Frostbite

Eight

Steve and Tony argued heatedly in the small office, which was no surprise to me. I stayed out of it, twirling in a chair next to Sam, who just looked plain miserable.

"You'll get your wings back eventually," I reassured him, stopping to face him.

"I know. This just sucks," he groaned, leaning back in his own chair. I nodded in agreement, not knowing what else to say. We'd have to wait and see how everything played out.

There was a flurry of activity and a few of their monitors switched over to a feed featuring Bucky, who was still enclosed in his transportable jail cell. Tony finally wandered out next to Natasha, so Sam and I edged our way back into the room with Steve. I briefly rested my hand on his arm comfortingly and sat in one of the chairs at the table. Sam plopped down across from me.

There was silence as a man entered the room with Bucky and took a seat at the single desk across from him. Unfortunately, we couldn't hear from inside the room and could only watch as the man attempted to converse with Bucky. There were quick footsteps behind us, and Sharon glided into the room, sliding a sheet of paper to Sam.

"The receipt for your gear."

"Bird costume'? Come on," Sam complained as he read it.

"I didn't write it," she sighed in frustration like she was dealing with a small child. Taking in Sam's pouty expression, I'd say she was. Sharon slowly reached for a button on the little machine in the center of the table. I looked on in confusion, and she gave me a small nod. The audio from Bucky's evaluation poured out and the video feed of the monitor in front of us changed as well. Steve glanced back appreciatively, and we listened.

"I'm not here to judge you. I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James? I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

"My name is Bucky," Bucky corrected, barely lifting his head up. His voice was flat and melancholy. Steve turned and picked up one of the pictures caught of Bucky in Vienna, the wheels turning in his head.

"Why would the Task Force release this photo to begin with?"

"Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?" Sharon answered simply, unsure of where he was headed.

"Right. It's a good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier."

"You think someone framed him to find him?" I turned to look at Steve seriously. That would be a drastic way to go about it.

"Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing," Sam reminded him.

"We didn't bomb the UN. That turns a lot of heads," Steve reasoned, peeking at the screen again.

"Yeah, but that doesn't guarantee that whoever framed him would get him. It guarantees that we would," Sharon said, as her eyes narrowed in thought. An odd feeling crept into me, and an eerie silence fell over the four of us as the realization set in. I turned my attention back onto the interview, my fingers itching to tap on the flat surface anxiously.

"You fear that... if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don't worry... We only have to talk about one," the psychologist smiled as all the lights went out without warning. I jumped out of my chair, as everyone around us exploded into frenzied activity.

"This isn't good," I muttered to Sam. This was all a set up.

"Sub-level five, east wing," Sharon whispered to us. Steve, Sam, and I bolted from the room. The red emergency lights flashed as we raced down to the basement. We came out of the stairwell and turned the corner to find many slumped body's lying on the floor.