I have not been feeling well recently (not COVID thank the Gods), but it gave me some extra time, so:
Enjoy, and thank you for all of your wonderful comments!
**I have fucked with the timeline here a little folks: In 1944 MCU cannon, the Commandos saved half a battalion (1,000 men) in Stalingrad, Russia. WTH they were doing in RUSSIA at that time, IDK, but we're going to be twisting it so that Daniel Sousa (a character from Agent Carter Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D ) gets introduced and LIVES past 1955. It's gonna work out, trust me.
(If you don't know what I'm talking about, don't even worry about it. I've got a timeline in my head *and physically written out* and we are nearing the end! (of the beginning))
By the end of October 1944, Hermione's previous prediction had come true: Dr. Swan was promoted to Chief Surgeon and transferred to lead the 5th Auxiliary Surgical Team somewhere off in the wilds of Germany. On the day of his departing plane flight, they exchanged contact information for after the war and left as good friends.
Surprisingly, Hermione received new orders not long after. Peggy sent her a letter reporting Colonel Phillips most recent gathered intel, whispers coming from deep inside Nazi territory. It was said that Nazi Doctors were experimenting on those condemned to concentration camps who were different. People who could do things that the rest of the mundane population could not. Those with special powers.
Hermione had even heard a rumor circulating about a child in Auschwitz that could move, shape, and control any metal object with their mind.
It was absolutely astounding to Hermione, and yet- even more so, troubling. What were the Nazis doing to those souls- those children? What were they learning and how could they use them against the Allied armies?
Several weeks later, the plan was set to send Hermione in as an auxiliary nurse with the encroaching Soviet Army into Germany's eastern flank and follow the front lines into liberation. Her goal was to find, extract, and then hide those special individuals before someone else - someone worse, could get their hands on them. Allied nations or not.
Consequently, while looking for these special individuals and transferring them to safety, she would also have a first-hand view of the monstrosities behind the Nazi ideal.
The thought rose bile in the back of her throat and struck rage through her heart. After caring for so many of the injured in the last couple of months, the logic of purposely putting a human through the inhumane tortures of those encampments was incomprehensible.
It fueled Hermione's response to Peggy's letter, stating that she had wanted to be included on those missions as quickly as possible. Peggy replied by arranging a flight, sending her the encrypted information on the Camps locations, and organizing the timetable for her transfer to the Soviet Army.
So as November faded into December of 1944, Hermione said her goodbyes to her unit, and let go of the remaining guilt entrenched in the unforgettable blood-soaked months of healing that would be forever imprinted over her soul. She boarded her transportation out with a lighter heart than she'd had in - well maybe in years, and re-reviewed Peggy's packet of intel.
About an hour into her flight, she noticed the name of the base and location she would be assigned to before her deployment to the Eastern Front in her documents. Her pulse simultaneously soared as her stomach dropped.
Peggy had also managed to silently arrange for Hermione's return home.
Dec 5th, 1944 - Somewhere in Ukraine
Hermione touched down in the temporary SSR base early the next morning, shafts of the new sunrise illuminating miles of trees and untouched snow along with her steamed breath. The scent of instant coffee permeated through the small bursts of December wind, and the sound of awakening yawns and stretches surrounded her as she walked deeper into camp.
"Quel salaud! HOWLETT!"an enraged French-accented voice yelled, echoing in the silent morning, "If you do not keep your disgusting socks out of my- Hermione?"
Jacques Dernier strode out of a canvas tent, eyes wide, dark hair tossed from sleep, and dressed in thick woolen nightclothes. He stopped before her, gaping, as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes, and then furrowed his brows. "Mon chaton !"he said, "What are you doing 'ere?"
Hermione smiled at the man, relief sweeping through her. "Frenchie."
He didn't give her time to explain before he was brushing his large hands over the tops of both of her arms like he would warm her up over her heavy coats, and leading her farther into camp. "Let's get you to le Capitaine, quickly!"
Hermione smiled, holding back a laugh at his pajama-clad rush, and let him lead her forwards. The easy comfort of his hand on her arm warmed her to the core, the familiarity of his company settling over her shoulders like a welcoming blanket. The rest of the camp must have heard Jacques's exclamation because heads started to pop out of the canvas barracks around their descent. Scientists, soldiers, and Officers watched with raised eyebrows, some of the veterans in camp even congratulating her back amongst them.
"Whadda ya know! Look it's-"
"There she is, I knew it! Didn't I say so, Earl? Didn't I-"
"Ey! You still rationed, sugar?"
"Welcome back to Hell, Agent Granger!"
Hermione nodded to everyone with a small smile as she passed, breathing in relief when Frenchie opened the front flap in a large tent at the back of camp and then stepped inside without preamble. Warm air hit her face as she followed, and shivers traveled down her spine as she looked around.
It was a mobile command center, Hermione recognized the layers of maps and communication equipment filling the large space. Not many people were inside this early in the morning, but Hermione could see a familiar pair of fit shoulders leaning over a circular table in the middle with blonde hair hanging over in short wisps from his forehead. Blue eyes concentrated on the lines beneath his propped fists and his full lips were downturned in thought.
He looks healthy, Hermione found herself thinking, intrusive imagery of the opposite clouding her mind from her time spent in the surgical unit. The lines of his uniform were pressed perfectly, his hair shone in the weak gaslight, and his athletic legs stood apart in a strong stance. Just as good as I'd last seen him.
Jacques cleared his throat. "Capitaine," he announced.
Steve jerked up, concentration broken, and his head swiveled around, "Frenchie, you're up early this-" He stopped as he caught sight of Hermione behind the soldier.
His eyes widened. A hand came to the side pocket of his trousers for a split moment, as if to reaffirm something was there, and then long sleeve covered arms pushed away from the table in a smooth motion. Her stomach dropped as he stood straight under her gaze: nearly at full attention, stiff and distant. "Hermione," he acknowledged, deep voice little more than a whisper between them.
"Love," she answered just as quietly, stepping out from behind the Howling Commando and moving closer.
Steve's eyes trailed her movements, taking in the pack over her shoulder and the layers of her uniform. She watched as he searched for wounds, blood, or any visual injury he could catalog just as she had done too, moments before. When he found nothing, his gaze returned to hers, and he stepped forwards cautiously like he didn't want to spook her. "Are you here?"
She understood his context in the acute tightening of his eyes.
Her mouth was suddenly dry. "Temporarily," Hermione nodded, not wanting to lie or lead him with some sort of false hope.
He moved closer. "How long?"
Hermione had no idea. "A month? Maybe two at the most," she answered, swallowing thickly and changing the weight of her steps to her other foot.
Steve took another hesitant stride towards her, half of the distance from before, and an ugly rush of self-loathing suffused through Hermione's chest at the movement.
His indecision was her fault. No matter the letters or sentiment, being before each other bare of carefully rehearsed lines had created a perilous canyon in person. Grief swept through her like a physical wave, carrying away the relief she had felt at his presence.
She floundered at what to do next.
Did she apologize? Was it fair to apologize for something that she needed? It didn't seem to be, for herself or for him, if the apology didn't authentically explain the obligation her soul had demanded. How did she expound on the reactions of her spirit? Could she even clearly attempt to?
Hermione's thoughts started to spiral into a dizzying panic as the length of moments stretched between the estranged couple. Her heart rate kicked up as if she was running, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"Oh, blasted," Hermione cried a moment later and threw all decorum out the window. She leaped forwards, closing the distance between them, and wrapped her arms around the man she loved. Steve's hands came up instinctually at her pursuit, and then fell lightly over her shoulders and waist when he pulled her tighter against him.
"I'm sorry," Hermione sniffed, her face plastered to his chest. "I didn't mean to run- or to make you feel like it was you I was leaving. I just-"
Steve's weight lifted from her shoulders, and his handheld the back of her head, warmth covering the base of her exposed neck. "Shh," he whispered softly, "I know, doll. I got you. I'm okay. We're okay."
Hot tears flooded her vision, and something deep within Hermione broke under the affection of his hands, and the safety of his arms. She burrowed her face deeper into his uniform jacket, pressing herself against the hard planes of his body and enveloping herself in his steady presence. "I'm sorry," she whispered to him again, taking everything in and crying. "I love you." As if her words could heal his hurt.
She felt his deep sigh that seemed to curl around them and then his warmth as he pulled her closer. "I love you too, Hermione." The hand around her waist moved to the small of her back in resolute circles.
Some time passed between them in silence as they held each other close and listened to the echoes of the camp with the beginning of their new day.
Dec 26th, 1944 - Somewhere in Belgium
Howard tapped the top of Hermione's leather helmet in a fond farewell, his mustache twitching as he hid used and reiterated arguments behind his lips. Hermione knew he didn't want her going with the Howling Commandos on this mission, but their intel was strong.
She had about another week before her transfer to the Soviets, but in the meantime, the stench of Hydra's brutality had begun to fill her days as a reinstated SSR Agent again. Johann was leaving clues for his newest weapon, the item that was rumored to be able to control Hermione, in the rubble of his fallen bases. Hermione was determined to find them, understand them, and then destroy them to dismantle Johann and Hydra from root to stem.
"Be safe," Howard cautioned, sliding his hand down her helmet to her shoulder and studying her eyes.
"You know I will," she answered decisively.
He huffed a fake laugh, the corners of his mouth shooting up once before he swallowed. "If you hear a 'bang ' just duck, yeah? No heroics out there, I just got you back."
Hermione shouldered her duffle, the wind of the plane behind them tossing strings of her curls wildly around. "Don't worry. I'll find what runes he's planning to use," she shouted over the noise of the plane engine starting. "He won't make a weapon of me!"
Howard squinted against the cold, and Hermione could feel the intensity of his stare as she started to back away, his hand falling from her shoulder. "Save me a cup of tea and vodka for when we're back!" she said, self-conscious of the emotion burning in his eyes.
Howard visibly struggled within himself, warring with words that opened and closed his meticulously shaven jaw. He watched her retreat with an open grief that Hermione had only ever experienced for one other person in her life, and an ocean of despair and regret filled her body. She stepped farther away as Howard quickly came to a mental decision before her eyes, and shouted above the deafening noise of the plane.
"You gotta know somethin! I can't just-." He huffed, frustrated. "Doll, I- !" He breathed in deeply and seemed to gather his courage from someplace deep within that Hermione couldn't see. He cried out loudly above the rush of wind in their ears. "Hermione, I lov-"
"Goodbye, Howard!" she shouted above him, desperate to drown out his words. She couldn't think of the meaning behind the moment, of what he almost said to her. She couldn't think of the words in his mouth or the heat in his gaze. It changed everything between them.
The scientist in Hermione shouted the months, if not years of ignored facts of his resolve, while the Woman in her floundered and recoiled in confounded shock. He'd almost said- he almost confessed -
She refused to see or hear anything more.
Hermione turned on her heel and ran inside the plane, the noise of takeoff filling her senses. Howling Commandos were already strapped inside, and Hermione quickly found herself an open seat beside Steve at the head. She dropped her bag and buckled herself in, ignoring the ringing words in her ears. He'd almost said -
Hermione bit her lip and shook her head. There was no use in tormenting herself over it now. She could figure it out when she was back. She had a job to do. Hydra to stop.
She lifted her head firmly into the air and caught the gaze of James Howlett across the aisle. His sapphire-colored eyes studied Hermione and a thick midnight-colored eyebrow lifted in question.
Hermione raised her own in return. What?
James tipped his head ever so lightly to the entrance of the plane, and Hermione blanched at the implication. He'd heard every word of their discussion from outside the plane.
Enhanced Auditory System.
And if James had heard…
Hermione glanced at the super-soldier beside her.
Steve's head was downturned towards the shield in between his legs on the plane floor, leather mask shielding his gaze and hiding his face. One set of gloved fingers rested above a buttoned utility pocket at his side, and the other grasped the edge of his metal weapon, both too taught for anything other than holding themselves together, and Hermione understood. He'd heard everything too.
She had no idea what to say. "Steve.."
He shook his head minutely, and she caught a glance of his lips pressed together tightly.
"It's not-," she started, and then frowned. "I don't-"
"I know."
His voice was flat, hard, and unreachable. Her heart fell. Desperation for his understanding filled her throat. "I didn't know." Her coworker, the other half of her brain, her friend, Howard.
"It's okay," he said, quietly.
The plane took to the air, and Hermione wasn't sure if it was the sudden altitude or the tension in her bones that suddenly made her feel lightheaded. She cautiously grasped Steve's gloved hand, unable to tell if she'd be welcomed, and relaxed when he claimed her fingers through his.
"We'll figure it out," Steve said, almost too quietly for Hermione to hear, but then squeezed her hand lightly.
Hermione returned the gesture, relief filling her body like a physical spout into her soul, and avoided the Beastly Brother's gazes entirely. She focused on the strength of their clasped fingers for the rest of the flight.
Later That Day - Battle of the Bulge
A blizzard set in just as Hermione and the Howling Commandos landed on the edge of Bastogne, Belgium. There was no transportation to get them to the pinned-down battalion of US troops outside of the city, so they marched a half-mile in the freezing wind and snow to their destination.
More than an hour later, Steve had stopped and gathered them all together, commanding their engagement over the gunfire below. "Two groups," he reminded them. "Victor will support the ground troops with Dum Dum, Gabe, Jim, Monty, Frenchie, and Happy Sam. Your objective is to get those Americans to safety and out of the blast radius from the base, as well as putting down any Hydra or Nazis you find. Myself, Hermione, Howlett, Bucky, and Pinky will infiltrate the south side of the Hydra warehouse for weapon schematics and further intel. We've got one hour."
"Over and out," Dum Dum Dugan confirmed, impressive mustache catching some of the falling snow as he took the safety off his rifle.
Steve and Victor traded a silent conversation between them, filled with barely concealed loathing from the taller man before they nodded at one another and both teams went their separate ways.
Hermione waved, and then kept her head down, only speaking when to murmur warming spells over her soldiers as they jogged silently into town. She silenced their steps, and the rattle of their equipment, and then cast a notice-me-not over them all as gunfire echoed down the streets and became louder ahead.
Snow continued to fall in heavy waves across their landscape, but the harsh wind had paused. Shells of blown-out department stores and homes greeted them the deeper they traveled, and the smell of gunpowder, blood, and dust filled the air. Hermione clenched her teeth, and held her 1911 Colt precariously between her hands, her wand tucked firmly against her forearm in case of easy reach.
"Almost there," Pinky whispered, as they passed a broken German blockade across a wide street.
Hermione said nothing in return, only wanting to move forwards. By the time that they had all reached the street across from their destination, they had only broken out into two short gunfights against the enemy. They were abrupt, effective, and made Hermione shiver at her team's - in Steve's cold finality.
Not that it scared her, Hermione had seen too much by now to be put off by the violence, but it was strange to combine the man she knew in her heart with the soldier that America celebrated. To see the super soldier he had become when she could still remember the asthmatic artist in the lines of his cheekbones.
The man in question hadn't left her side since the beginning of the mission, only ever getting as far as six meters away before coming back. He studied the enormous, six-storied metal warehouse that lay ahead of them with shadowed eyes behind his mask, and Hermione could almost see the brilliant strategist behind his eyes painting a picture of what he planned next.
"We're clear," Bucky whispered, crouching down beside Hermione and Steve. "North Entrance on the opposite side was hit by God knows what, but it moved most of the Hydra goons there too. We should be able to slip in."
"Fireworks are all accounted for," Pinky said too, readjusting the pack of explosives on his back.
Steve nodded, taking the information, before turning to look at Hermione. "You follow my six, all the way through, do you understand?" he asked, eyes intense behind the face covering.
Hermione nodded.
"We get in, and then out. No interruptions. And you stay behind me."
Hermione nodded again. She could see the fear, the hesitation, and the unease across his face despite his confident tone.
She smiled slightly at him, enough to ease his fears, and touched the back of his gloved hand. "I'm ready." She was.
There was silence between them for a breath before Steve stood and restrapped his shield to his arm. The rest of the team stood after, and they faced the Hydra base together.
Hermione didn't remember much after that. Her goal was to find evidence of the weapon schematics that used Norse Runes, like the Hydra handguns and explosions, but specifically for Johann's prized armament. The weapon, whatever it may be, was rumored to be almost complete, and therefore able to be used against Hermione. So she worked as fast as she could when they entered the base, and gunshots started to ring through the air. Steve, Bucky, and Pinky cleared rooms, while Logan stood guard, or took out the other risks, and Hermione swept through every document and folder she could summon or get her hands on.
Half an hour later, and Hermione still had nothing. No documents, no letters, no references to what he had built, and the warehouse had just caught on fire from the fight outside. Her time was nearly up.
"We're gonna have to bail, doll-face," Bucky grunted, as a gun fired and the window shattered behind them.
Determination and an overriding mix of frustration filled her veins, crouched under the desk of an abandoned office. "How many more rooms?" she demanded.
"Only the next floor up, but it's probably ash by now." Something exploded on the floor beneath them making the room shake, and Hermione heard Steve's shield bounce off of something at the front of the room, followed by a loud 'CLANG!'. Hermione met Bucky's eyes.
Bucky did a double-take and sighed roughly. "No. No way. The building's coming down. We're leaving."
"Bucky-"
He shook his head. "I don't wanna hear it!" he exclaimed. "Steve'll have my head if somethin happened. Or my Balls. Which, you know-"
"Five minutes!"
"No!" Something caught his eye behind Hermione's safety shelter, and like a smooth engine, he raised his gun, fired twice, and ducked back down to her level. "You wanna hear it in French, doll? Non."
Hermione huffed sharply through her nose. "Merlin, you can be such an arse-hole," she said, and then swiftly rolled out from under the table, close to Bucky's face.
"Me?" he scoffed. "Asshole?"
Hermione tucked her gun away, and brought out her wand, holding his withering stare. "What?" she snapped, "Veux l'entendre en français?" And then she stood up. She quickly scanned the room, disregarding the Hydra bodies across the floor and noting Steve's placement in the hallway outside, before she ran for the door. She could back-track to the stairs and get to the top floor for her search. She'd be in and out. Twenty minutes, at the most.
"Merde!" Bucky spat out. And then followed after her. Hermione grinned, despite everything.
Steve caught her eyes as she left the office, scanning her once for injuries. "What?' he asked her.
"We've got to check upstairs before it's too late."
"Fire's got half the building, top floor too," he argued.
"I can deal with that," she said gripping her wand firmly.
Steve eyed her wand, nodding faintly. The smell of smoke was wafting through the air, and the sound of gunfire and explosions echoed through the walls. Something particularly nasty shook the far side of the building, and windows down the hall exploded in their frames. Steve clenched his jaw and nodded. "I'll find Howlett and Pinky and get us an exit. You find what you can, and then get out quick," he demanded from her.
Hermione nodded in return and spun on her heel, unwilling to even think 'goodbye'.
"You keep her safe," Steve said behind her.
"You know it, pal," Bucky answered, and a second pair of footsteps followed hers.
Hermione rounded up the stairs, chest heaving, and took the door off the top floor's hinges with a flick of her wand. As the wood flew backward, thick smoke escaped the recently opened room and choked her senses. A mass of grey covered her from crown to toes, like an enormous hand wrapping around her.
"Hermione!" Bucky said from behind, grabbing her waist and pulling her back.
She held out her wand to the room, and coughed, shaking the ash and fumes from her lungs and eyes. "V-Ventus Tria!" she called, and a strong jet of wind burst forth from her wand, pushing the smoke away. Windows from farther in the room shattered, and Hermione called forth another strong gust throughout her opening, chasing the toxic winds out of the building before she stepped through with Bucky at her heels.
"Well that was nifty," Bucky appreciated, looking around the smoldering, but smoke-free floor. Instead of office rooms like the level beneath, the top floor was an open floorplan but riddled with long lines of enormous black filing cabinets. "But this is gonna take forever."
Hermione sent another jet of wind through the room, extinguishing some of the flames on the far side, and then flicked her wand again, to dowse them in water. "Don't be so negative," Hermione argued. "I'll take a quick trip around, and we'll call it a day."
Bucky snorted behind her. "Witches," he scoffed, without any heat.
She flicked some of her escaping curls behind her shoulder. "You want to say that again James Buchanan Barnes?"
Bucky rolled his eyes, as if pleading with a higher power, and stepped around her. "No, Ma'am, no. Just tryin to do my job."
"Uh-Huh," Hermione smartly retorted, and then grinned as they began their procession down the cabinets. She cast a summoning spell for any documents that said the German word for 'magic', 'Hermione' or 'runes', but no documents appeared out of the rows of filing cabinets.
She frowned.
Hermione nearly wondered if Johann had found a way for documents to resist being summoned altogether like other powerful magical objects could from her world. If so, that would be a problem, and impossible to fix now. Instead of wallowing, she then tried to summon documents that said the German word for 'genealogical certificate', an Aryan certificate created by the Nazis which certified that a person was a member of the presumed Aryan race, and was a common document required from all employees and Officials. At the twitch of her wand, multiple filing cabinet drawers flew open around the room, and Hermione quickly let go of the spell before she was overtaken with documents.
So, they could be summoned, she just wasn't using the correct words.
"Try Zeitreisende," Bucky suggested.
Hermione closed her eyes. Merlin, of course, 'time traveler'. She did as he'd said, casting another summoning spell for any document including Zeitreisende. Unsurprisingly, at the very end of Hermione's row and nearest the back end of the wall, a black filing cabinet began rattling in place. Hermione's eyes narrowed in on the movement, and she sprinted down the long room towards it with Bucky hot on her tail. The cabinet was about a foot shorter than she and split into eight drawers. None had writing on the front to designate a name or topic, but the top two drawers were welded shut into the metal cabinet itself. Someone had gone to the extremes to make sure whatever was in the cabinets stayed there. Hermione smiled triumphantly.
Before Hermione could raise her wand to get the documents inside and complete her mission, Bucky's head snapped to the left towards the shattered windows and battle outside, and in the same split second, grasped the top of Hermione's left arm. A deafening BOOM clapped through the air, and then a thundering explosion below them rocked the building. Glass shattered, the floor beneath her feet shifted, and an awful groaning sound filled the room, like bending metal.
The unmistakable 'clicking' of enormous treads and the roar of a grumbling enemy engine ricocheted from the street below. Hermione's eyes widened, and a cold chill filled her. She recognized that sound, she had helped to dismantle that engine with Stark once upon a time, and it stopped her heart for a single moment. It could only be one thing, and it made their position in the building all that more terrifying.
There was an Uber Tank below them. The Hydra version of death on wheels.
Smoke rose from outside and darkened the winter sky. "Time to go," Bucky observed with her, gruffly. He pulled her like a ragdoll, a grip like metal over her arm, and Hermione spluttered in place as her cemented feet were pulled forwards.
"Wait a moment!" Hermione said, as her friend pulled her along. "Bucky!"
Bucky swung around, eyes intense as fire, with a fierce grimace that pulled his lips downwards. Hermione had never seen such a face on her friend before, and it stopped her short. Bucky took the opening and curled the strength of his hand tighter over her jacket. "Either you come with me now, or I swear to God I will carry you out of here, magic or not," he challenged. "Your choice."
There was no reasoning with the darkness in his eyes, and Hermione nodded.
Before he could lift her, move her, take her, Hermione flicked her wand behind her back, shrinking the whole of the metal cabinet to a thimble-sized object, made it feather-light, and then summoned it into her coat pocket. She would just deal with the entirety of it back on base.
"Let's go," she agreed, swallowing her own fear of the moment around them.
Bucky let go of her, content with her admission and turned on his heel. They broke into a run together towards the staircase they had entered from, but before they could get within a meter, a flash of something blue glowed at the corner of her eye.
She didn't think, she didn't even have time to scream. Hermione threw herself against Bucky's back and raised her wand - a thousand spells mentally raising to her lips.
But she was too late.
The Uber Tank's 75mm blue energized shell crashed against the top floor of the warehouse and exploded.
Hermione's feet left the floor as a spell passed her lips. The air became blistering. The flash of her magic flew. Metal cabinets melted or shredded themselves against the outburst, and she was thrown with the force of a giant's punch, backward, wind rushing through her curls and the smoke.
Hermione couldn't count the moments or her own thoughts. There was the open-air, only sky above her, like a weightless moment of serenity. Reminiscent of a slow-motion scene during a film she had watched with her parents in another life, everything was quiet and peaceful, and somehow inevitable.
"Hermione!" something screamed, close to her ear, painfully familiar, and it shattered the fallacy of her calm.
The pull of gravity became real again and crushed against her bones. Reality washed over her like she was emerging from water, gasping and awake, and Hermione choked on a scream.
The ground was rapidly approaching, too close to calculate, and Hermione flung out her wand hand. Mildly taking note that her wand was back against her forearm, Hermione wandlessly cast the strongest spell she could currently think of. "Arresto Momentum Durar!"
The effect was immediate. The nearly 19 stones of Hermione and Bucky's combined mass pulled to a slowed descent like they both had enormous invisible parachutes attached to their backs, and they floated down to the ground at a slower pace than splat.
Bucky's arms circled her back and under the crook of her knees, holding her bridal style close to his chest, so when they landed on the ground, it was Bucky's feet that took the brunt of their descent. He stumbled, nearly running the access momentum off before he came to stop and they both realized the same thing. They took a fortifying breath in.
They were alive.
The warehouse was crumpling in on itself behind them, the street was lined with broken pieces of buildings, concrete, wood, and dust, and the sounds of machinegun fire and explosions reverberated across the musty air, but they were alive.
"Fucking shit," Hermione's lips let slip.
Bucky's dust-covered face looked down at his arms in surprise, and then a slow smiled grew across his face. White teeth flashed, dimples deepened, and then Bucky threw his head back and laughed. "You - You just-" he broke out, and Hermione giggled along with him like a schoolgirl, his energy infectious and lightheaded. "You wait until I tell Howlett that you said - he's gonna crack up so bad!" he chuckled. "You just-"
"How- How did you do that?" someone asked, and their laughter met an abrupt end.
A lone US soldier stood across the wreckage of the burning Hydra warehouse, his khaki uniform muddied and disheveled, and brown eyes wide. Out of all the empty streets they could have been flung to, this one soldier had been here and had seen it all. "That was a six-story building," he continued on amazement across his face. "And you blew out of it like a missile after it gets shot down?"
Bucky placed Hermione gently on her feet and tried to step around her to stand between the soldier. Hermione put a hand to his chest, a silent request, and Bucky stopped.
Hermione studied the man intently, noticing the lowered position of his weapon and the curiosity in his eyes. She blinked. He wasn't a threat, she realized, he was investigating. Despite what he might have seen and the strangeness behind it, his bravery had won out for the curiosity of answers, and it made Hermione grin. A Gryffindor through and through if she'd ever seen one. "Your name, soldier?" she called out, authority ringing clear in her voice.
The man stood taller under her tone, and his chin raised. "Lieutenant Daniel Sousa, ma'am. With the 28th Infantry."
She nodded, looking at his uniform. "Your unit, Lieutenant?"
"Separated, ma'am," he answered swiftly, honesty. "I am part of the reconnaissance scouts of the 28th, here for stragglers and the lost, Nazis or not."
Hermione sighed in relief and met Bucky's eyes. Caution filled them, but Hermione gave him a smile in return. She'd take the good luck when she found it. "Well, that's a fine thing to hear Lieutenant Sousa. Lieutenant Bucky Barnes and I here, have found ourselves in need of transport and by God's Grace, here you are."
The Lieutenant's eyes flickered between them, and then he cleared his throat. "And, where are you headed, ma'am?"
Hermione grimaced. "Into the thick of it, I'm afraid," she answered. "That alright with you?"
The tip of his gun lowered to the ground, and his eyebrows furrowed together. "You're not gonna tell me how he made that jump, are you?" he asked back.
Hermione nearly raised her eyebrows in surprise. The young soldier hadn't seen or had chosen not to see, her magic when Bucky had touched down from the tank blast. All the Lieutenant seemed to have comprehended was that Bucky had stuck the landing after a six-story jump, with a woman safely delivered to the ground.
Hermione nearly snorted at the sexism in that thought process, but let it go. "I can neither confirm nor deny what you think you might have seen, Lieutenant," she answered. "Strange things are often seen in the heat of a battle."
Comprehension crossed his face. The soldier smiled, lacking all humor. "Huh. Yes, ma'am. Understood."
She smiled grimly back and made a note in the back of her mind to see if she could reassign Daniel Sousa to the SSR effort. She liked something about the Lieutenant, either the intelligence in his eyes, or his acceptance of the strange, but she had a feeling that he'd do well in situations that weren't always so black and white.
She had a sense that she'd see him again, and she wanted him on her side.
"Well," she concluded, "Where is your Jeep?"
Had Hermione been paying closer attention, had her instincts been frayed a little less that day, she would have known that it wasn't only Daniel Sousa that had seen the miraculous jump of Lieutenant Bucky Barnes. Hidden among the blown-out shell of an abandoned hat shop across the street, a Hydra soldier stood witness to the extraordinary event as well. Eventually, this man would be caught and tortured by a member of the Soviet army, and at that point, Bucky Barnes's name would go down in a red booklet for a project that was Unnamed and Untested for another decade.
Unfortunately, this moment would haunt Bucky for the rest of his life.
French Translations:
Quel salaud! - What a bastard!
Mon chaton! - My kitten! (form of endearment)
veux l'entendre en français? - Want to hear it in French?
Merde! - Shit
I have roughly equated the 'Uber Tank' to a Panzer IV Ausf. J, a kind of German tank used in WWII. So if you want a mental picture of what just shot Hermione and Bucky out of a building, take a look at that!