Beatrice stared numbly down at the food in front of her, pushing her fork around the plate to make it look like she was eating. Even if she had been hungry, she doubted she would have had more than a few bites of the rubbery-looking fish that was the Whip & Fiddle's special of the day; she could only assume their drinks were better than their food. Then again, Bucky had wolfed down his meal and Ivan had cleared his own plate. Maybe it was just nerves.

It was closer to lunch than breakfast when they'd finally arrived at the pub—Beatrice red from head to toe, sure that she would have to think up an excuse for her extreme tardiness other than the fact that she and Bucky had gotten too distracted to keep track of time—but Ivan had greeted them mildly without demanding any explanation whatsoever, although Beatrice had stuttered out an apology. Perhaps her uncle guessed what they had been doing and chose not to comment on it like Howard most certainly would when they saw him next.

Beatrice set her fork down and pushed the plate away before reaching for her glass of water; she hoped it would settle her stomach. As she did so, she crossed and uncrossed her legs for the umpteenth time that morning, her legs shaking madly under the table. A moment later, she felt the comforting warmth of Bucky's hand on her knee, stilling her. It was the mirror of what she had done to him yesterday, and Beatrice glanced over at him, sure that her trepidation was written all over her face. His answering expression was grim but determined. She knew that he didn't want her to go through with this, with what Ivan had asked her to do, but she also knew that he was aware of the consequences if she did nothing. "I still don't understand why you wanted to meet here, of all places," she said, hoping her voice was even.

"It rouses the least amount of suspicion," Ivan replied. He appeared outwardly relaxed, but there was a definite underlying current of tension in his eyes and voice, which didn't make Beatrice herself feel any better. "And, paradoxically, it ensures that we are unable to be overheard."

She had to admit he was right: the background chatter and clinking of glasses drowned out any possibility of eavesdroppers being able to overhear them, even if they were seated at the next table. Beatrice was just stalling for time, some irrational part of her hoping that someone would burst in with the Norn Stone and things would settle down again. It's not difficult, she tried to tell herself firmly. All I have to do is make sure that no one's in the barracks before I start searching for it. Bucky and Uncle Ivan will be keeping watch outside.

"And you're certain that she's Hydra," Bucky said from beside her, echoing the same doubt that Beatrice had when Ivan told them about his suspicions. It seemed impossible that a Hydra mole could have been working in the SSR all along without Colonel Phillips getting wind of it; even more when Ivan literally possessed a stone that showed him the location of his enemies. But if Schmidt had known about the stone all along, he would have been careful to instruct the spy to avoid Ivan. It was improbable, Beatrice thought, but not impossible.

"I am certain of it, Sergeant Barnes," her uncle said solemnly. He turned back to Beatrice. "I just need to send word to Howard to disable the surveillance cameras outside the barracks. I should be back shortly."

Beatrice nodded, and Ivan excused himself to relay the message to Howard, leaving her and Bucky alone at the table. She didn't know why her heart was pounding as crazily as if she was about to infiltrate a Hydra base. Bucky must think she was overreacting. "I have to do this," she told him, but they both knew that she was really trying to convince herself.

"I know," Bucky replied. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he stared at her with something brewing behind his eyes. Beatrice knew that look well enough by now—he was either about to say something unusually serious or kiss her. Instead of waiting for him to decide, she spoke first.

"Thinking about our final goodbye?" she asked, half-laughing. She hoped he couldn't hear the note of hysteria in her voice. "Bucky, we're not on the Titanic. I just need to find the stone and bring it to Ivan. But if you had a speech prepared…"

He grinned ruefully and unfolded his arms. "C'mere," he said, and Beatrice obediently leaned into him, burrowing her face into his shoulder. She could pretend they were in bed at the Dorchester again with weeks of lazy nights ahead of them. "You want a speech, huh? Shakespeare or Keats?"

"Neither," said Beatrice, raising her head slightly to better see his face. "I just want Bucky Barnes."

He shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid I'm not that exciting, doll. I'm exactly the same as every other poor schmuck fighting out there who doesn't care about anything other than getting back to his sweetheart. The only difference is that my girl is here with me."

"Nice save," Beatrice laughed, feeling his lips on the top of her head. When she looked back up at him, however, his expression was very different.

"I love you, Rosie. More than anything," Bucky told her, his voice cracking slightly. It was worth more than any sonnet or love poem could ever be. Somehow stripping the words down to their essential meaning made them so much more real.

Beatrice smiled again, threading her fingers through his. "I love you, too."

According to Howard, the surveillance cameras would only be disabled for ten minutes before Phillips was alerted. Beatrice was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that the SSR was using cameras to monitor their own agents. Although she herself had never been involved in any wrongdoing, she still felt uncomfortable knowing she had been secretly watched whenever she'd entered or left the barracks. But she supposed the SSR couldn't be too careful, especially considering there was a Hydra spy in their midst.

Beatrice paused at the door and slung her musette bag over her shoulder, feeling the weight of a handgun in the holster strapped to her thigh. Bucky had made sure that she would be able to defend herself if things did go wrong, though Beatrice wasn't certain she would even have the courage to pull the trigger. The past two years of her life had been spent trying to save lives, not take them. Still, it was somewhat of a comfort to know she had a weapon on hand as she gazed across the street at Bucky, who was leaning against the brick wall of the chemist's opposite, pretending to read the newspaper. In reality, he was even more heavily armed than she was, keeping an eye open for any of the girls who might happen to be returning to their quarters early. Though Beatrice couldn't see him, Ivan was at the back door standing guard. If there was anyone already inside, Beatrice would tell them that Phillips needed to see them at headquarters. That would ensure she had enough time to find the Norn Stone and make sure nothing else was disturbed before leaving.

Beatrice knew this entire mission rested on her shoulders—if she was discovered, or failed to find the stone, she risked not only letting a potentially deadly weapon fall into the hands of Hydra, she risked becoming seriously injured or even killed. But this was necessary, she repeated to herself for the hundredth time. It was a chance to prove herself—not just as an army nurse, but as an agent of the SSR.

Bucky glanced up from his newspaper and met her eyes across the busy street; his intent expression cracked for a moment and she saw him smile. She grinned back at him and then quickly turned to the door, face warm at the secret they both shared. Steve had told her he became utterly focused when on a mission, so either he was just trying to comfort her or he wasn't all that worried. Beatrice sincerely hoped it was the latter.

It was a short climb up a staircase to reach the main sleeping quarters, past the communal kitchen and bathroom, but Beatrice took her time scouting the place, making sure that all of the rooms were empty before moving onto the main floor. She tried and failed to calm herself as she walked into the barracks and saw Private Lorraine sitting on her bed, dressed in her SSR-issued uniform and her legs primly crossed as she wrote in a leather-bound journal. She looked up when she heard Beatrice's footsteps and closed the notebook, giving a curt nod as she placed it in her valise, which Beatrice didn't recall seeing before. Hadn't she come in empty-handed the previous day?

"Good morning, Beatrice," Lorraine greeted her, a peculiar spark in her eyes as she said, "We were wondering where you were last night."

Not only did she have to get Lorraine out of the barracks, she now had to field questions about her absence after supper. "I guess I lost track of time," Beatrice said, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as she went over to her own bed and rummaged in the nightstand for a hairbrush. She hoped Lorraine didn't notice how badly her hands were shaking. She would make a terrible spy. How did Ivan do it?

But the other girl wasn't willing to give up so easily. "We were taking bets on whether you were with Sergeant Barnes or Captain Rogers."

Beatrice's fingers tightened on the handle and she forced herself not to glare at Lorraine in the mirror, who looked unbearably smug. The other woman waited a moment before delivering the final blow. "I bet that you were with both of them."

The sound of the brush clattering onto the nightstand was nearly deafening, echoing throughout the entire room as Beatrice turned around, seething. She had never particularly liked Lorraine, and keeping her tone civil was becoming more difficult with every passing second. "Sergeant Barnes happens to be my fiancé," she said, silently cursing herself for taking the bait.

"Oh, I know," Lorraine shrugged. "It was just a joke. They're best friends—I don't think they'd mind."

While Beatrice wondered why it couldn't have been Helen or Ruth or even Peggy who was there instead, Lorraine was still talking, ignoring the fact that Beatrice was bristling. "Rogers isn't that great of a kisser, anyway. A looker, certainly, but you could get more of a response out of a dead fish than him."

Tell that to Agent Carter, Beatrice thought harshly, white-hot anger and frustration boiling up in her stomach. Refusing to give Lorraine the satisfaction of a retort, she forced her face into the most pleasant smile she could muster and said, "Oh, by the way, Colonel Phillips needs you in his office. He'll be away this afternoon and wants you to take his calls."

"You could have told me that when you first got here," Lorraine muttered, looking disappointed that she hadn't managed to elicit a reaction from Beatrice. She tossed her curls and began to walk toward the door, slipping on her shoes as she went. Beatrice was surprised she wasn't putting up more of a fight. "Don't they need you, too? Murphy and Campbell are attending a briefing at headquarters."

Beatrice had completely forgotten about the meeting she was supposed to attend that morning, and decided she would think up an excuse for Phillips later. "No, I'm not feeling very well," she said—at least that was partially the truth. Lorraine raised her eyebrows, but didn't look too suspicious as she shrugged and left without another word. Beatrice waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded before springing into action.

She was running behind schedule—the talk with Lorraine had cost her at least five minutes; Phillips would discover the downed surveillance cameras very soon if he hadn't already—and so Beatrice didn't check the window to see if Lorraine was walking down the street before she hurried across the room to the other girl's valise, crushing the lock in her fingers until it snapped open—a feat of strength that would have amazed her if it had been any other time.

Beatrice had been skeptical when Ivan told her that he believed Lorraine herself to be the double agent, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized it made perfect sense. Lorraine had never spoken about her family or life back home, she was cool and aloof, and Ivan had never spoken to her directly—she'd always left the room whenever she spotted him. The last person on Earth they would suspect to be Hydra was a pretty blonde American woman. At the very least, Beatrice was certain that Lorraine was hiding a cruel streak.

The only thing Beatrice doubted now was that Lorraine hadn't thought of a better hiding-place than her own valise. But the women's barracks were off-limits to even Phillips, guarded by surveillance cameras, and there were only four other women besides Lorraine herself staying there—easy for her to supervise their movements. Besides, the lock on her valise was suspect enough—why would she need to lock up her clothes?

The first thing Beatrice picked up was the notebook Lorraine had been writing in. She opened it up and flipped through the pages, seeing that it was covered in scrawls of indecipherable German. Of course it would be useful for Phillips to have a secretary who spoke the language, but this looked more like code to Beatrice. She tossed it aside and began to haphazardly pull clothes out of Lorraine's valise, her heart sinking as she saw nothing but layers and layers of fabric, and then a decidedly empty bottom. Beatrice tried shaking the clothes out to see if the stone was hidden in one of the pockets, but she came up empty-handed. Panic was beginning to set in as her wristwatch beeped loudly, signaling that her ten minutes was up. There would be agents coming to check the surveillance cameras within minutes, and Lorraine would likely return as soon as possible once she realized that Phillips hadn't called for her. Beatrice knew Ivan wouldn't blame her if she failed to retrieve the stone, but she couldn't disappoint him now after he had done so much for her and Henry.

In one last act of desperation, Beatrice ran her hand along the bottom of the valise, not expecting to find anything—and her fingers suddenly caught on a jagged edge. She froze, prodding at the object—it felt like a rock was embedded in the fabric, but it was the same size and shape as she remembered the stone being. Her nail caught on an irregular line that couldn't be anything other than stitches.

Heart in her throat, Beatrice tore it apart with her fingers, and slowly raised the sparkling Norn Stone, careful not to let it touch her skin—she was wearing gloves for that very purpose. She stared, awestruck, unable to believe her last-minute luck. "Bóže mój," she whispered, transfixed.

As much as she had tried to push the strange visions out of her mind, she kept coming back to them, puzzling over what she had seen. She had to have been wrong—it couldn't be the future. That was impossible. The words had come tumbling out of her mouth like she herself hadn't said them.

But was that even more impossible than it showing Ivan where his enemies were, or weapons that were able to literally disintegrate people and leave not a speck of ash behind, or a serum that somehow enhanced Beatrice's strength and senses and turned the five-feet-four-inches Steve into a six-foot-tall muscular super soldier? It hadn't been the world that had changed, after all—it was her understanding of it. And she guessed that it was far easier to change her view on the world than to change the universe.

If she were to come into contact with the stone again, would she see the same visions as she had before? The city—the flash of gleaming metal—the glowing red eyes—the array of colors that, on second thought, looked suspiciously like the color scheme of Steve's shield—and perhaps most chillingly, the ruined gauntlet. Or would she see something different every time? Were they just hallucinations, or were they the truth?

Beatrice knew she was quickly running out of time, but her curiosity had suddenly awoken with a burning desire to know what exactly it was that she had seen. She peeled off her glove and held the stone by the tips of her fingers, taking a deep breath. The room was still empty, and she couldn't hear any movement at all stirring within the barracks. All it would take was one second, and then she would put Lorraine's valise back in order and pretend to be asleep when the others came back.

So Beatrice let go. It seemed to take an eternity for the stone to fall from one hand to the other, and the pounding of her heart was audible in her ears as she watched its descent—

And then there was a bright flash around her, as if the building had been struck by lightning, and Beatrice was somewhere else entirely. She was no longer kneeling on the floor of the barracks, but standing on the sidewalk of the same city in her first vision, the skyscrapers a sea of gleaming glass buildings. She was rooted to the spot, staring up at them in awe. Her eyes scanned the skyline—the sky was an unnaturally brilliant blue—and saw the spire of the Empire State Building rising up in the distance. Was she in Manhattan? But this wasn't the Manhattan she knew—the buildings were far too tall. The people walking by on the street were different, too—they wore strange clothing Beatrice had never seen before in bright colors; many of the women had odd hairstyles and were wearing trousers and skirts that were far too short to be proper. Beatrice caught a glimpse of a group walking by and saw that their eyes were all covered with a blue haze. None of them looked to the left or right; they were simply walking forward like automatons. No one so much as glanced her way. A cold shiver of fear began to creep down her back. Was this a nightmare, then? What kind of vision was this?

Something cold and metallic pressed against the back of her throat, and Beatrice shuddered away from it—her surroundings shifted and disappeared, reforming into the familiar setting of the barracks. Only this time she wasn't alone, and there was a gun pressing into the back of her neck.

"I'm surprised I was able to sneak up on you," Lorraine said, as the Norn Stone slipped from Beatrice's suddenly numb fingers onto the ground. "Maybe that serum wasn't so great, after all."

"How—" Beatrice choked, but her words were swallowed by a loud click as Lorraine disengaged the safety. "Not a word," she instructed. "Let's keep this between us, shall we? Maybe you should have made sure I'd actually left the building before going through my belongings. You know, I would congratulate you on figuring out that it was me, but it wasn't you who figured it out, was it? You were just the least suspicious person who would happen to come in here. I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw you today. You're a terrible liar, Beatrice. Not to mention it's laughable that you believed I would leave something as valuable as that stone unguarded. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you," she said as Beatrice squirmed, the gun only pressing deeper into her neck. "But the Red Skull might want to. Either that, or he'll let you become Zola's lab rat again. I'm not sure which is worse."

Beatrice didn't know much about hand-to-hand combat, but she did know that it was a priority, first and foremost, to get the gun out of Lorraine's hand. She would be expecting her to reach up and grab it, so Beatrice kicked her leg out as hard as she could, catching Lorraine by the ankles. The other woman grunted in surprise and the gun clattered to the ground. Beatrice lunged for it, but Lorraine, recovering quickly, knocked it out of her reach and it went spinning across the floor, under one of the beds and hitting the opposite wall.

Now the closest gun was in Beatrice's musette bag; she grabbed the Norn Stone and scrambled across the floor, but she had barely managed to get into a standing position before she was tackled from behind by Lorraine, the stone flying out of her hands and bouncing away. Beatrice threw her elbow out blindly and hit Lorraine in the face; she winced as she heard something crack—she had never used that kind of strength before—and that moment of hesitation cost her: Lorraine tackled her to the ground again, blood dripping from her mouth where Beatrice had knocked out several of her teeth. Her eyes were wild and her teeth were bared in a snarl as she pinned down Beatrice's hands so she couldn't get away; Beatrice strained against her bonds, but Lorraine was digging her knee into her stomach so hard that she couldn't muster up the strength. "You might be stronger, but you don't know how to fight," she said, and spat blood into Beatrice's face. "And because of that you will always lose."

Shaking with anger and adrenaline, Beatrice twisted onto her side and gasped for breath as she managed to wrench free of one of her hands, quickly grabbing Lorraine's hand and bending her fingers backwards. The other woman sucked in a sharp intake of breath as Beatrice felt each of them snap, and the pressure on her stomach loosened.

Wheezing, she pulled herself forward, out of Lorraine's grasp, and brought her fist back around to punch the other girl squarely in the nose. Blood immediately began to pour from her nostrils and Lorraine growled, running right at Beatrice and slamming her into the wall. The beams splintered and Beatrice's head cracked into it with such a force that it should probably have given her a concussion, if not outright brain damage. But her vision only wavered for a moment before focusing on Lorraine again, who had her fingers around Beatrice's throat and was squeezing hard. She tried to push her away, but she was only scrambling uselessly, her stomach still heaving, and Lorraine's fingers were pushing on her throat in such a way that Beatrice was out cold before she even realized what was happening.

What many SSR agents—even Ivan, who was one of their very best—didn't know was that there were a series of underground tunnels linking the various buildings that belonged to the agency's London branch. The tunnels were designed to connect all of the SSR-affiliated buildings together in case it became too dangerous to venture outside. Lorraine knew about them, of course, because one learned a great deal of useful things when one was Colonel Phillips' secretary, but very few others did. So it was simple for her to drag Beatrice's unconscious form down to the kitchen, where she tore off the oddly-shaped floorboard no one had ever thought to question, and leapt into the damp tunnel below, on her way to King's Cross Station.

Meanwhile, the ten-minute rendezvous had long since come and gone, and Bucky had put down the newspaper and was drumming his fingers against his leg, longing to have a rifle in his hands to keep them occupied. There had been no word from either Beatrice or Ivan, and when he could stand it no longer he pushed himself off the wall and strode across the street, mouth set in a hard line.

"Buck!"

Steve's voice rang out from behind him, and Bucky reluctantly paused as the blond man hurried up to him. "I was just looking for you," he said. "There's been a problem with the surveillance cameras all across headquarters. Phillips thinks they might have been taken down intentionally."

"They have," Bucky said grimly. "Listen, I have to find Rosie. Something's gone wrong."

"Gone wrong?" Steve asked, baffled. "Why do you need to find Beatrice?"

"I'll explain later," Bucky said, jaw tight, and pushed open the door to the women's barracks. Wishing that Peggy was there to stop him, Steve had no choice but to follow his friend, ready to apologize to whoever happened to be inside.

But the building was empty, save for himself, Bucky, and Ivan, who had already come in through the back door and was kneeling next to a loose floorboard, through which there was a gaping black abyss instead of the ground.

"Someone escaped through here," Ivan said worriedly. "The rest of the place is empty. Did Beatrice know about this?"

"No," Bucky said. There was a strange expression on his face. "At least she never said anything about it."

Ivan turned to Steve. "Was Private Lorraine with Phillips this morning?"

Steve shook his head. "No—he said she has the day off. Why?"

"Then Lorraine took her," Bucky snarled, ignoring Steve's question. "Where does it lead?"

"I don't know," Ivan admitted. "Likely somewhere with transportation out of the city. She must have been in a hurry—she didn't put the trapdoor back."

"Or she didn't care about getting caught," Bucky said darkly. Without hesitation, he strode forward and swung himself down into the tunnel, and Steve, knowing that Beatrice was in danger if nothing else, followed him.

"Let me get this straight," said Chester Phillips, leaning back in his chair and staring incredulously at Ivan, who was pacing around the office looking frantic. Behind him, Howard was leaning against the doorframe, more serious than Phillips had ever seen him. "Your blasted magic stone went missing and you got it into your head that it had been stolen by my private secretary, who also happened to be a Hydra spy—so instead of coming to me, you sent your inexperienced niece to retrieve it." Phillips grabbed a cigar from the desk drawer and took his time lighting it, letting the words sink in before regarding Ivan through a cloud of smoke. "I didn't expect this from you, Agent Romanov."

Ivan abruptly halted his pacing and waved away the haze in front of his face. "It was extraordinarily foolish of me, Colonel. I believed it would arouse less suspicion and locating the stone would be a simple task."

"He didn't want to ask for your permission," Howard spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest and looking longingly at the pack of cigars. "He knew you wouldn't believe him about that secretary."

"Yes, thank you, Howard," Ivan said irritably. "But he is right—I was not thinking clearly. I should have realized that the girl would be prepared for someone discovering what she had done."

"Of course she would!" Phillips exclaimed. "I knew it all along!"

Ivan stopped in the middle of yet another apology. "Excuse me?"

"I always knew Lorraine was a Hydra spy," Phillips snapped. "You think something like that could get past me? She wasn't at first, of course; I noticed that she was beginning to become sympathetic to their cause. But she was useful, unknowingly passing along communication to Schmidt so I could then feed that information to the Howling Commandos. She knew I was on to her, which was why she was planning to make a run for it. I've been giving her false information for the past six months. You would have known this if you had asked me."

Ivan looked stunned; Howard couldn't help but smirk at his expression. "Well, she knows you know now," he said.

Phillips pointed a warning finger at him. "You shut up," he ordered; Howard gave an exaggerated salute in reply. "So not only has she made off with the stone and Hartley, Rogers and Barnes have gone after her. Do you have trackers on them?"

"Yes," Ivan said. "Well, not on them, exactly—I've asked the Commandos to monitor every incoming and outgoing transmission at the train station. It's the most logical route of transportation for Hydra to use, and King's Cross is only four streets away."

There was a hurried knock on the door. Howard leaned over to open it and James Falsworth stumbled inside, breathing as heavily as if he had sprinted the entire way there. "Colonel Phillips, the radio has picked up a transmission from an unregistered train on the continent. We believe both Nurse Hartley and Arnim Zola are on board, heading to a Hydra base in Bavaria."

"Pack your climbing gear, boys," Phillips announced, flicking ashes onto the floor and standing up. "We're going to the Alps."