Shortly after Bucky followed Holly into the main lobby of the Tower, a nondescript vehicle pulled up quickly to the curb. The ex-assassin followed the civilian, keeping close to her side as she shouldered her bag and stuffed the helmet into it. He drew up the hood of his sweatshirt, the canvas jacket atop it tightening as he squared his shoulders. The metal hand slid into one of his pockets, shielding it as he stepped out onto the street. His mind was churning as he stood behind her, eyes flicking left and right, vigilantly observing the passersby for threats. None thus far, which gave him the opportunity to spare half a thought to contemplate what in the hell he was doing. The decision to emerge from the shadows, to dedicate himself to a cause he did not yet know anything about, had taken even him by surprise. He had been so adamant of his stance, so rigid about staying on the fringes of the world that her pleas should not have had any effect.

They did, though. They affected him more than he had thought possible. The guilt and anger, the bitterness and the torment were a never-ending cycle in him, destroying his soul as each day passed. The last year had been spent finding himself, rediscovering the truth, and attempting to make amends for his gruesome mistakes. Not for forgiveness, he did not expect to get that, but just to be able to live at all. Her words washed over him, playing over and over in his mind. Protecting her, he had known from the beginning, was only be a step towards that goal, and was never meant to be a permanent solution. Trouble was, he had no idea what the next step could be.

Perhaps that was why, truly. And to let the opportunity pass by, without ever attempting to give it a chance, was foolish. In any case, he would not be any worse off than he was at that moment. Given that she was already injured while being under his watch (he did not know the full circumstances of it, other than that the row of stitches had appeared after an attack gone wrong in the presence of her fiancé), it was most likely time for him to readjust his priorities.

He was rethinking his stance on that when she pressed through the crowd, shoving between people to get to the unmarked car. Tightness in his stomach put him on alert, but Bucky was unsure whether that had to do with breaking cover or with her own ridiculous headlong surge into potential danger. She was right; she was walking right into trouble, and it was stupid.

And what did that make him, exactly? The warring half of his mind was snarling at him, calling him out viciously as he went. The back door of the car popped open, and the girl was pulled up short for a second or two, causing him to nearly collide with her. Recovering as swiftly as she could, she adjusted her grip on the strap of her bag, peering nervously behind to Barnes.

Using the tipping of her chin as a gesture, she barked at the occupant of the back seat, shrouded in darkness and not having climbed out as yet. "Hey, I know this is last minute, but he's with me."

"I know," came the answer, the scuttle of someone moving over leather nearly undetectable in the murmur of the city's activity. The familiarity of the voice struck him, and the girl, at the same time. And that thought in itself was jarring, for he was still adjusting to being familiar with anything. Holly's mouth gaped open, her eyes going wide as the occupant rose out of the vehicle to greet them.

"Sam!" she crowed, one arm curling around the other man's shoulders. Clearly, whomever she was expecting to be in the car, it was not him. At least it seemed to be a pleasant enough surprise. "How...what..."

The fellow flapped a hand in the air, cupping his palm towards the sky after returning the embrace.

"You know, I was gonna call for an update on how things were going, but Maria certainly has a way of beating people to the punch," he told her, an explanation that the two of them seemed to understand. Being in the dark wasn't an entirely new concept to Bucky, but that did not mean it did not grate on him. He should have asked for more details beforehand, and judging by Sam's wearied expression, he must have felt he should've done the same. "And frankly, if you'd told me about this, I wouldn't have believed it until I saw it."

Holly chuckled nervously, the shift of her eyes between the two men telling. "It was a last minute thing."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Awfully blasé about it, aren't you?"

"Coping mechanism," she muttered, shifting onto her back foot and hooking a thumb into one of the belt loops of her pants. Something in her posture irked Barnes, and when he glanced back at Sam, he found a similar reaction on his face. He may not have known her well, but even he could tell an excuse when he heard one. The other man's gaze slowly moved from her to Barnes, the scrutiny of it making him hold himself still. A distant memory, a man screaming in his face to remain at attention, popped up, and he only just stopped himself from snapping his heels together at the recollection. Instead, he purposefully relaxed his body, knees bending slightly and arms crossing over his chest. The ex-assassin said nothing to any of it, instead letting his blue gaze meet the brown one squarely. After a minute, Sam sighed deeply, flicking a few fingers at him.

"You think Fury will go for it?" he asked Holly, no doubt wondering how on Earth she thought such a thing could be possible. Fury…Fury, the name sounded familiar to him…the last mission, the last one he completed successfully as the asset he was made to be. An older man, swathed in black from head to toe, the starkness of an eye patch stretching across his face. Unbidden, a frown formed on his lips; if the man they called Fury was still alive, he had not achieved his target as he'd thought.

That could either be a good thing or a bad thing, depending upon the circumstances.

"Maybe, maybe not," Holly told him honestly, the hurried glance she'd tossed at him laced with worry. Swallowing, she forged ahead. "But...somebody's gotta give it a chance, and for once, it shouldn't only be Steve."

The lines in the other man's face turned sour then, sharp looks passing from Barnes to Holly as he responded. "Shouldn't be you, either. No offense, but people are going to question your judgment. Both of you."

The vicious, rough mumble was out of Bucky's mouth before he could stop himself, and made both of his new-found companions stare incredulously at him.

"Who hasn't?" he snapped. The sense of heaviness pervaded him, the weight of too many times where his words were true underlining them. The silence that followed was uncomfortable, but it was no less than what he was already feeling. Hell, the fact that he was feeling anything at all was putting him off-kilter, and he refused to be the only one. Holly, wincing at the harsh concurrence that was cycling through her own mind, let her head droop.

After a few more moments in which the nightlife of the city spilled and echoed around them, Sam waved his hand back at the car, the driver eying them impatiently from the front seat. "...Either way, we gotta split. We don't want to miss our ride."

"How far out are we going?" Holly asked, sliding in after him. Bucky, crawling in last, barely heard the amused snicker that floated out of the other guy as he took up the last bit of seat. There was no offer for one of them to move up to the front; both the driver and passenger seats were filled by two mean, operatives, and so no relief could be found there. The bag she'd brought with was draped across all three of their laps, her compatriots rolling their eyes at her scrunched, apologetic face.

"'Up' would be the more appropriate term," Sam remarked, causing both Bucky and Holly's heads to turn.

"What?"

xXxXxXx

Sam had been right. After weaving through midnight traffic out of Manhattan to the airport, the trio had disembarked to an oddly-designed jet. Bucky remembered similar ones from the disaster over a year ago, but did not note them at the time. Evidently, the organization initially in charge of those things had commissioned more. However, he was under the impression that SHIELD had fallen, and therefore access to such vehicles was implausible. Apparently, he was wrong. About several things, he snarked to himself as he went up the platform, strapping himself into a harnessed seat off to one side of the jet. Of his old life, there wasn't much he could recall terribly strongly, but he did know how little he liked flying. Well, it was less about the act of flying, more that he disliked the chances of falling from a great height. And he hated it for a good reason; it was a fall that had cost him his left arm, after all, amongst other things.

In hushed tones, Sam (or Sergeant Wilson, as he was addressed by the pilots up front) further told them about an operative appearing on his doorstep, the one called Maria, coming to recruit the active and militant friends of the Avengers that they could get in touch with on short notice, summoning them to assist with a stand-off. The only thing they lacked was a solid lead on the Avengers' chosen battlefield. Holly took in a deep breath as the jet cut a swatch in the sky, the lurch in Buck's stomach nearly distracting him from her reply.

"And that's where I come in." Ah, so she knew where they were going; that's why she was willing to put herself in the hands of these people. The mission, though not explicitly stated, was becoming clearer to Barnes with each passing minute. Swiping the strands of his dark hair out of his face, he could feel his mind turn, processing the information presented and working out a plan that play into his advantage. That would aid his redemption.

The flight was no more than twenty minutes in length, the jet breaking above the low cloud layer and coasting through the night sky towards...something. It was large, blotting out the stars as only a massive void could. As they approached it, blinking lights similar to those on a runway reflected back, the void taking shape. Massive turbines enabled the the center, an aircraft carrier, to hover in the air without hindrance. Dully, his brain recognized the design, and he shot a look around the girl to the other man. He returned it with a look of his own.

"That's...how did Fury get a helicarrier? I thought they were all wrecked over a year ago," Holly breathed, ignoring their loaded glances and removing herself from her seat. Staying on the fringes of the cockpit, she squinted out into the darkness, the lighting atop the carrier outlining its form more clearly. "Or at least the rest were decommissioned or something."

"Evidently, some have been put into storage. Sort of a contingency plan in case the ones we trashed did get trashed," Sam retorted, lifting a shoulder and smirking. Bucky said nothing to that, concentrating on the ever-approaching vessel and the increased tension in his body. The edge grew ever closer, and he did not like being uncertain of the ground he would be on. But he had put his—for lack of a better word—trust in these people, in the young woman who requested his assistance, and so bit back his complaints.

Soon enough, the jet made its descent onto the landing platform, coming to a full halt and relieving the drop in Bucky's gut enough to let him unbuckle the harness with little difficulty. He allowed Sam and Holly to stride ahead, a hand pulling his hood forward as he stooped out of the hatch. The wind upon the platform was too strong for it, knocking it back and exposing his face to the biting air. Light spilled from a wide set of doors to the right, forms in black tumbling out. The tromp of their boots, the zipping shuffle of their uniforms as they rushed out, made him instinctively tighten up, his defenses rising. Circling up, he used his body to shield the girl from behind, her stance as the weakest in the group making her a primary target. After a few moments of the intruders merely ringing around them, their hands tucked loosely around rifles and pistols, he whipped his head around, Sam's palm landing peacefully upon his arm and his chin dipping slowly. Little by little, Bucky adjusted his body, defensive still, but not openly so as he pulled himself to his full height and glowered at the others.

A new voice rent the air, the shouting above the wind forcing all of them to stare at another arrival. The dark man in black, his eye patch snug on his face, his lips contorted in a sort of smirking scowl. It was definitely true then; the asset had failed his mission, and Nick Fury was very much alive. A woman stood just behind him and to the left, similar in appearance only in that her eyes were just as cold as his. Raising an eyebrow at their hastily formed trio, the man shot a significant look at the young woman in the center of the ring.

"Discretion really isn't your forte, is it?" he remarked, the facetious undertone obvious even to his ears. Spying her out the corner of his eye, Barnes could see that she'd picked up on it too, given the way she was biting her lip and spreading the arm that wasn't holding onto her bag out.

"I thought I did okay, considering," she replied.

The focus now shifted to the ex-assassin, the older man's gaze boring a hole through him. "You brought him."

As clear as it was that he'd known ahead of time of their arrival, it was doubly clear that the presence of the third person of the party was not expected, and most certainly wasn't welcome. Bucky felt an upsurge of emotion as he observed Holly planting her feet solidly, maintaining eye contact with the angered countenance before her despite the sudden tremor surfacing in her hands. "Yes, sir."

A minute passed, counted by the beats of his heart. Their fates stood upon the precipice, on the brink, and where it would fall was anyone's guess. Like her, he looked at the other fellow, watching his hands shift from being crossed over his chest to his hips, his gaze taking them all in and considering the options. Sam leaned back onto his other leg, appearing nonchalant but actually putting him in league with his companions. Noting the change in posture, something must have been concluded in Fury's brain. Turning to look at the female hovering at his elbow, he flicked a few fingers between her and Holly, gesturing for her to do as he pronounced.

"...Hill, escort Miss Martin to the deck," he said, commands issued as easily as if he were born to do so. Tipping his chin up at the other sergeant, he continued, "Wilson, you're free to go. And you..."

An index finger extended, leaving no doubt in Bucky's mind that he expected him to understand and follow the next demand.

"You're coming with me."

Given that his options were few, and the ones that he could claim were not of the best quality, he could nothing other than assent, much as that annoyed him. For her part, Holly stalled in her steps, eyebrows quirking together in confusion and worry. What Fury would do to him, she obviously didn't know, and it was clear that she did not want to abandon him then.

"But—" she tried to protest, but the other woman's hand gently curled around the crook of her elbow, pulling her away from the ring. She canted her head back towards another entrance, the pressure of her fingers enough to persuade Holly to move her feet.

"Holly, come on," she murmured, and after a couple of unsure glances at them all, the younger woman did as was requested. The ring of people, operatives (if he had to guess, and his gut told him he wasn't wrong) stepped closer, entrapping him. As they closed ranks, Fury took it upon himself to lead the way, the stomp of feet behind him lost in the wind. Expecting to for his erstwhile compatriot to bound off after the girl, Bucky was instead surprised to find Sam still at his side, keeping pace. Halting, Fury furrowed his brow at the younger man, jaw working for a moment before speaking again.

"I said you were free to go."

"I know," Wilson returned, the calmness of his voice compounding the serious glint in his gaze. Nodding towards Bucky, he continued, "I'm freely going with him."

For a moment or two, Fury stared him down, his composure threatening to break as he raised his eyebrow at the pair of sergeants. Out the corner of his eye, Bucky watched as Wilson met the gaze squarely, refusing to be deterred. Finally, the director shook his head minutely, pivoting on his heel and leading the way off the tarmac. The ring of agents tightened around them, shuffling closely as the two men made to follow him. The rush and howl of the wind died away once they stepped through the vestibule on the far side. The labyrinth of halls twisted and turned, lackluster gray with grating and florescent lighting interspersed along the way. Tense and irritated, Bucky lifted his hood back over his head, bowing it to keep his profile obscured. Still, his eyes darted to the people surrounding him, taking note of any visible weaknesses amongst them. Not many were to be found, but he thought that if it came down to it, he would be able to break free of them without much trouble. For his part, Wilson paced a half step behind him, to the right. Smart move, keeping him in his sights and staying on his less-empowered side. The ex-assassin gave him marks for that. Down a flight of stairs, Fury led them all to the end of anther hallway, a plain black door situated on the left. With no more than a glance and a nod, the ring of guards melted away, tromping back to their posts. A generated keypad flared to life outside the door, and Fury hurriedly tapped in a code. A whir and click, and then the door slid open seamlessly. Stepping through, he didn't bother looking back, knowing the other two would come in after him.

The room within was spacious, a wide office with a bank of computer screens taking up the entire back wall. In between, black leather couches faced one another, dark blue carpeting on the floor. A massive desk was positioned at the opposite end, glass panels overlooking the command center. It was a bustling hive of activity, continuing oblivious to the new onlookers above. Noting the environment, Bucky stepped towards the glass, examining the people below. The one called Hill was situated at the end of a long table, a tablet in hand and a finger gesturing to it, Holly at her side, nervously glancing around and nodding in answer to a question the other woman asked.

Ignoring the windowed wall, Fury made his way over to the couches, Wilson a few paces behind. Another man was sitting there, outfitted in the uniform shirt and trousers of his branch of the military. His eyes passed between the three men, a dark brow quirking slightly as Fury waved a hand back towards the younger sergeant.

"Colonel Rhodes, you remember Master Sergeant Wilson," he said by way of introduction. The other fellow rose from his seat, canting his head slightly as Sam shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, it was a few days ago, could have had other things to think about in the interim," he reasoned, the humorous crinkles at the corners of his eyes standing out. Bucky observed silently as the colonel smirked.

"Or something," he muttered, offering a hand to Wilson and shaking it. "Hey there, Sam."

The brown gaze lessened in warmth as it connected with the icy blue one staring back, the grim line of the other man's mouth making his good humor fade.

"And you are?" he asked, placing his hands on his hips. Hesitation came, and Fury donned a placid and blank expression when he darted a glance at him. Swallowing, Bucky took a step forward, pushing his hood back off and stiffening his spine.

"I'm...James Barnes," he replied carefully, the name, his name, still foreign to his own ears. The colonel audibly scoffed, rolling his eyes at the statement. However, Bucky could have sworn he saw something akin to befuddlement blooming in his irises. That, and belated recognition.

"You're kidding, right?" Not waiting for a response, he jerked his head back around towards Fury, directing his next statement to him. "Didn't realize you were enlisting impersonators now."

"Nope, only the genuine article seems to make its way here," the other man corrected him, adjusting his leather jacket to sit evenly on his body. The confusion on Rhodes' face tripled, his brow screwing up as he digested the implication. A hand gestured out towards the ex-assassin, and Fury went on with the introductions. "Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th Infantry Regiment, this is Colonel James Rhodes of the United States Air Force."

Off the thunderstruck expression now gracing the colonel, Bucky was torn between shifting warily under his gaze or outright laughing at him. He was, as ever, of two minds of the decision, and so decided on a third option.

Respectfully, vaguely recalling the protocol that was drilled into his brain so many years ago, his dipped his chin and greeted Rhodes. "Sir."

Rhodes' mouth fluttered open and closed for a few seconds, before he swiped a hand over his face and exhaled sharply.

"The Howling Commando Bucky Barnes...and he's alive?" he wondered, rubbing a finger against his temple. He sank back, and it was some time before he could even address the sight before him, speak upon it. Bucky could sympathize a little with his bewilderment; there were days he couldn't believe who he was himself. "Okay...there has to be an explanation for this."

"There is, but it's...complicated," the director replied, pointedly trailing the last word of his sentence. Bucky felt a flare of agitation, anxiety, shoot through him. Complicated barely covered it, he knew that much.

Wilson barely suppressed the snort that flew out of him, evidently of the same mind as him. "Were all SHIELD agents trained in the art of understatement, or is it a gift you all have?"

Fury's sideways glance was loaded, the burn in the gaze enough to make Wilson shut his mouth and back off for the moment. The older man gestured for the colonel to sit, flicking his fingers back at Bucky to take the floor with him.

Slowly, haltingly, Bucky strode forward, knowing he was under the full scrutiny of those two men. He did not fear them, but he did not know what to make of the situation, and that was disquieting. In short quiet bursts, he tried to explain the whole mess that had been his life, what little he could remember of it. A frozen river, the Soviet tongue reverberating in his ears as they pulled him out of the water. A small man, beady eyes behind the glasses, his choppy English warping him. Flashes of torture, of loss, ripped through him, and he visibly shuddered at it. Shying away from that, he confessed his rebirth, his time spent as neither man nor machine, but instead the combination of both, the asset desperately needed to perpetuate the evil of the world, one of a long line of assassins kept under the thumb of HYDRA. The deaths of many on his hands, the blood still dripping from them, made him curl the fingers of his cybernetic hand, drawing the colonel's attention to it while he spoke. His tone was cold, clinical, something he could remove himself from verbally. In his soul, though, he felt the pain, the anguish that he caused, even if it was too many years late to do so. It was the price of waking up, of rediscovering his identity. Idly, he wondered if the captain had known that would happen, if perhaps this was his subtle way of seeking revenge upon him. But, as he had done several times before, he brushed off the notion: what he could remember of Steve Rogers, he knew that he wouldn't be interested in a long game of pain. Not with him, at least.

Stony silence followed, in which Fury filled it with his own view of events when he had surfaced over a year ago. It did not paint in a better light, but it did allow every avenue to be considered. Barnes had been made into a ruthless, murderous machine, but his course had been altered, altered enough to the point that he considered coming to them. Tucking his hands into his pockets, Barnes said no more upon the subject, his choices of hiding, of tracking the friend he could barely remember, of choosing to be a guardian and breaking HYDRA just as they'd broken him, remaining locked away. His motivations were his own, and he did not wish to share them.

By the end of the long speeches he'd endured, Rhodes was no more relaxed. In fact, he was practically vibrating with rage and incredulity. The rumors of the Winter Soldier, which had long been dismissed over the last fifty years, were indeed true. Some of the best men and women had fallen victim to the asset, the very man standing before him. Deep down, Bucky could understand the feeling. He felt the same way about the situation; he was supposed to have been this great guy, a good soldier, and he had become a monster. Control was irrelevant; the facts remained as they were, and he liked them no better than anyone else.

Truthfully, he probably hated himself more than the others ever could.

"And you're okay with this?" Rhodes finally choked out, gesturing wildly between Fury and the ex-assassin. His movement encompassed the room, indicating the entirety of the helicarrier and the other man's presence. "How can you be okay with this?!"

Fury jabbed a finger at him, authority in his tone. "I never said I was, Rhodes. This was literally dropped into my lap twenty minutes ago. Where we go from here is still to be determined."

Bucky blinked at that, hands clenching into fists again. Wilson, who had been leaning against the paneled wall behind him, leaned forward, his own brow furrowing as Barnes opened his mouth.

"What?"

Attention turned back to him, the director let his scathing eye wander over his form. He was formidable, Bucky could concede that much, even though he forced himself to keep his reactions minimal.

"I'm not giving free hand-outs to people who attempted to assassinate me," Fury pointed out bluntly. "You want this to happen, you've gotta prove that you do."

His head tipped toward Wilson, and at the window beyond, the shine of the light above glinting off his head.

"You might come with some decent endorsements, and that kid managed to get you on-board, but none of that will stop me from kicking you off of it, if I have to."

Mulishly, Bucky set his jaw, teeth grinding together in muted anger even as he acknowledged the truth Fury had almost literally spat in his face. How could he prove that being here was necessary? How could he prove that he did not want to be what he once was? Without Rogers there to back him up, without even the girl's own stolid brand of support, he did not know what he could do or say to make his case. It wouldn't be beneficial to point out that every other person in that room had been a killer, too, and it was the case with approximately eighty percent of the old agents and operatives on-board. No one was innocent, and he knew damn well that he wasn't. But with the deck so stacked against him already, what could he honestly say?

Sam, letting his arms hang loose at his sides, came up beside him then. His dark eyes took stock of the brittle hold he had on his temper, on the confounded expression taking over his features. The feeling of being under examination returned, but Bucky endured it, a sprout of curiosity blooming as Wilson watched him.

"Look, man. I get it, okay? I know what you're trying to do," the other sergeant said, his tone calm and even. He shrugged his shoulders, blowing a sharp breath out his nose before he spoke up again. "But the fact of the matter is, is that you were a killing machine for the wrong side. Granted, it wasn't your choice, but you still did it. Some people aren't going comfortable with that, no matter if brainwashing was involved or not."

Bucky kept his head down, but his jaw clenched even tighter and his eyes closed. Wilson scratched the back of his neck, thinking hard about how to proceed. This went beyond counseling and rehabilitation; it definitely wasn't in his job description to attempt forging bridges between a resurrected organization and the assassin that had been sent to shut it down in the past. The longer he looked at Bucky, though, stood in his presence, he got the sense that his perceptions, even the ones built off the guy's returns over the last several months, weren't entirely correct. Nor were they entirely wrong.

His shoulders hunched, musing silently to himself that he had probably bitten off more than he could chew, joining up with this crew. And well, if he were being honest, he was probably bringing it on himself. Still, with the wall of hostility bearing down upon him, and knowing full well that not one of them did not at least have a little blood on their hands, someone had to show mercy. Well, mercy to a point, anyway.

"I'm definitely not, mainly because you actively tried to kill me, too. But..." He trailed off, noticing that Barnes had relaxed his jaw, that his gaze had become riveted to the floor, to the boots on his feet. "That's not who you are anymore, is it?"

A minute or two passed in which the other man did not answer. The ripple of emotion tripped over his face so quickly it was nearly unnoticeable. However, it had gone through him, ripping into him as he pondered what Sam had said, about the quiet confidence in his tone. Blue eyes raised from the spot they were trained on, circling from one occupant to the next slowly, methodically.

"...No, it's not," he nearly whispered, clearing his throat a few times to get the strength back. "You're right: it's not okay, and you shouldn't trust me. It would be stupid if you did. Thing is, I'm just...me. I'm not the Winter Soldier, and who I was before that, I don't know if I can ever be that again. If I had known what had happened, what they were going to do to me...force me to do...I would have...I can't, though."

His spine straightened, his shoulders squared, and he faced all of them, the inner turmoil set aside as he concentrated upon his main point, the driving force of his actions.

"But I want to try, to see what I can do. Whether any of you like it or not, I am here. I don't expect this to erase any of the past, but I am going to do what I can to make this operation succeed." A facetious dip of the chin towards the director came, with Bucky purposefully thinning his lips to keep his face stony. "With or without your permission, sir."

Rhodes, glimpsing the impassive facade of his fellow colonel, pressed forward. "Why?"

Barnes faltered in his speech, the look on his face cracking as he considered the question. A streak of something, of a darkness deep within him, flew over his irises.

"Because...I need to." It was simple as he could make his answer, and it had to suffice. And in a voice so low that nobody in the room was confident that they had heard his next words, he mumbled, "I owe him."

Captain Rogers had saved his life, which was more than he rightly deserved. He had saved him, held out hope for him...continued to be his friend, even after the enforced absences and evil atrocities he committed. He could do no less, not when he was given so much in return.

'That's what friends do,' a voice at the back of his mind whispered, the one that held no pain, no sorrow. 'To the end of the line, like you promised.'

Once again, Bucky Barnes could feel his fate hanging in the balance, the shifty gazes around him registering on and off as he slid in and out of his own musings. Colonel Rhodes stared at him for a long time, the glare in parts horrified and grotesquely fascinated. Fury was a harder read, but the longer he went without ordering him to be dumped off the carrier, the more secure Barnes felt. Eventually, the colonel rose to his feet, brushing down his trousers before crossing his arms over his chest.

"...Fine, then," he stated, acquiescence rolling so smoothly over him that Barnes blinked at the stunning turnaround. Cupping a palm up in the air, the colonel told him, "For the sake of simplicity, you can call me Rhodes. Or War Machine, if monikers are more your thing."

Barnes inclined his head, something in his chest loosening. "...Bucky is what I answer to, more often than not."

"I've heard," the other man noted wryly. He shook his head, pacing away from the couch and getting closer to Bucky. "This doesn't change anything. I don't trust you, with my life or anyone else's. But I suppose your track record is good for one thing: you get the job done. I'll trust that."

A wince decorated the ex-assassin's face at that. "Sometimes."

The colonel shrugged it off. "And if any of us wind up mysteriously dead, you know you're going to be the prime suspect."

The wince turned into a halfhearted scowl. "I'm aware."

Looking at him once more, Rhodes gave Fury a mock salute, two fingers touching his temple before he exited the room. The older man let him go without a word, but the hard, boring gaze was back on Barnes, driving home his point if his words could not do so.

"He's right. This is going to be your only opportunity, Barnes. You botch this, in any way, and I promise you that not even Rogers will be able to protect you," he vowed darkly. This man would keep his word, Bucky knew instinctively, from the unrelenting grip of his eyes and the solidness of his voice. "You got one good shot at me and mine; I will not let you get away with that again. You understand?"

"Yes," Bucky said, meeting the intensity of the gaze fully. Another second or two of their eyes locking, and Fury shifted back to the other sergeant, motioning for both of them to leave the office.

"Good. You go with Wilson, he'll get you to the techs, see if we can't get you outfitted well enough before we get out there."

Commands given, the two fellows inclined their heads at him before doing as they were told. That time, they were moving freely, without a ring of guards dogging their steps. To be sure, the agents passing by in the halls and standing at posts gave them sidelong glances, but their muted comments were ignored, and none of them blocked their path or approached them. As they descended down another flight of stairs, Bucky swallowed, pausing in his journey long enough to make Sam stop. Off his curious glance, he tipped his hand back the way they'd come.

"Thanks, for..." he said, his halting speech indicative of how little he used the phrase. It had been some time since he had any reason to be thankful to another person, and to be honest, he did not expect Wilson to be the recipient of his next one. Though Rogers certainly was willing to assist him, he knew the other man was reticent, his removal from the situation far enough to examine him with a more critical eye. Sam had no reason to like him, trust him, or stick up for him, but...he'd tried, anyway.

Sam dropped his gaze to the floor for a second or two, his dark eyes sweeping up again as his face turned stony.

"Didn't really do anything, and to be frank, I'm kinda with them on this. Kind of," he confessed, his emphasis noticeable. He blinked, sniffing once as they stood in the silence that followed. "When this is over, I'll reassess accordingly."

He turned on his heel, the ringing of his boots on the metal grating summoning his new companion to keep pace.

"You have a chance," he murmured in a hushed tone as Barnes quickened his step. "Don't waste it."

A rueful roll of the eyes, and the corners of the mouth lifting were so unlike the man he knew that Sam was almost stopped again. That had to be pure Bucky Barnes shining through, the grim layer and broken facade letting him seep out little by little.

"I've got no reason to do that," the other man told him, matching his stride as he led the way to the armory.

A/N: ...And now we have Sam. :)

I thought it was a gross oversight not to include Sam in assisting with the Battle of Sokovia in the movie, even if he makes the claim that avenging is Steve's thing. I would think he would have a vested interest in keeping his friend and his world alive if he could. So...I'm including him, too (or, rather, Maria is). And Barnes had to make his case to be included at all; like I said, I want him to have a chance. Granted, nobody really trusts him at the moment, but they are willing to give him one shot. It's not like he can get away with toeing the line on this one; they all know him, what he's capable of, and they know that if anything were to go wrong internally, he would be the most likely culprit. But...they give him a shot. Because yes, he may be an infamous assassin, but then again, SHIELD employed many infamous assassins themselves. The only difference was that they were on the "good" side. Look at all that gray smearing the black and white line there...Sorry, I'm getting a little weird there. Anyway...

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references.

We'll get back to the team, and to Holly, soon enough. Hopefully soon; my eleven-day streak of work ends tonight, and I'll have a little more time to get to work. No, I haven't seen Civil War yet. I don't know when I'll honestly have the time to do so; May has always been an incredibly busy month for me, and this year is no different...so please, no spoilers, my friends!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!