked at him, her lenses shifted from rose-colored where she could see him as a victim, to a vengeful red, where she could only see a murderer. But, it was always her job to help victims, and she tried to focus on that.

And even then how could she? S.H.I.E.L.D. was a lie, her entire life seemed full of twisted lies. Despite this, she knew she had bettered the world. She had helped victims. Seeing Steve on her TV screen reminded her of his hope, a pure unquestionable trust that only he seemed to have in James.

"I believe everyone has the opportunity to start anew."

"You believe in a lie." She swallowed, staring down at the food.

"Maybe." Their silence was layered, the TV, the food cooking, and the wordless building of their conversation.

"I just want my file."

"I know the feeling." She turned around to face him and received an angry glare.

"Do you?" His hands held onto the edge of the wooden table, gripping it tightly, and she wondered briefly if his mechanical arm had the strength to chip the edge of it (of course he could, she realized quickly). Her jaw clenched.

"Try me."

"You would never understand how it feels, to not know yourself. To be told lies constantly while trying to fight and hold onto the truth. It's like being tossed back and forth in the ocean and not knowing which way is up. I want to know the truth." I do know, she wanted to scream, as the past events of her life replayed in her mind, the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., finding out someone knew what happened to her father and she was the one being lied to. Lately, she didn't know which way was up or down. He interrupted her thoughts with a resigned tone. "Why do you bother helping people." He was staring at the empty plate in front of him.

"It was a broad description, it isn't exactly my specialty. Really, all I do…" Did, she corrected in her mind. "Is protect people. Protect peace. The best I could anyways. After-all, that's all we can do: our best."

"Or worst." He frowned at his plate.

"We have a choice." She told him, trying to earn his gaze. "We control our thoughts. Our choices. Our actions."

"Except when you don't have a choice." She looked at him seriously, as she filled his plate and waited until he met her gaze.

"You do now."