We Were Soldiers

112. The Tender Trap

"Which way did he go?" Steve asked Monty, as he stepped out the back door.

"Jacques went that way," said Monty, pointing to the trees. "Into the woods. Is everything alright, Captain? He looked rather upset."

"It's a long story," he sighed. "Dugan, fill him in. I'm gonna see if I can bring him back before he does something he regrets."

"Y'know," Dugan replied, "you could actually make him come back, right? The guy's so small even I could carry him under one arm, and you're maybe a little bigger and stronger than I am."

"I could," Steve agreed. "But I'm not going to. The moment I start taking away peoples' ability to inform their own decisions… well, I'm no better than a bully."

He trotted off in Jacques' direction without waiting for a response. Regardless of what Dernier was going through, Steve had to respect his choices. Even if he thought his friend was making bad ones. That was part of what friendship was about; being there for your friends if the bad choices they made came back to bite them on their ass.

When he finally caught up to Jacques, he strode beside his friend in silence for a moment, unsure of what to say. He tried to think of what Peggy might do, but this was completely outside his realm of experience. The closest he'd ever come was when Mary-Ann was seeing a guy that Bucky really didn't approve of, but that was nothing compared to this. What could you say to someone whose sister had fallen in love with a Nazi?

"I'm sorry, Jacques," he offered at last. "When we found out Céleste was alive… I know this hasn't ended the way you wanted."

"I can fix this," Jacques said. There was a focused look in his eyes; one that had been absent since he'd received the letter from Gaspard.

"How? And where are you going?"

"To get the bomb."

"Whoa, wait a minute." He took a few longer strides and planted himself squarely in front of Jacques, blocking his way. Knowing he had no chance of getting past Steve, Jacques stopped and scowled at him. "What do you mean, getting the bomb? How will that fix anything? Please talk to me, Jacques. What's going through your head? I mean, you said Céleste is the traitor, which can't be true because she couldn't have known about any of this before she got here. If we really are being played by some double-agent—"

Jacques held up his hand and sighed. For the first time, he looked much older than this years. And tired; very, very tired.

"You do not understand," he said. "There is no double-agent. No traitor in the Resistance."

"You're right, I don't understand. They told us Céleste was dead. Clearly, somebody lied."

"Lied, yes," Jacques agreed. "But that does not mean there is a traitor. Obviously, the Resistance found out that Céleste had… had… with that man… and they probably refused to tell Gaspard anything so that he would become desperate and write to me. They wanted me to come here and find out about Céleste so that I could handle it in a way that would restore my family's honour."

Steve did not like the sound of that one bit. He also didn't like the fact that he and his team had been used by the Resistance to carry out their dirty-work.

"Don't you see?" Jacques continued, his voice taking on a pleading tone. Pleading for Steve to understand. To support him in whatever madness was going through his mind. "Céleste's handler… he has not told anybody else that she is alive. That she has betrayed her family and her people. That she is a collaborator. So far as anybody knows, she died a hero, carrying out her mission. But if it was discovered that she is alive, the shame to our family would be very great. That is why he gave us a bomb. I can complete the mission, and Céleste can remain a hero to our people. Gaspard does not need to know she is a traitor to France."

"Jacques, listen to yourself! This is madness! She's your sister, and—"

"Céleste is already dead to me," Jacques said coldly. "She died the moment she lay with that monster."

"So she makes one mistake, and you're ready to disown her? To kill her in cold blood because you think she brought dishonour to your family? Hell, didn't you dishonour your family with the thefts and arson you committed before the war?" He was being harsh. He knew he was being harsh, throwing the guy's past back at him, but he couldn't help it. Jacques was insane. Nobody in their right mind would harm their own brother or sister. Steve was only glad Bucky wasn't here to hear this; he probably would'a punched Jacques by now.

"You don't understand. I am doing this for Céleste. For Gaspard. Do you know what the Resistance does to traitors? Do you know how our people feel about collaborators? Céleste would become… anathème. Children would throw stones at her in the street. She would be outcast. Nobody would give her a place to stay or food to eat. Even beggars would spit upon her. Upon our whole family. I can take care of myself, but Gaspard could not live like that. Céleste's selfishness would destroy him."

Not for the first time, Steve was reminded that this was not his world. The reactions of Jacques and the rest of the French people were not reactions he could understand, but they wouldn't change just because Steve Rogers didn't see the point in the anger and hatred. Still, he could not condone the killing of a woman whose only crime was falling in love with the wrong person.

"Please come back and talk about this," he begged. "Give the team a chance, and maybe we can come up with another solution. I know you feel like doing this is your duty, but I know there's a part of you that doesn't want your sister to be hurt. We have a little time to think things through. Don't act in anger."

"I am not sure I can stand to look at her face," Jacques scowled. "Even thinking of her makes me angry."

"Then you can keep a look-out while we talk. Please, after everything we've done on this mission, I think you owe us that much."

"Very well," he agreed. "But if there is no better idea, I go through with my plan."

: - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - :

Bucky didn't think he'd ever seen such a terrified, broken woman before. After he helped Céleste up from the floor and onto the stool, she sat there in silence, staring through the floor tiles into the nothingness of despair. After a couple of minutes, she reached absently into her pocket, pulled out a silver cigarette holder, and plucked one of the smokes from inside it. She held it between her lips as she produced a packet of matches and struck one, but her hands were shaking so much that she dropped the match and it fell to the floor, fizzling out to smoke in a puddle of dirty laundry water.

"Here, let me," he offered, taking the packet of matches from her trembling hand.

She leaned forward as he struck another match, puffing on the cigarette as the flame brought it to life. Her hands shook with every exhale, causing the smoke to leave erratic zig-zag shapes in the air.

"He hates me," she said at last. "My brother hates me."

"You just dropped a really big bombshell on him. Give him time to get his head around it."

"His head will not get around. He is very stubborn. Like me, I suppose. But I did not mean for this to happen. I did not want to feel like this." One last, long draw on the cigarette took it right down to the end. She dropped it on the floor and let the water put it out, then took another from her pocket. The first seemed to have calmed her nerves a little; this time, she was able to keep hold of the match herself. "You must hate me, too," she said, glancing up at him. "You and your team have risked your lives to come here and help me, only to find I am not in the danger you thought I was."

"I don't hate you," he assured her. "I don't think it's been easy for you, loving someone your people hate. And I think you understand the consequences of your feelings. I also think that who we love is something we don't have any control over. I mean, if you could choose to love anyone, why choose an enemy of your people?"

She stared at him open-mouthed for a moment. "You… understand. I did not think anybody would understand my feelings."

He offered a small shrug. "Well, I had a friend like you. He loved somebody he wasn't supposed to love. He told me that it was the scariest feeling in the world, and he knew his feelings were wrong, but he wouldn't have wanted to change how he felt. Not for anything."

"What happened to your friend? Did he have a happy ending?"

"He died. War, y'know?"

"Oh." She tossed the end of her second cigarette onto the floor and switched to chewing her thumbnail. "Do you think… if he had lived… would he have had a happy ending?"

"No. But that doesn't mean you can't."

She laughed, but it was a cold laugh, completely devoid of humour. "Me? I am a traitor to my people. The Resistance consider me a collaborator, and they want me dead. They sent my own brother to make sure it happens."

"Don't worry, we won't let the Resistance hurt you. That's not what the Commandos are about." At least, he didn't think that was what they were about. From what he'd heard so far, opinions seemed to be mixed. If Jacques decided to through with the Resistance's plan, how many of them would stand up to him and say 'no'?

"You misunderstand me, err—I'm sorry, I did not catch your name."

"Sergeant Bucky Barnes." He offered his hand. "Pleasure to officially meet you, ma'am."

She shook his hand with a firm grip. "Thank you, Sergeant Barnes."

"What exactly is it that I misunderstand?" he asked.

"I am not afraid to die." The steely look in her eye told him she was telling the truth. "I would not have joined the Resistance if I feared death. No, I am afraid that Kurt will be taken from me. That something will happen to him, and I will have to go on living without him. I do not think I could bear that."

"How can you have such strong feelings for somebody you've only known for a few weeks?"

A sad smile tugged at her mouth. "You have never been in love, have you?"

"What makes you think that?"

"If you had been in love, you would not need to ask. You would understand, and you would know that words cannot explain this feeling. Some things go beyond words. Deeper than words. Some things just are. How long do you think it takes to fall in love? A year? A decade? No. All it takes is a single heartbeat. And that one second can stretch out into an eternity."

Bucky heard soft footsteps patter down the stairs before Agent Carter appeared in the doorway. She took in the two cigarette butts and the puffy redness of Céleste's face, and asked, "What happened? Where's Captain Rogers?"

"He went after Jacques," Bucky explained. "It seems the situation here is… a little more complicated than we'd realised. I think you should go catch up with Steve. He went out the back."

She eyed the cigarette butts again. "All right. If you're sure I'm not needed here."

"I'm sure."

Peggy left, and Céleste took to pacing back and forth, each step splashing grey water up her skirt. Bucky suspected she was far beyond caring about the state of her clothes. How ironic that their most difficult mission so far was the one that had seen the least action. Back when he'd been standing in line outside the enlistment office, he'd figured the hard missions would be the physically demanding ones. The ones where his life would be at risk. But those weren't the hard missions. In truth, the hard missions were the ones where tough choices had to be made. Where people maybe didn't come home afterwards. Where there was no 'right' answer to the question; just varying degrees of wrong.

And Céleste: poor kid! If circumstances were different, probably nobody would bat an eye at her love for a German. But their countries were at war. Germany was the aggressor; the French people, oppressed. The Resistance wanted both of them dead. Their chance at a happy ending was extremely slim.

Their situation sent him right back to his highschool English class, to their reading of Romeo and Juliet. Two people from warring houses who'd loved each other despite their families' hatred. In the end, they could only be together in death.

He reached out, to stop Céleste from pacing. "I think I'm gettin' an idea. What would happen if the Resistance thought you were dead?"

"Very little, I suspect. They would have no interest in exposing my family if they thought I had got what I deserved."

"And Generalmajor Sommer? If he knew the Resistance were trying to kill him? Would he stay?"

"I… I don't know. He takes duty very seriously, even if he does not agree with Hitler's methods."

"What if the Resistance planted a bomb in his kids' room while he was out? And they narrowly escaped being killed?"

"He would never put his children in danger," she said. "He would demand a new assignment. Somewhere safer."

"And if he thought your life was in danger too, he would take you with him?"

"I… I think so."

"Good." He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door. "Let's go."

"Go where?"

"To find Steve, and tell him my crazy plan."

: - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - :

As far as crazy plans went, it was a doozy. Bucky seemed so proud of it that Steve didn't have the heart to tell him it was actually nuts.

"So, let me get this straight," he said, wondering if he'd misunderstood some aspect of it. "You want us to retrieve the bomb that the Resistance left for Céleste. Plant it in the kids' room. Plant our bomb in Sommer's room. Detonate them both. Then have Céleste burn parts of her clothes and roll around in the ashes before we knock her out and leave her in the charred wreckage of the house?"

"That about sums it up," Bucky nodded happily. "Brilliant, huh?"

"Brilliantly destructive," Morita agreed. "But what's the point?"

"You ever read Romeo and Juliet?"

"It was on my to-do list."

"Well, so that they can be together, Juliet fakes her death. And now, so that Céleste and Generalmajor Sommer can be together, we need to fake her death. Or at the very least, tip off Sommer that he's in danger without blowing Céleste's cover. She can't tell him herself because if he knows she's with the Resistance he might hand her over to the Gestapo regardless of his feelings for her. So, we make it look like the Resistance came here, accused Céleste of being a collaborator for working for the Germans, knocked her out and left her for dead in a house they were about to blow up. Sommer gets spooked and asks for a new assignment, taking Céleste with him. Meanwhile, we go back to the Resistance, tell them mission accomplished, and they stop looking for Céleste."

"I dunno, sounds pretty convoluted to me," said Dugan. "I think you lost me at second bomb. How do we even know it's still there?"

"It will be there," Céleste assured him. "I can take you to it."

"It's a plan Colonel Phillips would be proud of," said Peggy. "What do you think, Jacques?"

The Frenchman was silent for a moment. So far, he had refused to even look at his sister. It was as if she was already dead to him, and it broke Steve's heart. He knew what it was like to lose family, and he wouldn't wish that on anyone in the world. He also knew that Jacques would regret it, later, if anything happened to his sister. Regardless of the anger her felt now, one day he would remember the good times they had shared, and he would have to live with that guilt for the rest of his life.

"Jacques, please," Céleste pleaded. She stood right in front of him, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I know that you would do this the way the Resistance wants. And if you went through with it… well, I wouldn't blame you. You are just doing what you think is best. But I would rather die than live without Kurt. I would confess to him and turn myself in before letting you do that. I will tell him my mission, and take the risk that he will have me interrogated and killed. At least then I would not be your problem any longer. I would not be here to bring shame to you and Gaspard. That is all you want, isn't it?"

"It is." Steve's heart started to sink. "But I think if Mama and Papa were here, they would want me to help you even though you are making a terrible mistake. So, I will go along with the plan. I will go back to Marseilles and tell Gaspard that you are dead. I will allow him to believe the lie the Resistance told me. None of them will ever know that you are alive, and you will never return to France again. If you choose this German over your family, then we are your family no longer. Do you agree?"

"I agree," she said quietly. "And I hope that one day, you can forgive me, and understand how I feel."

"All right," said Steve. "I think this plan is crazy enough that it just might work." It was probably nuts, but it was also likely to be Céleste's best shot. She'd made her decision, so all the team could do now was give her a chance. "Jacques, why don't you go with Agent Carter and Céleste to retrieve the—"

"No. I will stay here and prepare the first bomb."

"Err, why don't I go with Agent Carter and Miss Dernier to retrieve the explosive hidden by the Resistance?" offered Monty.

"Thanks, Falsworth. The rest of you—"

"Let me guess," said Morita, "we get to bring the bikes back here from where we've hidden them."

"You are a mind-reader, Private Morita," Steve told him. "But I think we're pretty safe out here; no need to push them in silence, you can just ride them back. Meanwhile, I'll help Jacques. Let's try and get this done as quickly as possible. I want to be gone before nightfall."

: - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - :

"I don't have a sister," Dugan said, as he, Bucky, Jones, Morita and Freddie made their way to where they'd left the bikes hidden from view. It would take two trips to bring all the bikes back, but Bucky didn't mind. At least it got him away from the tension at the house. "But if I did, I sure as hell wouldn't let her run off with some Nazi."

"I don't have a sister either," Jones spoke up. "But my mom's a big believer in letting us learn from our own mistakes. She says experience is the best teacher. Right after the Lord Jesus, of course."

"I'm with Dugan on this one," said Morita. "As somebody who does have a sister, I would do whatever it takes to keep her safe. If I were Dernier, I'd just take Céleste back to Marseilles. Or ship her off to a convent. Anywhere there's no Nazis. Or men in general."

"Nobody messes with my sisters," Freddie said proudly. "Including me. If I tried to tell them who they could or couldn't have a relationship with, I'd be picking blood out of my nose-hairs for weeks."

"What about you, Barnes?" asked Dugan. "You've been uncharacteristically quiet on the matter. You've got sisters back home, right? What do you think?"

It was not an easy question to answer. Twelve months ago, it would've been a no-brainer; the idea of either of his sisters datin' some Nazi would've had him breaking noses, just like Freddie's sisters. Now… now he wasn't sure love was as simple as he'd first imagined. In fact, love was looking decidedly more complicated than he'd ever thought it could be. Take Steve and Carter, for example. They were obviously stupidly in love. By now they ought to be married and sharing a house, or at least a room in one of the hotels designated for military personnel. But somehow, they always seemed to get in each others' way.

And Céleste. She was clearly an intelligent woman, and understood fully the consequences of her actions. On top of that, she was a real pretty dame; she could have her pick of men. Instead, she loved someone her people hated, and it even seemed that she loved him against her own will. Kinda like how Wells had described his confusing feelings in his letter.

Circumstance made Céleste's love taboo. But there were a whole other bunch of reasons why society said no to love. Take Jones. He was a great guy. Fun to be around. Brave. Capable and dependable. Intelligent and educated. And if his skin had been white, any dad would've been proud to have him court their daughter.

But he wasn't white. So it didn't matter how brave and intelligent and dependable he was. Society said blacks and whites couldn't marry. Couldn't have kids. Couldn't even share the same bathrooms, in a lot of places. Society said no, so any number of well-meaning brothers would beat on any black man who looked twice at their sisters. So if Jones had the bad luck of falling in love with a white woman, all he could expect for that love was a world of pain and intolerance. It didn't seem fair.

"I think," he said at last, "that in an ideal world, love should be the most important thing. Greater than hate. Greater than war. Greater than bigotry. But we don't live in an ideal world. If it was my sister in this situation, all I could do is wish her well and be here for her if things went sideways."

"Barnes the idealist," Dugan scoffed.

"On the other hand," said Jones, "if everyone was an idealist, then there would be no need for war."

Dugan patted the sidearm that was tucked into his belt. "Sorry boys, but I'm stuck here in the real world. If you want change, you gotta take action. Talking will only get you so far."

And Bucky couldn't disagree with that sentiment, either. Sometimes, actions spoke louder than words. But how was a guy to know when actions were better than dialogue?

His Dad had never warned him that being an adult was so hard. Kids had it easy; just do what your parents and teachers told you. There was none of this deep, soul-searching stuff. Just obedience. Kinda like the army, really. Agent Carter had once accused him and Wells of being children. Maybe she was right.

They found their bikes, brought one lot back to the house, then went back for the second lot. On the way back, they crossed paths with Monty's group, and gave them a lift on the backs of their bikes. Well, except for Agent Carter; she made Morita ride with Jones so she could have a bike to herself. She sure liked to be independent. Steve was going to have a real challenge ahead of him.

Steve and Dernier were waiting for them at the house. Monty shrugged off his pack and handed it over.

"Seems a bit of a coincidence," he said, "but the explosive we just retrieved looks suspiciously like the one our Resistance contact gave to us."

Dernier opened the bag and pulled the bomb out, holding it up for all to see. "It's not just suspiciously like, it is exactly like," he said. "This is the same sort of German explosive that we were given."

"Wait a minute," said Freddie, "didn't that shady Resistance guy tell us they only raided that cache of German supplies two weeks ago?"

"He did," Jones agreed. "But Céleste has been here a lot longer than that. Why not just tell us the truth?"

"Ahhh," said Monty, smacking his palm against his forehead in a very un-British way. He really had been hanging around with the team too long. "The pieces have finally fallen into place. I understand, now."

"Uh, care to share with the group?" asked Morita. "Some of us haven't connected all the dots yet."

"Céleste, you said that this Generalmajor Sommer has been vocally opposed to some of Hitler's plans, yes?"

"Oui."

"Then that explains it."

"It does?" Bucky prompted. One of Monty's skills was logical deduction; getting him to share those deductions was often a challenge.

"Don't you see? The Resistance must have known all along that Generalmajor Sommer was sympathetic to the French. So, what happens when one of Hitler's detractors—along with his family—is killed, and the remains of German bomb casing is found at the scene? It foments unrest. Hitler's opponents claim he had the Generalmajor killed. This was never about removing one unimportant Nazi from the area; it was about upsetting Hitler's hold over his own troops."

"I cannot believe they did not tell me this!" Céleste said.

"It is standard operating procedure," said Jacques. At least now he was lookin' at her. Talkin' to her. "If you are caught, you cannot divulge what you do not know. It would leave room for another operative to make the attempt."

"That's why they didn't provide us with home-grown explosives," said Monty, really driving the point home. "They needed this action to be traced back to the Germans themselves, not to the Resistance. If it was known the Resistance did this, it would strengthen the German resolve to crush the French spirit."

"Gee," said Freddie, "I suddenly feel dirty. And also disappointed I didn't see this earlier. That Resistance guy was way too helpful."

"So we've all been played," said Dugan. "Does this change our plans any?"

"No," said Steve. "In fact, this is better. If Generalmajor Sommer discovers German bomb constituents amongst the wreckage, he might think Hitler really did order him to be removed. Hopefully he'll resign his commission and take his family—along with Céleste—somewhere safe. Somewhere far away from the fighting."

"But… if he thinks Hitler tried to have his family killed, he may do something foolish," said Céleste. "You know what men are like!" She glanced around for confirmation, then suddenly seemed to realise she was talking to a bunch of men. Her gaze went immediately to Peggy for backup. "Right?"

"Céleste." Peggy stepped forward and placed a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "If you know this man half as well as you claim, from what you've told us he doesn't sound like someone who would put his children in danger for the sake of petty revenge. They have already lost their mother; he wouldn't want them to lose their father as well."

"Yes, yes, you are right."

"Besides," said Steve, "it's either this, or you confess to him that the Resistance wants him dead to frame the Germans. I don't think that will accomplish anything other than putting your life in danger and perhaps making him less sympathetic to the French people and more willing to believe Hitler was right to invade."

"And if that happens," Bucky spoke up, "he might stay here. And you know the Resistance will keep trying until they succeed. You won't have saved him."

"Thank you, all of you," said Céleste. "You are right, of course."

"Then it is decided." Jacques stood and gestured at the door. "I will go and prepare the second bomb."

"I'll give you a hand," said Bucky.

"The rest of you, prepare to head out," Steve instructed. "We may be out in the middle of nowhere, but the explosions could still draw attention. I don't want to stay here too long."

: - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - :

Bucky watched Jacques as he worked in silence inside the kids' room, finding the best spot to place the bomb for maximum effect. There was no denying it; the guy knew his explosives. Dernier could put a bomb together with the ease and familiarity that Bucky had when taking apart and putting back together his rifle for cleaning.

But watching the guy work wasn't why he'd offered to help. He cleared his throat, and ploughed on when Jacques didn't take the time to look up at him.

"So. Are you going to talk to Céleste?"

"I have said all I need to say to her," Jacques replied. He tried to sound calm and unaffected, but Bucky could hear the undercurrents of anger and grief in the guy's voice. Understandable, given how betrayed he felt. "And there is nothing she can say to me that will undo the wrongs she has done."

"I know you're upset, but if you don't try and make peace with her now, you will regret it for the rest of your life."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But it is my regret to have. Céleste is a collaborator; the rest of my people would not let her off so easy."

"C'mon, pal, she's hardly giving away Resistance secrets or helping march innocent people to their deaths," he said. "All she's guilty of is loving someone and looking after a couple of kids. If she was truly a traitor, she would've given the Germans all the intel she has on the Resistance. She still has loyalty to you and the rest of France."

"It is not enough!" His scowl was murderous. "I consider you a friend, Bucky. And I am asking you, as my friend, to stop talking about this and never mention Céleste to me again. Once these bombs are triggered, she is dead to the world. But she is already dead to me."

He wanted so badly to try and help Jacques. While serving with the 107th, he'd lost friend after friend, and each time there had been regrets. About things said and not said. Done and not done. He should'a told Hawkins to go home after his brother died. Should'a ratted out Tipper's true age to the brass. Tried harder to cheer up Wells on the Monticello. Done a better job at helping Gusty get through the guilt of Tipper's death. Not taken a swing at Weiss.

But he couldn't make Jacques understand. Until he experienced the regret for himself, he would never know about it, and by then it would be too late.

"All right," he agreed. "But if you ever need to talk, in the future, consider me a sympathetic ear."

Jacques clipped the detonator onto the explosive. "We are finished here. Let's go."

The rest of the team had not been idle while Bucky and Jacques were putting the final preparations on the bomb; they'd found some charcoal and ashes in one of the fires of the house, and had done an impressive job of making Céleste look like she'd been caught up in an explosion. Her clothes were torn, her hair was a dishevelled mess, and her clothes and skin were coated in grey. She looked more like a stone statue than a real person.

"Are we all ready?" asked Steve.

No, Bucky wanted to say. This wasn't the mission ending that he wanted. He'd wanted to come here and help his friend. To find Céleste and bring her home to her family. Not to watch that family torn apart. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. And there was nothing he could do about it.

"I believe so," said Agent Carter. This had to be eatin' her up, too. She'd come along because she wanted to help Jacques reunite with Céleste, like Jacques had helped Agent Carter reunite with Michael. This wasn't the reunion she'd wanted to see.

Life was far too short and precious for all these complications. When he got back to London, the first thing he was gonna do—after a hot meal, a warm bath and a good night's sleep—was take Antje on that tour of the city he'd promised her. He was going to make sure she had a good time, and he was going to make sure he enjoyed himself too.

"Okay Jacques, let's do this."

"Not me." Jacques held both detonators out to Céleste. "I will not have anybody say I forced this on you. If this is the choice you make, then you do it yourself."

She eyed the detonators as if they were poisonous vipers, then slowly reached out to take them. "I… very well. Will you tell Gaspard that I love him? And that I'm sorry for making him worry?"

Jacques shook his head. "I cannot. If this plan is to work he must think you died before I got here."

"Oh." Bucky's heart went out to her. There was no easy option here. Either way, somebody she loved was hurt. "I see." She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I love you too, Jacques. I hope you know that."

She pushed the buttons. Bucky covered his ears as two deafening explosions rocked the house, sending out huge fireballs and shattering all the windows with the force of the sound. The fire took hold quickly; faster than he had been expecting. Within seconds the upper floor was engulfed. Even from two dozen metres away, he could feel the intensity of the heat against his face.

"So much for leaving you in the house near the blast site," Morita said to Céleste.

"It's okay," said Steve. "We'll leave her out here. Céleste, you can say that you managed to crawl to safety before losing consciousness. How does that sound?"

"It sounds fine." She gave the useless detonators to Steve. "I am ready now. Thank you, all of you, for helping me. I know you may not feel like you have helped, but you have. I appreciate you risking your lives. And Jacques… goodbye, my brother. You may hate me for when I have done and how I feel, but I will always love you."

Bucky's heart broke a little more when Jacques said nothing. Merely turned his back on her and walked to the nearest bike. He started the engine, and waited.

"Okay, Dugan," said Steve. "You want to knock Céleste out?"

"Sorry Cap, but I was raised to believe you never hit a girl. I think this one's on you."

"Bucky?"

He shook his head. "I can't hit a dame, pal." His mind took him back to the 107th, to the medical tent, and Nurse Green. "Unless she's trying to kill me."

"And don't look at me," Freddie spoke up. "My arms have the punching strength of wet noodles."

"Oh, you big babies," said Agent Carter as she pushed her way forward. "I'll do it."

Céleste offered a small smile. "Thank you."

"Now, I'll do it on the count of three," Carter explained. "But before I count, I just want you to know that—"

She swung so fast that Bucky almost missed it. Freddie actually jumped in alarm. Carter's fist connected with Céleste's temple, and the young woman fell backwards. Steve's fast reflexes saved her from hitting the ground as dead weight. He lowered her onto the grass, face-down, as if she'd crawled from the house.

"What happened to a count of three?" Jones asked.

"She would've tensed and made it more difficult," Agent Carter explained. She shook her hand a few times, working feeling back through her fingers.

Together, they surveyed the scene in front of them. The fire was spreading throughout the house. The roof was starting to collapse. Soon, it would be a shell. There was absolutely no chance of anybody ever living here again. Generalmajor Sommer would have no choice but to leave. Mission accomplished, in a way.

"Time to go," Steve said at last. "We have to find somewhere to rendezvous with our ride. Somewhere Stone can land the plane."

"I must go back to Marseilles," said Jacques. He pointedly didn't look back to where Céleste lay unconscious on the ground. "I must report back to our contact, and tell Gaspard that his sister is dead. Do not worry about me, I will find my way back to England once I know Gaspard will be okay."

Steve shook his hand, and the rest of the Commandos followed suit. "Good luck, and take care, Jacques. We'll see you soon."

Bucky grabbed one of the bikes and started the engine up. As the rest of the Commandos followed Steve, he took one last look back. Hopefully, Céleste would get her happy ending. And maybe one day, when the war was over, she could reunite with her family. This mission… it wasn't a real ending. If felt half-done. Unresolved. But maybe this was something only time could fix.

He revved the engine, and followed behind the team.

Author's Note: Hello, Space-friends! It's been a crazy old 12-18 months, hasn't it? I hope you're all doing well, and have read many excellent fics over the past year or two. In true Spaceman fashion, I lost track of time a little bit. I won't say the dirty C-word, because we're all fed up of it by now, but here in Spaceland we're still adapting to a 'new' normal. On top of that, last year I was in danger of losing my job. Then I got shunted into a different department. Then I decided to quit my job altogether and start my own business. So, it's been a bit of a roller coaster, and I am so, so sorry for leaving this story on such a cliff-hanger for so long!

One of my post-dirty-C-word resolutions has been to make time to do the things that I want to do. One of the things that I want to do is continue writing this story. My plans for it haven't gone away—they never did. They just got put aside while I focused on real, boring, adult stuff for a while. So, without further ado, I now perform CPR on this fanfic and breathe into it the life it had been sorely missing while my world got a little bit broken. I hope you continue to enjoy it, and I look forward to revisiting some of my favourite authors and their stories as well!