A/N: Buckle up, folks.
Jane Ellen Harrison: "It is strange and beautiful that Homer should make the Sirens appeal to the spirit, not to the flesh… They are mantic creatures like the Sphinx with whom they have much in common, knowing both the past and the future. Their song takes effect at midday, in a windless calm. The end of that song is death."
In late September, Alice met with the 107th Tactical Team again. Belgium had been mostly secured but fighting had stalled in the Netherlands, being particularly ferocious around the Rhine river. Alice had figured out a route from Germany into the Netherlands through the Rhinelands - borders were breaking down, and both sides cared more about stopping armies than individual refugees.
Her role was, again, to connect Steve and his team with local resistance. The Netherlands resistance weren't as wholly connected as the French had been, and mostly existed to help stranded Allied airmen and soldiers escape.
Alice only got to spend fifteen minutes with the team in total.
Just after dusk in a city east of Arnhem, Alice strode down the paved sidewalk with her hands in her coat pockets and her heeled shoes clipping on the ground. She wore a thick woolen dress to protect against the cooling weather, and a jet black wig under a headscarf. She'd slightly altered her appearance - thicker makeup, like older women sometimes wore, dark eyebrows, and a pair of eyeglasses.
She saw Steve before he saw her. He stood in the eave of a closed office building in a disguise of his own: brown slacks and an overcoat, with a knit cap. It wasn't as if most Germans or Belgians would know Steve's face if he wasn't in uniform, so she supposed he was safe enough.
Steve heard her footsteps a moment later and looked over, shoulders tense. For a moment Alice knew that he did not recognise her - he kept his face shadowed, and she sensed him watching her warily. But then he spotted the curve of her lips and his eyes widened.
In the same moment Alice stepped up onto the stoop, set her hand on Steve's side and kissed him.
He almost jerked away in surprise, but the moment her lips brushed his he softened and leaned into it, kissing her back with such enthusiasm that Alice almost laughed as she pulled away.
"Just keeping up a good cover," she winked.
He smiled, still a little startled. "No Al?" he questioned.
"No, this resistance group knows me as a woman called Marie, and I just came from them - it's a long story."
"Are you sure you didn't just want to dress up for your husband," came a familiar, teasing voice, and a moment later Bucky stepped out from behind the other side of the terraced doorway, his eyebrows raised. Alice and Steve both went pink.
"He hasn't let me live it down," Steve sighed, casting Alice a world-wearing look. "Reckons it's the greatest betrayal of the war, us getting married without him."
"We are sorry," Alice smiled as she gripped Bucky's hand in a hello. He wore a similar nondescript outfit to Steve's, though his was a little more dressed up - he wore a straight tie and a trilby hat. "But it's not often you get a few spare hours and a pastor handy."
"Kids these days," Bucky teased. "Corrupting the institution of marriage."
Alice rolled her eyes.
Bucky smiled. "You didn't give me enough time to say last time though: congratulations. Really, I'm happy for you two impulsive idiots." Alice returned the smile, and Steve looked between them with gleaming eyes. "Happy late birthday, by the way."
"Thank you," Alice beamed. "Where are the others?"
"We're in groups," Steve explained. "They can see us, they'll follow at a distance. We thought we'd be more conspicuous in a big group."
"Smart." Alice's eyes darted until she spotted a man smoking down the street. If she squinted, she thought she recognized him as Falsworth. "Alright, follow me."
They set off in the other direction, Steve and Bucky matching Alice's strides. Yellow lamplight cast their silhouettes into long shadows.
"Please tell me you're not fighting this time," Steve murmured, his arm brushing hers.
"I'm not. I can't stay long, since I have to be back in Germany by morning. I'm not even supposed to be in this country at all."
"That's never stopped you before," Steve muttered, and they shared a smile.
"No," she reassured him. "I think I've learned I'm not much of a soldier." They passed a hotel front with a group of civilians standing on the doorstep, and she held her tongue for a few moments until they were a few yards away. "But I knew you lot would need direction once you got here, and I needed to give you these." She reached into her coat and pulled out a newspaper, which she handed to Steve. "Page five."
Steve opened the paper and his eyes widened at the weapons diagrams pasted to the inside of page five.
"Those are the new weapons HYDRA have developed, and they're in use at the Belgian factory. It's an acoustic weapon, intended to disable any approaching troops with a high-pitched frequency. You'll need to take out the power source before facing them head on."
"Thanks for the heads up," Bucky said appreciatively as Steve examined the designs. "This idiot's main tactic is facing them head on."
"I'm aware," she chuckled. "Also, this resistance group I'm taking you to aren't fighters. They're students who get fugitives to safety. They can direct you to the HYDRA base, and they can help you with any POWs you find, but don't ask them to fight." She shot them a heavy gaze.
"We won't," Steve nodded. "Kids shouldn't be fighting."
As they turned a corner Alice thought we're basically kids, but didn't say it. "But," she added, "These kids have been smuggling weapons to the POWs in the factory by hiding them in incoming HYDRA shipments from town. And HYDRA have allied with a local German division out of mutual desperation, and part of that German division is made up of Dutch conscripts. I've only managed to speak with one of them, but I'm 90% sure that with the right motivation, or the right words, those men will help you fight."
Bucky nodded. "Steve's good with the right words."
Steve looked thoughtful as he tucked the newspaper into his coat. "That's good advice. How can we tell the Dutch from the Germans? Won't they be wearing the same uniform?"
"If they shoot at you, they're probably German," Alice said grimly, and Bucky put a hand to his forehead. Alice looked up. "We're almost there. You see that green door?"
She didn't point, but Bucky and Steve looked ahead and spotted a green door to what looked like a storm cellar, down the alleyway they had just approached. The street around them was empty for now, save for the distant sound of glasses clinking.
"Knock six times, in two sets of three, and then the password is Hemels. Got it?"
"Got it," they nodded.
Alice drew in a breath, but then Steve frowned. "Wait" - he reached out and touched her arm, making her pause - "You're okay?"
She smiled. "I am. I'm… tired, I'll admit, but I've got more determination than ever now that the end's in sight. It's good to see you. How are you both?"
Steve looked to Bucky, who shrugged. "I'm better." He met her eye meaningfully, and Alice nodded. The conversation they'd had in Italy hung between them; she could see that Bucky still hadn't confided in anyone about what he'd been through in that Austrian HYDRA base, but he might be getting closer to it.
She turned to Steve and raised an eyebrow.
"I'm good," he smiled. "I always am, when I see you."
"Right, you don't get to see how goddamn mopey he gets when we haven't seen you in a while," Bucky added.
"Thanks for that," Steve sighed.
With another smile Alice leaned over to kiss Bucky on the cheek, then kissed Steve full on the mouth again - he was ready for it this time.
When she pulled back, she eyed them both seriously. "Listen, Otto and I might be quiet for a little while. We're going to keep updating on the on-the-ground mission stuff, but we're going to really dig into HYDRA now that they've got a fewer number of bases. Instead of focusing on one country at a time, we're going to put out feelers and try to get a better understanding of their operations as a whole. So don't be surprised if you don't get a whole lot of specific stuff from us for a while."
"Okay," Steve nodded. "When do you think that will be ready?"
"It'll be at least a month. Maybe more. We've been getting word that HYDRA is working up to something big-"
"Us too," Steve added grimly.
"So we want to get a better understanding of when. Seems like it'll be next year, since they've been delayed so much by you guys. But whatever it is, we haven't put a stop to it yet."
"We will," Steve said firmly.
"I know," she smiled. She jerked her head towards the green door. "Now go on, the next Gestapo patrol will be around in a few minutes and we still need to get the others down there."
Bucky nodded, exchanged another loaded glance with Alice, then headed toward the door.
Steve drew in a deep breath. Alice knew he must be feeling the same dragging, clutching pain as she did in these moments. Too little time together, far too much time apart. She could hardly believe that the last time they'd been together had been their wedding night.
"This doesn't count as our honeymoon," she blurted out.
He grinned. "I love you."
"I love you too. Now get out of here."
He smiled, holding her gaze, then turned to follow Bucky.
Alice sat on the nearest door stoop and adjusted her shoes, her head ducked to keep her face in shadow. She heard the six knocks and then the creak of the door around the corner as Steve and Bucky entered. Moments later, she heard footsteps approaching to her right and peeked up to see Falsworth's tall form approaching. He wore canvas overalls.
"Green door around the corner. Two sets of three knocks, password is Hemels," she muttered when he was near enough.
Falsworth didn't glance down at her. "Keep your chin up," he whispered, then disappeared around the corner.
Alice passed the instructions on to each man as they passed her door stoop.
Dernier and Gabe were next, passing her with an excitable "Salut! J'espère que vous allez bien!" [Hello! I hope you're well!].
Dugan merely tipped his hat as he passed, his whiskers twitching. When Morita passed, Alice added after her instructions: "Say goodbye and good luck to them all for me. I look forward to reading about your upcoming victory in the paper." Morita nodded, grinning, and then he too disappeared.
When Alice heard the storm door creak shut for the last time she put her hands in her coat pockets and set off down the street again, heading for the place she'd locked up her bicycle. At the end of the road she passed the patrolling Gestapo troop, and nodded politely. One of them whistled at her. The rest looked bored.
A smile flickered on Alice's lips when she'd left the Gestapo behind. She didn't feel tired any longer. She felt untouchable: she had another memory of Steve to get her through the days and weeks ahead.
In October, Alice and Otto returned to Vienna for a performance tour through the city. They still had a handful of backup singers, who greatly appreciated not having to travel to wild and dangerous places, and enjoyed trying out the local dishes - most of them were Berlin girls.
Alice's hopeful mood had not lasted long. Throughout September, the Warsaw Uprising had begun to fail. The Red Army hadn't come to the aid of the rebels, and at the start of October the remaining Polish forces had been forced to surrender to the Germans after months of being massacred. The entire population had then been expelled by the Germans and sent to a transit camp. Word was that the Germans wanted to demolish the whole city.
Days after the surrender, Alice's stylist and fellow agent Heidi got the news: her husband, a fighter in the Polish resistance, had been killed in a street battle in Warsaw weeks ago.
Heidi did as so many others had: she drew into herself, and worked on. Alice never saw her cry, never heard her utter a word, but could sense pain radiating around her like a static cloud. Alice wondered if that was what she would become if she got news of Steve's death: a silent, cold spectre, going through the motions of a mortal life.
Alice allowed herself to grieve for Heidi, and for Warsaw: she felt heartbroken for those rebels who would not live long enough to see the Germans retreat, and horror at the idea that the Germans could simply erase an entire city from the Earth.
And while she grieved, she kept working.
Excerpt from article 'The Obliteration of Warsaw' by Maureen Jones (1992):
Following four years of brutal occupation which had involved widespread bombing, moving citizens into ghettos, and countless deaths, theWarsaw Uprising fell in September of 1944.
Hans Frank, head of the German government in Poland, said "When we crush the uprising, Warsaw will get what it deserves - complete annihilation."
He kept to his word. German architectural experts and historians oversaw a systematic, planned destruction of the city: soldiers with flamethrowers and explosives set about destroying buildings, specifically targeting historical and cultural landmarks.
Heinrich Himmler told the officers of the SS: "The city must completely disappear from the surface of the earth and serve only as a transport station for the Wehrmacht. No stone can remain standing. Every building must be razed to its foundation."
When the Germans abandoned Warsaw in January of 1945, 85% of the city had been completely destroyed, damage that was later estimated at around $30 Billion in losses.
Between 150,000 and 200,000 Polish civilians died in the Uprising alone. Estimates of total Polish losses during the war are closer to 6 million.
Alice made regular visits to Berlin throughout October and November, watching the mood change each time. Alice's audiences grew larger and more enthusiastic as the war stretched on and sources of entertainment grew thin. Berlin's stone monuments and draped red flags, which had once seemed so invincible and domineering to her, began to feel like facades. The city was pockmarked with bomb craters.
Herr Karloff, their overseeing producer at the Propaganda Department, became looser with information as his confidence in his superiors began to slip. On one visit after Alice's performance at the opera house, Karloff burst out in a five-minute rant about how Berlin had gone downhill.
"But at least good old Inge is always reliable," he finished, taking a long drag from his cigar as his secretary removed the brandy glasses from the table. "Always there with a pen and paper, and a cup of coffee. It's the little things."
Alice grimaced at the secretary in solidarity, but instead of commiseration she saw hard determination on the woman's face; determination to prove herself. It made Alice's heart wilt - no matter what, there were some who would forever cling to Nazi idealism.
In mid October, Heinrich Himmler announced his intention to crack down on groups like the Edelweißpiraten. The news made Alice's hackles rise: the Edelweißpiraten were a loose group of pre-military aged teenagers, mostly nuisances. They sang cheeky songs about the Hitler Youth and went on camping trips. She knew the group well since it had links to the Swingjugend, and thus to her fellow Vienna resistance member Hugo and his friends.
Reading the atmosphere, Alice sent out an urgent message through her networks for all the anti-Nazi youth groups to halt activities for a week or two. She knew they wouldn't all listen, but she had to try. These groups were mostly boys and their loud and obvious form of resistance frightened her, for their sakes. She felt certain that if Steve had been Austrian he would be the first to pin an Edelweiss badge to his chest, and that just made her feel more protective over the boys.
Alice supplied money and camping supplies to those boys who'd resisted conscription and were making a nuisance of themselves in Vienna, and urged them to get out of the city for a while. They went.
In early November, news rippled throughout the Reich of the capture and execution without trial of thirteen young men in Cologne, who called themselves the Ehrenfeld Group. From what Alice could tell they'd been stealing to survive, mostly, and had been caught after a shoot-out with some SS members. They were led by a 23 year old who'd escaped a concentration camp. Some of them were former Edelweißpiraten. Six of them were teenagers.
Alice enclosed herself in her uncle's house when she heard the news, and cried. She wasn't sure why the news had affected her like this: so sharply, so painfully. She'd heard of children dying before.
But as she cried alone in the empty mansion she realized what it was: two of the boys who'd been hanged were seventeen. And today, November 3rd, was her brother's seventeenth birthday.
Excerpt from 'The Anti-Hitler Youth' by Wilhelm Roters (1980):
When questioned about his group's aims by the Gestapo, the leader of the group Steinbrück said that he and his followers "would have done everything possible to end the war as soon as possible to the detriment of Germany. This is the reason we had the weapons cache. The factories necessary to the war effort and train routes were to be blown up, to bring the front closer. The most recent members of our hard-scrabble club knew of these plans and supported them".
… despite these ruthless executions, the Nazi regime never broke the spirit of most Edelweißpiraten and other anti-Nazi youth groups, who went on to continue hiding their minority friends, army deserters, and even Allied servicemen behind enemy lines.
While Alice and Otto worked from within Germany and Austria to hunt out all the information they could about HYDRA, the 107th Tactical Team hammered back HYDRA's lines. They mostly worked in Belgium and the Netherlands, but spent most of November in Greece, where a HYDRA fortress was resisting all Allied attempts to overcome it.
Back in Western Europe, they threw their might behind the Allied push up into the Netherlands, and east toward Germany, while also hunting out remaining HYDRA pockets. They were pretty sure they'd scoured HYDRA out of everywhere west of Germany, leaving Germany itself and at least two factories in the East.
In mid-December, the Germans struck back against the expanding Allied lines in the Ardennes in Belgium, launching thousands of troops and dozens of tanks against the unsuspecting Allies. Steve and the 107th Tactical team were rapidly deployed, and spent a week battling day and night against the German forces in the tough mountainous terrain under stormy skies.
They were tired. They'd been fighting nearly non stop for a year now, and even though they got a few days leave in London here and there, and each of Steve's men was as committed as any soldier could be, the SSR knew they needed a break. So when the orders came through to Steve to prepare his men for a short intelligence-gathering mission in the Alps near the border between France, Switzerland, and Italy - a relatively quiet area for fighting at the moment - Steve suspected that this was their way of giving them a reprieve for a while.
What's more, the nature of the mission reminded Steve of the large report on HYDRA's operations that Alice had said she and Otto were working on.
Bucky grinned when Steve admitted his suspicion as they trudged back to camp in the rain. "I didn't know the SSR was handing out conjugal missions-"
Steve elbowed him, sighing. He and Bucky had mutually agreed to keep Steve and Alice's wedding a secret from the rest of the 107th Tactical Team; it wasn't that Steve didn't trust them, but he and Alice were private people naturally and he knew they'd both rather tell their friends when they were ready. He had a feeling that they'd wait until the end of the war. It would feel like a real celebration then.
As long as we win the war, Steve reminded himself. It was looking promising these days, but Steve knew things could change in an instant. All it had taken for the Nazis to be pushed onto the defensive was their blunder in the battle of Stalingrad.
"I just think she might meet us there, is all," Steve said defensively. His boots sloshed with water. "She's been working hard-"
"How do you know?" Bucky laughed. "We've had about three messages from her directly, that we know of, since September." Steve's face flickered, and Bucky dropped the teasing tone in his voice instantly. "Sorry, punk. I just… it's nice seeing you two happy, even from afar. And I feel morally obligated to make fun of you for it."
Steve felt his uncertain mood ease off him like snow melting away. Bucky was sure good at that. "Jerk," he muttered.
Bucky clapped him on the shoulder. "C'mon, pal, let's keep packing. The Alps in December will be cold as all hell. Better bring your scarf."
At Alice's inherited mansion in Vienna, Alice packed a small bag on the dining room table as Otto sat on an upholstered chair, his arms crossed. They'd just returned from Berlin. Alice went down a mental list of things to be managed in Vienna while she was away - things the network needed to monitor, and social arrangements to make. Otto nodded, not bothering to make notes. She knew he'd remember.
Alice checked her bag, making sure that under inspection it only appeared to contain clothes and toiletries. She was bringing a veritable wealth of stolen documents and photographs with her, and it had made packing tricky. "Is there anything else we need to handle before I leave?"
Otto sank a little lower in his chair, and rubbed his eyes. "No, we've sold the story to pretty much everyone who needs to hear it, the Propaganda Department doesn't want anything else out of you until next month, and" - his head jerked up - "Oh, there was something else. Apparently that Propaganda Department secretary has been pushing the higher ups to review your travel receipts."
Alice's brows came together. "What?"
Otto shrugged. "She's a bit of a battleaxe, she probably thinks you're committing fraud or something. But I'm concerned that by sticking her nose in she might actually find something." He rubbed his temples. "I've considered eliminating her."
Alice snapped her bag closed. "No," she said firmly. "Otto, listen to yourself. Eliminating her? you sound just like them."
He looked up. "What do you want me to do? Let her snoop?"
"Don't get me wrong," Alice sighed, "If she finds something and it's likely that she'll blow our operation, then we'll protect ourselves. Whether that's kidnapping her, or killing her, we will make the decision." Shoulders straight, Alice met Otto's eyes with a hard gaze. "But human lives are not so easily disposable."
"Alright," Otto sighed, flapping a hand at her. "It's not like they listen to her anyway, the only reason I found out is because Karloff was complaining to me about how 'women these days think they can tell a man how to do his job'."
"Great," Alice said dully. The same attitude which had all these men underestimating her, it seemed, was the same attitude which would prevent her from being discovered.
"Be careful, though," Otto urged. "Clearly your siren song doesn't work on everyone."
Alice fastened her bag and let out a deep sigh. She'd have to leave soon.
She looked up the table to Otto. He looked years older than he had when she'd first met him, and even then he'd been grizzled. Alice knew that she had aged too: her edges were sharper, her eyes harder. She felt as if the war had forged her like a marble statue, chipping pieces away to reveal her true form. The war, to Otto, had been like a harsh and stormy season to a sturdy oak tree.
Alice drew in a deep breath then strode up to her handler, who had become so much more than that. She didn't think there'd ever be a word for what Otto was to her.
As he watched her, Alice leaned down to kiss Otto on the cheek. His stubble scratched her lips and he was tense the whole time, but Alice smiled when she pulled away.
"Merry Christmas, Otto."
Christmas Day, 1944
The air was frozen and still in the mountains, the sun a bright, cold spot in the sky. Steve and his team trudged up a snow-laden lane between dark pine trees. Their boots squeaked in the fresh snow, and their panting breaths evaporated in the air.
Steve adjusted his shield on his back and looked around. There was no sign of any humanity around. Up here, the war didn't seem real. He turned back up the lane and walked on.
Half an hour later pale grey clouds crept over the mountains, and soon it began to snow. White fractals landed around them, cold shocks on their skin. The tall, snow-laden pine trees to either side seemed to absorb all sound.
"Morita?" Steve asked. The sound of his voice was almost a shock - they'd been more silent than usual, taking in the sweeping mountain terrain.
Morita checked the map in his hands. "Almost there. Should be around the next bend."
"I sure hope so," Dugan complained. "I'm freezing my mustache off here. This place is well hidden."
They turned the corner, and Bucky spotted it first. "There," he pointed.
Steve followed his finger, and his eyes widened. A cabin sat up ahead, so loaded with snow that it appeared to be a part of the mountainside. His keen eyes picked out the details: a stone foundation with dark pineboard walls, and glass windows peeking out from the snow-caked exterior.
"Someone's home," Gabe noted. A lick of smoke curled out of the chimney, barely visible.
Steve tensed. "We're sure this is the place?" They hadn't had much in the way of instructions for this mission.
Morita nodded.
Steve took the lead. He trudged through the bare snow and then up the cabin's steps, his boots silent on the icy stone. He approached the front door warily, his eyes darting, then paused. His men arrayed behind him, some on the steps and some covering the sides of the cabin.
Steve tried the handle, and the door swung inward. He didn't need to wait for his eyes to adjust to the relative darkness inside, but he did have to wait for his brain to process.
Alice stood inside the foyer, wearing a green tartan dress and a brilliant smile. A thick cloak hung on the wall beside her. Seeing Steve's shock, her smile widened.
"I thought it'd take you forever to finally come in," she beamed. The other men of the 107th Tactical Team appeared in the doorway behind Steve, and she leaned to the side to take them in. "Merry Christmas!"
The mountain cabin was warm and cozy inside, with bare wood and leather couches and a blazing fire in the grate. Long windows looked out down the mountainside, with views of the dark swathes of pine forest and the distant mountains wrapped by clouds.
After the initial bustle of getting inside, the 107th Tactical Team now sat around in the main room of the cabin, taking a well earned rest. Dugan had taken off his shoes and socks and was now warming his feet by the fire, while Gabe and Morita complained. Falsworth and Dernier had raided the booze cabinet and liberated a bottle of brandy. Bucky was the only one not resting - he'd gone to scout the perimeter and identify all the exits and hiding places.
Alice sat with one leg tucked up under herself on the wooden ledge by the wide windows, her posture relaxed but an utterly thrilled look on her face. Her eyes roved over the men in the cabin, glinting with amusement. Steve sat beside her, with his cowl in his hands and his shield leaning against the wall.
"But how did you arrange this?" Steve asked, gesturing at the cabin. "Where does everyone think you are?"
"Everyone knows that I'm right here," Alice explained, her green eyes turning on him. "This chalet belongs to Otto's production company, and he requisitioned it for my use alone for a few days. As far as the Propaganda Department and the Gestapo are concerned, I'm off on my own for a mountain retreat."
Steve's brow furrowed.
Alice smiled. "I've done it before. While my uncle was still alive I spent Christmas and New Years at a mountain lodge in Austria after helping a family flee east. I wanted to see if anyone paid attention to what I was doing, and I figured out that with the right excuse, I can disappear for a few days. Besides, everyone's getting out of the cities over the holidays thanks to all the bombing."
Steve let out a breath.
Alice continued: "And we've set up a lookout further downhill, they'll call if they see anyone - Germans or otherwise - approaching. And if that happens, you lot can all go hide outside in the cold." She winked.
Steve beamed, and reached across to take her hands. He felt strange now in his full uniform. He'd been expecting a few days of harsh camping, not… this. He met Alice's eyes. He thought back to the small French church in the middle of the night, and his heart skipped. He'd carried that night with him every day since, waiting for the end of the war. Being apart felt even more cruelly unfair than it had before. "I can't believe we can just… spend time together."
She smiled back and his heart seemed to shiver. "I know! But this is technically a mission, may I remind you, so I have some intelligence to pass along."
"Okay."
"Not yet," she smiled. "I want to properly say hello to everyone first."
At that, the main room's door swung inward to reveal Bucky. Cold radiated off him and there was snow in his hair, but he seemed satisfied. Alice strode over to envelop him in a hug.
"How are you doing?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Tired. We've been fighting in the Ardennes."
"I heard about that," she frowned. "It sounded like hard fighting."
"They stopped the advance yesterday, though," said Morita from the fireplace. "Now we can get back to pushing in toward Germany."
"Can't wait," Alice nodded. "So how are you all? What trouble have you been up to?"
They all congregated in the couches around the fire to chat, sharing the brandy and slowly easing out of their uniforms. The 107th Tactical Team had no end of stories to share, making Alice laugh and groan.
Twenty minutes in, Steve shucked off the top of his uniform all together, leaving him in his tan cotton undershirt. Gabe was mucking around with his shield, spinning it on his finger like a top as Dugan told the story of their most recent HYDRA base raid, complete with descriptions of their disguises and all. Alice was laughing, gripping Steve's arm as if she'd fall off the couch without him.
Steve watched quietly, letting the scene sweep over him. He had a glimpse now of how it was going to be after the war: He and Alice, side by side, a team in normality. They'd have a couch of their own where they could sit together like this, with Alice's legs tucked up so her socked feet rested just under his thigh. They might have their friends over, and it'd be just like this.
There wouldn't be a need for secrets or war, but he just knew that Alice's mind wouldn't let her stop: whether she'd leave him secret morse code messages around the house, or go off during the days to whatever high-flying job she'd earned, he knew it would be something. He couldn't wait to find out.
His hand found hers and she glanced away from Dernier, who was talking now, to smile at him. She must have sensed the direction his thoughts had gone, because her smile softened and her thumb swept over the back of his hand.
Her gaze shifted to the men around the fire. "We'd best get the mission stuff out of the way," she said, her eyes on the brandy bottle. "Before we all enjoy ourselves too much. And after, I can show you all what I got you for Christmas."
A chorus of interested murmurs followed that, but Alice just smiled. "Follow me."
She rose from the couch, her fingers slipping out of Steve's, and led them all out of the main room and up to another room, slightly smaller but with a massive window looking out over the snowy mountainside. This room was mostly occupied by a large table surrounded by chairs; a record player sat in the corner, and the walls were lined with bookshelves. Steve remembered that this was a company cabin, so they must have equipped it for meetings. There were papers already spread across the table.
Joking and jostling, they all took their seats.
At the head of the table, Alice spread her palms across the arrayed papers. She waited until silence had fallen before drawing in a breath and beginning to speak.
"As you know, we've been working on HYDRA's wider operations for some time. I'm not sure what intelligence the SSR has already - Steve, I know you pinpointed a few HYDRA bases when you got a look at their map last year - but this is what we have."
With that, she rolled a map of Europe across the table. The edges were frayed and the paper marked with hundreds of fold-lines, and Steve's eyebrows rose at the number of pencil markings scrawled across it. His eyes were drawn to the red-taped triangles with black 'H's stencilled inside them.
"To start with," Alice said as they all leaned forward with wide eyes. "We've identified three of their major factories. Here in East Germany, one here in Poland, and another in Czechoslovakia. In here" - she gestured to a short stack of papers - "is the intelligence on how we determined those locations, and some additional information we've gathered about each factory. There are HYDRA outposts and warehouses dependent on these factories, but we figure hitting the big ones first is the way to go."
"You have been busy," Steve said wonderingly, letting his gaze track across the marked-out map. "Do you think any of these are the main base?"
"Unfortunately, no," Alice said. "Its location is a closely guarded secret, and there's little transfer of soldiers there, so there's no one to ask, really. What I can tell you about the main base is that it has to be very far removed from any civilian centers. It's probably up in the mountains, like this cabin. We've guessed that they get their supplies from plane drops."
Bucky nodded, scratching his chin. "Carter and Phillips reckon we won't pin down the location unless we can catch one of the leaders alive."
"Well, HYDRA purchases of cyanide continue to go strong," Alice grimaced. "But! Otto and I think we're onto something with this" - she selected another piece of paper from her various piles and slid it to the center of the table. Steve, like everyone else, stretched forward. The paper was scrawled with numbers and notes: it looked like a list of radio frequencies, with notations about times and dates.
"This is everything we've figured out about HYDRA's radio communications in each country in Europe. All transmissions are encrypted, but we've figured out some things about their patterns and cryptology. You can read all that on the back."
Steve turned the paper over and his eyebrows rose at the detailed notes.
"So you should be able to listen to HYDRA's radio communications most of the time with that. Use it wisely."
Steve slid the paper to Gabe, who ran a more focused eye over the frequencies. 'This is… this is great. How'd you figure all this out?"
"Lots of listening to the radio," Alice shrugged. "Lots of getting my friends in other countries to listen to the radio. It's taken a while."
"Hopefully we can pin down some higher-ups with this," Dugan said. "They've been using radio more often to coordinate their movements."
Alice nodded, then continued talking over her and Otto's map. Steve couldn't believe the detail - if HYDRA knew that anyone had managed to scour out so much information about them, they'd be running scared.
Finally, Alice seemed to run out of papers and notes, and sank into her seat.
"Anything else?" Bucky asked with a smile in his voice.
Alice narrowed her eyes at him. "That's everything I can prove. But…" she sighed, suddenly seeming much younger. "I don't know, things have been looking better for the Allies in the war, but all I get from HYDRA are whispers, really, and they're concerning to say the least. They're planning something big. They talk about world cleansing and domination like the rest of the Nazis, but… I don't know, it's like they think they can actually do it. The Nazis still talk big, but not in realistic terms anymore." She shrugged. "All I'm saying, I guess, is don't count them out. We might be hitting them hard, but they've got something big planned."
"We won't underestimate them," Steve said seriously.
A long silence fell, as they all looked at the map strewn with red triangles.
Dugan cleared his throat. "You mentioned a Christmas present?"
Alice's weariness instantly slipped away, and her eyes glinted. "I hope you're all hungry."
When Alice presented the two whole turkeys, sausages, bread, and vegetables she'd brought with her up to the mountains, the 107th Tactical Team practically drooled right there on the kitchen floor.
"I thought we could have a proper Christmas dinner," she said, emboldened by their excitement but still seeming uncertain. "I know we don't have long here, but-"
"It's perfect," Steve cut her off. She met his eyes, and saw him trying to hold back everything he felt, to make his tone seem even.
"We didn't bring anything for you!" Dugan frowned.
"I can't bring anything back with me anyway," Alice shrugged. "Your Christmas present to me can be the last HYDRA factory in smoking ruins." Her mouth quirked. "I don't mind if it's a bit late."
"Je boirai à ça!" [I'll drink to that!] exclaimed Dernier, who had liberated a bottle of brandy from the liquor cabinet.
With the whole afternoon ahead of them, the 107th Tactical Team set about properly relaxing. Some of them napped with open mouths and loud snores right in the main room, but most decided that the lodge could do with some decorations. They went and fetched pine cones to array around the fireplace, and rustled up a dusty box of candles to illuminate the main room. Dugan, Gabe, and Dernier ended up on the front porch building a snowman, and Alice laughed as she watched them from the kitchen window.
Steve came to stand in the kitchen door, his arms folded, watching Alice prepare the Christmas dinner. "Let me help."
"Well alright then," she said agreeably. "You can cut the potatoes." She pointed her knife at him. "But don't expect this all the time. This is a special occasion. I know you can cook, and I'll not be some homebody wife doting on you hand and foot."
He laughed at the mental image as he went to wash the potatoes. He couldn't help the skip of his heart as Alice called herself his wife. "Alice, if you think that's what I married you for," his voice dipped and he drew nearer. "You must think I'm an idiot."
"Well I know you're not an idiot," she smiled, and leaned up to kiss him.
Bucky stuck his head in the kitchen. "At this rate we won't eat until New Years! Work, woman!"
Alice dove for her knife, and Bucky fled.
Thankfully, the Christmas dinner landed on the dining table with no bloodshed. Falsworth said grace, and then the men dug into the mouth-watering food with as much politeness as they were capable of. Alice and Steve held hands on top of the table, and weathered the teasing from the rest of the team with smiles.
The men each gave Alice presents in their own way: Morita poured her interesting and colorful drinks, Dugan presented her with a bouquet of pine cones and pine needles, and Gabe turned on his radio to find the closest station playing Christmas carols. Falsworth did the washing up. Dernier danced her around the table to the French version of Winter Wonderland.
They spilled out into the main room by the fireplace, and Dugan, Gabe, and Dernier sang a loud and off-key version of White Christmas while Morita showed Alice the card that each of them (at least, those of them that were American) had gotten from General Patton for Christmas.
Each of them reminisced about Christmases long past, comparing the differences and similarities across the different regions they came from. Alice told them all about the Boy's Handy Book she'd gotten one Christmas, and the Christmas where she'd gotten to sing live on the radio for the first time. She, Bucky, and Steve described the lights of the massive tree at Rockefeller Center. Falsworth waxed poetic about Christmas puddings, and Dernier told them that he'd once been Mary in a nativity performance when he was a boy.
As the drinking songs and effusive Christmas wishes began to subside, the men started to drift out of the dining room. Alice sat full and happy, pink-cheeked from the drinks and warmth, watching them all yawn and head off to bed.
When just she, Steve, and Bucky remained, she reached under the couch and pulled up a package wrapped in brown paper. The edges were square, but the top was crumpled, bulky.
"How on earth did you manage to bring all this with you?" Bucky exclaimed when he saw the package. Steve just laughed under his breath.
"I'm a good packer," Alice replied evenly, then handed the package to Steve and Bucky. "Now you have to keep this secret, since I only had room for presents for you two."
Steve took the package with a smile. "We've done alright with keeping secrets so far." He pulled apart the paper and looked down. "Is this… a hat?"
"Oh, that's Bucky's."
Steve handed the dark blue knit hat to Bucky with an amused look, and Bucky instantly jammed it onto his head.
"No Morse code," Alice smiled. "I just thought you might get cold."
Bucky touched the hat, running his fingers over the close-knit pattern. "It'll muck up my hair."
"Freeze, then."
Steve had pulled out the other item in the package, a book with a colorful cover. He read the title, smiling. "The Art of the Renaissance."
"I noticed that the only books you had in your tent were about war," Alice shrugged. "I figured while you're in Europe, you should make the most of the art history here. I tried to find a small book, I know it might be too bulky for you to-"
Eyes warm and alive with light, Steve leaned over to cut her off with a kiss. Bucky pulled his new hat over his eyes.
When they pulled apart, Bucky cleared his throat. "What a shame none of us thought to get you presents."
"Like I said, I don't mind-" but Alice cut herself off when Bucky reached into his pocket and produced something wrapped in a handkerchief.
"Merry Christmas, troublemaker."
"But how did you-"
"We guessed you might be on this mission," Steve explained. "We thought we'd bring along our presents just in case."
Touched, Alice took the handkerchief-wrapped something from Bucky and carefully pulled back the folds. Her eyes widened at the contents: a fine wooden hilt with a metal catch. She thumbed the catch, and nearly jumped as a stiletto blade flicked out, gleaming in the firelight.
"It's an Italian Rosewood Bayonet Stiletto knife," Bucky explained. "Picked it up in Sicily ages ago, but I've never used it since I usually end up just shooting people. I noticed a couple missions ago that your knife is busted" - Alice's eyes flicked up from the gift, reproachful, but he went on - "and I thought you could make better use of that than me."
Alice tilted the blade, watching the light gleam off the sharpened edges. It was beautifully made. This wasn't a slashing or hacking knife: it was made for slipping deep into a person's chest, severing and puncturing. Alice carefully pressed the blade back into the hilt. "Thank you, Bucky." She slipped the knife into her pocket.
"Steve got you something sharp too," Bucky said, nodding toward Steve, who went pink. Alice smiled.
Steve opened his closed fist, revealing a fine, glittering hairpin. Alice's heart skipped. The pin was steel, narrowed to a finer, sharper point than even the knife, with a jewelled dash of black and electric blue at the other end. Alice instantly recognised it as an answer to the tag on the scarf she'd given him: the colors evoked the vibrant wings of a Ulysses butterfly.
"It's not a ring," Steve murmured. "But I figure you'd be able to take this with you."
Alice's fingers landed on Steve's palm, curling over the pin. It had been warmed by his body temperature. Carefully, she lifted the pin to the light, then stretched to pin it into the knot at the back of her curled hair. She felt the weight of it and smiled. "Thank you," she murmured.
"Anyone up for an Irish coffee?" Bucky said pointedly, getting to his feet and heading to the kitchen. Alice and Steve said nothing.
Bucky made sure to take his time in the kitchen.
When the fire had burned down into red glowing coals, and the wind outside kicked up against the dark windows, Alice and Steve leaned back together on the couch, her head on his chest and his feet hanging off the end of the couch. Bucky was still clattering in the kitchen.
Steve's fingers carded through Alice's hair, messing up her curls. She didn't mind.
Alice wished every night could end like this: warm, safe, she and Steve together in each other's arms. To most people that wouldn't seem like a lot to ask, but with the life Alice had lived, she knew better. She knew it was something worth fighting wars for. She found her mind turning, as it often had lately, to the future.
"When it's all over," she murmured, the first words they'd spoken in a while, "Peggy's promised me an evacuation. A free ticket for me, wherever I want to go."
Steve eyed her knowingly. "You're not going to take it."
"I might!" she said indignantly. "But I'd have to make sure everyone else is okay first. Otto, Vano, Hugo, all of them. They should be alright under the Allies, but I can't just leave the minute the war ends. Besides, who knows what's going to happen in Vienna."
"You'll be in danger," Steve said. The words rumbled through his chest, under her ear. "The Allies only know you as a Nazi sympathizer."
"I'll get out before they can get me, don't worry. I'll lay low until it's all settled. And then - America. There's a pardon from FDR himself with my name on it."
Steve propped himself up on one elbow. "Wait, really?"
"Yes. My citizenship's a little iffy, since I got rid of all mentions of it I could find, but I figure a presidential pardon's got to go a long way."
Bucky's voice suddenly emerged over their heads: "I'm sure being married to Captain America can't hurt either."
Alice blinked up at Bucky, who carried a steaming mug as he smirked down at them. She turned to Steve. "That's right. I won't… this won't have to be a secret." She'd been so used to keeping their marriage safe in her own head, that the idea of walking down the road hand in hand with him or turning to someone and saying 'this is my husband, Steve' had been such an impossible dream. A grin spread across her face.
"It's not far off, now," Steve promised. He watched her with blazing eyes.
"I can't wait to see the looks on people's faces back home when they hear you two are married," Bucky said almost gleefully. "My sisters are going to lose their minds." He glanced back down at them and sipped his whiskey-laced drink. "But for now, I'm going to head to bed." He raised his eyebrows. "You two should think about doing the same."
And with one last teasing glance, he left the main room.
Alice and Steve met each other's eyes, her draped over him like a blanket and him with his head propped on one hand.
Alice grinned. "Well, Captain Rogers. Shall we?"
"You know what, Mrs Rogers, I think we just might."
Boxing Day arrived sleepy and slow. Alice and the 107th Tactical Team spent the day snoozing by the fire and occasionally going outside to shiver in the brisk cold wind and squint out at the bright sunshine over the mountains. Alice and Steve moved in each other's orbit, able to pretend for a day that there was no war.
They all left the next morning, Alice back to Vienna and the rest of them to London.
Alice was tired of goodbyes. She went the rounds of the team, thanking them for their presents and their time, and wishing them luck. She was leaving first, so none of them had packed yet. Bucky reminded her to use her knife if she needed to, and she fondly touched the hat which he'd barely taken off since Christmas Day.
"Be safe, troublemaker. We'll see you soon."
Steve walked her down the snowy path to where she'd hidden a truck by the road.
"I can't wait until the last time we have to say goodbye," she murmured, her arms looped around Steve's neck. Steve held her tighter, his face tucked against hers and his heart beating under her palms. This mission had felt, strangely, like the denouement of this great war story they'd been working through.
Steve held her close for too long, until they were both shaky and too wrung out for speech. Instead, when they pulled apart, Steve just cupped her jaw with his hand and kissed her, his lips cold from the frozen air but his hands warm from holding her.
They didn't say goodbye.
She arrived in Berlin on New Years Eve, though the tone in the city wasn't celebratory. The people were tired of the constant bombing, with seemingly no resistance by the Luftwaffe, scared of the loss at the Ardennes and the loss of Aachen, the first major German city to be lost to the Allies.
Otto was waiting for her at her apartment, with a bottle of champagne and a tired smile. "Happy New Year, Alice."
She pulled him into a hug. "Happy New Year, Otto."
Excerpt from 'The Fall of Berlin' by Marianne Thomas (1992):
… at the opening of 1945, Germany's fate was practically sealed. Their counterattack in Belgium had failed, and there were millions of Red Army soldiers gathering along the River Vistula in Poland. Hitler had expressly forbidden commanders in the field from retreating.
Anyone in Berlin not completely swayed by the 'stay strong' propaganda would have been right to feel very, very worried.
January, 1945
Alice had a performance tour through Berlin planned for the whole month. She swept through performance halls and theatres, hotel ballrooms and mansion entertainment rooms, using her voice to spread joy, and hope, and heartbreak. Alice had long ago come to terms with the fact that no matter who her audience was, part of her would always love to sing.
Now that she and Otto had passed on their major intelligence packet on HYDRA, they turned their attention to collecting information to fill in the gaps.
Berlin became a place of shadows and sickly fear: beneath every conversation was an undercurrent of paranoia, a sense of impending doom. Life moved in normal patterns, but everyone knew it could not last forever. The Soviets were slamming through on the east at a terrifyingly fast pace, and the Allies were battling to get over the Rur river on the west.
The Propaganda Department was fiercely determined to keep up the German spirit: they spread lies and propaganda and wrung the finest singing out of the Siren. The Propaganda Department secretary, Inge, was annoying: always scowling at Alice when she visited, digging into Alice's affairs as if Alice wouldn't be able to tell. Alice and Otto gently redirected her efforts, relying on the Propaganda Department's complete lack of faith in women and the fact that Inge didn't really know anything.
There was nowhere left outside of Germany and Austria for Alice to tour; she knew that her role now was to sit here in the heart of it all, bleeding them dry from the inside.
It was harder to learn about HYDRA from Berlin, but that didn't mean that Alice couldn't try. She circled the people she suspected of being HYDRA plants in the Nazis, enticing them with fine song and lavish parties.
The 107th Tactical Team had travelled over to the Soviet front, from what Alice could tell; hunting out the HYDRA factory in Poland. As the aftershocks from their fighting on the east spread through Europe, and she heard more whispers in Berlin, Alice passed on a message to Peggy that it might be worth taking a long look at Switzerland. In her next message back, along with more orders, Peggy wrote: Good work, Agent Homer.
Alice missed her friend.
Alice's network through what remained of the Third Reich was going strong, though many of her operatives were scared. What happens to us, when the tide rolls in? Alice began setting up safety nets.
One evening, just like any other, Alice went for a walk. She went as Alice, in her long winter coat, just after dusk. Her breath came in puffs of condensation, and she watched the sky closely. The Flak towers didn't always notice the bombers until they were right on top of the city.
With a newspaper tucked under her arm, Alice strolled down the street. She passed a shop and ducked in to buy some Bratwurst. She sat down in the small park near her house with the steaming hot sausage and her newspaper, admiring the night sky. The air was cold on her skin, reminding her of distant forests in winter and snow-laden rooves.
Once she'd finished the Bratwurst she took a circuitous route home and dropped her newspaper in an alley she passed, as if she were too lazy to find a trash can. She checked her watch - her courier would be by at 9 to check the alleyway for an information drop. He'd see the paper.
The drop was nothing she hadn't done before, a mere shade of risk compared to the danger she'd been in dozens of times.
She did not see the blue eyes watching from the darkness.
Late January, 1945
Alice was growing tired of her white Siren dress. Heidi had made alterations and adjustments to it as the months went on, but Alice found the trailing sleeves cumbersome, and the bodice too close-fitting to be comfortable. Heidi had left for Poland a month ago, too far to make any changes. But Alice knew the effect the outfit gave.
She could see it now, as she performed an aria at a performance hall by the Spree river. The lights made the white fabric of her dress luminescent, eye-catching, and she knew that with her pale hair and the green accents in her jewellery that matched her eyes she looked, as she often did, slightly otherworldly. She had no backup singers tonight, so she stood alone in the stage lights. The hairpin from Steve was tucked into the back of her hair, a reminder in plain sight, and the knife from Bucky rested under her skirts.
Alice cast her eyes over her audience: roughly four hundred or so, mostly affiliated with the army, gathered in this building in the heart of Berlin for a performance intended as a celebration of the war. They'd taken over the whole building, as there was meant to be feasting and partying long into the night. All a pretense: Alice knew there was little to celebrate in Berlin these days.
Alice let the color and dazzle of her finely-dressed audience wash over her as she sang her way through a series of high staccatoed notes. She kept her audience captive with a simultaneously held breath. Her skin prickled with the sensation of being seen. As always when she sang the lights around her seemed brighter, the air warmer, a dizzying golden moment. It had been this way since she was young.
She felt rich tonight: she was healthy, had a husband who loved her a dizzying amount, and a future before her. She thought of Tom. If he ever forgave her, she thought, she'd like to sing with him again. And she'd wear whatever she pleased. I just have to wait and see what comes next.
Alice wrapped her fingers around the microphone and smiled down at her audience - not a bright beam but a sly, mysterious smile. She saw a few men in the front row sway forward in their seats. Her voice sank down through two octaves before ricocheting right back up, and Alice gave a real smile, enjoying the notes she twisted and crested over.
Yes, she thought. I'm looking forward to what comes next.
Alice didn't go straight back to her dressing room after the performance ended. With applause still ringing in her ears, she waited until no one was looking and then deviated into a stairwell, heading for the sixth floor. She didn't pass a soul. On the sixth floor she located a quiet corridor, and then checked a loose brick halfway down which one of her couriers sometimes used. But when she slid the white-painted brick out of the wall, the hole was empty. She shrugged, returned the brick, and then went back to the stairwell, dusting her hands off.
In the stairwell again she heard the rumble and clatter of footsteps as most of her audience went down to the main dining hall. Shivering slightly in the cool air, Alice made her way to the seventh floor and then headed for her dressing room. This floor seemed practically empty.
She found the dressing room door and slid inside with a yawn, making sure the door was shut behind her.
Alice turned, and a cry burst free of her mouth.
Otto lay sprawled on the floor. She only knew it was him because she recognised his clothes, since he lay face down. The hair on the back of his head was slick and dark like the ocean at night, and Alice knew. He did not move.
"Otto," she croaked. She knew.
Alice had slammed herself back against the closed door at the sight of him, but even as her heart seized and a shivery feeling emanated from her stomach, she rushed to Otto and turned him over. She instantly leaned backwards, the back of her hand over her mouth as her eyes blurred with tears.
Otto had been shot in the face. His familiar, grizzled expression had become an open mess of blood. The dark metal smell of it filled Alice's nostrils and her stomach twisted, heaved. Her shaking hand found the side of his face, as if she might rouse him, and his blood smeared under her fingers. His skin was still warm. But his eyes were blank, blank like the men Alice had killed. She knew what eyes with no life inside them looked like.
She heard a dull clunk and realized that Otto's necklace - the one bearing his wedding band - had slipped out of his tightly-buttoned shirt and thudded to the floor.
Alice squeezed her eyes shut to blank away the sight of him, and to clear her eyes of tears, before she swung her gaze wildly about the room. Otto's gun lay a few feet away, the chamber empty, and she glanced down to see grazes on his hands. He fought them.
Looking down at Otto, her handler, her friend, Alice realized: I need to run.
A warmer woman might have delayed for a moment, pressed her lips to her fallen friend's forehead, maybe wept over him. Might have said goodbye.
Alice did not.
Moments later she burst out of the dressing room, having kicked off her heels, and heard footsteps to her left. She glanced down the corridor and her eyes widened at the sight of Inge; bitter, determined Inge in her SS-Gelfolge uniform, her eyes widening, flanked by two Gestapo officers.
Inge pointed at Alice. "There she is!"
Alice's gut dropped. Inge's face was alive with vindication and something akin to glee, and Alice knew.
(She did not know about the file Inge had compiled on Die Sirene for over a month, about the nights Inge had spent watching her apartment, the places and people Inge had connected her with. She did not know that the newspaper full of German army radio frequencies she'd dropped last night had been intercepted by Inge. Inge barely knew a percentage of what Alice was up to, but she knew enough. Enough, at least, to tempt the paranoid, angry Gestapo.)
Alice fled in the other direction, leaving Inge's pointing finger and victorious eyes behind her. At the other end of the corridor she ran almost directly into another Gestapo officer, who had burst around the corner. He was tall and broad, in the dark grey uniform with the Reich's eagle on his right breast. He and Alice were both surprised to find themselves practically in each other's arms.
"Help me," Alice wept, pressing all her fear and desperation into her voice but smoothing it out to be feminine, helpless.
For a moment the officer's arms circled a little further around her, his face furrowed with surprise and confusion.
He was more surprised, though, when he felt Alice's stiletto knife slide between his ribs and into his heart.
He dropped, and Alice, with more blood on her hands, ran. She zig-zagged through corridors, listening to shouts and running footsteps. She couldn't tell from where. Her bare feet were quiet on the richly carpeted corridors. She turned onto a corridor right in front of another Gestapo officer, who had his hand on his gun holster. Alice wanted to flee but she forced herself forward, running him down.
"Frau Sirene, halt-" the officer shouted, and his eyes flicked down to her knife. So Alice didn't use the knife.
Keep your knees bent, point your chest, push off your back foot and punch through - with a vision of a skinny, hollow-chested boy with bandages wrapped around his knuckles, Alice launched up and slammed her left fist into the man's face. His head reeled back.
What's more important than learning how to throw a punch? Bucky's memory asked her. Learning how to dodge one.
Alice ducked under the man's instinctive retaliatory swing, and that gave her the opening to slide past him and slam the knife into his back; it jarred against bone and slipped, but the man cried out and dropped, leaving the knife slick and red in her hand.
She ran down the rest of the corridor's length, and paused this time before running down the next one toward the closest stairwell.
When she could hear anything over the sound of her own thundering heart, she screwed her eyes shut at the sound of men's voices: "We have all the ground exits covered." The man's voice was calm, if intrigued. She supposed they hadn't heard that she'd been seen yet.
Alice grit her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, thinking. The man she'd left bleeding at the other end of the corridor groaned. Alice's fear seemed to catch up with her and her chest shuddered, her fingers growing numb on her knife.
No matter how ready I thought I was for this, she thought, I was wrong.
She dug her fingernails into her palms. She had little left but her knowledge and her speed. Her go bag in her apartment? Forget it. Her carefully laid extraction plans? It was all so far away from this bloody corridor.
She knew the men searching for her wouldn't have prepared for much resistance - a singer and her agent, how dangerous could they be? She had less than a minute before the word spread that she was on the run with a knife, and their hunt for her became a lot more dangerous.
She wasn't fool enough to believe that she could fight her way out through the crowded ground floor lobby with its guarded exits. So, she told herself, trying to inject her thoughts with calm. You really only have one direction to go, don't you?
Alice wheeled and ran back the way she'd come.
She made it all the way to the staff stairwell without running into any more officers, by pausing before she turned each corridor and listening for voices and footsteps. She knew this building well, after performing in it for years - she only hoped that she knew the building better than the Gestapo.
The door handle to the staff stairwell jammed under her bloody hand, making her heart stutter, but then it gave way and she spilled onto the cold stone stairs. She slammed the door shut behind her and began racing up. Two floors up, her foot came down on the edge of her draping white skirt and she pitched forward. Not wanting to land on her knife, she fell painfully on her left knee and elbow, crying out at the crash of pain. Energy fizzed through her, hot and stifling.
She heaved to her feet, leaving a bloody handprint on the wall, and at that moment the door a floor above her crashed open. Alice's heart seized.
A pair of Gestapo officers ran into the stairwell, and in the first moment they did not see her. They must be scouring the building now. Alice's breath rasped in her throat and her heart hammered in her ears, but she set her foot on the next step and pressed up toward them. She could not turn back.
The officers turned at the sound of her breathing, and when their eyes landed on her Alice knew: they know I've killed their colleagues.
The one on the left, slightly larger and with the black cross of a senior officer, opened his mouth to speak, and Alice swung her knife at him. He blocked it easily by grabbing her wrist, and a punch that she hadn't even seen landed against the side of her chest. She gasped at the starburst of pain and the officer tugged her forward by the wrist, sending her stumbling onto the landing.
These men were older, veterans maybe - they knew the value of moving fast.
If it comes to a fight, we're not banking on you surviving for long, said Peggy in her mind, her eyes calm. I'm going to teach you how to kill fast, and hard. Ready?
Alice slammed her foot down onto the officer's instep and in the same moment twisted her wrist free. She drove her knife up under the man's jaw and felt his scream reverberating in her fingers. She pushed him away from her but the knife went with him, slipping out of her bloody hands.
The other officer reached for his gun, snarling. Alice slammed her fist right into his throat - she didn't hit as hard as she'd meant to, but the man reeled back a step. Alice did not give him an inch. Her movements weren't smooth or well-honed, she was desperately flinging herself against him with her heart in her mouth. She slammed the hard bones at the edge of her hand against the corner of his jaw, he dropped to his knees, and then she struck again with all her momentum into his temple - and he dropped.
That's the strike I'd go for if I only had one chance.
Alice's breath came in sobs now, and she felt half-blind from tears and the sweat rolling into her eyes. She crouched, groaning at the pain in her knee, pulled her knife free of the first officer, and then took off running up the stairs again.
When she burst through the door to the roof, she didn't pause to gasp down the blessedly cold air. She turned and jammed her knife into the handle, then backed away from the door, chest heaving.
The wind blew cold and fast up here, and when she turned around the night sky yawned wide above her and the light of the city glowed softly for miles around. The lights were muted to lessen the target offered to bombers, and the softness of it all made Alice's breath catch. The roof was twelve stories up. The sound of cars and people in the streets below seemed distant. The river Spree stretched through it all, cutting right beside the building.
Alice's body thrummed with adrenaline, pain, and horror. Her dress was torn and stained with streaks of blood, matching her scarlet hands. Her hair had come loose, strewn by the breeze around her tear-stained face. Now that she'd completed her race up the stairs she felt pain spike in her knee and elbow, and in her chest where she'd been punched.
She could still hear shouts and footsteps distantly, perhaps echoes from the stairwell.
Alice knew what would happen to her if she was captured. They would torture and murder her. She saw what they'd done to Otto, and that was because he'd fought back. She knew that they would want to take her alive, to learn what she knew.
The SSR wouldn't be suspicious of her absence for at least a few days, and by that point she'd be dead or worse.
There's no help coming. It was just Alice. Alone. On a rooftop.
Alice thought suddenly of Peggy's compassionate face when she had taught her how to kill herself, and the heat surging through her abruptly froze. She glanced at the knife jamming the rooftop door, gleaming darkly.
She turned away from the knife and went to the edge of the roof, pausing a foot away from the low stone barrier. Her ripped, bloody dress fluttered around her ankles. She looked down.
The dark void of the river stretched beneath her. Jumping from this height would surely kill her - perhaps not the best method of ending her life, but she didn't think she could face the knife. I'm sorry, Peggy.
A tear spilled off the end of her nose and fell, glittering as it plunged into the darkness. Her fingers clenched on air.
Fragments of thought spun across her mind: Tom's eager face. How it had felt to stand atop the Empire State Building with the wind in her face and the world beneath her. A drawing of a ring that she would never see.
A wind gust blew up the side of the building and into her face, making her gasp. She blinked away her tears, and when her eyes opened they alighted on the buildings across the river. On the other side the buildings stretched just as high as this one, save for one: she could see a rooftop a few floors down, illuminated by the warm golden light from the windows of the buildings to either side.
Alice's breath hitched, and she eyed the river. It was narrow here, maybe a few yards across.
Maybe… she judged distances and heights, pacing, until she realized it didn't matter. Either I make it, and use that rooftop to escape. Or I don't make it. And that's an end in itself.
Alice thought suddenly of the opera heroine Tosca, who'd thrown herself from a towertop, and then of Brunnhilde, the role she'd never played, who'd thrown herself into an inferno to cleanse the world of a curse. Alice's heart pounded.
What is it about women who meet a violent end that calls to you, Siren?
Alice's pacing fell still. Her breath evened out. Maybe I always knew it would come to this.
The rooftop door rattled behind her and Alice's fingernails clenched into her palms. Her eyes fixed on open air. She drew in a long, deep breath.
I'm sorry, Steve.
She ran, pelting full speed for the edge of the roof, her bare feet slapping on the stone and her eyes fixed ahead. She set one foot on the low stone barrier and leaped.
Her dress snapped about her like white satin wings and the air screamed in her ears and her heart swooped. A wild thought: I'm going to make it -
But then her vision was lost in a burst of golden light.
~ My name is Bragi ~
Reviews:
Guest Prime: That's true that Alice and Steve aren't necessarily 'spontaneous', but they've had to make lots of decisions very suddenly and they know when a moment is right ;) Amor vincit omnia! I'm glad you're amused by all the little (and big) mistakes that historians can make. As for Bucky (and Peggy's) ongoing reactions, hopefully this chapter answered some of your questions and gave you a whole lot more. I'm excited to see what you think of this chapter!
Guest: I'm glad you liked the chapter! How did your bad feeling pan out? ;)
Guest: Nope!
CaptainLoki: Thank you again for the French help! And I'm so glad you liked the last chapter :)