Becca visited Jack for the third time since discovering his true identity. On her previous visits, she had subtly attempted to gather more information about the Infinity Stones and Jack's time travel experiments. Although Jack proved incredibly capable of evading answers, she stuck to her agenda of wearing him down. As he'd informed her of his intentions to stay in New York for a while due to unsafe travel conditions, Becca knew she had plenty of opportunities left, and planned on being extremely persistent.

But this visit wasn't about getting information. Becca needed someone to talk to as she felt herself spiraling downwards into a depression. And the only person she could talk to about her situation was Jack.

As they walked from his hotel to Bryant Park, Becca recounted everything that had happened since their last talk. Steve not going to the recruiting station. Telling him about the future. How he'd thought she was crazy. The meeting with Howard and Dr. Erskine. The final, bitter words exchanged between herself and Steve before he left.

At first, Becca stuck to the bare details. She didn't know Jack too well, and so avoided getting too personal. However, there was no judgment in his eyes while he listened, his expression fixed in sympathetic concern, and she found herself spilling out all her worries with unusual ease.

"I'm scared," Becca admitted as they stopped to rest on a stretch of wall in the shade. "What if something else happens? Steve almost didn't join the army. I managed to fix that in the nick of time, but I won't be around him anymore. He could make another choice that changes the future, and it's my fault. I should never have gone to him for help, and I definitely shouldn't have kept coming back. I just…"

"You're lost and in a completely different world from the one you knew," said Jack gently. "It is not so strange that you would want to take comfort in being with a person you love. I daresay most anyone would do the same in your place."

"Yeah, but still. What if he changes things so drastically that I get stuck here? Or disappear or something? Or what if Thanos wins?"

"This is a serious predicament," Jack acknowledged. "But you have shown that you're willing to take responsibility for your actions by attempting to return time to its true course, even at the cost of Dr. Erskine and the grave tortures that will befall your friend Bucky. You have taken a step in the right direction."

It certainly didn't feel like a right step. Whenever Becca thought about what was in store for Dr. Erskine or Bucky, or Steve for that matter, she just felt terrible. "I guess."

"It's true. And I would ask that you allow me to assist you in assuring that the future stay on course."

Becca turned to him, curious. "How?"

"You recall that my primary field of study is neuro-technology?" Jack asked, and she nodded. "An area of such technology that was at its height in my era is the ability to control and manipulate memory. I myself have performed a number of operations during which I have successfully altered brain tissue to erase memory, sometimes with technology of my own design. I could replicate this procedure with the correct resources and space in which to operate. I'm sure Howard Stark would be willing to assist."

Ice cold fingers crept up Becca's spine, and she shuddered. "You want to change Steve's memory?"

"More precisely, I would erase you from it."

Becca didn't doubt the existence of this sci-fi, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind technology. She had seen such technology work first hand, though the futuristic version must be more effective. But the idea of messing with Steve's memory made her queasy because, not only had she seen what happened when memory was tampered with, but she had also seen the cost afterwards. How could she ask Steve to go through this procedure?

And more selfishly, Becca didn't want to be erased. She didn't want Steve to forget about her again, even if it was for the best. He might be angry at her now, might think she was a cheating liar, but he was all she had. It was sappy and pathetic, but true. Her cell phone was nothing but a hunk of plastic without its charge, and even her wedding ring was nothing but symbol of what they'd someday share.

"What, so there'll be these weird gaping holes in his memory?" Becca asked, putting off her choice. "Won't he notice?"

As the mind-wipe technology had been described to Becca, during the twenty-first century anyway, whole blocks of memory went missing, not certain people. And you didn't mind those memories missing, but rather, accepted what others said to shape your choices rather than relying on memory. What Jack was describing sounded different, and Becca could only picture Steve recalling bizarre one-sided conversations or rapid flashes, like bursts from a camera with every few frames taken out.

Jack shook his head. "You would be surprised at the elasticity of the mind. It simply… slides over the memories which have been altered." He drew one gloved hand through the air, curving easily over an imaginary bump. "If the subject concentrates, his or her mind will invent new memories. It is quite competent and amazing in that way. Our mind dissects situations constantly and attempts to make sense of them, or to repair what it perceives as damage. There will be no noticeable gaps."

Jack made the procedure sound so easy, and in the future it probably was – but Becca had to wonder at the origins of mind-altering technology. Because its use was horrifyingly familiar. "Who started this kind of neuro-technology exactly?"

"Ah, you are wondering if this is the same technology which Hydra created, are you not?" guessed Jack with a rueful smile. "Although I think you would agree more readily to its usage if I denied it was so, I will tell you the truth. Yes, Hydra was the first to use this technology, but you cannot despise an invention because of the ill intentions of its creator. Tools which can alter memory are neither inherently good nor evil. It is the men wielding such tools who may be good or evil. We would not be forcing Captain Rogers to become a darker shadow of himself. We are merely correcting events so that he will once again be the man he should have been."

Although the thought of using a variation of Hydra technology made Becca's skin crawl, Jack had a point. They wouldn't be taking all of Steve's memories and warping him into a lethal assassin. They were simply removing her from the equation, which as much as she hated, should ensure that Steve would make the same decisions as he had when she wasn't a part of his past.

"What about side effects?" Becca asked. "Headaches? Possible brain damage? Anything?"

Jack shrugged. "Captain Rogers will have a mild headache for a few days, but further side effects are rare."

"Okay, so what are the rare side effects?"

"Consider this," Jack suggested firmly. "Any operation has the potential to go badly, no matter how experienced the surgeon, how common the procedure, or how healthy the person who will be operated on. But we do not stop giving organ transplants, for example, simply because one unfortunate person has a lethal reaction. We cannot let ourselves get caught up in the slim possibility of failure when the rewards far outweigh them."

"But if this operation fails, we might literally be kissing the future goodbye."

"That is a risk I am willing to take."

"Easy for you to say. Steve's not your husband." Becca gripped the edges of the wall and sighed. "You don't know what he's been through, not really. If I talked him into it and something went wrong… I couldn't live with myself."

Becca could deal with Dr. Erskine's death. She could deal with Bucky falling into the clutches of Hydra, although it was harder to stomach. But if Steve's brain got scrambled or the procedure didn't go right, adding to the mountain of guilt he'd build over the course of the war, or – worst case – he died, Becca didn't know what she'd do. But it wouldn't be good.

Jack rested a hand against her shoulder blade, his touch so light Becca barely felt it. "You love him, and this makes your decision difficult. I understand. Perhaps if I had a loved one here with me, I would have made different choices. But without one, my gaze is clear. Allowing me to erase yourself from Captain Rogers mind is the right choice, for yourself, for him, and for the safety of our future. And if there is one thing my mother imparted to me about Captain America, it is that he always tried to make the right choice."

Very true. Steve was always very concerned with making the right choice. Becca forced herself to put aside her misgivings and think strictly about what Steve would want. It didn't take long, not with the potential of the future of mankind being in the balance. He would let go of some fond memories to save everyone else. Besides, he wasn't too happy with her at this point anyways.

But there was another problem with erasing her from Steve's mind, which Becca had to bring up.

"What about the other people who know Steve that also know me? He's going to be spending a lot of time with Bucky overseas. And there's Bucky's family, too. Steve will be really weirded out if they all talk to him about someone he has no memory of."

Jack frowned ponderously. "It's a predicament, no doubt. I will have to give the situation some thought, but none of that will matter if Captain Rogers still has his memories of you."

"I'll talk to Steve," Becca decided. "I don't know how I'm going to find him but… I'll ask. He has to be on board."

"I would very much prefer it if he agreed as well. I think it would be easiest for everyone." Jack patted her back once, light as his touch. "You have made a wise decision. Captain Rogers would be proud, would he not?"

"I guess we'll find out."

"Lights out, ladies! And if I catch another one of you tryin' to sneak out, it's goin' to be two hundred pushups every hour starting at oh-one-hundred and ending when you're all cryin' for your mamas."

Steve put his copy of Battle Studies: Ancient and Modern Battle away in the locker at the foot of his cot. He had brought a stack of books from home, old and dog eared. Some he had read a couple of times, like Tzu's Art of War. Others, including Colonel du Picq's Battle Studies, he had picked up on his way out of town. According to Dr. Erskine, he wasn't going to have as much time in basic as most soldiers because the government had put a deadline on Project: Rebirth. Steve needed to be prepared as possible for going into the war, and he didn't want to disappoint Dr. Erskine, who had gone out on a limb to give him this chance. Although it was hard to do much preparing when he came to bed so tired that he could barely struggle through a couple of pages.

As the barracks went dark, Steve pulled his blanket up over his shoulders. A few of his fellow platoon members complained about the cold and the thin blankets, but he fell asleep no problem. Even if he hadn't been used to poor sleeping conditions, he went to bed too exhausted to even begin to think about complaining.

Steve said a quick prayer, including a plea that no one would test their platoon leader again. Last night, Donovan had crept out, egged on by some of the younger boys, and pulled the air raid siren. Needless to say, the ranking officers had been furious. His platoon had been given latrine duties for the remainder of the month and had to run five laps around the track in the frigid night air. Steve hadn't finished until daybreak, and collapsed once from an asthma attack to boot. He was still recovering, although his body seemed to be permanently sore these days.

But if Project: Rebirth worked like Dr. Erskine and Rebecca had explained, he would never have to deal with another asthma attack, and five laps would feel like nothing.

Steve rolled over onto his side, already on the verge of falling asleep.

It would be nice to be big and strong. No one could push him around, like his fellow platoon members did all day long. And he could help more people. Still, Steve was having a hard time imagining having his body change that drastically. It was a lot to wrap his head around, although Rebecca being from the future – well, that was something else even more bonkers.

Steve wasn't completely sure he believed that Rebecca came from the future, even though Mr. Stark had gone through a bunch of fancy science talk to corroborate her story. Time travel sounded too much like fiction. Curing his illnesses and making him bigger, at least that was sort of like medicine, a tangible concept.

The one part he did believe for certain was Rebecca still being married. She'd admitted as much. He had been shocked, indignant. As he saw it, marriage was a sacred vow made between two people before God. Rebecca had been apart from her husband for about five months and already she had broken that vow, which didn't sit right with Steve at all. He didn't imagine it would sit right with her husband either.

In attempting to envision her husband showing up, Steve realized just how little Rebecca had talked about him. He had gone through Project: Rebirth as well, so he'd be tall and strong, but Steve couldn't recall her mentioning any physical traits. She hadn't even mentioned his first name as far as he remembered.

It didn't matter. He wanted to sleep, not think about the husband of the woman he'd fallen for and how Rebecca had hurt both of them, even if her husband didn't know it yet.

Unfortunately, once he got to thinking about something, it was almost impossible to think about something else. Steve pondered what Rebecca even had said about her husband.

Her husband had money. Or did he? Rebecca had never actually confirmed that theory, now that he thought about it. She had mentioned a large sum of money she'd had in the bank once, but she'd never said the money belonged to her husband. Steve had made the assumption himself. And she had told him that story about how neither one of her nor her husband used the correct utensils at a high class dinner party. Perhaps neither one of them had money to start off, but rather, they'd come into money.

What else then? Steve had almost fallen asleep when he remembered Rebecca looking fondly off into space while she described her husband baking a birthday cake every year for her. The story had stuck with Steve because he found the idea of a man baking very unusual. Unless, of course, her husband had been a baker, but that didn't seem to be the case. And it was her husband who had showed her how to make the apple cake that had tasted so close to Ma's.

"Maybe we had the same recipe."

It was impossible that they had the same recipe, of course, because Ma's cake was a family recipe from Ireland.

The mattress springs creaked as Steve rolled onto his other side. Something shifted in the back of his mind, an idea that hadn't quite come together. He felt like he was missing something important, but why would thinking about the apple cake make him feel like that? Nothing came to mind, so Steve let the notion go, allowing his thoughts to drift sleepily, aimlessly through his memories of Rebecca.

Her face suddenly flashed in his mind, dark circles under her eyes, but a smile on her lips, the odd one that looked teasing but Steve had never figured out why. "If it's any consolation, my husband's much more famous than the Rockefellers."

She had said that the first day they'd met. Steve had thought Rebecca was pulling his leg, but maybe she hadn't been. As a super solider, her husband could have done something to make a name for himself. Of course, it'd have to be quite a feat to make him more famous than the Rockefellers. Steve also recalled her telling him that he would become a famous war hero after going through Project: Rebirth. It seemed she liked to surround herself with famous people. Maybe that's why she had come to him, because, if her future story were the truth, she could get to know someone else famous. Her interest could've had nothing to do with selling her rings.

The sensation of missing something increased, like tingles running down the back of his skull. Slowly, Steve was feeling more and more awake.

Something about her rings was important. Rebecca had sold her engagement ring, which had a diamond on it; that much Steve could remember. Then, there was the wedding band she still wore with an engraving on the inside.

S.G.R. & R.M.S.

Her husband's initials and Rebecca's. And coincidently also his initials. His initials.

Steve opened his eyes, mind racing. He was sure it was a coincidence. It had to be a coincidence.

A recent memory floated up; Rebecca in the alley, her wide eyes begging him to understand.

"It's not like that. I'm not cheating."

Memory after memory presented itself, projected from his brain like films on a reel. Rebecca retelling the story about when Ma had gotten sick with the flu. Rebecca bringing him a cup a coffee, just how he liked it. Rebecca coming to the art gallery, exclaiming over Lawrence's sketches like she knew him. Rebecca wearing one of her intent looks while giving advice that always sounded heavy. Rebecca assuring him time after time that he would get into the army when no one else believed in him. Rebecca –face tear streaked because she needed to sell the rings she had touched so gently – putting her hand on top of his after he'd tried to cheer her up.

"You know, somehow I think my husband would agree with you."

All of his breath left him at once. Steve couldn't believe in all the time he'd been at basic, he hadn't put these pieces together, even after Mrs. Barnes had written in a letter about Rebecca coming to find him, and seeming very upset to hear he'd left. Every one Rebecca's quirks, the strange things she'd said, the odd looks she gave him, it all made sense if he accepted one possibility. One incredible, nearly unbelievable possibility.

Steve stared at the formless shadows which grew clearer as his eyes adjusted to the dark. He barely heard the snores, coughs, and creaks in the room around him over the sound of blood pumping in his ears.

"Rebecca Read," Steve whispered, so quietly he almost couldn't hear himself. But he had to listen to how the name sounded, if it sounded absurd, the product of an over-tired mind. "Rebecca… Rogers."

It didn't sound absurd to Steve at all. Instead, the name conjured up those not infrequent daydreams he'd had after the jazz club in which Rebecca smiled at him, a kid resting on her hip with his blue eyes and her freckles.

For months, Steve had wanted nothing more than to be in basic training. Now, he could hardly wait for it, and the experiment, to be over. Because in that moment, he didn't care about being a good soldier or super soldier. If his suspicions were true, he needed to know. Only one person had the answer, and he'd left her back in New York.

Author's Note:

So now Steve knows... but for how long? Drama ahead, readers. See you next week!

(Crystal H: Thanks! Jack is indeed back. And now you know where it's going.

N: Thank you! This is definitely the thick of things, that's for sure.)