December 25, 1941 – Steve's Apartment: Bucky's POV

Cherry red lips. Dark brown curls. Striking green eyes. Mole on the right cheek. Cherry red lips. Dark brown curls. Striking green eyes. Mole on the right cheek.

Bucky's eyes narrowed in concentration as he started his drawing. Cherry red lips. Dark brown curls. Striking green—

"Buck!"

Something hit Bucky's forehead and Bucky let out a yelp. "Ouch! What the hell was that for?!"

Bucky's best friend, Steve, was sitting on the couch, the looks of a smirk playing on his lips. He was holding a partially peeled orange in his hand. Part of the orange rind was sitting, rocking back and forth on Bucky's blank piece of paper.

"You're thinking about that dame again, aren't ya? I've been calling your name for the past five minutes," said Steve, amusement plain in his voice. He kept peeling his orange as he looked at Bucky knowingly.

Bucky scowled and threw down his pencil. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not really," said Steve as he chewed on an orange slice that he'd pulled free. "Other than the fact that you were muttering something about cherry red lips and dark brown curls under your breath and you never draw, and yet here you are, trying."

Bucky sighed and leaned back in his chair in defeat as Steve laughed, getting pelted with another piece of the orange rind. It was Christmas Day. Bucky had slept over at Steve's that night and woke up to Steve's fantastic pancakes, which the two had scrounged up just enough money to buy the ingredients for.

The two exchanged presents after breakfast. Bucky had gotten Steve a new sketchpad and a collection of colored pencils that had taken him a month's worth of wages to save up for. Steve had gotten Bucky a brand-new baseball glove, which he sorely needed. And then there the two of them were, lunch time approaching, Steve eating an orange and Bucky pitifully trying to draw the nurse from the Recruitment Center last afternoon.

It was Christmas Day and Bucky was in a slump, pining over a girl he didn't even know the name of. He vaguely wondered if this was how girls felt when he left in the mornings after a one-night stand. If it was, it hurt and he suddenly realized why girls got so offended by such things. Of course, this woman hadn't slept with him and then left, but the tight pain and annoyance in his chest sure gave Bucky the same impression. She'd turned him down, for Christ's sake. Him. James Buchanan Barnes.

He scowled as he looked down at his blank piece of paper, eraser marks all over it, marking up the otherwise clean sheet. He couldn't start off the drawing correctly, no matter how hard he tried, and for once, Bucky was jealous of Steve and his natural affinity for drawing.

Closing his eyes, Bucky tried to envision the girl one more time.

_

"Excuse me! Sirs! Excuse me!"

Bucky frowned and looked at Steve, who shared the same expression. The two turned around, catching a glance of the dark-haired woman who was rushing towards them. Bucky's gaze instantly zeroed in on her, his eyebrows rising slightly. He had always been one for brunettes, but she was one of the loveliest women Bucky had ever laid eyes on.

Her dark curls fell free around her shoulders, bouncing slightly as she hurried towards them. She was a tad pale, her dark brown tresses and vibrant cherry red lipstick a violent contrast compared to her skin tone. Her face was narrow, with high cheekbones, and a soft jawline. She was dressed in the usual white army nurse's uniform, her white hat tipping slightly on her head. A mole, not like that of a witch, but akin to a singular freckle sat on her right cheek, near and nearly aligned with the center of her nose. As she got closer, her eyes met Bucky's and he was struck by not only how green her eyes were, but by the ring of dark gold that surrounded her irises. She was absolutely stunning and it took all of Bucky's willpower to not let his jaw drop to the ground.

As soon as he gathered his wits, Bucky let loose his trademark lazy grin that usually had girls everywhere falling all over him. But as soon as she saw it, she directed her attention to Steve, which had nearly blown Bucky out of the water. He wasn't deterred though; Bucky Barnes didn't give up without a fight.

But whenever she gave him an attitude and told him in a slow voice, as if he was entirely stupid, that yes, she did indeed come to the Recruitment Center often, being that she worked there, it was then that Bucky knew she was different. Admittedly, Bucky knew as soon as the cheesy pickup line left his mouth, that he'd made a dire mistake. Even Steve had been snorting off to the side, knowing how terrible it sounded.

Bucky wasn't worried though as he forged ahead, introducing himself and Steve to the gorgeous woman, hoping to at least get a name.

It was when he didn't even get her name that Bucky Barnes knew he was in massive trouble.

_

Bucky blew out a breath and opened his eyes, pushing himself to his feet. "I'm going to the grocery store. Pick up an apple pie. I think we deserve this one, Stevie." He took one last long glance at the blank page before turning to slide on his winter coat.

"Buck."

Bucky turned as he flopped his collar down to look at his best friend. "Yeah?"

Steve shrugged at him, a glint in his eyes. "It's one dame, Buck. Not the end of the world." He chuckled, albeit a tad weakly. "It's not exactly like you have a small selection."

Bucky knew Steve was right. Heck, he knew he shouldn't be complaining, especially to Steve. He'd tried to set up his friend on countless double dates, and they all ended the same way. Steve sitting uncomfortably as both women fawned over Bucky. His friend had had his fair share of misfortune when it came to girls. He felt a tad bit guilty for being so screwed up over being denied once by a woman he barely knew, but he couldn't help it. Bucky Barnes wasn't used to rejection.

Bucky sighed. "Yeah, I know. Thanks, Steve. You want anything while I'm out?"

"Nah, I'm okay," said Steve, who had diverted his eyes from Bucky's and was now focused on his orange, peeling it with such intense concentration that Bucky had half a mind that it'd unpeel itself.

"Alright. Lock the door for me, I'll be back in twenty."

"Gotcha."

Bucky left the small apartment, closing the door softly as his mind somehow managed to drift its way back to the nameless nurse. Bucky sighed. It was going to be a long day.

_

Back inside, Steve had gotten up from his position on the couch and moved to where Bucky had been sitting and flipped over the sheet to clean side, free of eraser marks. He looked at the select few colored pencils that Bucky had chosen other than the sketch pencil. Red, brown, and green. Lips, hair, and eyes, Steve recited in his head.

"What had Buck been saying?" muttered Steve to himself as he began to draw the basis of the unknown nurse's head, his orange laying off to the side, forgotten. "It was...what was it..." Steve paused his drawing for a moment.

He looked at the rough estimate of the woman's head shape, thoroughly pleased with how it had turned out when the four descriptions hit him.

"Cherry red lips, dark brown curls, striking green eyes, mole on the right cheek. Cherry red lips, dark brown curls, striking green eyes, mole on the right cheek." Steve repeated the descriptive words over and over again in his head until he fell into a silent rhythm with himself, drawing and sketching the woman as well as he could with the only photograph of her he had imprinted in his memory. "Buck's damn lucky I'm such a nice guy," he muttered as he continued to draw, picking up the red pencil to start the woman's full, red lips and facial features.

Cherry red lips. Dark brown curls. Striking green eyes. Mole on the right cheek.

_

December 26, 1941 – The Laundromat: AJ's POV

I finished putting my clothes in the dryer and inserted a quarter. After deciding the best cycle for my nurse's uniform, I pressed the button, letting the machine begin to spin. I had been lucky enough to get off the day after Christmas, since too many had taken off Christmas Day and Doctor Paris was down a few girls. He offered me today off in exchange, which I gladly accepted. After all, my shifts weren't long and I'd still had time to meet up with Sam again and go shopping for Dougie's birthday.

It was late at night, almost nine o'clock. Outside, the sky was dark, the only light offered by the yellowish tint of the streetlights. Snow blew wildly across the sidewalk outside and a shiver rushed through my body at the thought of walking back outside. My apartment building was only across the street, but I still didn't want to. It was going to be incredibly cold, the temperatures reaching the low-twenties. I also wasn't a particular fan of walking in the darkness. I didn't have an affinity for kidnapping.

I sighed and checked the clock on the wall. 8:59PM. I had about forty-five minutes until my clothes would be done, but I was half-tempted to leave them there until morning. I probably would end up doing so as well; I was quite tired and didn't feel like staying up much later. My shift started the next morning at seven o'clock sharp and I hated being late. I also hated getting less than eight hour of sleep, which I wouldn't be getting if I stayed up.

Cursing lowly, saying a few words I know my mother wouldn't approve of, I wrenched open the door to the Laundromat and stepped into the frigid winter wind. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, burying my face a bit deeper into my scarf. The icy breeze nipped at any exposed skin and I could already feel my forehead starting to numb. Growling, I slipped my uncovered fingers from my pocket and slid my hat lower down on my head, hating my decision to not wear gloves. A horrible choice, really.

I had just started to cross the deserted road when a car pulled out of an alleyway just a bit down the road and started my direction. The headlights momentarily blinded me, but I ducked my head down and continued across the street, ignoring the spike of fear that shot through me. It was late to be driving, especially in nasty weather like such. I knew I was being irrational to some degree. I was fine.

Or so I thought.

The car stopped behind me as I hit the other side of the sidewalk. I increased my pace slightly, but only slightly because the cement was slippery from the ice and I didn't want to risk slipping and falling. When I heard the door to the vehicle open, all reason for caution abandoned me. I started to break into a sprint when a bag covered my head and a pair of arms slipped around me: one holding my arms down to keep me from thrashing, the other covering my mouth so I couldn't scream.

Despite their efforts, I kicked and screamed as best I could against whoever was trying to kidnap me. There must have been two or three men because the next time I kicked, someone caught my legs and held them tightly, tying them together. Another did the same with my hands. I was forced into the backseat of the vehicle as I screamed bloody murder and the door shut on my yells, which had been lost in the icy winter wind anyway.

The car began pulling away from the curb and I stopped screaming when I realized it was no use. Tears were starting to slip down my cheeks, but I set my jaw. I was not going to be weak in this situation. I couldn't afford to be. I quieted my hiccups and low cries and focused on the turns the vehicle was making, memorizing them to the best of my ability.

The car was completely and utterly silent except for the hum of the engine and my occasional hiccup. No one was speaking and it was kind of starting to freak me out. Not that I already wasn't freaked out from the fact that I was being kidnapped, but the whole silence thing just added to my pure-blooded terror.

After what could have been hours, or it could have been mere minutes, the car came to a stop. However long it had been, it still felt like an eternity to me. My car door was wrenched open and I was pulled roughly out and stood up on the ground, my feet crunching in the snow. I felt the restraints on my legs loosen and whatever had been constricting them was pulled away a moment later. A hand on the small of my back shoved me forward. I stumbled a bit before I caught my footing and began walking.

Before I got very far, two hands landed on my shoulders, stopping me. I heard the sound of a door open and a rough, calloused hand grasped my own. I fought the urge to pull away as my captor raised my hand, leading me forward a bit. I understood his meaning a moment later, lifting my left foot a tad higher as I took my next step. I had been correct as my foot landed not on ground, but tile flooring, my shoes squeaking a bit with the wetness of the melted snow.

I was led into what I could only assume was an elevator as I stood still, well aware of my captors with me, feeling as gravity shifted as we moved upwards. After a few painful seconds of listening to horrible elevator music with my kidnappers, the doors slid open with a ding. The kidnappers led me to another door, I assumed, when I heard a key slide into a lock and the door open with a click.

As soon as the door shut behind me, the black bag was removed from my head, my eyes starting to adjust to the bright lighting in the room and then whatever was binding my hands was cut from my wrists. I blinked a few times as my pupils dilated, my gaze focusing on a dark haired man standing in the middle of the room.

My two captors had moved away from me, towards the kitchen area of the small apartment that I was confined to. It was sparsely furnished and it was by no means in livable condition, but I supposed I had just been kidnapped. Five star accommodations weren't exactly to be expected.

The yellow-tinted lights were all on in the small room and when my eyes had finally adjusted enough that I could see well, I finally realized who was standing in the middle of the room, looking at me intently. I almost didn't believe it until he spoke, his smooth voice, sliding across my ears like I'd heard on televisions sets so many times before.

"You know, on that podium when you spoke at your graduation, you looked...taller."

Before me was Howard Stark, genius inventor and renowned playboy to all women everywhere. If I had been Lydia or Jane, I would have fainted on the spot. I was suddenly thankful for my immunity to arrogant boyish charm. It seemed to be coming in handy lately, like with that soldier from the Recruitment Center. James. James Barnes, had been his name. Bucky.

Stark was dressed impeccably in his black pants and shirt with the white vest and black suede shoes. His dark hair was carefully slicked back, much like James's only two days earlier. His moustache had been recently trimmed and his trademark playboy smirk played on his lips. In his left hand he held a thick manila folder tucked under his arm and in his right, a glass of liquor, neat, that he took a sip from as his dark brown eyes traveled me up and down.

I glanced at his two companions, who had filled themselves their own glass, a look of amusement shining on their hardened features.

"Okay..." I said, taking a deep breath, "What the hell?! You were at my graduation?!"

Stark finished off his drink with a singular raised eyebrow and moseyed over to the countertop where he set the glass down. "Usually that's not the first response I get when most women see me."

"I'm not most women," I countered, my eyes flashing. "You just kidnapped me for God's sake, what did you expect? Me to throw myself at you like some cheap show girl?"

"Hey!" Stark snapped. "My show girls are not cheap. And," he shrugged, "an engineer can only hope."

My eyes rolled so hard, I thought they'd fall out of my head. "So, what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Stark?"

Stark looked at me critically and looked at one of his companions. "Is she giving me an attitude? I think so. What do you think, Vinnie?"

One of the brick walls of a man, Vinnie, shrugged, "I think that's sarcasm, boss," he confirmed.

"Right, sarcasm. I suppose I deserve it, don't I?" Stark offered an apologetic half-smile.

"You did kidnap me while I was trying to do my laundry," I pointed out, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Right." Stark swallowed, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Well, it's not like I could just go see you on a normal day. The press would eat that up, especially with my reputation with women. I had to talk to you but...inconspicuously."

"You know, my landline's in the phonebook," I drawled, raising an eyebrow, "You could have just called to arrange a meeting."

"Uh, yeah, but, uh, what fun is that? Never mind," Stark waved his hand aside. "We have things to talk about, Ms. Frost."

"I take it you know me," I noted.

Stark took a seat on the moth-eaten couch across the living area and looked at me conspiratorially. "Yeah, something like that. Come on, sit down, we have a lot to discuss."

I moved over to his location, my arms never uncrossing, and I didn't sit down. "I think I'd rather stand."

Stark scowled at me and stood back up, shifting the manila folder under his arm. I caught a glance of a black stamp on the front, but I couldn't quite make out the figure. "Fine, but that means we both have to stand."

I creased my eyebrows in question.

"It's awkward if one sits and one stands, I don't know, I don't make the rules," Stark waved the thought aside, "Anyhow. Yes, I do know you, Ms. Frost. In fact, I know a lot about you." He began to pace as he spoke. "Born Adelyn Juliet Frost on February 14, 1918. Your dad's a factory worker in Manhattan and your mom used to work at one of the local shirtwaist companies. You have five brothers and you're the second youngest of all of them, but the most intelligent. You graduated high school at age sixteen, got your bachelor's at twenty, masters at twenty-one, and your doctorate last year from Harvard University for biochemistry. You enlisted to help with the army in their field nursing programs and have been doing so ever since. How am I doing so far, Ms. Frost?"

My jaw had merely dropped as he continued to rattle off facts about my life that not many people knew, much less that I thought Howard Stark would know. I wasn't exactly an open person. "How-How do you know all of that?"

Stark set the manila file on the countertop and looked at me, spreading his arms wide. "I didn't do all the research; I'm just here to recruit and convince you come aboard our little project. Your personal stalker that managed to dig up all that would be one Colonel Chester Phillips. He pulled a few military favors."

But I had stopped listening after Stark said the word 'recruit'. "Recruit? Recruit me for what?"

"And that, darling, is the million dollar question." Stark slid the file off of the desk and handed it to me. The folder was at least a half of an inch thick, filled with handwritten and typed documents and packets alike. The seal on the front of the file that I'd caught a glimpse of earlier was prominent now against the tan exterior. It was an eagle, its wings spread, the three letters 'SSR' in a shield shaped symbol on the eagle's chest. On the line at the bottom of the file marked 'topic', two words were scrawled there in messy handwriting with black marker. 'Project Rebirth.'

"The 'SSR'?" I asked. "'Project Rebirth?' What is all of this?"

Stark clapped his hands and folded himself into a seated position on the couch. "This is where you might want to sit down," he said, gesturing at the seat beside him.

I sat down as he looked over to his two companions, who were still watching us intently. "You know, you two can leave now," said Howard.

One of them—Vinnie—opened his mouth, but Stark cut him off, "I'll transfer the money to your bank accounts, don't worry about it."

Vinnie looked dubiously at his partner, but they both shrugged and Vinnie looked back at us.

"Noon tomorrow," he said, a hint of a warning lacing the undertones of his voice.

"Noon tomorrow," Stark agreed.

The two men set their glasses in the sink and were gone a moment later.

"So those guys were..." I prompted.

"Actual convicts, yes, but!" he cut me off at my look of horror, "But I was paying them enough that they wouldn't have harmed you! It was perfectly safe!"

"Right!" I squeaked my voice coming out an octave higher than usual, "Perfectly safe."

"Anyway, the SSR." Stark opened took the manila file gingerly from my hands and set it on the coffee table before us. He opened it and took out a photo of a man. He was in a standard army uniform with a patch on his shoulder. It was a skull with tentacles curling out around it. The man's hair was styled back, his head was a tad long, and his beady eyes made me uneasy, whether it was a mere photograph or not. "Have you ever seen this man?"

I shook my head.

"Or that symbol?" Howard pointed to the skull and tentacles.

I shook my head once more.

"Good. You don't want to. Unfortunately, though, you're about to."

I glared half-heartedly at Howard but it didn't faze him.

"That's Johann Schmidt. He runs the Nazi deep science division called HYDRA. Or at least, it was Nazi affiliated. HYDRA seems to be separating further and further from Nazi agenda as of late. A lot of people don't know it exists. Hell, a lot of soldiers out there preparing don't know it exists. Point is, they're dangerous and they have weaponry capable of taking down not only the Allies, but the Axis Powers as well. They tried to kill me last year, in fact. It's when I joined the SSR."

"And that is...?" I asked, trying to absorb all the information that was being handed to me.

"SSR stands for Strategic Scientific Reserve. It's a top secret Allied war agency formed by President Roosevelt to fight HYDRA specifically. Your stalker, Colonel Chester Phillips? He's the leader of this whole thing. So far, it consists of Phillips, me, a German scientist, and a British spy."

"A German scientist?!" I hissed. And then in a more confused tone, "And a British spy?"

Howard shook his head. Apparently, somewhere in the time that we'd been speaking, I'd started referring to him as 'Howard' in my head. Weird. I shook my head, focusing on the genius as he continued to explain. "Doctor Abraham Erskine. He was recruited by Hitler to make him an army, but lucky for us, Erskine doesn't share a Nazi viewpoint. He's a nice guy, our lead man on Project Rebirth. And the British spy is Peggy Carter. Reminds me of you actually, but with more...physical strength. Brilliant woman. Doesn't take shit from anyone."

I smiled a bit at Howard and he grinned back. Despite what I'd heard in the tabloids, I liked Howard Stark. He was pretty down-to-earth so far, but part of me also figured it was because he was talking to me on behalf of government business. He'd probably get his ass kicked if he wasn't professional.

"So, you've mentioned this 'Project Rebirth' a couple times. What's that?"

"That's the icing on the cake, Ms. Frost."

"Please, you've already kidnapped me and held me against my will. Call me AJ," I quipped.

Howard grinned back. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"On the off-chance that I do accept this proposal, no, no I won't," I replied with a cheeky grin.

"Whatever, Ms. F—AJ," he corrected himself. "So, Project Rebirth. It's what the SSR is centered around. Our main focal point to take down HYDRA." Howard shifted himself on the couch a tad so he was facing me a bit more, his elbows resting on his knees.

"November of last year, Doctor Erskine, the German doc I told you about, was kidnapped by Johann Schmidt. For the last year or so, Erskine had been working on some type of super serum. To make a human the best human alive. Peak physical condition. The perfect human being. Well Old Schmiddy found out. He forced the good doc to use his incomplete serum on him. Well, afterwards, Erskine was rescued by Agent Carter and they escaped Schmiddy. But Schmidt," Howard paused as he pulled another picture from the file, this one colorized, "became this."

I stared in horror at the page. It was the same man, all right, with the high cheekbones and beady eyes, but his normal skin was gone. His hair as well. His entire face and neck were blood red.

"As you can see, Doc's serum isn't quite yet perfected. And we now call Old Schmiddy the Red Skull."

"Gee," I said in mock surprise, "I wonder how you guys came up with that one."

Howard rolled his eyes. "Right, right, laugh it up now, but Schmidt's no joke. He's incredibly dangerous. For the most part, Erskine's serum worked. He's faster, stronger, better than ever. Just...a bit more red than we'd like for our soldiers."

"Our soldiers?" I demanded.

Howard exhaled and threaded his fingers together. "That's what Project Rebirth is. Perfecting Erskine's serum. Making the perfect super soldier to help fight against HYDRA. Using the perfected serum and Vita rays from the Vita chamber, we can create the most elite soldier to ever grace this planet. Better than even Schmidt."

"So what do you need me for?" I asked, even though I had a sinking feeling I already knew the answer.

"We need your knowledge of biochemistry to help perfect the serum. Erskine's a geneticist. He just needs a bit of your guidance and we'll be golden!"

"So, to sum things up," I said slowly, "you want me to join a top-secret organization that consists of you, some army colonel, a German geneticist, and a British spy to help perfect a serum that turned an evil madman into an evil, ugly madman to inject into our own soldiers and hope that they don't turn out like Old Schmiddy?"

Howard frowned at me. "When you put it that way, it sounds terrible."

I shrugged. "Yeah, kinda."

Howard shook his head, turning his body more towards me. "Think about it, AJ. The Nazis are enough of a force to reckon with without adding HYDRA to the mix. Honestly, I think HYDRA is more dangerous than Hitler and his Nazis. We need to fight back. We need soldiers strong enough to fight back. Even if it's just one, it's enough.

"Look, I'm not here to force you to do anything. The colonel said you had a choice. You can walk away now as long as you don't breathe a word of this to anyone, and we'll trust you not to. Or, you can have a chance to be a part of this. A chance to stop HYDRA and save the world. Isn't this what you were talking about in your speech, AJ?" Howard's voice had gone soft. "A chance to make a difference?"

I made the mistake of meeting his eyes. They were big and brown and pleading, just like my childhood dog, Piston, a golden lab who had died when I was just twelve. Howard's expression was akin somewhat to a begging puppy and I knew at that moment he had me hooked.

Not just because of the puppy dog eyes, but because he was right. I finally had a chance to make a difference in the world, to be a part of something huge, something bigger than myself.

Howard certainly didn't seem like bad company either; I wasn't exactly gaining in the friend department. I had Jane and Lydia, but they were girls and girls would be girls. It would be nice to get away from it, I supposed.

I swallowed slightly. "What about my job? My friends, my family?"

Howard scoffed. "We aren't leaving the city. Tomorrow, if you like and agree, I can show you where Erskine and I are working. It's just in the city, actually. You don't have to quit your job, I'll just pull a few favors with Phillips and have your shifts shortened so you can work with us during the nights. As for your family though...they can't know a thing. Understand?"

"Understood," I said with an affirmative nod.

Howard's face brightened considerably and a broad grin broke out across his face. "Does that mean you're in?"

I took a deep breath. I wasn't quite sure what I was about to get myself into, but Howard Stark of all people needed my help. The world needed my help. And I wasn't going to let them down.

"I'm in."