A/N: Just four more chapters after this.

Enjoy!

'…and if you look behind me, you can see that the FBI has already arrived on the scene. It is unclear at this point what caused the explosion, but I have been informed that Steve Rogers, better known as Captain America, was apprehended on site half an hour ago. With him was former Air Force paratrooper, Sam Wilson, and fellow Avengers team member, Natasha Romanov, a.k.a. Black Widow. Uh… we are not yet aware of any charges filed. The FBI has cordoned the area off and at least one fatality has been reported. Some sources indicate the presence of another assailant who is said to have fought with Captain Rogers in the middle of the highway. At this point, we can neither confirm nor deny…'

Jane heard the broadcast through a fog, tucked away in the smallest corner table in the back of a charming cafe. After leaving the alley, she had wandered for a time before her nose picked up a sweet, spicy scent and the burning ache in her stomach led her to the door. She had ordered a French dip, not her usual choice but it was thick and greasy and would fill her stomach. Until the random angsty CW show blinked out of existence and the emergency news bulletin appeared.

Now Jane couldn't eat a bite.

She forced it down anyway, knowing she'd suffer later if she didn't. When the last little bit was gone and she'd only gagged once or twice, she counted that as a victory. She drank her coffee and reached into her pocket. A bonus tip was more than suitable.

Except the lint in her pocket was not money. She didn't have any money. Her wallet was in a HYDRA trash bin somewhere. Jane sneaked down a hallway past the bathrooms and left out the back door, her stomach as heavy as a brick.

Outside, a police car rushed down the street, one more straggler late to the party. It tore around the corner, there and gone before the onlookers had a chance to find their phones. Jane stared after it until the sirens were long gone and the muted whispering of a hundred civilians were the only things keeping her from falling into the void. She felt empty. Unreal. There was nowhere to go except forward or back. She chose forward and started walking.

One block became two. Then at least twelve. Nothing was familiar. Every shop that wasn't boarded up was closed. Hastily drawn signs hanging on glass doors by bits of scotch tape cited 'traffic issues' for why they had locked their doors. The only place still open was a laundromat. An old man loaded piles of shirts and underwear into the washing machine. He made eye contact with Jane and they stared at each other until she moved on.

Nobody was following her. She had known it from the start, but it took an hour and another half mile for it to sink in. Bucky was gone. Rumlow was gone. They took HYDRA with them and now she was alone. No cars rolled up fifty feet behind her. No mysterious men in black suits spied on her from shop windows. She searched every which way for roaming red dots. Nothing.

They let her go. Just like that.

It wasn't right.

Jane checked her pockets one more time. They were as empty as they were twenty seconds ago. She rubbed the bottom, wearing a hole in the fabric. That she had her clothes at all was a miracle. They smelled like dirt and sweat and people were staring. She could only hope it's because she looked like hell and not because they were waiting for her to turn around.

Inside another bar, the same newscast was running. Steve was loaded into a police van yet again, carted off somewhere that definitely wasn't jail by a bunch of guys who definitely weren't cops. The people inside talked about the story or their own lives. Nobody looked up at the woman shambling past.

She walked for ages, hours whizzing by like flies. At some point, she found herself in a park with an empty bench next to a water fountain. She sat down and watched the marble mother elephant squirt water from her trunk all over her excited calves. People walked by, one after the other, forming a fleshy blur at the top of her vision. She stopped seeing them. The world was a hunk of cracked pavement with a hint of muddy shoeprints. Crunching grass and children's laughter floated through her ears like white noise.

"Okay Jane," she said to herself. "What's your next move?"

They'd come for her eventually. She was a loose end, a lingering threat. She'd thoroughly proven herself to be more trouble than she was worth and the next time she saw Alexander Pierce she would be on the wrong side of a gun. So what to do?

Call Thor? He was half a universe away. The last time he contacted anyone, it was from a planet with a name she couldn't pronounce in a galaxy that logically shouldn't exist. Heimdall was out, too. He'd be too busy watching over the prince and his people to hear some random human crying for help.

How did she go from an epic fantasy adventure to the very real world of global terrorism? She felt out of place and out of her depth. Like a puzzle piece that didn't fit. She never should have been a part of this, but she was. All she could do was forget about the lectures and research papers that should have been her life and take the lot she'd been given by the horns.

If only she didn't get gored.

She sat there, pitifully muttering Thor's name in the hopes of being heard until despair began to feel like betrayal. Then she muttered Bucky's name. She hugged herself against a cold only she could feel. The ring poked her palm, leaving fractals embedded in the skin. She hadn't put it down since she left the cafe. There were too many ways to lose it and even her pockets felt unsafe.

Slowly, she raised it to the sun, letting the light reflect off the diamond. The shine was beautiful. Even after days of constant handling, there wasn't a scratch on it. She ran her finger along the shank. It had always been a little loose, but she never dared get it resized. The circle of jewels gleamed brilliantly, each sparkle like a reassuring smile. She didn't know what they were trying to say, but she wished she could believe it.

Eventually, another hour passed. Jane checked the time once and it was two. The next time she looked, it was a little past three. There was no bell except the one in her ears, ringing long after the hour was struck. Jane wrapped her fingers around the ring, straightening and curling them again and again. Her legs ached like a layer of stone had grown over them. She shook them out and started walking. She reached the end of the path and kept going. She exited through a side gate, crossed the street, and turned left.

She didn't stop.

"Come on, don't stop now."

Bucky sure could whine when he wanted to. Like a child denied a new toy from the store. If only he wasn't so damn cute when he did it. Jane placed the gun carefully down on the stump, turning the barrel to face the trees.

"It's getting late," she said. "We both have to be up early tomorrow. I'm honestly surprised no one has come looking for us."

"In a base with almost a hundred thousand men?" Bucky snorted. "Sorry, doll, but even I'm not that important. They can survive a few more hours."

"We won't survive Monday morning if we don't sleep," Jane said as her stomach howled in agreement. "Or eat for that matter."

"I'm not hungry," Bucky said.

"Yeah right. You eat like a horse."

"And you eat like a bird."

Jane narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged innocently. "What's what supposed to mean?"

"Don't be cute," Jane said.

"Oh, you think I'm cute." Bucky sidled up next to her, throwing an arm over her shoulders. "I would've gone with devilishly handsome and sexy but I can work with cute."

"Stop it," Jane giggled, pounding her small fists on his chest.

Their laughter turned to a hellish roar that sent shockwaves through Jane's blood. It was only after the wind shook the snow from the branches that she realized it wasn't them. Three planes soared low through the blanket white sky in a triangular formation. Painted green with insignia Jane had memorized for transcribing purposes but couldn't seem to remember. The star was familiar, as was the American flag. The plane at the head of the pack veered right and the other two followed.

Jane closed her eyes, not expecting gunfire from friendlies but unable to fight off the instinct. Someone shouted in the distance, words that probably had nothing to do with the planes and everything to do with some lazy private not cleaning the floors right. She clung to Bucky's hand, which wrapped so fully around hers it might have disappeared.

When the engines faded, she opened her eyes. Three black dots a million miles away were all that remained of the planes. Bucky was watching her, unperturbed by the interruption, which to him was as common as a housefly. He kept hold of her hand, the other one winding around her back. It was hard to take in warmth through so many layers of clothes. Jane grasped for whatever she could as stillness returned to the air and strength to her legs.

"Okay," she said. "One more time."

The nurse brought in a tray of food. It was four in the afternoon, dinner time for all residents whether they cared for soggy mashed potatoes and Salisbury steak or not. Peggy, judging from the scowl creasing her well-aged features, was in the latter category. As the nurse helped her sit up and cut the steak into more manageable pieces, she shot Jane a look. The kind they used to share during staff meetings when Peggy was supposed to be participating and Jane taking notes. If only the US army wasn't so full of balding, blubbering blowhards.

Jane smiled but didn't laugh. The nurse still glanced at her for an unnecessarily long amount of time after tucking a napkin into Peggy's collar. She walked backward out of the room like she was hiding something sharp and unpleasant behind her back. Her face was clear: no funny business.

"She's protective," Jane remarked, once she was sure the woman was gone and not pressing her ear against the wall.

"She's well trained," Peggy said, pushing her green beans off to one side. "We may need to work on her threat assessment."

"That almost sounds like an insult," Jane said.

Peggy stuck a piece of steak in her mouth and took her time getting over the taste. For the moment, Jane sat back, waiting for Peggy to finish her meal. The room was a single, but it was big enough for two. Without a roommate to chomp on chips or snore, it was far too quiet. The TV was on mute, playing a sitcom Jane had never seen before. Subtitles ran across the screen. She followed them for a time. Something about two girls who liked the same boy. He asked out one of them. The other was pissed. Their friendship was ruined until right before the end credits.

Her eyes glazed over and she lost focus during the big apology scene. She blinked and a car commercial was playing. Leaking back, she tried to get comfortable enough to doze off. Even five minutes of sleep to get the cotton balls out of her head would be a godsend. If only this chair was as comfortable as it looked.

Of course, closing her eyes just meant another visit from Pierce and his smug smile, Rumlow and his gun, Bucky and his voice telling her to forget. She sat up ramrod straight as Peggy pushed the remains of her steak back onto the tray table.

"So," she said, "are we ready to talk?"

Jane sucked on her teeth. "We don't have to."

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to."

"What?" Jane laughed, trembling worse than Peggy's hands. "I just wanted to see you."

"I know," Peggy said, lifting her head like a queen before her subjects. Or a general before her troops. "But Jane, I do watch the news."

A new show was on. Yet another sitcom. Jane glanced at it, committing nothing to memory, and noticed the remote stuck to the wall with velcro. She thought about turning off the TV, but she'd have to get up for that. They could call the nurse, but Jane didn't want to see her again. She didn't think she could hold it all in.

"Are you okay?" Jane asked through the lump in her throat.

"Shouldn't I be asking you?"

"No, but…" Jane gestured meaninglessly, "are you… I don't know.

"Am I worried about Steve?" Peggy supplied, threading her fingers. "To a point. It was unwise to escalate the conflict, but I imagine it was beyond his control. I can't say I would've done much better."

"You'd have kicked ass," Jane said. "You always did."

Peggy scoffed. "Do. Don't count me out just because my pesky memory is a bit spotty."

"Sorry," Jane said, refusing to think about Peggy reaching for a non-existent sidearm when she first entered the room. "I should know better."

"Well, no harm done," Peggy said. "Now, why don't you tell me what this is all about? Unless you want to feed me the same terrorism nonsense that pompous newsman was pushing."

Whatever spark of good humor Peggy's mood had inspired in Jane fizzled out. The cold remains of the wick couldn't even smoke. "I don't think you want to know."

"If it's life-threatening information, I should be dead a hundred times over by now. What's one more?"

"It's not that easy," Jane said.

"Nothing ever is, is it?" Peggy said. "But it can make for quite a story."

That was true. If the only good things that came out of this nightmare were a few funny anecdotes to tell at parties ten years down the line, Jane would count herself lucky. That she would probably be doing so with an empty spot around her shoulder didn't bear thinking about. At least, that was what she told herself.

The best way to avoid something, Jane had found, was to talk. So she talked. First about the plane ride into DC, then the night when Fury came by to die. The meeting with Pierce, the chase down the stairs, the tunnels, the bunker, the monsters. The second meeting with Pierce and his insane plan to destroy the world for peace. It all came spilling out of her with the force of a waterfall, while tears leaked from her eyes into sad little puddles.

Peggy took it all in with impregnable calm. She never interrupted. Didn't so much as blink when Jane ran out of breath and pitched forward, gasping out the last few words.

"Well," she said, staring blankly forward, "that is a problem, isn't it?"

Jane took her dry hand on her clammy one. "I'm so sorry, Peggy."

"You?" Peggy asked. "Whatever for?"

"For… everything. All of this!"

"You didn't cause this, Jane. If anything, I should apologize to you." Peggy stared at her hands, flexing her fingers. They looked so small. "I was so pleased when I first met Pierce, that honest men still existed… I was such a fool."

"You couldn't have known," Jane said. "No one did. Not even Fury."

"They never should've had to," Peggy said, staring out the window. The sky outside had darkened. It was drizzling. Water droplets trailed down the glass and across Peggy's eyes. "I created SHIELD for those who were too small for this world. So we could protect them. I never thought that one day, it would be from ourselves."

"Come on, don't talk like that," Jane said. "We can still fix this. We can-"

"No, Jane," Peggy said, almost like a mother. "When Steve escapes, if he hasn't already, he'll know what to do. There are some things even he cannot save."

Jane clenched a fist. She wanted to hit something. Again and again, until her knuckles bled. "SHIELD was your life."

"My family was my life," Peggy said. Her wall of photos smiled down on her. "My husband. My children. My friends. They were my life. I have no regrets, Jane. Not even this. I only wish I could've been by your side when you take Barnes back. Ah, well."

Jane, who had been nodding along with a weakening spirit, froze. "Wait, what?"

"What?" Peggy repeated, tilting her head to one side. "Did you already have a plan? Forgive me, I thought you needed to brainstorm."

"Peggy… I can't get him back. I can't do anything. You know that."

"Of course, you can," Peggy said instantly. "Don't tell me you're here just to mope. That would be so disappointing."

"I barely made it out of there alive," Jane said, nearly shattering as the memories overwhelmed her. "This isn't a game. It's a war out there!"

"Well, you've already survived one of those," Peggy said, ticking off numbers on her fingers. "You also single-handedly created time travel in the first place."

"That was an accident. I didn't intentionally-"

"And you fixed a high-tech device with, by your standards, antiquated equipment to send yourself back."

"Okay, but that wasn't-"

"And you proved your theory by literally traveling via an interdimensional bridge."

"Hang on, I didn't-"

"And you survived infection from an unknown ancient force."

"Would you just let me-"

"And, most importantly, you aced defensive driving," Peggy dropped all five fingers into her lap and smiled. "There's nothing you can't do, Jane."

Peggy sat back, giving Jane the floor. Like she knew there wasn't a thing Jane could say against her. That she'd be too busy untying her tongue and withstanding the electricity coursing through her veins. It charged her heart, sucking the self-doubt away. Even as her mind spat out the simple fact that she was one little human against hundreds if not thousands of monsters. She couldn't hear it anymore. It was too far away.

If anyone ever doubted that one woman could create a worldwide organization and inspire millions to take up their sword, they'd only need to meet Peggy Carter once.

"You haven't changed," Jane said, squeezing her cold hand. "Not one little bit… but you're wrong. There is something I can't do."

Peggy frowned. "Oh?"

Jane looked at her eyes, her own fully dry. "I just can't work a stove."

Laughter built slowly, but soon, both of them were in hysterics. Jane doubled over, clutching her stomach. Peggy needed several drinks of water, but they just couldn't stop. With every second, Peggy's face regained color. Her wrinkles softened. Her hair shined in the light. Like a storm brewing, they sunk back into those long afternoons in the dimly lit barracks. Trading wild stories, joking about the men under their command, until all the years that sat between them melted away, and they were young again.

When the nurse returned, Peggy was asleep. Jane fixed her pillow and tucked her in as the nurse sized her up. That long, thin blade in her scrubs pocket probably wasn't a scalpel.

"Visiting hours are over," she said like she was dying to hear an argument.

"Sorry," Jane said. She placed Peggy's hand gently in her lap and stood. "I was just leaving."

The nurse nodded, leading Jane out of the room. "Haven't heard her laugh like that in a while."

"I know," Jane said.

"How do you know each other again?"

Jane took the question with a smile. Calm. Vague. No fear. "We're just old friends. Tell her thank you when she wakes up, okay?"

She left the nurse with that. Nothing more. Following the signs, she made her way to the exit. It loomed before her, glass double door with the world behind them. The last long walk she might ever take.

It would be nice to say the fear she slithered in with was gone, but reality is never nice. She shook from head to toe with soul-crushing terror, the kind that could stop a person in their tracks and break them from the inside out. The only thing that kept her going was the pull of Bucky's sad eyes watching her leave him behind. The push of Peggy's words blowing like a trumpet in her ear. The feel of the diamond ring as she slid it on her finger.

She could do anything and she would.

The soldier had failed the mission.

He knew it when Rumlow got the call. The targets had escaped. The van had been hijacked. Current whereabouts unknown. Rumlow nodded and apologized and glared at the soldier through the rearview mirror. They were on a back road closed to the public about to enter a tunnel past the first checkpoint. No chance to turn back now, especially with reporters and police everywhere. Had to call it a bust and move on.

The soldier didn't care.

He didn't know how he was supposed to feel when a mission succeeded. Satisfaction was his best guess. When he thought about prior assignments, indifference was the best he could come up with. Faces and names were there, but jumbled. He couldn't place the couple who died in the car any more than he could the man in the embassy building who was just in the way. When he reached for something more, all he got was that single word, targets.

That's all they were.

But he'd taken plenty in his time. He'd never failed before (right?). If he hadn't cared then, he didn't have to care now. No one gave him that order. He could feel whatever he wanted.

No, you can't, he knew. Not if it compromises the mission.

Well, it couldn't compromise a mission that was already over. So why not sit in the back of this car, two men on either side of him with guns in their laps, smiling in his mind when he couldn't on his face?

What did it matter when he hated them? Every single one of them.

He wasn't supposed to, but he did. And he could.

The soldier's mind smiled all the way to the last checkpoint. Twelve men were waiting. All armed. All afraid. Pierce stood at the front, frowning at the soldier as he was pulled out of the car. They forced his head down. Pierce was slightly shorter. He looked down at the soldier, shaking his head. Only then did the soldier's inner glow dim and the weight of his glitching arm dragged him down.

He had failed.

They brought him to the chair. The soldier didn't fight. They disarmed him and stripped him down to his pants. The technician arrived and got to work on his arm. Guards were stationed at every entrance. The soldier counted five, but he didn't look at them. A doctor checked his vitals. Everything was normal. Blood pressure, heart rate, brain waves.

No one spoke, not to him or each other. The room glowered yellow under middling light. There were no windows. The air was stale. He'd been in here before and he never liked it. He knew that for sure.

Open air would be wonderful. A lush forest, a cool breeze. Snow.

'Sergeant Barnes…'

He jerked back. The voice hit him like a slap. It rang in his ears. Made him dizzy like he was spinning. Or falling. Falling from… something…

Dragging.

Through the snow.

'The procedure has already started…'

A table. Clamps. Can't move. Arm. Blade. Shoulder. It hurt. Oh God, it hurt.

'You will be the new fist of HYDRA!'

A hand. Two hands. Real. Metal. A man. Grab him. Kill him. Kill. Kill. Kill.

Ice.

The soldier struck the doctor. He flew back ten feet.

The guards converged. All eyes were on him now. Eyes and guns. The soldier caught his breath. Fought with himself. Don't be angry. Don't fight back. You know you can't. Not for anything.

Not even for her.

Pierce and Rumlow returned. The soldier watched them through the bars. A doctor tried to stop them. He's unstable. Erratic. Pierce didn't care. He entered the cell and approached the soldier. He didn't stand too close, but it was close enough.

"Mission Report," he said.

The soldier couldn't speak. He knew he should, but there was already so much going through him. The woman, the man, the bridge, the ring.

"Mission Report now."

Did he hear that? He thought he did, but he couldn't be sure. Or maybe he didn't want to be.

Pierce smacked him. It didn't hurt, at least not much. The soldier recoiled, his tongue loosening. He had to ask. "The man on the bridge… who was he?"

That man had touched the woman. She had run to him. The soldier hated him, but only for a moment. Somewhere deep down, in a place he couldn't reach, he loved that man. If anyone else had hit him, the soldier would've hit them back.

"You met him on another assignment," Pierce said.

No. That was wrong. "I knew him."

Pierce sighed. The soldier was treading dangerous waters. He might drown. Pierce pulled up a stool and sat down, meeting the soldier's eye. He wasn't angry yet. Instead, he looked sad. He had the kindest eyes.

"Your work has been a gift to humanity," Pierce said. "You've shaped this century. Now I need you to do it again."

That's right, he was the hero. Did they always tell him that? They must have. He'd heard it before. Another voice, a sweeter voice. One he loved to hear. One that didn't make his insides shrivel and turn his blood to paste. It was easier to believe in that voice than Pierce's. From him, it felt like a lie.

"But I knew him," the soldier said.

Pierce pursed his lips. The conversation was over. He stood and walked away, addressing the doctors. "Prep him."

The soldier twitched. It was his way of screaming.

"He's been out of cryofreeze for too long," the doctor said.

"Then wipe him and start again."

"Sir, we still need to figure out what to do about…" the guard, Rollins, glanced at the soldier like he was afraid to finish his sentence.

Whatever it was, Pierce understood. "She made her choice. There's nothing more we can do for her. Do we have the list of targets?"

"Yes sir, 715,854 within this region."

"Good. You know what to do."

Rollins nodded. He touched his com. "Insight, this is Rollins, we need to add one more name to the list of targets. Do you copy?"

He walked out of the room. The soldier couldn't hear him anymore. He could see Pierce, hands clasped behind his back as he shook his head like a disappointed parent.

"Such a shame," he muttered under his breath. "A real shame."

There was a man in front of the soldier with a mouthguard. He had to take it. Clamp down hard while they scrubbed his mind clean so they didn't take his tongue with it. The soldier should have opened his mouth twenty seconds ago. The doctor was staring at him, sweating, unsure if it was safe to force the soldier's jaw open. While everything told him to do the right thing and take the piece, the soldier couldn't do it. His lips flared, baring clenched teeth. He stared at Pierce and pulled on chains he couldn't see. Wishing he could break them. Wishing he could break him.

It pooled in his stomach and into his throat, filling his mouth and pushing against his teeth like a brick wall. Punching, pounding, desperate to get out.

He felt the woman warm in his arms and saw her smile.

"Don't…"

Pierce looked at him, brow furrowed. More men appeared. More guns. Pierce raised a hand to stop them. He looked so calm. So calm while planning her death.

"Don't…" He said it again. It hurt like nothing before ever had. This was insubordination. This was treason. He had been ordered not to speak this way, but he couldn't stop now. "Don't… hurt… her… Don't hurt her…"

Pierce took the mouthpiece from the doctor and grabbed the soldier's jaw. He dug his fingers into the socket, prying it open. The mouthpiece went in. It tasted like rubber.

"Do it," Pierce ordered.

"Don't hurt her…" his voice was muffled, but clear. He'd say it again and again, even if his throat bled.

The clamps snapped on. The chair leaned back. The headset descended, sparkling with electricity. Fear crashed through him. Almost overwhelmed him. He didn't let it. Not this time. "Don't… hurt… her…"

"Turn the pressure up," Pierce said, leaving the room. "He needs more this time."

"I'll… kill… you…"

But then there was no fear. There was no anger. There was no frenzied maelstrom of forgotten emotions like he'd been feeling that fear and that anger for longer than he knew.

There was only pain. Pain and darkness and screams. His screams. The man on the bridge disappearing. The woman's face melting. The voice that whispered in his ear and told him she loved him. Called him by a name.

There was no name.

There was no face.

There was only the soldier, and there was the next mission.