Two long, lean, chorded arms slid around her waist from behind, and the only reason Evangeline didn't have her wand in hand and pressed against the jugular of the person to whom the arms belonged was because a subconscious part of her brain had heard the footsteps coming and taken a quick peek over her shoulder before he reached her. He could come and go from a room and leave sandwiches behind and she wouldn't consciously register him, but she would definitely eat the sandwiches he left for her. She'd do it on autopilot too.
But even after so many years, her paranoia was still a powerful thing. See exhibit A: the charm bracelet that held all of her worldly possessions in a shrunken trunk, her godfather's motorcycle also shrunken down but not in the trunk so that she could make a quicker get-away, a cage for any and all prisoners, and a teeny, tiny, pure-silver ward-stone equivalent.
Yes, even with the tent set up and with all her stuff in its place in the tent, it was also all in the trunk. Kinda. Anti-theft magic and security spells meant that if she wasn't in her tent for more than two hours, everything would disappear from inside the tent and reappear inside her trunk. It was the same essential principle that led to the material possessions of dead people winding up in their Gringotts vaults for distribution upon the reading of wills.
The items had to be keyed first, of course, but it was an easy enough spell to do. Evangeline had learned it in her fourth year. Barty Crouch Junior had been an excellent actor, and a better teacher. As he had been pretending to be Alastor Moody at the time, that meant he taught everybody all the tricks a paranoid old man who lived through a war would consider important. Like not having to worry about important things being stolen or lost just because your life is on the line.
Being back in a war-zone, even if she wasn't a front-line fighter this time, had brought all her battle instincts rushing back. Not that they'd ever completely gone away. There was a reason she carried that clever little cage around on her wrist, after all.
Her subconscious had heard, seen, and recognised the person with his arms around her though, and because of this, Evangeline hadn't gone for her wand. If she'd felt threatened in anyway at all, or wasn't familiar with this person, she'd have already locked their arms to their sides and their legs together.
"Hey," a familiar, smooth, low tenor said, husky and soft by her left ear.
"Hey back," she answered, and wove her fingers in with his.
"So, I was thinkin'," he started.
"Careful," Evangeline teased at once, and twisted her head around so that he could see her smile, could tell that she was poking fun at him just because he'd left an opening for her to do so. "Don't want to hurt yourself."
Bucky huffed out a soft chuckle and shook his head.
"I was thinkin'," he repeated firmly. "I haven't taken you dancing for over a month."
"Well, you have been busy," Evangeline defended him. "I hear there's a war going on."
"I got a week's leave, starting tomorrow," Bucky said. "I know you're still probably gonna be working from breakfast 'til dinner, but after dinner, I want to take you dancing every night. I want to take you out to dinner at a nice place least once as well."
Evangeline untwisted herself and wiggled her shoulders a little so that her back was as snuggled into his chest as she could get it. She focused on the feeling of his thumbs tracing tiny circles over the what they could reach of her hands, and silently just revelled in his warmth and presence.
"I'd like that," she agreed softly.
A gentle squeeze was enough to convey his joy and gratitude in regards to her positive answer, then he changed the subject.
"How's it going for you, anyway?" he asked. "I think you're thinner than when I left," he added, a hint of worrying disapproval in his voice.
"I've been eating," she promised. "I'm not thinner because I'm losing weight, I'm trimmer, because I'm exercising more. I wasn't ever unfit, but I was getting a little soft from so much sitting around all the time."
"So, what, you've been joining the men for callisthenics every morning?" Bucky joked.
"No," Evangeline answered with a laugh. "While you and Captain Rogers were gone, I joined Agent Carter for callisthenics in the evenings."
"... Huh."
"And I've finished looking over the first batch of files Colonel Philips gave me," Evangeline said, changing the subject while staying on it. Bucky had asked how things had been going with her, after all. "The unit will be getting the first transfers soon. The forms have been filled in and sent off. Orders are filtering through... and then I'll have five candidates for the Super Soldier Program to meet, test, and examine, and that's if they haven't been killed in action between my getting their files and them arriving here."
Actually, the real first batch for consideration had been the rest of the Howling Commandos, but they all enjoyed being able to get drunk now and then, and were acutely aware that the Super Soldier metabolism ruled out so much as tipsy, or even slightly buzzed. There were a great many benefits to outweigh that slight downside, but as excellent as all the men were in that specialised unit, most of them... either missed the mark for Erskine's criteria, or just plain didn't want to lose the joy of drinking.
Much to the Colonel's disappointment.
"Any of the men here being transferred out?" Bucky asked, curious.
"No," Evangeline lamented softly. "But Private Hodge has finally learned some manners."
"How'd you manage that?" Bucky laughed out.
"It was a combined effort with Agent Carter," Evangeline demurred.
"How 'combined' was this effort?" Bucky pressed, a smirk on his face as he squeezed her just a little closer.
"She broke his nose and I kicked him in the balls," Evangeline admitted in a petulantly proud mutter.
"I knew my classy lady wasn't a delicate flower," Bucky damn-near crowed with pride. "Couldn't have happened to a more deserving -" he cut himself off. "Guy."
"I believe the correct term for people like him is 'arse-hole'," Evangeline corrected wryly.
Bucky laughed.
~oOo~
About the same time as the transfers arrived for their chance at becoming Super Soldiers, a troop of Canadians moved into the area. They're only going to be around for a month. It's a rest-stop for them before they launch back into the thick of things. The base camp for the Strategic Scientific Reserve isn't exactly a holiday, but because of the specific targets they've got, their camp is strategically located: near a town for fast communications, but not in it, because the men have to be ready to move out at any time, and living out of a bag, sleeping on a camp cot, is more conducive to the correct frame of mind for that sort of thing.
The trouble was, Americans and Canadians only got along about fifty percent of the time. Sure, they're neighbours and allies, but Canada is still part of the British commonwealth, whereas America had gone through a civil war to leave it – and then there were opinions on which sports were superior, and who could out-drink who.
Bucky and Evangeline were sitting at a table at the pub with Carter and Rogers, enjoying a double-date, the ladies laughing as the men took turns telling embarrassing stories about each other, when the the sound of breaking glass shattered the jovial atmosphere and silenced the whole room.
"Looks like Hodge forgot his lesson on manners," Evangeline commented lowly.
Carter nodded, a pinched frown on her face.
"Looks like he's about to get another one," Bucky noted, his voice just as soft.
Hodge had clearly gotten very, very drunk if he thought he could take on two men who, despite the half-drunk bottle of whiskey on their table, looked to be completely sober – and a fair bit more experienced at this war business than Hodge was. One of them had got some broken glass to the face, judging by the small lines of blood that cut across his features. The other had stood up, very deliberately menacing, in response to the drunken attack of Hodge upon his friend.
"Think we should put a stop to it?" Rogers offered quietly. "Before it gets too far, I mean."
"He's drunk, Vic," rang out the voice of the man who had taken some glass to the face. "Go easy on 'im."
"The old man was drunk all the time," the man called 'Vic' answered. "It's not an excuse, and you know it, Jimmy."
"I'm not excusing 'im," 'Jimmy' replied with a shake of his head. "I'm just saying to leave 'im intact enough for his CO to chew him out in the morning when he's hung over."
"Ha!"
Hodge went down very neatly, just crumbled to the floor from a jab to his temple. He might not have been a nice guy, but even bullies gained allies – as Evangeline had first-hand experience of, thanks to her cousin – and the guys Hodge had been drinking with reacted with prejudice to his being put down by a man from the Canadian forces.
"Excuse me," Rogers said, and started to stand as the two Canadians were converged on by five other men.
"I don't think you're needed for this one, Steve," Bucky commented, his eyes flicking between his friend and the fight. "I think those two have got it handled."
They did, too. Every single one of Hodge's friends joined him on the floor in short order.
"That was mildly entertaining," Evangeline offered when it was over.
Rogers blinked at her in shock, while Carter pressed her painted lips together to keep from so easily showing her own amused smile.
Bucky chuckled and shook his head at her fondly.
"Excuse me," Evangeline requested with a smile, and slid over Bucky's lap to get out of their booth, rather than letting him stand for her to get out.
He grinned at her for that, his grin stupidly happy as he watched her sashay over to the two Canadians and the men they'd decorated the floor with.
"You men will report to Colonel Philips at zero-six-hundred or so help me, I will ask to have you reassigned as guinea-pigs for testing my prosthetic research," Evangeline informed the men on the floor imperiously. "Of course, that means you will each have to lose a limb first, but I'm a doctor. I'm not the least bit squeamish about blood and conducting amputations."
"Yes Ma'am," the conscious few of the beat-up soldiers answered meekly.
Evangeline turned next to the two men in Canadian uniforms, both of whom were appreciating her figure as they held freshly-poured glasses of whiskey. She ignored their appreciative looks and flicked her eyes over their knuckles and their faces. These men had taken a few hits of their own as well, after all. There was a small smattering of blood, but what was on them was all of it. There wasn't more coming from open cuts – there weren't any open cuts, despite the blood that had initially come up from them. There wasn't even any bruising, or split skin on their knuckles.
"As for you two, I want you to report to my medical tent at zero-eight-hundred, after you've had a full breakfast," she instructed them.
"We're fine, Ma'am," denied 'Jimmy'. He had the stripes of a sergeant on his shoulder, and the name 'Howlett' stitched on the tag on the front of his wool jumper. He was also giving her a dashing smile. It was a very nice smile, Evangeline could concede, but she had Bucky.
"Exactly," Evangeline said plainly. "You are both completely fine, and you shouldn't be. I want to run up a physical and get some blood samples."
The two men grimaced. Well, that worked even better than she had thought it would to get them to stop giving her the elevator eyes.
"You've got no authority to be giving orders to us, Frail," 'Vic' pointed out. He too had 'Howlett' on the tag on his chest, but only a corporal's stripes.
They were related, and now that she was looking, she could see that they had the same nose. As that and the colour of their hair seemed to be the only features they had in common, she was going to guess they'd had different mothers.
"Technically, I don't have authority over them either. I'm making a personal request right now, Corporal Howlett," she informed him pertly, not at all appreciative of the moniker the man had given her. "I can easily contact your superior officer and have him order you. I'm going to have to speak to him about getting your medical files either way, and possibly also about the two of you getting into a bar fight."
Sergeant Howlett grimace at the prospect, while his... brother?... scowled and slumped back in his chair.
"We'll be there," the sergeant agreed, though he was clearly less than thrilled with the prospect.
"Good," Evangeline declared with a smile, turned on her toes, and returned to the booth where Bucky, Carter, and Rogers were waiting for her. "Are you going to stand up, or do I get to slide over your lap again?" Evangeline asked, fighting against a mirthful smile as she looked down at Bucky.
"I honestly don't know," Bucky admitted as he grinned back up at her.
Rogers kicked him under the table.
Bucky stood.
"Ruin our fun," Evangeline pouted at Rogers, even as she slid back into her corner of the booth.