Loki sat on the small bed, pulling his stolen spectacles up to his forehead, and sliding them back down again. His eyes had always adjusted on their own to be able to see through them clearly, but the fact that they weren't so quick to adjust when he took the spectacles off again was becoming worrying. Without them, everything was fuzzy at the edges; not quite so bad that he couldn't still see what the objects were, but enough that something was clearly wrong.

"Nice bruises," Coulson said suddenly from the doorway. "What you supposed to be? A raccoon?"

Loki grumbled, still fiddling with his spectacles. "I think I'm going blind," he said, dropping the spectacles down onto his nose and regretting it. He was starting to feel lightheaded from the magic that kept him from healing, but he knew his injuries shouldn't and couldn't heal overnight.

Coulson sat down slowly, watching Loki pull off the spectacles to rub his abused nose.

"Seriously?" asked Coulson. "What, from hitting your head?"

Loki shrugged. "Maybe not blind, exactly. Just getting... worse." He wondered if it was something that could be fixed by the healers once he got home. He wondered what he'd do if it wasn't.

Coulson took his spectacles from his fingers and put them on, flinching hard almost as soon as they were settled. "Fuck, ow," he said, pulling them off again and digging his fingers into his eyes. "That shit actually hurt," he said.

Taking them back, Loki laughed. "So I've been informed." He settled them back on his face, more gingerly this time to avoid the break in the bone. "What's happening, since they won't let me out of bed?"

"Oh yeah, that's such a bad thing, to be stuck in bed where it's warm and cozy," Coulson mocked, before muttering something that sounded like "lazy ass." He leaned to look out the door to the rest of the house before saying anything else. "Jim wants you to stay in bed another day. He's worried you might have knocked something around too hard upstairs, but everyone else is wondering how we'd even notice."

Loki snorted and shoved him. "Everyone else. You mean you," he said.

Coulson only shrugged. "But Cap wants to get out of here ASAP. There's a guy with a boat that says he can take us, but we'd need to leave at slack water, whatever the hell that is. Tonight, apparently."

"No, he's right," Loki agreed. "We need to get out of France. It's just a boat ride. I can rest then, and get plenty more in England."

"You think there'll be dames there?" asked Coulson, almost childishly eager.

"Willing to sleep with you? Not likely," Loki told him. Coulson shoved him back.

Loki got up and stretched, trying to avoid scraping his hands against the ceiling as he arched his back. He could have easily stayed in bed for a week, if he knew it was safe, but he wouldn't feel anything like as much until France was miles behind them.

"Is there food anywhere in this place? I could probably eat a horse right about now," Loki said.

"Well, there's the one you wrecked yesterday. Or I think someone mentioned goat something earlier." Coulson frowned even as he spoke, but it was the best thing Loki had heard all month.

"Yes. Take me there. I will gladly settle for a goat. That's much better anyway," he said. Loki couldn't remember the last time he'd had goat, and he was surprised at how much he missed even the idea of it.

Still looking mildly disgusted, Coulson walked with him downstairs to the kitchen, where the beginnings of dinner were starting to be laid out. The squad was spread out over a few houses, lessening the burden on each family that hosted them for their time in town. In theory, they were supposed to be staying two to a house, but Coulson had insisted with staying with Olson while they were in garrison, and Morita wanted to be close at hand should Loki's health suddenly decline.

Loki walked up behind the young woman as she prepared dinner, reaching around her to snag off a small piece of the meat, and was surprised when she slapped his hand away. Taking just the smallest sliver as a reward, Loki retreated. Eating with stitches in his lip, where he couldn't covertly tear them out as he had the ones in his side, was a surprisingly difficult task. Everything still stung and pulled painfully, making him suddenly understand the pathetic breakfast of crustless-bread and jam he'd been given.

Sitting down at the table, Morita shook his head. "Hey, you should be," he started, but shook his head and waved an annoyed hand in Loki's direction. "Aw, fuck it. Goddamn kid's gonna do what he wants anyway."

"Hey watch it. That goddamn kid's your fucking sergeant," Coulson reminded him, sitting down as well.

"The goddamn kid's older than you are," Loki pointed out to Coulson in turn. He was older than everyone else in the room put together and multiplied several times over, but Loki avoiding saying as much.

Their hostess began serving dinner, seemingly not even fazed by their immediate response to being presented with a hot plate of food. They all three ate without taking the time to taste it, just eager to get something into their bellies that wasn't charred to a crisp or out of a jar. Even Coulson, despite his initial reservations, seemed poised to clean his plate and ask for more. As they devoured what was before them, the woman's family squeezed up to the table as well, taking more time to actually enjoy their dinner than their American guests.

"Oh, how I've missed this," Loki said, taking a moment to actually savour the meat once the initial shock of a proper meal wore off.

"I miss music," Morita said. "Me and my girl used to go dancing every chance we got."

"I miss Bugs Bunny. Or just the pictures in general, you know?" said Coulson around a mouthful of bread. "I used to go every day, if I could."

"I miss my hair," Loki realised suddenly.

The other two looked up at him, pausing for a long moment while they tried to figure out what he meant.

"Looks like you got plenty to me," said Coulson.

Loki shook his head and held his fingers down near his waist. "They made me cut it when I signed up. I used to have a lot more."

"What, like a broad?" asked Morita.

Loki picked up a pea from his plate and flicked it at Morita. "No, like a warrior." He brought his hand up to his hair, almost annoyed at not having anything to brush out of his face ten times an hour.

"I guess it probably made up for the hair you're not growing on your face," Morita said offhandedly.

Loki flicked another pea at him.

Once they were finished, and Loki properly thanked the family for letting them stay, the three of them went next door to find Rogers speaking stiltedly with an older man. Rogers' French was surprising, though still rudimentary at best, but the old man was patient and let him finish before speaking his turn.

"It will be tight, but yes. I can get ten men to England, assuming we don't get blown out of the water before we get there," he said.

Rogers nodded grimly.

"What are the chances of that?" asked Loki.

The old man shrugged.

"What was that? What'd he say?" asked Coulson quietly.

Loki sighed and let the original conversation continue. "Only that he thinks we'll probably get blown up before we get to England," Loki said hopelessly.

The other two went suddenly quiet, listening to a conversation they couldn't understand.

"If you wish to have your men out of France tonight, have them ready at the docks at eight o'clock," said the old man before leaving.

Rogers nodded and thanked him, finally acknowledging the other three.

"We getting out of here then?" asked Morita.

"Yeah," said Rogers. He looked at his watch and frowned at it, and then looked around the room for a clock. "In about two hours. Get everyone ready and down to the docks within one."

By the end of the hour, everyone was rounded up and on the docks, making sure they were ready to head out as soon as the word was given. Packs were double and triple checked, with everything that wasn't needed left behind. Spare weapons and ammo that wouldn't be of any use anyway, the rest of the food from Ayrens; even extra clothing was given away to make sure the load would be as light as possible.

They had been warned the boat was small, but none of them had actually seen it until they were brought down to it as a group. Small was an understatement. The little green vessel rocked in the waves, looking like it would capsize at any moment. The deck was open to the elements, and though there was a cabin, it was too small to stand in, let alone keep anyone dry.

"Julien? You sure this is the right boat?" Rogers asked cautiously.

"Yes. We'll see how she fares. I've never taken her all the way across before," he responded, hopping easily from the dock to the boat.

Loki buried his face in his hand, choking back the shock from the still-lingering pain that flared across his face.

"What?" asked a few of those around him.

"That don't look good," said Dugan.

Loki shook his head. "He's never done this before," he clarified. He looked up and cleared his throat loudly. "Is it sea-worthy?" he asked in French.

Julien shrugged. "Depends on the weather." He looked up to the dark sky and shrugged again. "Like I said. I suppose we'll see."

"We're going to die," Loki muttered into his hands.

They waited until Julien was done on the boat, taking out all his nets and unnecessary rigging and equipment to make as much room on the tiny deck as possible. With it all dumped onto the dock, he held out his hand and waved them aboard. Rogers went on first, and then he and Dugan helped Bruttenholm board and get settled before the rest filed in after them. The boat rocked against its mooring, moving about so much that Morita almost slipped and fell through the gap and into the sea below.

"Please don't do that," Jones said, helping him back to his feet.

Loki looked down at the water and took a deep, steadying breath before climbing aboard. Once more concerned about his weight, he had already shifted his entire body to actually be human, but it wouldn't be enough if he fell in. Willingly jumping into the water was one thing. Having to be ready at a moment's notice to take Sif's childhood advice and turn himself into a fish was another. At least when he was human, there was a chance he might be able to be pulled back aboard before having to give up and fake his death. Finding another way to the Tesseract and to the well would not be easy, so he would simply have to not fall in.

He found a corner against the cabin and sat on the deck, focusing only on keeping calm and concentrating on the magic he'd need if the boat capsized in the sea. Once everyone was onboard and settled with their gear, Julien ran one more round of checks and unhitched the mooring from the docks. The engine was loud, and sputtered to life with a spray from the boat's stern. Anyone who wasn't already crouched down near the floor quickly dropped down to the deck as the boat lurched uncertainly in the water.

"Oh fuck, we're gonna die," Jones said, grabbing hold of a piece of metal rigging that came up from the deck.

No-one said anything else as they left the shore and made their way out to sea. The farther from land they got, the heavier the winds grew, and the rougher the waters became. They were barely twenty minutes out before every one of them was soaked from waves that battered the sides, threatening to tip the small boat over. All Loki could think about was a swift current and muddy water. He knew he had to keep calm and keep focused, but the water on his face and the sounds of the waves devoured his every thought. He held on tightly to his pack, knowing it would do nothing to save him, but having nothing else within easy reach.

"Olson. Olson!" Rogers shouted from the other side of the deck. "Luke!"

Loki looked up suddenly, scrambling to find anything to reach as the boat was slammed by another wave.

"Are you sick?" Rogers shouted.

It was the last question he expected, but a moment later, he realised why it was being asked. He looked up to see Morita and Pinkerton both hunched over the side, holding on for dear life while they vomited into the sea. It was almost enough to make Loki forget his own problems, except he could still see the sea that tormented him.

"I may have neglected to mention that I can't swim," he forced himself to say finally. He looked away again as Rogers gave him the wholly useless orders to not fall in.

As the boat rocked and lurched, and even a few times bounced out of the water, Loki sank further and further into his corner. He looked up at the sky, thankful that it was at least dry, and not dumping buckets of rain and snow on them as well, or else the boat might have just filled up with water and sank straight to the bottom.

"Yes, hello. I think there is a problem," Julien called out from the tiny cabin.

"What problem?" asked Rogers. He got to his feet and crouched down to see out the front, to where Julien was pointing. "Are we close to land?"

"No," said Julien.

"Damnit," Rogers muttered. He stepped back out to the deck, holding onto the top of the cabin for stability. He looked out at the sea around them and sighed before turning back toward Julien. "Keep going. They haven't fired on us yet. Maybe they won't."

"And what the hell are we supposed to do if they start?" shouted Dugan.

Rogers didn't answer. He stayed where he was, craning to look over the cabin as they continued on their course. Over the wind and the waves, the sounds of another boat engine began to drift toward them, closing in by the second. From somewhere up ahead, a powerful spotlight was raised on them, while indecipherable orders were shouted over a megaphone.

"What do we think? Friendlies, or are we about to get blown to kingdom come?" asked Dugan, shouting to be heard over everything else.

Rogers shielded his eyes from the spray and watched out over the sea toward the other boat. "I need some, uh..." he started off in French, losing confidence toward the end. "Olson, ask if he has any binoculars."

Loki looked up at him, taking a moment to realise what was said before relaying the question.

"No," said Julien. "I'm stopping now."

He didn't kill the engine, if only to be able to keep the boat from getting turned against the waves. The boat still bobbed and thrashed about even as the other drew near, shining its light at them while someone shouted over the megaphone.

"Identify yourselves at once, or we will be forced to open fire!" a tinny voice announced from the approaching patrol boat.

Before Rogers could say anything, Pinkerton leapt to his feet and began shouting back at them. "Private Percival Pinkerton, First Infantry Division, Coldstream Guards! Get us the hell out of here, or sod off already!"

The other boat stopped abreast of them, shining their light straight at them. "Who else is with you?" the voice demanded.

"A bunch of yanks and the Frenchman whose boat we hired to get us the hell out of France! Are you going to do something about it?" Pinkerton answered

There was a long pause before the English boat started to move away, only to circle back around to the other side, this time close enough to toss a few lines over. Jones and Rogers both grabbed onto them and pulled, bringing the two boats together before tying the ropes off to whatever they could find. Once everything was secure, one of the English sailors climbed over onto the already cramped fishing boat and scowled wetly at the lot of them.

"I don't know how the yanks do it, but in England, desertion is treason," he said.

"It's not desertion. It's a sanctioned mission," Rogers said calmly. "Captain Steve Rogers, US Army, under orders from Colonel Chester Phillips. We need to get to Norway, and we were hoping we could take a detour through friendly territory to get there."

The boats both slammed together in the waves, adding the clanking of wood and metal to the rest of the unholy noise around them. None of it seemed to bother the English sailor staring down Rogers, though. "What's in Norway?" he asked.

Rogers shook his head. "I'm afraid that's classified information," he said. He held onto the cabin as he turned to gesture to his men, huddled and soaked and miserable, all crammed onto the deck like sardines. "I'm just trying to get my men to safety. If you want to interrogate us, fine. You could at least do it somewhere dry."

The sailor glanced over his shoulder to his shipmates before nodding at Rogers. Over the sound of the weather around them, someone could be heard shouting into a radio.

"Very well. We can take you to port, but don't expect to get much farther than that." He leaned into the cabin and banged on the top to make sure he had Julien's attention. "It's been a quiet night tonight, and we'd all like to keep it that way. Turn around and go back where you came from."

After a moment of awkward silence, Loki turned to him and relayed the order in French.

"With pleasure," Julien agreed.

The English sailors stepped aside to help Rogers and his squad board. Even though the two vessels were lashed together, they still rocked and swayed uneasily in the heavy waves, making the transfer all the more perilous. The English patrol boat was bigger, but not by much. Mostly, it sat higher in the water, making the men have to toss their bags over before climbing aboard. Before everyone was even settled, the sailors unhitched Julien's boat from their own and tried to push him off into the waves. He wasted no time in gunning his engine and turning around in a wide arc to head back home, without offering so much as a glance backwards.

Loki sat huddled between Jones and Dugan, all either shivering from the cold or trembling from their idiotic shared near-death experience.

"You really can't swim?" asked Dugan.

Loki shook his head, but otherwise didn't answer. He remained quiet throughout the journey the rest of the distance across the channel, though the larger boat did nothing to negate the conditions of the sea. The boat tore across the surface of the waves, being constantly thrown into the air and slamming down hard again. The pilot controlling the vessel was clearly favouring speed over comfort, which in the end did get them to shore relatively quickly, despite nearly breaking everyone's back in the process. At port, they were denied their packs and searched for weapons before they were led away from the boat and into a nearby building. At least there, it was dry and warm, making the fact that they were obviously being put in the brig inconsequential. Before they were even locked inside the sparse room, many of them began removing their soaked outer layers of clothing and finding some place on the floor to lay them out to dry.

"Do you think just once, we might be able to go somewhere and not get arrested?" Morita asked.

"We made it across France, didn't we?" Dugan pointed out. He sat down against the wall and stretched out his legs in front of him, more relaxed than he had any right to be. "At least in here, nobody's shooting at us."

"Yeah, that's what would be really nice. Going somewhere and not getting guns jammed down our throats," Coulson agreed, sitting down next to him.

Before everyone was even settled to wait out the night, the door opened again, and two men stepped through. Rather than getting up to acknowledge the ranking officer in the room, everyone ignored him in the vague hope he'd go away.

"Captain Rogers," the officer said, smiling blandly.

"Yeah," said Rogers, standing.

"Phone call from London. They want to speak with you."

Casting a despairing look back at the rest of the squad, Rogers nodded and followed the other two out without a word. After the door shut and locked again, several of the men sighed and shook their heads.

"Do you suppose there's actually a telephone call waiting for him?" Loki asked.

"Ten bucks says there's not," Coulson answered cynically.

It wasn't the sort of thing to be placing wagers on, but Loki was too tired and worn down to care. "Twenty, and you're on," he said.

"All right. Twenty."

Loki leaned against the wall as Howlett leaned against him, ready to just go to sleep and forget the day had even happened. He had barely closed his eyes when the door opened again, and two more sailors walked in.

"We're here to move you chaps somewhere more comfortable," one of them said.

Everyone cast quick glances to one another, not even wanting to speculate what that might actually mean, before getting up to be led somewhere else. They picked up their wet coats and shirts on the way out, none saying a word as they were led through the base, though the lack of an armed escort did somewhat lighten the mood. As they walked, they passed by an office with an open door, where Captain Rogers stood quietly with the telephone receiver against his ear.

Half surprised to see it himself, Loki nudged Coulson with his elbow. "Pony up," he said.

"I don't got it on me," Coulson said.

Loki nudged him even harder as they were led back outside and down a wide path. Off the water, the weather was calm and cold, with only a light breeze on the air. Wet, and wearing little more than their undershirts and trousers, everyone started to huddle together a little closer as they were led further inland. The building they were finally led to was long and narrow, and a surprisingly welcome sight once the doors were open and the lights were on. The barracks were empty, and seemingly unused, presumably with most of the sailors out at sea. Without having to be told, each of them fanned out to take the first available bunk they could reach.

"How long are we staying here?" asked Barnes hopefully as he fell back onto his chosen bunk.

"You'll be sent up to London tomorrow," one of the sailors said. "Until then, try not to roam about too much."

"No problem there, slick," Howlett said, a heavy edge of sleepiness already on his voice.

They were soon left alone again, until Rogers was brought back to join them. By then, most of them were already asleep, and barely stirred when the doors were opened. Inclined to let his men rest, Rogers said nothing as he found a place of his own to bed down for the night.