"I can hear him pacing," Jemma muttered against her pillow, wriggling further under the covers. "How does he walk so loudly?"

It was a good question. Technically they were taking shifts on surveillance. This stretch should have been just May and Jasper, but Steve seemed intent on keeping watch every single minute. "This could be a good time to test your serum, sweetheart."

"If I weren't worried about accidentally knocking him out for too long time, I would." She sighed, now so deep under the covers that she had her head resting on his stomach. "I can still hear him."

"You're going to suffocate." He flipped the covers back, meeting her gaze as best he could in the dim room. She looked antsy; she felt tense. "Come here."

Maybe it was the soulbond, maybe it was just what she saw in him, but it still amazed him how willingly she placed herself in his care when she was anxious- just as she did now, crawling back up the bed to rest in his arms. "He still makes me nervous," she confided in a soft murmur. "He's just so… big."

"Good thing I never achieved my true potential," he teased lightly, slipping his fingers through her hair. "You scare the hell out of him, Jemma."

"Because my reputation is wildly exaggerated."

Grumpy Jemma was adorable. Not that he would ever tell her, at least in the moment. "No, well-deserved."

"It was a moment of temporary insanity." She paused. "Both times."

"A true act of bravery, both times." He smiled against her hair, remembering when May had told him about helping Jemma hide Jasper's unconscious body in a closet. At the time he had been too worried about Fitz and Ward (hell, worried about Ward) to appreciate how phenomenal her actions had been. "Next time you do something like that, don't run off."

"Planning on yelling at me, Phil?"

"More like planning on rendering you speechless." He snugged his arms tighter around her, pleased by the way her breathing quickened. "Bravery should be rewarded, after all."

"I do like the sound of that," she admitted. "Though knowing you, you'll wait until I'm akin to a puddle… and then yell at me."

"I think you mean 'beg in a stern manner'."

"That does sound about right." She slipped one hand under his t-shirt as he adjusted the covers around them once more, her palm coming to rest above his heart. Her hand was slightly chilled, and he suspected that if she hadn't been wearing socks her cold feet would have been tucked between his calves. "All about how me playing white knight is incredibly arousing, and will I please never, ever do anything like that again."

"Right on point."

"Aren't you worried that rewarding my recklessness might just encourage more recklessness?" she asked, a wicked lilt to her voice. "I might go jumping out of planes on a weekly basis, if you do too good a job."

And he would most likely tumble her into bed every time- or let her tumble him, because that particular view was always so very nice. "Have pity on my heart, Jemma. One miraculous resurrection is my limit."

"Yes, I'll be taking very good care of your heart." Her voice had softened, and the hand on his chest had begun to warm. "My jazz man."

She was so quiet for a few moments after that he thought she might be settling down to sleep, and then-

"He's still pacing," she said in an aggrieved tone.

"We could always chase him into hiding by pretending to have loud sex." He smiled when she snorted a laugh. "He would probably be the only one to hear. We could jump on the bed and everything."

"And break it." She was still giggling, and had rolled away to rest on her back. "We would probably snap a vital part, and then wouldn't be able to fold it back up again. Imagine how professional that would make your office look."

"Imagine how loudly Fury would yell at me for breaking his plane," he retorted with a grin. "Just think how mad he would be if he thought that we damaged SHIELD property by having crazy monkey sex."

"Is that how he would phrase it?"

The question made him smirk. "His version would probably be more profane."

"'Stop fucking your fucking wife in my fucking plane'," she said in an absolutely terrible, albeit hysterical, imitation of Fury. "'Can't you keep your dick in your trousers, Phil?'"

The Briticism of the word 'trousers' just made everything funnier. "No, Nick, not when my wife is around."

"Well, I am a known distraction," she said wryly. "Everyone knows that I only have to walk into a room and lust invades your mind. Who would have thought that I would turn out to be such a temptress?"

"Though I do find you very tempting, anyone who says that about you is an idiot." He turned onto his side, letting his hand rest on her stomach. "The best biochemist in the business, and certainly the fiercest."

"Maybe if I have used a bit of that fierceness with Ward…"

She let the words trail off, regret on her face. "I was so scared I couldn't see past it."

"In your shoes, I would have been scared, too." He hadn't told her that one of the highest bids had been from a very unsavory brothel in San Juan, and hoped she never asked. "Don't be blaming yourself for fear, Jem."

"It's a perfectly natural response," she said with a small, rather bitter smile. "I know."

And what could she have done, really? Ward had outweighed her, had certainly been the stronger of the two. It wouldn't have been difficult for him to break bone or hobble her physical movement in some painful, possibly permanent way.

"I know all the arguments," she continued. "I know how rational they are. I still have nightmares about hands grabbing me from behind and the floor shaking under my feet." She took in a breath that was shakier than he had expected, and he realized belatedly that she was quivering slightly under his hand. "I don't want to be scared of Skye, but I am," she admitted in a whisper. "I can't- I can't cure what she is now. I can't stop her from looking at me and seeing the catalyst for what she's become."

"I'm not sure she needs a cure. She was- is- different."

"I know." One of her hands settled over his, just as he was about to remove it for fear of unsettling her further. "I'm not talking about her 084 status- not really. Her test results were always odd, but the human side of odd, do you understand? I've seen the most recent panel of tests… she's different."

He hesitated, unsure exactly where she was going with this. "Jem-"

"That's not necessarily bad," she said quickly. "She's still Skye. But a change at that level… like..."

"Like a virus?" he asked quietly, and knew he had found the right words when she stilled under his hand.

"It's very frightening, when your body turns against you." She said the words so softly he barely heard her. "And not in the human way, like cancer or dementia. When your mere presence begins to manipulate objects in impossible ways, that's downright terrifying."

He hadn't forgotten about her first brush with death (how could he?), but apparently he had missed how deeply it continued to affect her. "There are similarities."

"I managed to cure myself. We even managed to find a cure for you. Curing Skye of this… it would be like trying to cure someone of a disease by giving them mercury to ingest. You might kill the problem, but in doing so you would kill the host."

"So she learns to deal with it."

"She will," Jemma said, with such certainty he knew that her only doubts lay in whether Skye would forgive her at the end of that road. "She's so strong, Phil."

It was only as he was settling in, starting to loop his arm over her waist in hopes of cuddling her to sleep, that she abruptly sat up and climbed out of bed. "Jemma?"

"I'll just be a moment," she replied, her voice unnaturally cheery, and disappeared out the door, her footsteps echoing lightly as she descended the steps.

He briefly considered following her. He could tell just how distraught she was under that strange tone, but also knew just how hurt she would be if he insisted on dogging her steps.

Ah well.

Steve would survive the encounter, doubtless.

"Captain Rogers!"

The way Steve whirled, startled, was gratifying. The way his eyes widened when he spotted her standing at the foot of the stairs was even more so. "Perhaps you would like some tea," she said sweetly, ignoring Jasper Sitwell as he leaned almost comically far out the door of the briefing room. "You obviously need some help relaxing."

"I wouldn't take that offer," Jasper muttered to Steve.

"I-"

She cut Steve off before he could continue, some part of her shocked at how rude she was being. "Your pacing is quite loud, Captain Rogers. Sound tends to echo in the Bus. I'm sure you hadn't realized."

She caught a glimpse of May out of the corner of her eye, and if she weren't mistaken Jemma thought that she looked rather amused. Jemma's own nerves were too frayed for the expression to have much impact.

"I apologize," Steve replied stiffly, in such a way that she knew he was only doing so for politeness' sake. "I'll be more quiet from now on." He tilted his head slightly to the side, his features shifting to something more open. "He hasn't moved from his location, anyway."

She very nearly said something cutting, but the new look in his eyes stopped her. This wasn't some random man they were tracking, after all- not even just a beloved friend- but a soulmate. Jemma knew all too well how a strained bond could tug at the mind and heart. "I think some tea might be beneficial after all," she said in a softer tone, walking past him into the small galley. "Do you have a preference?"

He hadn't relaxed, exactly, but he did follow after a moment's hesitation. "No."

Tea was a comforting ritual, from beginning to end. There was a brief moment of discomfort as the tea brewed, seconds ticking slowly away and both of them avoiding the glance of the other, but soon enough they both had a mug in front of them. Hers with a splash of milk, his with sugar (a great deal, she noted, tucking the information away for future reference).

"My serum really is very safe," she said hesitantly, hands wrapped around her mug. "I don't want you to worry about that."

"I believe you." His smile was dry and not terribly amused. "Never thought I'd have to tag and bag Bucky- but he's not really Bucky, not right now."

Jemma tried to imagine having to do the same to Phil- or Phil having to do the same to her- and instinctively shuddered. "Do you think he remembers? Even a little bit?"

"Maybe a little… just enough to confuse him."

Jemma stared down into her murky tea, thinking of Agent 33 in her vault, her placid gaze belying the formerly loyal SHIELD agent locked within. "We can find a way to bring him back."

"I hope so."

She tapped a nail against the ceramic of her cup. "You know that I'm not like Natasha, right?" she asked, the words tumbling out. "I'm reckless, not- not-"

"Reckless?" he repeated when she faltered. "Maybe. But very brave." He shrugged when she looked up at him. "We're lucky to have you on our side."

"Oh." She was blushing, she thought. "Thank you."

"Peggy would like you."

She was glad that she hadn't just taken a sip; she had a feeling that she would have spat it across the table in shock. "Really?"

Her pitch took a definite turn for the squeaky, at that.

"Really. Especially the way you tend to take the men around you down a peg or four. She would approve of that." He grinned, quick and very real. "She would probably tell you that I am the most in need of a good knocking down."

The idea that Peggy Carter might approve of her- her, Jemma Simmons- made Jemma feel a little light-headed. "That is a very great compliment."

"Even now, she's as strong-willed as ever." He took a sip of his tea, his brow creasing. "Her memory comes and goes, you know."

There was something so incredibly sad about his words- that Steve, known world-over, could be forgotten by the two people who mattered most. Jemma couldn't do anything about the natural process of aging (and wouldn't want to, even if she could- there were some things that just shouldn't be tinkered with), but retrieving Bucky Barnes' memories… that was a possibility. It would have to be done slowly, and with a great deal of care, but it could be done.

"I did hear a little about her prognosis," she acknowledged with a slight dip of her head. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, she remembers me. She just has a tendency to reset, so to speak." He shrugged again, hunching his shoulders inward. "One moment we'll be talking, and then the next it's as if she's just seeing me for the first time in decades… and so we begin again."

He had to have a lot of patience, to live with that, and certainly a great deal of compassion. "There are dangers to bonds with a significant age difference," she said softly, thinking more of the man who slept on the upper deck. "Not that yours started out that way, but…"

"Coulson seems to be in excellent shape." He glanced at her from underneath those startlingly long eyelashes, cutting right to the heart of the matter. "I don't think you need to worry about that anytime soon."

"In this line of work, who knows?"

In the silence that followed Jemma began to wonder if tea hadn't been a mistake after all. She certainly wasn't feeling very comforted, and she doubted that he was, either. The idea of Phil with a faulty memory, or a Phil who did not recognize her at all… and there were all those studies about the expected lifespan of the surviving partner after a bondmate had died. As melodramatic as it sounded, she was beginning to realize that it might actually be possible to die from a broken heart.

"I'd better go back to bed," she said finally, giving him a small, weak smile. "And so should you. Even super-soldiers need sleep, Steve."

"I promise to at least lie down," he replied, his voice and expression earnest.

"That's really all I can ask."

Phil had sprawled into her half of the bed while she was gone, but he scooted over sleepily as she tip-toed into the dark room, and curled up behind her once she had settled herself. "Good?" he murmured into her hair, one arm heavy across her waist.

She had been caught up in images of her probably future, but she forcefully pulled herself back to the present. Phil was hardly wasting away. He was vital, and the arm around her still bore an impressive amount of muscle- which went for the rest of his body, so often hidden under suits. "Good," she murmured back, snuggling back into his hold. For now, good.

As ever, what should have been simple (ish) was not, though not for the reasons Phil might have expected. Jemma's serum worked as well as she had promised, and Barnes had keeled over like a felled tree within seconds of receiving his dose.

The neighbors, though- the neighbors proved to be a problem.

"Please tell me how a brainwashed assassin managed to make friends in less than a week," Phil asked Steve in a quiet hiss, crouching beneath a windowsill as sirens and raised voices contributed to the chaos outside.

"He always was the kind of guy people flocked to," Steve muttered in response, shifting the unconscious man's body more securely over his shoulder. "And he's been away from Hydra for a while. Shit, Coulson, I wasn't expecting them to rally in his defense. Not a whole building, at least."

Barnes' ability to charm was very inconvenient, and Phil dearly hoped that he would never again have to dodge soup cans being thrown at his head. Their current hiding spot, a room that might have once been a common area, and was now some kind of glorified janitor's closet, would not be safe for very long.

"Can you make it to the roof?" May asked over the comm, her voice tense. "This won't exactly be subtle, Coulson, but it will certainly be fast."

"Can you at least keep the cloaking device on?" he asked in response, scrambling after Steve as the other man bounded ahead of him, out the door and up the stairs. "I don't want to be on the ten o'clock news, May."

"Too late. I'm waiting."

Even with what felt like the entire world watching, it was almost too easy to climb onto the Bus and escape from the icy night below. May was an amazing pilot, and his team was well-trained (to a certain extent), but…

That niggle of doubt in Phil's mind proved to be almost prophetic. They were less than ten feet from the holding cell when Barnes regained consciousness, and after scattering the lot of them like bowling pins- which was, in Phil's mind, now a much more violent metaphor- the Winter Soldier faced Steve head-on… and then dove down the hallway in the opposite direction, vaulting over Jasper and Phil himself before disappearing around a corner.

Wisely, both Phil and Jasper flattened themselves to the ground when Steve performed a similar move.

"Seriously considering locking myself in that cell," Jasper admitted in a gasp as they both scrambled to their feet. "You in, Phil?"

Phil was not 'in', nor did he have any intention of hiding. Jemma was somewhere in the Bus- probably down in the lab, where Barnes might theoretically be heading. The lab was near the exit, after all, and the man might not care that they were at least several hundred feet off the ground at this point.

It was easy to track him. Neither Barnes nor Steve were trying to be covert, and Phil was not surprised when the ruckus eventually ended in the bay of the plane.

Nor was he particularly surprised to dash onto the catwalk and be met with the sight of Jemma huddled against a wall below, Barnes mere inches away and eyeing her like a wild cat watching prey. The sight terrified him, to be sure, but Jemma drew trouble like a lodestone, and odds were she had caught Barnes' eye in an attempt to lure him away from Fitz.

Steve had slowed at the entrance of the lab, inching toward the pair, only to freeze when Barnes snarled a warning and laid a single finger against Jemma's throat.

"I know you."

His voice was rusty, as if it had been some time since he last spoken, but nonetheless Phil had the sense that he was seeing the glimmerings of an actual man in Barnes' still form… though not a man he particularly liked, given how easily he could injure Jemma.

"You know… me?" Jemma asked in a dubious tone. Phil walked quietly down the stairs, a hand on his gun. "Me?"

"Not… not mission," Barnes said, sounding frustrated. "Image."

Jemma paled in response, which- somewhat surprisingly- caused Barnes to snarl again. "The old accounts," he said in a low voice. "Images in the old accounts."

"Email?" she guessed, and he nodded slowly.

"Who hurt you, doll?"

For all that the words seemed to come easily, Barnes spoke them in a disjointed fashion, the bit of antiquated slang tacked on at the end with an almost questioning air. Jemma was giving him a puzzled look, one which gradually sharpened into an expression of intrigue. "He's dead."

Barnes drew back at that, slowly pivoting in a crouch to consider Phil and Steve. His gaze shifted suddenly to the interior of the lab, which did answer Phil's unspoken question about where Fitz was hiding.

"Safe," Jemma said quickly, and reached forward hesitantly to place a hand on the man's arm. "They're all safe."

He turned back to Jemma, hunching forward in a way that was almost as if he were imparting a secret. "My mission." His glance back at Steve was very telling. "He was my mission."

"And he's forgiven you for it." She still looked wary, but it was clear that what danger remained was not aimed at Jemma. "You aren't at fault for actions that were forced on you."

"She's telling the truth, Bucky."

The naked longing in Steve's voice felt too private for what had become such a public moment. Jemma met Phil's eyes across the distance, but she kept her spot just as he remained by the staircase. Too many emotions, too much tension… and Fitz was still stuck under that damn counter.

Barnes didn't move toward Steve, but he did rise to his feet and retreat to the other end of the lab, close to the second door. "Do I know you, punk?"

Well, that sounded promising. Sort of. Jemma seemed to be of the same mindset, because she began walking slowly towards him, Fitz following her. She paused when Barnes shifted his gaze back to her, and waved Fitz on ahead as she spoke. "Phil is my husband," she said, gesturing toward Phil. "He won't hurt me."

It was interesting how Barnes seemed to accept that as explanation enough- or perhaps he wasn't depending on her words so much as her tone. "Burns," he replied succinctly, and Phil could guess what expression might be on Jemma's face as she tried to hide how much that word had affected her.

"Healed," she said faintly. She had begun inching backward once Barnes had accepted her words, and at that reached behind her. Phil took her hand, the loop of gold around her ring finger warm against his hand. "Phil- he would never-"

Barnes' gaze slid away from her, settling on Steve once more, and Phil took the opportunity to pull Jemma up the stairs, shepherding the two scientists further along the upper deck.

"We might want to turn off the cameras." Fitz shot ahead, past Jasper and toward the briefing room. "In case it gets explicit."

"A pity we brought Lola," Jemma said, turning to Phil with a weak smile. "I hope she doesn't take too much damage."

"Lola will be fine." She came forward willingly as he pulled her into his arms, laying her head against his shoulder. "You don't need to worry."

"Never thought I would have to worry about my naked photos being spread around the internet." There was a very obvious bitter note in her voice. "After being such a good girl, and for so long."

Jasper raised a brow, looking bewildered. "So no need for extreme force?" he asked, thankfully choosing a more diplomatic topic.

"Not on our part," Phil answered, rubbing a hand soothingly against Jemma's back. "Go check on May, Jasper."

Jasper turned and left immediately, a look of relief on his face.

Jemma took in a deep, shaky breath, and then stepped away from him. "I'm okay," she said with a smile, a lie if he had ever heard one. "I'm going to… I'm going to go and scold Fitz for trying to jump in front of an assassin."

The temptation to point out that she had done exactly the same thing was very strong. "I need to contact Fury. Come and find me if things become too explosive below, okay?"

"I suppose conking Barnes on the head with a fire extinguisher is out of the question," she joked.

"I would prefer if that were a last ditch maneuver."

He lingered in the hall, watching as she walked away. Straight back, far too composed expression… she would continue on with a stiff upper lip until she collapsed from the strain.

But that was his job, wasn't it? To safeguard; to ease her troubles. He would be all too happy to do both.

Fitz accepted his scolding with an unnatural amount of grace, and Jemma knew exactly why.

"You needn't be so damn polite just because you feel sorry for me," she informed him, suddenly furious. "I won't be pitied, Fitz."

"It's more that you just scared me senseless, what with the way you shoved me under a desk and all but jumped around waving your hands in the air." The way he glared at her was comforting, in a way- this was Fitz at his irritating and protective best. "'Ooh, come and kill me; I'm Jemma Simmons and utterly fearless'."

"Again, I do not sound like that."

"Yeah, Jem, you do." He jabbed a finger at her, obviously intent on doing the scolding for once. "Yeah, and Coulson would have been a bundle of joy to be around if Barnes had broken your neck. I've still got my guarantee, remember? Your general immunity to life ran out the day Coulson strolled into our lab and nearly knocked over a bottle of acid."

Fitz had a point. Pre-soulmate time was guaranteed time: life might deliver maiming, disease, or any number of terrible things, but death before the words was virtually unheard of. She didn't think about that… at least not often.

"I can only imagine how you would have complained after the fact if I had used that as an excuse," she replied dryly, not quite ready to concede defeat. "The incident with the cat would be minor, in comparison."

"No one would want to be tossed to the wolves, Jemma."

"At least your photographs aren't being handed around like some amateur porn."

Even she hadn't expected the amount of vitriol in her voice. Rage, shame, a complete and utter helplessness that she couldn't begin to deal with- and even if Phil claimed not to resent her for it, she certainly resented herself for being unable to salvage an impossible situation.

Because it had been impossible. The biochemist who hadn't passed her field exams up against two operatives, who had been given the advantage of surprise and extensive weaponry. There hadn't been anything she could have done in that situation other than survive. She had managed that, at least.

"Not yet."

Her jaw dropped as he yanked his sweater over his head, the neckline tangling with his collared shirt and tie. "Help me get this off," he said, his voice muffled. "I'll get Sitwell to take the shots if you can't stomach it. We'll email them to Skye; she'd probably get a kick out of it."

"No. No, no, no- dammit, Fitz, keep your fucking clothes on." She began slapping at his hands once he had wrestled the sweater off and was reaching for the hem of his shirt. "I don't want this."

"You don't have to be alone in this, Jem." His gaze was harder than she had ever seen it. "Fitzsimmons, right? Platonic soulmates without the confirmation of marks. You said it."

"I was drunk."

"Yeah, well, I'll still stand by it."

"You don't have to degrade yourself like that."

Fitz froze at those words, and out of the corner of her eye Jemma caught a glimpse of some dark-clad form jerking out of sight. Jasper, of course- she never would have spotted May, and Phil would have just come running.

"No need for anyone else to be Hydra's version of the Playboy centerfold," she continued, the lame joke almost obscene in the pristine hall. Her mouth felt as if she were having a sudden allergic reaction, her throat felt constricted. "I'm sure torture porn is quite their cup of tea."

"Oh, Jem." One look at his face told her that he was out of his depth. Then again, so was she. "Coulson or May?"

"What?"

"I'll just make you mad. Coulson or May?"

May would make her punch something. Phil- Phil had enough to deal with. "Make me mad."

He groaned. "Not the answer I wanted."

"Make me mad, Fitz."

He eyed her as only a long-standing friend could, obviously weighing all of their oldest and bitterest arguments. "Pluto doesn't deserve to be a planet."

"That's child's play, Fitz. Give me something better."

"You can't carry a tune."

"Better. Keep going."

"You deserved that A minus in Professor Renault's class."

"Fuck you."

And so on.

It was only a need for some kind of normalcy that drove Phil into the galley towards noon, throwing together a meal that would hopefully please the assorted tastes of the group while still providing enough portions for the enhanced among them. Steve and Barnes were below, but Jasper had taken a peek at the feed nearly an hour or so before and informed him that everything was still in one piece.

"They're just sitting there chatting, still dressed and everything." Jasper had shrugged, the gesture joined by an eye-roll. "If I were greeting my soulmate for the first time in decades-"

"I think we all know, Jasper."

Jasper had never met his soulmate, as far as Phil knew. That probably should have tipped him off to the man's survival long before now, but he had been rather busy.

Jemma slipped into the galley as he was putting the finishing touches on the meal, leaning against the counter when he shifted to the side to make room. "Well," she said softly, "I'm afraid I've been rather foolish this morning. I know that I've driven Fitz far beyond his capacity for patience, at the very least."

"He'll forgive you." He handed her an apple slice, watching with concern as she nibbled at it with disinterest. "Anything I can do?"

"I need to see those pictures." She looked up at him as he considered her words in silence. "Not knowing will drive me mad, Phil. My imagination is far too good."

"Then we'll ask Barnes to show you." Jemma was never one to choose the route of ignorance being bliss when given the option, and he wasn't surprised that she needed to see even this. "First possible opportunity."

She nodded, casting her gaze back downward. "Maybe we should have run off while we had the chance. We could be snowed in at some snug cabin right now, or grousing about customers in that apartment above our coffee shop."

"That warrant out for our arrests might have put a hitch in those plans."

The corners of her mouth twitched into the smallest of smiles. "A fair point. It would have been lovely, though, at least for a while."

Steve and Barnes did not make an appearance for the meal, no matter how often he caught Jemma glancing toward the doorway. She toyed with her food, mainly, though made a more concentrated effort to actually eat after Fitz appeared and patted her on the shoulder with some snarky remark about the tenth Doctor.

When the pair finally did arrive above deck, both looking as if they had just attended an extensive and rather emotional psychotherapy session, Jemma was asleep on the couch in the common area.

Barnes stopped, considered her sleeping form, and then turned to Phil. "She okay?"

"She wants to see the pictures."

The other man nodded gravely, turning back to Jemma. He leaned forward, poking a finger hesitantly against her arm until she woke up. "Come on, doll."

Jemma's initial look of confusion shifted to comprehension, and she came quickly to her feet. She hesitated as she passed Phil, still sitting in his armchair. "Do you…?"

"Your choice, Jem. If you don't want me to see, I'm fine with that."

In a sense, he did want to see, but for much the same reason she did: his imagination was also very good. Jemma, though, and Jemma alone, would be the arbiter of this decision.

"I don't," she admitted. "Maybe after I know."

He gave her a gentle smile, extending a hand to take hers briefly. "Okay."

Barnes pulled up the images quickly, with no fanfare or warnings. In a way, she appreciated his directness, his willingness to show her exactly what she needed to see without trying to soften the blow first.

And it was a blow.

The nudity wasn't what she saw first, or even what had the greatest impact. Ward had chosen his stills carefully, that was clear. Her face was the dynamic center of each image, and more so the emotions that were clear in each shot: a mix of stubbornness, fear, and anger that even she could read.

He had carefully cropped the images to keep Bakshi out of the frame, but there was no doubt of what kind of scene had been captured. The lighting was too stark, and her wounds too obvious for it to be anything other than an interrogation. He had done her that much of a favor, at least: he had not tried to portray her as the seduced ingenue or a cooperative participant. This was violence and exposure, plain and simple.

Barnes hadn't moved away from his post behind her as she clicked through the images. His interest wasn't sexual, though- it wasn't even really interest. "The interrogator was Hydra," she said quietly, quickly moving past one shot that displayed her terror too clearly for her comfort. "He's dead."

"And the one who selected the images?" he asked, his voice a strange kind of matter-of-fact.

"Dead."

He crouched against the wall, balancing on the balls of his feet. "It helps to know." He said it in a way that was almost wistful, reminding her of the inevitable gaps in his memory. "Even half-machine, I want to know."

So would she, in his situation. "It isn't your fault." She leaned back in her chair, unable to look away from her own face. "I know how useless a phrase that seems when someone directs it at you, but it's true."

"You've certainly had a taste of it, doll."

With sheer force of will she minimized the screen, contemplating her next question. "How many have seen, do you think?"

"Not the grunts. Not the low-level security." He met her gaze when she turned in her chair, and she was struck by how sane he looked now, in comparison to his wildness earlier. "The brass, yes. The ones who hunt out secrets, yes." He tilted his head to the side, considering her. "Your mate knows?"

"He knows."

"Good. Makes blackmail useless, at least when it comes to keeping him in the dark."

"Even if he didn't, I would tell him before giving in to their demands."

"Even better." He reached forward, tapping his finger against the black lettering on her collarbone. "Keep him close, doll."

It was difficult to stand and walk away from the small laptop, even instinctually knowing that those images, having reached Bucky, would not be going any further. She managed a few steps before turning. "Can we do anything for you?"

The slow grin was surprising, but it did answer the question of how he had charmed his neighbors in so short a time. "Don't give me another mickey finn. It had an uncomfortable kick."

"Oh." The word was faint, and she was blushing furiously. "I tried to make it as gentle as possible while still being efficacious."

His grin did not fade. "I've had worse."

Phil followed her up to their quarters when she re-emerged, sitting a circumspect distance away from her on the couch once she had settled in.

"You are terribly far away," she noted, and bit her lip. "Will you move closer?"

"Gladly." He moved to sit hip-to-hip with her, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "I didn't want to overwhelm you."

With a sigh of relief she drew up her legs, angling herself so that she could place them over his lap and lean into his embrace. "The pictures are very bad, Phil."

"I'm so sorry, Jem."

And he did sound regretful, and all for her sake. He held her more firmly, pulling her further onto his lap, and it was more comforting than she could have expressed. "They don't make me look like a willing participant, at least," she added.

A minor blessing. She still didn't want anyone to see them- still didn't want Phil to see them, though that was partially because his anger would be enough to make him do something rash. And there was the fear that someone, someday, might mail copies to her parents, both so totally in the dark when it came to her actual life.

He lifted one hand and pressed a finger under her chin, exerting gentle pressure until she looked up. "I love you, Jemma."

She couldn't help but smile at his sincerity. "And I love you."

"I love every inch of you."

"I know."

Two more fingers slipped under her chin in an obvious caress, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the feeling. "That is nice. No wonder cats purr when people scratch under their chins."

She peeked up at him after a few more minutes of bliss, catching the furrow on his brow. "Are you still with me?"

He blinked, looking surprised, and then pulled her closer. "Always, and as ever, with you."