September 18th, 1943 — Italy, somewhere in Umbria — Allied Forces Base Camp

There was only so much pain a man could endure. Bucky was certain he didn't have the worst, though, despite the burning hot pain running from his arm up his shoulder and down into the tips of his fingers. He had seen grown men cry and limbs being pulled apart by bombs. After months of living hell, he felt strangely numb about the concept of injuries. A bullet to the arm was really no big deal. Any other and they probably would have sent him to the field medic to bandage him up and get him back to the front line.
But Bucky was a marksman and they needed their arms intact and unwavering to make their shots count. Ammunition was running low as it was already. His superior had sent Bucky back to base camp thirty miles behind their line to have the bullet pulled from his flesh and the wound sutured. Bucky's aim was too valuable to let it go to shit just because they hadn't let him go to the field hospital.

The constant jostling of the jeep, that brought him and one of his men back to the field hospital, didn't help with the pain in his arm, though. Every bump of the road lit his arm up with newfound fire and ice. Bucky saw Jacob Miller's face twist in pain, sweat poured down his pale face and Bucky imagined that he looked very much the same. Miller had caught a nasty ricochet in his stomach and he didn't look too swell right now. Neither of them did. A strange moment long, he wondered what the girls he had taken dancing would say about him now. Dirty and sweaty and tired as he was.
Maybe Bucky should feel grateful for the reprieve a bullet in his arm meant. But all he could think about were the remaining seven men of his rifle squad. Sergeant Kowalski had taken command over them until Bucky would return. Kowalski was one of the good ones, so he had hope for his men to survive.

A groan slipped from his lips as the jeep came to a screeching halt and his whole body was flung to the side. The flap of the jeep was harshly pulled away and two runners jumped in to pull the stretcher Miller lay on out of the jeep. Bucky winced in sympathy as his subordinate turned white as a sheet once they started moving him.
"You're doin' fine, Eddie", he said in what he hoped to be a steady voice. "Think about how jealous McGinn's goin' to be. Ain't no seein' the nurses for him, eh?" Miller attempted a smile at Bucky's encouragement and it actually stayed for a while. Bucky had successfully distracted him from getting carried off the jeep.

Two nurses were already running towards them, one — a stern looking blonde with bright blue eyes — immediately stopping next to the stretcher, while the other — a gorgeous brunette with full lips — made an attempt to get Bucky off the jeep.
"I'm good, sweetheart", he said and jumped down from the vehicle. His boots hit the dry ground heavily and he tried to cover up the wince, when he jostled his arm during the action. The nurse looked as if she wanted to roll her eyes.
"What happened?", she asked instead and ushered him towards the field hospital.
"Had a disagreement with some German snipers last night", Bucky answered and gifted the nurse with a shaky, lopsided grin, that didn't help the worried expression on her face. German snipers always meant trouble. Some thought they were devil incarnate, more so than Germans in general anyway. Bucky thought they had one hell of an aim. Especially with those damned specialised rifles they had.
He still wanted to get his hands on one of them.

"Went south pretty fast, but we got the bastards and managed to take the village. Privet Miller caught a ricochet and I got this little present." Bucky nodded towards the younger man being carried inside the hospital tent in front of him and then attempted to lift his arm. Pain shot up into his shoulder and this time he couldn't cover up the flinch.
"Will you stop moving, Sergeant—", she stopped in her berating, looking him over with furrowed brows.
"Barnes", Bucky offered. "James Barnes." The nurse nodded sharply, though she couldn't entirely hide the blush blooming on her cheeks.
"I'm Nurse Vallon", she introduced herself as she pointed towards a cot. "And do try not to move your arm unnecessarily." She gave him a somewhat stern look at that.
"Yes, Ma'am", Bucky replied with a grin, that had gotten him into trouble more than once.
"Your jacket and shirt have to come off", Nurse Vallon ordered in a clipped tone, but Bucky could see the tiny smile he had elicited from her.
"Sweetheart, I'd take off anything you ask me to", Bucky grinned smoothly and slipped his good arm out of his jacket. A pretty pink blush dusted Nurse Vallon's cheeks and she turned around fiddling with the supplies brought by a runner to hide it. When Bucky tried to get out of his right sleeve, the pain made him gnarl his teeth. This wasn't going to work.
"A little help, maybe?", he asked Nurse Vallon, eyes blazing with innuendo and a winning smile on his lips, despite the pain. The blush on her cheeks intensified, but she didn't hesitate to help him out of his clothes.

By the time Bucky sat shirtless on the cot, Nurse Vallon was as red as a tomato and Bucky quite proud of himself. It made him feel normal, a bit more human, when he flirted with the nurses. And he liked to belief, that it made their day also a bit less dreary and stern. Lord knew, they needed all the laughs they could get.
Before Bucky could tease the poor nurse some more, a doctor came rushing towards them. He cleaned his hands on a towel that was more pink than white from the blood.
"What do we have?", he asked curtly, eyes fixed on Bucky's bloody arm as he spoke to his nurse. Doctors had little time for pleasantries and no one dared to resent them for it. They saved lives as much as the nurses did and that was why all of them were held in such high regard by the soldiers.
"Sergeant James Barnes", Nurse Vallon immediately informed her superior. "Retained missile. Approximately five to eight hours old."

The doctor leaned over Bucky's arm and prodded at the wound. A low hiss fell from Bucky's lips before he could stop it.
"Morphine administered?", the doctor asked, his brows furrowed, but he didn't seem too concerned. It made Bucky's muscles relax a bit.
"Not yet", the nurse answered.
"One shot of morphine and—", the doctor began, but Bucky interrupted him.
"Save the morphine", he said. "I'm resilient." They sure as hell didn't have morphine, when Ma Rogers had set his nose straight after he jumped in on one of Steve's many alley fights and got himself a broken nose. The doctor looked at him for a moment, pondering, but then nodded.
"Only local anaesthetic, then. Pull the bullet out and then stitch him up, Betty", he said and left them with a sharp nod towards Bucky. Off to hopefully save another life.

Nurse Vallon was quick with the forceps and the sutures. Pulling out bullets and sewing flesh together obviously a routine task for her and Bucky couldn't help but to admire the Army Nurses. Growing up knowing Ma Rogers had beaten a iron respect for women into him. Despite that, seeing the nurses here wrangle grown man with an ease that frightened him at times, had left him in awe more than once.
"You know", he said as he watched her push the needle through his skin, "we ain't nothin' without you gals." Nurse Vallon didn't look up, but there was a tiny proud smile dancing around her lips. Bucky liked to cause those smiles. Nurses and doctors were valued and they should know it.
"Just doing my job, Sergeant Barnes", she answered as she tied the sutures and straightened once she was done.
"And I'm only tellin' the truth, doll", Bucky smiled a winning smile at her. The blush returned and it did distract Bucky from the rising pain in his arm.
"You sure you don't want some morphine?", Nurse Vallon asked, a hint of concern in her tone.
"Yeah", Bucky answered, though he could feel a thousand little pinpricks step-dancing across his arm already. "Yeah, I'm sure. Thanks, though, Nurse." He knew he was going to regret this. But he also knew, that there were others worse off than him and any shot of morphine they had was valuable. Supplies were hard to come by these days after all.

September 20th, 1943 — Italy, somewhere in Umbria — Allied Forces Base Camp

The simple wool dress was a bit rough on Irene's skin, but she wasn't about to complain, if it brought her safely across the front line. Her left hand shot up to pull at the colourful scarf she had wrapped over her hair in a typical Italian fashion. The black wig she wore to hide her honey-blonde hair itched, but Irene would manage. Not being recognisable was more important than reducing any possible discomfort on her part.
She had a basket hanging from her right arm, one she had bargained off of a sweet Italian woman three villages ago. It had cost her her red lipstick and the satchel bag she had brought along for the journey. In the basket was a checkered cloth, a bit of fresh bread, a field flask filled with water and a book in Italian. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Underneath the checkered cloth, however, were copies of German marching orders, pictured of HYDRA weaponry and a small handgun.

The village coming up ahead on the street lay in ruins. Debris was piling up on the streets, houses were nothing but dust and a couple of stubbornly standing walls. And yet, there were people bustling about, clearing the debris away and trying to salvage anything from the ruins of their homes.
"Buon giorno (good morning)", Irene greeted, the Italian easily rolling from her tongue. The people nodded as she walked past them. It was a grim sort of camaraderie, that lay over the village. Between the salvaging locals, soldiers stood and cherished the short time of calm. Their uniforms dirty and more often than not crusted with dark blood. They looked tired and battle-worn. But Irene saw them still joking around with each other. A breather between horrors. She was also certain, that there were marksmen stationed on the church tower, keeping a sharp eye on everything and enabling their comrades to loosen up for a moment.

As Irene walked past a heavily sweating, elderly man pulling parts of what had once been the entrance of a house away, she stopped, pulled the bread from her basket and broke a piece off. Though she was careful to hold the basket out of the man's reach, her body firmly between him and her most dangerous possessions.
"Eccolo (Here you go)", Irene said gently and offered him the bread. "Non ne ho bisogno. (I don't need it.)" The old man looked up and into her eyes. Sorrow was etched deep into his wrinkles.
"Eccolo", Irene repeated. "Ne hai bisogno più di me (You need it more than me)" A slow smile spread on the man's face and he finally took the bread from her.
"Grazie mille, bella (Thank you very much, beautiful girl)", he said in a raspy voice. "Dio ti benedica! (God bless you!)" Irene just smiled at him and turned to continue on her way through the village.

She felt the eyes of the soldiers on her and in her role as a thankful survivor, she smiled at them as she hurried along the main road through the village. It was quite obvious, that the allied forces had just conquered the village. Probably just one or two nights ago. The soldiers still looked weary and she was met with jeeps driving past her as she left the village.
Her path was carefully planned out to avoid detection by anyone. Neither the soldiers on the German side nor the soldiers on the allied side knew who she was. Irene Schneider was not broadly known among the people orchestrating the war. Her name might have plopped up every now and then along Arnim Zola's as a scientist, but nothing more. And Irene Schneider had honey-blonde hair and a well-known coldness to her character. Now she had dark hair, glasses, a constant smile on her lips and a slightly insecure gait.

No one could know who she was. She could never be recognised, lest her cover was blown. And that would lead to a cruel death either by German or allied hands. As a double agent, Irene would always have to fear both sides. So she hid her face behind glasses and her hair, despite the wig, underneath a scarf as she walked along the side of the road and tried to not catch too much attention from the jeeps passing by with American soldiers. She couldn't risk them taking a look inside her basket.
This was a dangerous mission. And in the laser focus of her mind a thought suddenly mingled and grew, as they did in the most strangest of moments.

By God, why did I volunteer for this?

But she knew, that she was the only one who could pull it off. Months of training had prepared her for this very moment and the few minutes of a devastating visit had steeled her resolve and poured iron into her veins. So she pushed her fear to the back of her mind and concentrated on making her way to her destination. An allied forces base camp about 30 miles behind the front line, where one Agent Margaret Carter was currently stationed. Her contact from the SSR.

It took the whole day for Irene to reach the forest the camp was built up in. A broad street led up to the turnpike, visible from a long way and bustling with soldiers. Irene swallowed as she neared the camp, her mouth dry and her heart beating faster with every step.
Another jeep rumbled past her.

Irene smoothed down her dress with her left hand and pulled the basket a bit higher into the crook of her right arm. Her hands felt clammy.
The turnpike fell down again and the young soldier guarding it took his place in front of it. A cigarette hanging from his lips.

She could hear the rush of her blood in her ears. A white noise, undefined, but loud.
If they checked her basket and found the gun and the German documents…
Irene tried to swallow again, but her tongue was heavy and stuck to the roof of her mouth.

"Stop", the guard said as soon as she had reached him. "State your name and purpose." Irene plastered the most charming smile on her lips she could muster up and pulled the scarf from her raven hair. The soldier blinked and stood a bit straighter.
"I'm here for help", Irene said and let an Italian accent colour her English. Not that it would fool any native speaker, but it was enough for the soldier in front of her. She gestured towards the camp and turned her smile more towards the shier variation.
"You're here to help? Or you need help?", the soldier asked a bit confused.
Irene nodded. "Si. I want to help." His eyes travelled towards the basket. She forced her muscles to stay relaxed. If she tensed there was hell to explain. To distract him, she batted her eyes and let loose a slew of rapid Italian.
"Voi salvaste ce. Voi siete eroi. Eroi belli. Voglio semplicemente ritorco qualcosa. (You saved us. You are heroes. Handsome heroes. I simply want to give something back)", Irene let the Italian roll from her tongue and looked up at the soldier from beneath her lashes with a shy smile. When the young man did nothing but stare at her, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes wide, Irene let a tiny chuckle fall from her lips.
"Oh", she made a purposefully innocent expression. "I'm sorry. I…uh…you are heroes. Let me help, please."
She could hear her heart thundering and felt a drop of sweat run down her spine. For a moment she didn't even dare to breath, her hazel eyes fixed on the soldier.

His eyes travelled once more towards the basket.

"Only bread and water", she said with a lilt to her English and smiled up at him.
If she didn't think, that she had lost heaven's favour years ago, she would have probably started praying at that moment.

"We can always use a pair of hands more", the young soldier then said and gestured for her to walk past him into the camp.
Irene gifted him a brilliant smile, that had him blinking dumbly once more, before she vanished in the mass of people. Her basket always clutched tightly to her body. She needed to get to Agent Carter or Colonel Phillips before anyone wanted to be actually responsible and have a closer look at her.
Her eyes swept across the camp built up in between large trees. She knew the strategic place where the command centre would be within the camp. Had studied the layout during her training as a spy. It didn't take her long to find it, thankfully.
Only one side of the tent was closed, the other three had the flaps rolled up. Four beer tables were pushed together to create a large working area. It was littered with maps and folders and orders printed on dirty papers. Irene's eyes swept over it, assessing the value of the information in a heart beat. Nothing of importance.
For the moment, the tent was empty, so she took a step into it and sat down onto the table. Her feet were killing her and her whole body ached.

"— already late. You think our contact is still coming?"
A male voice.
"Certainly. The intel is ironclad."
That was a female one.
And both were headed towards the tent. Irene was usually not one for dramatic entrances, but definitely a woman with a dry sense of humour. And after the horrible march she had just done, she was more than in dire need of a laugh. Therefore she simply watched as a man and a woman came into view, without announcing herself any time earlier than needed.
"Are you sure?", she heard the Colonel ask, just as the woman — undoubtedly Agent Carter, judging by her uniform — looked up and saw Irene sitting on the table, basket placed on it right next to her.

"Why yes, she can be sure", Irene said with a sharp smirk and thoroughly enjoyed the shocked expressions on their faces. What she did not appreciate, however, was the gun pointed at her by the female agent within a split-second. Irene's right hand twitched slightly, as she forced herself not to grab for her own gun hidden beneath the checkered cloth. That certainly wouldn't help the situation. The colonel stood rigidly next to the woman, his eyes fixed on Irene, but no weapon in hand. Not yet. Irene was clever enough not to underestimate anyone.
"I don't think that's necessary, Agent Carter", Irene nodded towards the gun and stood slowly from her place. The Italian lilt to her English completely inexistent now. Instead an accent impossible to place had taken over. Agent Carter, for all her training, had to wonder about it. Maybe British? Or possibly Swedish?

"Colonel Phillips", Irene nodded towards the man, before she set her eyes on Agent Carter once more. "I enjoy going to the theatre."
Agent Carter visibly relaxed. "And I liked Oklahoma the best", she answered as she slipped her gun back into it's holster.
"The spy, I presume?", Colonel Phillips said lowly and gave Irene an once-over.
"You would presume right, Sir", Irene answered, the sly smile still in place on her lips. Her tone just as low. She had checked the surroundings of the tent before entering, but one could never know who overheard their conversation.
"Irene Schneider, I'm with the SOE", she introduced herself and held out a hand. The others did not take it. An almost invisible frown drew Irene's eyebrows a tad bit closer together. There was a carefully hidden distaste suddenly on both their faces, mixed with not so carefully hidden distrust. Of course.
Irene let her hand fall down to her side. The right corner of her mouth twitched a bit, somewhere on the way either to a sarcastic, bitter grin or a proper frown.

"They didn't inform us, that you are German", Agent Carter pointed out in a sharp tone.
"Of course not", Irene said smoothly and sat down again. "Imagine the Nazis or HYDRA intercepted that transmission. I'd be dead in the wink of an eye." She propped her feet up on one of the boxes next to the table, her sore legs in dire need of at least a bit of a stretch. Her dress hiked up a bit and more than one soldier passing by took slower steps to catch a glimpse of her. Colonel Phillips didn't look very happy about that.
"Why would they kill you specifically?", Agent Carter asked, still anything but at ease around the spy. Irene looked up to her, an unreadable expression on her pretty face. It's always the pretty faces, isn't it? The most dangerous ones have the faces of angels. The thought shot through Agent Carter unbidden.

She had come into contact with many SOE agents over the past months. Most were stationed behind enemy lines to sabotage and stake out possible targets. They were daredevils riding on fire horses, risking their lives without batting an eyelash.
But then there were also those few, selective SOE agents — the only ones SOE, SIS and SSR actually agreed on —, that belonged to a very, very special breed; they weren't just behind enemy lines, they infiltrated the German army, they breathed amongst the enemy for as long as they were allowed to breath and gathered crucial information.
Those were made of hard iron and hell-fire itself, the stuff legends were made of.

"Because it's usually well-known, that I'm half British and half German. That makes me dangerous", Irene explained, her hard eyes fixed on Agent Carter. And for the fleeting moment of a split-second, the brunette wondered how a warm colour such as hazel could be so cold.
"It makes you the perfect spy", Agent Carter nodded slowly in understanding, then her own sharp gaze fixed the blonde. "For both sides."
Irene narrowed her eyes a bit. The distrust and accusations weren't anything she hadn't expected, but it was annoying nonetheless. She was tired and everything hurt. Therefore she just grabbed her basket and wordlessly pulled out a copy of marching orders for the Germans and HYDRA in Italy and a non-developed, tiny roll of film.
"These are marching orders given three days ago and whatever I could photograph of HYDRA's scientific plans. Zola is very hush-hush about the more crucial parts, though, whenever I'm in his office", Irene said and put everything on the desk she sat on. "Maybe I can get you some better intel in the future."
"How?"
The colonel's tone was hard and demanded utter attention. Irene turned her head and with a rather nonchalant shrug, she said: "He likes to look at me. I can exploit that, if absolutely necessary."
Neither Colonel Phillips nor Agent Carter asked, what exactly she meant with exploit.

"Anything you can tell me about the Gothic Line?", Colonel Phillips wanted to know, more comfortable with the military topics than the intricacies of spies. Irene furrowed her brows.
"That's not exactly something HYDRA is concerned about", she answered. "But what I heard through the grapevine is, that it's apparently stronger than Monte Cassino." The colonel's expression darkened.
"Stronger than Monte Cassino?", he pressed, the wrinkles in his face digging deeper.
"Apparently", Irene confirmed with a curt nod. This was information, that didn't sit well with the colonel. Not at all.
"If you don't mind", Irene continued and slowly stood from her somewhat comfortable position, her muscles screaming and aching, "where do I sleep tonight?"

Now that question was again met with incredulous expressions. Although Agent Carter's was better hidden than Colonel Phillip's, showing off her spy training.
"Come again?", the colonel asked.
"Well", Irene answered, not betraying any emotion in her tone, "I just made a 460 miles — of which I walked 70 by the way — journey to get to you. My legs hurt and I'm so tired I could just fall asleep right here and now." She lifted a brow in slight annoyance.

"Don't you have a tight schedule?", the colonel asked yet again, his gaze hard and unforgiving. "They surely expect you back from whatever excuse you spun to get here." Irene scrutinised him for a moment, then a lazy smile appeared on her full lips. It promised danger and adventure all the same.
"But Colonel Phillips", Irene said lowly, a devious tint to her voice, "that's the fun part in all of it. They know I'm here."

The reactions were fast and really, Irene should have expected it. Within a second of her confession, she had a gun pointed at her head — again — and cold, dark eyes staring at her from underneath thick, black lashes. The colonel had his grip on his own sidearm, however not drawn yet.
"Let's not lose our heads", Irene mocked slightly, her hands up in silent surrender. "They just think, that I spy for them on you."
"Which you don't, of course", now it was Agent Carter's turn to mock her.
"Of course not", Irene answered nonchalantly. "Why would I?" She looked Agent Carter directly in the eyes and allowed her true emotions to be seen for once. Her voice, however, was hard and unapologetic, as she spoke.
"My country is currently on a misguided, cruel rampage across Europe based on the ridiculous believes of one man. That rampage killed my father, my brother and turned my mother into a weeping mass of insanity. I do not care for Nazis and their lunatic beliefs." Irene actually shrugged at this point in her little speech.
"But what I do care about is, that I think HYDRA even more dangerous than that", her hard eyes fell from Agent Cater to the colonel. "HYDRA is not just a scientific branch of the SS. HYDRA is madness incarnate. If we don't stop them, whatever the Nazis rained on the world would seem like child's play compared to what HYDRA would be able and willing to do."
Tense silence engulfed them after Irene's harsh words. The distrust among them was so heavy, it was hard to breath. Irene's muscles were tensed, ready to snap into action at any given moment.

"Why should we trust, that these are your true feelings?", Agent Carter finally spoke, her gun still pressed to Irene's forehead. The cold metal burnt on her skin.
"I'm a spy", Irene said in a way of an answer, her calm voice not betraying the rapid beating of her heart. "You don't trust spies. No one should. But you can trust my rage."
Blazing hazel bored into hard brown ones.
"HYDRA hunted my family for years, before they killed my father and brother. I want to see them burn for that."
For a long moment, the two women just stared at each other. Then Agent Carter lowered her gun and nodded with one sharp jerk of her head. She could work with that. It was a wonder the whole commotion hadn't lead to more than a few curious glances. Apparently the soldiers thought their colonel capable enough to deal with an obviously civilian woman.

"You sleep in my tent", Agent Carter ordered as she took a step back and then looked at the colonel, "if it's all the same to you, Sir?"
"Please", Colonel Phillips said and looked rather tired all of a sudden, "I'd sleep better, if I'd know you have an eye on the spy at all times."
Irene did not point out, that she had a name. She was too German here and too British there, no point in demanding to be treated kindly. If she had wanted that, then she shouldn't have agreed to become a spy seventeen months ago, when MI6 had knocked on her door.

"So for how long do we enjoy your presence, Miss Snider", Colonel Phillips asked completely ignoring, that he butchered her last name in his attempt to pronounce it.
"Two, three days, maybe four", Irene answered, a thoughtful expression on her face, as she calculated days in her head. "I do need to gather some intel from you after all."
"Excuse you?" Agent Carter did a double-take and stared hard at the other woman. The colonel, however, being longer in that line of work than the young female agent, had an inkling of what the spy talked about.
"What do you think would happen, Agent Carter", Irene said in that cold tone, that was apparently her default setting, "if I got back from an apparent spy mission without any intel at all?" Agent Carter's eyes lit up with understanding. Then she gave another sharp nod.

"We should discuss this tomorrow", the Colonel decided. "We need to make a very careful call on what information you get." His eyes locked on Irene, who nodded in understanding. It was a hard decision, because it could potentially mean sending good men to death, just so Irene could keep up her cover.
"You're dismissed until tomorrow 0800 hours right here", the Colonel ordered. Then he added as if an afterthought: "How did you even get in?"
"Oh", a wicked smile danced on Irene's lips. "There was a rather nice soldier guarding the turnpike. I posed as a local wanting to offer help." She shrugged nonchalantly as the colonel groaned and muttered something about red-blooded children.

"Do you need a disguise?", Agent Carter asked suddenly. Irene's hazel eyes travelled to her.
"No, thank you", she answered with an almost playful lilt to her tone. "I already wear a disguise." Irene could taste the distrust in the air after that. Thick and acidic like tar.
"A wig?", Agent Carter narrowed her eyes and scrutinised Irene.
"Yes", the spy answered with a slow nod. "And glasses."
"And you think that'll do the trick?", Colonel Phillips asked, his voice full of scepticism.
"Of course not", Irene answered, but she had raised the pitch of her voice and let her British accent bleed through stronger. Where her accent had been unable to be placed a moment ago, it was obviously British now.
"There's more to undercover work, than just a disguise", Irene continued easily. She hunched her whole posture a bit and let a hardened, but open expression crawl onto her face.

Agent Carter and Colonel Phillips watched the transformation in crude fascination. And it was a transformation alright, because instead of a confident woman with an air of cold superiority around her, that was just so damn typical for a German, they now stood in front of a wide-eyed girl, obviously uncertain of her own skin and glancing through glasses with a look that has seen horror, but was not yet completely tainted by it.
"Agent Dorothy Greene at your service", Irene introduced herself with a hint of shyness. "The SSR will send me every now and again to bring you new intel and just generally be a helping hand for you Agent Carter."
It took the brunette a moment, but when Irene offered her hand this time, she took it. Even if it was just for the sake of the charade they would play the coming days. Irene on the other hand held no illusions, that she was trusted here. That wouldn't happen in a long time…if ever.
She tried to see it with humour. Being distrusted was an occupational hazard as a spy. It meant she was doing her job right.

A/N:
Heya fellas!

So, I recognise, that the prologue is a bit meager and there haven't been many noticeable changes to it anyway. But this one turned out much different than it had been! I sincerely hope for the better...

First, I wanted to add more Bucky to the mix. Explore his life some more. Built up his character and see what he had to endure, even before HYDRA got to him. I want to establish the relationship between him and the other members of the Howling Commandos. I hope you guys are okay with that?

Second, Irene has a bit of a different entrance to the story and I sprinkled in a bit more historic events. Frankly, the MCU timeline doesn't exactly line up with the actual historic timeline of World War Two, which makes it a hassle.
The 107th is far too north for example and so I had to screw a bit with the historic timeline...so to all History buffs out there: sorry! I know Monte Cassino was later.

How do you feel about Irene?
And do you like this Bucky?
It's a bit hard to pin his character down. He's just a regular, nice guy with a habit of being a terrible flirt as far as I'm concerned. I'm a bit anxious about writing him actually...so I hope I do him justice?

I also hope you're all staying safe and indoors. Don't spread the virus, spread love!

And what better love to spread, than some words to us authors?
THANKS for favouriting and following this little project!

Read ya soon,
Murphy