Lillian's POV

          Every molecule that makes up the being known as Lillian Nightshade pounds, throbs and aches, her senses and muscles burning brighter than a thousand suns. Every fiber that's woven together to create her existence stings and electrifies her to the very bone, even going to the extent of forcing her bones to twinge, spasm and suffer beneath the numerous protective layers of skin, blood and every cell in between.

          Oh .... Right.... that's me..... Dammit.

"Again."

          A livid scowl curls at my lips, the lurking blaze of hellfire flaring behind my glare. "You know," I pant, teeth gritted tightly enough to chip one another "I'm not one to turn down a challenge," I wipe my mouth, legs quaking as I stumble up and lean my entire body weight against the wall for support "but this is madness. Even a full blooded God would have passed out by now."

          "I know," He replies casually, unmoved by my comment "which is why you're better. Any normal living creature with a body structure similar or alike to that of a human being should have relented into unconsciousness long ago. You've proven your use to me, and whether you believe or not how far you've improved over the past two weeks, I have witnessed firsthand your enhancement. Now, again."

          My hesitation is as conspicuous as a rose in a field of daisies, but I exert myself nonetheless. Staggering painfully to my feet, I slowly rise to my full height, a weak attempt at straightening my back and shoulders.

          My very blood is connected with the four elements. Should I be in the same vicinity of an earthquake (which I didn't create), a tsunami, a tornado or even and volcanic eruption or bushfire, I begin to feel sore and weak. If I'm near severely polluted water, illness begins to tug at me bit by bit.

          The elements are like my siblings in a way. I often disregard them though, because they make me weak if I use them for too long, and I regularly don't require their services. I am capable of protecting myself, elements or not.

          What I do need to do when I am in need of their assistance, is move my entire body. The more I move my body, the more connected I am with them. I can move my arms like a wave, stomp my foot like an earthquake, twirl my figure around like a whirlwind.

          This is why I am finding this beyond strenuous.

          I stare unblinkingly at the rock set before me, not a single ligament, tendon or bone flinching a millimeter. When nothing happens, my stare narrows threateningly at the piece of earth, determination blazing behind my pupils.

          A small tremble emanates from the stone, so I press myself further. The more I press, the more I feel my cells screaming at me to move, to move with the rock. They want movement. They need movement.

          "Stop."

          I exhale loudly in gratitude, slumping up against the Asgardian granite wall of the training room once again. My frazzled hair is slipping from its bun due to the five straight hours of agonizing torture, but it's nothing like what I had to withstand the first few days and week.

          A disappointed frown pulls at Loki's face, but he clicks his fingers and a man instantly draws out his pencil and notebook, awaiting my biological father's notes. "Day 16: Nightingale has further proven my initial prognosis. While she has augmented, her improvements with the elements fire and water have bettered off in comparison to earth and air. Curious..."

          He trails, a look of fascination and dawning flickering amongst his sharp features. The man beside him pauses his jotting of Loki's notes, mustering the tenacity to inquire from him "Um... sir? Isn't it the other way around for the S—ˮ

          One razor sharp glance from my father silences the man, and he instantly lowers his head and steps back, admitting to Loki's dominance.

          I'm not stupid though. If I was, I wouldn't have gotten very far in my profession. "There's another? Who?"

          He smirks wryly at me. "No one of your concern for a while, do not fret."

          Suspiciously analyzing him up and down, I stiffen against the wall. In the past, he's generally viewed himself as superior, always allowing a small hint towards his ulterior motive slip in his arrogance. However, this is different. Whatever he's hiding, he regards it as the utmost important secret he possesses.

          Interesting....

          "You may return to your room," Loki permits me, hands clasped loosely behind his back "training starts at dusk tomorrow."

          "Dusk? That late?" I ask, marginally baffled by the lateness.

          "Did I stutter?" He sasses back, striding with his lap dog servant in tow in the direction of the exit. He briefly pauses at the door, casting me a glimpse over his shoulder. His body language is tight, muscles tense as if he's uncomfortable with what he's about to say. "If you require medical attention, let me know. Or at least one of the servants."

          One curt nod is all I'm able to reply with, for he's green, black and gold attire has already vanished through the doors.

          I fully allow myself to plunge to the floor in exhaustion, yet before my ass hits the stone cold ground, Sam in his new body has rushed to my side, water bottle, food and medical equipment tucked away in his small shoulder bag.

          "He shouldn't push you like that," Sam frets, wiping the sweat from my brow and face with a cool, damp towel.

          My chuckle is shaky. "He's Loki Laufeyson, ruling asshole of the entire realm. He can push as much as he wants. Although, if he didn't hold anything against me, I would have pushed him myself by now. Preferably off a cliff, or maybe the Bifrost."

          Sam's gaze is one of guilt, jaw strict. "It's because of me. You're going through all this because of me."

          I snort in humor. "Don't be so selfish and take all the credit."

          He cracks a smile.

          I find it unsurprisingly contagious, smiling kindly in return while I add on "But on a more very-unlike-Lillian note, I'm serious. It's not you. Even if you were dead, he has an entire list of weak spots against me at his disposal. The Fantastic Four, Team Arrow, the Avengers—ˮ

          "Rogers?"

          I flinch. "He would save him for last. Strongest leverage he could hold against me, after already damaging me by torturing and murdering my other weak spots in cold blood. I would be at breaking point if I hadn't broken already. It's how he works, he's smart and deceitful."

          "How did you describe him to me again?" Sam ponders, trying to recall the description "'He's crafty, slick and the master of manipulation. He wields words like a soldier wields a gun; first line of defence, with a ruthless blow to follow.' Quote Lillian Nightshade, 2015."

          I laugh again, the simple action punishing my ribcage and body further. Upon seeing my discomfort, he wraps his arms around me after properly slinging the bag back over his shoulder, lifting me from the floor bridal style.

          Journeying back to the shared living quarters Sam and I have, Sam's voice is barely above a whisper as he asks "What does it feel like?"

          I don't need him to elaborate to understand what he means, referring to the elemental training. "My body protests. It's like layer upon layer of skin are gradually being ripped from my bones, and my cells are torn apart at a slower pace than an ice age. It's like... you know how, in order to breath, you have to open your mouth and let all the air in?"

          He nods.

          "Well... it's like that. In order for me to control the elements, I need to move my body. I need to open my mouth – or allow air into my nose – to breathe. What he's asking of me to do.... He's asking me to breathe without allowing air in through my mouth or nose. Do you get what I'm saying?"

          His grip on me merely tightens. "Bastard."

          "Nawww," I tease meekly, tapping a finger to his nose even though it pains me to do so "Wittle Sam is getting all pwotective of wittle old me."

          "You're like my sister Lilly," Sam replies at a softer tone, his face mollifying when his gazes at me "You're always there protecting me, even when others doubt. Von Doom was my father and you backed me up, you told me that I wasn't like him. The Avengers and Fury doubted my loyalty considering my background as a HYDRA agent, but you stood by my side and told them otherwise. I was brainwashed, my mind not of my own, yet your voice shone through and told me who I really was. Now that the chance has come around where I can return the favor, I can't do a damn thing about it!"

          I snuggle up against his chest, the rapid beating of his furious heart strangely soothing. "Keep your voice down. You don't want him to punish you again, and you saw what happened to your old body and the man inside it."

          His breathing drops a few paces, but his entire figure remains rigid. "He seemed like a nice enough guy. He was in Loki's way though."

          "'A disposable obstacle'," I quote my father, the sentence leaving a bitter, foul taste in my mouth.

          We arrive back in our adjoined rooms, Sam gently placing me on my bed as if I were a delicate piece of glass, the proceeding to lay the bag besides me.

          For the next ten minutes he tends to me. He pours water into my mouth, spoon feeds me some chicken soup which he requested of the maids in the kitchen, and tends to the bruises scattering my body from the exertion in both combatant training and elemental.

          "So what, the more you press yourself with these elements, the more agony that erupts through your body? Causing these monstrous bruises?" He's always irritated these days, never at me, but at everyone involved with my father, and especially my father.

          "I told you," I faintly respond, head propped up against the lush, relaxing pillow "it causes mini eruptions in my body because the fibers are screaming. I begin to overheat, and heat is caused when atoms begin to move at a quicker pace. The faster the atoms move, the hotter I get. The atoms moving within me though tremble in my organs, fracturing my ribcage or causing other harmful injuries."

          "He's changing you Lillian," his tone has turned clipped and sharp, a cool edge framing it "you've been here sixteen days and you're already breaking. Everything has caught up with you...."

          My eyes sew shut, dread already pitting and churning in my stomach as if a rock is trying to be digested within.

          "Lillian," He breathes shakily, apprehensive towards the truth about to tumble from his lips as well "Take a look back at your entire life. Your father. The orphanage. Your torture. Ally's death. The nightmares that haunt you because of what you've done, not to mention the nightmares of what Wanda Maximoff made you do. Roy Harper's death. You almost murdering who you love most on this planet. The training and torment you're barely surviving right now. All of it... and you haven't had a single break down. Any normal person would be broken from a single one of those things for at least a couple years—"

           "I did break down. When Ally died," I intervene defensively, moving my head but flinching when a burn course through my body again.

          He scoffs disbelievingly. "You cried once when it happened and talked about it hurting you more than anything else on this planet for a few months after, but after the one cry session you dug into your work and taking down HYDRA."

           My glare is half-hearted. "Because I needed to avenge her—"

          "She was your everything Lilly!" He exclaims, taking me by surprise. "The one person you relied on. The one person you grew up with you could trust. I saw the footage of you two talking when you were captured by SHIELD. She stopped you from turning insane. She stopped you from killing innocent people. She stopped you from turning dark and becoming something that is pure evil. Heck, she even stopped you from committing suicide for whatever reason you had for wanting to. Yet you only wept for one day? No.

          "You've hidden and bottled every ounce of pain since the day you were born. You hide behind a wall of wit, sarcasm and threats against the emotions within you. You can only do that for so long Lilly, and I bet whatever your father has planned for you is going to be the single feather to tip the scale and allow the tsunami of misery and pain to be unleashed. You're going to break."

          "Stop being sappy," I scold light-heartedly "this isn't some chick flick like the Notebook or the Devil Wears Prada. Then again.... You do seem like a Prada kinda guy—"

          "This is what I mean Lillian!" He castigates, having to give himself a moment to calm down and shift on the bed "You hide behind this wall which you refuse to take down. You let people in, sure, that's obvious by now, but you refuse to allow yourself to move past the wall and show the broken person inside, because you are broken Lilly. You said it yourself; even a full blooded God would have passed out by now. You've pushed all the pain down and it's at its peak now. The volcano is going to erupt. You're going to lose yourself to the fire—"

          My gaze narrows to slits. "No, I won't."

          Momentarily startled by my curt and brusque tone, the words slither from my tongue as venomously as a snake. "I am not some broken soul who needs nurturing Samuel. Everyone has ups and downs; it's merely human that we do so. My body may be broken but don't think for one second that my soul is. That I am."

          His sympathetic look induces me to glance away in disgust, and much to my dismay, his next words do create a small crack to spread somewhere deep within.

          "I don't think Lillian. I know."

                      ******

3rd Person's POV

          "You've got ten minutes."

          The sound of the HYDRA soldier's voice guarding the door only creates a swell of annoyance to convulse in James Buchannan Barnes' gut. No matter how many doctors they send the Soldier's way, it always ends the same.

          The doctor pisses him off and the Soldier kills him.

          The Soldier doesn't glance up from his position on the brainwashing chair, not strapped down but merely lying in it. They think he's more comfortable this way.

          He's never comfortable in this damnable chair.

          He doesn't know how, but every time he's sat and strapped down in it like an experiment, it's as if a sixth sense activates.

          He hates this chair.

          The sound of the doctor's heels click against the floor and bounce off the walls that entrap him within this cage, and the smallest flood of relief washes over him. The female doctors aren't as bothersome and trying as the males, but he always ends up disposing of them nonetheless.

          His eyes remains shut, not sparing her even the decorum of a hello or look. She expected it, but for the strangest of reasons a smile still cracks at her lips.

          As if sensing the unexplainable grin, the Soldier latches his gaze onto the doctor, devouring her appearance with his judgemental gaze.

          Her skin in the darkest of olives, yet not a woman of colour. Her eyes an alluring shade of brown, teetering towards a honey colour within this light. He can see behind them though. He can see the hardened soul behind the soft, amused gaze she's currently placed on. It's as if she's not even trying to hide who she is.

          "What's so funny?" The Soldier deadpans, the only emotion on his voice face being a flicker of anger. She dare smile at him?

          Her smile doesn't even falter. "You. You're put through all this assassin training and classes before they send you out on missions, yet they fail to put you through a class for manners. I'm sure SHIELD has classes for manners... then again, that Director of theirs doesn't seem to possess the words 'thank you' or 'please' in his everyday dictionary."

          His face remains impassive, but his eyes light up by a sliver of a fracture. "You're my new psychiatrist."

          The fact that her warm smile doesn't waver, even with the unblinking, threatening stare he holds with her, impresses the Soldier in the slightest. "Blunt as well. We'll get along just fine," is all she replies with, taking another couple tentative steps towards him.

          He stiffens in the chair, causing he next step to pause before resuming her advancement. "Yes, I am you're new psychiatrist. I'll also be deeming you fit or not to partake in missions and jobs of the like. Now though, is not about me. You don't look comfortable in that chair. You can sit in another one if you like."

          He blinks at her, hiding his taken aback expression from her. "I'm not allowed to leave this chair."

          "Correction," she cheekily redresses, the almost contagious smile still alit on her features "you're not allowed to leave this room."

          His hesitance is clear, but after a few more lingering seconds he decides to stand to his full height, clenching and flexing his metal arm which began to get as stiff as his muscles. He doesn't make a move to sit in any other chairs aligning the wall, but he does continue to hold his gaze with the doctor.

          "How's your head?"

          His brow furrows into a tiny knot. "What?"

          "Your head," she kindly repeats "I imagine it must hurt from all the... recreational activities that go on."

          His whole body remains a land barren of emotions. His body posture. His face. His eyes. Everything is a dark void that sucks away any hint towards how he feels.

          This infuriates the doctor.

          Not because she can't read him – well okay, maybe a little – but because HYDRA think themselves high and worthy enough to toy with a man's mind and life as if it were a child's plaything. The mind is a delicate thing to balance, and the first part of you to break when a traumatic event occurs. Not a document or a drawing which you can start anew or rub out when a small error occurs towards its compliance.

           His brows furrow again, a hint alleviation swirling in the doctor when she notices the small display of human characteristics. "You look upset."

          The man's very candid; she did have to give him that.

          "Not at you," she explains, hugging the clipboard to her chest like a child would a teddy bear "someone else. Don't worry. I'm more worried that you've got a headache yet you refuse to let me know due to some display towards your manliness."

          The single quirk of the Soldier's lips sends a surge of happiness through the doctor's body. "It is fine. I'll get over it."

          She sighs in exasperation, delicately placing the clipboard down and digging through her pockets for an Aspirin container. Upon finding it, she flips it open and removes a couple tablets from the container, non-threateningly walking forward and holding them towards the Soldier. "You'd be surprised how much it helps."

          He once again hovers over the decision, eventually deeming her offer to not have an ulterior motive or any menace behind it. While he accepts the tablets with his normal right arm, their skin lightly grazes one another and the Soldier finds it surprisingly warm in comparison to his. He thought everyone in this building was cold-blooded like him.

          His stare rises to meet the doctor's and she seems unmoved by the contact. If anything, she's pleased about it.

          Just as she's about to offer him a glass of water to swallow them down with, he tilts his head back and tosses them in his mouth in one fluid motion.

          Her face is content, yet quickly swings to one of worry when she spots the small amount of blood seeping from behind his ear and mop of unkempt hair. She gestures to the spot in worry, inquiring "What happened there?"

           His fingers move to brush the spot, perplexity knotting his features when blood comes away from it. "I don't know... I was on a mission a few hours ago—"

          "Sit."

           The firm command takes him by surprise, and the more he remains around this woman, the more comfortable he is with her and emotions. He waddles over to another chair – not his previous one – and plonks down in it. She follows swiftly after, kneeling before him rooting through her giant lab coat pockets again for a tissue.

          She almost instantly jumps back up again, moving around the room as if it was her own. She rifles through drawers and removes objects from cabinets which he never realised were even there. His eyes watch her intently, still not one hundred percent sure what to make of the woman before him. She's by far his favourite doctor he's encountered yet, and the first to truly show apprehension towards him. The first to actually care about him.

          She finds her way back, not questioning the curious look behind the Soldier's eyes. He doesn't appear hostile or threatening anymore she concludes. He just looks like a lost puppy who needs to find his way home.

          She kneels again, slowly moving her hand with the antiseptic wipe she found towards the small wound situated on his neck behind his ear, as a gesture that she means no harm. His eyes trail her movements, and when the wipe makes contact with the cut, he hisses at the sting.

          His metal hand instantly clamps around her wrist firmly, and while the smallest flinch occurs in her body, she remains where she is. Her other hand moves up to his metal wrist, as slow as before. His eyes now eye it with more mistrust, but when her warm fingertips lightly grip his wrist, his entire face and body slackens.

          The hand gingerly holding his wrist progressively moves down his arm, rubbing soothing movements across it. He may not be able to properly feel it, but it strangely mollifies his mood nevertheless. He eventually releases her wrist, so she continues to tend to the wound.

          He's come to his own conclusion as she as tenderly as possible nurses his wound:

          He's not going to kill this doctor.

          Once she's done, her eyes lift their path of sight to gaze into his closely, almost boring holes into his very soul. Her hand brushes a stray brown lock from his view back behind his ear, and he finds himself leaning into her hand, eyes fluttering shut.

          She halts in her actions, stunned at the display of affection once again, but holds his cheek within the palm of her soft hand.

          When the sound of agents' boots against the cool floor in the hall begins to increase in sound, the doctor reluctantly pulls her hand away, the Soldier already missing the warmth. She stands up elegantly, and he immediately follows suit.

          "That would be my que to exit," she sadly explains, his eyes reflecting her own emotions.

          When he offers nothing in response, she nods wistfully at him, turning on her heel towards the doorway. Upon arriving at the door, her hand rests on the knob to turn it, but before she does so, his voice calls out softly from behind.

          "What's your name?'

          She smiles at the door. "Doctor Timp."

          The Soldier tilts his head to the side, muddled. "That's not your name."

          "No, it isn't."

          "So what's your name?"

          She turns the knob, throwing the Winter Soldier a gentle yet mischievous brow wiggle and leer. "When there's other people around you call me Doctor or Doctor Timp. When it's just us? Call me Lilly."

           Both Lillian Nightshade and James Buchannan Barnes jolt awake with a start at the same time, sweat beading down their foreheads like a rain of bullets.

           Lilly's left arm feels numb, as if she's lost all feeling in it whatsoever, but strange enough, her entire body doesn't feel as if it's on fire anymore.

           Whereas Bucky's place on the bed in the room he shares with Steve feels suddenly small. His entire body aches and tinges with pain, and he almost has the desire to scream aloud.

           Yet as quickly as they awoke from their memory dream with the foreign feelings washing over their body, is as quickly as they both leave them once more, Lilly's arm feeling normal again but her entire body shrieking in pain, and Bucky's body returning to its painless self, all feeling in his left arm lost once more.

So you know.... I've decided to throw another ship into the mix... and don't think just because this is a Captain America fanfic that they'll end up together in the end. I may pull a John Green or Steven Moffat *grins evilly*.

So yeah, Captain Nightshade and Winter's Nightingale are the two ships... or should it be Lucky? (Lilly and Bucky) Up to you, you guys determine this kind of stuff anyway, but Sam and Lilly won't be a ship. They're kinda brother and sister (metaphorically of course).

I'll be doing another one of those Q&A's for this book now, so taking all questions in the comments below!!

QOTD: If Lilly couldn't end up with Steve, who would you want her with?

AOTD: Oliver or Bucky (hell yeah I answer my own book QOTD's)

Thanks for reading and that's all for now, bye! :) xxx

~T.L