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Chapter 12 - November 5, 1943

Stevie's idea - to put together a team of commandos and take down as many Hydra bases as they could - went over surprisingly well. Colonel Phillips had said he "couldn't argue with her results" and smiled broadly. As for the composition of the team, Peggy was a given, as was Bucky - Stevie wouldn't dream of leaving him behind, even if he would ever agree. Aside from those two, Stevie nominated Corporal Morita for his medical skills and Dernier for his facility with explosives. Peggy suggested adding Sergeant Dugan, along with two others - Private Gabriel Jones ( of the 107th, like Bucky) and Lieutenant Montgomery Falsworth (of the British 3rd Independent Parachute Brigade) - whom she said had displayed "leadership and courage" during the escape.

Stevie had set up the meeting at a tavern in Azzano - a beautiful, whitewashed building, miraculously untouched by the fighting. Peggy gathered the men at a table to explain the situation - and soften them up with drinks - while Stevie talked to Bucky at the bar. Since the previous day he had cleaned up and found a new uniform, but he still looked disheveled and tired. There was a shadow over him that Stevie had never seen before. She thought he would object to her plan, but he said he'd wait and see what the others decided.

When she walked up to the table to talk to the men, Stevie channelled all her USO experience, stood up straight, and gave them her most charming smile. She was prepared to lay out several excellent points, including historical examples, but it turned out she needn't have bothered.

"You saved my life," Corporal Morita said. "You saved all our lives. I'm in."

"Well said, Jim." Sergeant Dugan clapped Morita on the back hard enough to make him spill his beer.

"Besides, I saw you fight your way out of the factory." He wagged a stubby finger at Stevie and grinned. "Not very ladylike, but I enjoyed it."

One by one, the rest agreed - Dernier in a burst of enthusiastic French which garnered a laugh from young, dark-skinned Private Jones. Lieutenant Falsworth, reserved and impeccable in a maroon beret and ascot, said that it "sounded rather fun, actually." All the while, Peggy Carter wore a slight smile and a raised eyebrow, as if to chide Stevie for her doubts. Stevie ordered a round for the table, and returned to the bar to tell Bucky that it was official - they had a team.

"So, what about you, Sergeant Barnes?" Stevie asked, snagging a beer from the barman - a short man, almost as skinny as she used to be. "Ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?"

"Nah," he replied, and for a second Stevie's heart lurched. "That skinny girl from Brooklyn. The one who's too dumb to run away from a fight. I'm following her."

"You really know how to charm a lady, Buck."

"Well, of course." He knocked back the rest of his drink - something green and bitter - and looked at her with a sidelong grin. "You're my friend. You and me 'til the end of the line, Miss Pigeon."

"Yeah, well you're still a jerk." Stevie said, smiling into her beer. She felt warm all down to her toes.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Bucky said suddenly, voice gone sharp and hard.

There, on the other side of the room, was Howard Stark, in a flashy silk tie, standing out from the men in uniform like a robin among crows. He must have spotted her at the bar, because he smiled and started weaving his way between the crowded tables. Stevie rose, her stool making a loud scrape against the floor. She felt awkward and ungainly, suddenly conscious of her bobbed hair and not-entirely-fitted men's fatigues. If only Doris from the USO were here to fix her hair in the powder room.

"Captain Rogers," Stark said, flashing his dimples.

"Mr. Stark," she replied.

"Call me Howard."

"Alright...Howard." Stevie could feel Bucky behind her like a prickly stormcloud. "How can I help you?"

"I have some equipment for you to try. How's tomorrow morning?"

"Sounds good."

"Also, I wanted to apologize for any confusion there was on the plane." He leaned close to her. "About fondue."

"Oh?" Stevie's face felt hot. She was probably blushing again. Damn it - they couldn't take that away along with the asthma?

Stark's breath tickled her cheek as he murmured into her ear.

"Fondue...is just cheese...and bread."

He pulled back, smiling cheekily.

"I knew that," Stevie said. She did her best to sound breezy and unconcerned, but her voice came out sounding breathy and embarrassed instead.

"Uh huh…" Stark replied. "Well then, maybe you'd like to try it some time."

"Fondue? With you?"

Bucky stepped between them. For a moment, Stevie had forgotten he was there.

"Any time, Stark. Let's go." He was smiling, but his eyes were sharp. Stark turned to him, his own smile unchanged.

"Sure thing, Barnes," Stark said, punching him lightly on the shoulder. "We'll double date." With a wink at Stevie, he sauntered away.

"And who does he think he is?" Bucky said to Stark's departing back.

"I thought you'd jump at the idea of double dating with Howard Stark," Stevie replied, taking a sip of her beer.

"Seriously? Him? Strutting around, with that dumb mustache...thinks he's God's gift to women…"

"And who does that remind you of?"

"So I hear you like shields." Howard Stark's voice vibrated with suppressed excitement.

Stark and his assistants had been working to equip Stevie's team - the assistants with an air of harassed sleep-deprivation, Stark with the energy of a child who got to play with all his favorite toys. He had just shown Stevie her new uniform - made of "carbon nanopolymers", whatever those were. It would stop knives and small-caliber arms fire, and it kept the color scheme of her USO costume - though slightly more muted, thank heavens.

Now, in a captured warehouse that been converted into Stark's lab, Stevie was considering a table full of shields, Bucky strolling behind her. Stark was looking from the table to her and back again as if eager to see her reaction. The shields were kite-shaped, lozenge-shaped, rectangular, cruciform; with all sorts of features like concealed weapons, magnetized plating and electric shock probes. How had Stark had the time to make all these? It had barely been three days since Stevie had assembled the men - who had started calling themselves the "Howling Commandos", probably Dugan's idea. Out of the corner of her eye, Stevie saw a gleaming half-moon peeking out from under the table. When she picked it up, it turned out to be a simple convex circle of polished metal.

"What's this one do?" She asked, interrupting Stark, who was demonstrating another shield's extendable armor panels.

"That? It's just a prototype."

Stevie hefted it a little; though light, it felt very solid. The balance was exquisite - she was pretty sure she could throw it like a discus. Stark clicked the panels back into place and stood behind her.

"It's made of vibranium," he said. "The rarest metal on earth."

"How rare?"

"That's all of it. Well, all I had ready access to, at least."

Stevie raised her eyebrows. "Wow. That is rare."

"It has unique properties to absorb and deflect energy." Stark took the shield and bounced it off the floor, right back into his hand. He braced it on his left arm.

"Here," he took her hand and placed it on one side of the shield, then knocked on the middle. Stevie didn't feel anything - the shield had muffled all the vibrations. "Neat, huh?"

Bucky was suddenly at her elbow. "Maybe we should test it," he said voice all ice and edges. His pistol was in his hand, and he was pointing it at the shield - and Howard Stark.

"Bucky," Stevie said. "What are you doing?"

"Just seeing if Stark's willing to put some skin in the game." He spoke without looking at her, glaring instead at Stark. "After all, it's not his life on the line."

"Any time, Sergeant Barnes," Stark's pleasant smile had turned into something fixed and sharp.

Stark was on one side of her, holding the shield, Bucky on the other, pistol at the ready. An energy was crackling between the two men - a threat.

"Bucky, stop," Stevie said.

"I stand behind my work, Barnes," Stark said softly.

"Mind if I take that literally?" Bucky pulled the hammer back with a click. His eyes were cold, and he wasn't even pretending to smile anymore. Stevie had never seen him like this.

He's really going to shoot.

"Sergeant Barnes!" She barked, putting all the authority she could into her voice. He turned, surprised, glaring at her. "Stand down. Now."

Bucky's jaw spasmed, but he holstered his gun.

"Yes sir," he spat the words. "Captain." And he stormed away, kicking over a chair as he left.

What was that about?

"Ummm…" she said to Stark. "I'm going to go."

"I'll just put some finishing touches on this one then," Stark said, perfectly at ease, as though nothing had happened.

Bucky was angry.

He sat at a table into what had become the unofficial assistants' breakroom. Three of the assistants had, in fact, been there when he entered, but the look on his face sent them scurrying off to their projects. His pistol sat in pieces in front of him. Breaking it down, cleaning and oiling it, putting it back together again - the ritual helped Bucky occupy his hands and calm his mind. It had been useful after missions, back at the beginning, but lately it hadn't been helping as much. Since returning from Kreichsberg, Bucky felt like a raw nerve; the slightest thing could set him off. Below the surface, he was angry all the time.

Now he was angry at Stark - the way he looked at Stevie, the way he slimed around her like she was one of his chorus girls. As if he knew anything about her, as if he would have looked at her twice before she had...changed.

Thinking of Stevie made him angry, too. He had left her safe, in New York, only to have her turn up here in the heart of danger. She said whatever the army had done to her hadn't hurt, but Bucky knew she'd been lying. Because it had hurt him, what Zola had done. That had hurt a lot.

The cells were cold and clammy after the heat of the factory. Even though he was exhausted, Bucky stomped in place and rubbed his hands together to stay warm. Two guards walked down the row of cells, picking men to take upstairs. Zola's last batch must have died - again. They didn't last very long up there.

The men in the cells looked down and shrank in on themselves, hoping not to be noticed. The guards had to pick someone, though, and they did - a man whose blunt nose and freckles made him look younger than he was.

"No, please!" He said as they seized him roughly by the arms. "Please, I have a family! I have kids!"

Stupid. Didn't he know that begging never did any good?

Bucky saw Stevie's face in his mind. Big blue eyes staring up at him through her coke-bottle glasses. I couldn't just walk on by, she said.

Shit.

"Hey," Bucky said, gripping the cold bars in his hands. "Hey! Krauts!"

The guards turned to look at him, but with those masks they wore he couldn't tell what reaction he was getting. Better pull out all the stops. He gave them a cheeky grin and spoke in the best German he could muster - using all the words Mrs. Borgstedt hadn't taught in class, that had gotten him detention more than once. When they shoved the blond man back into his cell and came for him, he laughed, because he knew he had succeeded. He laughed until the guard's heavy fist slammed into his face.

He woke up strapped to a chair.

"Ah, you're awake," a soft, accented voice said.

Bucky blinked; there was a light mounted right above him, making it hard to see. Turning his head revealed the source of the voice - a small, round man, with pinched features and watery eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles. His heart kicked into high gear and his mouth went dry. His face and ribs hurt from the beating the guards had given him - but whatever happened next would hurt a lot more.

The small man touched Bucky's face and made a 'tsk' noise. Bucky barely stopped himself from flinching.

"I apologize for the behavior of the guards," he said. "I abhor unnecessary violence."

Bucky looked straight ahead. "Barnes. James Buchanan. Sergeant. 32557038."

"Of course," the small man said, with a slight smile. "Well, Sergeant Barnes, I am Doctor Arnim Zola."

He turned to a table out of Bucky's line of sight and returned with a syringe of green liquid.

"And I am going to make you better. Much better."

Moments after being injected, Bucky's arm began to burn.

"Barnes...James Buchanan...Sergeant…"

The burning slowly spread from his arm to his whole body, as if his blood were being replaced with acid. He struggled against the straps.

"32557038...Barnes…"

It was getting worse. He felt like his blood was boiling, like he was burning from the inside.

"James Buchanan...Sergeant..32…32...Argh!"

"Fascinating," said Doctor Zola, but Bucky could only scream and scream and scream.

Bucky came back to himself suddenly, still sitting at the table, gripping the edge so hard it hurt. His whole body was shaking.

No. No!

He took a deep breath. He wasn't in Kreichsberg anymore. Another breath. It was over. They would never take him back. Another breath. He could smell oil and gunpowder, reassuring scents. He let go of the table and returned to the gun, the anger rushing back to replace his fear. What did Stevie think she was doing out here? She wasn't a soldier, she could get hurt - shot, or blown up, or…

In his mind's eye, Bucky saw her strapped to that damn chair, screaming.

No. No! No!

That would never happen.

"I'll die first," he growled to himself.

This time, it took more than a few deep breaths until his hands stopped shaking.

"Knock, knock."

Bucky started. It was Stevie, carrying two steaming tin mugs of coffee. Without her habitual braid to contain it, her cropped hair bounced in unruly waves around her face. She sat down next to him and handed him a mug. Would he ever get used to how tall she was now?

"I thought for a second you were going to shoot Stark," she said. "Which would have made Colonel Phillips very unhappy."

Bucky took a sip of the bitter brew and winced.

"Stark pisses me off," he said. "But you were right; I was way out of line. Won't happen again."

They sat for a few moments, the silence broken by soft slurps as they drank.

"Bucky, are you doing alright?" Stevie asked, eyes full of worry and compassion. "You want to talk about anything...about what happened?"

Bucky felt a stab of shame for upsetting her with his stupid problems. Stevie had rescued over two hundred prisoners from Kreichsberg, and none of them were going off the deep end like he was. He put on his best smile.

"Me?" he said. "I'm great."

As if, by saying it, he could make it true.

Nothing like a little Bucky angst to brighten up you day, am I right?

Next week - Stevie goes on a date! (Of sorts.)

Random note: The green liqueur Bucky is drinking is Centerba, an drink made in northern Italy from various plants and herbs, the exact proportions of which are a closely guarded secret. it can be up to 150 proof, and has a spicy, bitter taste.