Mid-January was not the time for a romantic rendezvous outdoors. No matter what Bucky said, Jane held that a nice, peaceful evening in the mess hall surrounded by hulking army men shoving each other over white bread was far preferable over standing in a foot of snow with only an inadequate winter coat and clunky boots to keep her warm. At least then her socks would be dry, unlike right now. Her feet were basically icicles and it was a miracle she could walk at all.

Yet walk she did. Off the trail and into the trees. Bucky held her hand so she wouldn't fall into a tree well. They'd had two close calls already and Jane sensed a third coming when she hit a rock hidden in the snow and pitched forward. She yelped and stopped falling halfway to the ground, a powerful arm under her chest.

"Careful," Bucky said, laughter in his eyes. "I don't want to have to carry you… well, okay, I do."

"If we have to go any further, I might take you up on that," she groused, spitting out a mouthful of hair.

"Don't worry, we're almost there."

It would be better if he'd just tell her what 'there' actually was. She'd been asking since he dragged her out of Peggy's office half an hour ago, insisting that it was 'important' she come with him. His coyness wasn't pissing her off so far, but as she tripped over another rock and then nearly got her shoe stuck under a broken tree branch, she was getting pretty close.

"This had better not be you just looking for a tree to kiss under," she said.

"No, but we can do that later." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"In your dreams, Barnes."

"Always."

It was such a cheap move, turning on the charm like that. He knew she couldn't resist it.

The base was long gone, lost to the woods and the fresh snowfall. It was eerily quiet. What few birds remained sang a bare bones song to the waning sun. The snow seemed to deepen the further they went. They walked to the edge of the forest, under a tree with piles of snow weighing down the branches. Any second now, they would break and she and Bucky would be turned into snowmen. She grabbed his arm as her foot became trapped again, this time in a fallen log.

"Dammit," she said, kicking futility.

"I got it," Bucky moved behind her and unstuck her foot with a gentle pull. "Getting tired of walking, huh?'

"How'd you guess?" She grumbled, shivering.

Bucky chuckled. "Well, you'll be happy to know we aren't walking anymore. We're here!"

Jane blinked at him and the endless white. "Where?"

"Here."

"Where is here?"

"Take a look around."

They were in a patch of snow enclosed by trees. Seven by Jane's count, all reaching for the sky with gnarled, naked branches. Bits of bark had been chipped away by time and the many woodland critters searching for a place to sleep for the winter. At first glance, the snow was undisturbed, but as Jane looked harder, soft indents like footprints appeared.

"We're not the first ones here," she said, standing on the balls of her feet. "I guess people really like this forest."

"It's not a forest," Bucky said.

Jane looked around one more time to be sure. "I think it is."

"Not right now, it's not." From his side holster, Bucky withdrew a gun. It was a smaller model she'd definitely heard the name of once. A .22? No, that was from a movie. "Today, my dear Jane, this is a shooting range."

She stared at the gun in his hand. It was unloaded, of that she was sure. Bucky was the best man on the team with firearms. Possibly the best in the entire US military. If anyone, even Steve, so much as looked at the trigger before it was time to fire, he'd be on their asses with a four-hour lecture on proper gun safety in the time it took to blink. That he was holding one now, fingers curled over the top and the muzzle pointed downrange, could only mean one thing.

"Oh no," Jane said.

He grinned like a maniac. "Oh, yes."

"You can't be serious," Jane said, backing away. "You don't actually think I'm going to use that thing, do you?"

"Well, I don't know why else I would've brought it," he said, holding it to the light. "Maybe just to admire how pretty it is."

"Don't get smart with me," Jane snapped. "I've never even held a gun, much less fired one."

"There's a first time for everything."

"Not if you say no."

Bucky's smile, which shined whiter than the snow even when she was annoyed with him, turned sad. "They all say that until the other guy shoots first."

He was miles away, lost in the memories of every battle he'd ever fought. This wasn't the first time Jane had seen it. Every now and then, he'd get that look in his eye. He'd trail off mid-sentence as some sight or sound dragged him back into the pit. Sometimes it took her ages to pull him out. He'd always go right back to science talk and flirting like it was no big deal, even though it was.

That he'd killed people was something Jane had long since come to terms with. How many more people had he watched die?

For lack of anything to say, Jane placed her hand over the gun. She didn't take it, her fingers had lost their strength. Bucky helpfully wrapped them around the grip, his hands warm despite the biting cold.

"I won't always be there to protect you, Jane." He reached into his pocket for a box of ammunition. "And when I'm gone, I want to know that you're safe. That you can take care of yourself. Do you trust me?"

What a stupid question that was. She would've laughed if the tension wasn't so thick. His eyes, those liquid blue eyes, sunk into her soul. Searching for something only she could give.

"I-"

"Ms. Foster?"

Jane started. The world was now dark. Ambient noise from the forest had become voices over a loudspeaker. The snow under her feet was now tile. Her neck ached. When she moved, her lower half protested. This seat was barely soft enough to qualify as cushioned. How long had she been sitting here?

Her eyes opened after a few attempts. The voice came from a woman in scrubs standing over her. She had a matronly look about her, though that might've just been her concern as Jane worked herself upright. She groaned as her tired bones popped back into place. There was a clock over the nurse's head. It was eight-thirty. A.M. or P.M.?

"I'm okay," Jane muttered, rubbing her forehead. "I'm just fine…"

It had already come back to her why she was here. She remembered riding behind the ambulance, getting caught briefly in traffic, and arriving just in time to find the patient wasn't allowed more than three visitors at a time and he already had four. When Steve tried to speak up, Jane simply told him what waiting room she'd be in, bought something salty out of the vending machine, and left. Now she was awake however many hours later, to a nurse whose expression did not speak of good news.

"Captain Rogers asked me to check on you," she said. "I'm Nurse Carver. Is there anything I can bring you? Something to drink?"

"I'm fine," Jane replied like she hadn't just said that a second ago. "How uh… how's the patient? Is he out of surgery?"

Nurse Carver's already pronounced frown deepened. "I can't say, but we're doing all we can."

In another life, Jane might've taken her mother's advice and gone into medicine instead of physics. The one nursing class she bothered to take was taught by a retired ER doctor who didn't bother to sugarcoat what watching people die horrific deaths every day was like. 'We're doing all we can' meant they had no idea whatsoever how to save the patient and were basically running blind.

'I can't say' meant they were dead.

Jane swallowed. "Well, thank you for everything you've done. Can I go up yet?"

She expected another refusal. What she got was a smile. "That should be fine. Take the elevator to the third level and turn left. You can't miss it. "

"Thanks," Jane said. She should've wondered or at least cared a little more about how easy that was, but it could wait. As she stood up, every inch of her from the neck down ached. That took up a bit more of her attention.

She followed the nurse's instructions. Elevator, third level, left. It was easy to get lost in a hospital like this, especially when her legs didn't quite feel solid yet. A few doctors stared at her and she knew why. The blood on her shirt had mostly dried by now, but she was pale enough that one could easily mistake it for her own.

Down the hall were Steve and a redheaded woman. Natasha Romanov. She was much shorter than Jane had expected. Just about her height even. Standing next to Steve, watching the doctors struggle to bring Nick Fury back from the brink of death, she looked even smaller than that.

As Jane's eye adjusted to the dim hallway lights, she noticed another woman, tall with dark hair pulled back in a bun. Her all-black ensemble was neat and fitted, just like the two men standing guard several feet away. If she was another SHIELD agent, she was likely just as dangerous in the field as Romanov, but when Jane looked closer, they wore the exact same lost expressions.

Romanov muttered something Jane couldn't hear. Steve was talking to her about something. Probably whoever was out to kill their boss and how he was going to stop them. What kind of man had they sent to do the job? A man who seemed to come and go with the wind, reigning down silent but devastating chaos. A man who walked right by her and could have killed her without a thought, and yet...

Jane thought about walking over and joining the conversation. It was why she had come in the first place, but it felt wrong now, in a way it hadn't when she was still cooped up in the lobby with an empty chip bag stuffed in her pocket and a dying phone. Like she was intruding on a private moment she had no right to even know about.

Inside the operating room, Fury was fading fast. Blood was everywhere. On the floors, on the doctors' scrubs, on his blankets. They were doing their best to stop the bleeding, but it wasn't enough. The wounds were too deep, too extensive. He was already hurt when they found him. Whatever spark of optimism Jane still had was gone long before the sluggish beep of Fury's heart monitor turned steady.

The doctors scrambled. The paddles were out. Romanov hitched a breath when they shocked him. The taller woman shook her head, muttering his name. Steve was frozen, unable to even speak. Jane didn't know what kind of relationship he had with Fury before Project Insight, but whatever their differences, she knew he never wanted this. It was one more man down he couldn't save. One more battle lost.

Three more shocks came and went. The monitor didn't spike once. A doctor called Fury's time of death, and only now did Steve meet Jane's eye.

He shook his head at her.

She nodded back.

It was all the comfort she could give, and for that, she hated herself.

Jane was four the first time she experienced death. Uncle Rob had gotten into an accident while driving home from work on the freeway. That was all her mother would tell her. Less than a year later, the family would suffer another loss when Grandpa Joey finally lost his decades-long battle with alcoholism. For now, Jane had no idea what to make of the grown-ups dressed in black and crowding around a long wooden box set up on a podium.

While everyone else cried or tried to make casual conversation, Jane fiddled with her stockings. She hated those things. They felt weird on her feet and made her legs itchy. When Grandma Margaret fell to her knees before the box and cried, little Jane stopped pinching her toes and tugged on her mother's hand.

"Is Uncle Rob in there?" She was always an inquisitive child. Too smart for her own good.

"Yes, he is," her mother said while drying her eyes.

Jane stared at the box. The lid was on. She'd overheard her father talking to the funeral director about making sure it was a closed casket funeral, whatever that meant.

"Why can't we see him?"

"Your Aunt Mary thought it would be better that way."

"Does he look bad?"

Her mother sucked in air, putting on the best smile she could muster as Grandma Margaret was finally led out of the room. "He looks peaceful."

Jane had been a child then. Now she was an adult who knew all too well how dark the world could be, and she knew that Uncle Rob had not looked peaceful. Not after driving his out of control car into a tree and going through the windshield. She used to think it was a blessing that Dad and Aunt Mary's foresight had spared their family the sight of a dead man stitched back together like a cheap rag doll. That had to be the ugliest way possible to go.

Then she went to war and learned the truth: death was always ugly.

Nick Fury's body on the gurney was all but flawless. They'd finally cleaned up the blood. A fresh white sheet covered his unhealed bullet wounds. What marks remained on his face were barely noticeable. His eyepatch was gone, and he looked wrong without it, in a way Jane couldn't articulate, but felt deep under her skin. That omnipresent scowl she and Steve used to make fun of had softened into a disheartened frown. Like even in death, all he cared about was not getting the perp.

This funeral, if there was one at all, would have an open casket. Thousands of agents would pay their respects to their fallen leader. Flowers and ceremonial eyepatches for days. Maybe some posthumous award for valor, too. The guests would walk up to his coffin and pretend he didn't look like a wax dummy of himself. They'd trade funny stories and platitudes about moving forward and avoid as much as they could just how wrong this was.

If there was a funeral, Jane didn't think she'd be invited. She didn't think she'd go if she was. Standing against the wall with Steve, watching Romanov caress his head like a child just beginning to understand that her daddy was gone, she didn't even know if she belonged in this room. Try as she might, she couldn't tear her eyes away from Romanov. She was spying on the poor woman, intruding on her moment of grief. When Steve stepped forward, she had to stare at him, too.

The brunette woman's return was almost a reprieve. Somewhere in the confusion, Jane had learned her name was Maria Hill. She worked directly under Fury, his right-hand woman so to speak. Maybe they'd met before and Jane was just too frustrated by all the shady excuses for why her research was stalled again to notice. Whatever the case, Hill passed Jane by on her way to Steve without even a glance in her direction. That was fine. Now wasn't the time for making friends.

As Hill and Steve conversed, Romanov wandered to Jane's side. The far off, wistful look in her eye had to be a front. Jane refused to be fooled by it no matter how real those tears looked.

"Jane Foster, right?" Romanov asked.

"That's me," Jane said curtly. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Romanov nodded. "I'm sorry you got dragged into all this."

Jane shrugged. "To be honest, I'm used to it at this point."

They fell silent, and for a moment, Jane thought that was the end of the conversation.

"Rogers said you saw him," Romanov said, finally meeting her gaze. Her eyes were the wrong kind of intense. "The man who shot Fury. Did you?"

Memories flowed through Jane like water. It was completely involuntary as flashbacks usually are. She was back on the street with sirens in her ears. He was there, clear as day. The face, the hair, the arm…

"Only for a second," she murmured.

Romanov leaned in. "Can you tell me anything about him?"

She could tell her a lot of things. Way more than she ever should've known. "What did Steve say?"

"He's fast, strong, and has a metal arm," Romanov recited.

"Yeah, that about sums it up."

"There has to be more though."

It was getting too hot in here. That or Romanov was just too close. Jane played with the ring through her shirt, but the comfort it provided wasn't enough this time. Her skin prickled under Romanov's gaze. Steve's harsh whispers and the men talking outside scrambled her thoughts. The shadows were growing, surrounding her.

"He has blue eyes," she said.

And that, finally, was the end of the conversation. The door opened and a group of men dressed in SHIELD Agent Black stormed in. At the head of the charge was a man who reminded Jane of a mafia movie she saw once. "Cap, they need you back at SHIELD," he declared like Steve was just some rookie he could boss around.

To be fair, Steve answered in kind. "Yeah, give me a second."

"They want you now," the man said. "You too, Dr. Foster."

Jane stared at him. "Me?"

"Boss's orders. I'm just delivering the message."

Behind him, a bald man in glasses tapped his ear. "STRIKE team, please escort Captain Rogers and Dr. Foster to the base immediately."

The rest of the men, whom Jane now realized were absolutely huge and carrying guns, waited expectantly for the pair to move. Jane looked at Steve, who was looking at a vending machine of all things.

'What a time for a snack,' she thought.

Steve finally met her gaze and nodded. Romanov tried to say something, but he seemed determined to ignore her. Holding Jane's hand, he started for the door. As the group filed out and the lights dimmed, the morgue slowly fell silent. Fury's body would soon be collected and brought to its final resting place. For now, he was free to sleep undisturbed. Jane hoped he enjoyed it.

The Triskelion was way too big. Too many floors with too many rooms filled with too many people. Every door required a fingerprint scan to open. The elevator was nothing but a box made of windows. Way to mess with people who were afraid of heights.

Jane was very much not, but she needed something to occupy her mind with other than listening to the glasses guy ask Steve stupid questions and checking her clothes to see if she still smelled like human remains and plaster. If going over all her nitpicks of this top-secret government agency was all she had, so be it. And while she was on the subject, the coffee here stunk. It was clearly some cheap bargain brand, and not the throat burning dark roast that kept her awake for days on end in New Mexico. That was the real stuff.

They reached their floor and walked down another utilitarian hallway. At the end of the line was a pair of doors. Agent 13 or Kate or whoever was talking to an older man with blondish hair and a gray waistcoat. His smile was kind as he reassured Agent 13 that she did the best she could. It was obvious he'd been handsome in his youth, and probably a charmer, too.

"Captain Rogers," Agent 13 said as she walked by.

"Neighbor," Steve responded bitterly.

Jane squeezed his arm and he seemed to relax. The old man by the door grinned. "Good afternoon, Captain. I'm Alexander Pierce."

"Sir, it's an honor," Steve said, and to Jane's surprise, he looked like he meant it.

"The honor is mine," Pierce said like he really meant it. "My father served in the 101st" After shaking his hand, he offered it to Jane. "And Dr. Foster. Can I just say, my family and I greatly admire your work. You're my granddaughter's hero."

"Oh wow," Jane said, feigning delight. Pierce's grip was strong but not as warm as she expected it to be. "I uh… that's awesome."

Pierce chuckled. "It's because of you that she wants to be an astronaut someday. So if I ever lose track of her on Mars, I'll know exactly who to blame."

As mediocre a joke as it was, Jane couldn't help but smile. Pierce seemed to have a way about him, an innate charisma that put people at ease. On his desks were the same kind of family photos she'd expect to find on an office drone's desk reminding him to keep going. Wedding picture here, birthday party there. A painted rock next to his laptop read 'Best Grandpa Ever' in thick, crude letters. It all gave off the exact impression of him that he wanted it to. A humble man of the people.

He motioned for them to sit, then took one of the photos off his desk. Two men smiled for the camera. Though he looked a bit younger, Jane recognized Fury immediately. He had two eyes and, Jane had to admit, was pretty good looking. The man next to him was just as, if not more, handsome, like a golden age Hollywood actor.

"This was taken five years after Nick and I met," Pierce explained, before launching into a story about a hostage situation with the ELN. How he tried to take the peaceful route and nearly lost countless lives in the process. Only when Fury took the initiative to go in guns blazing did the standoff end. Pierce's eyes shined as he spoke of his old friend. "He saved over a dozen political officers that day, including my daughter."

"So you promoted him," Steve filled in.

Pierce sighed. "I've never had any reason to regret it… Captain Rogers, why was Nick in your apartment last night?"

'Here we go.' That's what it was all leading up to. He made nice with them, got them feeling all safe and secure with storytime, and then he went in for the kill. Jane relaxed her shoulders and refused to look anywhere near Steve. She once read about body language and how to tell if someone was lying. If only she'd read it twice.

"I don't know," Steve said with total ease. At least one of them could handle the pressure.

Of course, that was the exact moment Pierce turned to her. "What about you, Doctor? Did Nick say anything to you?"

Steve's hand twitched, but he didn't touch her. There was nothing to be scared of, she wanted to tell him. He was just a regular family man who ran a global organization and had more political power in his right pinkie than probably even the president. No big deal.

"Nothing much," she said, steadying her breathing. "Nothing I thought was weird or unlike him."

Pierce smiled. "Well, I didn't ask you that."

Though he spoke with mirth, Jane bit her tongue. SHIELD was compromised, no matter how pleasant or amiable their sole remaining leader seemed to be. While she didn't personally subscribe to the 'every man/woman for themselves' motto like Fury had, she agreed with him on one thing: none of these guys could be trusted.

Pierce put the photo down and walked to the window, staring out at the bright sunny day. The weather was perfect for a relaxing vacation. "I hope you don't mind me getting personal for a moment," he said, "and I hope you're not offended, Dr. Foster, but I'm not sure how you fit into this equation. It never occurred to me that a soldier and an astrophysicist might run in the same circles. May I ask how you two met?"

Finally an easy question. Jane and Steve had discussed this long before the thought of assassination attempts or government intrigue ever crossed their minds.

"We were at a party a few months ago," Steve said, "I've always been interested in science, and Dr. Foster and I got to talking about her research. I knew she would be in town this week, so I offered her a place to stay."

"Is that so?" Pierce muttered.

"It was cheaper than a hotel room," Jane quipped weakly.

He eyed her like she was some mysterious creature he wanted to study in a lab. It took everything Jane had to stay in place and keep her hands in her lap. She had no relevant information. She was innocent in all of this. If she believed it strongly enough, he'd have no choice but to believe it, too.

"So Fury didn't tell you anything," Pierce said after a drawn-out pause.

"That's right," Steve said.

"Did he tell you your apartment was bugged?"

Jane winced, praying Pierce hadn't noticed. Not that it mattered. All he cared about now was Steve.

"Yes, he did," Steve replied.

"And did he tell you he was the one who bugged it?" He definitely had not, and while by all rights, this should have been a shocking revelation, Jane felt little more than a cold numbness at the news. One look at Steve's gobsmacked face told her he couldn't relate. Pierce pushed a button on his desk. "I want you to see something."

A holographic screen appeared behind them. On it, a man with a buzzcut sat facing the camera. His eyes were closed and his arms appeared to be tied behind his back. Someone off-screen was badgering him to tell them who hired him. They were having a hard time getting Batroc to crack, or so it appeared until Jane looked closer and saw the sweat pooling on his brow.

She drifted in and out of Pierce's exposition, but she still got the gist of it. Batroc had been hired by an anonymous client through a phony email and paid via wire transfer through several equally phony bank accounts. It felt like a bad joke. All of the information they had was fake. All the names they'd dug up were fake. In the end, it all led back to one person.

"Fury hired the pirates," Jane muttered.

Whatever joviality Pierce once had was gone. For the first time, he looked like he was truly grieving. "The prevailing theory is that the hijacking was a cover in order to acquire and sell classified intelligence. The sale went sour, and that led to Fury's death."

"You know he would never do that," Steve growled. Jane put her hand on top of his. It was a risky move with Pierce watching, but it kept him from getting up and punching the man.

"Why do you think we're talking?" Pierce stood up out of Steve's reach. "I took a seat on the council only because Fury asked me to. Because we were both realists. For all the deals and hand-shaking and compromises, the hard truth is that sometimes, the only way to change the system is to destroy it."

"But is that really what you're doing?" Jane asked. The two men stared at her until she amended herself. "I don't think Fury was double-dealing anymore than you do, but the fact is, someone had reason to kill him. Someone who clearly didn't have any qualms about attacking a residential building full of civilians. If you ask me, they're the ones looking to destroy. You're asking us to shake your hand and trust that you have our best interests at heart."

A stab of something unfamiliar went through her as Pierce contemplated her words. On the surface, nothing had changed in the air around Pierce's office. Steve was pensive, Pierce was expressionless. Jane couldn't explain why she suddenly felt so nauseous, like the solid ground under her had turned into angry waves. It was gone so fast, leaving her with only a vague notion that she had said too much.

"You make an excellent point, Dr. Foster," Pierce said, bringing his hands together. "I want you both to understand that Fury was my friend. I will do whatever it takes to find whoever did this to him and bring them to justice. To do that, I can't let anyone stand in my way, no matter the reason." He paused to let that sink in. "Captain Rogers, please. Why was Fury at your apartment?"

As impassioned as his speech was, it would do little to phase Steve. Jane knew that, and she almost felt sorry for Pierce. All the money and resources in the world might not help him if the killer he was looking for was right under his nose, and that wasn't accounting for the other possibility.

Steve took a breath. "Fury told me not to trust anyone."

"I wonder if that included him," Pierce said.

Steve met Jane's eye as if signaling her. When he stood up to leave, so did she. "I'm sorry, sir. Those were his last words."

Pierce's face fell as they started for the door. It was hard not to grab Steve's hand for support, but Jane managed. Any men baying for their blood would think twice about attacking in broad daylight in the middle of a SHIELD base where hundreds if not thousands of still loyal agents roamed.

Right?

"Dr. Foster." Jane stopped. That feeling was back. It sunk into her stomach like a brick and prevented her from turning fast enough. Pierce was already in front of her, brandishing a notepad. "I'm sorry, but my granddaughter would never forgive me if I didn't get her an autograph."

"Oh… of course," Jane said, ignoring Steve's bemused expression as she took the pad. "What's her name?"

They left Pierce's office with a scribbled signature and a 'follow your dreams' message for a girl Jane hoped would appreciate it. No one tried to stop them and they weren't being followed. Not as far as Jane could see. That didn't stop her from checking every corner and door jamb for a lens. Nothing. No gun barrels or knives or grenade launchers either. Not yet.

Steve moved with purpose down the hall like he owned the entire building and everyone in it, so Jane tried to do the same. It proved harder than it looked. Any time someone looked at her for more than a second, her resolve crumbled. Strange to think she'd dealt with aliens and a literal world war, but the idea of a sneak attack still made her flinch.

"That went well," she said for the sake of speaking. "I mean, not well well, but…"

Steve gave a half-smile. "Could've been worse."

Jane snorted. "Yeah, that."

For all of a second, she was almost in something resembling a good mood. Then some random man in sunglasses happened to look her way and the flame of laughter in her gut blew out. Did they all have to carry guns inside? That had to be violating some kind of OHSA regulation.

"So what'd you think of him?" Steve asked once they were out of that wing and into a new one.

"Pierce?" Jane bit her lip. "He seemed nice I guess… they all do at first, don't they?"

"Fury trusted him."

"Do you trust Fury?"

"I trust you." Steve's smile brought her nerves down another notch. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry, Jane. You never should've been involved in this."

There was a look in his eye she knew all too well. He was blaming himself again. "Steve, don't. There's no way you could've known this would happen."

"Doesn't matter," he said. "All I can do now is try to make it right. I have a few things to do before we leave, and then I'll take you home to pack."

Jane, who had been ready to agree with everything he said and encourage him to tear the enemy a new asshole like he was so good at doing, stopped short. "Pack? What are you talking about?"

"So you can go home," Steve said sternly. "If you call the airport now, I'm sure they can book you a flight later tonight. I'll reimburse you for whatever-"

"Woah, wait a second," Jane snapped as some random agent pushed past her. "First off, your apartment is still a crime scene. No way I'm getting my stuff back except in a plastic bag three months from now. Second, you can't possibly expect me to leave you to deal with this on your own."

"Actually, that's exactly what I expect," said Steve.

"Well, you shouldn't," Jane said, spreading her arms wide. "Look at me, Steve, do I look like someone who runs away from my problems?"

"No, and that's how you ended up kidnapped by aliens and back in time."

"I got through all that in one piece, didn't I?"

The more she argued, the more futile it seemed. Regardless of Jane's assertions, she was no daredevil. She was the farthest thing from stupid and only really threw herself into life or death situations when tensions were high and there was no time to stop and think. Hell, she'd protected a Norse god with her tiny human body twice. And yet, that same tenacity wouldn't help her in a fight against political corruption and espionage. If anything, it would get her killed.

Not that she'd ever admit it.

"Jane, I'm not asking," Steve said, taking her by the shoulders. "I need to know that you're somewhere safe. Somewhere far away from here where they can't find you."

"I'm a witness, Steve," Jane replied. "They're going to find me no matter what."

"You're still better off away from me until this is over." Steve started walking again, and his impossibly long stride left her jogging after him.

"So that's it? You're just throwing me to the wayside. 'Oh sorry, Jane, I need to go save the world again and you need to sit around at home and wait for me to need you again.'"

"Don't make it sound like that."

"I don't know what else you think it sounds like."

"It sounds like what it is!" Steve rounded on her. "I'm trying to protect you, Jane. It's what-"

There was no silence around them, only between. Agents filed past, talking about reports and sting operations and other classified information they probably weren't supposed to discuss out in the open. A man was laughing somewhere to Jane's left. Another man was on the phone, promising his wife he'd bring home pork chops for dinner. Jane numbed herself to all of it. The only things that mattered were Steve and the weight of the chain around her neck.

"I know," she said, fingers brushing her shirt, "it is what he would've wanted."

Steve bowed his head. "Then you understand why you can't stay."

'Yes,' her common sense said. It was absolutely right but too quiet to hear. "I didn't say that. Let's run your errand and talk about it over lunch. I'm starving."

She walked ahead of him, even though she had no idea where she was going. The elevators were not in either direction the hallway forked off into. For a while, she thought she'd lost Steve in the crowd. Then she felt him at her back, guiding her straight ahead where another right turn led them to the line of silver double doors.

The next car had just arrived, and it was empty. Thank God. Steve walked in first and stood by the window, staring out at the city like a Regency-era poet contemplating the meaning of love and existence. "Operations control."

"Confirmed," said a cool, robotic voice.

Jane shook her head in awe. "Whatever happened to buttons?"

Steve managed a smirk. "Come on, Jane, get with the times."

The doors were starting to close when a hand appeared. A man Jane recognized from the hospital stepped on board, heading a group of four. He listed off orders and nodded stiffly at Steve. "Cap."

"Rumlow," Steve said.

So this was Rumlow. Steve had mentioned him a couple of times. Leader of the STRIKE team and a capable fighter who could even give a supersoldier a run for his money. In person, he was a lot like Romanov: shorter than she expected. What he lacked in height, he made up for in muscle. It was like he spent every waking moment in the gym, lifting weights and drinking protein shakes. He was certainly a handsome man, and in another life, Jane could imagine herself looking twice at him at the bar.

But something was wrong. The same something that had been wrong in Pierce's office. It was right there at the edge of her thoughts, but she just couldn't grab hold. This was different from the warnings her mother used to give her about guys only wanting one thing. It was something infinitely darker and more foreboding.

Whatever the case, she wished he wouldn't stand so close to her.

While he made small talk with Steve about progress on the murder investigation, more men squeezed into the car. Jane was practically crushed against the handrail, her back screaming in agony as one more bald-headed giant inserted himself in the last free spot.

'Aren't there any other cars?' Jane wondered. Asking out loud wasn't an option. It was hard enough just to take a breath.

The elevator descended, a gentle woosh of air blowing past like a symphony of shouts. Jane struggled to get comfortable. The man in front of her was sweating. She didn't blame him. It was getting way too hot in here. Did someone turn off the air conditioner?

Her feet were almost off the ground, her shoulders bent all the way back. Any more passengers and the glass would shatter. Somehow they hadn't overshot the weight minimum but that subtle whine of metal on metal couldn't be natural.

As all the noise of her thoughts and the engine and the many pounding hearts faded, Jane's eyes found Steve. His face made her insides curdle. The brooding poet was gone. Now he was a jungle cat ready to pounce.

"Steve…" Jane croaked.

He looked down at her and smiled. "Jane, I… I just realized you haven't seen the R&D floor yet, have you?"

She blinked. "What?"

He kept smiling. "Now might be a good time."

"He's right, Doctor Foster," said Rumlow. His own smile was razor-sharp. "You don't want to hang out with a bunch of old guys like us."

The man by the controls hit 'stop', and the doors opened on a random floor. One by one, they moved aside, forming a clear path for Jane to exit. She stared at the threshold between the hallway and the elevator. The two-step distance felt like a mile. Steve nudged her forward, and she walked as if pulled on a string. When she was out on the spacious floor and sucking in cool air, she spun around.

"Steve, don't forget," she said, "w-we're having lunch later. You're paying this time."

He nodded once, and then the doors slid shut and he was gone.

Despite the adrenaline rushing through her chest, it was a few seconds before Jane unstuck her feet from the carpet. She ran to the window, pressing her face against it just in time to see one of the men in the elevator whip out a stun gun and charge at Steve.

"Oh my God," Jane gasped.

The elevator was stopped as the men dogpiled him. Alarms blared and filled the hall with hellish red. Jane jumped back. What seemed like hundreds of agents in full body armor rushed out of nowhere, coming at her from either side. Their faces were hidden behind their helmets. They all had guns. One of them shouted at her to halt.

They were coming for her.

Jane threw open the nearest door, crying with relief that it was unlocked and even happier to find it led to the stairs. Climbing three at a time, she was down two floors in the time it took her pursers to burst in after her. To put more distance between them, she took to sliding down the railing wherever possible. It was a neat little trick she'd learned as a kid, never expecting it would one day save her life.

There was no telling how far down she had to go to reach the ground level. If she wasn't careful, she could end up cornered in the basement. The walls weren't numbered, nor did she have time to peek through the windows for any distinguishing features. If she tried, all she'd see was more armored mooks hunting for her.

Voices over her head grew fainter. Their threats turned to mush. Jane picked up the pace and nearly ran face-first into a door as it suddenly opened and a single agent jumped out at her, gun ready.

"Stop!" he said.

Jane didn't.

'Your best bet is to be faster,' Bucky whispered in her ear.

She grabbed his arm and slammed it with all her strength into the wall. It didn't seem to hurt him, but he dropped the gun. Jane snatched it up, bashing his helmet in with the butt until he was too disoriented to do more than flail.

'Keep your head on straight.'

Jane pushed him down the stairs. He tumbled like a sack of potatoes and landed on his head. The helmet was now badly dented, whether from the fall or from her attack, she didn't know. Fear exploded in her stomach as his body twitched. Then he let out a pitiful moan and she relaxed. He was alive.

"I did it," Jane gasped, staring at the gun in her hand. "Holy shit, I did it! I actually-" The other hundred men were gaining on her, their footsteps like a hail of bullets. "Oh no."

Every turn made her dizzy. It wasn't quite going in circles but it felt like it. Once or twice she dared glance up. They were still there. She glanced down. It was still a bottomless pit. The light grew brighter the farther she traveled. It could've been the sun or another fluorescent lightbulb. Jane kept going.

After ten more floors, a thought struck her. She couldn't hear them anymore. When she passed another door, there was no one waiting for her. Not a trace of black amid the monotonous grey. The only steps echoing off the paint-chipped steel were her own.

'Did they give up?' she thought deliriously. The light was growing. It streamed from a certain window on a certain floor. Almost there. Just a few more floors to go. She was almost-

There was a chunk missing out of one of the steps. It was probably from an accident forever ago. Something not important enough to fix while SHIELD carried one with their never-ending to-do list. An agent or a more knowledgeable guest would have known to be careful on that one little step. To swerve around the deep gap in the metal or just skip it entirely. If only Jane had one more second to look down.

Now she was plummeting.

Air was under her feet as she tucked her head in. Her arms couldn't protect it as they should've. They were shaking. A shriek tore a hole in her throat, leaving her unable to breathe as the wind was knocked out of her. The side of her head made contact with the floor. Instead of darkness, she saw colors. Hundreds of them. All extremely pretty and fun to look at. Like a kaleidoscope.

Jane bit back her tears and tried to stand. Her feet were back where they were supposed to be, but the stairs were not. They were up and down. Side to side. Spinning around.

Her head throbbed in her hands, something warm and wet flowing down her palms. The first step hurt, as did the next one. Each step hurt a little more, and the stairs would not stop moving. Clinging to the railing, Jane inched herself down to the next floor. This door was different. It had a large red handle in place of silver. The light in her eyes was indeed from the sun. It was a beautiful day out. When was the last time she enjoyed a day like this? It felt like forever.

Was the last time with Bucky?

'Good job,' she told herself as she dropped her body weight on the door. 'You're free. Jane. You're free.'

Out she went onto the Triskelion's front lawn, under the watchful eye of twenty cameras. Out she went into this perfect summer day. Into freedom.

Into his arms.

The man appeared from the shadows as he'd once disappeared. All size and darkness and unforgiving strength. Leather straps were in her face, the scent of him like a drug. At full height, he held her well off the ground. The arm around her waist was too hard to be real. As hard as steel.

But Jane didn't care anymore. Not about Steve or the rogue agents chasing her. When she looked up, she saw only his face, now uncovered. His mess of brown hair. His stubble. His full pink lips. His eyes.

"I knew it," Jane murmured, tears clouding her vision. "I knew it was you. The whole time... I… knew…"

Endorphins flooded her brain, easing the horror growing in her heart. When her muscles relaxed and that beautiful ocean blue turned to black, all Jane Foster felt was the purest happiness.

A/N: Some of you have been hoping for some Bucky POV. We will be getting into that next chapter. It'll be great because I can finally stop recreating scenes from the movie. Ugh... This is why TWS was so hard for me to work with.

More romantic (and heartbreaking) scenes for our beautiful couple to come. Hope you all will continue to enjoy!