Alert readers may notice that I'm a bit off my usual schedule - I took last Sunday off for Easter, and tomorrow is my daughter's first birthday, so I'll be a little busy then, too. I should be back to the usual Sunday updates next week.

Thanks for reading, following, reviewing, etc.!

Chapter 11 - November 3-4, 1943

"This would be easier if you would sit still," Peggy said, doing her best to trim Stevie's hair by the light of a Lucas lamp propped on a table. The fireball that had singed off the end of Stevie's braid had not done so evenly - when she had finally taken her hair down it looked like she had mange.

"Sorry," Stevie said, sketchbook open on her knees. "It's a map I saw in the factory. I just want to get it down before I forget."

She had been surprised to find the image of the map lodged in her memory like a photograph. Was it something else the serum had given her? Like the ability to jump fifty feet and outrun a taxi? The pencil in Stevie's hand continued to trace the lines of the map, perfectly reproducing the picture in her memory, while her mind floated freely to the events of the previous night.

From the burning factory, Stevie and the men plunged into a maelstrom. Her ears, abused and ringing from the explosions inside, made the battle sound as if it was happening underwater - distant and unreal. The scene itself was like something out of a nightmare: broken bodies strewn on the ground, the husk of a truck overturned and burning, tanks firing bolts of blue light that smelled like hot metal and turned the men they hit into puffs of smoke.

Stevie ran at the head of her little band, every nerve alert, striking out with fists and feet, knees and elbows. Someone tried to grab her from behind and she broke his nose with a quick backward jerk of her head. Bucky had one of the machine guns she had taken from the guards, and used it with lethal efficiency - gunning down one man after another in short, controlled bursts, his face set like stone. By the time they reached the trees, their party had expanded from five to twelve.

They cut through the forest, travelling by the light of a waning moon. Patches of early snow lay beneath the trees like white shadows. After what might have been minutes or hours, they met the rest of the escapees coming up the road in a convoy of captured trucks and tanks - a soot-smudged Peggy Carter leading at the wheel of a Mercedes-Benz Maultier. To Stevie's men; footsore, battered and shaking from cold; that bare troop carrier looked as welcome as a five-star hotel suite. As Peggy drove slowly down the mountain track, lights off so they wouldn't be seen from the air, Stevie told Bucky everything - from her recruitment to Project Rebirth to her plan to rescue the prisoners. He listened silently, and when she was done he asked, again, if it had hurt.

"No. No!" said Stevie, glad the dark was hiding her face. She was a terrible liar, especially where Bucky was concerned. "Well, a little."

"How little?"

"Like...like going to the dentist."

She could feel Bucky's skepticism coming off him like heat from a stove, but he didn't push it, and soon he dozed off - his head bobbing on Stevie's shoulder as the truck bumped along the gravel road. Stevie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the feeling of him next to her, real and solid and safe.

They reached camp the next morning with the rising sun, Stevie walking ahead of the convoy to make it clear to the scouts that they weren't under attack. She had planned to go in and talk to Colonel Phillips alone, but Peggy and Bucky had taken up positions on either side of her - Peggy striding determinedly with her chin up, Bucky holding his gun as if he still expected to be attacked. Others fell in behind them - first Morita, Dugan, and Dernier; then Brooks and McDaniel; then more and more until Stevie felt like she was leading a parade.

Within minutes of being seen by the scouts, they were surrounded - men were cheering, men were crying, some were running into the line to embrace friends they had thought lost or to help the wounded. Colonel Phillips came out to meet them, an uncharacteristically disheveled Howard Stark behind. Stevie stopped and saluted as best as she remembered from her week of training.

"Colonel," she said, voice steady, eyes front. "I'd like to surrender myself for disciplinary action."

The Colonel looked as close to moved as Stevie had ever seen him, his brown hound-dog eyes taking in the crowd of men behind her - not just the survivors of the 107th, but members of other Allied units, French Resistance fighters, and political prisoners - hundreds of them. The Colonel's chin quivered and he cleared his throat.

"That won't be necessary," he said hoarsely. "And you, Agent Carter. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Peggy wore a smile that missed smugness by a hair's breadth.

"I had faith, sir."

The Colonel snorted. "Faith, huh?" But he patted Stevie's shoulder before he left, and she thought she saw his eyes glistening.

With Colonel Phillips gone, Stark stepped forward, normally smooth hair in disarray, as though he had been running his hands through it. The Colonel had probably raked him over the coals.

"You're late," Stark said to her with - was it relief?

They were surrounded by people, but he was staring at her like she was the only person in the camp. Stevie pulled the transponder out of her pocket - the one he had given her on the plane. It had a bullet lodged in the center. She dropped it into his palm, and he looked from it to her with a furrowed brow.

"I couldn't call my ride," she said. Stark's eyes were burning with a feeling Stevie couldn't identify. Something was happening in the pit of her stomach, a not-unpleasant fluttering.

Behind her, Bucky suddenly shouted. "Let's hear it for Captain America!"

The cheers were deafening.

In the tent, Peggy snipped away behind Stevie's ears, tilting her head gently to one side and another as she made whatever adjustments she thought were necessary. Stevie was amazed at herself - she had done things she hadn't even imagined she was capable of. She had felt scared, yes, but also exhilarated. Purposeful. Like she was doing what she was meant to do for the first time in her life.

"There," Peggy said. "Finished! Take a look."

Stevie tried to get a good look at herself in the compact Peggy was holding up to her. Her hair was shorter than she liked, cut to just below her chin. It made her eyes look huge.

"Not bad if I say so myself," Peggy said. "You look like Carole Lombard."

Stevie snorted. "I doubt that. But it does look good. Hey, I'm done, too."

She held up the sketchbook so Peggy could see it.

"Ring any bells?"

Peggy leaned over Stevie's shoulder and pointed at one of the triangles.

"That's Kreichsberg," she said. "Think the others are all Hydra stations as well?"

Stevie nodded. She closed the book and set it aside, then turned to the other woman.

"Peggy," she said. "I have an idea."

I know - it's a short chapter after a long-ish wait. But I didn't do it on purpose, I swear! That's just how it turned out. Next week will be bigger - with the formation of the Howling Commandos, some Stevie/Howard flirting, and a Bucky flashback. Stay tuned!

Historical Notes:

Lucas lamps were portable electric lamps from the WW2 era. They have little folding stands, kind of like a picture frame, so they can stand up. The Mercedes Benz Maultier is a garden-variety troop carrier.