There were chunks of rock and plaster in Jane's hair. Her skirt was ruined. She hit the floor hard when she fell, or maybe she was pushed. In the confusion after the bomb went off, it was hard to tell which way her feet should be. Someone shoved her head down, perhaps mistaking her skull for solid ground. Peggy, by her side two seconds ago, was nowhere to be found, but Jane knew exactly where she went. She'd learned a lot from her time as a war secretary; where there was an explosion, there was a bomb, and where there was a bomb, there was a bomber.

Her ears rang, but she still heard Erskine yell, "Stop him!"

Who 'him' was, she wouldn't know until the shots rang out. A woman screamed and Erskine crumpled to the floor, two bullet holes marring his immaculate white coat. Holding the gun was a well-dressed man Jane recognized from the booth. His name escaped her, but he was supposed to be a government official observing the procedure on behalf of Congress. It appeared he served a much different government.

He took advantage of the chaos to make his escape, taking out anything and anyone in his path with ruthless precision. Peggy drew her gun, as calm as though this was a training exercise. She shot the assassin, putting a bullet in his shoulder. It only slowed him down, but by Jane's estimate, he wouldn't get far without medical attention.

Meanwhile, Rogers had rushed to Erskine's side, his steps ungainly. He was still getting used to his new body, the lack of aches or chest constriction likely its own kind of pain. He crouched over his mentor. Jane couldn't see well from her vantage point, but the despair in Roger's eyes and the peace in Erskine's spoke volumes.

'I guess that's why there are no more supersoldiers,' Jane thought as Erskine's head fell back and he breathed his last.

Jane turned, but Peggy was gone. There was a flash of her dark green uniform as she exited through the side door. The same one the assassin had used. More shots were fired as Phillips and the non-traitorous senators worked to restore order. The smartest thing Jane could've done was stay and help them. She realized this halfway up the stairs as she stepped over the shopkeeper's body. Then she kept going.

Outside the 'antique shop', Peggy was in the middle of the road with a car coming straight at her.

She shot at the car.

And suddenly, Jane knew exactly how Darcy felt every time they went storm chasing.

A white and brown blur zoomed past her. Rogers tackled Peggy to the ground as the car drove by. It never slowed down and for a split second, Jane caught a glimpse at the assassin's face. His cold determination. He was almost inhuman.

"I had him!" Peggy shouted.

Rogers had time for a hurried apology, then he was off. Running after the car like the fires of Hell were on his heels. He disappeared as Peggy fumbled with her gun. Jane's legs unlocked and she ran as best as she could (damn those heels) into the street. "Are you okay?"

Peggy waved off her hand. "We have to go. Now."

They'd parked one spot away from the streetlight, the spare keys under the mat so they wouldn't have to bother calling their driver. Jane doubted Peggy would've waited anyway.

"He's chasing a cab… on foot," Jane marveled to herself.

If Peggy was as shocked as her, she'd never show it. "I suppose that's what the serum does."

Super serum turned you into Usain Bolt. Good to know.

Jane got behind the wheel. She didn't ask, nor did Peggy order her to stay behind. She slid into the passenger seat, reloading her gun as Jane shoved the keys into the ignition. Her first car when she was sixteen had been a forty-year-old jalopy inherited from her grandmother. This one was just like it, albeit with a working radio and without the layer of rust.

"I hope you're a good driver," Peggy said, cocking her gun.

"Are you kidding? I'll have you know I aced defensive driving."

"Defensive what?"

Jane hit the gas.

They swerved through two blocks of traffic, went over half a dozen curbs and nearly grazed a mailbox before Jane decided maybe this wasn't like the jalopy after all. She dug her fingers into the wheel, barely turning it until she regained control. She drove in a straight line, horns blaring in all directions from irate drivers who didn't understand this was a national emergency. On every new street, she kept her eyes peeled for a glimpse of Steve's white shirt.

"Do you see him?" Peggy pulled her head back in after scouting the other side of the street.

"Not yet," said Jane, just as one yellow car shot across the intersection at top speed.

"There he goes!" Peggy said. "Take a left here.

"Are you sure it was him?"

"I can't think of anyone hard-headed enough to ride on top of a speeding car."

Fair enough.

At the corner, Jane took a hard left. It might have been a little too hard for Peggy. After recovering from the jostling and finding her gun under the seat, she shot Jane a glare. "Do you always drive like this?"

"Of course not," Jane said. "Only when I'm chasing tornados."

They followed the clues Steve left behind. A broken bridal shop window, an old man who'd been run off the road and was yelling about a mad taxi. The docks were the end of the line. Jane's blood curdled when she spotted the upturned and bullet-ridden cab, but her fear was short-lived. Inside the cab was a broken seat belt and papers spilling out the glove compartment, but no Rogers and no assassin.

A woman was screaming, calling out for her son who'd been taken. Then there was a splash. Peggy took off, her reaction time something most seasoned soldiers could only dream of. "Stay here," she ordered.

That was the funniest thing Jane had ever heard. "The hell I will."

Common sense dictated that she do exactly as Peggy said and not get involved in a situation she wasn't the least bit trained for. Then again, common sense had also said she shouldn't attempt to shield a Norse god with her body in the middle of a giant robot attack, and hadn't that worked out just fine?

The police had just arrived and struggled to contain the growing crowd. Two officers fished a boy out of the harbor, shivering but grinning ear to ear like he was having the time of his life. Jane almost tripped over the missing cab door and kicked it aside without a thought for the extra holes and droplets of blood around the red star logo.

She ran as fast as her heels would allow and cursed herself for not insisting on flats. Peggy was like a gazelle in heels, except when Jane finally spotted her, she wasn't moving at all. She'd stopped at the end of the dock, her shoulders slumped as the gun slipped out of her hand. Before them was Rogers, soaking wet and standing over an equally drenched assassin. His head was turned towards Jane, his lips coated in white foam. Her heart sank. She didn't need a minor in nursing to know a dead man when she saw one.

The final vial of Erskine's serum, the formula he'd lived and died for, had smashed against the rock. Blue liquid mixed with saltwater, nothing more than an oddly colored puddle to be washed away by the rain. As the assassin's body twitched, Rogers stared at it, and then at himself. He studied his large hands and thick forearms as if in disbelief that they were his. Jane wouldn't be surprised, but there was a much greater weight on Steve Rogers' shoulders now. It started with the corpse at his feet, and it ended in ice.

Jane was not allowed at the SSR meeting the next day. As far as Phillips was concerned, no amount of security clearance in the world was enough to let a lowly secretary into such an important meeting. That was fine by Jane. After yesterday's adventure, ten hours in an office sorting files was like heaven on Earth.

It was well into the evening when Peggy returned, her face ashen and her eyes glazed. Jane took one look at her and dropped her notebook. She guided Peggy to her chair and jogged down the hall to the lounge for a fresh cup of coffee. They were out of sugar, so Jane would have to get some out of her desk. Peggy had her head in her hands when she came back, sitting so still Jane thought she'd fallen asleep.

"So uh…" Jane shifted her weight. "How'd it go?"

Peggy looked up, not unlike a zombie rising from the grave.

Jane winced. "That bad?"

"We're changing objectives." Peggy drank her black coffee in one gulp.

"What does that mean?"

"It means what it sounds like," said Peggy. "Does the name HYDRA mean anything to you?"

Jane thought about it. There was a spark of recognition, but nothing concrete. "I don't know, should it?"

"If it doesn't," Peggy said, "then we'll either do our job very well or very poorly."

That made loads of sense. Jane went back to the lounge and poured a cup for herself. She should've done that the first time around. This whole thing was killing her focus. "Are they the ones who did this?"

Peggy pursed her lips, deliberating how much it was safe to reveal. "Officially, they are the scientific research and development faction of the Nazi party, working under Hitler to turn the tides of the war in Germany's favor. In reality, they're a cult led by Johann Schmidt, a man whose only true master is himself."

"You seem to know a lot about this," Jane said.

"I spent some time undercover," Peggy replied, staring at the bottom of her mug. "The man they sent was after Erskine's formula. He failed to retrieve it, but he succeeded in destroying any chance we have of replicating it."

Jane nodded. She hadn't known Erskine well, but the thought of a fellow scientist finally achieving his life's work, only to die moments later, never getting to truly know the fruits of their labors… that was something none of them could understand. If she was the praying sort, she'd pray now for Erskine's soul. No one deserved it quite like him.

"So that's the mission now. Taking down HYDRA."

Peggy gave her a sad smile. "If you'd like the keys to my flat, now's the time to take them."

"Tempting, but the risks outweigh the benefits," Jane said, leaning back in her chair. "I'd have to leave eventually to get food and do laundry and if I'm stuck in one place for too long, I get really bad cabin fever."

"You've been doing well in my office for twelve hours a day."

"Twelve is my limit. At thirteen you'd find 'All work and no play makes Jane a dull girl' written on the walls."

Peggy chuckled, which was good. She needed a laugh. They all did. Somewhere just outside Manhattan city limits, Erskine's wife was committing his body to the ground with only her small family and a sympathy wreath courtesy of the United States Armed Forces to comfort her. Meanwhile, what remained of the super soldier project hung in the balance and, unless Jane was reading too much into it, on the verge of total abandonment.

"How's Steve?" she asked. On the ride back to base, he hadn't said a word. His increased size meant all three of them wouldn't fit in the backseat anymore, so Jane watched him out the rearview mirror as he curled his fingers in and out, drops of water dripping from his hair down to his chin.

Peggy shook her head. "As well as can be expected. He's been a soldier for all of a week, and he's already lost a man. People say it gets easier over time, but it never really does. There's always that lingering question: could I have done more?"

Jane shivered and pushed her coffee aside. She was suddenly a lot less thirsty. "Well, you know… there is one upside. We have our super soldier, and pretty soon, he'll be a national hero saving lives and beating up Nazis. I may not know much about these HYDRA guys, but with Steve on our side, we can't possibly lose."

Jane grinned reassuringly, but Peggy was not moved. Her spoon clinked against the tea cozy and she seemed not to care that she'd just burned her esophagus with bitter coffee a moment ago. At the less than enthused reaction to her pep talk, what remained of Jane's optimism drained out through her stomach, leaving only the dull ache of anxiety which had been omnipresent since the bomb went off.

Finally, Peggy sighed. "Rogers won't be coming with us. He's been assigned to another division."

That did not sound right at all unless Jane's memory of high school was deceiving her. "He not coming? Are you sure?"

"Phillips wanted to send him to the lab for additional testing, but Senator Brandt got to him first," Peggy scowled and Jane couldn't tell which name she hated most. "He's been given a promotion, so to speak."

"Okay," Jane coughed. "What kind of promotion?"

"Who's strong and brave here to save the American way!" Chorus girls in star-spangled outfits sang in perfect harmony as they danced across the stage, flags out and skirts swishing. Among them was Steve Rogers, dressed in what could only be described as the Party City version of Captain America's iconic uniform.

"Not all of us can storm a beach or drive a tank, but there's still a way all of us can fight!" His voice projected clear across the auditorium, though he might have inspired more confidence if he wasn't so obviously reading his lines off the back of his shield.

Nevertheless, the audience devoured the beautiful showgirls and the handsome, muscular man hocking war bonds with promises that they'd magically put bullets in American guns. By the time Steve had three showgirls on a motorcycle over his head, the crowd had gone from skeptically amused to fired up and ready to take on the Nazis themselves. Among the hundreds of seats in the theater, only one remained occupied during the standing ovation. Jane stared at the stage, playbill in hand, unable to clap. Red, white, and blue confetti was shot into the crowd, the dancers maintaining their poses as the curtains fell.

"I do not remember this from history class," Jane murmured.

After the show, she made her way backstage through a gaggle of squealing fangirls and happy children desperate for a glimpse of their new hero. At the head of the crowd, Steve signed posters and took pictures, at a rate of twenty per minute. His phony grin had fallen into a phony close-lipped smile. Bags under his eyes made Jane think he'd keel over at any second. He handed a sobbing baby back to his mother and then one of the many suited men surrounding him stepped forward.

"Okay, everyone, we're out of time here. Thanks for coming out."

A chorus of groans and boos followed Steve to his dressing room as his 'entourage' dragged him along. Jane tried to follow, only for a much larger man to block her path. "The Captain isn't meeting with any more fans tonight."

"I'm not a fan," Jane groused. "I'm his-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You're his girl from back home, just like the rest of 'em." He jerked his thumb at a line of young women in full makeup and curve-hugging dresses, pushing their chests out in case Steve happened to look their way. "Get to the back of the line and maybe you can see him in a year or so."

He laughed at his own joke as Jane stomped out the side door, swear words on her every breath.

The next time she saw Steve, they were stationed on the outskirts of Austria with the tattered remains of a demolished infantry unit, and his big performance for the troops was going… less than well. The hundred or so soldiers making up his audience had just enough common decency not to storm the stage, but they weren't above tossing a few tomatoes around. Jane scribbled nonsense words and numbers on her clipboard and tried not to listen to their cruel insults or Steve's dispirited attempts to pacify them.

He left the stage to their jeers and hid in a small enclosure while the USO girls repeated their song two more times. Jane thought about approaching him; there was no security guard to stop her this time. She held back when he removed the mask, revealing the flushed, haggard face of a man who wanted nothing more to sleep for the next ten years.

Peggy was right there waiting for him, and while they were too far away for Jane to hear, she could imagine what kind of conversation they were having. She'd certainly heard Peggy's opinion of Senator Brandt enough times.

"You're better than this, Steve," Jane muttered, paraphrasing Peggy's slightly more eloquent speech. "You should be out there fighting, not prancing around like a monkey on a tightrope for a bunch of bloated bureaucrats."

An ambulance pulled up in front of the medical tent. Two men carried a third out on a stretcher, his lower half significantly smaller than it should've been. His eyes were closed, and they had him in the tent before Jane could determine if he was breathing. A pang of sympathy went through her. She almost understood why Steve got such a lukewarm reception. Those men out there, fully capable of throwing fruit far enough to hit the stage, were only physically well. Mentally… she didn't want to think about it.

Jane's grandfather had been a veteran. He served in the Navy and saw action in the Battle of Okinawa. According to the stories, Grandpa Joey went to war with his brother, his best friend, and a head full of optimism. He came back alone, missing two fingers and half an ear, with a head full of nightmares. He passed away when Jane was five, having spent the last forty years of his life trying to forget what a dying man's screams sounded like. Her only clear memory of him was at her family's Independence Day barbeque when he threw a fit at one of the neighbors for offering him a sparkler.

Now here was Captain America, with his classic good looks and a thousand-watt smile, peddling a dream that died in the trenches with their friends. In their eyes, Steve was nothing but a government puppet with a phony rank. In the eyes of history, he was the greatest American hero since George Washington. Somewhere in the mist between now and the freezing ('which is inevitable and you can't prevent it-'), Steve would find a way to prove himself. How? She didn't know. When? Good question.

She wrote a few more lines, then checked on Steve and Peggy again. They hadn't moved and Steve looked as despondent as ever. He hung his head, then raised it again. Then he shot to his feet and sprinted straight at Colonel Phillips' command center- wait, what?

Jane dropped the clipboard and threw on her coat. Rain pelted down on her as she struggled to keep up and not lose her shoes in the mud. By the time she reached the tent, Steve was in the middle of a dispute with Colonel Phillips. Something about needing a name.

"Please tell me if he's alive, sir," Steve demanded politely. "B-A-R-"

"I can spell," Phillips said, less politely.

"What's going on?" Jane whispered to Peggy.

"His friend may have been captured."

That was looking more like a definite as Phillips' hard expression turned solemn. "I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I care to think about, but the name does sound familiar. I'm sorry."

As big as Steve had become since getting the serum, Jane had never seen him look so small. "What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?"

Phillips snorted. "Yeah, it's called winning the war."

'You jerk,' Jane thought, wishing she could say it out loud and resolving to 'accidentally' step on Phillips' foot the next chance she got.

They argued back and forth, Steve desperate in his pleas and Philips coldly logical in his point for point rebuttals. It's too risky, he said. They'd lose more men than they'd save. Not once did his stoic maks crack, but Steve refused to back down. Storming a Nazi camp meant nothing to him, and Jane almost understood. Hadn't she once tried to pick a fight with a shady government agency over the theft of her research? She'd known then it was a stupid move. She just hadn't cared.

And neither did Steve Rogers, as the world was about to find out the hard way. He left the tent at Phillips' final word and stomped towards the barracks. Nothing about his gait or the fire in his eyes spoke of defeat.

"You don't think he's going after them," Jane muttered after Phillips dismissed them, "do you?"

"Not if he has half a brain."

And clearly, he didn't. He had just finished packing a knapsack when Peggy and Jane caught up with him.

"What do you plan to do," said Peggy, "walk to Austria?"

"If that's what it takes," said Steve, with all the raw determination of a man who'd never before infiltrated hostile enemy territory.

"You heard what Phillips said. Your friend is most likely dead."

But of course, Steve didn't care. 'Most likely' did not mean 'definitely'. They followed him to the truck, Peggy argumentative and Steve inexorable. He loaded his gear and prop shield into the passenger seat. Jane wouldn't put it past Peggy to stick her foot on the bumper, but if she did, Steve would just back up and drive around her. They were two immovable forces of nature. No wonder they worked so well together.

"You told me I was meant for more than this," Steve said, heavy with emotion. "Did you mean it?"

Peggy sighed. The battle had just been won and they all knew it. "Every word."

Jane nudged her shoulder. "You two go. I'll distract Phillips."

Though clearly still unsure, Peggy climbed into the van after Steve and got behind the wheel. Steve nodded at Jane as she started the engine. "Can't thank you enough, Ms. Cinderhouse."

"Just get home safe, Captain. We need you." 'More than you'll ever know.'

They drove off and Jane didn't watch to see which way they went. Plausible deniability was key when covering for a ranking officer and nominal soldier breaking hundreds of regulations and possibly a few laws. She tapped her clipboard like a good little secretary and made her way back to Peggy's temporary office. Nobody stopped her. They all knew shy Ms. Cinderhouse had nothing to offer but a smile. She was three steps away from relative safety; Steve and Peggy had to be off campgrounds by now.

"Where is Agent Carter?"

Philips' voice was like ice, freezing her in place. He could probably win the war on his own just by telling Hitler to stand down. She spun on her heel, a demure mask slipping over her grimace. "Pardon me?"

He got right in her face, his eyes so narrow they almost disappeared into the wrinkled folds of his brow. "Where. Is. Agent. Carter?"

Jane swallowed. "Sir, I can honestly say I have no idea where she went."

Twenty long seconds of intimidation later, Philips grumbled and walked away, satisfied that she was useless to him. Jane let out a breath and backed into the office. The rain had let up enough that she no longer feared getting soaked, but the tarp ceiling was a welcome reprieve, even if she was completely alone and had no idea when or if Peggy would be back.

'Steve will be,' she told herself. 'He has to survive this and so will Peggy.'

Trying to pinpoint just one instance of Captain America's heroics was impossible, but Jane was pretty sure his first major victory was liberating several hundred POWs from a German detention camp. If this was that camp, then he'd come home to an avalanche of medals and universal acclaim. This would be Steve Rogers' big debut, and as long as Jane didn't dwell on his final hurrah, she could trust in America's Favorite Son to bring everyone home safe. That friend had better be grateful for all Steve was going through to save him.

Come to think about it, how weird was it that Steve, formally a scrawny weakling with no business being on the battlefield, had a best friend gone to war without him? And what a coincidence that said friend's name began with 'B-A-R'. Almost like...

"Nah," Jane shook her head. "It couldn't be. The odds are way too slim."

Almost as slim as time traveling.

Peggy returned well after midnight. Howard was with her, but Steve was not. She slipped into their bunk, tossing her coat in the corner like she always lectured Jane not to do. Her skin was blanched and her eyes haunted. Howard, helpful as ever, shrugged when Jane looked to him for answers. He walked back to his car, which stuck out like a diamond in a pile of sand, and mouthed 'talk later' at her. Then he was gone.

"So," Jane said, putting her notes aside, "how'd it go?"

"If you mean were we successful, I wish I knew myself." She had a walkie-talkie in her lap and she stared at it as if expecting it to get up and dance for her. "Steve parachuted into the base, and that's the last we heard of him."

"You mean he's still in there?"

"As far as I know." She picked up the walkie, turning it on to static. "He was supposed to call me to get picked up, but he never did."

Jane sat next to Peggy. "He'll make it, okay? I know he will."

Peggy's eyes flicked to her as she shut down the walkie. "Do you?"

A hush fell over them. Some men outside were playing cards and arguing passionately over a pair of twos. The roar of Howard's engine faded in the distance and someone had a radio going. It sounded like opera music. A weird yet kind of fitting choice. Jane stared at her hands, there was a hangnail on her left ring finger. She picked at it, not knowing if she should leave Peggy be or stay and try another pep talk. She thought she heard Colonel Phillips coming, but it was just a pair of privates imitating his grizzly tones for a laugh.

"Jane, there's something I want to ask you," Peggy said, rubbing her knuckles, "but I don't know if I should."

She turned on the walkie one more time and listened to the white noise. It sounded like the buzzing in Jane's ears. "Oh?"

"Feel free not to answer. It's a bit… well, I don't think knowing would change things, but I suppose there's always a chance."

'Oh God, she's going to ask about Steve. She's going to ask if he dies and how he dies and when he dies and oh God, what am I going to tell her? What can I do? Why didn't I just go to bed early like everyone else? I don't want this-'

"Go on," she said, deciding then and there that she missed her true calling in life. She should've been an actress.

Peggy braced herself, and so did Jane. "Will we win the war?"

She looked to Jane with pleading eyes, so unlike the tough as nails special operative who inspired fear and respect in her men. It shook Jane, not because she'd never believed Peggy had that side to her, she just never expected her boss would lay her fears out so openly. "Ah…"

As Jane struggled for words, Peggy lowered her gaze. "It's all right. Forget I asked."

"No, no, that's not…" Jane licked her lips. Her fingers trembled as she laced them together. "Um… do you remember when you looked at my driver's license the night you found me? Remember what it said?"

Peggy smiled, her red lips a perfect upward curve. "America."

Jane smiled back. She glanced at the walkie, still gripped tightly in Peggy's hand. "He will come back."

The white noise continued, no discernable voices coming through, but the two women were walls of determination and resolve. They would not crumble. "I know."

The rain had stopped, but the clouds remained. Perfect for reporting to the general that America's Favorite Propaganda Machine had just gotten himself killed on a fool's errand. Jane didn't envy the kind of tongue lashing Peggy was getting right now. It was why she'd chosen to transcribe the daily notes next to the boom gate rather than in the office. It wasn't that she was afraid of being reprimanded (much) or worried about her much-needed status of 'invisible'. She just… wasn't sorry.

Because she knew perfectly well there was no reason to be.

She was one of the first to see the parade of dirty brown uniforms approaching the base. While the soldiers gathered to watch the same man they wrote off as a chorus girl leading their friends, Jane was the only one not completely floored. When Steve marched straight at Phillips with his shoulders squared and no regrets, she turned away to enjoy a secret smile. 'Finally…'

"Some of these men need medical attention," Steve said, as if him giving orders was a regular thing. "I'd like to submit myself for disciplinary action."

Which was never going to happen. Even if Phillips tried, he'd be lambasted for punishing a hero who'd just single-handedly saved hundreds of Allied soldiers. This was the turning point for Steve Rogers. The legend had just been born, and when a voice cried out in the middle of the crowd, the first thing Jane did was join in the celebration.

"Hey! Let's hear it for Captain America!"

The second thing she did was flashback to Brooklyn.

To strong hands and blue eyes and stubbled cheeks.

That voice…

Through a gap between two heads, she could just make him out. The man who'd walked at Steve's side as they re-entered the base. She hadn't paid attention to him before; she was too busy being proud of Steve. Now, his face was unmistakable. As handsome as she remembered despite the layer of soot and the sharpness of his cheekbones from weight loss. His eyes were like Grandpa Joey's, but those sparks which had charmed her were still there when he shared a glance with Steve.

He looked away to give him and Peggy had a moment. Jane watched him intently as he glanced down at the ground, then at the cheering masses, until finally, with almost agonizing slowness, he spotted her. His jaw unhinged and whatever dark thoughts had clouded his mind before, they had surely vanished.

"Jane?"

She flinched slightly, not so much at the way he said her name or the fact that he remembered her after so many months apart, but because she'd just realized that meeting Bucky Barnes again after their flirty first encounter spelled trouble with a capital T. If Jane was smart, she'd pretend to be someone else or just straight up ignore him. And she was smart. That was the first thing new people learned about her. Hell, she was one of the smartest people on the planet depending on who you asked. Yet here she was, standing completely still and grinning like an idiot as the greatest threat to keeping the future intact made a beeline for her.

"Sergeant Barnes," she said, her voice cracking. "It's ah... so good to see you again. Small world we live in, huh?"

He smiled so brightly, Jane's stomach flipped. A thousand butterflies burst through her as he took her hands, holding them tight between cracked, calloused fingers. There was blood caked under his nails, at least one of which was just starting to grow back. God, what he must have been through in that hellhole. It was unimaginable.

But God if he wasn't even more beautiful than she remembered.

"Doll, you have no idea how much you just made my day," he said.

All danger of a paradoxical disaster aside, he'd kind of made hers, too.