August 10 1943
Steve left the day after she told him everything.
They spent dinner together in Steve's tent while reminiscing over Hermione's days at Hogwarts, and then Steve and Bucky's childhood adventures in Brooklyn over several bottles of wine.
It was soon apparent to the both of them that Steve was not able to feel the effects of the alcohol. He wasn't even a little tipsy off the copious amounts Hermione then had tried making him drink after observation. "For science Steve!" she'd say bottle after bottle, giving herself 'tasters' with every experiment.
Steve looked a little sad and wistful after some time, and Hermione patted him on the back rather drunkenly in consolation. Steve teased her about it for weeks in his following letters.
When the bottles had run dry and the night had turned to early morning, Hermione excused herself on unsteady feet, and Steve helped her walk back to her cabin. He gently kissed her on the lips in the shadow of her cabin's entrance, and then once more on her cheek. He released her shoulders and stepped back.
She lingered at her cabin's opening, staring up into the lantern illuminated reflections of his eyes. She waited for a moment, unsure if an invisible que from Steve would show that he wanted something more from her.
He only smiled softly as she'd turned away and then helped to open her door. They'd known each other for nearly three years now, and while this was new, they certainly were not. She wasn't sure if she was delighted that he wanted more than physical companionship with her that night, or disappointed.
The next morning Hermione ignored a slight headache and found a thorough report of the last few weeks of training results and test scores on her desk from Steve, just as she'd asked. She skipped breakfast going over his report, and several other newer reports Peggy dropped off now that she had the clearance to review them. She had military movements. Specialized intelligence. De-coded conversations. Records of the enemies staff. Now, she had a broader view of the War. She could do more.
Steve was scheduled to leave sometime in the early afternoon to continue with his publicity stunts in America. The Senator's assistant had left a copy of Steve's schedule for Hermione, and Steve wasn't reported to be back in Europe until early October. Almost two months without getting to see each other, and unable to continue this new and fragile thing between them.
Before Steve's plane began boarding, Hermione met him on the base's paved runway. Heavy August clouds shadowed the small plane while the Senator's media group hauled luggage and equipment on board their transportation.
Hermione felt Steve's eyes as soon as she'd gotten close, and he walked to intercept her on the tarmac. His tight fitted green officer's shirt was tucked into his trousers, and his tan tie was pressed neatly through the second button of his shirt. He'd forgone his officers hat, leaving his blonde hair shining in the August sun. Hermione had never seen a more handsome man in her life.
Steve saluted her as they met before his plane. "Afternoon ma'am," he said, hands then crossing behind his back.
Members of the senator's media group side eyed the pair as they worked around them, and Hermione reminded herself to keep a respectful distance. "Good afternoon Captain," she said back and motioned to the single duffle bag waiting on the tarmac behind him. "Do you have everything you need?"
He glanced back at his lone bag. "I've always usually packed light. I've never had much to take with me before all this," he said turning back to her. "But now the Army says that I've got to leave the most important thing behind. So I wouldn't say I've got everything." He smiled.
She swallowed as his eyes seemed to burn into her. Her usually rapid fire mind went blank. "Well I'm sure whatever it is, it'll... still be here by the time you get back," Hermione tripped over her answer and cleared her throat once. "Two months really isn't all that long."
"It's at least eight friday nights without takin her dancin," Steve replied immediately. "My girl might even forget me."
Hermione tried to ignore the shiver that raced down her back. My girl. "I highly doubt that'll happen Captain."
"You think she'll take pity and save me a dance?" he smiled with wicked amusement.
Hermione folded her arms behind her back and fought back a breathless smile. "I think Brooklyn girls were lying when they said that Bucky's the smooth talker between you two."
Steve smiled beneath the edges of his lashes. "Well, the jerk had to learn from someone didn't he? I had the most time to think about it all."
Hermione laughed outright. "The next time I see him, I'll remind him you said that." She watched the sun filter through his blonde locks and highlight the curve of his lips. "And if you happen to be back soon enough, I might even have some time saved up for a dance hall or two."
Someone from the loaded plane called for Steve to board before he could answer. He gave Hermione a firm salute instead, and a small smile, just for her. "Yes ma'am. Then soon as I can, I'll come back round for that dance. Promise."
She fought the urge to close the distance between them despite the many eyes present. She was his superior here, for Merlin's sake! Gossip was the last thing she needed in her position, especially as a woman, but goodness would he stop staring at her like that?
She swallowed back the urge to do something altogether Gryffindor and respectfully nodded back with fisted hands. "Safe flight Captain."
October 12 1943
Howard walked into Hermione's office without knocking and raised his eyebrows at the many stacks of paper and open folders distributed wildly around the room. Unopened boxes with further supplies lined her short walls and a single typewriter sat on a simple wooden table taken from the wreckage of a bombed out home a block over.
Hermione barely paused in her review of the report in her hands. "Yes Howard?"
"You gonna fully unpack or keep things wrapped up until they move us again?" he asked, closing the door behind him.
Hermione gazed at the hazardous piles of supplies she'd dragged with her from the England base and sighed. "Honestly, I should downsize. Merlin knows I already didn't have the space to lug this with me, and now its' made its way here to Italy."
Howard opened a folder nearest him and raised his eyes at the runes scribbled across. "Did you bring all your research?"
Hermione put down the report. "Much as I could. It would help if we could get a sample of the weapons that Hydra was manufacturing. I haven't the option to not bring everything, I'm not sure what we're up against yet."
"Maybe we'll get lucky this side of Europe and they'll leave a shipment in a train or somethin," he answered, closing her folder.
Hermione shot him a disbelieving look and stood up from the rickety chair she'd been using. "Did you come down from the labs just to talk about my lack of organization, or did you need something?"
Howard met her eyes, and for the first time Hermione saw that he was holding a telegram. Howard held the paper loosely between his fingers, and Hermione felt a shiver run down her back. "..Is it from Steve?" she asked. "Is he alright?"
Howard shook his head. "No, it's not from Steve," he said.
Relief filled Hermione. "Oh thank-"
"It's about your friend Bucky," he continued on, and Hermione froze. "You and Steve's buddy from the 107th. It just came in. I had to nab it before Jessica in communications could relay it to the others."
"What happened?" she breathed.
Howard opened the telegram. He licked his lips and read aloud, "Members of the 107th Infantry Regiment, previously assigned to Azzano, Italy, were engaged at 14:00 on October 11,1943 by Wehrmacht soldiers on the lower east quadrant of town. From the North-East at 14:30, a battalion of Hydra soldiers sent by Johann Schmidt arrived. A Hydra Uber Tank," Howard stopped his reading to scoff at the weapon name, but Hermione couldn't find the energy to smile. "TheUber Tank fired upon the Wehrmacht soldiers, leaving none behind. The tank then turned its cannon on the 107th and fired upon them."
Hermione couldn't breathe. In her mind, she could see Bucky's salute and tilt of his lips as he smiled at her in his dress uniform.
"Were there any survivors?" she asked.
Howard read through the rest of the telegram. "Some," he decided with a nod, but the tight feeling in her chest didn't let up. "This says that less than sixty soldiers are scattered in the wilderness right now, making their way back. If they make it the twenty or so miles back over the front line in one piece, that is. The rest were either killed or captured."
Hermione sat back down heavily in her chair. Less than 60 men were on their way back. Probably injured. In a heavily war infested zone. And one of them might be Bucky. One of the honest few friends she had in this world.
"Rescue options?" she asked.
Howard shook his head. "The news just came in. I recognized the division 'cause of you and Steve, but Phillips hasn't had a chance to look it over yet."
Strength flooded Hermione and she stood from her chair. "Then I've got a chance. I'll go down and convince him to let someone get them."
Howard tucked the telegram into his coat pocket and smiled. "I didn't doubt it for a minute."
November 2nd, 1943
"How many?" Peggy's static ridden voice asked from the handset of Hermione's EE-8 Field Phone.
"Fifty-three," she answered back. She pushed a dirtied curl under the edge of her bandana that held back the rest of her braid, and tried to stop the shaking of her fingers on the receiver. Cold November mist escaped her with every breath, and she fought the chattering of her teeth where Peggy would hear. "Jameson and McDaniels passed. We tried the best we could, but fever took them sometime in the night."
Waking up this morning and seeing eyes that would never open again made Hermione want to curse herself for the 1000th time since the beginning of this mission for not investing in medical magic at home. She could have helped those young men. She could have saved them.
"Fifty-three soldiers is more than none," Peggy answered back steadily. No judgement or emotion colored her voice. "We can assemble a pickup a few miles Northeast of Bolzano, the next town over. Another 10 miles. No planes, but transportation for everyone back into base. We've moved North to the bottom of Grossglockner, a mountain just on the inside of Austria You're almost there."
"Affirmative," Hermione agreed, too tired for much else.
"Did we find any of our blue objectives?"
The reported 'purpose' of her trek across Italy. Hermione gritted her teeth. "Negative."
There was a silence on the other side for a moment. "Steve's entourage arrived this morning. There's a show scheduled for sometime today."
Hermione swallowed. She'd been afraid of that. "What did you tell him?"
"The truth. That you're away on mission."
"Does he know -" Hermione shook herself. "Nevermind. I'll tell him everything myself. Thank you."
"Stay alive," Peggy warned, and then the call was closed.
Hermione wrapped the handset and cord back into the leather side case that hung over her shoulder and stood to her feet. She ducked out of the crumbling room she was using through a blown out wall and walked back over to her men.
Well, not her men, but the fifty- eight men she'd been responsible for this past week since she'd lead the operation of rescue with Colonel Phillips permission.
Well, Hermione nearly sighed. Although 'Permission' might be too strong of a word.
"And the only reason I'm letting this happen, Agent Granger," Colonel Phillips' voice still echoed in her ears, even two weeks later, "-is that we have no one else right now. We still need to find some of those fancy blue weapons of yours that's got Congress so upset. Those Nazi glowing guns might tip the scale of this War, and so far no one has been able to get a sample. That is your mission. This is not a rescue in our Agency's playbook, do you hear me? This is a tactical easter egg hunt." His stare nailed her to the ground, and she nodded back gravely.
"However, if you do happen to find missing boys out there, you'll need extra rations, and equipment to bring them back. You can take five, and I mean only five volunteers with you for this little expedition. Agent Carter and Stark can not assist, they have their own work. Do you understand? "
With the unsteady "Yes sir " that followed, Hermione gathered her volunteers, said her goodbyes, and then headed out into war infested Italy. That had been two weeks ago, and it had been hell ever since. 'The Gothic Line', a metaphorical line in the dirt where the German defensive stood against the Italian Campaign for the Allies, changed every day. While Hermione was not technically on the front lines of the fighting, she made her way Northeast across Azano and encountered freezing rain, several close calls with German soldiers, and nearly getting shot through the skull by a hidden sniper on two separate occasions. However, she was able to find missing members of several either lost or broken units during this time, the 107th included.
She was a soldier at this point, rescuing other soldiers. No longer a lab technician or secretary, but another Allied pair of hands in the mess of Europe. Her wand was secured under her jacket sleeve, and she nearly always slept with her gun in hand. She hadn't had to shoot anyone point blank yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time. For now, she had helped rescue enough wandering soldiers that she could get away with muttered wandless spells that helped either create diversions or lucky shots for the soldiers following her.
"Ma'am?" someone asked, and Hermione looked up as she got closer to the group.
Percival Pinkerton, known by the group simply as Pinky, was an English member of one of the British Airborne Divisions, known as the 'Red Devils'. His plane had gone down a week prior right over Hermione's head and she had pulled him from the wreckage before his plane had caught fire and exploded. He was also currently her second in command.
"We've got transportation" she answered, and several other men turned towards her. "A 10 mile march, a truck ride to base, and then we should be back by late lunch time gentlemen."
Smiles broke across faces and slaps on the back were traded around the men. "That's the best damn news I heard all month," another member from the previous 107th laughed, and Hermione ignored the pang in her chest over her still missing friend from the same regiment. Others nodded and the exhaustion over their faces fell behind grateful smiles.
Hermione savored the moment, relishing the easiness in the air that had been absent for the past two weeks before tucking her hands behind her back, and addressing them again. "We still have those 10 miles to go, and even then we are still in the enemy's land. Don't let this distract you," she warned, looking at every dirtied face with complete conviction. "I expect everyone present to remain vigilant until we have our feet back on base. I'm not losing a soul after everything we've been through. Am I understood?"
"Yes Ma'am!" a chorus of echos barked back.
"Then get moving gentlemen, I'd rather we get back before all the Spam is gone."
Groans and laughs filled the air and Hermione turned to Pinky as everyone got to their feet. "Have Jameson and McDaniels been buried?"
Pinky fixed his red beret atop his head before patting the outside of his mud encrusted uniform. "I have their dog tags as the American's say, to bring back." He patted his chest again. "Although I do wonder if they'll want McDaniel's."
Hermione frowned. "Why would they not?" she asked. Both had been in 107th, lost before she could bring them back to base.
Pinky watched the men around them fall into their marching formation, and took a step closer to whisper under his breath, "It was known by some of his comrades that he was a demone as the Italians say it." His eyes flickered over the men and came closer.
"A what?" Hermione asked with furrowed brows. "Isn't that the Italian word for demon?"
Pinky blinked in surprise. "Have they not told you?" his own eyebrows came together. "They are not common I'll grant you, but i'd thought his majesty's militants would have been debriefed-"
"Well I haven't Mr. Pinkerton," she interrupted rather crossly. Although Pinky was a Private in his majesty's military, he had gone to the best Officer's school in Europe as a young man before he'd flunked out and then had been dismissed by his family. "And I don't approve of all the melodramatic suspense. What-"
"Agent Granger, we're ready ma'am," Cobalt, a sniper from the French Resistance they'd found two days ago saluted.
"Agent Granger and I will take the tail," Pinky answered before she could.
Hermione swallowed her retort and nodded. "Cobalt, you and Munnins have the front. Keep yesterday's formation."
"Ma'am," he saluted again, and turned away.
Hermione and Pinky took the rear of the line, occasionally walking backwards to watch the disappearing town and landscape behind them with narrowed eyes. "So Private," Hermione began again, her voice low.
Pinky's eyes never left the horizon around them. "According to military legend, now I know to be very true, is that there are a very small number of individuals in this world that are blessed with certain abilities at birth."
Hermione fought to keep her face calm and steady in her sounded an awful lot like what McGonagall had said to her and her parents when she was first introduced to magic before Hogwarts. "What… kind of abilities?"
Pinky shifted his rifle. "There's so few reports of them it's hard to know what's true, but it could be anything. Some might have irregular super strength, flying… There were even reports of someone in New York codenamed The Torch in the 30's who could somehow control fire," he said, "become fire."
Hermione could barely breathe. She had seen the ruins of Hogwarts, she knew that no one of her world was reflected in this one, but abilities such as those were beyond normal human domain. "And so, McDaniels?" she urged.
Pinky met her gaze for a moment. "According to his mates, he never did anything - strange , but when I went to bury the body, his true form emerged from his death."
"His true form?" Hermione asked.
Pinky nodded. "If they have the ability to defy human standards of physical limitations, it could be reasoned that they could have the ability to hide it as well, right?" he answered, and Hermione's mind raced. "Well when I went to bury McDaniels, he had yellow eyes from tear duct to waterline. The entirety of the inside of his eyes, a bright yellow."
"That could be an indication of illness, like jaundice," Hermione frowned.
"Not like this," he argued. "They glowed, like a cat or an owl. His pupil was slit like one. And his upper jaw was… well it had canines like a dog or wolf might have."
Like a werewolf, Hermione thought to herself immediately.
"Was there anything else?" she asked. "Other irregularities?"
"Well I didn't perform an autopsy, love," Pinky said with a shake of his head. "But if I were to, I'd bet on anything I'd find other differences as well."
Hermione nodded to herself. A whole different type of people among the muggles, like in her world, but without magic. Able to do, control, something else. She nearly laughed, it was so similar to her world. She wondered if there might be a school that reflected this difference like Hogwarts did.
"Have you heard of… anyone else?" she asked.
Pinky shook his head, his red beret vibrant in the November air. "They don't make themselves known." He raised an eyebrow. "And for good reason, don't you think?" he motioned to the empty countryside around them. "People are dying by the millions because they're Jewish. Could you imagine if someone found out they had glowing eyes? Or could control fire? Or heaven, even fly?" he asked and shook his head. "No, I don't think they'll ever reveal themselves unless they absolutely had to. It would be the witch trials all over again the poor bastards." He shook his head again, and Hermione felt her heart fall in her chest.
Because he was right, wasn't he? It was why Hermione herself couldn't come forward to help more in the War and had to lie to most of who she knew. She couldn't reveal who she truly was, or she'd be locked up, experimented on, and killed for her differences. She understood the need for their privacy all too well.
"I think," Hermione said with a shallow swallow, "That we should inform headquarters that we buried McDaniels and Jameson in the Church grounds near the last village. They'll be less inclined to dig up the remains to send home."
Hermione felt Pinky's stare on the side of her face, and Hermione clenched her teeth. Then, when his silence became almost too much, he turned back to the countryside and said decisively, "Ma'am."
Later that Afternoon
As soon as Hermione's boots hit solid ground back on base, she dismissed her men to the field hospital. It was raining heavily and the icy cold seemed to seep into her very bones as she made a beeline to Colonel Phillips tent. She could hear blaring music from the opposite side of the camp, and her heart ached to see the face she knew that would be on that stage, but she buried her feelings with every step farther into base. When she arrived at Colonel Phillips tent, she entered without knocking and came face to face with Howard.
"Hermione!" he said with raised eyebrows. He grasped both sides of the tops of her arms. "You're here! We were just talking about-"
"Stark, don't you have somewhere to be?" Colonel Phillips interrupted from behind him, sitting at a hastily constructed wooden desk.
"But Hermione-"
"Now Stark," the Colonel said, and Howard released her arms with a sigh.
"I'll see you soon doll," he said with a weak grin, and walked out of the tent behind her.
"Sir?" Hermione moved farther into his office space and saluted, before crossing her dirtied uniform sleeves behind her back.
The Colonel twined his hands together with his elbows elevating them close to his lips. He stared at her, taking in the unwashed hair, muddy uniform, and tired bags under her eyes. "Your objective, Agent Granger?" he asked finally after several tense moments.
"A failure Sir," Hermione replied evenly. "The Nazis encountered held none of Hydra's weapons, and we encountered none of Hydra's men ourselves."
"Count yourselves lucky, I doubt you could have taken them yourself, magic wand or no."
"Sir," Hermione answered, without remark. She was much too tired for a proper engagement of the minds at the moment.
He sighed and leaned back into his chair. "And the men?"
"Fifty-three sir," she said. "Several lost throughout the night by their injuries."
He nodded, and Hermione tensed for the next question she knew would be coming. The same questions she'd been asking herself for the past two weeks. Why weren't you able to save them? What good is your magic if you can't help dying men?
"I'll be honest Agent Granger, I expected less," he stated. Hermione's eyes widened. "You did a service to not only your country, but to the Allies as a whole. Fifty-Three men will get to say they made it home because of you. Good job." He stood up from his desk. "A damn fine job," he continued and held out a hand to her.
Hermione took the offered appendage and shook it under unsteady feet. "Th- Thank you Sir."
They released hands, but he remained standing. "And your Sergeant Barnes?" he asked.
Hermione swallowed the pain, tears, and anxiety down with a simple shake of her head. "No Sir, some of his team thinks he might have been captured with several others of the 107th."
"Was that confirmed?"
"No Sir."
He sighed. "So it is as it was." He grimaced. "Does Rogers know?"
Hermione's heart sunk in her chest. "No Sir."
He sat back down at his desk. "I see. Well if that's the case-"
The tent opened from behind Hermione, and a gust of cold November wind swept across the the back of Hermione's muddied trousers. "Colonel!" someone said, and Hermione turned with wide eyes.
Steve was wearing a dingy green overcoat, his hair was slick from the rain, but his eyes burned in the afternoon light from outside. His gaze slid over Hermione, and then did a double take as he walked fully into the tent with Peggy hot on his heels.
"Well, if it isn't the Star-Spangled-Man-With-A-Plan," the Colonel answered. "And what is your plan today?"
Steve's eyes left Hermione and he stopped in front of the Colonel's desk without a salute or proper attention. Hermione felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. "I need the casualty list from Azzano."
Hermione's heart dropped even farther, and her eyes slid to Peggy. Her friend gave her a deeply apologetic look as the Colonel's voice lowered. He knew. "You don't get to give me orders, son."
Steve continued on like a cement wall against beach waves. "I just need one name. Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th."
Colonel Phillips clenched his jaw and traded looks between Hermione and Peggy. "This is what I meant Agent Granger. Too green to keep a cool head while you-"
"Please tell me if he's alive, sir," Steve interrupted, and Hermione took a step closer as the colonel's eyes narrowed. "B-A-R-"
"I can spell," Phillips interrupted back like the heavy lashing of a whip. "And the name does sound familiar, but why don't you try sitting the hell down before you make a damn fool of yourself even further Captain."
Hermione watched Steve physically swallow back his retort. "Sir," he answered instead.
"Good," Colonel Phillips stood up. "Now while you playing chorus girl with the Senator off in Safety-Town America, Agent Granger was bringing home missing members of your 107th."
Steve's eyes widened, and his head snapped to Hermione.
She kept her eyes on the Colonel as Steve fully took in her rain drenched appearance. "Hermione-"
"She went out with five men and returned with fifty-eight," the Colonel continued, "-including all five she'd left with. That's what you'd call leadership Rodgers-"
"What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?" Steve interrupted yet again.
Hermione's exhaustion snapped into anger at his tone. "Steven."
He had wanted to be apart of the military for so long, and had he learned nothing? Personal feelings aside, the Colonel was his commanding officer.
"Yes Rogers! It's called winning the War," the colonel raised his voice.
Steve's eyes flicked to Hermione for a moment, before he answered back and nodded to the heavily pinned map hanging behind the Colonel, "But if you know where they are, why not at least-"
Her anger cooled. "The base they're most likely being held at is 30 miles behind enemy line Steve," Hermione answered. "Sitting between two mountain ranges and in the most heavily fortified territory in Europe right now."
"We would lose more men than we would save," the Colonel summed up evenly. He stared Steve straight in the eye. "Not that I would expect you to understand that, as a fake soldier singing show tunes."
Deadly silence filled the tent, and Hermione's lips parted in surprise.
"I think I understand just fine, Sir," Steve finally answered.
"Well then understand it somewhere else," The Colonel said, and turned back to his desk. "If I read the posters correctly, you got some place to be in thirty minutes."
Hermione saw Steve study the map, and then turn away to the tents entrance. "Yes Sir I do."
Hermione moved to follow Steve out of the tent and Phillips held up a finger. Hermione froze. "If you have something to say, right now is the perfect time to keep it to yourself." Hermione clenched her jaw and walked out of the tent without a backwards glance.
Heavy rain struck Hermione as she ran to follow after Peggy, who disappeared into a large tent Hermione figured must be Steve's. She made it into the tent just as she heard Peggy say, "-your friend is most likely dead."
Steve was methodically packing things into a small rucksack as he answered back without looking up," You don't know that."
Peggy furrowed her brows. The rain had splattered her normally perfect curls tight against her skull, and mud ran down the back of her stockings. "Even so, he's devising a strategy," she rushed. "If he detects-"
Steve shoved his arms into a thick leather jacket. "By the time he's done that, it could be too late!" his raised his voice. He picked up his rucksack and a thin red, white, and blue shield from his things with determination, and looked up. His eyes met Hermione's. He froze.
"Steve," Hermione whispered.
She watched as he slowly stood up straight. "I can't be a dancing monkey anymore Hermione." The white star on what must be his costume stood out from beneath the edges of his leather jacket. Rain water dripped from his hair down his face, and she followed the curves of his eyes as she took him all in. Two months hadn't been all that long, but they were both changed. And Bucky needed Steve right now.
"I know," she answered, and walked to him. She ran her fingers over the arm of his leather jacket and nodded. "Come back in one piece, do you hear me?"
Steve's eyes burned into her and he pushed back a wet curl from the side of her face with the barest of touches. "Yes Ma'am," he answered softly. His fingers lifted the bottom of her chin upwards, and Hermione moved from memorizing every part of his face, to concentrating on his eyes. "I'm going to go get Bucky, but I'm coming back for you."
Heat radiated from his fingers and it seemed to ignite everything inside Hermione despite her soaking clothes. She smiled.
"And I can get him there in one piece," Peggy said from behind. "Stark still owes me for my 10 percent."
When Hermione turned to look at her friend, she had a small smirk on her face.
The term 'Mutant' wasn't coined until the 1960s, so the few individuals who make themselves known before that time, fall into other terms across the world that highlight their differences.
Percival Pinkerton (Pinky) if you didn't catch on, is one of the original Howling Commandos. I've made a slight editorial adjustment with him, as he was originally with Bucky and the boys in Austria when Steve rescued them. Instead, he'll be helping our girl out while she trekked the wilds of Italy.