A/N: I could give you the laundry list of excuses for why this chapter took so long to post but it boils down to two things: 1) this chapter was, inexplicably, unbelievably difficult for me to write and 2) S&B is quite the undertaking and I simply needed a short break from writing it. That being said, I'm fairly happy with how this chapter came out – it's a little bit slower but next chapter picks back up with the action.

Also, holy crap – this story is at almost 140 reviews, nearing on 200 faves and 300 likes. I am blown away by your incredible responses. Thank you a million times over. Apologies in advance for any typos!

Finally – during my short break from S&B, I started writing a six-part AU featuring Bucky and Sadie called The Old College Try. As the name suggests, it's a college AU that is decidedly funnier, fluffier and all around lighter than S&B. So, if you too want a brief reprieve from the period-drama of S&B then please go read it! Part one is up now!

Disclaimer – I don't own Captain America, but if I did….oh…if I did…

Chapter 14 - Birdcages and Nightmares

I told you so.

For the past forty-eight hours, it was all Peggy could do to keep from saying these words to Colonel Phillips. In fact, she didn't just want to tell Phillips I told you so, she wanted to shout it at the top of her lungs until she was hoarse. Peggy wanted skywriters to spell the phrase across the endless blue skies while she stood atop Howard Stark's private plane, yelling into a megaphone so everyone in the entire base camp could hear her. If she couldn't get airplanes, then she'd settle for a marching band storming through the main aisle of camp, carrying an enormous banner bearing the phrase in big bold letters. There weren't enough ways she could think of to get the message across loud and clear.

The phrase I was right and you were wrong came in second on Peggy's list of things she wanted to inform Colonel Phillips of, followed immediately by maybe you should listen to me more often and men are insufferable idiots. Sadly, Peggy found she had to swallow her words and keep her thoughts to herself. No matter how sorely Phillips deserved it.

Even then, Peggy knew that belittling her superior wouldn't change the dire circumstances one iota. At the end of the day, the 107th was decimated, with two hundred men either killed or captured. The men had, just as Peggy predicted, walked right into an expertly laid trap from start to finish. HYDRA's grand plan had gone off without a hitch, from obliterating their supposed Nazi allies right down to reducing the handful of battle-hardened survivors into unmitigated, traumatized disasters. Their hollow eyes and gaping mouths continued to haunt Peggy two days later.

From the limited details the SSR managed to gather from the remaining men of the 107th, the battle had been furious and nothing short of horrific. The weapons described seemed impossible but she'd heard the same utterings multiple times. One second soldiers were there, firing on the impenetrable tanks and the next they were gone, completely vaporized into nothing. It wasn't possible, and yet, Peggy didn't doubt for a second that Schmidt had successfully created the world's deadliest weapons. How he'd done it, however, remained to be seen and those answers would just have to wait.

Peggy was far more concerned with how the bruised and beaten 107th was going to possibly rescue its own men from certain death. The debate raged on for two days straight now, going back and forth between possible rescue options, covert missions, new intelligence reports, and Phillips' stubborn insistence that this wasn't something any of them could have seen coming.

On the morning of the third day, Peggy was at her wit's end.

She stood beneath the large tent that Phillips used as his center of operations, hand covering her deep scowl as she stared at the large map of the area. Reconnaissance photos of the factory laid along the edges of the map, held down by paperweights. The pictures all showed the same heavily fortified base, a Fort Knox of barbed wire, guard towers, and concrete walls. Further, the compound was larger than anyone expected and it was anyone's guess where the men were actually being kept, much less what was happening to them within its confines. Howard feared forced labor, Phillips was convinced they'd been lined up on a wall and shot, while Peggy could only imagine what experiments Schmidt might put them through.

The sound of footfall broke Peggy from her reverie. "Good morning," said Howard as he trudged into the area, a tin cup of coffee in his hand. Personally, Peggy couldn't think of a single good thing currently happening but she let the thought go. "Come up with any brilliant ideas during the night?"

"No," said Peggy with a long sigh. "Did you?"

Howard sipped his coffee and made a sour face. Muttering something about the army coffee tasting like bullshit warmed over, Howard set the mug down and came to stand next to her. "Not a damn thing. Just like the night before."

Absent some earth shattering idea from Howard, Peggy knew that they were doomed to repeat the same series of arguments they'd gone through repeatedly for the past two days. Someone would start with the suggestion of sending patrols to get the lay of the land and find a way in, which led to a discussion on a full scale assault. The argument would then turn to the possibility of air raids or dropping in paratroopers, which inevitably led to Colonel Phillips shouting everyone down.

The army wasn't going to send any more troops to Azzano and that was the bottom line. The battle had been an unqualified disaster and the Army tended not to dwell on its failures. On top of it, the SSR's name was rapidly being reduced to less than the dirt that Peggy stood on. First, there was Erskine's death and then loss of the super soldier formula. Now, the 107th, an elite rifle division had been almost wiped off the map. No, the Army wasn't going to throw any more money or resources down a gaping hole. The SSR, 107th, 92nd, and 80th field hospital were alone with less than a dozen tanks, dwindling ammunition, and facing an enemy they couldn't beat.

Peggy didn't want to admit it, she hated even thinking it, but the possibility of a rescue was looking more and more hopeless with each passing hour.

"New surveillance flight photos," said Colonel Phillips gruffly as he entered the tent. He slapped the photos down on top of the map of the area, barking at an orderly to get him coffee as he did. Peggy and Howard reached for the photos at the same time.

"Anything good?" Howard asked, eyes pouring over the fuzzy details in the black and white picture.

"No activity," said Phillips. "No sign of our boys, just a whole bunch of trucks sitting in a yard and spotlights combing the woods in every direction."

"So they're anticipating us making a move," said Peggy, her lips tugging into a scowl. The use of spotlights was a new tactic though not a particularly surprising one. Now that HYRDA had the upper hand they'd shown very little concern for hiding their location. Surveillance planes flew in from different directions and rarely encountered enemy fire along the way.

"Looks that way," said Phillips as he took a seat at his desk.

Howard handed his photographs to Peggy who examined them closer. "That compound is huge, our guys could be anywhere."

"Likely underground," said Peggy distractedly. "HYRDA wouldn't want them in a place where they could easily escape through a window or get a message outside."

"Yeah, and they're probably kept under armed guard day and night," said Phillips gruffly. "And to top if off I heard from Battalion HQ this morning. The Army won't send reinforcements or paratroopers to storm the place, not after the reports the surviving platoon leaders turned in."

Peggy's heart and stomach sank. She'd been expecting the news, but hoped against all hope that the Army would come through for them, for those poor men. "So, now what? Are we to attempt any kind of rescue at all? Are we going to leave them to die at HYDRA's hands?"

Howard immediately looked away from Peggy and even Phillips squirmed slightly beneath her harsh gaze. The Colonel recovered quickly. "Chances are they're already dead."

He turned away from her as he spoke. Though his words were harsh, Peggy could hear his displeasure. More than once through this ordeal Peggy had to remind herself that Phillips cared deeply for his soldiers, even if he had a terrible way of showing it. "I refuse to believe that!"

"We could try another surveillance flight, I could take my plane and get a little lower. Maybe we're just flying in from the wrong directions?" Howard started but was cut off by Phillips.

"No sense in risking your hide over this. Battalion HQ had ordered us to hold our position for the time being until arrangements can be made for our transfer."

Tears stung Peggy's eyes. This was all wrong! "There must be something we can do."

"And how would you propose going about it Agent Carter? Do you want to take the fifty men we've got and march on a heavily fortified HYDRA factory that's making God knows what to rescue a bunch of men who are probably already dead? Because I'm sure as hell not signing an extra fifty condolence letters."

Phillips could have slapped her across the face and it would have hurt less. Suddenly feeling less than a foot tall, she took a step back. "No, sir," she said softly.

"That's what I thought. The best we can do is send regular patrols to hold the line and pray to God we get out of this mess without losing anyone else."

Howard wiped his face with his hands, but the despair in his eyes mirrored what Peggy felt. He reached out and squeezed her elbow and for the first time Peggy was glad Howard was there. "Yes, sir. I'll go have a word with what's left of the 107th's command."

"That's an excellent idea, Agent Carter."

Phillips did not look up from his papers as he spoke but Peggy knew a dismissal when she heard it. Biting the inside of her mouth hard enough to draw blood, Peggy turned on heel and marched out of the tent.

X X X

A continuous stream of water dribbled from somewhere near Bucky. The drops fell with irritating consistency, to the point that he began to count the passing seconds with each drop. Drip, drop, drip, drop, on and on until his irritation became so overpowering that Bucky thought he might literally explode. Then again, he was beginning to think that spontaneous combustion was a better alternative to the hell he was currently experiencing. Dugan had said it best only a few hours earlier when he spoke with longing for the Queen Victoria.

Bucky wholeheartedly agreed with his friend. That godforsaken troop ship seemed like the Waldorf Astoria compared to the cell he currently shared with ten other men. The other guys called the round cells birdcages, an apt description considering the high ceilings. Clustered in a long hall with almost no exposure to sunlight or fresh air, the entire space reeked of sweat, body odor and other foul things Bucky didn't even want to think about. Their only saving grace came when, occasionally, the doors opened and a draft of cold air rushed through the room, sweeping some of the stench away and cooled down the room. They slept on hard floors with only a thin blanket and their daily ration didn't even equal a single K Ration. He'd long since given up the hope of any kind of fair treatment because his captors clearly didn't give a rat's ass about fair treatment.

One…

Two…

Three…

Four…

Twenty…

Fifty…fifty-one…fifty-two…fifty-something. Bucky lost count of the drops of water while he sat against the cool metal bars with his head back and eyes closed. Both of his knees were drawn near his chest and he'd pushed the sleeves of his olive wool sweater over his forearms. Every so often one of the men near him would shift, desperate to get comfortable. Bucky's backside had gone numb about half an hour before which suited him perfectly fine. The edges of the Saint Christopher's medal dug into the palm of his hand.

Dugan slouched on the floor to his right, bowler hat tipped over his face. O'Connell sat cross-legged on his left, staring listlessly at his lap. The only other man Bucky knew in the cell was Gabe Jones and the other surviving member of his tank crew, Earl Every. It had taken the better part of two days, but Dugan and Bucky had managed to put together a rough picture of who of F Company was in with them, who had gotten out alive, and who died. Lovitz and McAllister had made it out. They were among the last of the men Bucky had seen make it safely through the tree line while he was being forced to his knees by some jackass soldier wielding the most terrifying weapon Bucky had ever seen.

Both he and Dugan had been privately mourning the death of John Nixon, and more specifically the fact that he had been reduced to nothing more than vapor. If Meyers' death had hit Bucky hard, Nixon's death was an equally rough blow for Dugan. Nixon was his best friend in the Company. Their rifle squads were both depleted and scattered beyond their control now. It was all Bucky or anyone could hope that the 107th would find a way to rescue them.

He wasn't particularly optimistic.

O'Connell coughed into his closed fist and Gabe shifted uncomfortably from across the cell. Bucky watched some of the other strangers in his cell with growing curiosity. Upon the 107th and 92nd's arrival, nobody had been particularly keen on exchanging names and pleasantries. Everyone wanted to know where they were and what the hell was going on. It had become readily apparent the next morning when they were forced into a single-file line to work on an enormous factory floor, assembling small parts of what Bucky could only imagine was a larger machine.

But now, after two days and nights of misery, he started to wonder who his cell mates were. From their uniforms he recognized one man from the U.S. Army and a man from the British Army, but the other uniforms escaped him. The Brit had a thick mustache and still wore his red beret. His eyes were open and flickered occasionally to Bucky. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him.

"How long have you been in here?" Bucky asked. Dugan gave a grunt and tipped his bowler hat up.

"About two weeks, I think," said the Brit, his smooth accent cutting through the stale air. Bucky pulled a sympathetic face. After two days he was already coming unhinged, he couldn't imagine two weeks. "We all came in around the same time," he explained, casting his eyes to his companions. He then held his hand out. "James Falsworth."

Bucky's back and shoulders groaned as he leaned forward to shake the man's hand. "Bucky Barnes." He pointed to Frank and Dum Dum. "This is Frank O'Connell and Dum Dum Dugan."

Bucky dug an elbow into O'Connell's side, prompting the kid to look up and then shake Falsworth's hand.

"Quite the setup you guys got here," said Dugan in a too-casual tone.

Falsworth chuckled. "Afternoon tea service is a bit spotty, but it's home," he agreed dryly. It turned out the remainder of their cell-mates were all from different armies in the Allied Forces and came from all over the world. Most of the men slept through the conversation except for Jim Morita, from the Army Rangers and Jacques Dernier, a French Resistance fighter who didn't speak a word of English.

Much to the dismay of Bucky and his companions, their cell-mates knew next to nothing about where they were, what they were building, and if anyone was looking for them. Falsworth and Morita spoke in hushed voices about what little they did know, pausing occasionally when a guard drew too close or walked directly over the open ceiling of the cage. Out of the corner of Bucky's eyes, he took note of the unusual side-arms each guard carried along with a long night stick. Already he knew too well that the guards were unafraid to display their dominance. Only that morning he'd seen the guards viciously beat a man from another company in the 107th simply because he was lagging on the factory floor. A thought then occurred to Bucky.

"D'you know what's at the end of the main aisle on the factory floor?" He asked, recalling seeing the guards drag the man's unconscious and bleeding body through a set of large double doors at the far end of the factory.

Falsworth and Morita shared dark looks. "What is it?" Gabe's voice echoed uncertainly as he spoke.

"We aren't completely certain," Falsworth began, hesitance clinging to his voice. "But there's a man here, a scientist who often prowls along the catwalks and watches us work."

O'Connell scowled as he sat up a little higher, rubbing his right side. "What's he watching for?"

Boot fall rattled the metal platform overhead. Morita and Falsworth raised their eyes warily to the sight of a guard pausing over the top of their cage. The guard's face was entirely obscured, making him look all the more menacing as he smacked the end of his night stick into his opposite palm. "You lot down there! Shut the fuck up!" He snarled.

As one, the men dropped their heads. Bucky's eyes darted to each of his companions. Dugan and Gabe seemed entirely unconcerned by the guard's nastiness whereas O'Connell became even more pale than he had been. Across the way, Morita mumbled a handful of colorful words under his breath while Falsworth steadied him by the shoulder. Finally, the guard walked away to harass another cage.

"I don't know what he's looking for, but I've seen him go in and out of those doors before," said Falsworth hurriedly. "And the men who go back there never come out."

X X X

Two weeks passed.

The weather turned in the fourteen days since the remainder of the 107th and 92nd hobbled back to base camp bruised and beaten. As mid-October passed into early November, the crisp air cooled and brought the rains with it. All of the 107th's extra tents were erected to provide extra shelter for the men, their gear, and for the daily activities of camp. A supply drop brought much needed warm weather clothing, bolstering what little the camp previously had. Extra blankets provided additional warmth to the hospital's patients and kept Sadie's teeth from chattering as she tried to sleep at night.

All of the camp's thoroughfares transformed into mudslides under the steady hammer of the weather, which left a solid shell around the soles of Sadie's boots. The nurses hung their belongings from the support poles in their tents and donned headscarves as they worked. Sadie, who hated being cold, wore her field jacket around the clock and added a wool sweater when the temperatures plummeted during the first days in November. The cumbersome garments limited her movement, but these days dexterity wasn't much of an issue.

Day after day she came into the first ward tent still half-expecting a wave of screaming wounded men. Walking into a silent tent was far more jarring and, in Sadie's opinion, much worse. Though the beds remained full, none of Sadie's patients were in need of surgery, stitches, or emergent care. Some wounds never required anesthetic or bandages; but, psychological wounds were just as horrific as physical and much harder to heal. Nothing pained Sadie more than seeing what she'd seen in so many faces in the two weeks following the 107th's capture. It wasn't until she'd looked directly into a man's eyes that Sadie understood some things were worse than death.

A chill slipped down her spine, snapping Sadie out of her reverie. She shook her head once and tore her eyes away from the rain that poured outside of the large supply tent she occupied. The wood platform beneath her chair creaked with each small movement she made. In her hands she held a partially folded sheet. Somewhere in the middle of folding, she'd lost her train of thought and wound up staring out into the storm. It hadn't been the first time this happened and she was sure it wouldn't be the last.

"Come on, Sade," she said under her breath, disappointed with herself. Distracted was not a word Sadie would use to describe herself. In fact she was much the opposite, task oriented and incredibly focused. Lately Sadie couldn't stop her mind from wandering down dark paths, each one winding through progressively worse territory. It was maddening, particularly because Sadie had no clue how to stop herself.

Sadie finished folding the sheet and set it atop the large stack she'd been working on for the better part of an hour. The work, though tedious, was methodical and somewhat therapeutic. Joining the four corners of the sheet together and folding it into a perfect square was oddly satisfying, especially as the chaotic pile of clean sheets began to shrink until she finished folding the last sheet. Sadie wished all of her jobs were as easy and pleasant, because lately she'd been taking any small task, just to keep her mind occupied. If she was being really honest with herself, she'd also taken small jobs to stay out of the first ward tent and away from her languishing patients.

"There," she said to herself, admiring her handiwork. "Perfect."

The stack of white sheets were just about the only perfect thing she could think of. It had been two long weeks since Douglas Lovitz came stumbling back with the rest of the 107th. Two agonizing weeks of not knowing whether the captured men were alive or dead. Two absolutely crushing weeks of Sadie trying to convince herself that Bucky was still alive.

"Well, if nursing doesn't work out, you have a promising career in laundry," a familiar, crisp voice noted from the tent's entrance.

Sadie turned around to see Peggy Carter approach her, leather jacket over her uniform shirt. Rain droplets slid down the shoulders and sleeves of the jacket, creating dark circles on the untreated wood floor. The cold late afternoon air wrapped around Sadie, worming its way through the open gaps in her field jacket. She cast a glance to her folded sheets and then shrugged.

"I like to have backup plans."

Peggy smirked slightly and put her hands in her jacket pockets. "I've been meaning to come by for days to see how you are."

Sadie shrugged but kept her eyes averted from her observant friend. "I'm fine. There's plenty to keep me busy."

Peggy arched an unconvinced eyebrow and, though both women knew that Sadie was lying, wisely chose to keep that information to herself. Instead, she waited in silence as Sadie put the folded sheets onto a shelf. Sadie didn't dare ask Peggy if there was a rescue attempt in the works, mainly because deep down she already knew the answer. If the SSR was planning a rescue it would have done it by now. The very idea of Peggy verbally confirming that Sadie would never see Bucky again nearly killed her where she stood.

Regret burned in her chest, tightening her lungs and making each breath hurt worse than the last. For several long seconds Sadie kept her back to Peggy, desperately trying to gain control of herself. A gentle hand touched Sadie's shoulder.

"I also came by to see if you wanted to get dinner, so we can catch up." Peggy's voice was low and soothing. Understanding leeched through Peggy's hand into Sadie's body.

Drawing in a deep breath, Sadie nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good. I could use a break from folding and inventory."

Peggy rewarded her with a smile of her own. Together the two women drew up their jacket collars and hurried into the deluge. Cold rain drops touched Sadie's cheeks and cooled her hot skin. The mess tents were open and several benches were sparsely occupied by infantrymen and staff alike. After they collected their stew and rolls, they took seats near the main road where they could watch the comings and goings of the camp. They ate in blessed silence, Peggy intuitively understanding that Sadie didn't want to talk about what was troubling her.

Through the curtains of rain, Sadie watched a few jeeps rumbled through. People jogged along the edges of the tents, weaving in and out for cover as they passed. Even at the tables nearby, she couldn't see a smile on a single face. She wasn't even sure when she smiled last, let alone laughed.

But that changed in the span of a few seconds as two figures emerged from the storm. Evelyn and Marjorie were grinning from ear to ear as they rushed to Sadie and Peggy's table.

"What's gotten into you two?" Sadie asked, but never got the chance to finish the entire thought out loud.

"You will never guess what we just heard!" Evelyn said loudly over Sadie, drawing disgruntled glances from the diners close by.

Peggy didn't even bother looking up from her dinner. Long ago she'd grown accustomed to Evelyn and Marjorie's penchant for gossip, usually about hospital staff she'd never met before. "Dazzle me," said Sadie dryly.

"Doc Holmes just got out of a meeting with some of the hospital senior staff and guess who's coming to the base camp?"

"Fred Astaire?"

Evelyn shot Sadie a withering glare. For the first time in two weeks, the corners of Sadie's mouth lifted into the ghost of a smile. "No and I've got half a mind to not tell you now."

"Well I don't care," said Marjorie, sitting down across from Sadie. "The USO is coming to the base camp to perform and Captain America is coming with them."

Peggy flinched so hard that her fork slid across the bottom of her tin dish, slamming into the edge. The dish tipped upwards, sloshing stew all over the table while the fork landed with a loud clatter in Sadie's stew. Blood pooled in Peggy's cheeks, reminding Sadie strongly of the tomatoes her mother grew in the summer. She stared wide-eyed at Peggy, then down to her stew and back up to Peggy once more.

"Big fan?"

Evelyn's sarcastic, slightly leering question on served to intensify Peggy's blush. Marjorie delicately covered her mouth to hide her smile while Sadie wondered in awe at her friend's strong reaction. Peggy was one of the most emotionally steady women she'd ever met, suddenly reduced to a teenaged schoolgirl becoming flustered at the sight of her first crush.

"We've met," she said vaguely.

The glee on Evelyn's face practically glowed, cutting through the doom and gloom. "Maybe he'll give you his autograph when he's here," Marjorie teased.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure it's his autograph she wants," said Evelyn with a laugh.

Peggy looked as though she'd rather face down Hitler himself than participate in the conversation. From across the table she shot Sadie a pointed glance as if to say 'they're your idiot friends, help me!' The urge to laugh bubbled into Sadie's throat but she quelled it, instead fixing Evelyn and Marjorie with her patented mothering expression.

"Evie, don't be so childish." Sadie raised her eyebrows at Marjorie. "And you know better than to go along with Evie's ridiculous antics."

Marjorie immediately sobered. Evelyn on the other hand seemed to be channeling Betty's spirit as her grin widened. "Saint Sadie strikes again, ruining all out fun," she murmured in a sing-song voice. "C'mon Margie, let's get food while Peggy cools down."

The two girls floated off, still in excited conversation. Sadie returned her attention to Peggy. "You know between the two of us, we're probably skilled enough to make them disappear without a trace."

Peggy's embarrassment broke and she gave Sadie a grateful smile. "Don't make offers you don't intend to carry through," she teased lightly. Peggy checked her wristwatch. "Anyway, I've got to go. Colonel Phillips called a meeting that starts in a few minutes. Probably to tell us the same news."

Sadie bade her friend farewell and found herself alone with her thoughts once more.

X X X

"These jackasses could least turn on a fan or two," said O'Connell through gritted teeth. He stood a few feet away from Bucky, struggling with the heavy metal components he was fitting together.

Bucky privately agreed with O'Connell. Sweat poured down his temples and back, glistening on his grimy skin. Muscles he didn't even know he had ached from overuse and his feet had gone numb an hour earlier. The fact that he even heard O'Connell over the din of the factory was something of a surprise, the sound was nearly deafening at points. He grunted as he continued to drill holes into flat metal panel after panel, smaller pieces of some larger machine.

Row after row of soldiers continued to drone on, working beneath the malevolent eyes of their captors. Two guards stood at either end of each row, waiting with sickening eagerness for a worker to fall even a little bit behind on their work. Every so often, a guard would walk along the row, pausing to berate one man or another, sometimes going so far as to whack their victim hard across the back or shoulders. But more than the threat of the guards, the oppressive temperature threatened to drag Bucky to the concrete floor.

He didn't reply to O'Connell. Talking was expressly forbidden on the factory floor and that O'Connell even dared to do so was beyond stupid. Four days earlier Bucky watched in horror as two men were forced through the mysterious double doors at gunpoint, guilty of that very offense.

There was very little Bucky could do to amuse himself during the arduous hours. Most of the time he let his mind go entirely blank, driving all of his focus into the task at hand. Blocking out all of his thoughts kept him away from more painful topics. Some days, Bucky wasn't sure why he maintained the demanding pace. It had become painfully apparent that nobody in the SSR or 107th was going to come get him or anyone else.

At night, Bucky found himself agonizing over whether he'd ever see the outside world again. Would it take long for word to reach the U.S.? What would his parents be told? Would Steve's efforts to join re-double in the face of Bucky's death? How long would it take for Sadie to move on from whatever they'd shared?

Bucky forced the bit of his drill hard through the metal, taking some sick satisfaction in it. He couldn't vent his frustration any other way and there was a lot of it pent up. The more he thought about his partings with Steve and Sadie, the worse he felt. Berating Steve for wanting to join and then walking away to go dancing with a couple of girls had been selfish, even for Bucky. After all, he couldn't even remember Connie's face anymore. That memory had been replaced by Sadie Reid, the other great regret he kept reconsidering. Letting her walk into the first ward tent had been a monumental mistake, even greater than trying to kiss her. Hadn't his mother always told Bucky to never part ways on an angry note?

He may never have the chance to make things right with his best friend and the woman he adored. A fresh spark of angry breathed fresh life into his exhausted muscles and he used it with renewed fervor. Next to him O'Connell coughed hard, flagging as the late hours wore on. Bucky wouldn't let himself fall to pieces now. He was determined to make it until the bitter end, in vain hope that he'd make it out alive.

A break in the assembly came. Bucky and O'Connell exchanged confused glances. Two rows ahead of them the guards rushed towards the middle. Every half-second or so Bucky saw the flail of a limb or the flash of night stick.

"Goddamn," mumbled O'Connell under his breath.

"Yeah," said Bucky slowly. He wondered what happened this time. Yelps of pain could be heard over the whirring machinery. In that moment Bucky couldn't decide what was worse, the beating the poor prisoner was taking or the fact that he was becoming less horrified each time it occurred.

O'Connell coughed again. "Look!" He said through his hacking, pointing up to the catwalks stretching high over the floor.

Lifting his face, Bucky could see a man standing over the commotion. Rotund and balding the man shouldn't have been threatening in the slightest. He shouldn't have caused Bucky's nerves to shoot off or his muscles to contract painfully. Squinting through round spectacles, the man was a pale non-threatening lump of a figure. And yet, Bucky instinctively knew he didn't want to go within ten feet of the man. Perhaps it was because of how he watched the scuffle below, entirely unmoved by the prisoner's screaming or the violence doled out for what Bucky was certain was a minor indiscretion.

"He must be the scientist," said O'Connell.

And then, as though the man in question heard O'Connell, he turned his head. Bucky felt as though someone poured a bucket of ice water over his head. The scientist stared directly as Bucky as he glared back, neither man willing to look away at first. A small, ominous smile touched the scientist's lips and he nodded once to Bucky before turning away.

X X X

Mist wafted over the dark forest floor. Sadie walked barefoot among the trees, fumbling through the semi-darkness. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up as she squinted her eyes to see better. Goosebumps erupted over her shoulders and arms, bared by the white silk dress she wore. The same gown she wore to her first cotillion, the dress swished softly with each hesitant step she took, cutting through the thick mist.

"Hello?" She asked into the empty wood that seemed to stretch on endlessly. Sadie's voice echoed off the tree trunks surrounding her, drawing closer and closer to her body as she stood still.

No answer came.

Rubbing her hands over her upper arms, Sadie walked on. Vines crept along the ground, slithering out from the earth as she walked. A flourish of grass and plants rose up in the trail of her path, wilting and dying as she left the foliage behind. She heard nothing but the sound of her own footsteps and her heart pounding in her chest. Acutely aware of her own body, Sadie felt the rush of blood in her veins, thrumming in uneasy time with her erratic heartbeats.

The mist swirled around her skirt as she continued to press forward, leaving a train of decay in her path until she reached the edge of a lake. Silently, Sadie crouched to place her hand in the water, but found the lake iced over instead. Her mouth opened in soft surprise. How could there be ice when she wasn't cold?

"Help!" A voice cried in the far distance.

Sadie's hackles rose.

"Hello? Where are you!" She called out.

"Please, help me!"

The plea for help came from across the lake, Sadie was certain of it. Though she was barefoot, Sadie stepped onto the frozen surface, but she couldn't feel the cold. Holding the skirt of her cotillion dress away with one of her hands, she walked swiftly along the ice. Beneath her body, the ice cap creaked and she could hear it crack deep within. The shifting set her uneasy on her feet, tottering uncertainly. But the call for help came again, striking a chord of fear seated deep in Sadie's chest.

An urge more powerful than she'd ever felt overcame Sadie. She had to find the source of the cry. No matter what happened and no matter how she got there, Sadie had to find whoever was calling out to her. Undeterred by the cold, she picked up the pace until she was flat out sprinting across the ice her feet barely touching down. Ahead of Sadie the blackness continued to swirl uncertainly. But she barreled headlong and as her feet touched the far bank of the lake she broke through the darkness and stumbled into a clearing.

Silent in her horror, Sadie raised her hands to cover her mouth. The still smoking, charred remains of the 107th field hospital scattered around her. Near Sadie's feet lay a portion of a hospital tent. The bright red cross on a white field was easily discernable as flames licked the edges of the canvas, slowly consuming the fabric. The blood in her veins ran cold and shivers slipped down the length of her spine. Every direction she turned all Sadie could see were mangled, dismembered, and burnt bodies. Though she couldn't see their faces, Sadie inherently knew that each set of remains belonged to a staff member she knew.

Hesitant, she drew nearer to a pile of remains. A skeletal hand reached outward towards the heavens, begging for reprieve even in death. Sadie's fingers visibly shook when she reached out to touch the hand, nothing more than charred bone. A gasp rose and died in her lungs as the hand dissolved into ash, blowing away into nothing. Bile rose in her throat. Sadie wanted to dash in a dozen directions to try and find any survivors. But before she could take another step she heard a voice that rooted her feet to the hard ground.

"Sadie! Help me!"

It was a voice she'd know anywhere, deep and touched by a Brooklyn accent. Bucky called to her again.

"Sadie, please!"

Sadie looked towards the horizon and the path before her opened up, clearing a way through the destruction of the field hospital. Once more, the urge to push forward overcame Sadie. Her feet began to move before her mind to could even consider staying. Dust rose in small clouds behind her as she tread onward. When she dared to look over her shoulder, the field hospital was gone, swallowed into a veil of smoke.

Bucky continued to yell out, though his voice seemed as far away as ever. The path lead onward, growing steadily darker once more until Sadie could no longer see more than two feet in front of her.

"Where are you?" She called into the void, her voice trailing away.

Wherever he was Bucky groaned in pain. Fresh terror needled at Sadie's stomach and she began to walk faster, stopping every so often to listen for Bucky.

"Sadie, please come find me! I need you!"

Her ears perked up, he was closer now. Once more she gathered her skirt in hand and took off down the path. Louder and louder, Bucky's pleas grew until at last she could see his face looming ahead of hers in a clearing. Concrete columns and mountains rose behind Bucky as he stood in his Class A uniform.

"Run!" He bellowed to her, blue eyes flashing with fear and anger. But he wasn't looking at her. Although he was merely feet away from her fingertips, Sadie ground to a halt and pivoted.

A man strode out of the darkness. His frame was broad and muscular, dressed in what she recognized as Class A's, only the uniform was pitch black. A naked pistol lay in his left hand, shining unnaturally bright silver. As he marched into the light her mouth fell open as fresh, abject horror swirled angrily in the pit of her stomach. Bucky came out of the blackness, his eyes as blue as ever but entirely devoid of the light she knew. This Bucky's mouth was set in a hard line and his face remained stone still.

"Sadie, run!" Whipping her head back, Sadie could see Bucky, the real Bucky, waving his arms for her to run.

But fear rooted Sadie where she stood. Even if she'd wanted to run, her legs wouldn't allow it. "No! I won't leave you!"

"Sadie, just please go!"

Bucky begged her but Sadie turned away, looking at the dark Bucky. He raised his left arm, holding the pistol aloft. At first he pointed the barrel directly at her. Bitter adrenaline flooded her mouth while her heart threatened to come out of her chest. His finger slid over the trigger but at the very last second he veered off.

She turned just in time to see her Bucky stumble backwards. A stunned expression held his face as he removed his hands that covered his chest to reveal a bloody gunshot wound. Bucky's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell backwards.

Sadie doubled over in a scream, but no sound came out.

X X X

Sadie woke paralyzed in her fear. Unable to move any part of her body, Sadie nearly choked on the panic that bubbled into her throat. The horrific second seemed to last a lifetime before she woke completely with a soft gasp. Immediately she moved her hand to her chest to ensure that she was actually alive. Sure enough, her heart was still racing. Breathing hard, but determined not to wake Evelyn, Sadie sat up and reached for her boots.

Swiftly she tugged her boots on and grabbed her field jacket before departing their small tent. The rain stopped sometime in the night. Cold air wrapped around her body, chilling the already cold sweat that clung to her skin. Shivering, Sadie pressed forward blindly.

"It was only a dream," she muttered to herself, though she was having a hard time believing herself.

As a child, Sadie had endured nightmares but she hadn't had one in years. But just as they had then, this nightmare felt so real. Reaching up the sleeve of her jacket Sadie pinched the inside of her elbow hard enough to draw blood. The sharp pain brought a small measure of relief. You couldn't feel things in dreams, she reminded herself.

A handful of crates stood just outside of the women's camp and close to the hospital tents. Often used as makeshift seating for hospital staff when they took breaks to smoke, the position of the crates gave Sadie a nice view of the wood and the first rays of morning sun coming through the trees. She had no idea how long she sat staring out into nothing, thinking of the one thing she'd tried for weeks to keep out of her mind.

Regret always seemed to find her despite how hard she ran from it. Sadie bitterly regretted her last meeting with Bucky. The harshness of her words combined with her outright rejection left an unpleasant feeling that hung over her every hour. Though she knew refusing to kiss him was the right thing to do, she had no excuse for her abhorrent behavior that followed. What wouldn't she have given to go back in time and take it all back!

Now, more than ever, Sadie longed to bury herself in his embrace. She wanted to feel his fingers stroking her hair while her fingers counted the steady beats of his heart. Hearing Bucky's voice in her dreams wasn't enough to satisfy her longing. Sadie would take a shouting match over the utter silence that his absence brought. Already she'd begun to come to terms with the fact that he was likely already dead; but seeing a darker version of Bucky murder himself in her nightmare was too much to bear.

Sadie dug into the breast pocket of her shirt and produced a folded piece of paper. The edges were beginning to show the first signs of wear and tear. Though she knew the words by heart now, Sadie still unfolded the note. There was something about holding the note in her hand and reading Bucky's handwriting that always helped to calm the worst of her ill mood. It was the only thing of piece of him that she had; as such, she regarded the brief sentences with the same reverence as she did the wedding ring that hung from her neck.

Dropping her eyes to the paper she once again read the familiar prose.

Dear Sadie,

I'm sorry for being a huge idiot. But I think we both knew it was bound to happen at some point. You do that to me. Sometimes I'm around you and it's all I can do to not kiss you. I hope you can forgive me, or at least be nice enough to not tell all of your friends that I'm a complete jackass. I can't wait to see you again.

Yours,

Bucky

Sadie re-read the note another time. Covering her eyes with one of her hands, she began to cry. A warm hand touched hers.

"Sadie?"

Evelyn's voice was soft and worried. Sniffling, Sadie tried her best to bring her tears to an end, but found she couldn't. Turning her head, she pressed her face against Evelyn's shoulder. Evelyn rest her head atop Sadie's and twined their fingers together.

"It's from him, isn't it? That note."

Sadie said nothing. The words wouldn't come out. Instead she nodded.

"And you've been dreaming about him, too."

It wasn't so much a question as a conclusion, one Sadie couldn't ignore. The memory of the dream burned Sadie's heart and she nodded once more.

"Look, I know you like your privacy. You always have. But, I have to ask you because I know you'll never say anything if I don't." Evelyn took a deep breath and moved so she could look at her friend. "Sadie, are you in love with Sergeant Barnes?"

A/N: Have I mentioned that I'm just a little bit evil? Because…I sort of am. Next chapter picks up where we leave off, will have a heavier focus on Bucky, and we just might see the return of a certain spangly man with a plan.

Anyway I'd love to hear your thoughts! Much love – Kappa.