After Natasha left, Matt tried reading the report in his office. He made it through the first page or so of Barnes's military service, up to the point the 107th Infantry was surrounded, captured and taken as prisoners to a nearby Hydra facility. Hydra noticed that Barnes was strong, that he would resist, and that the men all seemed to respect and even look up to him. Hydra deemed it safest to remove Barnes from the rest of the men. It was unclear exactly what happened to him, but he was found some days later alone in a cell, strapped to a bed, by Captain America. Barnes was weak and confused, and it was assumed that Hydra had -

Matt closed the file. Natasha was right. The file was right. Somehow, Matt was able to sense everything unnatural that had ever been done to Barnes. He could see that cold, dark room in the Hydra facility, deep in Nazi territory. That was why Barnes had smelt so different. Because he was.

"I - I've got some reading to do," Matt said, putting the folder in his bag, "It's easier to do it at home," he felt his way out of his office.

"Will you be back this afternoon?" Karen asked.

"I doubt it," Matt said. "I'll see you later."

"Are you feeling ok, Matt? You look kind of pale."

"I'm fine," Matt said.

"Is everything alright?" Foggy asked, appearing from his office. "Can I have a look? At the reading, I mean. Not Matt's paleness. You do look a little off colour, man."

"I'm fine," Matt repeated. "And I guess you could look at the files, but you won't get much out of them."

"Why not?" Foggy asked.

Can you read braille?" Matt asked, and gave Foggy half a smile.

"I'll come round later," Foggy said, "Bring some food and some beers."

"I'll see you then," Matt said.

Matt spent the afternoon reading through the files. It wasn't pretty and it wasn't fun, but he couldn't stop. There was an original report written by Steve Rogers himself, explaining what had happened when Barnes had fallen from the train. Then there were the SHIELD reports detailing intelligence gathered throughout the Cold War, followed by the latest reports, including one by Natasha and another by Steve, recalling the events in Washington DC last year.

There were also a number of scientific reports from SHIELD scientists speculating who or what the Winter Solider was. Finally, there was one page from a Hydra file that SHIELD. How it had come into SHIELD possession was not stated here. The document had been translated from German, and continued on from the point where Captain Roger's account of Barnes falling from the train had left off. How they had found Barnes lying more than half dead at the bottom of the ravine. How they had… Matt found himself clenching his fists, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. How could they do this for someone? And to keep doing it to him for seventy years. Matt punched the table. It was just so unfair.

He lent back in his chair, feeling angry and alone, and his phone dug into his hip. Matt pulled it out of his pocket. What the hell, he thought. "Call Natasha."

"Calling Natasha," his phone replied.

Matt waited. He drummed his fingers on the table.

"Hello?"

"Hi, uh, Natasha?"

There was noise in the background. "Matt? Hi, umm, just a minute," Matt waited. The background noise on Natasha's end disappeared. "You read it?"

"I," Matt wasn't sure where to start, "What the hell is this, Natasha?" he asked, emotions welling. "What the hell? Why, how…?"

"We've been asking ourselves the same questions, Matt," Natasha said calmly.

"But, how could they? How could anyone?"

"Matt,"

"What can we do? Huh? What do we do?"

"There's no one to punch, if that's what you're asking," Natasha said, "Most of the key players have been dead for years. We've been cleaning up what we hope is the last of Hydra for the past year or so."

"So what do I do?" Matt asked, angry at Hydra, at history, at Natasha for dumping this on him. Matt wished he'd never come across Barnes in the alleyway. He just didn't want to know. "I've got enough shit to deal with."

"I know," Natasha said, "Trust me, Matt, I know. So let's make this one not shit, ok? I know about mistakes. Regrets. Decisions we made we'd do anything now to change," she paused. Matt waited. He was too mad to say anything constructive. "So let's win this round. We can't change the past. And there's nothing we can do about the bastards who did this to Bucky. But we can find him. And we can save him. And that's one point to us."

Matt swallowed and thought about what Natasha was saying. "But what if he's too far gone? What if there is no going back?"

"I don't believe anyone is ever that far gone," Natasha said. Matt could hear her pacing. "I can't."

"Why do you care so much about him? It says here he shot you. He would have killed you, Natasha."

"And at one time, I would have killed him too, were our situations reversed. I care about Steve. I know how much this means to him, Matt. That - that I don't think we can understand. How much Bucky means to him."

"No," Matt said, "I think I get that one."

"So," Natasha said, "Are you in?"

"I thought I already was. Isn't that why you gave me all this?"

"I guess," she replied, "But you can still back out, if you really want."

"Like I could back out now," Matt said.

"Good."

"But what do I do, Natasha?"

"Keep an eye out. Two, even, whenever you can spare them. We don't think he'll leave the greater New York area."

"Because that narrows it down."

"Loving the sarcasm, Murdock," Natasha said, "Have you got a better idea? Know how else we can find him?"

Matt didn't have a better idea. They were looking for a ghost in New York. How the hell do you track down a ghost?

Knock-knock, knock. "Matty! I've got food! And beer!"

"Company?" Natasha asked.

"It's just Foggy. Sorry," Matt said, "Coming!" he called.

"Matt, if you find anything, or hear anything, or just sense anything out of the ordinary. It doesn't matter. We'll take any lead. Just call me. And try not to do anything stupid."

"Yeah. Talk later."

"Matty! The dinner is getting cold, and the beer is getting warm!"

"Bye, Matt."

"Bye," Matt said, and hung up. He pushed himself out of the chair and went and unlocked the door for Foggy.

"Proper New York pizzas," Foggy said, laying the pizzas on the table, and popping open a bottle of beer. "What you been up to, Matt?"

"Reading," Matt said.

"Who were you on the phone to?"

"How did you know I was on the phone?"

"Well, it's that or you were talking to yourself. Or you have someone hiding in the house here. Oh man, don't tell me you have someone here."

"No, no, I was on the phone," Matt laughed. It was the first time he had smiled all afternoon.

"What, to the hot NYPD girl?" Foggy teased.

Matt's face fell.

"It was the hot NYPD girl?" Foggy asked.

"I, she,"

"You really did get her number? Were you talking business or - other?"

"Foggy,"

Foggy saw the braille sheets still laid out on Matt's coffee table. "Is this to do with yesterday's lunch? And the Googling?"

Matt sighed. "Enough people have been hurt."

"Matt, I know too much now. Who was she, Matty?"

"I think you better sit down," Matt said. He had a feeling this case wasn't going to go away quickly.

Foggy took a sip of his drink and sat down. "Fire away, Matty. We got all night."