5th February, 1945, London, UK.

Peggy hadn't known him well. Not well enough to mourn him with tears and wailing and shouts of rage into the void – but she had known Bucky Barnes enough to know that he had been a good man.

Peggy knew Steve, and she knew Adeline – and she knew that they were hurting. Hurting in a way that she couldn't just fix, which was driving her crazy.

Peggy hadn't known him, but she could see how much he had impacted the people around him. They even put out a comic in honour of him, in honour of his passing. She had known, because she had seen the torn book in Steve's knapsack.

Steve had taken to the streets, not allowing himself to linger long enough in place to allow his feelings to catch up to him. Peggy knew they would eventually – and then it was just a matter of holding him up when they did. Adeline appeared outwardly unaffected, but there was a faint chill in her eyes that hadn't been there before. She kept herself distracted with Howard, and Peggy wondered just how long it would take the two supersoldiers to realise just how much they needed the other in this time of sorrow.

Peggy couldn't ease their suffering, but she thought that perhaps she could lessen it.

Which was why she was picking her way through the destroyed streets of her home, the faint wail of air-raid sirens, the tinny voice of the blackout announcer echoing off the ruined houses, the smell of sulphur and dust in the air choking her adding to her growing sombre mood.

She wasn't totally sure where Steve was, but she had a faint idea.

As the sound of the radio grew louder, she knew her hunch had been right. The bar that the Howling Commandos had been formed in was destroyed, the skeleton of the building exposed and half-shattered. But there was enough of a structure to form the den that Steve had escaped to.

He looked up at her approach, and for a moment, there was a glimmer of hope in his teary eyes. It faded – and though it didn't offend her, it did make her wonder who he wanted. She could think of two people.

He looked away again, sniffling slightly. Her heart broke.

The tiny table he had found was occupied with an almost empty bottle of liquor and a chipped glass and as she pulled off her gloves, leaning against the bar, he lent forwards, pouring himself the rest of it.

"Dr. Erskine said that the serum wouldn't just effect my muscles, it would effect my cells." He said, voice slurred, though not – she thought – with drunkenness. "Create a protective system of regeneration and healing. Which means, um, I can't get drunk." His voice broke a little, and she moved forwards. "Did you know that?" he asked listlessly.

Peggy cleared her throat, and pulled up an overturned stool. "Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person. He thought it could be one of the side effects." She smiled slightly, and took a seat. Steve's face remained crumpled. Peggy took a breath. "It wasn't your fault."

A spark of life lit up his face then, and even if it was a spark of anger, it made her sit back slightly. "Did you read the report?"

"Yes."

"Then you know that's not true." He snapped.

"You did everything you could." Peggy countered gently. Steve took a shuddering breath. "Did you believe in your friend? Did you respect him?" Steve finally met her eyes. She didn't need to hear verbal confirmation. "Then stop blaming yourself. Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it." Steve was silent.

"I'm going after Schmidt." Steve said suddenly. "And I'm not gonna stop until all of Hydra is dead or captured. I should have done it from the start, it's what Adeline-" he cut himself off, looking somewhere between heartbroken and angry.

"You won't be alone." Peggy said. "Neither of you should be alone." Steve looked at her, wordlessly asking for something. "You need each other to finish this. You just need each other." She said softly.

Steve stood abruptly, dashing a hand under his eyes. "It's what we were made to do." He squared his shoulders, and visibly appeared to attempt to swallow his grief. She knew he couldn't do it, and didn't expect him to. But seeing him moving forwards was enough.

He looked at her. "She's back at base." She smiled slightly, watching him go, parade uniform slightly too tight across his shoulders, and had an odd sense of déjà vu to when his uniform was far too big. The same man was still there, in his face and his eyes and his heart.

Adeline pounded at the wall in front of her.

The sandbags she had been using were long split and discarded, ruined under her hands. The wall provided a slightly sturdier place of impact – despite the cracks in the plaster and the blood from her knuckles.

The door opening made her pause, panting.

"For the last time, Howard, I do not need company." She spat, hoping to scare her friend off.

"I can leave."

Steve's soft voice made her jerk around, eyes going wide in disbelief. She hadn't seen the man since they had returned, and it was like seeing a ghost.

"N-no." she pressed her lips shut at her desperate voice, and turned back to the wall, steeling herself. By the time she turned back around, her mask was back in place. She walked towards him slowly. His face was in shadow, and some part of her was afraid; afraid to see tears on his face again, afraid to see him how she had left him. It made her hurt. "Are you alright?" she asked tentatively, stopping a good few feet from him, facing him in the centre of the room.

"No." He said simply. She dropped her head, unsure what to do, twisting her fingers under the torn bandages she had foolishly wrapped her hands with. It was a mark, perhaps, of how good he was getting, or just how unbalanced he made her, that she didn't notice him approach until he was right in front of her. She took a silent, stilted breath at his closeness. Here, she could see his red eyes, see the hard set to his jaw. "But I suppose ripping Schmidt apart may make me feel a little better." His tone was light, but his words were serious.

Adeline felt a trickle of…something.

Guilt, maybe.

Guilt, because she had promised herself, had promised him – that she wouldn't let him become like her. Jaded and hell-bent on retribution, on avenging pain.

"Steve-" she began, but then his hands were gripping hers – larger now, but no less nimble – as he worked the torn fabric loose. "Steve." It was a whisper now, but he didn't meet her eyes, not until he had finished both of her wrappings. The bloodied fabric fell to the ground between them, but he didn't let go of her hand.

His blue eyes were still open. "We're the only ones who can end this." His voice was just as quiet, and she was suddenly very aware of how close they were. Her stomach flipped, and she resisted the urge to tear herself loose, to pull him closer, to hide him away, to hold him- She sucked in a breath. "Please." She couldn't stand the pleading tone.

"You don't have to ask." She murmured. Adeline felt her stomach sink and rise with a twisted sort of horrible elation, because this was what she had wanted; and now that it was, she wished it wasn't. At least – she wished it wasn't him.

Her Steve. Just-Steve.

"We'll hunt him down."

6th February, 1945, London, UK, SSR Base.

"Schmidt belongs in a bughouse. He thinks he's god, and is willing to blow up half the world to prove it. Starting with the USA." Phillips turned around from the marked world map to face the room.

"Schmidt's working with powers beyond our capabilities." Howard added, taking a seat beside Adeline at the table. "If he gets across the Atlantic, he will wipe out the entire Eastern Seaboard in an hour." It was a mark of how serious things were, that Howard had been working non-stop since the news, how he delivered his information with a tense tone, and slightly hopeless look on his face. It was in the way he had squeezed her hand before the meeting, the way Peggy had embraced both Steve and her before they had sat down, the way she was looking at them both now.

It seemed they weren't the only ones who knew what they had to do. Adeline cast a look to Steve beside her. They hadn't slept after her promise. They had trained, just like they had before it all – but Adeline hadn't felt tired.

It was the conflicting surge of emotion keeping her wired.

At Hydra, she had been taught not to feel. During her time with her kill-squad it had been imperative she didn't feel. Here, in America, with these people; she felt more than ever.

It was overwhelming and confusing. And it centred on him.

Everything was because of him.

Adeline tore her eyes from Steve's profile as he looked up from the sheet of paper he was looking at.

Not that it mattered. They were probably going to die, and there was no way that a man could love a monster. Especially not a monster like her.