A/N There's a little bit of German in this chapter - *I* do not SPEAK German, so any mistakes you can take to google translate lol. (Now, if YOU speak German and you think there's a better way to get across what I'm trying to say, I'm LISTENING INTENTLY)
"Superstitious has saved your ass more than once," Bucky muttered, finishing off a plate of eggs and hash and reaching for waffles.
"Let's not waste leave snipping at each other, huh? Tensions are bad enough in the field," Kat reminded, and Steve backed down from whatever he'd been about to say through a mouth stuffed full of bacon. "Are we hitting the pub tonight? I think Debbie mentioned plans before she became incoherent."
Bucky nodded. "Yeah. Most of the boys were talking about meeting up at a local pub. We can swing by the leave flat and ask where they decided on."
She nodded, swallowing a bite of pancakes before answering. "Hopefully showing up with you will finalize for Falsworth that I'm, mm, taken, but I suppose we'll see," she hummed off-handedly. Steve snorted a little.
"He's really serious, huh?"
"He thinks he is," she shrugged.
"He's dreaming," Bucky snorted. "If he doesn't take the hint this time, I'm going to pull him aside. The man needs to look elsewhere or he's going to end up twisted all out of shape."
"Are you gonna put him in that shape?" Steve asked curiously, a slight smirk on his face.
"I'm not saying I won't help," Bucky muttered. The waitress was watching from behind the counter, eyes a bit wide at the rapidly-growing pile of cleared plates, neither man looking like he was slowing down any time soon.
Kat chuckled into her glass of orange juice, shaking her head. "He hasn't done anything to deserve a hand at being re-shaped, now, c'mon. A light warning should suffice. He's reasonable, just lonely."
"Famous last words," Bucky snorted. Steve rolled his eyes and shoved another plate of corned beef hash his way.
"Yes, yes, you're very wisened and pessimistic. Eat your breakfast."
Kat smiled and finished up her second pancake as another round of food came out. Their waitress was looking a little less disbelieving and a little more determined, clearing away empty plates onto one forearm and replacing them with more food. Kat resisted the urge to get up and help, knowing it probably wouldn't be welcomed. When the bustling had calmed down and the waitress had retreated, she cleared her throat. "We should try to get a picture or something. Of the three of us, or something like that. Just, you know," she shrugged one-shoulderedly. The in case didn't need to be said.
"Good idea," Bucky said with a nod and a smile. "Come with us to the photo shoot. Nothing a wink from the Captain here can't do. We'll have one of the photographers take a few extra shots."
"A wink from the Captain?" Steve asked, sounding a bit pained. "Can't we just pay them or something?"
Bucky pretended to look scandalized, though the expression was marred somewhat by a mouthful of apple pie. He swallowed and said, "Are you suggesting we bribe the honorable men of the Allied Armed Forces?"
"They're photographers, they can be tipped," Steve said, mostly confidently, and Kat snickered. Still, she nodded.
"Sure, I'll go. Though I wonder if the pub outing might already have attracted a cameraman or two. You guys are the Howling Commandos, after all. Or that's what I heard, anyway. Fun name."
"You are, too," Bucky pointed out, pausing for a few sips of coffee. "A Howling Commando." He added a sarcastic wiggle of the fingers around his coffee mug.
"Yeah," Steve agreed. "We wouldn't be anywhere without you. So you're lumped in with the rest of us."
She got a little pink (nothing compared to how she got in bed, but still pink) and smiled. "I got to get lumped in with you rowdy bunch? Shucks, that's too bad. Was gonna come up with my own branding for the medical team. Battlefield Angels maybe?"
"Well, that's terrible, so you're lucky we got to you first," Bucky teased with a laugh, which only got louder when Steve kicked his shin under the table.
Kat laughed too, though a little less raucously, but mostly she was glad that Bucky was able to laugh so deeply. A few months ago, it had been a rare occurrence.
They eventually finished breakfast (they meaning Steve and Bucky, who cleaned everything on their plates and left Kat wondering how Bucky was surviving back at camp without a similar amount of food) and spent the afternoon walking around the city, seeing the sights that hadn't been marred by bombings. After a quick visit by the men's place, they learned what pub was destined to hold their shenanigans that evening, and after they stopped by their apartment to let Kat get into the red dress that Debbie had ultimately gifted her, telling her it was her good luck charm, they headed to the pub.
"Did I hear Jones say this is the same place you guys went after you got back from saving the 107th?" Kat asked as they reached the doorstep, looking over her shoulder at Steve, who stepped in front of her to get the door like the enduring gentleman he was.
"Yeah - I guess the guys decided it was a good enough time to make it a regular thing. When we're in town, anyways," Steve shrugged with a smile, and held the door open for Bucky and Kat.
"As good a spot as any," Bucky said with a shrug, following them in and trying not to tense up at the roar of music, drunken soldiers, laughter, singing, and general celebration.
Kat surreptitiously offered her hand to Bucky with a brush of hers against his - easily ignorable, but there if he wanted it. They waded through a few feet of revelry before someone noticed Steve - a man with dark hair and a mustache slid up with a beer in hand, grinning widely. "Steve!" he crowed, obviously a few drinks in already. He clapped his free hand on Steve's big shoulder. "Brought Sergeant Barnes, I see, and-" his attention locked onto Kat, "A wonderful lady! Howard Stark, ma'am, at your service," he winked, and Kat blinked, not used to men being so blatantly flirtatious.
"You can relax, Howard, she's here with Buck," Steve chuckled, patting Howard back, nearly shaking the beer out of his hand.
"Fine, fine, I wouldn't dream of causing trouble," he said with a laugh, before winking at Kat. "Unless you like trouble, that is." He reached out to shake hands with Bucky. "Though it looks like you already have some. Barnes, good to see you again."
"Dr. Stark," Bucky greeted levelly, his free hand taking Kat's offered one. "How have you been?"
"He's enough trouble for me, thanks. The name's Kat Lewis," Kat chuckled, thinking of the uproar it would cost if everyone knew just how much trouble she'd signed on for.
"Noted, Miss Lewis! And it's been great! Nothing like war funding to crank out the prototypes - of which I have a few to show you boys. Even got a few long range rifles in the works for you, Barnes," Stark grinned, ever the scientist in amongst the rabble of common men. Bucky latched onto the lifeline of a familiar topic, and immediately began grilling Howard about the specs of the new guns.
Kat squeezed Bucky's hand to let him know she'd be back, turning to grab Steve's wrist. "C'mon Rogers, wanna dance?"
He looked over from where he'd been buying beers, and smiled. "Sounds like an excellent idea," he agreed, offering her his arm.
She took it with enthusiasm. Now that it was her and Bucky and Steve, she felt less like a lecher appreciating him and his smile and his broad shoulders and the way he made her feel, which was nearly identical to how Bucky made her feel. They both made her feel safe. They stepped onto the dance floor while Bucky continued talking shop with Mr. Stark, and got in a good dance before two things caught her attention. One was the camera being set up by the bar, and the other was the woman in uniform who had appeared in the doorway to the pub. Kat had glimpsed her before. Her grip tightened on Steve. "Ms. Carter is here," she said, in a hushed tone, without trying to look suspiciously panicked.
"What?" he asked, surprised. He looked up toward the door, and caught sight of her, his steps faltering slightly and throwing off the rhythm of their dance. "Oh."
Peggy had taken a moment in the door, like she often did, just to assess the environment. It was what a spy did, after all. Steve was immediately apparent in the room - he was a large man, even if he didn't hold himself like one. She was surprised to find him on the dance floor, but not surprised to find Kat dancing with him. Steve's smile was soft. Peggy felt a small twinge in her chest, but she moved past it, just in time for her watched parties to notice her. She smiled, raising a hand in greeting. By the bar, a photographer was calling for the Commandos to gather round for a picture.
Kat looked towards the photographer as he called out, attention torn between that and Ms. Carter. "I guess we should get our picture taken, huh?" she said, then glanced back to Peggy. "You should invite Ms. Carter. We should get at least one with her, right?"
"Yeah," he said, nodding a little. He stepped back. "Go find Bucky. He probably went to ground as soon as the camera came out. I'll go talk to her."
"Yeah, sure," she agreed, squeezing his arm once and then turning to slip into the crowd to find their wayward partner.
Peggy approached as Kat left, smiling a little as she reached Steve. "Hi," she smiled, "My mission got rescheduled by a few hours. Thought I would drop in to at least say hello before I have to leave."
"Well, then, hello," he said with an awkward but warm smile. "I'm glad you came. Everyone will be thrilled to see you."
She chuckled. "Well, I can't stay for long, so everyone will have to be quick with their hellos. Seems I arrived just in time to watch you all take the unit photo!"
"Come be part of it," he said, reaching out to take her hand, tugging her gently with him. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. None of us would."
"Oh, oh, I don't know," she said, breaking into an embarrassed smile but not resisting. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," he said, taking her hand a little tighter. "You know I am. Come on, Peg. Wouldn't be the same without you."
"Alright, alright, I won't fight you," she laughed, letting him drag her over to the camera as Kat appeared a few feet over, dragging Bucky with her.
Steve exchanged a look with Kat that had similar levels of exasperation to the one Bucky exchanged with Peggy. The four of them were rammed into the mix as the rest of the commandos piled around them, laughing and catcalling each other.
Overall the process took just a couple of minutes, once the soldiers had piped down. Kat ended up under Bucky's arm, and she threw hers around Peggy, Steve in the middle and the front as was his unfortunate but by-now familiar duty, Howard telling them all to say cheese from off in the corner. They broke apart as soon as the photographer said they could, Peggy turning to Steve. "I wish I could stay for a dance, but I've got a car waiting for me outside. Really just wanted to give a proper goodbye before I left. We'll probably see each other in the field soon enough, either way."
He nodded just a little, smiling. "Just gonna have to keep saving it, then. We'll find the time. Be safe, Peg. I'm sure we'll run into you soon."
She nodded, gave him a shy but earnest smile, and turned to disappear into the crowd. Kat stepped up with Bucky a moment later, her hand in his. "Ah, she left already? I was hoping to get a new drinking buddy. I've never had a British one before. Falsworth doesn't count."
Steve shrugged. "She said she just stopped by to say goodbye, but she couldn't stay." Bucky looked out the door suspiciously, wondering absently where the woman was going that worried her enough that she felt a 'proper goodbye' was warranted. Steve didn't need that kind of thinking in his head, though, so he didn't mention it, just clapped Steve on the shoulder.
"Shame. Guess that means you'll need to help me fill up Lewis's dance card so Fallsworth doesn't swoop in like a white knight."
Normally Steve would resist a night filled with dancing - but that had been before, when his dance prospects had been Bucky's secondary pickups. Now it was Kat, who was smiling into her hand to avoid looking so amused at Bucky's words. He knew she didn't want to turn Falsworth down cold, though why he couldn't fathom. Maybe it was simply her desire to be kind. "You got it," he chuckled, clapping Bucky right back on the shoulder and giving him a light shove towards Kat. He needed to relax into the night, and Kat was the best method to do it. "You first. I'll find our beers and get a table."
The night went well, as did the rest of leave, despite Bucky's gnashing of teeth over the propaganda filming. They slept tangled together every night after sex, and were lucky enough not to be disturbed at any key moments during their stay. It only cemented Kat's feelings for the two men, who treated her like something soft and precious to be protected most of the time, and when she wished it, like she was much less breakable.
Leave couldn't last forever, however. They packed and shared a few kisses where no one could spot them before heading out onto the street and heading to the port.
The next couple months went by how they had previously. There wasn't much room for love on the battlefield. Kat spent her nights with Bucky when she could, but Steve was, by necessity, a bit left out. He didn't mind - he knew the necessity of it. He listened to them on the nights they were together, a hand gripping his dick through his trousers, but that was the furthest action he got. It was fine - he could wait. He was used to waiting.
Not much changed until the fall. Summer had been warm but at least less muddy. It had been a while since they'd gotten a chance to visit a local dance hall, and the unit jumped at the chance. Feeling a little off that night, Kat went home early with the medical team.
Kat hauled herself into the front of the jeep next to Dr. Herman while Debbie got into the back, and twisted in her seat to face Deb and continue their drunken conversation about missing pantyhose and ice cream and regular home-cooked meals while Dr. Herman started the vehicle. They pulled out onto the dirt road and started back towards camp with a familiar lurch of acceleration, heading out into the dark with only the headlights to show the way.
There had been no indication that tonight would be their last. Nothing had seemed wrong. Seventy years in the future, when she looked back on this drunken night, nothing would stand out. Whoever had sold them out, whoever's fault it was, they had never given away their hand.
They were five minutes away from the village when a man stepped into the road and Dr. Herman slammed the brakes, and then the man shifted, lifted his hands, and Kat realized a second too late that he was holding a rifle. A floodlight hidden off the road switched on, blinding the passengers of the jeep, and then the rifle muzzle flashed. Later, Kat could not remember any sound beyond a rushing in her ears that drowned out everything else. What she did remember was Dr. Herman's brains spattering across the side of her face, Debbie's blood spraying onto the back of her neck, realizing that the ammunition was explosive- and then pain. A shattering, nearly-indescribable firestorm of pain in her arm, and she lifted her right arm to find it half gone. A second later the heat of the blood seeping into her clothes reached her senses and it was real, and she knew she was screaming even though she couldn't hear it.
She blacked out then, and woke up again not two minutes later, two men working together to pull her out of the jeep. She fought without hesitation, crying and screaming like an injured animal, and the man on her right nearly dropped her out of the vehicle as her bloody, mangled stump flailed against his face (stump was too definite a word, but it was hard to name something that ragged and jagged and still bleeding). He solved that problem by pausing to punch her in the face, and the world went dark again, for much longer this time.
Katherine woke again to blindingly bright lights and men in white bent over her and talking loudly in german. She moved to shove them away, her left hand planting on one of the men's chests, her right -
Hands pushed her back onto the steel table, and past the excruciating pain she felt a needle push into her left arm, and the will to fight drained out of her, and the world went dark, again.
"Sie sollte nicht beschädigt sein. Was ist passiert?"
[She wasn't supposed to be damaged. What happened?]
"Er sagt, seine Hand sei ausgerutscht."
[He says his hand slipped.]
"Stellen Sie sicher, dass er nicht wieder ausrutscht."
[...Make sure he doesn't slip again.]
"Jawohl."
[Yes, sir.]
...
"Schicken wir sie in den Roten Raum?"
[Are we sending her to the Red Room?]
"Nein, zumindest noch nicht. Sie wissen nichts über sie, und so werden wir es vorerst behalten."
[No, not yet at least. They don't know about her, and that's how we're going to keep it for now.]
...
"Wagner?"
[Wagner?]
"Jawohl?"
[Yes, sir?]
"Ist der Prototyp bereit zum Testen?"
[Is the prototype ready for testing?]
"Jawohl."
[Yes, sir.]
"Dann lass es uns testen. Arzt informieren König."
[Then let's test it. Inform Dr. König.]
"Und Schmidt?"
[And Schmidt?]
"Lassen Sie mich über Schmidt sorgen."
[Let me worry about Schmidt.]
Kat spent what felt like days, weeks, months, in a drugged haze, semi-conscious for only minutes at a time before she faded back under the dark sludge of sleep again. She decided quickly that it wasn't worth fighting the darkness - the light held suffering, and nothing but suffering. Splitting pain remained in her arm, and it spread elsewhere like a rotting infection, crawling up into her skull and down her spine. Sleep was a blessing.
Countless cycles passed of waking and slumbering before any reasonable thought began to return to her, and they were thoughts that made her wish to fall back into a stupid stupor. Bucky. Steve. Would they know she was alive? Would they know to come looking for her? They were capable of nearly anything, she knew that in her heart - surely they would come? Surely... surely... Her mind helpfully supplied the memorized sensations of what it had felt like to feel her friends blown to bits around her - on her - and she thought that maybe it wasn't a tragedy if they didn't find her here. They were super-human, of course, but explosive rounds?
She shifted a little on the table, a tear leaking from the corner of her right eye and into her hairline as she turned her head to look at what was left of her arm. She pulled at the sheet covering her torso from beneath with her left hand, tugging it down from where it was tucked up around her neck, and sucked in a breath. Her arm was gone. All of it. In its place was a silver arm, indistinguishable in form from her natural arm. She clenched her fists in reflex, and heard more than felt the silver arm carry out her movement, a low whir and the slightest scrape of metal on metal traveling up into her shoulder. It was a chilling sensation. She tried to sit up, a low panic beginning in her chest, and was reminded by the straps on the table that that was not a realistic goal.
Someone made a noise of alarm as they noticed her movements, and before she could do much more than make a noise of protest a man was at her side, pulling the sheet down her natural arm and pressing a needle into skin already stained with track marks, and she went back under.
Time passed in this way for her for a long time. The light always brought back the deep-body aches, until one day... it didn't. She woke in a different room, one less bright, and found that she was in a cot, not strapped to a steel table. The pain was gone, except for a slight ache where her body met her new and mostly unwelcome metal friend. She lifted her left hand (and was surprised when it came past the two inches she'd become accustomed to being able to move) and brought it to touch the shoulder of her new arm. It was smooth where there were not seams, cold to the touch, and about as solid and unyielding as anything she'd ever touched. Her fingers traced down to the equivalent of a bicep, and she remembered with startling clarity the sight of bone and flesh exposed to the air, remembered the blood pouring from her body. It was a miracle she was alive. A bad miracle, maybe, but one nonetheless. Absently, she wondered how much time had passed - even gave a quick glance around the cell to find an answer - but there was no telling. What was telling was the lack of pain she felt, so suddenly. What had changed? She'd been in pain (in horrible, debilitating pain) up until this awakening.
Slowly, she sat up, the sheet falling to her waist, and she flicked it off. Someone had dressed her in a loose, sleeveless black shirt and pants. Not what she would have chosen to dress a recently-critically-ill patient in. It gave her a moment's pause, but she decided it was probably the least of her worries, and turned her left arm over to look at the track marks she had seen. They weren't there. A tension that hadn't been there before curled up in her stomach.
How long had she been here? Why was she suddenly in so much less pain? What had they done to her? She stood, abruptly, and started taking stock of the room. Trying not to think about it. (Trying not to remember the moment she'd pulled back the bandage on Bucky's hip and discovered a patch of red, shiny skin where there should have been a hole.) The cell had a cot, a toilet and a sink, a door, and a large mirror. Mirrored on her end, anyway. She glanced at the toilet and wrinkled her nose slightly, and sat down on the edge of the cot again. Her hands fell naturally into her lap, and without too much hesitation she let her eyes fall to them. Let her flesh left touch the silver right again, fingers tracing fingers. The craftsmanship was incredible, she had to admit it. Her hands were more symmetrical now than they'd probably ever been, discounting fingernails and the like. She hadn't thought technology like this was even around. She turned the metal hand over, lifted it up to her face to get a better look, closed it into a fist and then spread her fingers wide, testing the movements, looking for flaws. It grinded slightly, when she turned her arm in and twisted her wrist in the way she had used to in order to crack it. She rolled her metal shoulder experimentally, and found it an odd sensation, especially the way it clicked as she brought her arm forward, and stopped when she felt a strange electric zing. It seemed to function just like a regular arm would, but... she considered it for a moment. It must have been extraordinarily heavy, yet... she couldn't feel the weight. All that metal hanging on to one side of her body, without support?
As a test, to see whether she could feel anything, she pinched her leg with her left hand. She felt it, but the pain was dulled. She pinched again, harder - as hard as she could - and gasped when she tore through the fabric of her pants with her nails and into her skin. Her fingers pulled away tinged with blood. That stung. It was a relief for about a minute and a half, and then the sting disappeared. The sensation faded and a streak of fear shot through her very core. With both hands she threaded a finger each through the hole she had made in her pants and tore it open down the leg, much further than she'd intended, the silver arm enthusiastically obeying her command to pull with all her might. She looked down at the scrap of fabric she held in her metal hand, her breaths coming short, and dropped it to look at her leg. No scratch. Only a small smear of blood. She clapped her natural hand over her mouth as she fought back a scream.
It took her awhile to get a hold of herself, sitting where she was on the cot, breathing into her hand like a paper bag. When she finally pulled her hand away from her mouth she held it up in front of her, like she had done with the metal one. Even what they had not replaced was different. Changed. She swallowed, and her gaze flicked up from her hands and zeroed in on the mirror built into the wall. That was her way out, if she was strong enough. It was unclear if she was, but there was no time to waste in trying. The longer she sat here, the harder it would be to get out.
She stood, walking over to the mirror, and put her hands on the cold surface of it, taking in a deep breath. She took a moment to look at her reflection before she tried anything - she was clean of blood, though someone had pulled her red hair into a haphazard braid. She puzzled over that for a second, and then decided it wasn't worth the questioning right now, lifted her metal arm, and slammed her fist into the mirror.
The glass cracked; a hairline fracture appeared from underneath her hand, crawling across the surface of the mirror and stopping just before touching her flesh-and-bone hand. Hope renewed slightly, she hit it again, absently noting that there was no pain from the impact, just the slightest feedback that told her she'd hit something - but the crack spread further, splintering out from the first - and that was when something clicked very loudly above her. She whipped around, mouth going dry with fear, and looked up. She was not expecting to see the thick, sulfur-yellow gas billowing from the ceiling, and it took her two precious seconds to remember to suck in a large breath and turn back to the mirror, slamming her fist into it with all her might, again and again, the crack growing wider but never breaking - and then the toll of exercise tapped on her shoulder and she was forced to breathe in. Once she'd begun, her starved lungs forced her to continue, and she struggled for consciousness, sitting hard on the floor with a hand at her throat, gasping for uncontaminated air - and then the blackness took her again.
Kat woke again with a start. She was no longer in the cell, but was sitting upright in a chair that resembled... well, it didn't resemble much of anything she'd ever seen. Her head was strapped to the headrest, but her eyes were free to roam - that was when she noticed the short man in the corner, looking at a clipboard. She said nothing, afraid to draw his attention to her, but didn't have to wait very long before he looked up himself and noticed she was awake.
"Ah," he said, smiling, and she was dismayed to hear his accent. German, or something like it - not English, not Russian, not American. She'd known this wasn't the house of her allies, but having it confirmed was a different feeling entirely. Her stomach sank. "You're awake. Good. The chair only works if you're awake," He continued cheerfully, pulling a pen out of his breast pocket and setting it to the paper on his clipboard. "Now, fräulein, if you would do me the favor of telling me your name for the record, I would be most grateful." His smile was not comforting. She didn't think resisting again would go well, but tried jerking her metal arm against the restraints holding it down. It was immediately discovered to be a futile exercise, but the movement only made the man smile wider. "Shy? Not to worry. I shall give you my name first, and then you shall give me yours, and then we'll be properly acquainted. I am Dr. Arnim Zola. I am why you have that arm and not a stump." He smiled wider, as if he were trying to appear friendly.
"Why?" She rasped, looking at him with steady eyes. "Why me?" She knew there was a reason she was alive, knew that there was a reason she had not been killed along with Dr. Herman and Debbie. The thought of them sent a spike of grief through her, but she fought it back so she wouldn't begin to cry.
Zola's smile remained unchanged. "Mr. Rogers and our mutual friend Mr. Barnes have been leading quite a search for you, Katherine. That is your name, isn't it? Katherine Lewis?" he spoke slowly, deliberately, enunciating each word with care. "I would hate to have grabbed the wrong girl."
Steve. Bucky. They were looking for her. Her next inhale shuddered, and her breath hitched as she struggled not to cry. Zola's smile said that he was gently amused by her struggle. She blinked hard, swallowing. "Why the arm?"
"What's a soldier that can't pick up a gun?" he replied with a simple shrug, and wrote down something on his clipboard that she couldn't read before setting it down on a small table in the corner of the room. Her stomach sank. "It was nice meeting you, Ms. Lewis. You're going to do great things." He gave her one last smile and then turned and left out the door. It had barely swung shut when three strange men in white walked in. Tears left silent trails on her face as they worked around her, and when the machine descended onto her head, she screamed.
And that was the last night Katherine Lewis from Upstate New York was ever completely the girl who had once been afraid of swearing, who had once been kissed under the willow tree by the swimming hole and had found maybe boys weren't so bad, who had once rolled up her sleeves and learned how to stop men from dying.
Katherine Lewis would not save another life for a long time.
Katherine Lewis would not even know her name again for a long time.
"Welcome to Hydra, Prototype."
Steve stood in front of the jeep, his jaw clenched so hard that he might have broken a tooth were they not fortified with the serum. He'd seen a lot of blood: they all had. But this was a bloodbath. What they'd identified as Debbie Johnson and Dr. Wilhelm Herman was splattered all over the inside of the jeep in a sight more grisly than almost any he had seen before. They were meant to find this, he knew. If Hydra had wanted to make Kat simply disappear without a trace, they could have. They would have known it was Hydra anyways, but they could have. Instead, Hydra had wanted them to know, without any uncertainty, that they had taken Kat and Kat alone. This wasn't just a random grab of an unknown nurse. This was for him, for Bucky. He grit his teeth until they squeaked under the pressure.
Pinkerton had followed the blood trail into the woods and found tire tracks, but the tracks found the busy village road almost immediately after, and it was no longer possible to follow. Steve's only comfort, bleak as it was, was that Kat had been taken alive. Maybe they would try to ransom her in exchange for him - in which case she would need to be provably alive. She'd been hit, though, and judging by the splintered remains of a lower arm and hand, she'd lost an arm. It was a traumatic injury that would be bad enough while being taken care of by her own people. But Nazis? Hydra? He ran a hand over his hair, letting out a breath. He didn't know what to do. Man with a plan? Yeah, right.
All he knew was that this never would have happened if he'd sent her home.
A/n My Chemical Romance - DESTROYA
Let us know what you think of this shift of pace, guys! Things are going to be much more like this from now on than what we are basically considering the "prologue" - yes, 60,000 words of prologue XD Also there's a thing I do with Kat's name by turning it into Prototype that fanfic does NOT want me to do, so if you want to see that little nothing thing you can see it on Ao3!