Two hours later he waded outside, leaning against the wall of the bar in the cool air and relative silence with a sigh of relief. Kat had gone to powder her nose, and he'd told her he'd be outside. They weren't the first to leave. About half the jeeps had gone, and the party was ramping up for those still left.

She came out a minute or two after him, a little unsteady on drunk feet, looking around in the dark for his shape with squinted eyes. "Bucky? You out here? Can't see a darned thing yet, too bright inside."

He stepped out of the shadows beside her. "Here. Ready to go?"

She jumped a little and giggled in response, then nodded. "Yep. You okay to drive after those beers?"

He nodded. "Yep, not enough to give me trouble, don't worry." He offered her his arm.

She took his arm gratefully, still keen on her earlier mission of not ruining Debbie's dress. Avoiding twisting an ankle would also be nice, now that she was thinking of it. "Good, good, cause it's enough to give me the beginning of the spins," she chuckled, apparently not particularly perturbed. "Shall we?"

He smiled, heading for the jeep at an easy pace. "You seem like you had a good time. Ready for the next move?"

"The next move?" She asked, following along at his side. "And I did. I'm sure my feet will regret all the dancing tomorrow, but it was worth it."

"You know. Pack camp, next stop, that whole thing." He helped her up into the jeep and walked around to the driver's side.

"Ohhh, the next move," she repeated, and nodded. "Yeah, I am. Used to it by now. Even in the 107th we moved more often than civilian-me would have liked," she said as he climbed in, looking over at him with slightly drink-blurred eyes that were finally adjusting to the dark. He looked even better when she was tipsy, she admitted to herself. How had she managed to get a date with this guy?

He glanced over at her as he started up the jeep, and smiled just a little to see her moon-eyed. "Alright there, soldier?" he said with a grin as he turned eyes forward and started down the road.

Kat blushed to be caught staring and was glad to be in the dark, where it would be much harder to see the red flush her cheeks, but giggled slightly anyway. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just a bit sauced," she replied. She fought the urge to rub at her makeup-laden eyes - she was starting to feel that late-night itch. "Hey, I haven't had the chance to ask - and please don't be mad for me asking - but did you scar?"

What she was referring to didn't need to be explicitly said. They both knew she meant the bullet wound.

He was quiet for a minute, relying on the turns of the town's streets as cover, but once they were on the open road back to camp he ran out of excuses. "Not too badly."

Her stomach sank slightly. "But you did scar." It wasn't a question.

She didn't speak for a minute, drunk mind chugging along as it tried to come up with a passable solution to the problem. "Does Steve know?"

He drummed a finger against the smooth metal of the steering wheel. "Not yet." They hit a pothole and he muttered a mild curse, shifting toward a smoother part of the road.

She nodded slightly and was silent for another minute. Then; "Shouldn't he?"

He slowed the jeep down as a deer flitted across the road a few hundred yards ahead, tacitly ignoring the fact that it was a good ways into the darkness beyond the reach of the headlights. "Probably. But he'll worry. He does that."

"He'll worry more if something happens to you," she pointed out gently, her own eyes incapable of seeing what he'd slowed for, but a tad too sauced to think twice on it. "You sure he isn't already worried?"

"Of course he's already worried. Like I said, he does that." He smiled a little as he turned at the entrance to the camp and drove into the jeep parking area.

She snorted in amusement. "Alright, point taken. Either way... Nobody noticed your tiny limp for the first few days, so if anybody sees it and asks questions, it would be insane to assume you were shot recently. I think I overreacted when I first saw it. It should be an easy secret to keep," she said, brushing a strand of loose hair out of her eyes as the jeep came to a stop, and she twisted in her seat a little to look at him, eyes bright in the moonlight. "Have you tested your strength yet? I hate to admit it but I've been burning with professional curiosity about it all. Dr. Herman too, about Rogers, but I've kept him from interfering with the Cap's day, despite my own desire to see if Steve really can lift a motorcycle," she added, smiling as if none of this was that big of a deal. Alcohol was a wonderful thing.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "But there isn't really a good place to test it without risking someone seeing me."

She sighed with the disappointment, but nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense. Still - do you hear things any better? Smell better? See better?"

He sighed, glancing at her again. "See better, yes. I don't know about smell. Hearing... probably. I haven't paid much attention." He turned the jeep off, the headlights dimming slowly, and got out, walking around to open her door.

"Thanks," she said quietly as he helped her out, and smiled gently up at him in the dark. "And thanks for the evening, Barnes. It was a nice change of pace."

He nodded, considering her for a moment, still holding her hand, and thinking through all of the girls and all of the nights before the war. Then he focused back on her, and smiled. "Yeah, it was." He raised an eyebrow. "So, tell me, Ms. Lewis. You kiss on the first date? Or are you a second-date kind of gal?"

She blushed like a hot air balloon's burner, which is to say she lit up like a flamethrower, and she struggled to keep her face straight, a smile insistently tugging at the corners of her lips. "Used to be more of a third-date kinda gal. These days, well, that depends, Barnes," she said as coolly as possible while that smile tried to crawl its way onto her face. "You a good kisser?"

His smile widened at her blush, and he bent down, deciding that silence was a decent enough answer as he kissed her. He was gentle, polite, far more than he would have ever been before the war, and he pulled away more quickly, too, but it was a kiss and that was a start. Steve could lay off for a while. "You tell me. Have a good night, Ms. Lewis." He kissed her hand and released it, tipping his hat and turning to head off down the rows of tents.

His lips pressed to hers and her brain short-circuited for the moment. Then he pulled away, and gave his nightly farewell, and she couldn't help but giggle a little to herself as she watched him walk away for a moment before turning and heading back to her own tent.

Bucky went to bed with the firm knowledge that, while that had been enjoyable, there was no real need to repeat the situation.

Still, the next time they had leave, he found himself sitting next to her at a table, talking over beers. It became more and more common. At mess, between missions, occasionally on them, while marching or driving... He just ended up sitting next to her. She gave him silence when he needed it, and he gave her conversation when she needed it.

Steve was, once again, faced with the familiar feeling of losing Bucky's time to a dame for a while. He'd experienced the same thing many times throughout the years, but this was the first time he only had himself to blame for the loss. He watched them talk during their dances, and while he treasured the smiles she often brought to Bucky's face, he wished he could do the same for him. But that was why he'd pushed Bucky into it, hadn't he? Steve sighed. He was sitting on his cot in his tent, elbows on his knees, doing the Irish Catholic thing and feeling guilty for his jealousy. This was what he had wanted, wasn't it? Right now it didn't feel like it was what he wanted at all.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the tent pole. "Rogers! What's the holdup?" came Bucky's voice. A moment later he stuck his head in through the tent flap. "We move out in fifteen minutes, Steve. You get lost in your knitting or something?"

Steve cracked a smirk, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, sure did. I'm coming, I'm coming, don't worry," he said, standing to prove his cooperation. "Let's tear this down and get going."

"Who says I'm helping? You're the one waiting around for Christ to come back," Bucky retorted, though he bent to start pulling tent spikes.

"Ha ha," he said sarcastically, joining in on the work.

The camp move did not go as smoothly as all the others.

As usual, they packed all their gear in the trucks that morning and set out in the afternoon, a convoy of trucks and jeeps in a line. Steve habitually rode in the front, where trouble was most likely to be run into first, and Dum Dum Dugan took up the rear with the medical team, where trouble was less likely to be had, but still required a protector. There was no warning today - Steve had been as alert as ever, but they were so well hidden in the underbrush that the convoy made it all the way into the trap before it was sprung.

Men lunged from the forest and suddenly there was a hail of bullets raining on the convoy, and then everything happened very, very fast. Someone up front slammed on the brakes, and the whole squadron began fighting back with a great uproarious yell, and Dugan pulled his rifle off his back and pointed at something on the passenger-side door, where Kat was sitting, and shouted something she was too afraid to catch. Still, her eyes followed his hand, and landed on the shotgun she had been given the same day she had discovered Bucky and Steve locked at the lips. Oh, she thought, and flinched as a bullet pinged off the door of the jeep. The rushing in her ears faded, and she quickly leaned down to unstrap the shotgun from the door, checking the chamber and finding it loaded. Another bullet - several, actually - hit the vehicle and Debbie let out a strangled sort of yelp of surprise. Kat was too afraid to make noise.

At the front of the convoy, Steve had catapulted out of his ride to crash into the attackers on the side of the road, Falsworth and Dernier covering him from the trucks. He had just disabled a fifth opponent when his brain helpfully reminded him that this ambush had come from the rear - where the vulnerable medical team rode. He could trust the rest of the men to take care of themselves, even in a hail fire like this, but that wasn't what the medical team had signed up for. He went barrelling off towards the back without hesitation, shield held between him and the side of the road he was exposed to without cover from the convoy.

In the rear, Dugan had jumped out of the jeep to take up a position beside it, on the left, where he had cleared the underbrush of enemies, and was shooting around the hood of the jeep, partially in an effort to draw fire away from the cab of the vehicle, where Katherine, Debbie, and Dr. Herman were. Dugan, unfortunately, did not have ESP or psychic abilities, or even x-ray vision, as all of these things would have prevented the Hydra agent from swiftly sneaking up to the other side of the jeep and yanking the back door open. Debbie was in his grasp before Dugan even noticed the door was open - it was her scream of alarm that clued him in, and he swore, standing to yell, "Hey! Drop the girl!" before he had to drop behind cover as another shower of bullets came his way. The Nazi shouted at Debbie as she fought against his grip, dragging her further away from the jeep. Dugan swore again, adjusting his grip on his rifle as he prepared to do something really fucking stupid-

The passenger door of the jeep opened swiftly, and Katherine used it as cover as she aimed the shotgun through the open window, and Dugan heard her shout, "Debbie! DROP!"

Bucky had been moving for the back of the convoy almost immediately, jumping from truck to truck in an effort to avoid the skirmishes on the ground, ducking behind the walls of jeep beds for cover before standing to return fire and jump again. The ambush had waited until they had passed, which meant they knew that Steve rode forward, and they knew the rear of the convoy was more vulnerable. He didn't need to think about it long.

There were a few screams as people were shot, and a lot of thuds without screams that he did his best not to think about as he cleared the last of the uncovered jeeps and jumped to the ground to move down the side of the three supply carriers. A bullet hit the tire next to him and he dove forward, rolling up already looking for the shooter. He found him and returned fire. The man dropped, and he didn't take the time to confirm the kill, just moved on.

He heard Steve coming before he saw him, the tell-tale ping of bullets against vibranium getting closer. He rounded the corner of the last supply wagon, and saw the flash of red on black that he'd grown to hate so fiercely. The issue was the body between him and the patch- Debbie, struggling and white with fear, a pistol against her head. Then he heard Kat shout, and glanced over out of surprise as Debbie went limp and the bastard from Hydra fumbled her.

Steve came barrelling onto the scene just in time to see a Hydra agent be blown backwards in a mist of blood. "Dugan?" Steve called, and saw the man stand at the other side of the jeep. Not at an angle that he would have been able to shoot that man, and the rifle in his hands was clearly not the weapon that had completed that particular killing. His eyes went to movement at the passenger door, and found Kat standing there with a shotgun still leveled in that direction, looking like she was going to throw up. Steve sprang into action again, running forward, past Kat, covering Debbie as a hail of return fire came raining down on them, and then he heard Kat yelp behind him and swore, looking behind him to see she'd disappeared from the window, and his stomach twisted unpleasantly.

Bucky vaulted up into the jeep through the window, turning to block it as he returned fire, before shifting to the side and looking for Kat. She was sitting on the bed of the back cab with Dr. Herman, who had closed the back doors and was trying to figure out where the blood rapidly staining Kat's left shoulder was coming from. "Kat, you alright?"

She had a hand pressed to the round of her shoulder, teeth displayed in a pained grimace. "Yeah, I- I think so," she managed, her red hair and the blood on her shoulder standing out in sharp relief to the pale pallor of her skin. "Hurts like nothing fucking else, but I think it's just a graze. I dropped the gun. Is Debbie okay?"

"Steve's got her. She should be fine," he said, ducking down slightly further as a bullet ripped into the metal a few inches from his head, leaving a deep dent. He knelt up and returned fire through the window, felling two attackers before taking cover again. Dr. Herman pulled Kat's hand away and cut into the cloth of her dress, peeling it back to take a closer look. "Just a graze," he confirmed, pressing gauze to the top of her shoulder. "It's deep, but you'll be fine."

"Wonderful," she said, voice very strained, though if she was being honest, the pain was a nice distraction to the gunfire happening outside. A moment later the door opened again and Debbie was escorted inside by Steve, who was holding his shield behind himself to give them both cover. His eyes landed on Bucky first, and then Kat.

"Everyone alright in here? You okay, Ms. Lewis?"

"Just peachy, Cap, don't worry 'bout me," she said, forcefully cheerfully.

Debbie let out a small noise of concern, but then seemed to shake herself and moved over quickly next to Dr. Herman, starting to hand him what he needed. Bucky looked over at Steve. "Ready to go shut this party down?"

Steve's jaw set, and he nodded once and then turned and re-entered the fray.

Hydra didn't stand a fucking chance.

Bucky followed out after him, turning to shut the truck doors behind him. Then he adjusted his rifle, and followed in Steve's shadow, trusting the shield.

In the end, it took another five minutes before they dropped the last of their enemies, and another ten before they were sure it was the last of them, given the thick underbrush. Wounded men either walked or were carried to the cargo wagons, and the medical corps began working quickly to bandage wounds and extract bullets.

Kat lasted the duration of the bandaging of her small wound before she was up again, insistent on treating the soldiers who had been wounded, snapping at Dr. Herman when he suggested she take a break. She transferred to the largest truck to help the worst of the wounded men. The convoy started up again - now it was imperative they put some space between this ambush and themselves.

Thankfully, they arrived at the next campsite without further incident, though they now had the added complication of dealing with wounded men. The infirmary tent was prioritized, and then everything else, and when Steve was done writing a report to Colonel Phillips about the ambush the infirmary tent was where he found her; still bandaging the less badly injured among the men, Debbie off to the side giving medical pointers to Jones, who had apparently volunteered his hands to help out. His eyes went back to Kat as she worked, leaning his shoulder against the pole of the tent by the entrance as he waited for her to become available. It took her about ten minutes, but finally she looked up his way and her face fell slightly. "Can I help, Rogers?"

"We need to talk, Ms. Lewis," he said simply, and she grimaced a little but nodded, and after a quick look around the tent she nodded to the exit.

"Outside, then."

They walked out of the infirmary tent and away from it a bit, before Steve came to a stop in a quieter part of camp. He came right out with it. "I think you know that I'll need to transfer you back to England with the other wounded men, Ms. Lewis," he began, gentle but firm.

She grit her teeth, but she'd known this was coming. She'd known. But hell if she was going without a fucking fight. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"No."

Steve sighed. "This isn't an option, Kat. You're going back. The same as everyone else who was wounded." Not quite the same. He was putting her well across the line of triage. But the men were soldiers. She was a nurse. She hadn't signed up to get shot.

"Uh, no, I'm not, but thank you," she said back stubbornly, looking up at him with hard eyes. "Not everyone who is wounded gets sent back. A few of the boys got grazed; they'll stay. And I'll staywith them."

"They're soldiers, you aren't," he retorted, crossing his arms. "These are orders , Ms. Lewis. They aren't up for debate. You're going back. Once you've recovered we can discuss your assignment."

Kat's self-control was waning, and this was evident by the angry red flush on her cheeks. "I may not be a soldier, Rogers - I may not be a man, either, but I can handle a fucking bullet graze, okay? For fuck's sake, Rogers, I shot a man today! With a fucking shotgun. If he survived that I'd be surprised and impressed!" She snarled, arms still crossed, though she was gripping onto her own arms to keep from poking at his chest indignantly. "I didn't sign up to kill anyone, but here I fucking am! Not signing up for it didn't change shit! It happened. If you send me back I can't- I can't undo it, Steve," she let out in a shaking breath, having gone from shouting to pleading in a few words. "You can't send me back. I have to be here. I have to be."

He softened slightly, the tense line of his shoulders bowing just a little. "Go finish what you were doing. I'll think about it," he relented finally, waving her off and turning to walk away. He needed to think.

She turned away without another word and headed back to the tent, fighting back the tears collecting at the bottom of her eyes.

A/N

Boy living in ww2 kinda sucks, huh?

Thoughts, anyone?