What's left of the Howling Commandos are back, but it's not a happy homecoming. Steve and Peggy still have each other to try to help one another through this, but first Steve is going to have to step up and fill in some big brother shoes in a way he's never done before.


Steve was sitting up in the infirmary, the shoulder he'd dislocated when his shield had been knocked away back in place, and he was clean and warm and exhausted and a million miles away from sleep. A cup of sleeping potion sat untouched on the table beside him. All he saw when he closed his eyes was Bucky falling. All he heard was his scream fading away as he dropped out of sight. He couldn't sleep. Not now. Maybe not ever.

He shoved himself to his feet and left, and he knew Nurse Rains saw him, but she didn't try to stop him. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he found himself drifting toward Ravenclaw Tower. Becky should know. Steve had to tell her. He didn't think he could tell her. But she should know.

Before he got to the Tower, he rounded a corner and came across her coming down. "Steve!" she said happily, relief flooding her face when she saw him. "You're alright! You were so late getting back, I was getting worried." Nausea rose in Steve's throat, and he just barely managed to swallow it down. She was so happy. She was so happy, and he was about to rip her reality apart. "Steve?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

He opened his mouth, couldn't find any words, closed it.

"What's wrong?" she asked again, stepping closer. She looked around the corridor. "Where's Jay?"

Still no words.

"Steve?" she asked a little more sharply. "Where's Jay?"

Steve swallowed hard and still couldn't find anything to say, so he shook his head.

Horror flooded Becky's face. "No," she said, shaking her head.

"I'm so sorry," Steve said.

"No," she said again. "Where is he?"

"He…he fell," Steve said quietly. The tears pooling in his eyes started dripping from their corners. "Becky, he's not coming back."

"No," she said again, barely a whisper.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"You're sorry?" she repeated angrily. "My brother's dead, and you're sorry?! No!" she said, stepping closer to him and shoving at his chest. "You were supposed to protect him! That's your job! You two always look out for each other, and you were supposed to make sure he was safe!"

Steve felt his heart shatter into even smaller pieces, but he had nothing to say to that, because she was right. They were supposed to have each other's backs, and when it really mattered, Steve had failed. He hadn't protected Bucky, and Bucky was dead now and it was Steve's fault. Everyone knew it, and Becky was the only one honest enough to say it.

She shoved him again and whirled away, steel blue eyes blazing with fury, then almost immediately spun back around and threw herself into his arms with a force that surprised him enough to send him stumbling back a few steps. "I'm sorry, Steve!" she cried. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I didn't!" She looked up at him, every little bit of fire gone from her face and nothing but complete and utter misery in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean that, I really didn't! I'm sorry, Steve, I'm sorry!"

"Sshh," Steve soothed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in against his chest. "I know. It's okay."

"No," she said, shaking her head against his chest. She turned watery eyes up to him again. "I don't know why I said that. I know you would have tried so hard to save him."

"I did," Steve said quietly. It hadn't been enough, but he'd tried.

"You would have done all you could," she said. She sniffed loudly and started crying again. "Jay would say that's all anyone could do. He wouldn't be mad at you," she whispered. "Can you forgive me for saying that?"

"Becky, I—" Steve started. She'd been angry, and why not? There was nothing to forgive.

"Please?" she begged. She buried her face in his chest, and Steve could feel her tears soaking through his shirt. "You and me, we're all we've got left, and I don't want you to think I hate you, Steve, I don't! I'm so sorry, Steve, I'm really, really sorry!" she sobbed desperately.

"It's okay," Steve said again, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. "I know you are. It's okay." He stroked his fingers through her hair. Grief was still raging in his chest so fiercely he thought his ribs would crack, but her tearful insistence that she didn't blame him, that she needed him and that they were in this together, it settled something tiny and peaceful inside his soul. "I forgive you," he whispered, not because he needed to, but because she needed to hear it.

She looked up long enough to give him a grateful, watery smile, then she began crying in earnest, sobbing into his shirt. Steve just held on to her and didn't try to stop himself from crying too. Eventually, he sank down onto the floor against the wall, no longer having the strength to keep holding her and stand up at the same time. He sat down and pulled her into his lap, rocking her back and forth as they cried together.

Eventually, both of their tears ran out. They sat in silence for several minutes, then Becky shifted on his lap and lifted her head. Her eyes were red and puffy and miserable. "Can you tell me what happened?" she asked softly.

As best as he could, stopping occasionally to steady his breathing, Steve relayed what had happened on the train. Becky listened quietly, not interrupting, sniffling periodically, but not crying anymore. "Did you get him?" she asked when he was finished. "Zola?"

Steve nodded.

"Good," she said. "Jay would be glad about that." Hard lines settled across her face. "I hope they hurt him," she said fiercely.

Steve didn't know if it was the healthy response or not, but he hoped so too.

A few minutes more of silence passed. "Here," Steve said, shifting a little bit as he remembered what he had in his pocket. He'd found Bucky's wand on the train, stuck underneath the broken side of one of the crates. He pulled it out and placed it in her hand.

"Jay's wand?" she breathed.

Steve nodded. Cherry and Phoenix feather. "I think you should have it."

She gave him a small smile and hugged the wand against her chest, starting to cry again. Steve pulled her back against his chest and just held on.

"He's really gone?" she whispered.

Steve had to swallow a couple of times before he could answer. "Yeah," he replied shakily.

She sniffed and nuzzled her head deeper into his chest. "Steve, what are we gonna do?"

Steve leaned his head back against the wall, tears pooling in his eyes again. He'd been asking himself that all day. "I don't know," he admitted. He leaned in, resting his head on top of hers and cradling her more closely. "But I've got you. Whatever else happens, I've got you."

They sat there and cried for a little while longer. Eventually, Becky's tears subsided into little sniffles and shakes, and Steve pushed himself to his feet with a groan, keeping her cradled against his chest. He carried her up to the infirmary and found the bed Nurse Rains had gotten ready for him, the cup of sleeping potion still sitting on the table. "Here," he said quietly, holding out the cup after he'd laid her down. "Drink this."

She shook her head, the gesture weary and automatic, with no fight in it.

"It'll help," Steve said, placing the cup in her hands. This way she could at least have several long, dreamless hours where she could forget for a little while that her brother was dead and how much it hurt. Her fingers wrapped around it automatically and she took a long drink.

Steve took the cup back and set it on the table, tugging the blanket up over her and resting one hand in her hair. "Get some sleep," he told her.

She blinked open eyelids that were already flagging, steel blue eyes staring up at him that were so like her brother's it took everything Steve had not to start crying again. "I love you, Steve," she whispered.

Steve leaned in and kissed her forehead. "I love you, too," he said.

He stayed there beside her, leaving his hand on her hair and humming the song his ma used to sing to him until he was sure she was asleep. "Is Professor Phillips still down at the Hog's Head?" Steve asked Nurse Rains as he stood back up. He knew they were holding Zola there for a little while under very heavy guard. No one had wanted to bring someone that dangerous up to Hogwarts, no matter how secure the dungeons were.

She nodded, looking lost for anything else to say, and Steve nodded and left. He made his way swiftly out the gates and down to the village, running into Phillips as he was stepping out of the Hog's Head. "Rogers," Phillips greeted, inclining his head. He so rarely showed emotion, but there was sorrow there behind his lined eyes now. Steve swallowed hard. That didn't help.

"We don't have to do your debrief tonight, son," Phillips said, and, oh, that hurt even more. He couldn't take gentle, compassionate Phillips on top of everything else.

"That's not why I'm here, Sir," Steve said. Phillips arched a questioning eyebrow, inviting him to go on. "It's my fault Bucky's dead, Sir," he said. He'd been thinking about it a lot—could hardly think about anything else—and Becky didn't blame him, and the guys on the team didn't either, but Steve should have saved him and he hadn't. Bucky's death fell squarely on Steve's shoulders. "I don't, I don't know if the S.S.R. does something like a court-martial, or if there's some other kind of disciplinary action—"

"Shut up," Phillips told him, and the terse, gruff words were at least a semblance of something normal. "It isn't your fault."

"He was covering me when I went down," Steve insisted. He should have clocked the guy coming behind them sooner, should have gotten out of the way of the blast, should have gotten up faster. Should have reached farther. "That's when he took the hit, and then I couldn't get to him in time to—"

"And you're the first person in the history of warfare to need someone to cover them?" Phillips asked, cutting him off again. "If we court-martialed someone every time they had bad luck, there would be three people left in this army," he continued. "There are things nobody can control, and I'm sorry for this, Rogers, I truly am," he said, and his hand twitched like he was thinking about putting it up on Steve's shoulder. "Barnes was a good man. But his death is on Hydra, and nobody else." He stood up a little straighter. "Request for disciplinary action denied, Captain."

"Yes, Sir," Steve said quietly.

"You said he was covering you when he went down?" Phillips asked after several seconds.

"Yes, Sir," Steve said again.

Phillips nodded. "Knowing Barnes, if he had to go, that's what he would have wanted to be doing."

Steve swallowed down a painful lump in his throat. "Is that supposed to make me feel better, Sir?" he asked sharply. Because it sure as hell didn't.

"No," Phillips said, shaking his head sadly, and this time he did put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "No, it's not. Right now, I don't imagine anything will." He patted his shoulder and then lowered his hand. "But one day, it might."

Tears prickled in Steve's eyes again, and Phillips tactfully turned to study his reflection in the window to give him time to wipe them away.

"We have Zola secured down at the police station," Phillips said after minute, nodding his head down the road. "It was a better place to hold him than anywhere in the bar. That's where I was headed. You want to sit in on the interrogation?"

Steve stared down at his feet and swallowed down a knot in his throat. "No," he said quietly, and his voice was shaking a little bit, but it wasn't with sadness this time. "No," he said again. "He knows things that will help us find Schmidt and end the war. I know how much we need that." Zola had tortured and nearly broken Bucky once, and now, because of him, Bucky was gone. Steve wanted nothing more than to take the little scientist and make him suffer in every way that he'd made Bucky suffer before tearing him in half. His eyes snapped back up to meet Phillips', the fury burning in them matching the anger in his voice. "So I'm not coming. Because if I'm in the same room as him, I'm gonna kill him."

Phillips nodded in understanding. "You'll get a chance for that yet."

He left, leaving Steve standing there in the door of the bar. A tremor ran through Steve's body as he looked up the road toward Hogwarts. He couldn't go back. Going back meant going to his dorm, going to his room, and there would be Bucky's bed and all his things, waiting like Bucky was going to come back to them, like everything was still okay. A sob rose up in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed it down. He couldn't do it. Not now. Not yet.

Voices sounded behind him, and he turned his head toward the warm light coming through the door of the bar. It hadn't helped Bucky two years ago. It probably wouldn't help Steve now. But it was cold out here and warm in there, and at least there would be noise and people and things to distract him for a little while, and he stepped inside.


Peggy hadn't gone in with Phillips to interrogate Zola—something like that was still beyond her pay grade—but she'd sat outside and listened and seethed and fumed and it was an excellent distraction from the chaos of emotions that had been swirling in her head since Dugan and Monty brought Zola back this afternoon and told them Bucky was dead.

She couldn't handle this right now. One of her best friends in the whole world had just fallen to a terrible death, and if she stopped and processed it all and mourned like she should have, she would have fallen apart. And there wasn't time for that now. Because the Valkyrie was ready to launch, and Johann Schmidt was going to bomb half the globe in two days. She had a job to do. She could hold on for two days. Then she would mourn and grieve and allow herself to feel all the pieces of her shattered heart.

At least, that's what she kept telling herself, but her resolve was waning as the evening drew on. Then the interrogation was over and there was nothing more to distract her. Phillips was going to run down some intel to confirm Zola's confession, and Peggy all but begged him to let her help, but he turned her down. They had two days before the Valkyrie launched. He would gather his intel tonight, and then he would meet with the Howling Commandos to hash out a plan of attack. Schmidt's timetable didn't allow them the time they would need to recover from the loss of one of their own, but Phillips would give them—including her—what he could.

"I've been in intelligence long enough to be able to handle this part on my own," he told her. "As soon as I've got the confirmation I need, we'll meet and move out. But until then, stand down. That's an order," he added, when she opened her mouth to protest.

"Yes, Sir," she said.

As she started the walk back up to school, doubting she'd be able to go to her dorm and get the sleep she'd need, the worry for Steve that had been churning in the back of her head along with her grief started pushing its way back to the front. She knew he'd stayed behind to look for Bucky's body. (Ugh, just thinking those words made her want to throw up!) She'd heard they'd come back, but she hadn't seen him. She'd expected him to come to the interrogation, and if she hadn't been so focused on keeping her own grief in check, she'd have started worrying sooner.

Raucous laughter sounded from inside the Hog's Head as she walked by, and her head snapped up to look inside, fury building in her chest. How dare people be laughing, singing and joking as if nothing was wrong? Didn't they know that Bucky Barnes was dead?

She did a double-take and looked up through the window again—there was Steve, sitting in the back corner alone at a table. She wondered what had brought him here, while at the same time feeling glad that she'd found him without having to go up and search all over the school grounds. Skirting around the crowded tables near the fire, she made her way to the back corner where he sat, half in the shadows. Somewhat to her surprise, there was a glass and a dark bottle, nearly empty, sitting on the table in front of him. She hadn't thought Steve was much of a drinker, though now would certainly be the time for it.

He looked up as she approached, and, oh, that broken look on his face…She didn't think she had the strength for this. Not now. But he needed her now, and she needed him too, more than she ever had, and maybe between them, they could muster up the strength to keep going.

Steve sat up a little straighter and wiped a hand across his nose. He'd caught her glance at the bottle, and he nodded at it. "Professor Erskine said the serum wouldn't just affect my muscles, it would affect my cells," he said in a thick voice. "Create a protective system of regeneration, which means, um…" He huffed a bitter, humorless laugh. "I can't get drunk."

Peggy sat down in the chair next to him. "Did you want to?" she asked gently.

Steve shook his head and sniffed again. "Two years ago," he began softly. "After I brought Bucky home from Azzano…" Another sniff. "He was pretty messed up for a while."

Peggy nodded. She'd heard a little bit about what that time had been like, though she could only imagine how hard it was.

"There was a while he wasn't sleeping," Steve told her. "Couldn't, 'cause of what he kept seeing. And one day, he snuck out and went to a bar and got drunk." He shook his head. "I was so mad at him," he said softly. "And then when he told me why…how desperate he was to forget all of that awful stuff, just for a little bit, I—" His breath hitched in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed it down. "I thought I understood." He let out a long, stuttering breath. "I really understand now."

There was silence for a minute, then Steve went on. "It didn't work for him back then." He shoved the bottle away, unconcerned as it wobbled dangerously on the edge of the table. "It's not going to work for me now, either." He leaned his elbows down onto the table and dropped his head, threading his hands into his hair. "I don't know why I thought it would," he whispered. "I just…" He looked up again, pain swimming in his eyes. "Peggy, I don't know what to do," he breathed, and the desperation in his words broke her heart even more than it already was.

"I don't either," she admitted, her own voice dangerously shaky. She did know one thing, though: the common room of the Hog's Head was not where either of them needed to be right now. "Wait here a moment," she told him, resting a hand briefly on his arm. She drew in a steadying breath and walked over to the barkeeper. A brief exchange and a few coins, and he pointed her to the stairs and gave directions to one of the available rooms. It was hardly the sort of thing a good girl did, renting a room in a bar with a soldier for one night, but Peggy couldn't have cared less about what she should do—they were both on the verge of breaking to bits, and if they were going to have any hope of getting each other through this, they would need some space. The kind of peace you could never find in a crowd. She took Steve's arm and pulled him gently to his feet, grabbed his coat from off the back of the chair, and led him up the stairs. He followed her compliantly, seemingly unconcerned with where they were going or the fact that they were moving at all.

"Alright," she told him, closing the door to the room behind them and sitting him down on the bed. A flick of her wand got a fire going in the grate, then she sat beside him and looped an arm around his back. His arm moved up reflexively to wrap around her shoulders and she leaned into the warmth he was offering, closing her eyes with a brief sigh.

"I don't know what to do, Steve," she told him, picking up their conversation from downstairs. "I don't know what to say." She looked up at him. "But I do know that it wasn't your fault."

Steve looked down at her skeptically. "Did the other guys tell you what happened?"

She nodded.

"Then you know that's not true," he said bitterly.

"You did everything you could," she told him, and even though she had yet to hear any details about what happened on the train, she knew down to the depths of her soul that was true.

"You don't know that," he said. "You weren't there."

"I do know that," she said. "Because I know you, and I know how much Bucky meant to you. But you're right, I wasn't there. And if you think you can, you can tell me what happened." She was trying to sound warm and inviting, as much as she could, anyway, given the circumstances. She didn't want him to think she was demanding an official report or anything. Just letting him know that she was willing to share this burden with him.

As if reciting it somewhat by rote, Steve started to tell her what happened from the moment they landed on the train. His mechanical recitation broke down, however, as he got to the bit about Bucky picking up the shield to cover him before flying out the hole in the side of the train.

"I couldn't reach him," he said brokenly. "He was there, hanging on, and I…He was so scared, Peggy," he whispered. "But he…" He sniffed and dashed his sleeve across his face. "He trusted me. I could see it in his eyes, even though he was scared—he trusted me. He knew I was gonna save him, because that's what we did, me and him, that's what we always did. He was trusting me to save him right up to the moment he fell." He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. "But I didn't," he added in a barely audible whisper.

Peggy was crying now, her own pain and Steve's mingling in the tears trickling from her eyes. "It's not your fault," she said again.

"Weren't you listening?" he snapped, glaring down at her through the tears pooling in his own eyes. "Yes, it is! I could have saved him, but I didn't. I didn't!"

"Steve, you tried," she said sadly. "You tried as hard as you could."

Steve snorted. "What good is it, this serum, this strength, all these abilities, if the one time I need it, the one time it really matters, I can't do anything with it?! Four inches! He was so close! Four inches was all I needed, and I could have grabbed his hand and pulled him back and my best friend would be alive right now instead of…" His shoulders heaved as his breath caught in his throat and his face twisted up in a miserable grimace. "Instead of…" Another barely contained sob. "I lost him, Peggy," and his voice was a broken little whisper now. "I tried so hard, and I…" There was no holding back the wave of misery now. "I lost him."

"I'm sorry," she said, all she could say. "I'm so sorry." Her chest constricted as if an iron band were wrapped around it, slowly growing tighter, and her shoulders heaved as she tried to swallow down a sob. She wished she hadn't asked. Steve had needed to talk about how it happened, and she had needed to know, she really did, but, dear Lord, she wished she hadn't asked. Because she could see it now. It was one thing to know that Bucky had fallen, but she could see it now, see him hanging on to the outside of the train, fumbling to reach Steve's hand. She could see exactly what his face would have looked like, imagine how his scream would have carried over the wind as he fell. A desperate gasp of air managed to escape the tightening in her chest, and her face twisted up as her tears began to flow in earnest.

She felt Steve's hand move on her back, and then he was leaning in, his breath warm against the side of her face as he pulled her closer to him. "Oh, Peggy, I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't…" She felt him shake his head. "I'm, I'm being selfish," he said, letting out a long, stuttering breath. "Acting like I'm the only one who—"

"No, you're not," she managed, a tiny smile creeping onto her face even as she wept, because how very like Steve to try to set aside his own pain when someone else was hurting. "He was like your brother. It's not selfish."

Steve kissed her forehead gently, then rested his head against hers. "We both lost him," he said softly. "I'm falling apart here, but I should have realized you were too." He pulled her up so she was sitting on his lap and rested his head in her hair. "I'm not in any kind of shape to be much help right now, but I'm here."

Peggy hugged him tighter. "I'm the same," she said in a watery voice. She was surprised at how much lighter the pain suddenly seemed to bear. Yes, Bucky was one of her best friends, but he had meant so much more to Steve, it was as though allowing her own grief to show was some sort of intrusion. But Steve was letting her in, and though she was sharing his load now, he was sharing hers as well. The loss still cut her to the core, but she suddenly felt as though perhaps she could bear it after all.

She wasn't sure how long they sat there, holding on to one another as if they were the last two people in the world. There were no words—there was nothing that could be said. There were no painful, wracking sobs. There was just silent tears—Peggy's soaking into Steve's shirt, and Steve's dripping into Peggy's hair—and the knowledge that they weren't alone. Though neither of them had any strength for themselves, they found they had strength enough to lend, and they sat there for a long time, simply holding one another together.

As the tears ran dry, they continued to sit there, holding on, until finally, Steve spoke. "Peggy?" he asked, his voice creaking a little as if from disuse.

She looked up in answer, meeting his red, swollen, but—for the moment—dry eyes.

"I know it…" he started, then seemed to lose the words. He sighed, and his voice was not entirely steady when it returned. "When my ma died," he said softly. "I fell into this dark, dark hole. And I'm there again. Right on the edge. I don't know how to stop myself from falling in, and I don't know how to get out on my own. Bucky got me out. Back then, and every time something bad happened, he was always there to get me out. If I fall in again, I—" His voice caught in his throat, and he shook his head. "It's not fair of me to ask, because I know you're hurt too, and I'm sorry, but…" Tears were glistening in his eyes again. "Help me, Peggy. Please?"

Peggy raised a hand to cup his cheek, thumbing away the single tear that had escaped from his eye. "Of course, I will," she told him, and, oh, the way she could actually see a part of that weight rolling off his shoulders, it made her want to cry. "I may not always know how," she admitted. "But I will." She gave him a watery smile. "We can prop each other up until we can stand again."

Steve smiled at her and kissed her softly. "Thank you," he whispered. He slid one large hand around the back of her head and drew her forward to lean against his chest again. Peggy closed her eyes and nestled her head against him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest and listening to his heartbeat, and there was comfort in those small, steady rhythms.

She listened for a while to the thumping of Steve's heart and the crackling of the fire. "You know," she said eventually, when her voice felt as though it could speak without cracking. "I didn't think much of Bucky when I first met him." Steve leaned back and arched a puzzled eyebrow, and she smiled softly. "It took me a while to realize that Bucky always acted confident, even when he really wasn't, and eleven-year-old me just saw this cocky American with a swagger and was thoroughly unimpressed. Bit of a show-off on the Quidditch pitch, too." Her smile grew wider. "But then I noticed how nice he was to you, back when hardly anyone else was, and that he was like that all the time, even if it wasn't the 'cool' thing to do. And I saw that and I thought, well, perhaps he was alright after all."

Steve was smiling as she recounted her memory, and she snuggled back against his shoulder, but tilted her head up so she could keep looking at him. "And then there was that day all the boys were playing Quidditch, back before you helped me get on the House team, and you and I were going to play with them. Bucky didn't care that a girl wanted to play, or that I would rather Beat than Keep, and he said 'sure' and just acted as though I belonged there. He was the first person, besides you, who did that. And I thought to myself, if he was that much like you, then we could be good friends."

Steve chuckled softly.

"When did the two of you become friends?" Peggy asked. She'd never actually asked before. She just knew they'd always known each other, and she wondered how far back it went.

"We met when we were three," Steve told her. "That long ago, I'm kind of fuzzy on the details, but…" He trailed off thoughtfully, recalling. "I guess we'd been at the same church for a little while, but you know, when you're that little, you're not really aware of much. But I remember this one day, some bigger kids had knocked me over or something, and my nose was bleeding and I was sitting there on the grass trying not to cry. And then this kid came over and stood there and looked at me, and for a minute I was worried he was gonna pick on me too. But he kind of smiled and he sat down beside me and patted me on the back and said, 'I'm sorry those big kids hurt you. That wasn't very nice. Here.' And he reached over with his sleeve and wiped the blood off my nose. Then he got up and held out his hand and said he would help me find my ma. And he pulled me up on my feet and put his arm over my shoulder and asked me what my name was. And I told him, and then he said, 'Hi, Steve. I'm Bucky. And I'm…'" Steve stopped and sniffed, reaching up a hand to wipe his nose, and his eyes were shining, but he was smiling fondly. "'I'm gonna be your friend,'" he finished softly.

Peggy smiled, feeling her own eyes watering. That was rather lovely. "That was very like him, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "He just had this way with people…"

It was true. As Peggy herself had quickly learned, his charm was more than just a veneer. He really had been that kind, that thoughtful. He was easy to trust and always came through on his word, and never thought himself too good for anybody—the way he doted on Rebecca and made time for her and her friends, or the way he took the underclassmen soldiers, like little Alfie, under his wing.

"I remember this one time," Steve said, memory sparking in his eye. "After I'd come to live with the Barneses, and I'd gotten sick…" It was the first time he'd gotten sick in his new home, and Peggy found herself smiling as he recounted the lengths to which Bucky had gone to try to make him feel better, going beyond what he usually did to make sure Steve knew that, even though things were different now, everything was going to be okay.

They talked well into the night, sharing memories as they came to them, and though the loss of Bucky was still a gaping maw of sorrow in her chest, Peggy's soul felt uplifted at the happy stories, able to see beyond the pain and remember the bright spot he'd been in both their lives.

The fire was dying, the soft, tentative light of early dawn creeping into the window as a drowsy silence settled over them, and Peggy wouldn't call it quite peaceful after what they'd lost, but it was something close. She felt her eyes drifting shut, and she snuggled in closer to Steve with a sleepy sigh. She felt him moving, and she was just awake enough to realize that Steve was ever the gentleman and was probably going to leave her up on the bed and move down to the floor, but she was just tired enough to be unable to say the words, "Please, don't let me go yet." She thought the calm that had settled over her might shatter if he did.

But he didn't. She was lying down now, something soft pillowing her head, and Steve's arms were still around her, her hand still locked in his. His breathing was low and even in her ear, and he was warm against her side and close enough for her to hear his heartbeat if she turned her head, and Peggy couldn't recall a time she'd ever felt more safe.

And so, frightened and wounded but very much together, they slept.


Steve woke up slowly, his eyes fluttering open lazily, and it took him a minute to make sense of what he was seeing. Peggy was asleep beside him, her face nestled against his chest and her hand resting on one of his arms. She was breathing soft and slow, the pained lines that had been etched across her face last night smoothed out in sleep, her dark hair outlined in gold as it caught the rays of early afternoon sun coming through the window. Steve smiled, unable to stop himself from gently brushing his hand across the soft, warm skin of her cheek. She was so beautiful.

She sighed, rolling her face up toward his hand, and he slid it around to the back of her head and cradled her more closely against him, planting a soft kiss in her hair. His eyes roamed around the room, taking stock of where they were and remembering what had happened last night. He huffed a soft laugh. What Bucky would say if he knew Steve had spent the night with a girl—however innocently—in a rented room in a bar. He'd—

A cold weight dropped into Steve's stomach. Bucky wouldn't say anything about it. He was never going to say anything ever again. Steve drew in a long, slow breath and forced his mind back from that precipice. He couldn't fall in there again. Bucky wasn't here to get him out. And Bucky…Steve remembered how far he'd fallen after he lost his ma, how broken and self-destructive he'd become before he hit the bottom. He remembered how badly that had hurt Bucky. Bucky wouldn't want him to do that again. And maybe…Maybe that was one last thing he could do for Bucky. He could try to keep himself together enough so that wherever Bucky was, he wouldn't be worried that he was too far away to help.

He choked down a sob. Hold himself together. Right. The loss of Bucky was like an open wound, and Steve was bleeding out. Peggy shifted beside him, and he pulled her closer against him with a sudden desperation, the motion more rough than he'd intended it to be, but he needed her as close to him as he could get her. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply, focusing on the faint scent of lavender that lingered from the shampoo she used, not allowing himself to think of anything else until he was breathing steadily again. Maybe holding himself together was asking a little much right now, but he owed it to Bucky to try, and if it was more than he could do himself…If it was more than he could do himself, he just had to hold on to Peggy. Like she'd said last night, they could keep each other together until they could stand on their own again.

Once he felt like he could breathe again, Steve opened his eyes, then sat up carefully. He slipped gingerly off the bed so as not to wake Peggy, then grabbed his coat that she'd put on one of the chairs and draped it over her. He got the fire going again and set to making tea with the things set out on the little table by the door. As he finished with the tea, he noticed her watching him with a sleepy smile. "Morning," she said softly.

"Hey," Steve replied, picking up the tray and coming to sit down next to her. "Although it's more like afternoon, now." He held out a cup. "Lots of honey and a little bit of milk."

She sat up and accepted it with a smile. "Just the way I like it." She took a sip, then looked up at him. "How are you?"

Steve sighed, taking a drink of his own tea before answering her. "I don't know," he said at last. He didn't feel like he was about to break down crying, although that could easily come on again. "I'm not okay, but…I guess I'm a little more in one piece than I was last night. I mean, the patchwork's all duct tape and safety pins, so I don't know how well I'd trust it to hold, but…" He took one hand off his teacup and took one of hers, squeezing it tightly, looking down at her with a soft, grateful smile. "I'm not okay. But I'd be a whole hell of a lot less okay if you weren't here. Thank you." He squeezed her hand again. "How are you doing?"

"Functioning," she said, after thinking for a moment. "More than I would be if not for you." She stretched up and kissed him gently. "Thank you."

He smiled and leaned down and rested his forehead against hers, and they just sat there for a minute. Steve didn't know where it went from here, didn't know how he could ever be okay again after something like this, but he wasn't alone. If he had nothing else, he could cling to that.

"I love you, Peggy Carter," he whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I love you too, Steve," she replied. "So very much."

They finished their tea in warm, companionable silence, leaning shoulder to shoulder, each drawing strength from the other's presence to fortify themselves against whatever came next.

Steve didn't think the grief he felt would ever go away, but the edges had dulled now into something less raw, allowing him to feel the other emotions underneath it—and one of them was anger, fury churning on a slow boil that was heating up now that he had space to feel it. When his ma had died, he hadn't really been sure where to direct his anger, and that had made a hell of a mess. But he sure as hell knew where to direct that anger now.

"What did Zola say?" he asked. Zola was still alive. Schmidt was still out there. Bucky was gone, but Hydra wasn't, not yet, and Steve wasn't going to stop until there was nothing left of them but ashes.

"The Valkyrie launches tomorrow," Peggy told him. "It's some sort of airship, with bombs and curses and all sorts of destructive weaponry on board. Enough to take out entire cities at the touch of a button. He told us where it was, and Phillips is getting confirmation right now. As soon as he has it, we're going in."

Steve nodded. "Schmidt's going to be on it?"

"That's what Zola said."

"Good," he said shortly. "He's going to burn, Peggy. For everything he's done, for everything he's taken…I'm not going to stop until all of Hydra's dead or captured."

Peggy reached over and took his hand. "And you won't be alone," she said fiercely. They were in this fight together, and Hydra was going to rue the day they ever dragged them into it.

They had some food sent up and Peggy went over every detail she remembered from Zola's interrogation while they ate—everything he'd said about the Valkyrie, as well as Schmidt's desire to 'harness the power of the gods' by using the Tesseract, and Zola's belief that he could do it. Time was short, and planning and setting this mission up, that was something Steve could focus on that didn't hurt, something productive he could do with the fire burning in his soul.

They walked back up to the castle and met Phillips coming up from the dungeon level as they came in the main entrance.

"Oh, good," he said. "I was just about to start looking for you. Round up your boys, Captain. We're going after Schmidt. My office. Ten minutes."

"Yes, Sir," Steve replied. He turned to Peggy as Phillips walked away. "Can you find the team? I know ten minutes isn't very long, but I need to check on Becky."

"Of course," Peggy said. She kissed him on the cheek and hurried off to find the rest of the team while Steve made his way upstairs.

Becky was still in the infirmary, though she wasn't asleep anymore. She was still lying in bed, but Esther was sitting beside her, running her fingers through her hair and talking to her softly. She sat up enough to hug Steve, and she clung to him longer than she normally would have, but she didn't say anything, and she didn't really seem to hear anything he said. Steve felt awful about having to leave her there, but Esther promised she'd stay with her.

Steve made it into Phillips' office just as the rest of the team was gathering around the table. They were much quieter than usual, and Steve wondered if they were aware of the fact that they'd left a seat down at the end next to him—Bucky's usual spot. It was just habit, Steve knew, but it sent a sharp, stabbing pain through his heart as it reminded him that Bucky wasn't there to take the seat. He turned his attention instead to the briefing packet in front of him, ignoring the empty chair.

Phillips started going over the details of his conversation with Zola, but Steve was only half listening. He'd heard it all from Peggy already, but he kept one ear out for anything new, the rest of his attention focused on the papers in front of him as something like a plan started stirring in his brain.

"Johann Schmidt belongs in a bughouse," Phillips said, glancing back at the map on the wall and then back to them. "He thinks he's a god and he's willing to blow up half the world to prove it. Starting…" He pointed back to the map and the North American east coast. "With the USA."

"Schmidt's working with powers beyond our capabilities," Howard said, coming in from wherever he'd been and sliding into the empty chair next to Steve. "Wizards and military back home aren't prepared for this kind of attack. If he gets across the Atlantic, he will wipe out the entire Eastern Seaboard in an hour."

Silence hung over the table as everyone took that in. Schmidt had proved to them before just how far beyond the reaches of ordinary magic he could go. Power like that should have been just the stuff of science fiction radio dramas, but not one of them doubted he could do it.

"How much time have we got?" Gabe asked.

"According to our guest, under twenty-four hours," Phillips said.

"Où est il maintenant?" Jacques asked.

"Hydra's last base is here," Phillips said, holding up a photograph of a massive opening carved out of the side of a snowy mountain. Steve looked up quickly, and could see the time stamp on the bottom showing that it had been taken earlier today—part of Phillips' confirmation of Zola's intel. "In the Alps. Five hundred feet below the surface."

Steve snorted softly to himself. Peggy had been right. Underground in the Alps. Perfect place to hide a giant death machine. He wondered if that was where Zola's train had been going when they stopped it and Bucky…

"So, what are we supposed to do?" Jim asked. The place was isolated, guarded, with wards on top of wards. Impossible to sneak into. "It's not like we can just knock on the front door."

"Why not?" Steve said. It was the first time he'd spoken during the entire briefing, and all eyes swung down to his end of the table. He set down the papers he'd been looking at. There was no sneaking into Schmidt's base. Even if it wasn't impossible in the first place, they'd taken Zola. Schmidt had to know they were coming. So why not let him think he was right? They would come, in exactly the way he thought they would, and then once he thought his trap was sprung, they could spring one of their own. "That's exactly what we're gonna do," Steve declared.

As far as Steve could tell, the only flaw in his plan was that it was going to take a hell of a lot more people than just the Howlies and there wasn't a lot of time left to get everyone together, but as he laid the plan out, Phillips assured him numbers wouldn't be a problem. They hammered out the details of the plan into the night, and then Phillips sent them all off to get what sleep they could before taking off first thing in the morning.

Becky was asleep again when Steve went up to the infirmary, and he contemplated staying there for the night, but he couldn't avoid his dorm forever. With a deep sigh, he turned and trudged back down the stairs. The common room was quiet, everyone having gone to bed already. The dark of their room helped him avoid looking over at Bucky's side of it as he grabbed his things and showered quickly, but once he had laid down in bed, he couldn't keep from rolling over on his side and staring through the dark at Bucky's unoccupied bed. The moon was bright tonight, bright enough to illuminate the folds of the blanket Bucky had hastily tossed into place in lieu of making the bed yesterday. His pajamas were still in a wrinkled pile down at the foot of the mattress, and there was a half-empty glass of water on top of the library book on his nightstand. It all looked so…normal. Like Bucky should be tiptoeing in from the bathroom at any minute, hair in a wet tangle. He would change into his pajamas and toss his towel over the door of his closet with a wet slap, then slide into his bed and pull the blanket up to his chin with that little exhale he always made when he dropped into bed. Then he would tell Steve to quit thinking so hard and to go to sleep because they had a lot to do in the morning. Depending on how snarky Steve's response was, Bucky might toss a balled-up sock at him.

Steve sniffed and closed his eyes against the moisture building in them, rolling his face into his pillow so he didn't have to look at Bucky's side of the room anymore. "I'm sorry, Bucky," he whispered. Everyone kept saying it wasn't Steve's fault, what happened, and Steve knew that if Bucky was here, he would say the same thing. The fact of the matter remained, though, that Bucky was dead and, physically possible or not, Steve hadn't saved him. "I'm so sorry."

Steve lay awake for a long time, not aware that he'd fallen asleep until his alarm clock started jangling. The room seemed softer in the light of day, though he still couldn't make himself look over at where Bucky should have been complaining about how early it was. He pulled on his uniform, noting Jacques doing the same and, somewhat to his surprise, Dave and Morris as well.

"Our units are coming too," Dave told him, catching Steve's curious eyebrow. "Phillips wants all hands on deck."

"And Bucky doesn't deserve any less," Morris added, pulling on his boots. His parents had never given him permission to join one of the student teams, but he'd signed up of his own accord after he turned seventeen. He sounded a little nervous—this was the biggest mission any of the teams had been on, and he'd been at it for less than a year—but determined as well, and Steve gave him a nod.

He ate breakfast quickly and rushed up to the infirmary again while everyone else was still finishing. He couldn't leave Becky without telling her where he was going, and he hated to think how worried she would be. She was eating breakfast when he got there, and her face fell as her eyes landed on his uniform.

"You're going somewhere," she said softly, setting down her tray.

"Yeah," Steve sighed, an apology in his voice as he sank down next to her on the mattress.

"Why?" she asked. "I mean, you just got back, why do you…"

"I'm sorry," he told her. "We have to. Zola told us where to find Schmidt, and we don't have a lot of time to stop him."

She looked down and nodded.

"Becky, I'm so sorry," he told her. "I really, I don't want to go and leave you here like this."

"It's okay," she told him, looking back up. "I know why you have to. And if you can stop Schmidt…" Her voice started to wobble and she sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "If you can stop him, then the war'll be over and, and…and people can stop getting hurt," she finished in a sad whisper.

Steve wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, and she sniffled and hid her face in his chest. "You have to go," she said in a muffled voice.

"I know," he said, drawing in a deep breath. He kissed the top of her head. "I'm so sorry I have to leave you here all on your own."

"I'll be okay," Becky told him. She pulled her head back and looked up at him. "I will. You go and get Schmidt and you…you tear him apart for Jay and for everybody else he ever hurt."

Steve hugged her even tighter, squeezing his eyes shut and willing the tears in them not to fall. "I will," he said. "I promise."

"Good."

They sat there for several minutes, holding on to each other like they were afraid to let go. "Just…" Becky said in a small voice. Steve lifted his head to look at her. She was staring back up at him, the fear in her steel blue eyes threatening to spill over in a fresh wave of tears. "Just be careful, okay?" she pleaded.

Steve hugged her against his chest, resting his head on top of hers and kissing the top of her head again. "I will," he said again. "I promise."

She sniffed. "You'd better."

He managed a slight chuckle at that and kissed her head again. Someone clearing their throat softly behind him had him looking up to see Peggy standing behind them. "We have to go," she mouthed apologetically.

Steve nodded, then turned back to Becky, kissed her one more time and squeezed her tightly, then moved to pull away. She continued to cling to him, refusing to let go. "I'm so sorry, Becky," he breathed. "I have to go now."

"I know," she mumbled into his chest. "I'm trying to let go." She hugged him tightly, stretched up to kiss him on the cheek, then pulled away, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.

Steve put a hand to her cheek and thumbed away the line of tears that had started to trickle from her eye. "I love you so much," he told her. "You know that, right?"

She reached up her hand to hold his against her cheek and managed a very watery smile. "I know. I love you too." She turned her head to kiss his hand, then let go.

Steve smiled, patted the back of her head, and stood up. "You be good 'til I get back," he said.

She smiled back, and it was a tiny smile, but a real one. "I'm always good," she replied.

Steve chuckled and moved away with Peggy. He hesitated in the doorway, turning back to wave goodbye and give Becky a final, parting smile.

"Are you alright?" Peggy asked as they headed for the stairs.

"As I can be," Steve said. He squared his shoulders back. "We're gonna get Schmidt. I've been waiting the whole war for this."

Peggy nodded and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. "Let's do it."


Steve's about to come face to face with Schmidt for the first time. If Schmidt knew what was good for him, he'd be careful. See you on Monday for the Valkyrie!