By order of appearance:
cooking with gas - doing something properly, making good progress
peanuts - a small amount, not enough; usually referring to money
flip your wig - lose your temper, lose control
whistling dixie - wasting your time
sugar daddy - a wealthy man who supports a woman
fat head - insulting term for a stupid or foolish person

Thank you for reading!

January 23rd 1944

The post had come early.

Discarded sheets of Hermione's notes were left hazardously around the room when she tore into the newest letter left on her desk.

Her eyes ran through jumbled characters and meaningless phrases, and she quickly took out a fresh sheet of paper and pen from the closest drawer. Hermione decoded Steve's letter as fast as she could, eyes flying past individual words before she finished and then marveled at the hurried scratches beneath her ink stained fingertips:

Dear HG,

I heard a song the other day from Samuel (Bucky's gotten into calling him 'Happy Sam' after a parachuting accident - I'll tell you about it when I'm back) Sawyer's radio here, and it got me thinking about you. It's one of Sinatra's, I'm sure you've already heard if it, but if not, he said:

"If they ask me, I could write a book

About the way you walk, and whisper, and look

I could write a preface on how we met

So the world would never forget, never, never forget

And the simple secret of the plot

Is just to tell them that I love you, alot

Then the world discovers as my book ends

How to make two lovers of friends"

As soon as I'd heard his words, it brought me back to our first date. Well, what I'd count and say was our first date.

Do you remember New Years in '42? It was just a couple of days after I'd given you your music box outside your apartment, nearly frozen to the bone from the Christmas snow storm that had blown in.

After you found me, you spent your afternoon filling me up with hot tea and drowning me in blankets in front of your kitchen stove, tryin to get me to thaw out and warning me about catching cold from such a stunt. Then, sure as the sunrise, I got sick the very next day because of it. (Stop shaking your head - I can feel your hassle from here.)

You came over and made me broth, and you bought the chest rub ointment to clear up the sickness in my lungs. Bucky was out, and I remember thinking to myself lying there as you nursed me back to health,

'This is it. This is when I tell her, I'm over the moon for you. Sick or not, I wanna be the guy that gets to see you everyday and know that your smiles just for me. I don't wanna be just friends anymore, I want to be yours and you mine.'

But I never did. I think I actually passed out from the medicine before I could do much more than wheeze a couple of breaths (was that your doing?) and when I woke up again, Bucky was back from his double shift, and you were gone.

I remember laying there, watching Bucky take your place in doling out the medicine, and itching for a piece of charcoal. Wanting to draw how I saw you, and never forget it. The curl of your lips when you smiled at me. The strands of hair falling out of your pins as you leaned over me. The look on your face when you said my name.

Maybe instead of writing a book like Sinatra for how you move me, I thought I'd ought to sketch it instead.

Yours, SR

Hermione lowered the decoded lines of words, and found a sheet of paper folded behind his letter. It was a drawing. A slightly smeared charcoal piece of Hermione, sitting in front of the decrepit remains of his old apartment window, holding a book. Their book, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

He made her look at peace, sitting in the sunshine beyond the cracked glass, and reading the novel with soft hands and folded legs. A gentle smile was on her face as she curled into the sunshine, and the shadows of her eyelashes blended into the delicate shadows of her cheekbones. It was beautiful. She was made to look beautiful, her likeness undeniable in the curls of her hair and the slope of her calves.

And on the lower right corner, where an artist's signature should be, Steve wrote:

"So if they ask me, I could draw,

About the way you walk, and whisper, and look. - Steve"

She fingered the edges of the drawing, emotions falling over each other like a crashing tidal wave.

She blinked tears from her eyes. The careful shades of her charcoaled face smeared to watercolors as she choked on an exhale. She pressed a hand to the violent thumping of her heart, and a heat washed over her skin like an echoing acknowledgment of her mind's first dominant thought.

She loved him.

That was it. She loved him.

She'd believed she had already known love only once before, with Ron in her youth, but it had flickered away to friendship as fast as the turning leaves on the trees of that summer. Their infatuation had been for a number of reasons: close proximity, loneliness, unsolved insecurities, and most pressingly, the constant thought of death. They desperately fell into one another because they had thought there would be no other time to do anything more, and at such a young age, that knowledge had been all consuming.

True, they had found happiness, as swift as it all had been, but it was never what Hermione had thought valid love would feel like; what her parents had, what she had read about in books under the cover of darkness in her bed at Hogwarts, or what she had seen in the telly. She loved Ron, she always would, but it was never enough; to stop her heart, or pause her ever performing and mechanized mind, to take her breath away, or feel the utter adoration she'd see in others. Ron had never made her feel as if she was the only woman in the word, as if she was truly beautiful, or worth the headache of her academic passion and opinionated nature.

Steve however, made her feel all of those, and more.

February 5th 1944

Dear SR,

I thought often of you these past few weeks as well, and a few lines have been repeating in my mind that I believe you'll find to your liking:

"I hope you don't mind,

I hope you don't mind,

that I put down in words,

How wonderful life is,

Now you're in the world."

A shorter stanza than yours, true, but filled with the same intention. I'll tell you more about it when you're back, whenever that may be. I hope it's soon.

I cannot tell you how many times I've reread our letters, or what I feel everytime I receive a new one. They're the brightest point in my day, and it often reminds me what we're fighting for. Why we have to win.

Of home.

Do you think Brooklyn will have changed much while we've been away? I think on it from time to time, the smell of popcorn at the stadium, or the ice cream shop on Middagh and Hicks Street. I wonder what it'll be like when we go back. What we'll do. Have you thought on it much?

Peggy is always so assured that everything will fall right into place when all of this is over. She insists that as soon as we've won, she'll go on to work with Howard or MI6 in rebuilding both Britain, and then the world. I wish I had her confidence for the future.

Thank you for your drawing! I look at it nearly everyday, and it always makes me smile. Maybe instead of a military career, a future as an artist? Perhaps it's too soon to be thinking of the end of all this, but every passing day reminds me of how quickly our lives changed, and how quickly they can change again; perhaps for the worst.

Speaking of, I heard Bucky had a close call last week. Is he okay? Please tell him that I've got something for him to try next time he's on base, and that hopefully, if he likes it, we can start making it for other soldiers as well!

In regards to your last letter, I am looking forwards to Happy Sam Sawyer's parachuting story from you when you're back. I imagine that he's still in one piece, yes? In addition, please tell Pinky to limit himself on his cigarette ration this month, and remind the Beastly Brothers that I haven't forgotten their wager from our last conversation. Please also point out to Jim and Gabe that learning a new language on base or in the wilderness is not so they can chase tail through Europe, will you?

Make sure you all eat enough, and don't get shot.

Send them all my love, and know that I think of all you every day.

You most of all.

Yours, HG

Feb 13th 1944

Hermione set down Howard's stack of research papers, and blinked several times at the implication of his newest invention. "Howard, it's brilliant," she said with a shake of her head and a smile. "In my old world, we actually had something similar. We called it a -"

"Pepper Up Potion," Howard finished with an answering smile. He flipped open his research notes again. "Yes, I know. That's uh- well, it's where I got the inspiration from. The military's been breathing down my neck for something new to defeat the Nazi's." He shrugged and sighed. "I though, hell, why not make something so that soldiers never have to sleep? - or, to sleep very little for a long time."

Hermione nodded along hesitantly. "Yes, I could see your thought process on that." Her eyes flickered over Howard's hand writing. "And your math does sound -" Hermione cautiously shrugged, "-reasonable."

Howard winked. "Doesn't it just?" He sat down at the lab desk and clucked as he flipped a fresh page over. "The only thing is- I need some help. I've got a short timeline, and the Big Boys in office are saying that the War waits for no one." He paused and met her eyes. "And it just so happens you're the best brain I've got for miles around and I need to be cookin with gas."

Hermione swallowed her snort and sat down across from him. "Flattering, Howard."

"It really is my highest form of praise," he smiled back.

Hermione's eyes scanned his work, and then took a deep sigh. "My plate is full enough already. I don't need another project."

He cocked his head to the side. "Is it really work when it's with me?"

"You and a new weapon sounds like hours of lost sleep."

He sighed. "Well then, how about this: I give you 20 percent of the patent. It'll be a big sell from the military. A nice chunk of change at the end of the day. Eh?" He raised his eyebrows. "That way, you get something more tangible than just my winning personality for your beauty sleep."

Hermione frowned. "Howard-"

He motioned to the documents before him. "And I've already taken care of getting it off the ground. The hard part's done! All you gotta do, is stick with me through it," he insisted. "Proof check, bounce ideas off of - that sort of thing." He put his hand over his heart, and Hermione was silent. "Do I really need to say it, doll? Are you gonna make me say it?"

She snorted, and rolled her eyes. "No, I-"

"Cause I will Hermione. I'll do it right now."

"Howard-"

"It's on the tip of my tongue, I swear it-"

Hermione laughed and shook her head. "You-"

"Please," he said with dramatic gusto. "Please, Hermione. Dear, Doll, Light of My Life," he proclaimed. "Please."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake -

"Please -"

"- alright, yes!" she smiled.

"Yes?"

"Yes," she agreed with a laugh. "I'll help." Her eyes narrowed. "But for 50 percent."

"F-fif-" Howard choked, and coughed. "50 percent!? Are you insane woman?" He sat back in his chair. "20 percent is generous! I'm doing the majority of it all!"

"Don't you flip your wig at me!" Hermione scolded back. "I'm going to make it better and do it faster than anymore on this side of the world, and you know it". She gave him a flat stare. "20 percent is peanuts."

Howard looked away and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine then, 25."

She raised an eyebrow. "Absolutely not."

"27."

"Howard!"

"Fine!" Howard said once more. "Alright, 40 percent. I'll give you 40 of it all." He leaned his elbows on the table. "For your brain, and for your devious, black hearted, conniving ways."

Hermione simply smiled and offered her hand. "It's a deal then Mr. Stark."

He muttered something under his breath, and shook her hand. He gathered his documents from the table and stood with a frown. "Tomorrow then?"

Hermione nodded and then walked him to the door. Jack Fury stood silently outside, and made no motion as Howard stepped out. Hermione leaned against the doorway. "Have you thought of a name for this new product?"

Howard grinned. "I was thinkin something fun, you know? Midnight Oil, maybe."

Hermione echoed the name. "I like it."'

"Well if you approve," he said with a smile. He tipped his hat in her direction before he turned on his heels and left for the night.

Hermione shook her head after him with a small smile on her lips, and she turned to the only other person around. "Don't ever tell him, but I would have done it for 30 percent."

Naturally, Jack Fury had nothing to say back, and stonily stared at the opposite hallway wall.

March 8th 1944

"We've done all we can," Hermione warned.

Howard held his head in his hands, bent over the table. "There has to be something else," he repeated.

Hermione and he were the only ones in Howard's cabin, sitting at the dining table and reviewing nearly a month of their work from Midnight Oil between them. "Sometimes things like this just don't work out and we're whistling dixie," she continued, the crust of another long night weighing down her eyelids.

Howard stood up from the table and put his hands behind his head. His white lab coat lay crumpled over the back end of his seat. "No, this isn't the end of it. What haven't we tried? What are we missing?"

Hermione's hair was frazzled from running her hands through it so often during that day, and her patience was below sea level now that it was late into the night. They had been at this debate for nearly three hours, and she couldn't remember that last time she'd eaten.

She'd promised Steve that she would do better on that.

"What are we missing?" Howard questioned again, breaking Hermione's thoughts. "What aren't we seeing? There has to be something-"

"Time!" Hermione declared, tired of the circling rounds.

Howard snapped his jaw shut.

"We're missing time," she said. "Midnight Oil is a concoction of unstable elements held together by magic that shouldn't have been combined, and technology that hasn't been perfected. We need more time to get it right."

"We don't have-"

"I know," Hermione interrupted again. "I know that, but what we do have right now is a substance that causes sleep deprivation, anger, hallucinations, and psychosis. In a large quantity, it could turn people against each other. Violently. It's not ready for any sort of human experimentation, army general or not." Hermione stood from her seat as well.

Howard did not look much better than Hermione, and the dark shadows under his eyes were in stark contrast beside the small fireplace glow behind him. "It's a month of work, down the drain. Millions of-"

"If the military got their hands on this right now, they would use it against the Germans. Not just the Nazi's. Good people perhaps, and Merlin knows who else," Hermione answered. "Midnight Oil is too dangerous to let them see those kinds of possibilities."

"Lord." Howard's fist hit the dining room wall lightly, and his forehead rested on the painted plaster. "I know." He sighed deeply. "You're right, I know. We'll have to destroy it. All of our work."

"Immediately," she agreed.

There was a knock on Howard's front door.

Howard and Hermione froze.

There was a following knock a few moments later, and Howard jumped into action. "It can't be General McGinnis yet, he's not supposed to be in until tomorrow!"

"Private Cain wouldn't have let someone past him if it wasn't someone we knew," Hermione agreed in a rush.

Howard hurried and opened the door, just as another knock started to sound. The shadow of a large, familiar man stood outside in the freezing wind.

Howard stepped aside for the large figure. "Oh thank God. Come on in Rogers. It's freezing as hell out there this time of night. Private Cain, you get in here too."

"Steve?" Hermione immediately questioned, hope rising through her throat. He wasn't due back until the day after tomorrow.

Cobalt eyes stepped through the front door and landed on Hermione. They evaluated the room in a quick once over, taking in the stacks of documentation and the dying fireplace.

He was wearing his now usual red, white, and blue uniform, but had removed his helmet and red leather gloves at some point, leaving his hands free and his hair shining under the soft lights. Gun powder, dirt, and other dark substances spotted throughout his uniform, but his new shield that Howard had put together for him was nowhere to be found. Hermione briefly worried if it had been lost. His shield was completely made out of the only vibranium the US Army had access to, and was irreplaceable. Hopefully if it was lost, Hydra didn't get their hands on it either.

Steve came back to her face. "I couldn't find you," he said in a strangely even voice. "I was on my way back from your cabin to tell you I'd returned when I saw Private Cain outside." His eyes flickered over to Howard, who came back from closing the door after Private Cain.

"It's a little late for a social call don't you think?" Howard said offhandedly, rubbing his hands from the brisk air outside.

Steve's eyes cut to Howard. "It's very late. Past midnight in fact, and no one knew where she was. Someone mentioned she might be staying here tonight."

Both Howard and Hermione froze.

The implication behind Steve's words floored Hermione. She was a grown woman, a Master in several witchcrafts, a military consultant - but sometimes the culture of her current time period showed it's true colors and it slapped her hard across the face.

Hermione was an young unmarried woman in the home of an powerful and wealthy unmarried man, in the middle of the night, without another person - a chaperone, if she was feeling unkindly, present. Nevermind that she was over a decade past her majority, or that Howard was only a friend; that they had been working, and debating all night. From any viewpoint outside, predictably from other soldiers, from Steve's, this was not how a respectable woman acted. How someone who was attached to another like she and Steve were -

Hermione's eyes widened. "We were only researching -," she said in barely a whisper.

Steve relaxed and took a step closer into her warmth. "I didn't come to accuse you," he assured her, but his eyes lifted to the rest of the room, taking in the mess of their continued work again. "I just -" he said, and looked back down to her, " - I worried is all. Someone said -"

"You shouldn't" Howard hissed, offended on her behalf. "Hermione would never do that. To you - to anyone. She isn't that kind of-"

"I know that," Steve snapped at Howard, "but think, if not for your sake, for hers."

Hermione swallowed. She knew exactly what it would look like, and how that would reflect on not only her character, but her precarious power within the military. Peggy was right about a lot of things, but most importantly, how a women succeeded when doors were continually slammed in her face because of the sex between her legs. And this was not how it was done. Not if she wanted people to take her seriously.

Howard looked geared to start fighting again, and Hermione held up her hand for peace. Both pairs of eyes flew to her's. "I understand," she told Steve. "It won't happen again. If we're caught up in something in the future and we need to stay late, I'll make sure there is someone else as well."

"Don't apologize!" Howard snapped, uncharacteristically hard.

Hermione glared at her friend. "I'm not. But Steve is right. People can't think you're some sort of sugar daddy-"

Steve choked.

"- to me. There's been enough gossip in this camp, and I can't afford more if I want to stay on."

"The worst, the very worst, they could do is fire you," Howard argued, and crossed his arms.

"Or court martial me," Hermione replied. "As you said, we've just lost a month of research and millions of dollars on Midnight Oil, a failed experiment with my name on it. They see that, and then hear about extra rendezvous from camp gossip, and who are they going to blame? Not you- their leading weapons manufacturer."

Howard paused. He looked to Steve quickly and then back to Hermione. He shrugged. "So then, I'd hire you back in the next minute." He then laughed. "Hell, I'd even pay you more than Uncle Sam does in five years."

Steve frowned and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Howard - That's not the point."

The inventor sighed, and looked to the floor. He shook his head. "No I know, I just -" he clucked lowly, and met Steve's stare. "Sorry Rogers, this one's on me too, I wouldn't want to embarrass you either. It won't happen again."

Hermione hadn't even entertained the idea on how that kind of gossip would reflect back on Steve; now that most people on base knew that Steve came to see her first thing when he got back, it was known but unsaid that they were in some sort of relationship. If people thought she and Howard were alone while Steve was off fighting -

She shook her head and cleared her thoughts. Better not. "Well, now that that's settled. Would you like to know what we're working on?"

Steve relaxed after Howard's apology, and his eyes flitted to the dining table behind them filled with scribbles of notes and research. He looked back to Hermione, and a soft smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Always," he said.

Hermione reached out and held one of Steve's hands. She gently pulled him along after her as they all walked to the dining table.

"Well, here it is Rogers," Howard said, spreading his arms wide and introducing Steve to the mess around them. "Our month long failure for that fat head McGinnis."

Hermione sighed, still holding Steve's hand.

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Are you talking about Brigadier General John McGinnis?"

Hermione cocked her head. "You know him?"

He nodded. "He was present during testing when the Senator had me doing films."

"Poor you," Howard answered as he started gathering up their papers.

Hermione tried very hard not to roll her eyes. "He's an ally, Howard. Try to remember that."

"Well for now," he said back. "I wouldn't trust him as far as I'd throw him."

Steve frowned. "What have you got against him?"

"Alot of stuff. One being that he's nutcase for America," Howard explained. "I've met him, I know him. He's willing to do anything to win."

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, releasing her hand, and glanced at Hermione. "What does that mean?"

Howard opened his mouth to answer, and then remembered the silent military shadow on the wall. "Private Cain," Howard barked, "Put your fingers in your ears and hum a toon under your breath."

Hermione's eyebrows rose as the Private blinked several times before following Howards orders. A low hum filled the room as the Private put his fingers in his ears.

Howard mirrored Steve and crossed his arms over his chest. "You been debriefed on the Black Widow Ops Program?"

Hermione frowned, taken aback. She hadn't, and she knew quite a lot of the undercover American programs at this point. She'd never even heard of it.

Steve apparently hadn't either. "No, never," he answered. "What is it?"

"It's secret is what it is, so I wouldn't be surprised. It's almost a rumor inside of a rumor at this point." Howard glanced around the room and swallowed. "Alright, so, let's start at the beginning. Following Russia's catastrophic losses in the First World War, the Tsar fell and the Russian Revolution began, right?" he stated. "It ushered in what we know them as now - the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, or the Soviet Union. In between that time, millions of children are displaced. Starvation, civil war, illness - the list goes on-"

"Stark -" Steve started, confused at the history lesson.

"Stay with me here, so, the Soviets decided that they needed a different kind of warfare. Right?" he continued. "Something that's not going to cause them to lose the population numbers that they had before. By the way, at this time, we're lookin at an estimation of over six million Russian children on the streets because of the Great War and then their Civil War."

Hermione nodded along. She had already known this dark part of Russia's history.

Steve's eyebrows had pulled down into a frown.

"So - like I said, they're looking to do something discrete, but effective. Naturally, espionage came into being."

"Easy to understand, everyone's got an espionage division these days," Hermione answered.

Steve nodded in agreement.

"Yes," the scientist agreed. "- but most countries don't recruit children," Howard remarked lowly.

Hermione's breath stopped.

"The Black Widow Program is a secret division built on the back of the Russian Revolution whose objective is to to turn little girls, all under the age of seven, into spies and child soldiers. They take them off the streets, the orphans and leftover trash from the cities, and they teach them how to be deadly. Grow them up into elite weapons and then release them into the world under the Soviet agenda. They call those that actually live through their training, Black Widows."

Child soldiers. Hermione's blood went cold.

"That's -," Steve said under his breath.

"Exactly," Howard said, shaking his head. "It's crazy - the Soviets - but we're in the middle of another War. We can't be too choosy about who gives us soldiers and supplies."

Hermione's head was shaking again before Howard could finish. "We can't just-"

"We have no choice," Howard reminded them. "Not yet."

Steve grimaced. "And General McGinnis, he's aware of our Allies program?"

Howard raised his eyebrows. "He's more than aware. He's in awe. He wants an army of his own American Widows. Exactly how the Soviets have them set up."

"That's disgusting," Hermione spit.

"I'm not disagreeing with you," Howard answered. "But he's a high ranking Army Officer. He has a lot of power, and he wants more. Any kind he can get. So when he sees an opportunity, he strikes."

Steve's arms were crossed firmly over his chest, and his teeth were clenched tightly. "And how, exactly, do you know all this?" Steve asked, looking him hard in the eye.

"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time in DC once," Howard admitted. "They thought I was drunk and passed out, I was really only one of the two."

Steve's eyes narrowed in distaste, but he moved on. "So he's not someone we want to cross just yet," he concluded. "But what does he want from you and Hermione with all of this?" he motioned to Howard's dining room explosion of paperwork.

"Just an unreleased substance," Howard answered. "Still in testing."

Howard looked to Hermione, and she cringed. She knew how Steve felt about gas weapons, how it reminded him of the grisly death his father died in the first World War. It was well known now that Steve hated the thought of fighting with chemicals instead of fists and bullets. Physical weapons could be dodged or blocked. A gas weapon was sure death.

She licked her lips. "Our product that we've been working on, the one that I told you about in our letters? We call it Midnight Oil. I couldn't say too much incase our letters were intercepted - but we had a deadline for the General for this gas-"

"You were working on a gas?" Steve's eyes hardened.

"It was originally supposed to help soldiers - not be a weapon," Hermione explained.

"It didn't pan out like we'd hoped," Howard agreed. "Instead of a combat drug for our soldiers, capable of keeping its users awake for an extended period of time, Midnight Oil created- lethal side effects."

Steve stared between the two scientists. "What kind of side effects?"

Howard reached behind him and collected sheets of their animal tests. "After contact, subjects began to display symptoms of anger, hallucinations, and sometimes psychosis. Most were driven into a state of mindless rage, blindly attacking anything around them."

"Holy Mackerel," Steve said, reviewing the document. He was pale as he moved through the pages. "This is-"

Hermione spoke up. "We've already decided that it needs to be destroyed. It's far too dangerous."

Relief crossed Steve's face. He switched his gaze between both she and Howard. "And you created this? The both of you?"

Howard nodded. Hermione took the research back from Steve. "Like I said, it wasn't on purpose. This gas - I know how you feel about-"

Steve's eyes shuttered. "Were you in contact with Midnight Oil at any point?" he cut Hermione off and stood tall. "Have you experienced any of the side effects or been in contact with the hazardous corpses left over?"

Cement walls seemed to erect themselves between herself and Steve, and Hermione quickly shook her head. "No, we were very careful with all of our test subjects."

Howard looked between the couple quickly, and took a step in front of Hermione, shielding her from Steve. "Hey now, none of this was on purpose. It was a miscalculation that couldn't -"

Hermione knew that Howard stepping in was a mistake before Steve's eyes could even narrow.

Steve wasn't a jealous man, Hermione didn't think he had it in him to ever really be so, but he had just gotten back from another long mission, had already had a tough conversation in Howard's cabin after more than a month apart, and now Howard had moved like he had to protect her from Steve after a triggering memory of his late father. Mental math had always been easy for Hermione, and she could tell that the product of this increasing equation was about to get very, very ugly.

She had to deescalate the situation.

Hermione moved forwards and wrapped her arms around Steve's waist. He froze at the touch. She leaned her forehead against the musty material of his uniform, and sighed heavily. The echoes of her breath carried through Private Cain's quiet humming, and Hermione clutched at the back of Steve's jacket. "I'm tired," she said softly. She felt the tension release from Steve's body at her words, and the tentative touch of his hands on her back as he held her. "I've been in this room, staring at these papers for hours." she looked up and propped her chin against his chest. "Walk me back?"

Steve caught her eyes, and let out a deep breath. He glanced to Howard for moment, before he was nodding and letting her go. "We'll see you tomorrow morning, goodnight Stark."

Howard put his hands into his trouser pockets and leaned back on his heels. His mouth was downcast in a worried frown, and his eyes went between Steve and Hermione several times before he cleared his throat and nodded. "Goodnight Captain, Hermione."

"I'll see you after breakfast," she smiled back, and motioned for Private Cain to unplug his ears. "We'll be walking back now."

Neither Steve, Hermione, or Private Cain said anything as they walked and then arrived at Hermione's small cabin. Private Cain stood at attention at the door as Steve and Hermione passed him and headed inside. Steve closed it behind them silently, and Hermione didn't have the courage to turn around.

She released her coat from her shoulders, and crouched to light the small oil heater at the corner of her living room, large enough to only hold two chairs and an oval coffee table. It was early morning now, probably nearing three o'clock - and the heavy shadows of the claustrophobic room seemed extra shadowed as Hermione stood back up. "I didn't mean to hurt you - just now, with Howard." She wouldn't apologize for her research, her job. But she had never seen Steve react so distinctly to both her and Howards friendship, and her work before.

She heard the faint rustling of Steve's uniform at the door. "You didn't," his low voice came from behind her. "I just -" he paused, and Hermione still couldn't move. "I've been waiting to see your face for weeks. Itching to hear your voice. Driving the others insane, talking about you so much, and I get back, and someone walkin by - patrolling, just says easy-as-you'd-like, that you're with him. That you've been there every night since I've been gone-"

Hermione's stomach dropped to her feet. A chill felt as if it were climbing through her mind and freezing her circulatory system.

"And my heart just stops," Steve admitted. "I feel like I can't breathe right, and the world's spinnin, and I haven't felt like that since before the serum." There was movement again from behind her, and she heard his footsteps as he crossed the floor. "And I'm walking away - and I feel like the rug's been pulled beneath my feet. Like I've been hangin upside down for too long, and I've got the blood rushing back down again- and I don't know." He paused. "Then I see Private Cain outside Howard's door, and it's worse, because all of a sudden it's true and I-"

Hermione whirled around. "No!" she yelled furiously, eyes watering. "I would never- never-"

Familiar cobalt eyes met hers, but she had never seen such sadness - heartbreak, reflected from them before. "I know that," he nodded softly. "I can see it." He stepped closer, and Hermione had to look up to keep her eyes on his. He searched her face, eyes stopping at random points, like he was memorizing her, and lifted a hand as if to touch, but then stopped. "Do you want to?

Her mind froze. She couldn't believe her ears. Did she want to - what?

"Stark is a powerful man. Smart. Wealthy. Well connected," Steve explained, and Hermione's stomach heaved. "He could give you things that I could only dream of doing, and he'd-"

Her anxiousness turned into rage. "No," Hermione snarled, cutting him off and shaking her head. She grabbed a handful of Steve's uniform and yanked him towards her, uncaring for the stitches in his suit.

Steve was generous with his response, as he took several steps forwards instead of ignoring her attempt of strength, and they stood nearly chest to chest.

Hermione glared up at him and wrapped her free hand around the other side of his jacket, so she was fisting the red, white, and blue material with both hands and pulling him against her. She stared deeply, defiantly, into his eyes so there was no mistaking her words.

"No," she declared, she promised. Her eyebrows fell into a deep V on her forehead. "Don't you ever - ever say that to me again, Steven Grant Rogers," she threatened with searing malice. She was so angry she wasn't sure if was going to scream or cry.

"You-" he tried to defend himself.

"The arrogance. The presumptuousness! How dare you-" she yelled, her eyes watering again.

"I know that-"

"You don't know a damned thing!" she screamed. If she could make herself let go of his jacket, she would pound his chest with the flats of her hands and say it over and over again. She would beat it into him, as that was the only way he seemed to ever understand anything. However, she couldn't wrench herself away.

Steve's own hands came up and covered her fists, his warmth enveloping her skin and pressing them hard against his chest as if he was keeping her tied to him. His eyes were wide. "Hermio-"

"I love you!" she blurted out, and tears fell down her cheeks.

Steve's lips parted in surprise and his hold on her hands loosened. His head lowered, and Hermione could clearly see the shock across his face. "What?" he whispered.

Hermione let loose the rest of her breath, and her anger dissolved along with it. She paused. Then she stood on her tiptoes, pulling Steve by the jacket down to her. His hands fell around her back, and she pushed herself upwards on him, reaching, as she held his eyes. "I love you," she repeated. "I love you."

Steve opened his mouth, but Hermione barged ahead, and yanked him down further. He went willingly, and his face was then only a breath away. They stared deeply into each other eyes, Hermione noting the ring of darker blue around the outer rim, and she glared back with as much leftover rage as she could. "So don't you ever tell me Howard would be a better fit. I love you, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

Then she kissed him.

His lips were softer than she'd remembered. They fell open with a brush of her tongue, welcoming her, and his hands fell from her back down to her hips, where he grasped them tightly. Her heart pounded in her chest as her knees got weaker. Her previous anger was gone, she could only focus on how perfect he felt against her mouth, how addictively he invaded all her senses.

She had admitted she loved him. There wasn't a moment of hesitation.

"Say it again," he told her, pressing his forehead to hers.

Who was she to deny him, such a simple request? Something she had been saying repeatedly in her mind for weeks. "I love you."

Steve stared at her, as if she held the answers of the world in her eyes, and claimed her mouth again, hungry and intense, until her knees gave in. He pulled her tightly against him, curving his body into hers, and pulled possessively at the wool of her uniform jacket around her waist. The extra layers over her skin felt restricting under his touch, and she itched to shake them off and lay herself bare before him.

He sucked on her lower lip, and she closed her eyes and shuddered. Excited shivers raced down her back. Her breathing came in small pants, and her fingers twisted in the short strands on his silky locks.

There was a moan from the back of his throat, and it resounded through her small room. He moved from her mouth, and kissed down her jaw to the side of her neck. He dug his teeth into her skin between his kisses, and Hermione released a breathy whine. Her whole body tingled. "I love you," she barely whispered through the rising fog in her mind. She felt as if she was flying, racing, high above the clouds like a firebolts trajectory. Normally, that would have terrified her because she had a fear of falling, but with Steve's hands supporting her, warming and securely enveloping her on all sides, only the ecstacy of a breathless climb suffused her mind.

She stopped thinking.

She arched upwards into his hold, breathing heavily and pushed her breasts forwards against his torso. Her chest strained against the cotton of her undershirt and the wool of her service coat. They had been apart too long. She had desperately missed the feel of his hands, and the velvet of his lips. Every touch was a coveted memory, building like a bonfire in her chest.

"Doll-" he groaned. Steve's arms came around her waist, hoisting her up against him. Her feet left the ground, and in one smooth turn, Steve swung them to the living room wall only a step away and then laid her down.

Hermione's back found purchase against the rough plaster of her cabin, and Steve's arms followed swiftly, caging in around her. He lowered her back to her feet, and she tilted her head back. Wherever this was going, however far he was willing to continue, Hermione didn't want him to stop.

The dim light of the oil heater revealed reflected firelight spilling across the cupid bow of his lips and the strong curve of his jaw. His eyes were shadowed, but she could imagine he was studying her just as was him. Her anger was long gone at this point, but she felt as if her words weren't enough. She wanted to show him what he meant to her. How she couldn't lose him. How she was forever his.

Her arms folded over his shoulders, pulling him to her against the wall, and his hands fell just above her butt. She kissed him again as he leaned his hips against hers in a brief stroke of untested pleasure, and she could feel the hard length of him through the seams of his uniform. Hermione threw her head back at the touch, breaking their searing kiss, and she rolled her hips forwards for more.

Steve groaned, low and intense, and it vibrated straight through Hermione's core. More. More. She reached to her toes, and his hands pulled her in, grasping the underside of her butt. He lifted her up off her feet again, and pushed her high up against the wall.

Hermione's legs fell open, and she pulled her woolen skirt higher up her thighs so she could wrap her legs around him. This, this was what she wanted.

He settled in the middle of her legs, hands firmly secured around the roundness of her butt, and he gazed down. "Hermione-" Steve whispered. He looked breathless and flushed, a first since the serum.

For whatever reason, Hermione's attention was caught on a missing piece of fabric near his collarbone. It was a small hole in the white of his uniform, surrounded by a mass of dried mud and something thicker and darker, and Hermione briefly wondered if it was a bullet hole. If Steve had been shot while he was away.

One of his hands slid behind her head, and fisted a handful of her hair. He tugged her locks down sharply, pulling her chin and gaze up, and a breathless mew fell from her lips. She could have sworn that his eyes got darker. "You like that, huh?" he asked, his voice low and provocative.

She could only pant in response.

He searched her eyes, and opened his fist to caress the back of her head. "I want you to look at me when I say this to you," he decided, and she stared silently back. He leaned forwards closer. "I love you too," he confessed softly. "I've loved you since - probably Camp Lehigh in New Jersey."

Hermione's eyes widened. Her heart soared. "You've-" That was nearly a year ago. Hermione had only just figured out her own feelings within the month!

"Maybe even before that," he continued. "I knew you were it for me for a long time- and I just couldn't admit it to myself. Tie you down like that," his eyes searched hers, and he swallowed. "But there's a balm in surrender and a relief in succumbing. I know now that I don't ever want to wake up in this world and not have your eyes in my life." His gaze lowered. "Your lips," he said. "Your smile in the morning, or your voice in my ears." He leaned forwards and slowly pressed the softest of kisses against her forehead.

Hermione closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his lips, and the adoration in her heart.

He leaned back, and shook his head. "I don't ever want to waste another day without you knowing. I love you Hermione Granger," he declared. "I'm in love with you. The kind of love that's going to last for the rest of our lives and people write books about."