APRIL 1943

In the past year of my captivity I've memorised every inch of this padded cell, it's only been in the past three months I've been allowed to go without a straight jacket, although that privilege would soon be taken away if I attempted another escape.

When I hear the footsteps from down the hall I assume it's to be taken for another round of shock therapy, even if Erskine vehemently opposes the practice he's not around long enough to ensure they abide by his personal recommendations. Instead the government mandated psychiatrists inflict whatever they wish in the name of deprogramming. The only mercy is that they haven't yet lobotomised me.

But I hear heeled shoes, a woman's shoes, and tilt my head in intrigue before the door opens and guards come with shackles - binding my wrists before she's allowed in.

I'm surprised to see that she's only slightly older than I am and upon first glance we could be mistaken for sisters, sharing the same dark hair and eyes along with a pronounced bone structure. She's a beautiful woman, well manicured with an authoritative posture that's trained, and I anticipate the English accent before she opens her mouth.

"This won't do," she says, looking around the padded room in disapproval, and with an authority I never thought Phillips would allow any woman in his division to hold orders "Bring her to an interrogation room, and yes Phillips has more than briefed me on the risks associated."

The guards have the grace to not spit at me with a woman in their presence as they lead me by my shackles out of the room and down the hall, although they take the liberty of being heavy handed as they manoeuvre me into the interrogation room and push me into a chair, attaching my shackles to the table.

"That will be all," she says, dismissing them and placing a file with my codename on the table between us. "My name is Agent Carter. I've assured your doctors that you will not pose a security risk. If you live up to that statement I'll see what I can do about providing you with some additional freedoms."

"Freedoms?" I repeat, openly laughing at the irony by this point. "I'm an American citizen being held against my will with no legal representation. Why would I believe a word you say about freedom?"

"Well, where I'm from we do things a little differently," she says and moves forward to remove my restraints. "I'm going to ask some questions and you're going to answer them to prove that you are working in the best interest of the United States government and the Allies. But first, can we go over your file?"

I study her carefully and realise "Ah, you're Agent 13 aren't you?" She stills but doesn't allow alarm or surprise to cross her face. "You're the one who rescued Erskine."

"I am," she answers. "I take it that during your time undercover you learned a great deal about the SSR."

"I wasn't undercover," I refute. "I was free, then Phillips decided to take that away from me."

She studies me, taking note of the anger in my voice before asking "You're familiar with Doctor Erskine?"

"Who do you think experimented on me during the 30's?" I ask and she tilts her head, attempting to use her own silence to coerce me into speaking, but every trick she wields I mastered when she was still in school.

"Well, I am here on Doctor Erskine's behalf, not Colonel Phillips," she says and clears her throat. "Now, may we resume?"

I give a nod of permission knowing I don't exactly have a choice, genuinely curious to see what intelligence they've gathered on me.

"Your name, according to your Soviet files, is Adelina Viktorovna Vetrova. I understand that is your mother's maiden name, with her own patronymic used?" she begins and my throat tightens at the mere sound of it as she opens the folder to an SSR file on my mother. "Daria Viktorovna Vetrova, daughter of Viktor Vetrova; a World War One soldier that was killed on the front lines. I can imagine that his death was what inspired her to join the Communist party and participate in the October revolution against the Imperial family. By all accounts she rose quickly through the ranks of the Cheka before being stationed in America as a sleeper cell spy. She is now tasked with overseeing your division of the NKVD."

I raise my eyebrows, secretly impressed by her work, although there is one error. "You presume that she had the heart to mourn her father, but I doubt she was ever capable of such a thing. It was not grief that inspired her to join Lenin, it was a hatred for incompetence."

"And your own father?" she inquires and my face is carefully neutral as she continues with the basic details. "Your birth was registered in the United States on the eighth of September 1922 as Adelina Viktoriya Morgan with Colonel William Morgan listed as your father. Is this correct?"

"Yes, and I prefer to be addressed by my legal name, which is Adelina Morgan," I make the point of noting and she nods her head in respect for that decision.

"You attended what your father believed to be a prestigious ballet academy in Moscow from the age of five, when in truth you were recruited by your mother into an offshoot espionage unit of the NKVD, which to our intelligence focuses on training young women as agents. Is this correct?"

From the tone of her voice she seems utterly unaware of the reality. "Yes."

"You spent most summers with your father in Washington, spending the rest of the year within the Soviet Union until the outbreak of the war within Europe during which you were placed in the field as a covert agent. That was until you enrolled in the Army Nurse Corps in June 1941. You were stationed at Pearl Harbor until the attack which killed your father and you disappeared shortly after you were given leave to return to Washington for his funeral. Eyewitnesses have commended you for your bravery; retrieving the wounded from the harbour whilst the attack was still ongoing along with administering first aid for three days before you were reprieved from your duties. Is this correct?"

"I don't recall ever being commended for doing what I signed up to do, only threatened by Phillips over what's in that file," I remark. "But continue."

"Alright then," she says, her tone becoming clipped at my disregard. "According to Doctor Erskine, he and the Nazi Doctor Zola began their experiments on you in 1936 when you were fourteen years old with the consent of your mother. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"Are you aware of the nature of these experiments?"

"Chemical enhancement," is all the insight I offer and she leans in closer.

"Were you a willing participant?"

My answer is clipped in return. "No."

She nods before continuing. "Doctor Erskine now works alongside the Strategic Scientific Reserve, which you no doubt know, however since his escape from the Nazi's you are all that survives of his original work."

"Good," I say curtly. "It should stay that way."

"That's a shame then," she says as she closes the file and walks back towards the door. "Because I had come here to offer you freedom in exchange for cooperation." She looks back and knows she has me where she wants me, but I find it difficult to believe that she can fulfil her offer. "Unless you'd rather remain here?"

"You're English, upper class and highly educated. Trained in intelligence and a line of work that's not unlike mine," I observe. "So you should know I'm not going to offer my cooperation on empty promises, although I am curious as to why you're here."

"Your cooperation with Doctor Erskine's program would be under far different conditions than your imprisonment by Hydra."

"You didn't answer my question," I state. "Why are you here?"

She's hesitant, but she obliges me.

"Because I read your file, studied your background and your motivations." It's then she says the only words that could persuade me into cooperating. "I lost my brother to the war, that loss persuaded me to become an agent despite initially rejecting that line of work. I understand that you had a younger sister?"

She comes back towards me and passes me the file with a page opened, and I see the same photograph of us that was in my father's office. With my hands free I'm able to take it and the pain is just as fresh as it was a year ago.

"I tried to smuggle her out of Russia when she was enrolled in the same academy that I was raised in," I begin, not wanting her story to die with me. "That night I did what I had to do to get her out and we went west. I planned to make it to France and work with the Resistance until I could get her out of Europe, strike a deal with the US government in exchange for her passage to America. We were an hour away from France when we were ambushed by the soldiers Phillips had sent after me. Turns out Hydra was right behind them. She was taken by Hydra while the American soldiers knocked me out with a near fatal dose of chloroform and brought me here."

Her face turns grave and even now I'm still seething as she says. "I had not been part of the operation that extracted you, but I understand that it was brutal in every sense of the word. Your sister's safety should have been prioritised."

"But it wasn't," I say hoarsely and my hands still shake when I contemplate her fate. "My sister and I had different fathers, hers was a Jewish officer that was shot dead when his unit was captured by the Nazis. Now... I've spent the last year praying they killed her before they could do anything else to her." Pain crosses her face and my voice hardens. "She would be alive if Phillips hadn't intercepted that train and left us vulnerable to an attack by Hydra. She was five years old and they left her to the Nazis, so can you truly blame me for what I did to him when I was given the opportunity?"

"No, I can't," she says to my surprise. "I understand Phillips has a vendetta against you, one that has been set in stone after you shot him during your first escape attempt. He's spent the last six months vehemently opposing this meeting, but it's become clear that we need agents with your skill set and enhancements. Erskine has almost finalised an improved version of the serum you received, but tailored to the physical demands of male soldiers."

"So brute strength and little else?" I remark offhandedly and she raises her eyebrows. "You must know as well as I do that physical strength and that thing dangling between their legs are the only features men have that allow them to convince themselves that they're superior to women, when they're far exceeded in any way that actually matters. In an age of tanks and machine guns strength hardly matters on the front lines, so I do hope the serum will focus on more than just their physical strength.""

A shadow of a smile comes to her face. "Yes well, the serum would theoretically enhance their strength, speed and stamina to make them the ideal soldier physically, but there will be other enhancements that are arguably more important such as resistance to disease and chemical weapons, such as you received. Your enhancements, whilst strength was a focus, are more subtle in engineering an almost catlike sixth sense."

"Hardly," I dismiss. "Yes my basic senses are increased to a degree not found in non-enhanced humans, but I unfortunately I don't have that sixth sense that's found in animals."

"Doctor Erskine would like the opportunity to test the limits of these enhancements as he was unable to do so whilst in Nazi captivity," she tells me. "He would like to study your bloodwork to help enhance the safety of the revised serum before administering it into a test subject, he's been quite selective in choosing potential subjects for the serum. As for your involvement he's stated that he will not allow any experimentation without your consent."

I lean back in my seat, taking a deep breath before asking "I don't suppose you have a cigarette?"

"No, I do not, but if you cooperate then you'll be free to acquire some."

While I sit in contemplation with this I flick through the file she's compiled, seeing fragmented images of my life, of a girl I scarcely recognise. Until I come across additional information pertaining to my mother, recent movements, then...

Oh my god.

"This photograph," I breathe, picking it up between shaking fingers. "When was this taken?"

"Around six months ago," she answers, not having identified the blurry child pictured alongside my mother, but I'd know her anywhere. "Why?"

Tears fill my eyes and I bring a hand up to my mouth as relief washes over me so violently I'd collapse if I wasn't seated, and just like that everything changes.

"My sister is alive, and I will cooperate on the grounds that when she is extracted from the Soviet Union that she will be granted citizenship in America," I say, pushing the photograph forward. "These are the terms I offered Phillips before Pearl Harbor, and these are my terms now."

"I am a British liaison so I cannot make promises pertaining to American citizenship, but I will assist with the process in any way that I can," she promises without a second thought and I know her words are genuine. "I will deliver these demands to Phillips and Erskine, but I can't imagine they'd be refused."

My heart's racing now that it's finally been given a reason to beat again, and once again the show begins. My first act will be getting out of this cell with as many freedoms as I can acquire.

"Thank you Agent Carter," I breathe, perhaps the only true words I'll utter from now onwards. "I- this file's told me that she's alive. Her safety is the only thing I care about."

"I understand," she says and continues with the interrogation. "Before I relay these demands would you be able to provide additional information regarding your training in Russia for intelligence purposes."

"It's called the Red Room Academy," I say, willing to speak the truth for a little longer if it means compromising the girls I trained alongside and putting my mother in a dangerous position. "It's set out like a boarding school but it operates more like a prison. I was part of the first class... there were fifty of us when we started and five including myself finished the training. One in ten girls survives and graduates into agents they label as widows."

Her eyes widen, taken aback by the information I freely provide. "How many are there?"

"Fully trained? Just me," I say and her brows draw together at the contradiction and so I explain. "I killed the other four in their sleep when I escaped with my sister so they couldn't come after us, although I dare say they've rushed a fresh batch or two through as a result. So, I'd estimate there would be five to ten fully trained agents, dozens more in training."

The alarm's evident in her eyes, but not because of me. "When did this academy open?"

"1927."

"That would have made you five when you began your training?" she realises and her face falls when I don't correct her. "Why are you telling me all of this? I imagine in your line of work you are trained to resist any sort of interrogation."

"Because despite what Colonel Phillips believes I have never, and will never, willingly serve the Soviet Union," I say, for the first time sitting in front of someone willing to believe me and seeing a light at the end of this dark tunnel, but I need to be free to get Katya out of there. "Will you secure my release in exchange for intelligence and my cooperation with Erskine and the SSR?"

"Yes."

"So tell me Agent Carter, what do you want to know?"

~

The issued uniform fits well, the army green skirt sitting nicely at my knee with the blouse white and crisp. The heels are a practical height and echo across the floor as I'm brought into the SSR's Brooklyn headquarters.

"Avoid Phillips and you will do well," Peggy says. "He's signed off on your appointment to the division, and while you don't hold an official rank that will be organised in due time depending on your cooperation."

"I held the equivalent of private when I was in the nurse corps," I tell her. "Although I assume I received a dishonourable discharge when Soviet agents whisked me out of the country."

"Yes, you did," she states as we enter an operations room. "You will be operating under the supervision of Doctor Erskine and myself, as well as-"

"Peggy, I didn't know you had a friend," a male voice and I turn, surprised when I recognise the face of Howard Stark. "Especially not one so beautiful."

"Mr Stark this is Adelina Morgan, Miss Morgan this is Howard Stark" she sighs and his eyebrow arches in curiosity as Phillips takes notice of my presence from across the room. "She's been released and recruited into the SSR."

"Adelina," he repeats and for a moment I remember the newspaper on my mother's desk, looking upon Howard Stark's black and white face as I was told what my target would be when I was returned to the states - my first target that wouldn't involve killing but rather something I was far less comfortable with.

Even so, in this moment all I see is opportunity; the security of having the America's favourite weapons contractor on my side.

"Mr Stark," I purr as I extend my hand to him, feeling Phillips' eyes burning into me as Howard takes it and brings it to his mouth. "It's a pleasure."

"Please," he murmurs, kissing my knuckles. "Call me Howard."

"Howard," I correct as Peggy blinks in astonishment, but I have him right where I want him. "The newspapers don't do you justice."

"I'd heard about this Russian spy they had locked away but... no one mentioned how beautiful she is," he says and I'm glad Peggy had allowed me to stop by one of the nearby stores for makeup and pomade before bringing me here. "It should be treason keeping that face locked away when the country's desperate for morale."

I grin despite the terrible flirting, but he's rich so it hardly matters. "I think you and I will become very well acquainted, Howard."

"I hope so-"

"Stark!" Phillips shouts out from across the room when he grows tired of the scene. "You're meant to be working."

"I'm working at something, Colonel," he replies before leaning in and lowering his voice. "I'm guessing the Colonel doesn't like Russians?"

"That and the fact that I shot him once," I say as if it's a joke and he laughs despite the look on Peggy's face. "Although I am American born and mostly bred, so I'm afraid he doesn't have any grounds to stand on."

"Doesn't matter to the government, you get dinner with a Communist once and you might as well be one of them," he jokes, and I may just find reason to like him. "So spying for Stalin might be a bit of a deal breaker for them."

I raise an intrigued eyebrow. "And for you?"

"I'm open minded," he shrugs with a terrible sense of self preservation. "Like I said, you wouldn't be the first Communist I've taken to dinner."

"Mr Stark she's hardly a Communist, and there'll be no dinner," Peggy intervenes. "And as I was saying Miss Morgan, you will be working alongside Doctor Erskine and Mr Stark in Project Rebirth."

A smirk comes to Howard's face. "I think that might be the best news you've ever given me, Peg."

She rolls her eyes just as Phillips approaches and I keep my head held high despite how my body goes rigid.

"They finally let you out of the straight jacket I see," Phillips says to me and I smile.

"It seems I'm more valuable than you thought."

"You're only valuable as long as you cooperate," he warns and turns to Peggy. "Agent Carter, it might be a good time to mention that you've gotten yourself a new roommate. You speak Russian don't you?"

Peggy's face is neutral as she says "Yes, I'm quite proficient as a matter of fact."

"Good," he says and looks me in the eye as he taunts "Try not to kill this one in her sleep."

He leaves and my throat's tight until Peggy puts a hand on my elbow to guide me away. "Don't let him get to you. You know your value so anyone else's opinion doesn't matter. Now come with me, there's work to be done."

A small smile comes to my face, and I truly do pray I can find a friend in Peggy Carter, perhaps even in Howard Stark.

~

JUNE 14 1943

The city is buzzing with life, although it's no wonder why. Howard even has the base whipped up into a frenzy over his show, although it's not without reason.

Heels echo through the hallway as Peggy and I make our way to our shared room, her voice sounding as exasperated as usual when she brings up Howard. "Mr Stark has mentioned that he's intent on dragging you to this expo he's putting on before we ship out to Camp Lehigh."

I can only laugh. "Has he put in the relevant petition to my handlers?"

"I believe so actually," she says and lowers her voice. "Considering he holds them personally responsible for the fact that he hasn't been able to put another notch in his belt."

"Oh he's added plenty of notches but just not with me," I point out, having formed a strange acquaintanceship with the man in the past two months. "Although I admit, sometimes I do feel bad for leading him along."

Bad wouldn't be the right word for it, but it's difficult to verbalise the guilt that's come with the arrangement. He's an infamous womaniser, the type of man I'd usually detest, but I've found him to be more genuine in his intentions than many would presume him to be. As a man he may be bothersome, but as a person he's been more willing to accept me than most.

Perhaps it's the fact that I can recognise the act he's put on to get where he is, something I suspect he also recognises in me. That like myself, he doesn't know where that act begins and where it ends.

"You shouldn't because god knows he keeps himself satiated," she assures me, as if I needed a reminder. "And it's hardly like you owe him anything."

It's then we come to the door and find a black box with a red ribbon waiting outside. Slowly we look at each other and Peggy says "It's either an explosive or a gift from Howard."

"I'm willing to bet the latter," I say but she still protests as I pick it up and bring it inside, unboxing it to find red fabric and a card. "For you or for me?"

"I'm not the one eating lunch with him most days," she says and looks over my shoulder as I read out the card.

"Dearest Adelina, I hope this finds you well for our date tonight. I'll be at your door at six. Howard." Peggy raises her eyebrows and I sigh as I put down the card. "It's not going to be a date."

"Does Howard know that?" she teases, but not without a warning. "Phillips isn't happy with the attention he's been giving you."

"Weren't you the one that said his opinion doesn't matter?"

"Yes, but there's a difference between not caring and being careful," she reminds me, as if I'm not already aware. "He barely agreed to give you the rank of private, and if you want to become an agent-"

"I'm less concerned with rank and more concerned with doing something that's actually important," I say as I pull the dress out to find what could almost be called an evening gown. It's a beautiful halter neck with a flared skirt that looks like it should belong to a Hollywood actress since this type of dress is certainly never seen outside of film premiers, or pin up posters, due to the rationing. "Although it seems like I'll be on display tonight."

"Well, you'll certainly look the part of a millionaire's girlfriend," she remarks, taking note of the low cut sweetheart neckline. "Do at least try to enjoy yourself without ending up in a compromising position."

"Meaning his backseat?" I retort before asking "You aren't coming?"

"No, I'm preoccupied with paperwork and besides, Howard inflicts enough of his inventions upon me as it is," she says and I just shake my head knowingly. "Is it true he's presenting something about a flying car?"

"Indeed he is."

~

Several hours later Howard and I are being driven to Queens, my shoulders exposed by the dress and slightly cold, but I can't fault his taste. The dress is beautiful and certainly flattering, although it's strange dressing to attract attention after spending so long intent on blending in and avoiding such notice.

"You remind me of Rita Hayworth," he mentions and I raise my eyebrows.

"Did this dress belong to Rita Hayworth?"

"No, not this one at least," he says as I shake my head at him. "But you do look the part."

"So I'm your arm candy for the night then?"

"Always," he grins and murmurs "You could at least try to look flattered."

And so I oblige him. "What do I have to offer that every gold digger in this city doesn't?"

"A challenge," he says, even if he must know by now that my interest in him is far from romantic, or even sexual. I've played along with his courting, but he's a smart enough man to know that my intentions aren't the same as his.

"You know," I begin, something still seeming off to me about this whole arrangement. "I find it hard to believe that they're just letting me out for a night on the town when they barely let me walk down the street with Peggy."

"What can I say? I'm persuasive."

"Howard," I warn and he knows better than to attempt to lie, deciding to come clean on his second try.

"Alright, I got them to let you out on one condition."

Despite everything I've seen in my life, I still hesitate before asking "Which is?"

"Don't get mad-"

"Howard."

"You'll be singing the national anthem to open the show," he says and nods expectedly at the sound of disgust I let out. "Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say."

"Why?" I exclaim at the utter absurdity. "Who the hell even came up with that idea?"

"Senator Brandt," he answers and provides much needed context. "We have women who pose for posters, travel around to different cities, different camps - entertaining the troops, boosting morale. Apparently Brandt caught wind of your stint as a nurse and thinks you'd be the ideal face for recruitment posters aimed towards getting women to enlist... and maybe encourage some men too. He wants to bring you out tonight, test your appeal."

I can't restrain the incredulous laugh that escapes me, truly believing that this is some joke but the rare seriousness on his face tells me it's not.

"A few months ago I was being spat at in an asylum, even now half of the SSR just refers to me as 'that Russian woman', and now that senator wants to make me out to be some American patriot to stick on posters?"

He can't believe it either, but nods. "Pretty much. Personally I think it's a soft launch for the soldiers that will come out of Project Rebirth. Those guys will be all over recruitment posters, pulling in every young guy that wants a chemical boost, but a lot of people aren't going to be happy with scientists playing god. Putting a pretty girl up on a poster, a seemingly respectable nurse who served at Pearl Harbor, and saying she's had a few enhancements would break the idea of it to the public a little easier."

That idea only sounds more incredulous. "How-"

"Don't ask me about the logic behind it, but I think that's the road they're taking with you. Because no offence, but all you've done since you've been let out is sit around my lab waiting for Erskine to run tests," he says, and I can't argue with that. "You're an asset, an asset that no one knows what to do with. They don't trust you enough to put you into the field but they don't want you just sitting on the back burner either, so it looks like you're gonna be used as USO material. Whether it's on pin up or recruitment posters I'm not sure yet."

"Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?" I ask him and he presses his mouth together. "I'm an American citizen and ever since the SSR put my file together everyone's just treated me like a Soviet because of a role I never wanted to play, now I'm being forced into another role that's fucking-" A defeated sigh escapes me, if I was with Peggy I'd stop myself now but Howard might be the only person willing to hear me that isn't blinded by patriotism. He knows how the government operates and doesn't fool himself into thinking they care about individuals. "I enlisted as a nurse to do something right but that was shot to hell, and for a second Peggy had me convinced I'd be doing something good with the SSR but even they can't decide what they want me to be."

"Weren't you a sleeper cell spy?" he asks and catches my glare. "Not judging, but wasn't that the literal definition of what you were since you were a kid?"

"Yes," I reluctantly admit. "And even now I'd be more than willing to use my skill set to further the war effort but in their eyes I'm either the devil incarnate or utterly dismissible."

"I know, I know," he assures me and leans over, speaking to me frankly. "But when it comes to dealing with all the bureaucratic crap you've gotta keep your chin up, don't let them beat you down."

"I know Howard, it's just..." I trail off, unable to put it into words. "Somehow the thought of being on the front lines is more welcome than the idea of being stuck on posters and stripped down to a pretty face. I was trained for a very specific job, and instead of sending me into Germany to take out targets they're just biding their time. Erskine keeps telling me to appreciate freedom, and while I might be out of that asylum I'm hardly free. If anything, working under Phillips is an ongoing humiliation ritual."

"Because it is," he states and asks "So why go through with any of this? Why not take off?"

"I've got someone in Russia I need to get out, and her life depends on how much I smile," I profess bitterly and he nods in understanding. "That was the deal Peggy negotiated for me, her eventual safety in exchange for my full cooperation, so as long as Phillips tells me to dance then I've got to dance. Like one of those dolls they have on strings."

After a moment of thought he says "A marionette?"

"Yeah- that," I say in mild annoyance at how proud he looks. "That wasn't the point I was making."

Still, he just smiles with childlike glee. "I mean... you do look the part."

"Howard-"

"Look, I get what you're saying," he says and nods at one of the government buildings we pass. "But kissing up to those senators might be enough to get the leverage you need. You'll hate it, but we both know it's what you were trained to do."

"It was," I say bitterly, wondering how I've ended up so tactless to be confessing my emotions to the very man that was meant to be a target. "And I used to be so good at it, but I never enjoyed it."

"Yeah well, you do what you've gotta do," he says and reaches over to squeeze my knee through my skirt. "But on the bright side you look pretty and you'll be having a night out so you can at least try not to hate it, especially after the strings I had to pull to make this happen."

I nod slowly, studying Howard's face for a moment. Perhaps when we met I understood his intentions, they were simple and explicit enough they couldn't be misunderstood, but now I fail to grasp why he's intent on helping me when I've skirted around his advances.

"You know it's not you I'm frustrated with Howard, I truly am grateful for everything you've done for me, but this situation..."

"I know," he assures me, offering a pained smile. "And for what it's worth I do hope you enjoy yourself despite having to make small talk with senators."

"Thank you, Howard," I say honestly. "And I will enjoy myself, I just wish I was doing something significant instead of being kept in storage to be paraded around as they see fit."

"In all fairness it would be a shame to not parade you around when you look like that," he says and I shake my head, as exasperated as he makes me he never fails to distract me from that ever-present wave of grief. "One of these days you won't be able to resist my charms."

A small smile comes to my face, a genuine one. "We'll see about that."

Upon arrival Howard guides me to Senator Brandt, giving a personal tour of the exhibitions on the way. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't impressed by his work. Despite my initial aversion to anything remotely related to experiments, the type Howard conducts with his technologies is something I can get onboard with.

"Remember, smile," Howard says as he brings me to Brandt and by the time he sets eyes on us my smile is plastered on; the performance resumed.

"Senator Brandt, you've met Private Morgan," Howard says after the two men shake hands and the senator looks pleased at the sight of me, too pleased.

"Ah Adeline."

"Adelina," I correct as I go to shake his hand but he ignores me, instead bringing me in with a hand on my waist for an embrace which I have to laugh off. "Please Senator, I'm with Mr Stark tonight."

"Ah, of course," he says, respecting my wish to not be touched only when he believes it might bring offence to Howard. "Howard's told me that you'll be kind enough to perform the national anthem. He warned me that the Soviets don't like music, but surely someone taught you to hold a tune."

I struggle to keep a pleasant face, but take the opportunity to press my citizenship with a perfect American accent. "My father enrolled me in music classes during my summers in Washington, so while I'm no singer I can certainly hold a tune."

"That's what I like to hear," he says and nods to Howard. "You got her dressed up I see?"

"I sure did," Howard says with a hand on my waist. "She's a pretty thing, can't imagine why Colonel Phillips is set on keeping her stashed away all the time."

"Well, Mr Stark I'm sure you know their policies on their lady soldiers fraternising," he murmurs before the two men laugh and my face begins to hurt. "But I can't understand it either, not when we need all hands on deck."

"Truly Senator, I'd be honoured to serve my country in any way the government would allow," I say but still he shrugs me off with disregard whilst still speaking to Howard.

"Put her up on that stage tonight and we'll see how she resonates with the men here. We've got a lot here from the camps that are getting shipped out tomorrow, would do them well to remember what they'll be fighting for."

"Indeed," Howard says as Senator Brandts' attention's taken by someone else and he can guide me away. "Just keep sucking up, and eventually you'll get somewhere decent."

"I can only pray."

~

An hour later the show is starting, and it's only when I stand off to the side of the stage alongside Howard's showgirls that the truth hits me. Phillips and whatever government officials signed off on this want there to be no question as to my allegiance. Until now Stalin and the Soviet Union could very well believe I'm being held in a prison cell and still resisting interrogation, but Phillips wants to make it quite clear to them that I've chosen to stand with America.

He wants me to stand up there and commit the highest act of treason against the Soviet Union in singing another anthem, an act so distasteful it borders on absolute mockery towards the Soviet regime. Phillips is single handedly erasing any chance that I could be acting as a double agent and ensuring that if I ever decide to return to the Soviet Union that I'll earn a public execution.

He isn't just playing some sick game of humiliation, he's playing with my life. It's such a small ridiculous thing for me to get worked up over in anyone else's eyes, but he knows exactly what he's doing. I almost can't believe that he didn't come here himself to witness it. An act worthy of the firing squad.

"Now, just remember your mark," Howard says as he comes to my side. "Sing the anthem and introduce me, then you can do whatever you want."

I nod despite feeling backed into a corner. A guilty part of me has prayed that if the Soviet Union's learned of my association with the SSR that they've chosen to believe I'm acting on the original orders I was given before attempting to escape with Katya. To infiltrate the SSR and gather intelligence until given orders. To do whatever, and sleep with whoever, necessary to learn their objectives. But this... regardless if they believe I'm undercover this will be the final signature on my death certificate.

With an event like this there will be at least one soviet spy somewhere in the area, and word will reach Russia by the weeks end. I could have been forgiven for cutting the throats of the other widows, likely even praised for it, and desertion could have possible been overlooked if I returned with something significant in exchange for my life.

But this is something Stalin will never forgive.

"Introducing to the stage to sing the national anthem," Senator Brandt begins. "Miss Adeline Morgan."

This is treason, but to refuse would mean risking everything I've worked to achieve and being labelled a traitor to the United States. My head is something I'd happily risk, even my freedom, but my sister's freedom is another, and so my head is held high as I step on stage and perform to perfection; reminiscent of a Hollywood starlet in every way. For a moment I can pretend that I am, and it's the easiest few minutes of my life. When the music finishes I'm smiling with a pretend glee that I've never actually experienced, finding myself quickly surrounded by showgirls as I announce "Mr Howard Stark!"

He waltzes onto the stage in a top hat of all things, fully committing to the magician bit he's putting on. His arm wraps around my waist and I manage to dodge his kiss in time for it to land on my cheek, laughing playfully despite wanting to slap him for attempting that without so much as a warning.

"Thank you Adelina for the wonderful performance, isn't she just stunning folks?"

The crowd cheers, along with a few lude whistles, and he takes over with his presentation as I find my way off stage. I don't miss the irony that I've shed the blood of more men than I could care to count and yet I've never so much as kissed one. Not properly at least. Twenty years old, a trained assassin, the SSR's greatest headache and now a traitor to the Soviet Union, and I've never even kissed a man.

Although it's hardly like I had the type of upbringing other girls my age did, even during the summers I spent in America I'd much prefer to consume the literature that had been burnt long ago within the Soviet Union rather than try to blend in with all the girls talking about boys and babies. A life I could never have.

To study philosophy, science, to arm my mind with anything and everything to combat the subliminal messaging the Red Room must employ, to educate myself outside of Stalin's propaganda. For me that study was perhaps even more important than any training I'd undertake in Russia, that study enabled me to fight for my life and my freedom whilst their training only taught me to take life.

The show continues on and the crowd eventually disperses to independently observe the attractions on display while I find myself wandering towards the recruitment station they have set up, remembering my own enlistment and just how excited I'd been to be doing something good. I was following orders in enlisting, but I was content with my own silent rebellion against the Red Room by enlisting as a nurse rather than using my father as a gateway into the intelligence services. I knew where my skills would be better suited, but I saw the chance to make my own choice and I took it.

"Escaping Howard?" Erksine asks as he spies me taking in one of the recruitment posters and sees how far my eyes roll back. "As far as men go he isn't an awful choice."

"No, he isn't," I reluctantly admit, and while my next words aren't necessarily true of Howard my lingering bitterness still slips through. "But you'd know better than anyone that I'm sick of men looking at me like a test subject."

His face falls. "You know my hand was forced, just as yours was."

"My hands weren't forced Doctor," I remind him curtly. "They were strapped down."

"Would you have rather had me leave you to Zola alone?" he asks and I purse my mouth. "We are both here now, and I suggest you make the most of your freedom instead of holding onto the past."

Again I struggle to reign back that bitterness. "I'll let go of the past when I get my sister back and until then I'll play along with all the bullshit if it means I'm not locked in an insane asylum." I debate leaving it there, but the teenage girl that was strapped down in a German lab lashes out. "And if you want me to let go of the past then you're an idiot."

He raises his eyebrows, offended but unsurprised, calm even. "Adelina, if you were as smart as you think that you are you'd be working to secure your future instead of attempting to make more enemies." I'm silent, burning with frustration at how hard it's become to do what I was once so good at. "I thought you were trained to manipulate, and yet you continue to be an outlier."

"Or have you considered that I simply don't care anymore? Or perhaps those bastards shocked my brain to the point I can't even do what I spent my entire life being trained for," I say and he studies me carefully. "How can I possibly enjoy whatever slim freedom I have when my sister is still there, and now Phillips has ensured that if I ever return I'll be executed for treason."

"The world cannot stop because of one person," he says and there's remorse in his voice. "No matter how difficult that is to hear, it's the truth. Which is why we are continuing with the serum, so we can create soldiers to bring down not just the Nazis, but I dare say the Soviet Union will follow once we no longer have a common enemy to fight. If your sister is half as resilient as you are she will persevere until we are able to free her."

I'm quiet and he steps closer, lowering his voice.

"Think of this act you just put on as one of the last tethers to the Soviet Union finally being cut, one step closer to true freedom," he advises. "Any chance of returning there and being forced to resume your work for the Red Room is gone. Which means you cannot look back now, only forward." He manages a smile as he quietly exclaims "How exciting."

I consider his words, appreciating his wisdom despite the adolescent anger I still hold, and follow his trail of sight to a man in a sergeant's uniform coming up the stairs.

"Come on, you're kind of missing the point of a double date," the Sergeant says while his smaller friend looks up at the recruitment display with an expression that's all too familiar. "We're taking the girls dancing."

The Sergeant's put together in a pristine uniform, with a gleam to his eye that tells me all I need to know. He's idealistic, hasn't yet seen the truth of combat, no doubt fresh out of training.

His friend dismisses him. "You go ahead, I'll catch up with you."

The Sergeant looks at the recruitment poster and sighs in exasperation, but not in surprise. "You're really going to do this again?"

"Well, it's a fair," the other one responds and I find Erskine watching the conversation. "I'm going to try my luck."

"As who, Steve from Ohio?" the Sergeant exclaims whilst I continue to observe with apprehension at Erskine's interest. "They'll catch you, or worse, they'll actually take you."

"Look, I know you don't think I can do this-"

"This isn't a back alley, Steve. It's war," the Sergeant interrupts and behind the harshness of his voice is a genuine and desperate concern.

"I know it's a war-"

"Why are you so keen to fight?" He speaks over him now and immediately I pick him as an oldest sibling, a protector by nature. Someone who'd throw themselves onto the front lines before ever daring to allow someone they care about to take up the fight. Something I know too well. "There are so many important jobs-"

"What do you want me to do?" his friend argues while he still attempts to speak over him in protest. "Collect scrap metal in my little red wagon?"

"Yes, why not!"

"I'm not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky." When Bucky tries to protest he finally manages to cut him off. "Buck- Bucky come on. There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That's what you don't understand. This isn't about me."

I look between them, even from a distance the tension's thick as the Sergeant gives a defiant nod. "Right, 'cause you've got nothing to prove?"

Erskine watches on with an unsettling interest, proud almost, until a girl shouts over at the Sergeant from a distance.

"Hey Serg, are we going dancing?"

The Sergeant, Bucky, puts on a cheerful voice as he turns back to the girl that waits with her friend. "Yes we are." He then turns back, taking a deep breath before shaking his head in resignation, stepping backwards as he says "Don't do anything stupid until I get back."

"How can I?" his friend replies, the fondness between them never faltering despite the argument. A connection I'm only now beginning to understand through knowing Peggy and Howard. "You're taking all the stupid with you."

A shadow of a smile comes to my face as Bucky steps back towards his friend. "You're a punk."

"Jerk."

The two men embrace and I turn my head towards Erskine, wondering what's going on in his head as he watches, although it seems to be the smaller one he's paying attention to.

"Don't win the war 'til I get there!" the smaller one calls out as Bucky begins to head back to the two girls, but not before stopping to give a playful salute.

"Come on girls, they're playing our song," I hear him say in the distance and keep my head down as his friend walks past Erskine and I, although Erskine's eyes follow him.

"Whatever you're thinking," I begin quietly. "His friend's right. He'd be better off doing something important on the home front rather than sacrificing himself as cannon fodder."

"Perhaps, but that's his decision to make, and importance is a subjective term," he says before walking away and leaving me standing there in contemplation, an unsettling air clouding the lights of the fair.

With my arms wrapped around myself I look for Howard, but his disappearance along with two of the showgirls confirms that he'll be occupied for some time and so I find myself wandering the fairgrounds, ignoring the eyes that follow me.

For a split second I wonder how far I could make it if I ran, but where can I run to? Certainly not back to Russia, and the United Kingdom would just hand me back over to America. Even my skill set can only take me so far without the proper documentation and connections, I learned that the hard way, and even with those... there's nowhere for me to go.

Erskine is right about some things, I can't keep looking back. I'll get Katya out but I've accepted that it won't be in the immediate future. Until then... I need to keep looking forward.

And so I round a corner only to find myself almost slamming into a solid mass that I immediately identify as a soldier by the feeling of his uniform alone.

"Sorry," I quickly say and go to move past only to feel a hand on my arm and look up to recognise the Sergeant I'd been watching.

"Don't be sorry, that was on me," he apologises in return, audibly embarrassed. "I was looking for someone and wasn't watching where I was..." he trails off as he looks at me properly and something in his eye changes. "You're that singer aren't you?"

"I- I am," I say, taken aback by the physical closeness of him and the attractiveness of his face before he clears his throat and takes a step back to make a better first impression.

"I'm James, Sergeant James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky."

"Well James, you best look where you're walking," I laugh unevenly and he flushes a little in embarrassment before I assure him "It's alright, I wasn't quite looking either."

He nods, but doesn't let me go quite yet. "You have an incredible voice by the way."

From here I can see his face better now, the pale blue eyes and clean-shaven face. His hair's concealed by the dress cap he wears but it appears to be a light shade of brown. He's handsome, no doubt a flirt by what I've witnessed, but considering the man that usually flirts with me unprovoked is missing I indulge him.

"Thank you," I say, taking in the insignias of his uniform before asking "So what did you think of the show?"

"That it's pretty damn incredible what science can do," he says, a genuine spark of excitement in his eye as he looks around.

"For better and for worse," I can't help but add, although his momentary confusion fades when I smile. "Although some of the sights they've put together are quite breathtaking."

"They are, but not quite as breathtaking as you," he slips in effortlessly and he studies my face before asking "Would you like to dance?"

I raise an eyebrow before reminding him "Don't you have two lovely ladies waiting on you?"

He seems surprised upon realising I'd taken notice of him before now and sheepishly admits "Well, I'd brought them on a double date but my wingman seems to have disappeared and by the looks of it I think they have too."

"What a tragedy," I say, despite having found myself in a similar position without Howard. "Although it seems my own date for the evening's also disappeared."

"So, may I have this dance Adeline?" he asks and I'm quietly impressed that he'd paid enough attention to the show to remember how I was introduced. .

Despite having little interest in any sort of flirtation, there's a long night ahead and the spark in his eye might just persuade me to make the most of this freedom, as frail as it may be.

"Adelina," I correct gently, deciding that for tonight I can be someone else without the eyes of the SSR watching; that I can be the girl I'd almost been before Pearl Harbor. "But you can call me Ada."

"Ada," he repeats and that spark in his eye brightens as I take his arm and allow him to lead me to where the young couples dance before the war will no doubt tear them apart. "Tell me Ada, are you a dancer?"

I can't help but smile at the irony of the question. "I used to be, professionally."

"Really?" he says and jests "I suppose you'll be the one leading me then."

"I suppose we'll see," I tease as he takes my hand to lead me out onto the dance floor. "So tell me James, what did you do before the war?"

"Worked a steady job, took some classes here and there," he reveals and I give an impressed hum as his other hand settles on my waist, that touch perhaps provoking a little more than I'd expected it to. "Spent most of my time boxing."

"Boxing?" I inquire, knowing how men like the chance to show off.

"Three time welter-weight champion, but I've packed on a bit more since training," he says, squeezing my waist as he assures me "So don't worry, you're in good hands if we get into any trouble."

I truly can't help but laugh now as I put a hand on his chest. "Oh don't worry Sergeant, I'm quite capable of handling a little trouble."

"Do you like getting into trouble?" he asks, his voice lowering a register as he tugs me in closer and I look up into those eyes, knowing I'm about to find it.

"Depends what sort," I answer and take a step back with my hand still on his chest. "Aren't we meant to be dancing Sergeant Barnes?"

"Yes Ma'am," he grins and spins me around, the music picking up as he leads me into the midst of the crowd. "You from New York?"

"Washington, although I have been staying in Brooklyn," I answer. "You?"

"Brooklyn, but I've been training at Camp McCoy in Wisconsin," he answers proudly as I try to force myself to slacken the my posture, reminding myself that I'm in the middle of a fair, not on pointe. "So what's brought you all the way out here?"

"When the US government tells me to be somewhere I show up," I say and he doesn't quite understand but nods. "Tonight it's performing."

"Ah, so like Vera Lynn?" he says and it's a slightly more favourable comparison than Howards. "You're with USO?"

"Yes," I say, considering that at this point it will be the most accurate way to put it. "Precisely."

"You know it's a shame I hadn't met you sooner, I would have offered to give you a personal tour around the city," he mentions, although his lack of a future offer indicates his hands are tired similarly to mine by orders.

"It's a shame indeed," I say, becoming curious as to what type of a man he is, and needing to convince myself that I haven't lost my ways completely. "I imagine you'd be quite the guide."

"Brooklyn's not quite Washington but I know a few places that might live up to it," he says, although I notice how his eyes dart over towards the recruitment pop-up. Not looking for those girls, but his friend. "There's a diner or two that you might like."

I nod but seeing his mind's elsewhere I mention "I saw you arguing with your friend earlier." The aching look in his eye tells me all I need to know. "He's trying to enlist isn't he?"

"I'd be willing to bet he's on his fifth attempt right now," he reveals and sighs, but I'd have to be blind to not see the concern behind his exasperation. "I love him but he's got that many health problems when even one could disqualify him from service. I keep telling him there's other ways to serve his country but he won't listen. Still, he'll be damned if he doesn't keep trying, but that's Steve for you."

"You're doing the right thing," I tell him. Even if he'd never admit it openly, he knows as well as I do that someone like Steve would be lucky to survive the conditions in a camp let alone a firefight. "Trying to keep him safe."

"I just wish he'd see that," he says as we find ourselves in a slower waltz.

"It's difficult for people like him. To be the one left behind when the men like you are the ones taking up arms," I say, my own frustrations slipping in. "As a woman I know a thing or two about that."

"You won't be missing much doll," he promises me and again I can appreciate the irony as he lifts me up effortlessly by the waist to spin me around with the new change of song; and perhaps I like being handled by him a little more than I'd admit. "You'll be safe and warm with an actual roof over your head while we're freezing on the Western front."

"What makes you think I like being safe and warm?" I retort before pointing out "The Soviet Union sends their women into combat as snipers, pilots... the list goes on."

"So the singer wants to be a sniper?" he says somewhat incredulously, but plays along. "You know, I'm trained as a sniper so I could show you a thing or two."

I raise a genuinely interested eyebrow, "Is that so?" He nods and looks over to one of the carnival set ups and a smile spreads across my face at the sight of a shooting gallery. "Then what are we waiting for?"

He takes my hand in his, and I don't mind it as he brings me over to the stand where they have parlour guns laid out and silhouette targets of various sizes lined up on shelves in the shape of miniature soldiers. He puts some coins on the counter and this may just be the happiest I've felt in a long time as my hand runs along the stock of the rifle.

As much as I detest my training... I do like weapons.

"Alright little lady," the vendor says and I look back up. "I'm sure your escort can show you how it's done but just aim and try to hit one of those targets."

Deciding to play along a little longer I ask "Which ones are worth the most points?"

"The small ones ma'am."

"Thank you, Sir," I say and Bucky comes to my side, supervising as I pick up the rifle with a hand hovering over mine.

"It's not too heavy?"

"Not at all," I assure him, my voice light as I raise it to my shoulder and he unnecessarily helps with the placement of my hands, but again I play along with his assumption I've never so much as touched a rifle before. Because of course what respectable lady from Washington would ever do such a thing?

"Now, the key to this is holding it steady," he says and a smirk plays at my lips as he comes to stand behind me to position the rifle, holding it almost where I would. "Taking your time to set up the shot, it's an art as much dancing, then... you breathe out." His other hand slips down to my waist and I exhale as I pull the trigger for a clean shot at one of the medium sized silhouettes.

He nods proudly and lightens his hold on the rifle to let me take the lead for the next shot with his body still covering mine. He stands at six foot easily, and being an average height I've never truly understood the appeal of a taller man, or a man in uniform, until now. I feel like an utter fool but this is how I'm meant to feel, like a twenty year old girl dancing with a handsome soldier, a girl with no first hand knowledge of bloodshed.

Still, a smile creeps across my face as I take out three of the smallest targets in quick succession and look back to find him blinking in stunned surprise.

"You've done this before," he realises and I play it off.

"I'm a little rusty."

Meaning that the bastards haven't let me handle a weapon since I shot Phillips.

"So, the singer does know how to handle a rifle," he says before stepping out from behind me and I watch in curiosity as he places a few more coins down and picks up his own rifle. "Alright then soldier, let's see how you handle a challenge."

"Oh," I say in pleasant surprise. "Competitive?"

He grins and something in my chest swells, this night having taken a far different turn to what I anticipated. "Only a little, you?"

"Only a little."

"Good."

The smile reaches my eyes as he sets himself up beside me and asks "So, you gonna tell me where you learned to shoot like that?"

"Military family," I answer and he accepts that answer. "So, fifteen shots, whoever gets the most points wins."

"And the prize?"

I meet his eye with a smile. "Another dance."

He flashes his own and says "So I'll be winning either way then?"

And the rush of warmth to my face tells me that I am indeed in trouble. "It seems so."

What I don't expect is just how well he handles the rifle, he may be a sergeant but I've spent enough time around soldiers to know that very few are ever as good as they believe themselves to be, especially when they've never seen combat. But James Barnes has surprised me.

When the last bullet rings out we look to find we've both taken out fifteen of the smallest targets, if I was expecting frustration on his part from being matched I'm again left surprised by the impressed sound he makes.

"Huh."

Upon putting the rifle down I extend my hand to him. "I believe another dance was promised, Sergeant."

He grins as he takes my hand, fingers lacing with mine as we make our way back to the dancefloor where I find that type of glee I've long been missing as he spins me about, laughing as the night descends into near debauchery.

His hands become comfortable on my waist, a welcome feeling as opposed to all the others I've dealt with. I may as well be drunk on the endorphins as we dance in a way I thought only existed in Hollywood movies and I almost forget anything else but this feeling.

It lasts until the crowds begin to disperse and the music slows to a gentle waltz. In one hand he holds mine and the other rests on my waist, our bodies almost pressed together as he begins "Now doll, not to break your heart but there's something you should know."

"It takes quite a bit to break my heart," I warn and narrow my eyes as I look down at his left hand. "Although if this is the part where you tell me you're married I'll be quite unhappy."

"Definitely not," he laughs, and while it is poor taste for him to end the night with me when he began it with another I can hardly speak.

"Then my heart should be quite alright," I assure him and he nods, seeming to change tactics as he brings me in a little closer with a hand on my back, leaning down to murmur in my ear.

"Well, in that case would you like to keep this dance going at my apartment?"

His proposition isn't surprising, but my reaction to it is; the fact I'm actually considering it. Despite the fact I've often wished that I made better use of my freedoms, I've found very few men I could tolerate enough to even consider such a thing with, let alone one I actually like. Yet here I am...

"You're a bold man James Barnes."

"Got to make my last night special," he says and my stomach sinks as his tone turns more serious. "I'm getting shipped off to England tomorrow with the 107th, and you... you're something special."

I search his eyes, despite having one goal in mind as of this moment, surely he must know the odds that this will be the last night he spends in America. Whilst some soldiers have been at the front and returned it's clear he's been in training, but still I ask "Have you seen combat yet?"

"I've done my training," he says and sees my expression. "What?"

My hand rests on his chest and I debate keeping my mouth shut, but when the time comes he may appreciate what I have to say more than the memory of whatever else could transpire tonight. "Can I give you a piece of advice?"

"About combat?" He repeats almost incredulously, and he doesn't mean to be condescending but it's hardly like he's had the slightest clue who he's been dancing with. "Sweetheart, I know you can handle a rifle but think I might know a thing or two more about that..."

"I was a nurse at Pearl Harbor," I tell him and immediately his face changes, an embarrassed wave washing over him as well as the visible pieces he connects. "The one thing I've learned is that no amount of training can ever prepare you for the reality of what happens in a war zone, so don't pretend otherwise."

He's taken aback, slightly flustered now and not in a good way. "That's your advice?"

"My advice is to be prepared for anything," I say frankly, knowing that he'll understand soon enough. "You're a sergeant, a competent soldier no doubt, but you're naive. Brave, but naive."

He doesn't know how to react to that but keeps his manners about him. "With all due respect Ma'am, you haven't done the training that I have."

"No, I've done far worse," I say and decide to be blunt. "Have you ever seen your friend's internal organs, Sergeant?" He presses his mouth shut and gently I appeal to him "Don't walk into the front lines thinking what most soldiers do, that it's some adventure you'll laugh about in ten years time when you're back home in a bar, because nothing can prepare you for the things you'll see."

He studies my face, not understanding how I could be speaking about something I shouldn't know about considering Pearl Harbor wasn't an infantry battle. "I don't-"

"I spent some time in Europe before I enlisted as a nurse, it's a miracle I was able to get out after the war broke out," I say and see a thousand questions in his eyes, but he listens. "When men walk into battle unprepared and see their best friend shot dead beside them they freeze, and that moment of shock is what costs them their own life." He looks back over towards that recruitment centre, and seems to come to terms with the words he said to his own earlier. "Prepare yourself for anything, and the odds of making it out alive will increase tenfold."

He nods in quiet contemplation before clearing his throat. "I'll remember that, Ma'am."

I search his eyes before bringing my hand up to pat his cheek. "Have a nice evening Sergeant Barnes, I recommend you spend it resting since god knows it may be the last one you spend in your own bed."

I step out of his embrace and turn my heel to find Howard, but somehow despite all common sense he still tries his luck. "Alone?"

I turn my head back towards him in a state of disbelief that he still wants to bring me home after that speech and exclaim with a laugh "Yes, alone."

He nods in acceptance but offers "You said you're staying in Brooklyn, how about I walk you home or at least help you get a taxi?"

His intentions are genuine and for a moment I consider, but know the chaos that will occur if someone from the SSR tries to locate me and they can't find me.

"Thank you for the offer but I'll have a car waiting for me," I say, not expecting the dread that comes with the thought of going back. "And while I've had a lovely time I best get back to my handlers before midnight or else they'll send a search party."

He laughs like it's an overdramatic joke and says "Alright Cinderella, so that's a no to another dance?"

I rest a hand on his chest with a sad smile. "Ask me again if you make it back in one piece."

"So, you'll save me a dance for when I get back?" he asks and his eyes are kind, but determined. Even so, I've seen the most determined of men mowed down like they were nothing- just another unidentified body in a war zone.

Despite the odds I pray that he does survive, even if I'll never lay eyes on him again.

"I will," I tell him and that seems to be enough for him, but not quite for me.

I'm not sure what comes over me when I lean in and press my lips to his, but it tastes like freedom. Whilst we're both surprised by the unexpected act, he reciprocates the kiss with surprising tenderness. His hand slips back down to my waist while his other comes up to hold my face, the kiss deepening as I lean into his touch, lingering until finally I gasp softly for air and look back up into his eyes.

A soft smile plays at his lips and for one fleeting second I let myself feel things I've never allowed, in that second allowing myself to dream before forcing myself back into reality.

I'm a political prisoner and he's getting shipped off to die tomorrow. Although there is something bittersweet in the tragedy of it all.

He seems to understand it as well, but still he says "Save me that dance."

I nod despite knowing it's an empty promise. "Just make it back in one piece."

"I will."

He doesn't ask how he'll find me, and I don't ask him either. Instead we look into each other's eyes with a mutual understanding before our lips meet again, sharing one perfect moment before we break apart and without looking back I walk away from him.

My heels echo across the now dwindling fairground and I spot Howard in the distance, from the look on his face I gather he had been watching. I don't stop as I pass him and he follows me back inside one of the buildings as a heaviness again settles over me.

His voice is more carefully measured than I would have expected despite the lipstick on his neck. "Who was that?"

And my own voice is hoarser than he no doubt would have expected. "A charming man who's getting shipped off to die tomorrow."