The room Peggy and I share is small, but there's just enough floor space for me to be able to run through my drills. It's with frustration I realise just how out of practice I am, how inflexible I've become. I've never performed this badly, not even as a child. If I were still in the Red Room they would have rebroken my body as a lesson and left me to rot.

Just as I content myself with the thought of breaking in these shoes until my feet bleed there's a knock on the door and I stand in confusion considering Peggy wouldn't knock.

"Just a second," I call out, quickly untying my pointe shoes and wincing as I force them back into flats before rushing to the door. I don't know what to expect when I open it, but the sight in front of me far exceeds any possible expectation I could've had. "Bucky."

I can't help the stunned smile that comes to my face when those blue eyes meet mine and he's standing there with red roses.

"Morning angel," he says and I'm still standing stunned as he reaches out to run his thumb along my cheek. "You been out? You look beautiful."

"I- I have," I blush, looking down at the church dress I still wear and the new uniform he dons with the SSR pin as I accept the roses. "Thank you."

"Your welcome," he smiles, but I'm not the only one stammering as our eyes meet again. "I know we said dinner but you and I have a meeting then, I was hoping you'd be free to join me for lunch in the city."

"I most certainly am free and I would love to join you," I say, taking a quick look to make sure the hallway's empty considering the rules about fraternisation. "But what do you mean we have a meeting?"

"Steve said that they'll be hearing your case tonight," he says and I swallow hard. "Mentioned that they've flown out a senator and some others from Washington, Steve and I should be there along with Agent Carter."

"Right," I say a little anxiously, but he quickly moves to distract me from it by reaching to squeeze my hand.

"Hey, we're gonna be there to make it damn clear that you're going to be out there with us whether they like it or not," he says and any doubts I may have had disappear as I look at this man who has fought for me ever since he laid eyes on me in that factory, who wants to fight beside me.

"I could kiss you right now, James."

"Please do," he grins and looks around. "Although maybe not in the hallway."

And so I do.

I pull him inside by the collar of his jacket and he kicks the door shut with his heal before our lips meet. His hands are warm as they gently cup my face, his lips tenderly caressing mine in a way that makes my knees weak.

His lips and the warmth of his hands have become familiar to me, and that is something I never could have dared to dream of when we first met, even now I struggle with how that familiarity makes me feel.

He's smiling when he pulls away, softly kissing my forehead as he murmurs "I was hoping for a kiss at the end of the date but I'm not going to complain."

"How presumptuous of you," I tease and he laughs. "But I'm certainly not complaining either."

His eyes are warm as he kisses me again and I step out of his embrace to place the flowers in a mason jar and he sees the pointe shoes at the foot of my bed. "So, the ballerina thing was true then?"

"More or less," I manage to smile as I reapply my lipstick and come back over to him with my jacket in hand. "So they've finalised your transfer to the SSR?"

"Sure have, they've moved Steve and I into a room around the corner into a twin room," he says and I can't quite deny my excitement at the possibilities that brings. "Perks of being Captain America's best friend I guess, get to get out of the barracks."

"They moved Peggy and I into a room together when I was recruited into the SSR, although as a nurse I did sleep in the dormitories so it is quite pleasant in contrast."

"Well, after the past few months I'm sure as hell not complaining about living conditions," he remarks and I reach over to squeeze his hand. "Especially not when I'm so close to you."

"And I'm sure we'll use that privilege responsibly," I tease and he pulls me in close by the waist with that same look in his eye as last night. "Because we wouldn't dare dream of anything inappropriate."

He leans down, his lips brushing my jaw as he murmurs "Wouldn't dream of it sweetheart, although..." I bite back the sound that rises in my throat as he kisses beneath my jaw. "I can always kick Steve out for a few hours."

I smile, somewhat in relief. "Thank god for that because if I tried to kick Peggy out there'd be some hell to pay."

He chuckles and brings his lips back to mine. "So she's prim and proper about this sort of thing like Steve then?"

"She's English," I say and no further explanation's needed. "And Steve is well...Steve, but," I continue, running my hand over his chest. "She doesn't typically come back here until after dinner which means that you and I could finish what we started last night."

The words come flowing out without a lick of common sense, coming not quite from the heart but somewhere a little lower, although he seems to speak from both.

"Sweetheart, when we get back we can finish that and more," he promises, taking my hands in his. "But first, I'm going to be a gentleman and take you on a date."

A smile reaches my flushed face. "So where are we going?"

And I find that same spark in those eyes that I did that night in New York as he answers "Thought you'd be up for a little adventure."

My smile matches his and somehow I know that I'd follow him anywhere, whether it be the streets of London, or to hell and back behind enemy lines.

~

By the time we reach the restaurant we're some of the last people there after our exploration of London, where some trespassing laws may have accidentally been broken.

"I still can't believe those guys at the bridge bought the English accent."

"I have an incredible English accent," I laugh, my hand wrapped around his arm. "I just can't believe they bought it when you told them I was your wife."

"Hey, gotta practice," he says and my mouth hangs open at the neck of this man, but it's his boldness that I like. "And your accent's making me wonder if you aren't secretly a British spy."

"Maybe on the fourth date I'll let you know," I tease as we find a table by the window, and he pulls my chair out for me before we sit down together. Strikingly formal in comparison to our last two spontaneous dates.

"Fourth huh?" he says with a smile, reaching across the table to hold my hand. "You know, by the fourth date people usually consider themselves to be going steady."

"Well, I do pray there is a fourth date," I laugh a little anxiously and he seems confused. "I may yet be shipped back out to the States to continue on as a showgirl."

My future has never been so uncertain. Whilst Steve's has been decided mine is very much in the hands of the United States government. Phillips said he'll make calls, and at this point he'd happily throw me into the field to get me off his hands, but my circumstances are far different to Steves."

"Hey," he says gently, squeezing my hand. "I've got faith. I mean, what was it you told me about Soviet snipers and women being able to do the same work as men over there? It's only a matter of time before the Allies follow suit in sending you girls out there with us."

"I truly do admire your optimism," I say warmly, but stress "The only reason the Soviet Union sends women out is because they see us as being just as expendable as men, if not more so, not equal to them. When it comes to serving the Soviet Union through labour we must all do our part, in the home as well as in the workforce now. Although yes, it is more progressive than the West in that regard. Still, women might be respected snipers and pilots in Russia, but America has very different views about a woman's role in all of this."

I have to hold myself back from saying that Stalin never gave me as much trouble as the United States government and he nods before remarking "Well, after what I saw in that factory I think any ideas I had about that were shot to hell along with those Hydra soldiers you took out."

"I should think so," I say, although I refrain from mentioning that the women in the Red Army don't exactly receive my type of training either. "Still, I know damn well that I'd be the exception rather than the rule if they allow me in the field as a combatant."

"Sweetheart, like I said, we've got your back," he tries to assure me. "I don't know much about this Captain America guy, but he seems to be a big enough deal to be able to pull a few strings." That manages to draw a laugh out of me as we look at the menu, but his next words cause my heart to ache. "For a second there I never thought I'd have a hot meal again."

"It's a strange thing isn't it?" I find myself saying. "You don't think of the little things when you're just trying to survive, not in the moment at least, but god knows you miss it."

He nods in agreement, a faint smile on his lips to mask the exhaustion behind his eyes. "Hell, I think by the time you found me I'd gone two or three days without even seeing food."

"Which is why you best fill up," I tell him, still concerned by how flippantly he's taken the extent of his malnourishment, even if he seems to be recovering quickly. "You need to get your strength back before I let Steve even consider sending you back out there."

His smile widens. "Yes ma'am, and I'll be sure to let Steve know that I'm not to return to duty without clearance from my favourite nurse."

I can't bring myself to verbalise the fact that prisoners of war who have experienced the torture that he has are typically discharged to return to their families, meanwhile he's only more determined to get back out there and take the fight to Hydra. It's something I'd chastise him for if I didn't understand it.

"Yes well, I can't say any of my previous patients quite get the same level of attention," I admit and that seems to make him happy.

"So, that makes me special then?" he smiles and I can't help but oblige him.

"Yes, it does."

His smile softens and he kisses my hand, yet all I feel is the absolute fear at the thought that he wants something real, something steady. The utter dread at the thought of having to confess to him what I haven't even been able to bring myself to tell Peggy.

That I can't have children.

I told my father through tears and haven't breathed a word of it since. I can barely even bring myself to recall that day, the sheer brutality of the unmedicated procedure and the hands that had to hold me still despite the restraints they had used. The sight of my own internal organ being raised like a trophy above me when it was done and I was being slapped to ensure I stayed conscious to see it.

Bucky is a good man, a kind man. A man who will no doubt be wanting to settle down and have a family once this war is done, and the sudden guilt that washes over me at the knowledge I can't give him that... it suddenly becomes much harder to smile.

The conversation remains light through lunch, and I laugh as he regales me with stories of his and Steve's upbringing in Brooklyn growing up, along with tales of his exploits during training and with the 107th.

The atmosphere remains pleasant as we walk arm in arm through the city, until we come to sit together on a bench overlooking the Thames and he asks "So what's your story?"

The question catches me off guard. "My story?"

"Yeah, your story," he says as I turn to face him properly. "I've heard a lot of different things, especially in that meeting with the Colonel, but I want to hear it from you." He squeezes my hand reassuringly. "Who is Adelina Morgan?"

"It's not a very pretty story," I warn, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Whose is?"

My fingers itch for a cigarette, but Bucky doesn't seem to be a smoker himself. Most soldiers will have a casual cigarette or cigar and it's more than likely that he would as well on occasion, but it's been my observation that he never took it up properly due to Steve's asthma, or former asthma. Still, he's considerate, and so I try to be as well by clearing my throat and proceeding without anything to take the edge off.

"I was born in Washington to an American colonel and a Russian spy," I begin, knowing that he no doubt has questions considering the conversations he's witnessed between Phillips and I. "She was supposedly an imperial ballerina who came to America to escape the Bolshevik revolution, turns out that was a lie and my dad had bought it. Phillips..." I trail off, whilst a ceasefire's been called it doesn't change my own bitterness. "He was friends with my Dad during the war and knew my mother, he'd figured it out and tried telling him that his wife was a Russian agent but my dad wouldn't listen. Even when they divorced he still tried to deny it."

"Ah," he says, some of those pieces coming together. "So now Phillips is taking all of that out on you."

"Yeah," I say, but force myself to admit. "Although his spite isn't without reason." He seems confused and listens as I continue "When I was five my Dad agreed to send me away to what he thought was a special boarding school in Russia where I would be trained as a ballerina, my mother told him it was the most prestigious school there was and a once in a lifetime chance, and he bought it." I struggle with the next words, with explaining what the Red Room was. "At most schools you read the bible and study math and homemaking, I had learned half a dozen languages and was trained in firearms by the age of ten. I knew it was strange, but it was all I knew. It wasn't until I was older I realised what it really was."

He notices how I rub at the scars on my wrist from the handcuffs I slept in for so many years and his brows draw together now in concern as he gently takes my wrist and examines the scars, his voice deep as he asks "And what was it?"

"They call it the Red Room Academy, the training it took to graduate... most girls didn't survive it." My voice wavers and his face changes upon the realisation it isn't a simple espionage program. "They sought to create the perfect soldiers, the perfect agents, with the greatest surplus in the world."

His voice is serious. "The greatest surplus?"

I can't help the grimace on my face as I answer "Girls." His face falls and there's a sickness in my stomach at how easily we were acquired and discarded. "We're trained to perfection, acquiring a very specific skill set that extends beyond what soldiers or even the most efficient Western agents are taught. It- the walls I was raised within were ruthless, a sheer brutality that would make even Nazi officers seem kind. The conditioning is physical and psychological to ensure absolute loyalty to the Soviet Union and our handlers, and I'd say that one in ten girls made it to graduation."

He takes a moment to process what I've told him, the sheer horror of it, before he swallows hard and asks "When you say made it to graduation-"

"I mean survived," I clarify, my throat tight. "The rest... you either lived long enough to graduate or you were killed. There was no mercy for girls like us."

"I-" he stammers and I struggle to keep my face neutral as he finally comprehends the truth of it, that my education wasn't just harsh, but lethal. "But you got out?"

I should be able to breathe easier, but I can't. "I did."

"Then why does Phillips and the rest act like you're still loyal to them?" he asks in bewilderment. "I mean, were you ever?"

"No, I wasn't, because I learned from an early age that fear and loyalty are two different things," I say, despite how deeply entrenched that fear still is. "It's- my mother was the headmistress of that academy and unfortunately I was the star pupil. She had me with an American man to ensure that I was a citizen of the United States, one less barrier in placing me there as an agent. Almost every summer I'd be sent back there to spend it with my father, integrating myself into society and building an authentic background for the day she did need me to carry out espionage, and I did. That day came in 1941."

"When you enlisted as a nurse?" he asks and I nod in confirmation. "If you were sent back to the United States to spy for Stalin why enlist as a nurse instead of in the army then?"

"Because I didn't want any part in it," I tell him, and relief blooms in my chest when I see that he believes me. "Even so, she still had me collecting intelligence even if the access I had as a nurse was far more limited as opposed to if I was in the army working in communications or managing supplies. My Dad he um- he was stationed at Pearl Harbor in '41 so he pulled some strings to ensure I was stationed there with him."

He sees my strained smile at the mention of my father and already knows, squeezing my hand tight in comfort. "I'm sorry."

"The conditioning I received, it meant that I was too afraid to tell him the truth about my education so I spent my entire life lying to him, keeping up the cover they'd given me. Pretending to be a ballerina that had returned home to serve my country when war broke out in Europe," I smile sadly. "It was the sixth of December when Phillips confronted me with the file they'd gathered on my operations within Europe. I'd been waiting in my Dad's office to have dinner with him when Phillips put it on the table and gave me an ultimatum, that I tell my Dad the truth or he would."

"You and Phillips," he begins, shaking his head. "I heard a lot in that meeting but I didn't realise how far back it all went."

"He was my dad's friend, going back to the Great War," I explain. "He um- he told me that I was going to be arrested and that he was only giving me the chance to come clean first as a courtesy, but I-" I manage to smile a little in pride. "I was a spiteful little thing. I was freshly nineteen and felt invincible. I really believed it too."

However, I don't explain that the sense of invincibility came from the fact I'd murdered dozens of men just like Phillips without ever receiving so much as a scratch.

"I'd offered to act as a double agent since I knew that Phillips was one of the heads of the SSR," I continue. "At that point in the war Soviet relations were unclear, and even now they're reliant on the fact that Roosevelt and Stalin seem to get along. All it would take it a new president coming into power for it to all fall apart, which is one of the reasons I was stationed in the US back in '41 despite the fact that Germany was actively attacking Russia."

He senses the frustration in my voice and asks "You didn't want to be at Pearl Harbor?" Slowly I meet his eye and he realises "You wanted to be in Russia."

"I-" I begin, to this day still conflicted when it comes to my pride as a Russian. "I have no love in my heart for Stalin and his regime, but my heart bleeds for my country. I- I've read files about what the Nazi's have done, especially in Stalingrad, and despite everything I've seen it makes me sick. What they've done to the women and children... I'd rather relive all the torture I received under Zola than live as a woman in occupied territory. Although many men are hardly spared from that either."

His face is grave and my hands tremble at the memory of the close calls I had in my escape from the Red Room. I didn't make it all the way to France without facing Nazi soldiers, although they didn't live to do to us what they've done to the women across Eastern Europe.

"The Nazis say that they prosecute their soldiers for that," he says, although it's clear he doesn't believe a word of it, and all I can do is shake my head sadly.

"In France maybe, or at least they say they do since they're concerned about their reputation in the West. There they at least pretend to be civilised, but not in the East," I swallow. "We're less than human to them there, especially if you aren't Aryan looking enough for them."

I know that this is hardly the appropriate conversation for a date, but it's important. It's important for me to know just where he stands when it comes to this, although his and Steve's friendship is proof enough to me of the values they hold dear to them.

"It's why we're out there isn't it? To put an end to it," he says and he takes a breath in contemplation. "It's what we've gotta keep telling ourselves, that everything we're doing is to keep people safe."

"It is," I agree. "Which is why I want to be out there, doing my part. I wasn't in Russia when the Nazis attacked the Soviet Union. I was sitting in Hawaii waiting for orders whilst my people, innocent people, were being butchered in their and buried in mass graves, and all I've done since 1941 is sit in frustration with the fact that I'm not out there fighting."

He nods with a slightly glazed over look in his eye and I know for a fact he's heard a similar speech from Steve a hundred times over about wanting to fight on the front lines, but unlike with Steve he doesn't argue and nods in understanding.

"So what happened when Phillips confronted you?" he begins before hesitantly inquiring "Did I hear right that you shot him?"

"Yes but not then unfortunately, although my life would have been far easier if I had," I remark and he blinks in surprise. "I made it clear to him I had no loyalty to Stalin and set out my conditions to work as a double agent but he wouldn't accept them. He was hateful and I had no reservations about threatening him in return. Eventually my Dad came in and Phillips clammed up and left without saying anything, but I knew my time was up and I came clean."

His thumb strokes the side of my hand in quiet comfort as I muster the words.

"He was shocked but some part of him had to have known something. I think that he thought I'd gotten caught up in something as a teenager and got into some trouble, that I'd left it all behind when I enlisted, but he never realised the extent of it," I bring myself to say. "Even then, after everything I showed him in that file, he still wanted to protect me. He told me that he loved me and that he'd handle it... the next day he was killed."

His brows draw together in concern at the visible wave of grief that washes over me, and he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. I lean into his embrace, the only comfort I've ever been given over my fathers death. I know without a doubt in my mind Peggy and Howard would be there for me, but I haven't been able to bring myself to speak of it until now.

"He was a good man, a great father," I say, finally able to remember him without pain overshadowing the good memories. "I didn't even realise he'd been killed until three days after the attack when I'd finally left my station and all but collapsed by the harbour. Phillips found me there and told me that he was dead and I was going to be charged with treason, and I just remember realising that the only person in the world who protected me was gone. That I was alone."

He looks back down at the scars adorning my wrist, tracing them gently with his thumb. "Did you run?"

"I returned to Washington to mourn my father and get in contact with a lawyer, to try for a plea deal that would mean my freedom in exchange for offering my services. To do things the right way," I tell him. "Then my mother and other agents came to bring me back to Russia. I was distraught, defeated, and then... then I realised she'd brought my sister with her."

He's quiet, studying my face carefully as I reach for the locket beneath my blouse, opening it for him to see so he can understand what he'll no doubt learn about sooner rather than later.

"My sister, Ekaterina," I say, looking at the photograph of myself holding her when she was a baby. "She's my half sister but I may as well have raised her. My one condition to Phillips, back then and now, is my full co-operation in exchange for her eventual rescue from the academy that trained me. But that day... I thought that if I took those agents out I could escape with her. I'd almost succeeded before they stuck a needle with a paralytic serum in my neck and brought me back to Russia, put me in a cell."

He looks down at my hand, a haunted look in his eye as he asks "Was that when they gave you the same serum they gave Steve?"

I shake my head and my voice turns quiet. "I was fourteen when my mother struck a deal with Hydra and handed me over as a test subject. Erskine, the doctor that created Steve's serum, was a Nazi prisoner and forced to work with Zola at the time." His hand tightens around mine and I try to be the braver person for his sake. "To this day I don't know what half of the experiments they did were, I know that some were an attempt at mind control, others were physical and intellectual enhancements. Thankfully they weren't successful in the former."

"So how- how did that Nazi we fought end up like that while you and Steve still look normal, well, while you look normal," he says and it's almost a relief to be able to speak about it in scientific terms.

"We each received very different formulas. They began working on mine in the late 1930's, perhaps the reason it was successful was because it didn't aim to create a dramatic change like we've seen in Steve. All the enhancements I received were physiological, like we talked about last night, designed to be subtle for female agents, but Schmidt wanted something more." I sigh deeply now as I try to get inside that man's head. "He believes that this master race the Nazis are so obsessed with wouldn't be Aryan or whatever else Hitler wants to call himself, but would be born from science. Once my serum was a success, meaning that I actually survived it unlike the other test subjects, he had Erskine working overtime to produce one with more drastic changes but he got impatient and consumed the serum before it was ready."

"Hence the red face then?" he tries to joke despite his uneasiness at the topic.

"Exactly," I confirm. "As for Steve, when Erskine was rescued and escaped to America he spent years carefully working on the serum to ensure it worked as he intended it to." Knowing the gaps I need to fill to explain how I became involved with the project I tell him "I'd been imprisoned for killing those agents in Washington, but eventually they let me out and sent me back to the academy to be reconditioned, only to find out that my five year old sister had been made a student."

He was there when Phillips and I fought over the circumstances of her capture, he knows how the story ends and his face is grave. "You tried to get her out."

"I did," I say hoarsely, needing him to understand that my training, that the things I've done, extend beyond anything expected of a soldier like him. "I did very terrible things to keep us alive, things that would warrant a public execution back in the Soviet Union, but I'd do them again if it meant a chance in hell of getting her out of that place. I'd almost succeeded. We had stowed away onboard a train to France but someone must have shared that intel and we were intercepted by the American soldiers they'd sent to extract me."

I hesitate and his voice is gentle as he squeezes my hand. "You don't need to-"

"I do," I say stiffly, forcing away the tears that threaten to spill. "I tried to reason with those soldiers, and I was going to go with them willingly, but then Hydra attacked. I had to pull the body of one of the American soldiers on top of a sobbing five year old just to protect her from the machine gun fire." His eyes widen as I lift my dress just enough to show him the scar from one of the rounds that nicked my thigh. "I took two bullets and got scraped by two others before they managed to take me down and drag me away, but Hydra got her."

The alarm in his eyes only grows as his fingers brush the scar, registering the calibre of the bullets I took in the attack. "This would have had to have been a .50 calibre-"

"From a mounted machine gun," I confirm and he's in shock due to the simple fact I should be dead. "I took one in the abdomen before the Americans put a .45 in my leg when I resisted capture." I turn my leg so he can see the scar on my calf. The serum meant that it healed well, but unfortunately it doesn't fully erase the marks of those wounds. "Bastards."

"Shit," he breathes, registering the damage that a .50 cal from a mounted machine gun would do. He's a soldier, he doesn't need to imagine it. "So that serum-"

"It works," I laugh unevenly. "It's just a miracle that the round didn't sever my spine considering it went straight through me."

He shakes his head before asking "Your sister, Phillips said that she was still alive?"

"She is, but I didn't know it then. When I woke up after the attack I was locked up in some sort of high security hospital, I tried to escape but I wasn't exactly in top condition," I continue with a strained laugh. "I learned that the reason they put so many resources into extracting me was because my blood held the key to ensuring that Erskine's serum, the one Steve would receive, was survivable. But... when I saw Phillips I snapped. I stole a security guard's gun and shot him in the leg, got knocked out before I could do worse."

He looks at the scar from the bullet I received before nodding, as if fair is fair, but even now that same fear is as violent as it was the day I woke up and realised that I'd failed her.

"I just- my sister's father was killed by the Nazis when someone outed him as being Jewish and when they got their hands on her- I was just so fucking afraid."

He lets go of my hand, and despite the flash of panic at the loss of that touch, it's only so he can wrap an arm around my shoulders and hold me close. My body doesn't know how to handle such comfort when I've left myself vulnerable, seizing up slightly until I allow my head to fall against his shoulder, and I realise that while I've become accustomed to giving comfort, receiving it is still foreign to me.

"I can't blame you, after everything I've seen out there..." he trails off, and neither of us need to elaborate in that regard. "I have younger sisters, and then Steve when we were younger... I understand what it's like to be responsible for someone that can't protect themselves."

I look at him now in slight relief, but one thing I haven't been able to determine about him is just how far he would go when it came down to it. "Is there anything you wouldn't do for them?"

He stops for a second to consider that question and I see the wheels turning in his mind, see the conflict in his eyes, noticing how he fidgets almost uncomfortably at whatever answer he finds.

"I've never liked bullies, I beat up a few guys who'd pick on Steve because of his size, might have beat up one of my sister's boyfriends as well for how he treated her, but never-" he stops himself, struggling with the next words. "Not like how those Hydra guards would beat the prisoners in that factory. I never took it too far, just enough to get a message across, but after everything I've seen out there... if they were in that sort of danger..."

He trails off again and a few things become apparent to me. He doesn't like violence. He might not have reservations about the odd fight, but he knows where to draw the line and he's comfortable with that line. He knows where it's needed and doesn't go beyond what's necessary, but men change when they live through what he has, they experience brutality and they can't undo it. Some embrace that brutality whereas others reject it wholly.

He seems to be in the middle, understanding that there's a time and a place when it comes to protecting the innocent, something most soldiers do, but it doesn't mean he enjoys the thought of it. He seems to be the type of man to resort to it only as a last solution, he wouldn't reject it if lives were in danger. He'd do what was necessary and justify it the way all decent people do by telling themselves that it was the only way, that it was for the greater good.

The difference between him and I is that brutality is always my first resort, and I have no false illusions about employing it in the name of something good. I've killed innocents and I've only ever done it out of self preservation and to protect those I love, never for any reason that's remotely honourable.

"I spent a year locked in an asylum thinking that she was dead, that was until Agent Carter came to try to recruit me into the SSR in April," I tell him and his eyes widen at the realisation that when we'd met I'd only just been released. "She gave me a dossier she'd collected on myself and my family and I saw a recent picture of my mother and sister. I told Peggy that I'd give my full co-operation in exchange for her eventual freedom, the same terms they'd rejected a year before, but they realised that they needed me. Erskine refused to take any blood samples if I didn't consent to it after what Zola had done to me, and so they were willing to settle in exchange for that consent."

I manage to meet Bucky's eye and bring a hand up to cup his face, tracing where that cut had been on his cheekbone as I fill in the questions he no doubt has about how Steve could offer himself up for experimentation considering his own experience with it.

"Doctor Erskine was a good man. He cared about Steve and I and prioritised our safety. Even so, I spent that year in prison because I refused to have any part in the project, even now I can't bring myself to agree with playing god," I tell him and know that he's on the same page. "But I cooperated if it meant a chance at getting my sister back, and to make that serum safer so whoever received it wouldn't have to suffer. I can't even tell you how many arguments I've had with Howard over the ethics of it, because it's one thing to want to make the world the better place and it's another to play god at the expense of innocent people. To torture them in the name of science. Steve was given a choice but...."

"We weren't," he says quietly and I nod as he leans into my hand, still seeking out my touch despite everything he's heard. "You were fourteen when they gave you to Zola?"

"I was," I say hoarsely and he shakes his head in quiet disgust. "But we made it out."

"We did," he says and manage a smile before he rests his forehead against mine and my eyes fall shut. I'm trembling because of what he doesn't know, knowing that whatever this fragile connection is could so easily be broken by the words I still can't bring myself to utter.

I've always wanted it, a family, and for the first time I can see it. A vague idea of him and I in New York with Katya, Peggy and Steve just around the corner. It's madness, to even think that he could want a life with me let alone the rest, but if I were to let myself dream...

"Bucky," I say quietly and pull back enough to look him in the eye, but I still can't spit it out. "I just- I need you to know that because of what I've done, and the circumstances that brought me to the SSR, that I don't have the same freedom that you do. I'm government property, and as much as I hate it I only have so much power when it comes to what they do with me. I- I don't even know if they'll keep me in London or send me back to perform in their shows now that Steve's going to be in the field."

Still, he doesn't seem deterred. "So, the Russians trained you to be an agent, effectively tortured you into doing​​ what they wanted, and our government put you in a prison for a year when you were caught. Then after all of that they made you a showgirl?"

"Yes they did," I manage to laugh considering the ridiculousness of it. "I don't know who decided it was a great idea to make a Russian spy into Miss America but they did."

"Well Miss America, I'm sure as hell hoping that you'll be in the field with me." He holds my eye as he says "It's where you belong."

My smile turns emotional and I try to joke "Well, if you can't you can always have my pin-up poster there with you instead."

"And I'll remember the brilliant contribution the Russians made to America's women."

I laugh and look up at him in my own type of disbelief, becoming aware of how physically close we are considering I'm almost sitting on his lap. "You really are too charming for your own good, James Barnes."

"Hey," he smiles, kissing my cheek while his thumb teases the corner of my mouth. "I'll be dammed if I let a woman like you go without even trying."

After a pause I admit "You know I used to be wary of men like you."

"Men like me?"

"The type that shows up with one girl and tries to leave with another."

"Alright, alright, that's fair enough," he admits with a laugh. "But, you had a date as well if I remember right?"

"Yes, I'd gone with Howard Stark but he'd disappeared with two showgirls I believe, possibly three."

He nods slowly and inquires "So you and Stark..."

"Howard is a dear friend and we are quite close, but not in that way," I assure him but he still seems doubtful.

"Does he know that?"

I take a deep breath, but it's not as if his concern's unfounded.

"He likes to flirt but yes, he knows very well I don't see him that way," I say and he seems to believe that at least. "Because there's a difference between men that try to take one girl home and those that try to bring multiple home every night of the week. Although I've become partial to the former."

"That's true," he acknowledges. "So tell me then, what changed?"

I try to hide the smile on my face out of habit, but fail miserably. "One finally caught my eye."

"He must have been a pretty special guy then," he teases.

"Oh he is," I assure him, my fingertips tracing his face. "And so stupidly handsome I can hardly concentrate on anything that comes out of his mouth."

"Is that so?"

"Perhaps that's the reason I like him."

We both laugh, his lips brushing my forehead as he says "Well, I've met someone too, although I like listening to her talk. In fact I might like getting ordered about by her a little too much."

"Well, I doubt she'd have any complaints there, but she does quite like his voice too." He kisses the hand cupping his face and I murmur "And his mouth."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I breathe and nothing's felt more natural than when our lips meet.

We're in public, but here in my church dress I may as well be invisible. Just any other girl spending every last moment she can with her sweetheart before he's sent to die. For just a moment I can pretend that I am, wrapped in his warm embrace with his lips sweetly caressing mine.

Except... perhaps I don't need to pretend anymore. Not with him.

When our lips break apart his face remains close to mine, and I search his eyes for any sign of doubt, any sign of apprehension, but find none.

"I just want you to know, that if I'm sent back over there without you that I want to write to you," he says and I feel my heart stop beating. "I let you walk away once with no way to find you and spent months regretting it. I- I don't want to lose you now." My breath hitches in my throat and I'm left speechless as he clasps my hand in his. "I want to be out there with you in the field, to have you by my side, but if I can't... I want to be able to find you when all of this is over. To be with you."

My eyes are glazed over with tears as he tells me the words I never let myself ever dream of hearing, because I always knew it would break both our hearts to tell him the truth.

I lean forward to kiss him softly, a cold tear slipping down my cheek, and when I pull away I manage to smile. "I'd like that James. I really would."

He returns my smile, and the sheer emotion in his own eyes only brings me pain. Rain drops begin to fall and we look up at the grey sky. "Come on, let's walk back to base."

I nod, and take his arm as we begin our walk back through the city only to get caught up in the rain, and we end up running through the streets of London together, dripping wet by the time we make it back to headquarters.

We enter separately as to not rouse suspicion, the same as we'd done when we left, although he rejoins me at the entrance to the floor that houses the living quarters. The women's rooms are separated from the wing the men sleep in, although certainly not as far away as Phillips would like, but it's hardly as if they can afford that luxury when we're in a bunker.

"So is this where I leave you?" he asks as we reach my room and despite the guilt I still don't want this to end, and so I pull him inside, fully intending to get out of these wet clothes.

Yet I let out a shriek at the foot I step on that doesn't belong to Bucky, and one right hook later there's a stumble and a crash. Bucky turns the light switch on and we're both stunned to see Steve on the floor clutching his nose.

"Jesus christ I can't catch a break."

"What the hell Steve!" I exclaim in disbelief and have to refrain from kicking him. "Don't hide in a womans room and expect not to get hit!"

"Noted," he says as Bucky helps him to his feet, as equally confused as I am.

"What the hell man?"

"I was waiting for Peggy, to apologise," he says and Bucky and I share a confused look. "Or at least get advice on how to apologise since I couldn't find Bucky."

"Got great timing," Bucky mumbles under his breath in annoyance while I shake my wrist, which wasn't quite prepared to nearly break a nose.

"You are so lucky you're a super soldier," I mutter and ask "What the hell did you do Steve?"

He points to the door, motioning for me to close it. With a roll of my eyes I shut it and lock it, unfortunately not how I was intending to when I first walked in.

"I was waiting to see Howard when this girl kissed me," he stammers, stumbling over his words. "And then Peggy saw and shot at me."

Bucky and I both do a double take and I splutter "She shot at you?"

"Jesus christ," Bucky sighs. "You really don't know anything about women."

"That's what she said."

"She shot at you?" I repeat, more proud than anything else although I make the effort to conceal it with shock. "Even I wouldn't do that, well, actually-"

"Yeah doll lets not think about that one," Bucky says, closing his hand around the one I used to punch Steve. "She shot at you?"

"Well I was holding a shield, turns out vibranium really is bullet proof," he says and we both just shake our heads, speechless at how badly he's messed up. "Buck, what do I do?"

"Pray that she doesn't shoot at you again," he answers, both of us still dripping wet, and I reach into the cupboard for towels. "I've had my fair share of screw ups, but damn Steve-"

"Not helping!"

"Calm down," I dismiss and give Bucky a towel to dry off with, toweling my hair as I try to spin it. "And well, at least now you know for certain how she feels."

Steve gapes at me. "Are you trying to tell me this is a good thing?"

"I mean, I'd probably go for a slap across the face, or as you just learned a right hook, so if she's shooting at you then you really pissed her off, which means that she cares more than either of us thought."

Both Steve and Bucky seem alarmed by my reasoning and Steve says slowly "She shot at me, and you're trying to tell me it's because she feels the same way?"

"Yes. The angrier a girl is, the more she cares," I sum up and Bucky nods in agreement with that. "And her anger is quite justified."

"But I don't get why she's mad," Steve says. "Lorraine was the one that kissed me-"

"Lorraine kissed you?" I exclaim and toss my towel down on the bed. "You were stupid enough to fall for Lorraine's act? No wonder Peggy shot you."

Steve's mouth drops open in offence. "Act?"

"When you have two ambitious women in the same building it hardly ends well Steve," I begin to lecture, having known and killed many women exactly like Lorraine. "Especially when that building barely has room for any woman as it is. Everyone that isn't blind knows Peggy has her eye on you, and Lorraine is the type of woman who knows precisely how to use sex to hurt her and get her way at the same time."

"So- this is about Peggy?"

"Oh no I'm sure that Lorraine wants to be able to brag about the fact that she seduced Captain America, but hurting Peggy and ensuring that she gets you to herself's just the icing on the cake."

"But I wasn't the one that kissed her!"

"Did you kiss her back, Steve?" Bucky asks and Steve throws his arms up in frustration.

"What was I supposed to do?"

"Oh good lord," I breathe. As much as I love Peggy I do sometime wonder what she sees in Steve. I've decided that it must be his heart because it isn't his brain. "Steve, I'll talk to Peggy for you so she isn't inclined to shoot at you again, and I suggest that both you gentlemen keep your distance from Lorraine for your own wellbeing."

Bucky and Steve share a panicked look before both nodding at the same time "Yes ma'am."

"And Steve," I continue, praying that after that punch I can knock some sense into him. "Do you understand that the sole reason Peggy's been restrained in her affections has been because of her role in the SSR? That a relationship with any man, let alone Captain America, would undermine everything she has worked for and risk her place here?"

He clams up now. "I- yes."

"If you truly do care for her, if you can imagine a future with her after this war is done, I very much suggest you exercise the same degree of modesty and faithfulness you would expect from her," I say, and both he and Bucky are quiet in contemplation. "Peggy is not the type of woman to appreciate a wandering eye. If either of us were we would be with men like Howard Stark instead of holding out for something that's a little more devoted, that's hopefully worth cherishing. Please for the love of god tell me that you understand that much about women?"

"Yes ma'am," they both quickly say again and I hum in satisfaction, glancing at Bucky to see that he seems to be deep in contemplation at those words.

"Good, because otherwise Peggy won't be the only one shooting at you," I say to Steve before changing subject. "Bucky mentioned a meeting?"

"Yeah," he says and clears his throat. "They've flown out some officials from Washington to decide if they're going to let you on the front lines with us, Senator Brandt and some others. Apparently he isn't too happy at the thought of his show getting cancelled."

"Yes well, mind my language Steve, but fuck his show," I say frankly. "I'll fight to be part of your squadron but if that request is denied I will be petitioning to be put to some practical use, even if it's in the same capacity as Peggy. If I can't be in the thick of it then I'll ensure that I'll be operating as an agent."

That would likely mean that I wouldn't see Bucky or Steve unless they were on leave in London, that's if I'll even be stationed in London. I might not see either of them again until the end of this war, if we're even still alive by the end of it, and Bucky knows that.

I'm looking at him, his words by the river lingering between us, and Steve clears his throat. "I'll um, I'll see you there then?"

I nod and Steve finds his way out, leaving just Bucky and I alone together. His hand reaches for mine and I take it, squeezing it tight. "Thank you for today, Bucky."

He gives me a sweet smile, his thumb tracing the back of my hand. "I'd offer to finish what we'd started last night but..." he trails off, moving close enough to be able to take my face in his hand. "I'd like to think that this is something worth cherishing."

"Me too," I say softly and and he smiles before kissing me gently. My heart swells and I pull him closer, realising that our already short time together might yet come to an end tonight. My fingers fist in his jacket, desperation seeping into the kiss, and a second realisation dawns on me.

That I am afraid to lose him.

A man I barely know, and yet he and I know each other more intimately than I could have ever foreseen the night we met. Zola's experimentation ensured that we'd be forever marked, and forever bound, the only two survivors of his torture.

"I don't want to lose you either," I breathe when our lips break apart and he brings me into a tight embrace, my head buried in the crook of his neck as we stand there together, holding onto something that's so fragile and so extraordinary.

For just a second I can grasp it; a future spent serving my country whilst surrounded by people I can almost call family, and yet I've never been more afraid because I've never had so much to lose.

"I have faith," he promises me and I nod, needing to have it as well. "And no matter what happens, I'm gonna be right there with you."

The thought of that is almost as terrifying as the thought of never seeing him again.

"Thank you, James."

Our lips meet again before he finds his way out, and when I'm finally alone all I know is that my day of reckoning has finally come.