Chapter 1

Welcome to the beginning of the story.

Late Spring 1942

Camp Lehigh, New Jersey

"Come on, cadets!" A woman called, walking towards a huddle of men. Her scarlet lips were pursed; her short victory curls away from her face. "Get in line!" The fifteen men who were previously in a huddle scurried apart and jogged up to her, lining up in a single rank side by side. She stepped in front of them.

Each one of the men had a determined look in their eye. They seemed tough, but she would make them tougher.

For half a minute, she didn't say a word; she just examined them. One of them, a tall and lanky man with dark hair, started to falter under her gaze. She tried not to smirk. She opened her mouth, about to introduce herself, but a voice spoke up before she could.

"What's a pretty dame like you doing out here?" The woman's eyes went to the man. "Don't you think it's a little dangerous?"

The woman's lips pursed, but she looked at him with emotionless eyes. He was tall, almost towering over her 5'6 frame (she would've been 5'3 without her heels, so thank the lord for the boost), but she wasn't intimidated. Instead she just raised an eyebrow.

"What's your name, cadet?" She asked, stepping in front of him. The other men in the ranks eyed her as she talked to the man. She practically oozed of power, but Hunts didn't back down from her, or avoid her eyes.

"Hunts, ma'am," He replied, a smirk growing on his face. He was challenging her.

The woman internally cringed at the look Hunts was giving her. He was looking down at her with a dark, lusty look in his eyes. He looked down at her lips for a split second, and the woman almost lost it.

"Well, Hunts," she sneered, taking a step back, and crossing her arms. Her brown dress uniform tugged on her shoulders as her arms came across her chest. "I think I'm a little more qualified to be out there than you are right now."

Hunts burst out laughing. He was bending, grabbing his stomach, his mouth open from the laughter pouring out of it. The woman clenched her jaw. She was close to seeing red.

"A dame?" He howled. "In a war? You've got to be kidding me!" His howls stopped him from talking for a while. "You pretty little things should be back at home!" The woman eyed him, a glare developing in her eye, and she uncrossed her arms. Her right fist clenched rightly. Though her nails weren't long, she felt them dig into her palm. She stepped towards him.

"Put your right foot forward, soldier," she said. His howling ceased, turning into snickers and snorts, but he obeyed. Before Hunts knew it was coming, the woman socked him in the jaw, and his laughter abruptly stopped. He fell flat to the ground, clenching his face and groaning.

Some of the cadets in the rank gaped; others snickered under their breath. Hunts' left hand was on the quick-forming bruise on his eye, his eyes clenched shut and teeth clenched in pain. The woman tried not to look smug, but her efforts were futile. A smug smile slowly made it's way to her face. Not so brave and almighty now, was he?

"What are you doing Hunts?" She taunted, bending down to him as he opened his uninjured eye. The smug look on her face didn't disappear as he groaned again, and tried to open his now-swollen eye. "Did I tell you that you can lay down on the ground and sulk like an infant?" Hunts' swollen eye opened with lighting speed, and he scrambled back up to get into the rank.

The men around her were all gaping. The same thought was going through the minds' of all the men: Who was this woman?

Hunts' hand was still on his swollen eye. "No ma'am," he mumbled.

"What's that?" The woman asked, cupping a hand to her ear. "I couldn't hear you." Hunts refused to make eye contact with her. A few of the men around Hunts started to snicker.

"No ma'am," he said again, his voice stronger. A smug smile made it's way onto the woman's face, and she stepped back from the cadet.

"Welcome to Camp Lehigh, cadets," She announced, a grin developing on her face. "All of you are the newest recruits to the 107th Infantry Regiment. I'm Agent Kennedy, the one in charge of your training here. I'm the one who decides if you pass or fail, so don't tick me off." The smiles on the cadets' slowly disappeared as they took her words in. "Welcome to the beginning of the twelve hardest weeks of your life."

By the end of the first week, her cadets were dead.

Not literally, of course. They just felt like they were. They all swore Agent Kennedy was trying to kill them. Her soldiers were getting it worse than any other troop. They were working harder than everyone else was, and it was not making them happy.

It was the sixth day, and the agent's soldiers were already more sore than they've ever been in their lives.

So far, it was the nicest day that Camp Lehigh has seen all spring. Agent Kennedy stepped out of the car she was in, and leaned against it. In the far distance, she could see her group of men running towards her.

Sweaty was the first thing that came to her mind when she saw them up close. Their Kelly green tunics were drenched in sweat, their hair so soaked they looked like they just came fresh out of a shower. They were still a distance away, running towards her. Their rucksacks bounced on their backs as their feet pounded on the ground, creating a small tremor in the ground that even the agent felt.

Their trainer began to yell at one of the men at the back who began to slow down.

"Parsley, come on!" He slowed down his jog to be next to the struggling man. "My grandmother runs faster than you!" The soldier, Parsley, seemed to have groaned before setting his eyes on the men in front of him, and picking up his speed to catch up. His chest was heaving, his mouth wide open as he tried to take in some air between steps.

They were about thirty feet away from Agent Kennedy at this point, and she decided that now would be a good time to let them know to slow down. She abandoned the car and stepped into the middle of the road. Her heels dug slightly into the sand with each step, making her put more effort into trying not to fall.

"Damn these heels," she mumbled as she looked down at her heels. She despised the fact that he had to wear them every day with her uniform. The blisters on her feet begged for something more comfortable, but she knew that it was on a blue moon that she would be able to wear any other shoes.

She looked back up to her soldiers as she heard the trainer shout to the soldiers to slow down. The men wordlessly agreed, breathing heavily as they slowed their pace to a slow jog, and then a walk.

Up close, they looked even worse than they did at a distance. Their hairs were matted to their foreheads, particularly a man who's name she learned to be Barnes. He refused to cut off the hair that sat atop his head. He claimed it would 'take away from his charm'. When she heard him say this, her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head. Though it wasn't a bad thing that he cared about his looks, the hair posed problems during training.

"How do you boys feel?" She yelled as the exhausted men lined up before her. She didn't get much of a response other than heavy breathing, some wheezing, and the clattering of rucksacks.

"Come on," she teased. "Running isn't this bad, and it doesn't get any easier from here." She didn't get a response for a few seconds.

"I'm okay," one man finally wheezed. She turned to the voice, and identified the soldier as Barnes. He was bent down, his shaking hands on his knees. His tunic was drenched, his knees beginning to quiver. He let out a loud breath, and straightened his back. He took a few deep, heaving breaths. "Let's do it again."

All of the men started, complaining and calling out Barnes while the agent chuckled.

"Don't get so excited, Barnes. You're not done yet," she told him. "You're still running another mile and a half before you reach your barracks." The men groaned again. Did they not know how to many any sound other than a groan?

The men's packs were all on the ground, their empty rifles carefully lying on top of them. The men were still wheezing, and the agent sighed.

"I'll be nice you ladies, and let you take a break," she said, taking a step closer to them and crossing her arms. "But first, drop your packs and give me fifty!" This time the men didn't groan, and obeyed her. Without a word, they all dropped to the ground, getting into push up position and beginning the fifty.

She was happy that they no longer argued with her. Though they could groan, they would never challenge her. They learnt not to. The last time someone did (and that someone was Hunts), the whole troop ended up doing laps around the barracks in the cold at 0300 hours.

The energy that the men had at the beginning of the push ups quickly disappeared. As she walked between the soldiers, she noticed that most were barely lifting their arms, just bobbing their heads up and down. To her, those were phoney push-ups. Every man that did phoney push-ups got a heel in their back, and a face full of sand as they were forced down into the sandy road.

There were only four men who finished all fifty push-ups, one of them being Barnes.

Over the course of the week, she had learnt to respect him. Of course, she respected other soldiers in her troop, but none of them earned it as much as Barnes did.

Not only was he a good recruit, but as a good person too. He respected her as an agent, and he gave her the same amount of respect as he did to other male agents. And, from what she knew, he never spoke of her in a degrading way behind her back either.

It was sad to say that he was the first man to treat her with this much respect since she arrived at Camp Lehigh a year and a half ago.

She caught up with reality and looked back at all her soldiers. They were all lying on the ground on their stomachs, arms and legs splayed out like a star. The agent walked over to the trainer, who was trying to fan out his tunic. She called his attention to her.

"Give them another five or so minutes to cool down," she told him, and he nodded. "Lead them back to the camp, and tell them to eat lunch and meet me at the firing range at 1300 hours." The man nodded again and saluted. She saluted back, and began to walk back to the car standing on the side of the road.

She climbed into the passenger seat, and looked to the driver.

"My office, please," she told the young man. He replied with a curt 'yes ma'am', and started the car.

An hour later, the agent found herself writing her soldiers' weekly reports at a picnic table outside. She couldn't waste the day writing indoors, not when nice days like these came so scarcely at this time in the season.

She looked down at the reports on the table. This batch of soldiers were much more obedient than her last, so her reports were mostly good. She thanked the lord for that. The other agents around this camp always complained about their men, saying they 'never took them seriously enough', that 'they weren't fit enough', or that they 'never listened'.

One man in particular came to her mind when she thought of those agents. Agent Hobbs, one of her colleagues, hated her just because her soldiers respected her more than his soldiers respected him. And the best part was, his hatred for her was based of the fact that she was a woman.

The agent shook her head, getting rid of her thoughts, and continued writing. Her messy penmanship was scribbled all over the paper as she wrote about the soldiers. Hunts seems as if he knows what he is doing here – he's a soldier who follows orders from those he thinks he should respect. The problem is he does not show respect to those he thinks does not deserve it. The soldier needs to learn how to listen to everyone who have a higher rank them him –

"I think your hand is going to fall off if you keep writing," a somewhat familiar voice said behind her. Her pen stalled on the paper, looked up from her report to the man behind her. Barnes was standing there, a plate in hand and peeking down at her report.

He wasn't allowed to read their reports, so she quickly shut the folder and capped her pen.

"Shouldn't you be eating lunch with the rest of the trainees?" The agent asked, setting her pen down on the stack of papers. Barnes shrugged, and sat across her. He placed the plate in his hand in front of her. The agent looked down at the plate. On it was a simple sandwich, the same ones that the mess hall made every single day for lunch. She looked back up at Barnes, and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Noticed you haven't grabbed anything since lunch started, so I brought a little something," he explained. The agent looked down at the sandwich, and back up at him.

"Your mother raised you well," Agent Kennedy, taking one half of the sandwich from the plate, and raising it towards her mouth. She chewed before swallowing her bite. "Why go out of your way to sneak me a sandwich? I know they only allow one portion a person."

Barnes leaned his elbows on the table. He looked like he was in thought. He also seemed to have changed from his earlier sweaty clothes into another issued Kelly green tunic, an off-white shirt peeking out under it, and trousers. Even from two feet away, the agent could smell the fresh smell of soap coming off from him. At least he showered after their run. She hoped the other men followed his example. The agent wasn't sure she could stand the smell of sweat for anymore than a few seconds, let alone the hours she was supposed to spend with them.

Barnes finally spoke up, and when he did the agent lifted her eyes to his. "You remind me of someone back home."

"I hope it's not a woman," the agent blurted. When she did, she tried to not make it seem like it was an accident. She managed to resist the urge to clap her hand over her mouth. Instead she took another bite of her sandwich, and elaborated. "You're all over the women here." She told him. "I'll even go as far as pin you as a ladies man. I can't imagine what would happen if your woman found out." Barnes burst out laughing, and covered his eyes with his right palm. The agent stared at him as she took another bite. Did he not think that the nurses talked about him? His cluelessness brought a small smile to her face.

"No, no, definitely not a woman," Barnes replied. "My best friend, actually." She raised her eyebrow at him. His best friend? If not a woman, then his best friend would be a man, and how could she remind him of another man? She guessed he noticed the muddled look on her face, and started to explain.

"He's usually underestimated, because of his size. I think he's the same height as you." The agent's eyes widened slightly. Is his best friend a young teenager? She looked at Barnes with a confused look. He didn't seem like the type of man to be friends with someone ten years younger than him.

"He's my age," Barnes continued. "Just with a lot of health issues. He's constantly getting beat up in alleyways by bullies for trying to defend other people. Every time he fights, he always loses, and he says the silliest thing: 'I had him on the ropes.'" Barnes chuckled at himself. "After every fight, he says that he'll try to not get into any more fights. And you know where I find him the next day? In an alleyway fighting." He had a nostalgic smile on his face, and for some reason it made the agent's mouth quirk up in a lopsided smile.

"I don't spend my free time beating up bullies, you know," she told him, finishing off the sandwich. "I have too much paperwork to be doing that." Barnes chuckled again.

"No," he agreed. "Not that I've seen yet. But you're a fighter."

"What?" The agent furrowed her eyebrows.

"You don't take anyone's crap," Barnes elaborated. His eyes suddenly widened and he started stuttering. " Sorry – erhm – I mean – excuse my language," Agent Kennedy had an amused look on her face. Did he think she'd never heard cussing? She lived on the same grounds as Colonel Phillips, she's heard about every cuss word in the English dictionary. Though it was amusing to see Barnes stutter like that in front of her, she stopped him and told him to continue and not worry about cussing in front of her.

"When Hunts talked to you on the first day," Barnes continued, "You punched him down so fast I don't think I saw him fall." The agent smirked. She did have good knuckles for punching.

"Socking him in the jaw was the most fun I'd had in a while," she admitted. And it was true, for the past while didn't have the time to do anything exciting like boxing, running, sparring, or any other physical activity for that matter. All she had time for was paperwork. "Usually men don't talk out of place when I'm around. They may talk smack about me to each other, but never did to my face. When Hunts degraded me as an agent because of my gender, something inside me snapped." Barnes nodded.

"You taught him a good lesson," he told her, leaning his cheeks into his palms. "I think he learned it."

There was a short silence, until Barnes clapped his hands together as if he just remembered something and pointed a finger to her.

"What was that thing you said earlier about me being a 'ladies man'?" The agent looked at him, a surprised look on her face until a grin took over her face. She grabbed her pen from the pile of files, and started playing with it.

"Nurses talk, Barnes," she taunted, pointing the pen at him. Barnes weaved a hand through his hair, and laughed.

"I can't say I'm too surprised about that when I think about it," he admitted. They were grinning and laughing, probably looking stupid to anyone walking by.

She was about to reply when a high-pitched voice called her name.

"Brooklyn!" Her smile stretched as she recognized the voice. Eleanor, a young nurse she befriended when she first started working at Camp Lehigh, was swiftly walking towards her. Her hand was in the air, waving at her as a smile adorned her face.

Agent Kennedy got up and turned to the nurse. She was off duty, today being her one-day off, and she walked to the agent in a loose beige skirt, a white blouse, and a pair of simple brown flats. She was in the process of gathering her files when Barnes spoke up behind her.

"Brooklyn?" Barnes asked. Agent Kennedy turned back to him and nodded, shrugging slightly.

"That's my first name, why?" she asked. He shook his head and beamed, crossing his arms.

"That's where I'm from," he replied, the smile still on his face.

"That's where my mother's from too," the agent replied.

"Brooklyn!" Eleanor was close, only a few steps from her. Her hair was styled nicely, curls running down mid-back, different from how she normally slicked it back.

She slowed her walk, and stopped when she was right behind the agent. She was tall, and the fact that Brooklyn was sitting down was not making her feel any taller next to her. The agent looked up at the nurse, expecting her to be looking down at her, but she realized she wasn't even looking in her direction. Instead, she was looking at Barnes. Brooklyn turned back to Barnes, and looked in between them. She smiled slightly.

"I would introduce you two, but it seems you two already know each other," Brooklyn teased. Eleanor blushed, and looked down at her feet, and Barnes turned away from Brooklyn's teasing eye and looked back to Eleanor.

"Eleanor," he greeted, tipping his head slightly and smiling at her.

"Bucky," she replied, giggling. Brooklyn looked back and forth from Eleanor to Barnes, and shook her head, smiling softly. Barnes was smiling wide. She noticed how it was lopsided, and he had dimples. Brooklyn guessed this was the smile that women fall for him.

Brooklyn looked back to Eleanor, who seemed to be more flustered than when she first arrived.

"Anyways," Brooklyn said, looking down at her watch. "Barnes you have twenty minutes until you need to be formed up." She stood up, and gathered her files, putting them against her chest.

She turned back to Barnes as she started to step away, and pointed her free finger at him. "Be late, and I'll make you do PT instead of letting you fire the rifle you're learning how to shoot."

From that point on, once a week while Brooklyn was writing her reports, Barnes would come and join her, sandwich in hand. She would eat the sandwich, and they would talk about things that didn't involve the war raging across the ocean.

Among a multitude of different things Brooklyn learnt about Barnes, a few notable things were that he was the eldest child of the family, and he had a little sister. Her name was Rebecca, and she was six years younger than him. His best friend, whom she reminded him of, was named Steve Rogers. The two went to school together, but only became best friends when Barnes saved him from two bullies who were trying to steal Steve's lunch money.

She also learnt that he had a good sense of humour, and could make conversation practically out of anything. And though he was what Brooklyn considered a 'ladies man', he respected women. He admitted that he played around a bit, but never tried to lead the girl on if after the first date if he felt that he wasn't the one, and he never forced them to do anything they didn't want to do.

From what Brooklyn could see at camp, she knew she could believe him. Him and Eleanor didn't work out that well, with her needing to leave overseas and him not feeling that she was the one. He didn't lead her on after he felt that she wasn't what he wanted, and from what Eleanor told her, he never even kissed her.

After their fourth lunch together, Brooklyn began to really consider Barnes as more than her recruit, but more of a friend. She didn't have many friends at this camp, she was pretty sure she could count them all on one hand. Most of them she'd left back home.

Barnes and Brooklyn didn't talk a lot outside their weekly lunches. They didn't even call each other by their first names. She still called him Barnes, and he still called her a mix of ma'am and agent.

"Come on, Barnes," Brooklyn motioned to him as she got up. The sun was shining today. It was the beginning of May, and the end of the fifth week of training.

Brooklyn capped her pen and placed it on the pile of files laid out on the table. She straightened her dress jacket, and fixed her short curls so they seems a bit less frizzy. "You have twenty minutes until you have to be formed up." She picked up her files, and cradled them to her chest as she always did. "You're practising hand-to-hand today, so be ready."

"Sounds exciting," he replied, getting up with her. He brushed a hand through his hair, and straightened out his shirt. In the five weeks Barnes had been here, she noticed a difference in his physique. His shoulders broadened, and his arms became bigger and more toned. He looked healthier than he did when he first arrived at Camp Lehigh. She hated to admit it to herself, but he was attractive.

"Gather everyone else and get to the field," she told him. "I've decided you'll be practising outside since the weather is on our side today." He nodded, and a smile appeared on his face.

"See you in a bit, ma'am," he told her, tipping his head slightly. She smiled back at him.

"Try not to get hit too hard, Barnes," she told him. "I heard that ladies don't like black eyes!" She turned back away from him, and started walking away. She heard him laugh behind her. She even let out a laugh herself, and continued her walk towards her office.

Brooklyn took her time getting there. Her mind didn't wander to Barnes; thank the lord, but instead to the upcoming training. Hand-to-hand combat was her favourite part of the basic training curriculum. Though she wasn't ever going to admit it out loud, she was excited to see her soldiers get smashed into the ground. Up to this day, every single hand-to-hand training session her soldiers had she had to miss. It was either Phillips breathing down her neck, or the paperwork she had to complete, she's always had to miss it. But, today was the day she was finally going to see how they were doing.

As she walked into her office to put down the folders, a private came running in and calling her name.

"Agent Kennedy!" He called, coming up to her. He was breathing heavily, his dress uniform looking slightly dishevelled. Had he run all the way from across camp? She turned to him, and crossed her arms.

"Yes private?" She asked, leaning back on her table. He exhaled one last breath, and straightened his tie.

"Colonel Phillips told me to tell you that you need to teach the hand-to-hand to your troop, right now." Brooklyn's eyes widened, and her heart skipped a beat. She had to teach it? Her mind was racing, and she hoped that she seemed calm and controlled on the outside.

"Excuse me?" She asked, her voice laced with confusion. Her mind went to the current trainer teaching them. "What's wrong with Ernest?"

"Ernest came down with a bad case of the flu. He's in no condition to fight." Brooklyn sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. She took her weight off the table and stood on her own feet.

"And what does Colonel Phillips have to do with this?" she asked, looking up at the private. He shrugged slightly.

"He just told me to tell you that you need to teach today," he told her. "I'm guessing Ernest told him he was sick, and so he delegated you to the job." Brooklyn sighed. If Phillips told her to each it, there really must be no one else able to teach it.

"And are you sure that you can't find anyone else?" The private shook his head.

"I've scoured the whole camp. Everyone's either busy, or doesn't know the skills well enough to teach them." Brooklyn sighed. How did that make sense? A whole camp filled with perfectly capable agents, and she was the one who needed to teach.

"Very well," she sighed. "But tell Colonel Phillips I'll be having a talk with him later about the staff on this campground." Her voice was stern, and the private visibly gulped and nodded. He saluted at her before rushing out of the office.

Brooklyn closed her eyes and muttered a string of words that no lady should be saying before looking down at her clothes. She would have to change out of her heels and skirt, there was no way she would teach a group full of men to fight with her skirt threatening to fly up.

She walked out of her office, and into the direction of the female barracks. She looked down at her watch. Eight minutes until she had to be at the field. As Brooklyn walked, she began to contemplate what was going to happen. She loved hand-to-hand, her father had taught her to fight back at home when she was younger. Though she didn't like it much at first, she learned to love the thrill of the fight. On top of the skills taught in the family, she completed the training needed to get the rank of Agent, and developed more even skills. She had gotten very good at it, and excelled everyone at this camp.

Deep down, Brooklyn knew she was the best person to ask to teach, but she really did not want to do this. She hated showing off what she can do. She hated needing use these skills.

As she walked, Brooklyn looked at her watch. Seven minutes until she had to be formed up. She was going to be late if she walked at this pace. She could barely speed walk in her heels, let alone run, so she eventually she gave up and threw off her shoes. Holding them in her hand, she began to run to her barrack. It felt refreshing to run again, to feel her toes dig into the hardened sand, even if through her stockings. Her lungs didn't ache as her feet pounded on the hard ground. Her heart rate barely picked up. She was in very good shape, even if she hasn't done PT for what's been five weeks, and she felt good.

It took her two minutes to get to her door. She jogged up the steps, and slammed open the door. Her chest was heaving and her hair was dishevelled as she ran to her bed at the far end of the room. She threw her heels down beside the foot of her bed and heard them clatter on the wooden floors as she opened her wardrobe.

Her hands rummaged through the small wooden closet, eventually pulling out a pair of brown trousers and an off-white t-shirt that was given to her when she first arrived at the camp. It read 'Camp Lehigh' on the back.

She slid her dress uniform off, her fingers fumbling as she tried to hang it back onto its hanger. Eventually she succeeded, and hung it up before turning away from the wardrobe and shoving the more comfortable clothing on. Brooklyn didn't think she'd ever had to get ready this fast. She quickly looked down at her watch. One minute until she had to be on the field.

Once her clothes were on, she took a deep breath. They were much more comfortable than her dress uniform; she'd have to talk to Phillips about letting her wear this every day. Brooklyn tucked her shirt into her pants, slid a thin belt into the waistband, and trudged on a pair of combat boots. She hadn't worn them in a while, and she forgot how much time it took to fully lace them up. It was a pain.

She looked at her watch. She was already a minute late.

She tied the last lace, jumped up from her bed, shut her wardrobe doors closed, and ran out of the barracks. She heard the front door slam behind her as her feet pounded down the wooden steps, and onto the sandy road. She was almost sprinting. As she ran she heard a series of catcalls, most likely from the recruits that arrived a few days ago. She had to physically stop herself from rolling her eyes as she ran.

As her boots collided with the beaten-down roads, Brooklyn lifted her wrist to look down at her watch. She was three minutes late. She's never been this late, and she still had at least two minutes of more running until she reached her destination.

Letting out a loud exhale of breath, she picked up her pace. Brooklyn's heart pounded in her chest as she ran down the streets. She passed cars and men doing drill. Some privates and agents saluted her as she ran, but she didn't spare the time or the effort to salute back.

Brooklyn was keenly aware that her carefully-styled hair was now ruined. The short curls that usually framed her face must've been frizzy and tangled, the roots wet with perspiration. Her scarlet lipstick was probably mostly wiped off. The only thing she really had left on her face was her powder and a small bit of eye makeup.

She could see the field in the distance now, and she slowed down her pace a bit. As she jogged, her breathing slowed down, and she caught her breath. She tried to compose herself a bit as she stepped closer to the soldiers standing out on the field.

Brooklyn was a few steps away from her men when she spoke up. "Sorry I'm late," she told them, taking a few deep breaths in to attempt to bring down her heart to a normal rate. "I had to change." She put her hands over her hair, trying to smooth it down.

"Where's our trainer?" One of her men asked. She turned to the man, and found it was Jones who spoke. She looked to him, and pointed to herself.

"She's standing right here," she told him. Jones' eyebrows raised so much they almost touched his hairline.

"You?" he asked. Brooklyn nodded.

"Are you doubting me?" she asked, crossing her arms. "I thought I taught you all to not when I socked Hunts so hard he sulked." Jones didn't crack, but the rest of the soldiers did. From the corner of her eye she saw Hunts' face go beet red. Whether it was from embarrassment or anger she didn't know.

"Are you sure you can fight us?" Hunts asked. She looked to him. His face was a little less red now, and he had a daring look in his eye. She returned the look. This was the first time he's spoken directly to her without being asked to since the first day. "We've all easily got at least fifty pounds on you." Brooklyn snorted.

She forgot she's never been present for the hand-to-hand training. They've never seen her fight.

"I've brought down men heavier than you, Hunts," she told him. She uncrossed her arms. "Now come on, I didn't come here to argue with you about whether or not I can bring you down."

"We're wasting daylight with you here teaching us," Hunts said, his voice almost sneering. Brooklyn's eye twitched, her fist clenched, and she almost growled. She wasn't too surprised at her reaction, but she never growled before. Ladies don't growl.

Before she could sneer something back at Hunts, Barnes spoke up.

"Well I'm sure that if she's standing here about to train us, she can teach us," Barnes said, crossing his arms. Hunts rolled his eyes.

"Defending your dame's honour, Barnes?" He asked. Two of the men whom Brooklyn knew were Hunts' closer friends snickered. Barnes' eyes went hard, and his fists clenched. The same thing happened to Brooklyn. She wasn't anyone's dame. She was an agent of the SSR. She was a successful woman. She was a daughter, a sister, and a best friend. Not anyone's dame. Before Barnes could open his mouth, Brooklyn spoke up, a glare in her eyes.

"I'm not anyone's dame, Hunts," she told him, her voice strong. She took a step closer to him, and she saw him gulp. "I want you to remember whom you're speaking to." She took another step towards him.

"If you think I'm going to fight a woman, then you're wrong." Hunts replied almost immediately. She noticed his right leg twitched, as if he was about to take a step back. He didn't though. He crossed his arms and stood strong.

"Are you scared that I'm going to beat you Hunts?" Brooklyn taunted. "Are you scared that a woman will knock you down?" Hunts' jaw clenched. "If I did, it wouldn't be the first time." Her teasing was getting to him, but he still stood tall and didn't move.

"I have morals, ma'am. And hitting a woman is not one of them."

"Well then don't imagine me as a woman. Fight me as if you're fighting a Nazi." He narrowed his eyes at her and then looked her up and down. Brooklyn noticed his eyes darken. She had an idea of what he was going to say next. Her fists clenched tighter, and she felt the biting pain of her fingernails biting into her palms.

"It's going to be hard to not imagine you as a woman, ma'am." Some of the men gaped at Hunts bluntness. Brooklyn took a deep breath in, trying to calm herself, and dug her heels into the soft dirt that was under the short-clipped grass. She took another deep breath, and unclenched her fists.

"What if you're forced to fight against a female Nazi?" She asked, her voice very calm. "Are you not going to fight her because she's a woman?" Hunts and the other men looked at her. She eyed them.

"The Germans don't bring women into the fight," Hunts grumbled. The way he said it, she knew he thought she was right, but his pride wasn't letting him agree with her. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"As a matter of fact, they do, and if you run into them are you going to let her kill you because you're not willing to fight?" Brooklyn took a step towards Hunts, and crossed her arms. "You're going to die in an instant out there if you think like that." The men didn't say anything, and there was a moment of silence.

"If I ask you to spar with me I am doing it for your benefit," she started. "I don't like teaching for this very reason. But, I'm the best one in this camp, and if you don't believe me then you can ask any of the other trainers. They'll agree if their pride will let them. I've beat them all." The men looked at her, their eyes becoming wider and wider with each second. She bet they didn't expect her to say that. Even Barnes looked surprised.

"If you don't want me to teach you then you can bring it up with Colonel Phillips." There was another moment of silence.

"If you're so amazing then why aren't you a trainer?" Jones asked, his voice judging.

"Because that's below my pay grade," Brooklyn replied, shrugging. "I'm an agent, quite a few ranks above you. Keep that in mind." Another silence. She decided to speak up again.

"When I ask you to fight so you can learn how not to die, you will listen to me and fight. I don't care what your morals are, because when you're out there in Europe morals don't exist. You show a shred of mercy and you will be pumped full with lead." The men were speechless. "The Nazis aren't known for their compassion. And if they aren't then should you be? They might pull the most surprising move on you, and you have to be controlled enough to think through it and get through it. Having female soldiers may be one of their moves." She looked at her men. They were silent, their eyes avoiding hers. "If you really have a problem with fighting me, then I can dismiss you from this camp right now and you'll be sent home. Am I understood?" The men all nodded. They were speechless. She eyed each one of them, more-so Hunts than the others, but he avoided her glance and was playing with his fingers.

Brooklyn pursed her lips, closed her eyes and cracked her neck. The cracking sound resounded around her and the soldiers.

"Okay," she started, rolling her shoulders. "Now that that whole ordeal is over with, let's start today's lesson. I don't know how Ernest usually does this, so we're going to do it my way." The men nodded in agreement. They didn't argue with her now.

"Good. Everyone, find a partner. One by one you'll spar, and I'll assess you. Odd one out will have to find a volunteer who's willing to spar twice." The men scurried around in attempt to find a partner, and within a minute, seven pairs and one group of three were in front of her. She pointed to the pair on her very left, and motioned for them to come forward. It was Barnes and Jones.

She smiled, and knew this was about to get interesting. Barnes had told her about all the fights that he got into to save Steve, and she had a feeling that Jones was going to be on the ground very soon. She looked to Barnes, and he smirked at her. She winked back.

"Now remember," she started, looking from Jones to Barnes. "In a fight there are no rules. Because this is such an important point, I'm not setting any rules." She motioned for everyone to gather around Barnes and Jones, and everyone made a circle. "Just do me a favour and don't kill each other. May the best man stay win."

Barnes looked at Jones, and lifted his fists to his face.

"Try not to give me a black eye," Barnes told Jones. "The ladies don't like that." He looked at Brooklyn, and gave her a lopsided smile.

"No promises, Barnes," Jones replied. "You've been pissing me off a little lately. I might take all my anger out on you." Jones lifted his fists to cover his face, and the two began circling each other.

Brooklyn watched them intently, trying to pick out weaknesses, but they both weren't making any moves on each other.

"Anytime today," she called, crossing her arms. She tapped her toe on the grass a few times. Nothing happened for a few more seconds, until Jones threw a punch. It was fast, but Barnes dodged to the left, ducking under it, and giving him a hit to his ribs. Brooklyn nodded along to his moves. Jones groaned, but didn't fall. Brooklyn could see the rage starting to appear in his eyes, and she pursed her lips.

"Stay controlled, Jones!" she yelled. "You getting all angry will make you sloppy!" Jones didn't listen to her, because in the next second he threw another punch at Barnes' face. It looked strong, but Barnes saw it coming. It was the exact same move as the one before, and Barnes dodged just as he did last time, and hit Jones in the ribs again.

He's leaving himself all open! Brooklyn internally screamed. He would've gotten a knife in him by now!. Barnes was attacking him now, striking him left and right, too fast for Jones to stop. There was blood coming out of his nose and his mouth. The men around her were howling, yelling at him to get back up and fight. Barnes threw one last punch before turning his body, lifting his leg, and roundhouse kicking him in his face. Brooklyn winced as Jones fell to the ground, groaning.

"Thanks for leaving my face out of it," Barnes grinned, hopping from one foot to the other.

"Good job Barnes," Brooklyn told him as Barnes approached Jones and extending him a hand. Jones took it.

She looked to Jones. He was pinching his bleeding nose. "Jones however, you need to keep your rage in check. You got angry and sloppy. Your moves are too predictable, and you're keeping your body open and susceptible to more damage. Cover the openings. Work on that." He nodded, limping off to the side to sit down. Brooklyn ignored his winces, and turned to the rest of her men.

"That goes for all of you!" She told them. "You stay in control, no one cares about your pride in Europe. In any fight, your opponent will try to rattle you, to make you sloppy, but you keep your mind clear. Everybody understand?" A chorus of 'yes ma'am's ran out throughout her men. "Alright then, who's up next?"

"You know, you should let me see that report you're writing," Barnes said from behind Brooklyn. She didn't turn to him, but smiled into her papers. She closed the file as he sat across from her, a plate in his hand. He slid it towards her, and she took the sandwich sitting on it into her hands.

"You know I can't do that, Barnes," I told him, taking a bite. He rolled his eyes. She chewed her sandwich, closing her eyes as she savoured the crunchy taste of lettuce and juicy tomatoes, until she looked back at Barnes. He was looking at her with this intuitive look, a soft smile on his face, and for some reason she felt her cheeks redden.

"You're no fun, doll," he told her, smiling. She rolled her eyes.

"I am very fun," she informed him, putting down her sandwich. "But when it comes to Colonel Phillips watching my every move, I tend to be a bit more serious." She chuckled at herself, which led him to smile again. She took another bite of her sandwich.

"I've only seen him once, but he does seem intimidating," he said. She nodded, and swallowed her bite.

"He can be a real softie sometimes, though. I mean, if he let a woman set foot onto base that wasn't a nurse, but an agent of all things, he must be all mushy on the inside." Bucky furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head.

"Well, he made the right choice," he told her. Brooklyn tilted her head, and motioned for him to continue. He combed a hand through his hair. "I mean, you're an amazing agent. You're smart, a good leader, and you don't take anything from any of the other men on this base say about you. You know how to train soldiers, you've done it better than any of the other male agents on this base, whether they want to admit it or not." Brooklyn gaped at him, her eyes wide. She was speechless. Could he actually mean that?

For a few seconds, she didn't say anything. She was trying to process it all. What he said, that was the most heart-warming, nicest thing anyone has ever said to her since she arrived at this camp. She almost didn't believe Barnes, but then again, why would he lie to her? To get you into bed, a small voice whispered in her head, but she quickly discarded that. Barnes knew she wouldn't fall for that, so why even try?

"That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a while," Brooklyn told him, clearing her voice and trying to compose herself. She could feel how hot her cheeks were, and they were fairly hot. She was not impressed with herself.

"It's the truth, doll," Barnes replied. "You do so much at this camp, everyone knows how important you are here. They just never want to admit it to themselves that a dame – erhm –" Barnes spluttered, and Brooklyn grinned. " – A woman – has a bigger role in this camp than they do." Brooklyn was speechless. How was he so open-minded towards letting women do the job? Brooklyn guessed it was because he came from a family with girls that he would understand what they had to go through, and treat them better. That made enough sense to her.

"And don't think I haven't noticed how other agents glare at you with utmost hatred because you can get us to listen to you better than they can get their men to listen to them," Barnes put his elbows on the table, and leaned his face into his hands. Brooklyn dryly chuckled.

"Is it that obvious?" she asked. "I'd think they'd have the decency to at least try to conceal their desire to shoot me." Barnes laughed and shook his head.

"Men talk about you more often than you think," he told her, and his smile dropped a bit. "Though not everything they say about you is bad." Brooklyn's eyebrows furrowed. She didn't find that statement too hard to believe. She knew she was attractive to some extent, not that she would ever admit that aloud. She had the victory curls every woman desired to have, the shiny brown hair, the bright green eyes, the full lips. She wasn't tall, or too skinny, and she had curves and toned muscle. Some women at the camp told her it made her look more like a man than a woman, but that didn't matter to her. She wasn't planning on showing her body to anyone in the near future. She looked up at Barnes, and leaned into her hands.

"Do they now?" she asked, her voice curious. She crossed her legs under the table and leaned her head into her palms.

"Yes ma'am, they do," He nodded. There was a moment where no words were spoken, and Brooklyn looked up from her file to Barnes, opening her mouth slightly to continue the conversation, but she stopped short.

Barnes was already looking at her, a small smile on his face. He didn't seem to be examining her, but she couldn't decipher the look he had in his eyes.

She liked talking to him more than she thought she did before. He felt like a breath of fresh air compared to what she had to deal with and go through on a daily basis. Barnes never in his six and a half weeks of talking with her asked her of anything more than conversation, even though she'd heard stories of him getting more women at this camp than she could count on one hand. He was one of the only men on this camp that didn't cat call her, or talked bad about her behind her back. It was nice to have a friend of the opposite gender that didn't want to get her into bed, from what she knew. She smiled at herself. A friend, she realized. He was her friend.

A few moments later, however, she ruined their moment by bringing her thoughts back to reality, clearing her throat and looking away from his eyes. She was still smiling, though, and so was he. Looking down at her watch, she noticed it was five before one in the afternoon.

"Goodness," she muttered, quickly gathering her files. "We only have a few minutes until you need to be formed up." She stood up, and tucked a curl behind her ear. She stood up from the table and looked to him. "Go get formed up," she told him. "I'll be there soon."

"Right," Barnes cleared his throat, getting up too. "I'll go do that." He turned and began to walk away, putting his hands into his trouser pockets. She began to walk in the other direction.

A little voice in her mind kept tugging at her to stop. A friend, it said. He's your friend. Brooklyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath and closed her eyes before calling out his name.

"Barnes!" she called. He turned to her. He was still only a few feet away from her, but he still took a step closer to her. Her pulse was racing.

"Yes, ma'am?" He asked. She quirked a smile at him.

"My friends call me Brooklyn," she said. Barnes grinned so hard she thought the ends of his mouth were going to reach his ears. Before she could let a smile grow on her face, she lifted her index finger at him and opened her mouth to speak again. "But only when it's me and you, call me anything but ma'am when anyone else is with us and I won't hesitate to give you a black eye." If it were even possible, his grin got even wider.

"I'll keep that in mind," he told her. "But only if you call me Bucky." Before she could reply to him, he turned away and starting walking in the opposite direction. She heard him humming the tune to In the Mood as he walked, and the end of her lips tugged up. She loved that song.

As she walked to her office to drop off her files, she couldn't wipe the stupid smile off her face. Actually, she couldn't wipe that smile off her face for the rest of the day.

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