Six weeks later – six long weeks, if Steve were being honest, punctuated by video calls with Skye when possible, and text messages otherwise – Natasha's call came.

"We found him," she said. "And a base of operations big enough to be the base for all of Ten Rings."

"We'll be wheels up in ten," Steve said. "Send me the coordinates where to meet you."

Natasha acknowledged and ended the call. Then Steve called Skye.

"Hey, you," she said. "What's up?"

"They've found the Mandarin."

"You guys want company?"

Steve grinned. "I was hoping you'd ask."

"Where should we meet you?"

"I'll forward the coordinates as soon as I get them," Steve promised. "Is it wrong that I'm looking forward to seeing you again when I should be planning a mission?"

"You're a super-soldier. You can do both," Skye teased. "See you soon."

"See you." Steve ended the call, then pressed the buttons that would summon the resident Avengers to the flight deck and started there himself. It would be good to have this all behind him, he thought, so he could focus on his soulmate.

#

Even before he'd gone into the ice, Steve had perfected the skill of sleeping on airplanes. Traveling from city to city for USO shows, and then the transatlantic flight that had taken him to the front, had taught him to block out the engine noise and fall asleep in extremely uncomfortable positions. At least the super-soldier serum meant the kinks in his neck and the stiffness in his joints wore off quickly.

That today's flight to Ukraine was supersonic only meant he'd gotten in a shorter nap before Clint's voice crackled through his earpiece.

"Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, Avengers all," the archer announced, "we are beginning our final descent into the middle of nowhere, Ukraine. Please ensure your fellow passengers are in their original awake and upright positions, and that your safety harnesses are securely fastened, because my co-pilot has a heavy hand on the stick."

"Because yours is light as a feather," Bucky's amused voice countered.

Clint continued as if Bucky hadn't spoken. "The local time is 2132 hours, and the temperature is too damn cold for a side trip to the beaches of Odessa. But then if you were looking for a pleasure trip, you picked the wrong quinjet."

Steve glanced over at Maria Hill. "Was I supposed to understand any of what he just said?"

Maria looked torn between shaking her head in exasperation and laughing aloud. "It's a parody of the standard speech flight attendants give when a plane comes in for landing. I guess you haven't flown many commercial flights."

"Not a one," Steve answered. "Between Stark's private jets, SHIELD transports, and now this, I haven't had that pleasure."

"Pleasure's probably too strong a word," Maria said. Then she called, "Hey, Barton, you're not nearly as funny as some of the flight attendants on Southwest."

"Yeah, well, I'm still practicing," Clint shot back. "Have to do something when I'm too old to draw a bow anymore."

Then they were sinking into a vertical landing, and Steve was on his feet, striding toward the hatch.

As the quinjet's hatch opened onto the Ukrainian night, Steve saw Natasha waiting for them. She glanced over the group - himself, Maria, Clint and Bucky. "No Tony?"

"No Tony," Steve confirmed. "Maria pointed out that this should be a discreet operation, and Tony is not always discreet."

Beside him, Bucky snorted. "That's too polite by half. He's never discreet. Neither was his dad."

"Also no Bruce," Maria added. "Same reason."

"Bruce is discreet," Clint argued. "Unless he turns green."

"We don't need to risk that, this time," Steve said.

"Six people isn't many to take down this kind of base," Natasha observed. "Even if Brock's working from the inside."

"It's not just six," Steve said. The sound of another engine drowned out whatever she might have said.

Minutes later, a second quinjet had settled – smoother than Clint's landing, Steve thought – beside their own. Its ramp descended to reveal Skye, Agent May, a black man Steve didn't recognize but who looked somehow familiar, and Agent Coulson.

"And then there were ten," Steve told Natasha, but she and Clint were stalking toward the other quinjet, murder in their eyes.

Skye and May closed ranks around Coulson, and Steve shot a concerned glance at Maria.

"Think they'll let him live?" Steve asked.

"Yes." But Maria didn't sound as certain as she could have.

"Who is he?" Bucky asked.

"He was their handler," Steve said. "Then he died just before the Battle of New York. His death brought the Avengers together."

"Looks pretty healthy for a dead man."

"He was dead," Maria said. "How he's back is classified."

"Not for long, if I'm reading Natalia's expression right." Bucky studied the small group. "Barton doesn't look very happy, either."

"May will keep them in line," Maria said, and added under her breath, "I hope."

"Captain Rogers? Sergeant Barnes?"

Steve turned to see the black man who'd come with Skye approaching them. "Yes, Agent?"

"Triplett," the man said. "Antoine Triplett, but everybody calls me Trip. I just wanted to say that it's an honor to be fighting with you."

"And with you." Steve offered his hand. "You must be Gabe's grandson."

"Yes, sir," Trip shook his hand, turned to Bucky.

"Gabe Jones?" Bucky shook his head. "You mean he actually conned someone into marrying him?"

"As I understand it, Gran did the pursuing," Trip said.

"Gabe was a good man," Steve observed.

"Yes, he was," Trip said. "I just wish he were alive so I could tell him a story about you for once."

"Let's make a story for you to tell your grandkids," Steve said.

"And let's hope we're not still alive to fight with them, too," Bucky muttered. Steve had to echo the sentiment, but still he shot a glare at his friend. No sense damping Trip's excitement with the realities of their lives.

Then he saw that Skye was coming toward them, and he smiled at her, surprised when she walked straight up to him and gave him a quick kiss.

When she pulled back, she smiled up at him. "Hi."

"Hi," Steve said. She was as beautiful as he remembered, but he couldn't focus on her right now, much as he wanted to.

"You must be the soulmate," Bucky said.

"Skye." She offered her hand. "You must be the best friend."

"Bucky. Good to see you're keeping him on his toes."

"Natasha said he'd challenge me," Skye said. "I figure it's only fair for me to challenge him back."

"Challenge?" Steve frowned. When had that conversation taken place?

"More than fair," Bucky agreed.

Then the others were approaching, and Steve couldn't be just a guy hanging out with his friend and his soulmate any longer. Now he had to be Captain America.

#

Skye followed Clint Barton - Hawkeye; she was actually working with Hawkeye - across the grassy, tree-studded foothills of the Carpathian Mountains. In the pre-dawn, they made fast time toward the spot he'd chosen for their sniper's nest.

Not for the first time, Skye thanked whatever deities there might ever have been for Melinda May as her SO. Ward had trained her, but May worked her harder than Skye would have believed possible, and now she was keeping up, if only just, with Hawkeye.

So when he stopped abruptly, she did, too, only she was heaving breaths in and out, thanks to the altitude while he wasn't breathing hard at all.

"Here," he said. "Good sight line, but plenty of cover."

He turned to survey the site below them. The castle dated from the Seventeenth Century, according to Skye's research, but the vehicles surrounding it were decidedly modern military transports.

"That's five, six hundred yards. You good with that?" Clint asked.

"I'd be a pretty lousy sniper if I weren't," Skye replied. "The longest recorded kill shot is twenty-seven hundred yards. You gonna be able to handle five hundred yards with a bow? That's close to the world record length, after all."

"With a standard compound bow," he corrected her with a grin. "There's nothing standard about mine. But I'm still gonna get closer. See that outcrop down there to the right?"

Skye had to step closer to him to follow where he pointed. "Yes."

"Just below that there's an open space. I'll set up there. Try not to shoot me in the back."

"Don't make me want to," Skye told him, and he laughed.

"You'll fit right in," he told her. Then he tapped his earpiece. "Comm check, alpha bravo gamma delta."

His voice echoed in her ear, and she responded, "Comm check, one fish two fish red fish blue fish."

"Was that supposed to make sense?" Steve's voice came through the comm.

"It's from a children's book," Skye replied. "Dr. Seuss?"

"I remember a Dr. Seuss during the war," Steve said. "Same guy?"

"With a name like that, it'd have to be," Bucky replied.

"It is," Coulson confirmed. "He wrote anti-isolationist tracts first, and later moved on to children's books that used odd rhymes and verse."

"Something else to add to your list," Skye told him. "But I have most of the books, so you're good."

"Everyone in position?" Steve asked.

A chorus of affirmatives answered him.

"Then let's do this," he said, and Skye pressed her eye to the scope of her rifle.