Ada

It's three am by the time I numbly re-enter headquarters with a lit cigarette in hand and find my father waiting for me at the entrance.

He takes one look at me and knows.

"Adelina-"

"I will do what I can from the inside to end this, but I don't know if I can do it alone," I tell him, and tears come to his eyes because he knows what awaits me. "You continue your work and I'll do mine, and perhaps someday that academy will be gone."

He shakes his head, but he knows there's no other way, and so he says, "Your mother will rot in hell for this."

"If there's a hell I'll be seeing her there," I dismiss, and Phillips appears in the foyer.

"Well?" he asks, and I could lie, but I allow myself one last honest moment.

"I surrendered."

His face is difficult to read, but my defeat brings him no joy. "So why are you here?"

"She wants the SSR to believe that I won, and that I then chose to leave of my own free will. To make it appear as if I've deserted so that I'd be arrested if I ever returned to America," I say, not revealing the rest. "Send me back to the front lines within reach of a Soviet camp and you'll never have to see me again."

He can't meet my eye, and he gives a stiff nod. "And our arrangement?"

"I'll do what I can," I say, and he doesn't push further. "Just know where my loyalty truly lies."

I go to move past, but he stops me and asks, "I'm guessing you're keeping this quiet?"

With a single nod I leave them both, and after a detour through Howard's lab I go to spend what little time I have left lying to the ones I love.

~

Bucky

For hours I wait outside Ada's door, pacing the hall and debating if I should be going to hunt her down. Her father said he'd wait by the foyer for her considering he was helping Phillips arrange a way to get rid of that woman's body, and I decided to stay out of it.

The shock hasn't worn off yet. Both from being tricked and then witnessing what Ada did to her as punishment. My Russian isn't the best, but Ada's been teaching me, and so I was able to pick up bits and pieces of the interrogation. I wanted to think that I had misheard what the agent's plan for me had been, but Ada confirmed it.

I can still hear that final gunshot echoing in my ears, an execution without a moment of warning, but if a man had tried to do that to Ada, to turn the lights off and get her naked just to kill her, I know damn well I wouldn't have made it as clean as she did.

I didn't know it at the time, but the moment I laid eyes on Ada in that prison my heart had decided that nothing she's done, or could ever do, would tarnish that image of her standing over me as she removed those restraints.

My angel.

And she always will be, no matter how bloody her hands become.

Steve doesn't understand. He thinks I've lost my damn mind for defending her after what we saw today, but he's not the one who's been woken up by her nightmares. He's not the one who's seen the vacant look in her eye that comes and goes without warning. He hasn't seen the scars that I've only become acquainted with after so many nights spent worshipping every inch of her body.

He only sees the compartmentalisation, the soldier, but not the grief that follows. It's something we all share as soldiers. We follow orders and we do it well, but our orders have us turning our weapons on Nazis, not innocents. We lay down at night carrying the weight of what we've done to enemy soldiers, not our own people, but the same can't be said for Ada.

We make compromises in the field to finish our missions, we do things we might not be proud of and cross lines to get the information we need, but it's always Ada who takes it upon herself to get her hands dirty. Steve might judge her for it, but even if he'll never admit it, I know he's secretly grateful when she's the one to drag a prisoner into another room to get the information we need to keep our men alive in the thick of things.

Once or twice I've followed her in and tried to take that burden, to get my fists bloody so she doesn't have to, but she's never allowed it. Her reputation alone tends to get a low-ranking soldier talking, but I know what she's had to do at different points. I know the rules she's broken in the name of completing a mission, rules Steve would berate her for violating, and I've kept it quiet. An unspoken agreement between us.

Loving her's put a distance between Steve and I, I can't deny that. I don't like it one bit, but it's the truth. It's difficult with them; some days they'll be thick as thieves and others they can't stand to look at one another. They're equally driven, equally desperate to see this war end, but they are utter opposites when it comes to how they believe it should be achieved. They're as stubborn as each other, and both believe that their way is the only way, but Steve is the one who'd lay down his weapon before compromising his morals. Ada however...

There are some things she'll take to the grave, I know that, but I've heard enough to know what she's been forced to carry out. That she didn't have a choice. But I saw something different today, both in the embassy and in that interrogation room. I saw a woman who thrived on torment. A sadistic, almost erotic, display of domination over those Widows, and I recall what her father said to me. That until her sister was born, until her life was held over Ada's head, that she still chose to not just survive, but to kill, and I dare say to thrive.

Only now that I've seen her in the same room as another Widow do I begin to comprehend everything I've never understood. How seduction and torture seem to be a game to them. The way she's spoken I thought that she never had much expertise in that, but that was before she told me about her orders to seduce Howard. Before she seduced that girl from the embassy into kissing her just so she could spit cyanide into her mouth.

She's crafty, and only now am I getting close to admitting to myself that I've underestimated her. That I've downplayed not only her skillset, and not just what she's done, but what she's happily willing to do. That not everything she did was against her will. I don't like thinking about it, but she was an assassin and there's no thought process that could change that. I just hadn't been face to face with that truth until now.

That itself doesn't scare me, but my indifference towards her past might, or rather what it means. To love someone so unconditionally... if I lost her I don't know how I'd live.

I mean, objectively I know how. I'd throw myself into the war, and when it ended I'd find my way back to Brooklyn to an empty apartment filled with her things and search for a regular civilian job to keep my days busy. I'd visit my parents and my sisters to keep myself busy on those days off, or hell, maybe I'd even stay in the military, but those lonely nights would be inevitable.

Eventually I'd drink as much as my stomach could hold and pray to feel something from it, and if I didn't then I'd find a different way to keep my nights busy. I'd go searching for a woman who'd no doubt look too similar to Ada, with dark eyes and dark hair, but different enough that it wouldn't hurt to look at her. Connie comes to mind. Her features are similar to Ada's but her face is rounder, softer, and her hands were too.

That expo wasn't the first date I'd taken Connie on, and I did like her, but I forgot her the moment I ran into Ada that night. Even before that, as wrong as it was, when I stood there holding Connie's hand, I was mesmirised the moment I saw Ada singing in that red dress on stage. I know her well enough now to know that she was no doubt miserable for that whole damn performance, and from memory I'm pretty sure Howard had tried to kiss her then too but she dodged him. At the time people laughed since they all thought it was part of the performance, but now...

I told Steve back in January that if anything ever happened to me in the field, to make sure Ada would be taken care of. She might choose to spend her life as an independent woman since she doesn't need a man's money to support herself, but she's still human and people still crave somebody to hold them at night no matter how strong they might be.

Howard would no doubt throw himself at her before my body's even cold, and despite wanting her to have someone to take care of her, I think I'd roll over in my grave if it was Howard. I'd sooner see her with any of the Howling Commandos, well, maybe with Gabe or the other James, than with Howard. Maybe it's selfish of me, maybe I still want to ring his neck after what happened in Germany, but it's true. He wants my fiancé, and she might be content pretending he doesn't as long as he's not trying to kiss her, but I haven't warmed up to him as much as she'd like to think.

But, if it was the other way around, and I did lose Ada, I'd still eventually settle down with a nice and simple girl like Connie and have kids and all the rest. I'd be like my dad, and every other man who's walked away from one of these damn wars, waking up from nightmares to a wife who'd do her best to console me, but would never truly understand. I'd live the life that's expected of me, but she'd haunt me until the day I died. She's the love of my life, and if she died part of me would die with her, but if I lost her like this, surrendering herself to the Soviet Union...

As long as she's alive I'd never give up on her. I'd go to hell to find her.

And right now I just want her. I need her. I need to hold her. I need to feel her.

I need Ada.

Finally, just as I'm about to go and try to hunt her down at three am in the streets of London, she appears in the hallway. I can't read her expression, but for just a fleeting moment there's a glimpse of devastation before she wears an exhausted smile.

"I've bought time some time," she says. "A ceasefire for a while at least."

And immediately I'm bringing her into my arms, clutching her tight enough that I'm worried it could hurt her, but she holds me back just as desperately.

"See, I knew we'd find a way," I tell her, holding her face in my hands. "It's all gonna be alright now."

She nods with a tearful smile and I kiss her hard. I don't ask questions. I don't ask specifics. I don't want to know them. As long as she's safe nothing else matters.

"I love you," I tell her between desperate kisses. "So damn much."

"I love you too," she hoarsely says, and I pull back to take a proper look at her, finding dried tears on her exhausted face. "It's been a long day."

"You don't need to tell me," I say, and I look back at her room. "They took Carter to a different room where they can monitor her."

She nods and guides me inside, wordlessly stripping off and slipping beneath the sheets with me. She trembles slightly as she rests her head on my chest, as if she's gotten a chill, and I warm her as best I can as I hold her.

"I can ask for leave so we can take another week or two to breathe," I offer, knowing just what a vulnerable state she's in, but she shakes her head.

"I want to get back into the field. Feel safer there," she murmurs, struggling to speak, but I don't push her to. Not after today.

"Then we'll go back into the field," I say, and she nods her head, her eyes falling shut only a moment later.

And I bring my fingers up to her pulse in alarm, finding it steady, but faint. I've got enough faith that she's not going to overdose while sleeping in the same bed as me, but it's clear she's taken something to knock herself out since she never falls asleep this quickly, not even after days of being on high alert.

And so I lay awake until her eyes open again at seven am. It's not much sleep, but it's something, and she sure needs it more than I do.

Her hand slides across my chest and she grimaces upon waking, numbly looking at the door before she glances up towards me and purses her mouth.

"Did you sleep?"

"Yeah I got a few hours."

"Liar," she says as she props herself up beside me, yesterday's events no doubt running through her mind. "I'm sorry, for everything."

"Lina, I forgive you," I tell her, desperate for her to understand. "As long as we're together, there's nothing we can't figure out."

She smiles sadly and leans in to kiss my cheek, holding my face close to hers with a lightly trembling hand. Again, she struggles for words, managing only one.

"James."

My name leaves her lips, a hoarse sound somewhere between a plea of desperation and a sigh of surrender. Either way, she's afraid. Despite winning, she's still terrified.

I bring her into my arms, holding her tight as she buries her head in the crook of my neck.

"You're safe now," I tell her, repeating the words she's spoken to me on countless mornings, but it doesn't have the same certainty as doubts begin to creep into my mind.

Did she lie to me last night? Is she lying now?

And carefully I ask, "You gonna tell me how it went down?"

She pulls back and sits up properly. I'd always thought she'd been nothing but honest with me, but that was until I found out about the Widow she killed back in Brooklyn, and then all of this with Howard and the orders she'd been given. I knew that there were things she omitted in the truths she'd tell, but I'm not exactly innocent when it comes to that either. Still, there's a difference between omitting the graphic details and lying.

And now it's time to see which she does.

"I stood in the street until Doreteya found me, and I told her about some imaginary blackmail," Ada says, so far going along with what we'd discussed beforehand. "Said that I'd gotten what I wanted from the Nazi Officer months ago, which isn't wholly wrong, and that I'd only gone to see what else I could squeeze out when she killed him. I brought the book of notes I'd taken when I interrogated him, fudged a few damning bits of information, and said there were multiple copies back at headquarters. It wasn't much but it was enough. After a bit of back and forth with the embassy they agreed that they'd reassess the situation at the end of the war, when the diplomatic situation between America and the Soviet Union won't be as... vital."

"So, basically they called a ceasefire until we don't have a common enemy anymore?" I ask and she nods, but something still doesn't feel right. "Anything else?"

She presses her lips together, and after a moment says, "Steve might try to fight me the next time he sees me."

That certainly catches me off guard, though not by surprise, and despite having dealt with Steve getting into fights for years now I can only sigh, "Why?"

She gets up and walks to her dresser, picking up a specific lipstick that isn't the one she usually uses. "This is a chemical weapon designed for female agents. Essentially, I apply this as any regular lipstick and upon kissing someone the active chemical within the formula is absorbed and they're knocked out within seconds."

I blink slowly, mostly in confusion, until realising, "Didn't you put that on before you kissed me during that fight-"

"Yeah, well, turns out it doesn't work on you," she admits, in annoyance more than anything else, and before I can get mad about that I'm brought back to the point of this.

"Before we get into the fact you tried to knock me out so you could kill yourself, why would Steve try to fight you over it?" She looks away, and I gawk at her in betrayed disbelief. "You kissed Steve?"

Her jaw drops, and she actually gags. "Oh no- God no, I kissed Peggy."

I choke now, relieved that she didn't kiss my best friend, before spluttering. "What?!"

"Well after Steve wrestled you out she tried to go for round two and I wasn't exactly up to it, so I thought that second time's a charm and it worked on her," she says a little too casually for my liking. "Steve found out when I was interrogating Lorraine since Peggy told her doctors she'd gotten a dose of a chemical weapon before she was shot. At this rate that damn Lorraine thinks that I'm sleeping with Howard, Peggy, and the whole damn team, and Steve may just believe it too from how betrayed he seemed."

And suddenly it clicks. "That's what the Widow meant by lipstick trick?"

"Well, it is something we're taught."

I continue to gawk at her. "Since when do you kiss people to attack them?"

And she takes the question literally, thinking for a moment before answering. "1934."

"Since you were twelve?" I realise, and she nods, as if I shouldn't be phased. "Jesus, Ada."

"Look, Peggy's over it, but Steve definitely won't be-" I raise a hand to cut her off as what she's saying actually hits me, and she blinks in offence. "What?"

"You kissed Peggy?" I say slowly, having heard the rumours that Lorraine and the others WAACs have spread about the two, and a few dots start to unfortunately connect.

"To knock her out so I could escape," she answers factually, and that might be true, but there's still a pit in my stomach upon recalling the things she's told me.

"And was that the first time?"

She blinks at me, utterly taken aback. "Yes James, of course that was the first time. What do you take me for?"

"I don't know if there's a word for it, but there's definitely something to be said for a woman that makes a game out of seducing other women," I can't help but remark, and she scoffs, but in the way that tells me I've hit an uncomfortable nerve. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"Alright," she says, accepting the challenge. "Perha ps it is a game, but it's about domination and submission, not desire, and certainly not love. Now I do love Peggy, god knows she's the only woman I've ever trusted and with good reason, but do I want her sexually? No. Would I want to marry her if she were a man? Certainly not. You'll be quite relieved to know James Barnes that the only person I've ever wanted either of those things with, although I don't appreciate this questioning."

I raise my eyebrows at the audacity to attack me for what are pretty valid questions considering the way she's been acting since Germany, but considering she's offended rather than upset I keep pushing.

"I don't know all that much about women, but I'm pretty sure most of them don't act the way around each other that you did with that Widow at the embassy," I point out, and she purses her mouth. "That is the one you kissed in the truck right?"

She ignores that line of questioning and instead marches past, pulling clothes out of her wardrobe. "I can assure you that I much prefer men, because they have much simpler minds and play far more predictable games than what women do. Their motives are simple, always a need for the gratification of some type of bloodlust, either sexual or violent-"

"You know you just described yourself right?" I counter and she looks back at me in disbelief, and then in anger because she knows I'm right. "Because I've never met a man who loves sex or violence as much as you do, so sorry for asking if you've got broader tastes than you've let on."

"Oh no," she says and she starts walking back towards me with a dangerous laugh, meanwhile I can't help but take a bit of satisfaction at how riled up I've got her. "You don't get to say a damn word when you were with two women the first time I ever saw you."

"And now I'm with you," I say without missing a beat. "God knows you give me more headaches than the both of them would've."

Her jaw drops and I catch her wrist with a grin as she goes to smack my chest, and as mad as she is I've managed to distract her from everything else.

And that's something.

It dawns on her a moment later that I'm not just riling her up for the sake of being an asshole, and her face softens.

"Bastard," she murmurs in Russian, and only then does she ask, "You aren't uspet with me?"

I shake my head, still taken aback and a little cautious, but not upset. "I'll never be upset as long as you're honest with me." She raises a doubtful eyebrow and I correct, "Alright, maybe for a minute, but the point still stands." And I take the moment to say, "And I am right about you loving sex more than any man I've ever known."

"You mustn't be a very good lover to them then," she teases, and I shake my head, but when she laughs so do I. "James, you do realise it's not the act I love, but rather the fact it's with you." I find myself unable to come up with any smartass reply to that, and instead I smile softly as she cups my face. "I've said it once and I'll say it again, you truly are a fool to think I'd ever want anyone but you."

I lean in and kiss her deeply, having set my fears aside. She's here and she loves me.

Nothing else matters.

My hand runs along her waist, over the fabric of her satin nightgown, and just as I tug her closer the door unlocks and opens to reveal Steve and Howard, who've escorted Peggy back.

My jaw clenches at the interruption, and I keep my hand on her waist as she asks with a smile, "Did Phillips tell you the good news?"

"Yes, but he gave exactly zero details as to how you've achieved this," Peggy says, nursing her wounded shoulder, and Ada's smile disappears at the incoming interrogation. "Just to be clear considering recent events, what surname would you like me to use when lecturing you?"

Ada looks at me before saying, "I haven't exactly taken my preferred one yet, but I'm sure my first name will suffice."

I lean in and say, "You know we can fix that with a walk to a church right?"

Her face falls slightly before she forces a smile, and she brushes me off with a laugh. "I'd rather not look at a church for a while."

"A courthouse then," I say, but still she can't look at me, and I'm looking at my fiance, who suddenly doesn't want to so much as think about a wedding, in disbelief, and then alarm as deeper fears take hold. "Ada?"

"That's not the most urgent matter at hand, Sergeant Barnes," Peggy sighs before again addressing her. "What did you do?"

"A bit of blackmail and forgery goes a long way," Ada says, and she glances towards Steve and Howard. "May I at least have a moment to dress myself properly before being interrogated for the second time this morning?"

"We've all seen more of you on posters," Peggy dismisses, and Ada actually does seem offended now. "What did you do?"

"As I just finished telling Bucky, I exaggerated the amount of blackmail we have and considering we're currently allies with the Soviet Union they elected to call a ceasefire and revisit this issue at the end of the war," Ada says, although far more defensively than she did with me. "What? Did you expect to find bodies in the streets of London?"

"Yes," the three of them say, and Peggy reminds her, "You did leave bodies in Brooklyn."

"A body," she corrects, and I watch her realise that she's unravelling. That the secrets she's hidden from everyone, including me, are out there now, and it leaves me wondering what else we still don't know. "And all of that is done now, and I'd appreciate it if we could get back to what actually matters. The war. Now Peg, let me check your bandages."

Peggy might just be more hesitant than I am to believe her when she says it's done, but none of us push her. Not for now at least. I don't say anything as I follow Steve and Howard out of the room to give them privacy, but still I look at my fiance who doesn't want to marry me with apprehension and hurt as I leave, knowing that she still has many lies left to be unravelled.

~

Ada

I manage to handle Peggy's endless barrage of questions, and perhaps I give her a higher dose than I should in order to sedate her when it comes time to administer pain relief, but it does the job in giving me a break.

Once she's sleeping I find myself walking the streets, coming to a stop outside the church she was shot, where I look at the blood staining the pavement.

I reach inside my pocket for a cigarette, only to curse in frustration at finding my container empty, and involuntarily I jump as Bucky calls out, "Empty?"

I swallow hard as I look back over my shoulder at him, realising that he must've followed me here, and I'm left unnerveed by my own lack of awareness. I've been thrown off, and I can't afford to be.

"Yeah," I say and he pulls out a cigarette as he steps closer. "Thank you."

I go to take it from him but he pulls it back just slightly as he looks between me and the church. "Thought you said you didn't want to look at a church for a while?"

"Unfortunately London's full of them," I dismiss as I take the cigarette from between his fingers and light it myself. "Though this isn't your usual one."

"No, but it's yours," he says, not denying that he's here for me. "How's Carter?"

"Sleeping," I answer stiffly, picking up on the tension in his body loud and clear after skirting around his offer. "You should be too."

"It's hard to sleep when I don't know where you are."

"It's broad daylight-" I begin but he cuts me off.

"Doesn't stop you from getting into trouble."

I cross my arms over my chest, not liking this at all. "You could at least act like you trust me."

"And you could at least act like you want to marry me," he remarks, and I can only blink at him in stunned silence as he quickly realises how badly his words came out. "I- can we talk about earlier, please."

"James, this is hardly the time for a wedding," I say, more coldly than I intend to. "We've got to prepare to fly back over to Germany, and when we get back I'll find a dress-"

"I'd marry you as you are, right now," he says and he reaches for my hand, pulling it towards him as he nods towards the church. "After everything that's happened I don't want to waste another minute-"

"And neither do I, but this just isn't the right time," I try to get him to understand, and he can't look at me. He knows, he knows something isn't right, but I can't just marry him to put his mind at ease. I can't marry him just to leave him like this. I can't, but still I say, "When Peggy's better I'll go dress shopping, and then we can talk about a wedding."

He nods stiffly and pulls away from me without another word, leaving me alone outside the church with a dying cigarette between my fingers and tears in my eyes.

~

For three days I put on the performance of my life, and yet it seems that nobody is entirely convinced of it. Still, we have more important matters at hand, and as long as they think I struck the deal through bloodier means than I've let on that's fine, as long as they believe I'm currently a free woman.

As long as they aren't aware that every step I've taken outside headquarters has been watched by Doreteya. My mother left for Moscow yesterday morning without any further bloodshed, but Doreteya's here to ensure I'm making no attempt to escape my sentence.

To find a way out of this.

We fly back out to Germany tomorrow morning, and every moment I spend alone I'm left debating how far will be far enough for the Red Room's satisfaction. They can't expect me to kill Steve, no, killing Captain America would surely result in war no matter what way the Soviet Union tried to spin it, not when Phillips would be on the phone to the president giving him my name and demanding retribution, damning the Anglo-Soviet alliance to hell.

But bodily harm, attempted murder even... that would surely suffice, and it shouldn't escalate to war.

Phillips would have no prior knowledge, if he knew of the Red Room's demands he'd never go along with it. At present he believes I'll simply up and leave in the night and find my way to a Soviet camp once we're in the field, a typical desertion, and he can have no knowledge of the true betrayal. On the off case the Red Room has another agent planted within the SSR his reaction to it will need to be genuine. If I gave him forewarning there's no telling what action he could take, if he'd prevent it or if he'd quietly allow it, but I can't risk my plan going astray.

And perhaps the thought of a true betrayal against the Howling Commandos doesn't terrify me as much as it first did. Burning those bridges would be a mercy. To be hated will be better than being missed. It will be the greatest mercy I could give them, the most selfless action I could take.

I'll provide intelligence to the United States where possible, if I feel more inclined to assist them, but my priority isn't any patriotic duty. It's my mother's downfall, and by extension the Red Room's.

That's if my mind stays intact following the reprogramming I'll receive.

And some small part of me finds relief in the thought of not having to live with the weight of this. A death in spirit rather than body. To bury Adeline Morgan and all the love she fell prey to.

I've killed parts of myself to survive before, and I can do it again.

I will do it again.

And this time I'll finally be perfect.

This time I won't fail.

My father enters the empty office where I read over the intel relating to our next assignment. Phillips has kept him inside headquarters considering his official status as an MI6 operative, and he's agreed since he knows Widows are currently monitoring everyone who enters and exits the building.

He shuts the door before he dares to step forward and speak, "You leave tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, I believe I'll be spending the evening at the pub with my team," I sigh. "I'm not sure a hangover's the best state to be returning to the front lines in, but try telling the men that."

"You're protective of them," he notes, and I give no reaction as I look back down at my files. "Adelina, if you are able to capture a Nazi officer with knowledge of-"

"No amount of blackmail can stop this," I bluntly interrupt. "I've been operating on borrowed time and it's come to an end. Now I simply have to carry on and do what I need to do."

"Adelina," he says in quiet devastation. "Do not let them take your heart."

I could almost laugh, knowing that my heart's destruction will be quite the violent death indeed. "I dare say that once this is done I'll be the one holding the knife to cut it out."

"And your fiancé?" he dares to press, and I press my lips together in a hard line. "What does he know?"

"Nothing, and he will know nothing even after it is done," I say, and he looks back over his shoulder as he steps closer, sitting across from me and leaning over the table.

"What have they asked you to do?"

"Desert the SSR," I answer, but he shakes his head.

"If it were that simple you'd already be in the Soviet Union," he dismisses. "I'm not the Colonel, so tell me the truth so I can help you."

I exhale shakily, and meet him halfway. "She wants to ensure that I have nothing left to return to, and so I'll take the measures necessary to fulfil the requirements of this arrangement."

"Ada-"

"Because I'd rather stab the man I love in the back so he could live than watch the Red Room put a bullet in his head," I finish, and he grimaces. "Does that answer your question?"

He nods his head, but warns, "Having observed him, I doubt a knife in the back would deter him from coming after you."

"Steve won't let him," I say, as much to myself as to him. "Not after this."

He knows better than to ask the specifics of what I have planned, but warns, "Don't burn all your bridges when Phillips is still open to working with you-"

"At this point I don't care what I set fire to as long as they're alive to watch it burn," I harshly interrupt, and he knows he's not reasoning with me. "And I still have my sister to return to. The only reason I joined the SSR was to give her a chance at a better life, and I've already failed her twice. I can't fail her again."

He wears a pained expression as he nods, and he says, "I understand."

I struggle to look at him, aware that this is him attempting to complete that same mission, to not fail a child he could have saved long ago.

But I'm not a child anymore.

"I appreciate what you're doing," I shakily begin. "But it's too late for me."

"It's never too late," he quietly protests, but he doesn't start an argument over it. "Still, I have faith that if anyone can bring down the Red Room, it will be you."

And I voice my darkest reservation. "And how many of those girls will have to die to see it gone? How many are beyond salvation?"

"None," he answers, giving me the answer I least want to hear. "You are a Catholic aren't you? You underwent your confirmation? Do you not believe that those who wish to be saved can be?"

"When the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness that he hath committed, and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive," I recite, but I can only grimace. "But, how many of those girls wish to be saved?"

"Those girls have not known love, only violence," he tells me, and I look away. "You were the exception. William Morgan loved you, and he raised you as much as your mother would allow. You knew how it felt to receive love, but did you know how to give it until Ekaterina was born?" My silence is answer enough, and I'm blinking away tears. "You've spent your adult years learning to love, do not think those girls are incapable of such a thing too."

"And what's to say that they won't attempt to re-establish the Red Room if I let them live?" I fearfully counter. "The younger ones can be rehabilitated, yes, but I can't put that type of blind faith into grown women who've been raised to die for that place."

And I begin to wonder how many of them I've killed by now, the number is high but blurry.

"You know those women better than anyone else could," he agrees. "But don't abandon your humanity to bring down that academy, because what is the point in even trying if not to save those girls from what you've endured?"

I sit in silent contemplation before saying, "It was only at Pearl Harbor that I realised how much I preferred saving lives as opposed to taking them, and then again when we liberated the camp I found my fiance in. I liked doing good, I liked helping people, saving people, but I'm not afraid to spill the blood in order to do so."

"So, you've become a true soldier then," he says, and I can only frown, but it's better than weeping. "Do you know much of Orwell?"

His sudden change of subject catches me off guard, but it's a welcome distraction.

"Yes, a rather old fashioned British socialist from what I've heard," I say. "I do believe that he's been investigated for his views, although I'd hardly call him a communist."

"He's an anti-Stalinist who's vocally condemned Soviet totalitarianism," he says with admiration. "He's critical of communism, but at present considers himself a socialist democrat."

"Yes, he's been quite vocal against the Western alliance with the Soviet Union," I recall. "Though he is correct in his belief that an Anglo-Soviet alliance won't secure any type of post-war peace."

"He's written a novella that he's trying to get published, however the Ministry of Information reportedly isn't a fan," he tells me. "Ironically, it's too anti-Soviet for most publishers given our current alliance."

That draws a laugh from me. "Tell him to publish in America then."

"Ah, but I think the US government would also take offence to some of its themes," he says. "I've only read an excerpt of the manuscript, but it's quite damning of totalitarianism whilst remaining true to socialist democratic values. A critique that all governments will find some way to take offence to. It's a very fine line to walk, but he does it well."

"If it's ever published I should think to read it then."

"Orwell left the BBC several months ago in an outrage since the UK government is supressing criticism of the Soviets," he continues. "Going as far to claim that the Red Terror is merely Nazi propaganda."

I scoff now. "Somebody should direct them to the mass graves then."

"They could stand at those graves and yet they'd shut both eyes for their own comfort," he laments, and I can only hum in agreement "Did you read Darkness at Noon?"

A lump immediately forms in my throat. "Of course I did. Although it was set a little too recently for my tastes."

"Perhaps, but startlingly relevant," he notes. "It's fascinating isn't it? That one anti-Soviet novel was secretly propagated by branches of the British government in 1940, and now they're preventing one similar from being published. Madness isn't it? I've grown to be of the opinion that the content that's censored is more revealing of a political climate than what's published."

"I wish I could say I was surprised, but it's difficult after being repeatedly investigated and condemned for being a Soviet, or rather a communist, whilst being allied with them," I remark. "The sooner the Nazis are gone and this alliance ends the better."

"To make way for further conflict?" he questions. "Perhaps a war between the United States and the Soviet Union would suit your interests, but would you seek to avoid it having seen that innocents bear the brunt of war?"

I sigh in irritation, discontent now with such reflection. "The United States would be smart to stay out of Soviet affairs, yes, but Stalin must fall just as Hitler will, and I intend to have a role in it."

"And would you seek the next brutal successor, such as Beria, to take his place, or some other internal reform to remove Stalinism from the USSR?" he asks, seeing my visual discomfort. "Or would you prefer to see the Soviet Union fall entirely?"

"I want Stalin and his regime gone," I answer firmly. "And the NKVD with it."

"The damage done by Stalin... under him the Soviet Union's a totalitarian state like that which the West seeks to defeat in Germany, and they forget that Stalin was happy enough to assist Hitler in his invasion of Poland until Hitler decided to invade Soviet territory," he remembers, although not as well as I do. "It's true hypocrisy, and while men such as myself sit around debating philosophy and political theory, innocents die and the world doesn't blink an eye, but alas, we cannot all be heroes."

"What are you trying to say?" I sigh in exhaustion.

"You underestimate yourself, Adelina," he tells mek and I sit straighter. "Perhaps not your skillset, but what you can do with it. Your influence. You are the most famous woman in the Western world-"

"Me?" I scoff in utter disbelief, but he only doubles down.

"Would you argue with the assessment that Captain America is the most famous man?" he poses, and I can't. They could put Churchill on a poster next to Steve, but it's obvious who'll be noticed first. "You are his counterpart, but you can be so much more. Your image, your influence, is your greatest weapon. With your skillset, and with your heart and mind, you are one of the rare people who have the potential to change the world."

"And what if I don't want to?" I ask him. "I like helping people, yes, but I'm no hero. I'm no Steve Rogers. I have no love for this country or any patriotic duty. What if I simply want to live out my days as a housewife and mother with a family that love me? That itself is an impossible enough dream."

"The people who change the world rarely choose to, instead their chosen," he tells me. "But that does not mean you can't have both. What's to come may not be avoidable, but it does not have to be the end." He tilts his head and makes one last plea to me. "You have the heart of a revolutionary, do not waste it as I have."

I remain silent until he walks back to the door, but I speak just before he can leave, "I would have liked for you to show me the library in your apartment. Properly that is."

"When this war is over, when you've found your way back, then we'll have all the time in the world," he promises me, but neither of us believe his words.

Though, for just a moment, we let ourselves pretend.

~

That night we all sit together in the regular pub, the Howling Commandos along with Howard and Peggy. Five conversations are going at once and I'm involved in none, instead warily watching the exits with my drink in hand until Dugan eventually tries to strike one up.

"So Phillips and your Dad were best mates, but then your mother got pregnant by some Russian, and Phillips deported your actual father?" Dugan summarises, considering the men have been filled in on the events of the past few days. "Who's also a Russian spy working for the Brits?"

"Pretty much," I say, downing the rest of my drink. "And now he's working with the SSR."

"He's a decent man by all accounts," Peggy says, no doubt having screened him personally. "But let's not discusses classified information here shall we?"

That ends that, and I give her a thankful nod as they return to their previous conversations. I look at Bucky beside me, finding him laughing with Steve and Gabe. I open my mouth to join the conversation but instead close it and pass my empty glass to Howard.

"Can you get me another, please?"

He looks at me in surprise, considering he's not exactly accustomed to being the one fetching things for people, but he doesn't say no to me. "I'll put it on my tab."

That much catches Bucky's attention, and that familiar spark of jealousy gives me something to cling to considering his coldness over these past days, but still he won't look at me despite being sat right next to me.

Howard brings the drink back and I thank him before returning my attention to our surroundings, knowing damn well that a Widow's bound to be nearby and keeping tabs on me. I'd been promised as much.

Wordlessly Bucky gets up to get another drink, out of necessity more than desire it seems, and my stomach drops the moment he bumps into a vaguely familiar woman. Small in stature, brunette with big brown eyes and softer features than I could ever possess.

I tune out the others to listen in as she quietly exclaims, "Bucky?"

"Bonnie?"

Her face falls. "Connie."

"Connie, right," he says, somewhere between embarrassed and ashamed as it clicks for me that she was the girl Bucky was with the night we met. "I uh- wow. You're in London now?"

"I'm a nurse," she says, eyeing him warily. "And you're a Howling Commando."

"Well, Steve's sure not that little guy you'd remember anymore," Bucky says with an almost nervous laugh before cringing. "I'd meant to make sure you got home alright that night back in Queen's, but I lost you."

"After you went to find Steve I'd walked Bonnie to a cab, and when I came back you were dancing with that girl who's on all the posters," she says, and I can't find it in myself to feel overly guilty, although Bucky's life may be far simpler if he'd never bumped into me that night. "So I found my own way home."

"Yeah that..." he trails off, clearly guilty, but not exactly remorseful. "Her and I have been engaged for a few months now."

"Oh," Connie says, with a dash of genuine hurt. "Engaged?"

And I begin to wonder how long she would've known Bucky before that night, how many dates they'd been on, and if he'd be happier if he'd just stayed by her side.

"Well, when you know you know," Bucky says, and I look down at my glass with a frown. "I've got to get back to her, but have a good night."

I don't look up, even as Bucky sits back down beside me. I want to lean into him, I want to take his hand and kiss his cheek and just be close with him, but I don't let myself. I don't give myself that comfort when I know just how deeply I'm about to wound him.

"So, Red," Falsworth says, snapping me out of it. "Since Phillips knows about you and Barnes and he's not gonna do anything about it, when's the wedding happening?"

Fuck.

"Soon," Bucky says without missing a beat, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders that causes my body to tense rather than ease. "I've said that we can run to a church as soon as she wants, but apparently she's set on finding a dress first."

"Well, not all of us have such dashing dress uniforms to get married in," I joke to ease the tension that's lingered since our last conversation outside the church. "Peg and I've been looking, but there's simply nothing nice around with all this rationing."

We haven't been looking, but she backs me up without a moment's hesitation by asking Bucky, "And wouldn't you rather have a nice church wedding with your family present when this is all done?"

"I'd rather be married now, but hey, it's not my decision," he says with a bitter laugh as he finishes the rest of his drink and sets the glass down.

The men listening exchange looks, picking up on the clear tension between Bucky and I, and even Peggy's perplexed as she looks between us. She's known things have been tense, but she's attributed that to my failed suicide plans rather than something like this.

"Soon," I say, ending that conversation, and Dugan whistles.

"Alright then," Morita says. "Another round?"

"I'm good," Bucky says, having noticed that the rest of the men are showing signs of intoxication by now. All of them except for him and Steve.

"Come on, Bucky," Dernier groans. "You never go all in."

"You know I don't get drunk in front of my girl," Bucky says, happy enough to use me as an excuse despite the fact we've barely spoken in days, and I let him.

"Which is why he's going to be a husband while the rest of you will be bachelors," I say to put Bucky at ease more than anything else. "And you should learn a thing or two from him considering it's poor manners to be intoxicated in a lady's presence."

"She's right," Steve says, having been looking for an opportunity to bring the men into line before they can get too intoxicated. "So behave."

Bucky gives me a thankful look and squeezes my hand beneath the table before looking down in slight shame considering his jab. In response I lean in and kiss his cheek, murmuring in his ear, "I love you."

His body eases and he nuzzles into me, as if we're the only ones in the room. "You too."

We look at one another, properly, and I reach up to cup his face, running my thumb over his stubbled cheek and telling myself that it's for his comfort and not mine. He exhales softly and our lips meet for the first time in days.

The brush of his stubble on my skin sends a rush of warmth through my cold body, and I can't recall ever having been so deprived of it. His hand slides up into my hair as he deepens the kiss, and for just a second we truly do forget where we are until the men start whistling and hollering.

"Get a room!"

"You know what, I think we will," Bucky says, and I shake my head with a smile as he gets to his feet and pulls me up with him. "Have fun, because I know we'll be."

I roll my eyes, but can't shake the smile that spreads across my face.

"I'll see you in the morning before we leave," I promise Peggy as Bucky pulls me towards the door. "And make sure you get Steve back to base safe."

The men roar with laughter, and Peggy smiles. "Always do."

"None of you'd be laughing if you'd been there to catch him getting beat up every other day back when he was still five foot nothing," Bucky says, and Steve shakes his head with a humoured smile as Bucky nods towards Peggy. "So keep him out of trouble."

"Don't worry Sergeant Barnes, your Captain is in good hands," she assures us as Bucky and I leave the pub, walking out onto the street.

The air's warmer than it's ever been since coming to London considering we're on the very precipice of summer, and I could almost let myself enjoy it if not for the cold that awaits me further east.

And despite what the men expect of us, Bucky's suddenly sheepish as he holds me by the waist. "So, what do you want to do?"

"Well, considering this is the first time we've actually spoken in days I thought we could go somewhere private," I say with an edge to my voice that has him nodding his head in understanding.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

But still I take his hand as we walk the streets together, no words being spoken until we reach the apartment we had been borrowing from Howard. I lock the door behind us, carefully ensuring nothing's been moved since the last time I checked it, while doing my best not to alert Bucky to my very reasonable paranoia.

"Thank you," Bucky sheepishly says as I sit down to remove my shoes. "For stepping in there."

"Sweetheart, there was a time I had to hide it too," I gently remind him, finding myself unable to be truly angry at the coldness of the past few days considering I'm responsible for causing it. "Although the nurses at Pearl Harbor didn't exactly drag me out drinking like the Howling Commandos do."

He nods slowly, but then finally says, "Do you think I should be hiding it?"

I pause upon removing my last shoe and take a moment before sitting up straight to look at him, a protective fear having washed over me.

"I don't want you to live a lie," I answer honestly. "But-"

"But," he sighs, having expected it.

"Until Zola is dead, you will be a target," I continue, and he lowers his eyes. "And even this, this government..." I struggle now, but spit it out. "You would become government property."

His eyes remained lowered, and I push in a way I haven't until now when it comes to the serum and what it means.

"What type of life do you want, James?" I ask him, and he seems genuinely perplexed by the question considering we've talked so often about the life we want together. "Do you want to live a quiet life in Brooklyn, or do you want to be another Captain America?"

"God no," he says under his breath. "I just... I don't know. I've spent months trying to come to terms with this thing, with my own damn body, and I've gotten nowhere. Then I look at Steve who walked into it willingly, who's made himself a hero, a symbol, and think that maybe I could do something good with this."

"And you have been," I remind him, but he cuts me off.

"Then I look at you, someone who didn't want this either," he continues, and I listen carefully. "Who just wanted a normal life, who wanted to fight for their country and defend it, only to end up strapped down by Nazis-"

His voice catches and he brings a hand up to his head, as if he's felt a sudden pain, and slowly I rise from where I'm seated.

"James?" I say in concern, reaching for him as he winces. "Sweetheart, come sit down."

"I'm fine," he dismisses, only to grimace in pain with his eyes pressed shut, and I sit him down regardless. "You don't have to worry about me."

I sit beside him, taking his hand in mine and examining him carefully. I open my mouth but close it, sitting with him until his breathing's steady and he opens his eyes, staring numbly ahead.

"No matter where I am," he finally begins. "It feels like I'm still there, in that room. That I'll never be free until Zola's dead."

"I understand," I say quietly, and gently I push to confirm exactly what Zola did beyond administering a serum. "When I found you I couldn't understand a word you were saying. I thought you were just incoherent, but I realised a few months later that you were repeating your serial number."

His throat tightens, and he nods. "I just kept repeating my name, my serial number. I thought that if I stopped I'd forget."

Tears fill my eyes as buried memories begin to surface of my own time with Hydra, but I shake them away and return my attention wholly to him.

"Zola, he'd become obsessed with not just the serum, but the idea of resetting the mind," I say, unable to find the right phrasing. "Wiping it clean to start again. That was the purpose of the electrocution. The serum wasn't the only experiment he performed on us."

"So what do we do with it?" he asks me. "Neither of us are ever going to be Steve Rogers-"

"We're the ones who do what he can't," I tell him, speaking with brutal honesty. "You're the sniper with an aim that shouldn't be humanly possible, and I'm the one who tortures prisoners to get the information we need. We work in the shadows, we get our hands bloody so he doesn't. Steve, he's a good man and a good soldier, he hates bullies and wants to fight for what's good and right, but you and me..."

"We want Zola dead," he finishes, and he swallows hard. "I used to be like Steve. I didn't exactly know what we were fighting for, but I wanted to do my duty. I wanted to fight for my country and do what was right, and I still do, but... sometimes when we're out in the field it feels like I just lose control. I just- I hate them. I never used to, not even when I was first deployed in Italy, but now..."

"You've seen the worst of humanity," I say quietly. "And there's no coming back from that."

He nods and holds my hand tight. "I know I've said this a thousand times, but I just want to win this war and go home. Somewhere Hydra can't touch us again, somewhere you'll be safe."

"I know my love, I know," I say as he brings me into his arms, and I nuzzle into him. "But we'll never be safe until they're wiped out. Completely."

"Which means this war isn't ending for us any time soon," he says, and his head falls onto my shoulder, telling me what he'd never dare utter to the other men. "I'm so damn tired."

"So am I," I confess in turn, despite knowing the worst is ahead of me, but still I let myself dream for just a second as I gently lift his chin up. "But, this is the part where we use what they made us against them to put Zola in the fucking ground."

His nods in determination, and he wordlessly takes my face in his hands, kissing me hard.

A sigh escapes my lips and his hands are heavy on my body as he tugs me into his lap. The hem of my skirt slips up around my waist as I grind down into him, and we make quick work of each other's shirts. He lifts me up, carrying me from the couch into the bedroom where he lays me down on the end of the bed and bends down between my legs, shirking off my stockings and skirt.

My head falls back as my undergarments follow and he tugs me firmly to the edge of the mattress. I look down at him as his hands wrap around the underside of my thighs and he opens them, holding my eye as he kisses the sensitive insides with adoration, but desperation soon takes hold as his mouth delves between my thighs and he devours me like a starving man.

He groans as I sigh his name and reach down to grasp his hand. His fingers lace with mine, and I anchor myself to him as he works me up to that peak and through it. My breathing's heavy as he kisses back up my body and I pull his lips to mine, knowing that I can at least make him happy for a night before ruining him.

My hand slips down to his belt buckle, and the last of his clothes soon join mine on the floor. Yet the more attention he pays me the heavier the guilt weighs in my stomach, and so I drag my lips along his jaw and murmur in his ear, "Have me however you want me."

He pulls back in surprise, but he doesn't think too much of it. I expect him to flip me over and have me whatever way's most satisyfing for him, having heard enough from the men about the things men tend to fantasize about, but Bucky sits back and pulls me up into his lap so we're face to face.

Our chests touch as he kisses me, wrapping me in an embrace that's utterly intimate, and I return it. His hands are slow but firm as they caress my body with aching tenderness, and I reciprocate it as much as I'm able as I lower myself down onto him.

He sighs into my mouth and takes my face in his hand, still as he looks me in the eye and murmurs my name. "Lina..."

"James," I say, holding his own face and running my thumb along his cheek in adoration.

He smiles softly and nuzzles into me, shifting his hips up into me just slightly. He holds my gaze as he takes my hips in his hands, keeping them in place as he grinds up into me, into that one damn spot he's more than familiar with, and he relishes every sound he draws out of me. Only when he's satisfied by the state he's got me in does he start thrusting properly, and I meet each rock of his hips my own until we fall over that edge together.

He kisses me with a tenderness I've taken for granted for so long, but it breaks my heart now as his forehead falls on mine and he murmurs, "I love you."

"I love you too," I say, brushing the hair off his brow as he kisses my cheek and just holds me, demanding nothing of me but my presence. My love.

I only wish I could give it as freely as I did when we became engaged, when I had such a beautiful life ahead of me, but now it's only dark.

Still, he desperately takes whatever I can give and clings tight to it, just as he's done for months now, and I hate it. I hate that I can't give him the love he deserves, but as long as he lives long enough that someone else will, I can be content.

I wear a small smile as he peppers soft kisses across my face and I let my eyes fall shut, allowing myself to enjoy one last tender moment with the man I love before we return to the front lines.

"I've missed this," he exhales, and it strikes me that we haven't had a moment like this in weeks, since I left with Howard for Germany.

"So have I," I croak, truly having missed him, and I know I'll miss him for the rest of my life.

"I really am sorry for that fight," he tells me, shaking his head in regret. "And that we've barely spoken since-"

"Buck," I say softly. "It's alright, we're alright."

He almost shudders with relief as he hugs me tight and buries his face in the crook of my neck, still inside of me. With hands and lips I caress his body until he hardens again, and he lays me down as he often does when we go for a second round, and more often than not I'd be pulling him deeper by now, but I find myself recalling the words of the Widow I killed in the interrogation room. Her warning to me, that I won't be spared from the same prostitution that most Widows face.

And I'm sick to my stomach at the thought of any other man having me like this, let alone by force. I'm no stranger to torture, but that is an assault I cannot fathom. Yet how many women across Europe have suffered it as a result of this terrible war? How many of the girls I was trained alongside were sold the moment they underwent their graduation ceremony while I was the exception?

I'm only brought back to the present upon feeling Bucky turn my face towards him. "You with me, angel?" I nod with a small smile, but his face draws together in concern. "What is it?"

"I- I've just still got a lot on my mind."

He nods in understanding and caresses my cheek. "You wanna call it a night?"

And tears well in my eyes, knowing that this is a tenderness I will never know again, with any other man, for as long as I live. That the liberty to make decisions such as this, to tell someone that I want to stop, that I just want to be held until I fall asleep, will soon be taken from me. Never again will I be given the freedom of choice, let alone control of what is done with my body.

"Lina?" he says in concern as he pulls out and wipes away the tear that escapes from the corner of my eye. "Sweetheart?"

"There's no one else in the world I could be with in this way," I tell him, and that doesn't make his concern lessen one bit, until I try to connect it to something half-relevant. "Earlier with Howard-"

"Lina, I know that was nothing," he says, and that's a reponse that genuinely surprises me considering he'll always harbour a bit of jealousy when it comes to Howard. "I trust you, and I know you were just trying to get my attention."

"Yes, but I'm still sorry for it," I say, but he doesn't believe that I'd be in guilty tears over asking Howard to get me a drink. "I just- I've been a terrible fiancé to you."

Now he simply looks confused. "If this is about what happened when we came back from the embassy-"

"Sometimes I think that your life would be much simpler without me in it," I say, and he's that stunned he's at a loss for words. "That if we never bumped into each other that night in Queens-"

"Ada," he says slowly, connecting this back to something far more recent. "Connie-"

"Would give you a much better life than I could," I say, and he sits up beside me now, shocked at the mere suggestion. "It's true, James."

He runs a hand over his face, trying to get his bearings. Neither of us are strangers to jealousy, in his case it extends beyond just Howard, most often towards soldiers in the field who took too great a liking to the pin-up posters I'd posed for almost a year ago now. Usually the Howling Commandos keep him in check, but I'm aware of one or two altercations, and I'm not innocent when it comes to those either, perhaps having given the sly warning or two towards overly forward women such as Lorraine.

Usually he finds it endearing that I'm as protective of him as he is of me, which is why he can't believe what he's hearing now. That I wish he'd be with a woman like Connie instead of me.

Slowly he looks at me, and says, "I'd ask if you're sick, but I think we both know the answer to that."

"Perk of the serum, can't get sick," I remind him, and he huffs.

"Seems that doesn't count for mentally."

I blink in slight offence, but as usual I can't argue with his assessment.

"I'm not trying to start a fight, I'm just-"

"Saying that you think I'd be better off not knowing you, or better off if you're dead," he finishes, saying the quiet part out loud, and his voice turns deadly serious. "Which is bullshit, and this is the last time I want to hear those words come out of your mouth. You hear me?"

Usually I'd berate him to hell and back for using the sergeant tone with me, but all I can do is shut my mouth and give a stiff nod at the tough-love approach.

The fact I don't argue back seems to startle him more than anything and he gently turns my face towards his, lowering his voice and changing tactic. "You've got me worried, angel."

"I know," I say with guilt. "I just need you to know, that as difficult as I am, there's nothing in the world I wouldn't do for you."

And he takes those words literally.

"Then marry me," he says, clutching my hand tight as he brings us back to where we were days ago. "Right now."

"When we get back," I tell him, and I watch the light leave his eyes. "When we get home to Brooklyn."

He's close to tears now as he shakes his head, and he pleads, "Whatever you're planning, don't do it. Please."

And I suddenly become the worst liar in the world. "I don't know what you mean."

"If you're telling the truth about that ceasefire you'll marry me before we fly out," he says, attempting to call my bluff. "We can elope like we've talked about for months now."

"James, that ceasefire lasts as long as the war does," I say, falling back on the excuse I've had prepared. "And I can't make guarantees for forever when I can't promise that I'll be free in a year's time."

"We both know that ceasefire's bullshit," he says, grasping my hand tight and forcing me to look at him. "Do you think I can't see that you're terrified?" Tears stream down my face now, and his voice breaks. "You're the love of my life, do you seriously think I'm that blind when it comes to you?"

"You must be to love me," I quake, and he exhales in quiet devastation. "To want me as a wife of all things."

"And I remember how badly you wanted to be one," he remarks, and I have to look away. "Everything we talked about when we got engaged, no matter what you believe now, we can still have that life."

"James," I sigh, but he doesn't want to hear it.

He refuses to.

"I'm gonna keep you safe, alright?" he swears. "I promise."

"You can't promise that-"

"I can and I am, you've just gotta let me, angel." Tears escape him now as he quakes, "What use am I if I can't even keep my wife safe?" My bottom lip quivers as tears fill my eyes and I wrap my arms around him, pulling him tight into my embrace, and his next words break me. "In my eyes you've been my wife since the moment I put that ring on your finger, so please don't leave me. Please. You said you'd do anything for me, and that's the only thing I'm ever going to ask of you."

I'm choking on tears now as he pleads with me, asking the one thing I cannot do, but for tonight I can pretend.

I just don't know if he can believe a word that comes out of my mouth anymore.

"You and me, to hell and back, remember?" I weakly remind him, and that much seems to satisfy him as we lay down to spend our last true night together in each other's arms.

~

Morning comes and little words are spoken between us as we quietly dress ourselves, spending what spare minutes we have standing by the window together and sharing a cigarette until we have to make our return to headquarters.

While the men make their final preparations before shipping out, I'm in Howard's lab making my own. His interns don't question me as I open the cabinet that's reserved for me and me alone, loading two syringes with the concentration of tranquilliser required to knock out a supersoldier, and then some.

Regular gas will incapacitate the Howling Commandos, but not Steve.

And not Bucky.

"Everyone out," I suddenly hear Phillips call from the doorway, and instinctively I duck beneath a desk before I can be seen by him, taking my syringes with me and hiding them in the pouch of my utility belt. Everyone in the room clears out and Phillips says, "Alright, Stark you can show him what you're working on, but be quick. Officially, he's not here at all."

Now I am curious, and I remain hidden as Howard walks past the desk with another man.

"We don't really know what to call this thing yet," Howard says, coming to stand in front of the artifact he's been studying these past few months. "But it's sure as hell packs a punch. Hydra's been using it in their weapons. I don't know if it's brought them any closer to developing an atomic weapon, but considering we haven't had one dropped on us yet I think it's safe to say we're still the furthest ahead."

My stomach drops and my mouth falls open. Seeing that their shoes are pointed away from me I stick my head out just enough for a glimpse before promptly returning to my place of hiding, having determined just who Howard is working with, and what he is working on.

Oh Howard.

All this time he's talked of creating destruction and lamented it, yet here he is, working on what will be the greatest weapon of destruction to ever exist if it comes to fruition.

"This- this is a peculiarity indeed, but not of concern to my specific project," Oppenheimer says, and Howard stretches to put a cup of coffee on the desk beside me. "You haven't determined the origin yet?"

"Not yet, but I'm hoping the team we're putting back out in the field might be able to help me with that," Howard says. "Though we've determined that what we have here works as a battery of sorts, powered by a larger energy source. I'd be interested to see how it could be put to use."

My eyes widen as I listen to Howard Stark theorising how to play God, and while I've never overly judged him for being an arms dealer considering my own profession, this is far more dangerous territory.

"How's progress coming along?" Howard eventually asks after some more back and forth over his battery.

"The K-25 plant will begin construction shortly," Oppenheimer informs him. "I'd like to say we're ahead of schedule-"

"But production takes time, especially when we still don't know just how much uranium we're going to need," Howard replies. "To be on the safe side I'd say take whatever number you've got and double it. I've been a little tied up here but I should be joining you over in New Mexico soon enough, at least while Rogers and his crew are in Germany."

I watch Oppenheimer's shadow nod, and he says, "I've got a flight, but I'll see you soon then."

Howard bids farewell to him, and the moment I hear that door shut I'm on my feet, looking at Howard who still has his back to me. I wait until he turns to pick up the cup of coffee he'd put down, and he damn near drops it when he lays eyes on me.

"Jesus-" he jumps, spilling a little on his shirt. "Ada, the hell-"

"You're involved with the Manhattan Project," I state and he freezes, suddenly unable to care less for his coffee.

"How do you know about the Manhattan Project?"

"I'm a spy, it's my job to know things, but this isn't your job, not your official one at least," I say, shocked less by his involvement and more by the fact I was unaware of it. "You've been working on this and I've had no idea?"

"You aren't the only one who keeps secrets, Ada," he counters, and I press my mouth together. "When you were recruited and got close to me I thought that was why, I thought you were spying for the Soviet Union considering that's what you'd been doing up until Pearl Harbor, but the questions you'd ask never added up."

"What?" I splutter. "Yes I was sent to get close to you and infiltrate the SSR, but not to get intel on the atomic program-"

"Yeah well, I thought you had until I realised you didn't give a shit about any of that, only Hydra," Howard says. "You only cared about yourself and getting payback against Zola, and that's the reason I trusted you. People who are only out to protect themselves and their interests are predictable, and I bet you thought the same about me."

I give a slight tilt of my head in confirmation, but he takes no offence to it, and I meet him halfway as a realisation dawns on me.

"To be fair, that could have been my objective," I admit. "I'd been told by the Red Room that you were my target, but I'd deserted before they told me what intel they actually wanted me to get from you and the SSR. Thinking back on it it's strange they told me to target you in particular, I thought it was because you'd be the easiest way in, but it would make more sense if they wanted me to get that type of intelligence from you rather than just general information about what the SSR's doing."

"So, I knew something you didn't then?" he jests, before turning unusually serious. "Since you started working for the SSR I've been grilled eleven times by different agencies over whether or not I've revealed a single damn thing to you about the Manhatten Project because they're that worried about Soviet espionage. We know it's happening, but we don't know where. You've been the main suspect, which is why Phillips jumped straight to treason when they found me in that ditch in Finow and you missing."

I exhale now in realisation, wondering how I've been so blind, but I know exactly how. I've been that busy looking over my shoulder in fear of the Red Room that I haven't been looking right in front of me.

"Howard," I hesitantly begin, despite already knowing the answer. "Were you told to monitor me to see if I was attempting to infiltrate the project on behalf of the Soviet Union?"

"Yes."

Another slap to the face, but I can't help but be impressed. It seems Howard does have the capabilities of a spy after all. He's spent so long telling me how good of a liar he is that I'd underestimated him, considered it to be a narcissistic overexaggeration, but he continues to surprise me.

But this does leave me in a difficult position considering the interrogation I'll soon be facing.

"I don't want to know anything more about that project," I tell Howard. "Nothing that could be extracted from me. The SSR's secrets are one thing, we're devoted to taking down Hydra and thus the SSR's endgame is the same as the Soviet Union's as far as the Nazis are concerned, but this is a different animal."

"I'm aware," he assures me. "I'm surprised you didn't figure it out sooner, but then again, I tell you everything that's not important so you don't ask about the work that is."

"Your work is important."

"The one time I thought you might've gotten close to putting two and two together I talked your ear off about flying cars for two hours until you were finding any excuse to get away from me," he says, and he studies me more carefully now. "I thought I'd had you figured out, that you looked after yourself first and were using the rest of us as a means to an end. Me, Steve, even Peggy, but then Barnes came on the scene and suddenly you're the last person you're putting first."

"It used to be so much simpler," I lament. "It's freeing to love no one, but then again, what's there to live for without it?" Howard's face draws in something akin to pain. "Since I was fourteen my only weakness was my sister, but now I have so many I've lost count of them all."

"I wouldn't know what that's like," Howard says, and I frown as he lays himself vulnerable. "I was an only child with working class parents who had to make a living, so I kept myself busy trying to break that cycle. Friends were a means to an end, and women weren't much different, and I wouldn't have a damn clue what it's like to love someone, or to get that in return. Not like you and Barnes."

"You'll find your person, Howard," I say, but he seems doubtful. "When you're ready to give up the women and the rest for something real."

"Real," he repeats, as if it's a joke. "I picture it sometimes, a wife and a kid, but I can't imagine putting anything or anyone above my work. What sort of father would I be?"

And I can empathise with him. "You know, as badly as I want that life myself, I can ask myself that same question. Being a mother's the last thing I deserve."

"The moment we start asking ourselves what we deserve we've lost the plot," Howard dismisses. "In this world you've got to take what you can get and sleep as best you can. No point doing anything else."

I nod in agreement and roughly clear my throat, needing to settle one last issue with him, and I lower my voice to something below a whisper. "Howard, what we've said about Bucky... don't breathe a word of it to anyone."

"I won't," he says, but that's not enough.

"Don't bring him into this lab, don't try to study him or find out what Hydra put into him," I order. "As far as the world is concerned, once Schmidt's dead, Steve Rogers and I are the only supersoldiers, and Sergeant Barnes was lucky to have been rescued from Hydra when he was." He seems more perplexed than alarmed by my words, until I say, "You know what the American government did to me, and I'm not letting them lay a hand on Bucky."

Finally he nods in understanding, and without another word he changes the subject, bringing me over to where a new set of uniforms lay.

"I've got two new suits for you," he says, speaking with a normal volume now, and there's a pit in my stomach since I know they'll barely see any use. "The inside is lined with carbon polymer while the outside's a layer of rubberised leather dyed to a similar shade of maroon as your old one. It's tighter-fitting, but thick and sleek, meaning that in close combat it'll be nearly impossible for the enemy to grab you by your clothing since that was one of your main complaints, and it should be more resistant to blades. That's not a concern with the other men since they aren't typically getting into knife fights, but-"

"Thank you, Howard," I say with a strained smile. "It's perfect."

"And then we have a modified version of your old suit but in white complete with a cowl to cover your hair, since you've said the ability to camouflage in those conditions would be invaluable," he says. "It lacks the leather since we couldn't get it stark white, but the carbon polymer's a tighter fit, so again, it should feel like a second skin."

I nod, and a voice interrupts from the doorway.

"Morgan, a word before you fly out," Phillips says, and not long later I'm sat in his office for what will be the last time, and he knows it. "Here we are."

"It's funny," I find myself saying, forcing myself to put on a brave face. "That the United States wasted so many men capturing me and keeping me locked up, only to let me go like this."

"Don't flatter yourself," he says gruffly. "Let's be pragmatic here. The Soviets would take out Barnes and Carter first before setting their sights on Rogers and Stark, and we wouldn't be able to prove a damn thing. It's you or them, so the choice is clear."

I whistle. "That's cold, Colonel. Even for you."

"You and I both doubted Rogers every step, but, as much as I hate to admit it, Erskine was right to choose him," he says, having warmed to Steve over these past months. "It's just a shame that he was the only one."

"A shame indeed," I say with a neutral expression, and he scoffs.

"Try not to look smug, we all know how you felt about Project Rebirth," he says, and I merely shrug. "Now, neither of us know what state you'll be in once the Soviets are done with you, but if you've still got your mind half intact I need you to do three things. The first is determining if the Soviets are developing their own serum, the second is determining their progress in developing an atomic bomb, and the third is to identify what agents of theirs have infiltrated our own project."

"You overheard my conversation with Howard then?" I gather, incredibly relieved that my voice was barely audible to Howard's ear when I spoke about Bucky, so Phillips is still in the dark regarding that at least.

"It was touching, but I heard what I needed to," he says, only truly trusting me now at the end. "Now, does Barnes know that you're planning to turn yourself over?"

"He knows something isn't right, but I can handle him," I assure Phillips. "But, once I'm gone, the burden will be on you to make sure that he doesn't do something as suicidal as coming after me."

"If your fiancé's half as stubborn as you then you know I'm not going to have much say in that," he bitterly remarks, and that's the last thing I want to hear.

"I'll do what I can to make sure he'll want me dead, same with Steve," I tell Phillips, and slowly he sits up straight. "But the rest falls on you. Do not let Bucky come after me, and don't let him fall back into Zola's hands."

"What are you planning?" he slowly asks, and my jaw clenches. "Morgan-"

"The less you know the better," I say, and he shakes his head with apprehension. "This is the part where I do what I have to do and you trust me not to fail."