Disclaimer: I do not own any character (excluding my OC), setting or plot from Captain America or any other Marvel film/comic. All rights reserved to Marvel Comics, Marvel Studio, and any others whom it may concern. Any line/scene/character that you recognise from the films or comics do not belong to me in any way.

Thanks to my wonderful Beta, NeahZoldyck13, for doing a stunning job editing this chapter, as always. Oh, and one more thing: I'm pre-warning you now that the length of the Author's Note at the end of this chapter may be, just ever-so-slightly, long. I apologise in advance for my apparent tendency to ramble. ;)

Chapter Eleven

October 19th, 1943

"Damn it!"

I jerked slightly as something metallic crashed against the bars of our cell, blinking groggily. The hollow din echoed loudly as one of our dented food trays clattered to the floor from where Gabe had flung it across our cramped living quarters. He was breathing heavily, fists clenched so hard at his side they were stained a stark white, muscle twitching angrily in his jaw. I winced as the harsh sound rang over and over again in my head, rebounding against the sides of my skull in time with the pounding ache it caused.

Falsworth sighed quietly. "Gabe, calm down…"

"They need treatment. Proper medical treatment," Gabe snapped, frustrated. "I can't… I don't…"

"Mate, you're doing the best you can—"

"And that's not good enough!" Gabe stressed as he roughly ran a hand over his face. "They're not going to last much longer without medicine."

As if on cue, a harsh cough shuddered through me and Gabe's eyes met mine. His expression softened slightly, the weak smile he sent me doing nothing to hide the pain in his gaze. I tried to speak, to reassure him in whatever way I could, but my throat was too dry to let out anything but a hoarse murmur.

It barely took Dugan two seconds to reach my side, his large hand lifting my head with surprising gentleness whilst the other carefully tipped some water in my mouth from a small flask. The only water provided here was unclean, murky, disgusting stuff that tasted more like copper and dirt than anything else. Yet as it washed over my parched mouth and throat, it felt like damn heaven to me in that moment.

I clumsily swallowed a few more sips, each tasting worse than the last, before I drooped back into Dugan's hold. My eyelids slid shut against my will, the mere effort of swallowing draining me to the point of exhaustion yet again. I felt Dugan slowly lower me back to the floor, ever so delicately brushing a strand of hair off my forehead, as if I was a glass doll that would break if handled with too much pressure.

"Thank you," I whispered lowly to him, not needing to open my eyes to know he was listening closely.

"Get some more rest, Anna," he murmured back. "You'll feel better when you wake up."

We both knew it was complete and utter bullshit, but I appreciated the sentiment more than he could know.

I briefly heard him shuffling off to my left after a series of violent coughs sounded, no doubt to help Bucky drink something too and help in whatever other way he could, and then I drifted back off into a restless sleep.

XxXxXx

October 20th, 1943

Gabe sighed as Dugan threw him a filthy look for what must have been the fortieth time in the past ten minutes alone. The large man had been very… vocal about leaving Bucky and Anna this morning for work, claiming that someone needed to watch over them. Gabe hadn't wanted to argue against it. If anything, he had wanted to stay and do it himself. Sure, Bucky and Anna weren't particularly in any worse condition than they were yesterday, but something was different today. He'd felt it ever since he woke up. They all had. There was this heavy atmosphere, this inexplicable feeling of dread, so strong it was almost tangible in the air. It was an unnerving sensation; the type that raised the hairs on the back of his neck and constantly had him looking over his shoulder for something unknown.

But Gabe had seen the look on Fritz's face as he stood impatiently in the doorway, hand curling around his baton in warning. He knew they had no choice. It was either go willingly or go bloody and broken. Gabe knew that Dugan understood that too, deep down. But that didn't stop him from digging his heels in when Gabe had grabbed his arm and tried to guide him out before they all got beaten into the next century. Nor did it stop him from his vocal outrage when Gabe had nodded for Falsworth and Dernier to help him restrain the big guy, using expletives in ways that no amount of years in the army could prepare a man for. It took the full strength of all three, and even then it was one hell of a struggle, but between them they had just about managed to drag Dugan's protesting ass out the cell and to their day's workstation before Fritz decided to intervene.

Dugan lifted his head from where he'd just chucked another large piece of scrap metal into the container they were all working around, shooting another filthy look to the group's resident medic. Gabe sighed and slammed his hand against the container, finally losing his patience. "Damn it, Dugan. Stop with the looks," he snapped. "We didn't have a choice."

Falsworth and Dernier paused in their work to watch the inevitable argument that was about to break out between the two Americans again. But, to all of their surprise, it never came. Dugan merely sighed and clenched his fist, eyes heavy with worry. "We never should have left them. They're too weak right now."

"Sick cellmates?"

The unexpected intrusion into their conversation caused all four to tense, heads snapping over to where the new voice had come from. An unfamiliar guy was looking at them from the next workstation over, his expression sympathetic as he gave them a small nod. "I'm sorry for your loss," he murmured sincerely.

Dugan eyed the guy's prominent Japanese features with a raised brow. "They got you guys too, huh?"

Gabe could have facepalmed at Dugan's usual brashness with words. The guy, however, didn't seem too offended. "I'm from Fresno, Ace," he returned, holding his tags up and emphasizing his American accent with a roll of the eyes.

Dugan's trademark smirk appeared as he opened his mouth to respond, but Gabe cut him off with a look. He didn't need the large male to say a single word for him to know that he was about to try and rile the new guy up. He always did. "Can you, just this once, try to make friends like a normal human being?"

"Friends?" Dugan snorted. "Who said I was trying to make fr—"

"Hold up," Falsworth spoke up, raising his hands in the universal 'stop' sign. "What do you mean, 'I'm sorry for your loss'? We haven't lost anyone. They're still alive. They still have a chance."

A small to non-existent chance, maybe, but a chance nonetheless.

The Japanese-American guy looked surprised for a second, before realization flickered across his features and he gave them a sorrowful look. "You haven't heard then?"

Falsworth, Dernier, Dugan and Gabe exchanged confused looks; Dernier probably more so because he wasn't fluent enough in English to properly comprehend what was being said. "Heard what?"

"We had a couple of young lads in our cell block suffering with cholera a few weeks ago," he explained. "When they got too weak to work, they were taken by the guards one after the other." He frowned and let out a quiet sigh. "They were good kids. Too green to deserve all this shit." The guy shook his head. "Heard they weren't the only ones to go either."

Gabe let out a shuddering breath. "They're taking all the sick ones."

"Bloody hell," Falsworth cursed, running a stressed hand over his face and closing his eyes. His mind was already racing with a million thoughts, trying to formulate some sort of plan to save the same fate from befalling the duo currently lying back in their cell.

"If it's true, then it won't be long now," Gabe murmured worriedly. "They're going to notice their condition soon enough."

The sound of knuckles cracking rang through the air. "Hell if I'll just let the bastards take either of them."

Falsworth grunted in annoyance. "We can't stop them, Dum Dum. Not physically, anyway. It would be four against hundreds." He hated having to say the words, but he knew it was the harsh reality of their situation.

"I'll take those odds," Dugan hissed back, unperturbed, cracking his knuckles once more.

"Dugan, don't be stupid," Gabe sighed reluctantly. "We wouldn't last two minutes."

"Give yourselves some credit, guys," the Japanese-American guy piped up with a smirk. "I'd bet you could probably last around five."

Dugan snorted, eyeing the newbie again. "Oh, you're still here?"

The large man dutifully ignored Gabe's low mutter of "oh, for the love of God" and continued to stare down the unfamiliar male.

"For the next five hours," the guy stated dryly, nodding. "Same as everyone else."

"Ignore him," Gabe said, rolling his eyes. He held out his hand to the guy in greeting. "Gabe Jones."

"Jim Morita," the guy—Jim—introduced with a small smile, shaking the proffered hand with a firm grip.

Gabe returned the smile and stepped back into place around his workstation, gesturing to the men around him. "This is James Montgomery Falsworth, or 'Monty' as he prefers." Gabe ignored the low grumble of protest from the Brit, eyes gleaming with mirth. "Jacques Dernier. Member of the French Resistance, English is a little limited." Jim nodded to the two men in greeting. "And this charming asshole is Timothy Dugan, or 'Dum Dum' as he's better known."

Jim let out an amused chuckle at Dugan's responding growl to the nickname, grinning at the dark glare the large man shot Gabe. The brief moment of lightheartedness ended when Falsworth looked up with a frown, mind still preoccupied with the previous conversation. "What do you reckon they do with them?"

There was a long pause between the men, none of them knowing how to answer to that. Finally, Gabe sighed. "I don't think we want to know."

"Whatever it is," Jim muttered in a low voice, "no one comes back."

His answer seemed to silence them all as no one spoke again for the next hour, the atmosphere between them eerily quiet for the first time since they had all been shoved in that hell-hole together. They just kept their heads down and carried on with their assigned tasks on autopilot, minds elsewhere, expressions solemn. None of them wanted to accept the inevitable.

Falsworth was the first one to break the long silence, slamming his hand down on the side of the container in frustration. "There has to be a way to prevent it."

Jim turned his attention back to the group at the sudden outburst. "Short of them getting better…" he shrugged apologetically, shaking his head.

Dernier, who had been quietly observing everything for the past few hours, abruptly reached out and blindly grabbed the arm of the person stood closest to him, which just so happened to be Dugan. His eyes were transfixed on something in the distance as he shook Dugan's arm, desperately trying to get the other man's attention. But Dugan merely shrugged the Frenchman off with a sigh. "Not now, Frenchie. Gabe will translate later," he muttered distractedly.

"We'll come up with something," Falsworth argued back in response to Jim's words. He couldn't accept the fact that they were helpless to stop it. He wouldn't accept it. "We always do."

"Non… Non, s'il vous plaît, non..." Dernier breathed lowly in horror, gripping Dugan's arm again to steady himself. "Trop tard… Nous sommes trop en retard… Ils les ont… Ils les ont…"

"Damn it, what the hell is wrong with you, Frenchie?" Dugan snapped irritably, shaking Dernier's hand off of him once more with an exasperated grunt. He was too busy glaring at the Frenchman to notice the way Gabe paled at Dernier's words, or how he spun around to frantically search for something in the distance.

Jim, realizing something was wrong, followed Dernier's line of gaze and his face fell solemn. "I think you may already be too late."

Dugan and Falsworth spun to face the Japanese-American guy at his words, mouths open in outrage, ready to argue against the pessimistic response with a ferocity that would have had even Adolf Hitler running. But they faltered when they saw the empathetic look on the other man's face, the sorrow in his eyes, as he slowly nodded his head in the direction Dernier and Gabe were still staring, frozen. The Brit hesitantly turned to face the direction Jim had pointed to, Dugan following a second later, both their eyes scanning the warehouse around them for some sign of what the hell was going on. Falsworth noticed Dugan's entire body go rigid out of the corner of his eye and he frowned, scanning the area again, wondering what he was missing. But then his eyes landed on two moving shapes in the distance and he felt all the breath leave his body.

They'd had even less time than they'd thought.

Two HYDRA soldiers were carrying an unconscious female and male across the warehouse, presumably to the restricted access door on the other side of the building, the lifeless bodies slung roughly over their shoulders without a care. Falsworth didn't need to see the faces of the two POWs to know that it was Anna and Bucky. He could feel it in the way his entire body felt like it had been doused in ice-cold water, sucking away whatever remaining breath he had, and in the way an acute ache pierced through his heart. For the longest, most painful, pause, no one moved; each and every one of them frozen in place, unable to comprehend what was happening. And then, like someone had slapped them out of their haze, the four men all surged forwards in sync.

Dugan let out an enraged cry the moment they were within hearing distance, nostrils flaring. "Oi, what the fuck do you think you are doing with them?"

The two soldiers barely even spared them a glance, their pace unfaltering as they continued onward to their destination. Falsworth and Dernier fanned out from Dugan and Gabe to block their pathway, forcing the soldiers to halt in place. The unfolding altercation had the entire warehouse falling so silent you could hear a pin drop from one end to the other, every POW in the entire facility watching the group closely. Some were staring in awe, eyeing them in shocked respect, others shaking their heads in dread for what was to come. Jim, still at his workstation, was silently mouthing a prayer under his breath for the four brave idiots he'd just met.

"Move," the soldier on the left demanded in a cold, monotonous voice. He shifted the heavy weight on his shoulder slightly, causing Bucky to let out a pained moan in his sleep.

Dugan and Gabe moved to stand on either side of Falsworth and Dernier in answer, creating an unmoving barricade between the two soldiers and the door behind. "You're not going anywhere with them," Dugan spat.

The soldier on the right exhaled, looking almost bored with the situation, and reached for his gun. The four men all tensed at the action but refused to move an inch. "They are being put into isolation for… treatment," he drawled in a thick German accent, raising his gun. "Now move. This is your last warning."

"Like hell they are," Dugan hissed lowly. His fists clenched tightly at his side as he shifted, clearly preparing himself for the inevitable fight that was about to break out.

"What the fuck is going on?" a voice shouted angrily, breaking the tense silence that had fallen. Gabe's eyes ever-so-briefly flickered over to where Kleiber was storming towards them with more guards than he'd care to count following close behind. "Prisoners, stand down. Immediately."

The four exchanged wary looks with each other, unsure how the hell they were going to get out of this one, but remained standing where they were. Kleiber sighed and signaled to the guards behind him. They were surrounded in seconds, some thirty plus guns trained on them from every direction.

"Fuck," Gabe cursed lowly.

"Don't you dare stand down, Jones," Dugan muttered, still tense with anger and gunning for a fight. "We can take these assholes."

Falsworth eyed the multitude of weapons pointing at them from all sides with a snort. "Oh yeah? How'd you figure that?"

Gabe nodded to where the soldier carrying Anna still had his gun leveled with Dernier's head. "If we so much as move an inch, Dernier will die."

"I'm sure Frenchie will understand."

"Bloody hell, Dum Dum," Falsworth sighed in frustration. He gestured to the circle of armed guards surrounding them. "If we attack, we're all dead."

Dugan grunted. "So we're just going to give in?"

"We don't have much of a bloody choice," Falsworth returned with a low snarl. He was as equally frustrated with the situation as Dugan, but what the large man was proposing was goddamn suicide. Gabe exchanged a short nod with the Brit before muttering lowly to Dernier in French. All three reluctantly lowered to their knees, raising their hands in a sign of surrender. Dugan clenched his jaw and angrily eyed the two soldiers holding Bucky and Anna in front of them.

"Dugan," Gabe warned, shaking his head. "Don't."

The large man growled and let out a long string of expletives, but reluctantly obeyed Gabe's plea, lowering himself to the ground. The moment his knees came into contact with the floor, multiple hands were restraining each of them. Dugan briefly struggled against their hold, still full of pent-up anger, before reluctantly stilling in their grasp at Gabe's look.

"Take these four back to their cell," Kleiber ordered. Falsworth almost let out a sigh; if Lohmer had still been around, they would have undoubtedly been shot for their insubordinate behavior. "They'll resume work tomorrow."

Only a few minutes later saw them being shoved harshly into their cell by the guards, the barred door slamming shut behind them with a harsh clang. Falsworth, Gabe and Dernier didn't move an inch from where they stood, even after the sound of the guards' footsteps had long since faded away, their eyes fixated on the spot where Anna and Bucky usually were. But where their two cellmates had once lay was now bare, the two mismatched piles of coats that had served as makeshift beds and covers for the two serving as the only reminder of them ever being there. None of the three wanted to voice how empty the cell suddenly felt without the familiar presence of the duo there.

"The bastards. The fucking bastards. I'm going to kill them. I'm going to kill every single one of them," Dugan ranted loudly, drawing the attention of the others as they watched the large man pace around the cell like a caged wild animal. "If they dare harm either of them…"

They all knew that was most likely exactly what the HYDRA scum were going to do.

"If you're not useful, you're disposable," Falsworth quietly voiced, repeating the words they'd been so coldly told on their first day here.

Gabe instinctively waited for the usual snarky retort from Anna or Bucky, something along the lines of "Well, then it beats the shit out of me how any of you lot are still alive and kicking," but nothing came. He knew it wouldn't, but something deep inside of him had still foolishly hoped. He closed his eyes, leaned back against the cell bars, and tried to ignore the ache in his chest.

No one spoke again.

XxXxXx

Zola frowned, watching as the guards carried another body out of his lab. Subject 27.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. Twenty-seven failed tests. Twenty-seven POWs come and gone. All came in sick, all leaving dead. His jaw clenched slightly in frustration. What was he doing wrong?

It was clear he was missing something, yes. But what?

A bored sigh came from somewhere to his left. "Do you insist on still continuing with this project, Doctor?"

Zola picked up his clipboard and glanced over at where Schmidt was standing nearby with a nod. "If this works, it could change the war."

"Yes, if it works." Schmidt raised an eyebrow when the guards noisily brought in the new test subjects Zola had requested them to go find.

"The advantage it would give us over the Allies would be great, sir."

Schmidt dismissed the guards with a wave of his hand after they had dumped the unconscious bodies down on separate gurneys, before eyeing the two POWs with distaste. "Then do continue, Doctor." Schmidt waved his hand in the direction of the two bodies before exiting the room without another word.

Another frown appeared on Zola's face as he approached. One of the bodies was tiny compared to the others he had experimented on—great, this one wouldn't even last a day—and crackling sounds were echoing loudly in the otherwise silent lab with every inhale and exhale they both took. Most likely pneumonia, he mentally noted to himself. He circled the closest one, finally drawing to a stop when the smaller figure's face came into view.

He paused, surprise briefly flitting across his features. It was a woman. He hadn't even known they had any females amongst the POWs—soldiers of that particular gender were rather uncommon. A rarity, even.

She must be strong, he mused to himself. A fighter.

He took a step closer, something niggling in the back of his head as she turned her head slightly in her sleep, her eyelashes fluttering briefly. The light spilled more clearly across her face, highlighting her features. A faint spark of recognition passed through him and he examined her more intently for a moment.

He swore he'd seen her somewhere before, but the question was where?

XxXxXx

October 22nd, 1943

It's weird what the human brain registers when you're somewhere between the waking world and the dark abyss of sleep; like how the surface beneath you feels stranger than it should, or how the temperature of the room had suddenly dropped, or even how the very air around you feels different from before. In this particular instance, the first thing I noticed when I regained consciousness was that the familiar weight of Bucky's hand had vanished.

My left hand unconsciously flexed into a fist, as if searching for the warm hold it had become so accustomed to over the past few days, but my fingers met nothing but cold air. My eyes snapped open of their own accord, alarm shooting through me at the missing contact, only for me to hiss and clench them tightly shut again seconds later as blinding white light seared into my unsuspecting irises. Uneasiness twisted through me and my pulse quickened. Our cell, which we'd had the pleasure of calling home for the past few weeks, was all dank gray bars and dim lighting. It had definitely never had artificial lights so bright that I could still see it burning under my eyelids, multicolored dots and shapes dancing amongst the usual black, which raised the question of where the hell I currently was.

I drew in a deep breath through my nose, distantly noting how the rattling in my lungs seemed to have quietened, and slowly reopened my eyes, allowing them to gradually adjust as I tried to gather my bearings.

I was no longer in my cell, that much was obvious.

The room around me was stark white, scarcely furnished, sterile. A plain work surface ran around the boundary of the room, microscopes and an assortment of other such objects scattered along the surface. The rest of the room was completely bare, spare the metal gurney I was currently led on and the one positioned a couple of feet to the left of me. I almost cried out in relief when I took in Bucky's familiar features from where he lay there. He looked different from the last time I'd seen him, healthier almost. The color was starting to seep back into his previously pallid complexion and his breathing seemed to come with more ease.

I tried to roll off of my gurney, to go to him and check he was okay, but I didn't even make it an inch before I was abruptly stopped by the set of restraints that had previously gone unnoticed in my confusion, firmly tying down my chest, wrists and ankles. Panic clawed up my throat and I hissed, desperately trying to yank myself free of the metal constraints. I thrashed, pulled, wiggled, thrashed some more. But it was no use. The cuffs didn't loosen in the slightest, holding strong, and all I achieved was making one hell of a racket. My body slumped back down in defeat, chest aching dully from the brief struggle.

"Anna…?"

My head snapped in the direction of the slurred murmur, the familiar voice like a soothing balm on my frayed nerves. "Bucky," I breathed in relief. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy," he muttered lowly. I stifled the laugh that rose in my throat as he blinked and looked around us. "Where the hell are we?"

I shrugged as best I could whilst lying down and restrained. "No idea." Short, uneven footsteps sounded in the hallway outside, growing louder as they approached. "But I have a feeling we're about to find out."

Our attention fixated on the entrance to the laboratory as the footsteps drew to a brief stop and the door swung open, revealing a short, bespectacled man wearing a stark white lab coat. He shut the door behind him as he shuffled into the room, pausing briefly in surprise when he noticed the two pairs of eyes watching him.

"Oh, you're finally awake," he murmured, seemingly pleased with this development. His voice was heavily accented, but not the harsh German I had become so accustomed to hearing over the past few weeks. I couldn't quite place my finger on it though. Austrian, maybe? "Good."

A frown fell over my face as I slowly registered what he'd just said. "Finally?"

"You have both been unconscious for two days, Fräulein." He tutted slightly. "I was starting to get impatient."

I grimaced at his words and shot him a hard glare. "Where the hell are we?"

He walked over to the side of the room and calmly picked up a clipboard, appearing as though he hadn't heard me. "Do you know who I am?" he asked. At the answering silence from the two, he frowned. "Doctor Armin Zola, lead scientist for HYDRA and greatest mind of this era."

"Greatest mind?" I scoffed loudly, yanking at my restraints. Abe held the position of greatest mind, even in death. I'd always believed that, and always would. "You're no more than a man playing at things he doesn't understand."

In truth, I had no idea what he was trying to do, or what he was capable of. But at this point I didn't much care. I just wanted to anger him, to show him that we wouldn't simply lie down without a fight.

"We shall see, Fräulein," he murmured softly, unperturbed. "We shall see."

"Why don't you take these restraints off and then we'll see where you stand?" Bucky growled, eyes glinting in challenge. "Or, more specifically, where you don't."

"You two have spirit," Zola observed. "Good." I didn't like the look on his face. "Let's see how long it lasts."

"You're going to be waiting a long time." I bared my teeth slightly. "We're Americans. Stubborn is what we do."

"Technically, I'm part-Irish," Bucky muttered under his breath. I shot him a look, barely repressing an exasperated eye roll.

My attention quickly snapped back to Zola when he took a step forwards, unconsciously tensing. "Why?"

I didn't quite know what I was asking. Why do you need test subjects? Why, more specifically, do you need us? Why bother wasting medicine on treating our pneumonia? (Because surely, with the sudden boost in our health, that was exactly what he was currently doing.) Why not just let us die?

Maybe I was asking all of the above. Or maybe I just didn't specify which because I didn't truly want to know the answer.

Zola, unfortunately, seemed to understand the meaning behind my question. "Science," he answered simply. The response didn't relax me in the slightest. He sighed and tilted his head, eyes glazing over in thought. "All this time, I've been using those who are strong in body. But maybe… maybe that's where I've been going wrong. Maybe it has nothing to do with the physicality at all, and everything to do with the strength of one's psyche."

Bucky tensed further at the words and strained against the straps holding him down. "What do you want from us?" he snapped, fixing the doctor with a hard glare.

Zola smiled, eyes gleaming with an emotion that caused my insides to twist with dread. "I want you to survive."

XxXxXx

October 25th, 1943

The moment I started to come to, I knew something was wrong. I didn't know what, or how, or why. But I knew something wasn't right. I could feel it in the way the hairs on my arms were stood on end and in the heavy weight that was settled deep within my gut. My fever, the crackling in my chest, the pounding headaches—it was all gone. The near constant metallic twang of blood had disappeared from my mouth and the overwhelming exhaustion had finally faded. Yet none of that mattered, for the moment I opened my eyes, I figured out what was missing and my whole body felt like it had been doused in ice-cold water.

"B'cky… Where's Bucky?" I murmured, squinting my eyes to stare at the place next to me that he had occupied for the past few days. But no matter how hard I blinked, willing the image before me to be no more than a mirage, a mere trick of the mind, nothing changed. It remained empty, bare, desolate. He was gone.

No…

I jolted against the restraints, twisting my head in every direction as I desperately, futilely, searched again for his familiar form. The weight in my gut twisted and coiled with icy fear, pressing down until I momentarily lost the ability to breathe. It was ironic, really, how I felt healthier than I had in weeks, normal even, and yet I felt worse than I ever had when I was ill. Ever since I'd left with the 107th—all through the front lines of Azzano, the capture by HYDRA, the beating from Lohmer, the pneumonia—he'd unconsciously, at some point, become my safety net. My anchor, as it were. As long as he was there, I somehow knew that I'd be okay, that we'd make it through. It was a small comfort, but it was arguably the most important one. He'd given me hope.

Hope that we'd find a way out of this mess. Hope that I would go home and see my loved ones again. Hope that this wasn't the miserable end for us all.

And now… now some HYDRA bastard had taken him away from me. Just like they'd taken Abe.

Zola stepped closer and I thrashed wildly, bucking my hips and pulling against the metal cuffs holding me down with everything I had. A jolt of pain shot through my wrists and something warm started to trickle down my hands as the metal cuffs tore into my skin, but I didn't stop. I just thrashed harder. I had to get out. I had to find Bucky. I had to make sure he was okay.

Zola took another step closer, tutting disapprovingly as he watched my futile struggle. "We both know that's pointless. You're only hurting yourself, Fräulein."

I bared my teeth at him, snarling wildly as I defiantly fought harder to free myself. "What did you do to him?" I screeched. "What did you do?"

"I have done nothing." I tried to ignore the silent yet ringing in the air. "Now that you've both successfully recovered from your pneumonia, you've been separated for the… different experiments."

I clenched my jaw and tried to launch myself at him to no avail. "I swear to God, if you've hurt him, I'll kill you. I will rip you apart with my bare hands—"

"Now, now, Fräulein—"

"Don't call me that," I snarled, tugging harder against my restraints and giving him a fierce glare. I bit back the tears and hid the pain that flared up deep within me at the word, the hundreds of times Abe had called me that over the years ringing hauntingly in my head.

"Tssk," he tutted lightly. "Don't Americans get taught how to respect their superiors?"

"Of course we do." I bared my teeth again in a feral smile. "Shame you're not one of them."

Zola clenched his jaw at the jibe and reached into his breast-pocket. I started thrashing wildly again when he withdrew his hand, my eyes locking onto the object held within his grasp.

"We'll have to work on your manners," Zola chuckled, reaching out to hold my arm still. I tried to rip it out of his grip, but it was no use. "This may hurt a little."

There was a slight pinch as the needle sank into my skin, and then burning fire started to seep through my veins.

XxXxXx

October 30th, 1943

Pain. There was so much pain.

Sense of time became lost to me. Hours, days, years could have passed and I would know no different. It felt like an eternity had come and gone, yet the end was still nowhere in sight.

I could feel myself slipping away, slowly but surely. With each fire that was injected into my veins, with each hour that passed, I felt a little piece of me float away. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare. One unending nightmare that plagued me in my waking hours and in my sleep. What was real? What was fake? How long had I been here? Hours? Weeks? Months? Where was Bucky? Was he okay? Was he alive?

All questions I couldn't answer, all subjective. There was nothing I could be sure about, nothing solid, nothing factual. And I needed that more than anything right now. I needed something to cling onto, something resolute and unchanging that I could hold close to my chest and keep myself sane with. A tether to anchor me down and keep me grounded in this confusion of pain and fear.

Facts. Think of the facts. What do I know?

My name… My name was Anna Fahlett. I'm an agent of the S.S.R. I was born in Queens, New York. My best friends are Peggy Carter and Howard Stark. Both my parents died when I was young. My favorite drink is Scotch. I used to be laughed at when I was younger for wanting to join the war. I lost my two front teeth when I was seven getting into a fight over it.

Abe… I lost Abe. No, not lost, he was murdered. Murdered before my eyes. Murdered by HYDRA. HYDRA… Captured… I was captured by HYDRA… Italy? Austria? Why was I there? Was that my home? No— Queens. I was from Queens. I met Steve at the Expo. Howard and Peggy are my best friends. Anna. My name was Anna.

A small thud had me blearily opening my eyes, a quiet groan escaping my lips as I slowly blinked to try and focus my vision. The now familiar laboratory swam into view, as cold and sterile as ever.

"Ah, you're awake. Good."

I didn't have to look to recognize that accented voice, I'd heard it so often now that I'd be able to pinpoint it through a crowded room, but I rolled my head to the side anyway, not liking having him out of my line of sight. Zola was stood by a small desk on one side of the room, eyes fixated intently on something on its surface. His gaze flickered to me for the briefest of moments as he picked up a small, square piece of paper and stepped out from behind the desk.

"You know, I thought you looked familiar, Fräulein. But I couldn't quite put my finger on how." He glanced down at the piece of paper in his hands and walked closer. "Today, I finally figured it out."

He turned the piece of paper around, revealing a photo. I bit my lip hard to try and bite down the cry that wanted to escape me at the image. The two people in the photo were unaware of the camera, walking down the street together arm in arm. The older man was looking down at the woman with a warm smile on his face, his eyes twinkling in their oh-so-familiar way as she laughed happily at something he'd said.

Abe…

I blinked slowly, swallowing the burning tears that rose behind my eyes, and tore my gaze away from Abe's face, knowing that I wouldn't be able to keep control of my emotions if I stared at him for a second longer. Almost unconsciously, my gaze turned to the female next to him instead. The woman there looked happy, glowing almost, as if she didn't have a care in the world. There was a light to her eyes that seemed to glimmer brightly even through the black-and-white photograph and her smile was boundless.

I barely even recognized myself.

"Dr. Erskine's assistant in my lab and about to become the new fist of HYDRA. Ironic, no?"

I glared, tearing my eyes away from the photograph, and spat in his face, not caring about the inevitable consequences. "Go to hell."

Zola's eyes hardened as he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his cheek and forehead. "You Americans never learn," he sighed, shaking his head.

He moved over to where there was a small rack of vials on the other side of the room and carefully removed one with unnerving delicacy. Zola stared at it for a moment, muttering something indiscernible under his breath, before he turned and approached me once more. His eyes were cold and calculating as he picked up a clean syringe and filled it with the liquid from the vial.

I tensed, heart pounding, as I stared at the syringe. The tinctures he usually injected me with were pale, translucent. Not tinted a pale blue like this one. "What is that?" I breathed, trying to flinch away as he gripped my arm.

Zola's sly smile was the only response I got before the needle pierced my skin and the fire—cold, it was cold this time, was that even possible?—started to burn through me once more.

XxXxXx

November 1st, 1943

Name. Name…

Gracie? Grace? No… Annie. Annie Fahlett. No, that wasn't right— Anna. My name was Anna. I'm American, an agent of the S.S.R. I had friends… A dark-haired man. Flirty, arrogant, smart. An inventor? Yes, he invented things… And there was a female? Scottish? No, not Scottish— English. She was English. She loved red dresses and dancing. She was strong, independent, stubborn. So similar to me in so many ways. Or was she? Was I strong? I didn't feel strong. Maybe I used to be… But not anymore. No, not anymore.

I was afraid. I was afraid of so many things.

I was afraid of the cold fire that burned through my veins. I was afraid of the blue light that flashed behind my eyelids. I was afraid of never seeing my friends again. I was afraid of never going home. I was afraid of forgetting who I was. I was afraid of giving in. I was afraid of dying.

No, I definitely wasn't strong. I was weak. I was scared. I was alone.

I wanted it all to stop, to end. Why wouldn't it stop?

Footsteps echoed in my ears, drawing closer. The familiar short, slightly uneven, rhythm caused me to tense. He was here. He was going to put me on fire again. No. I shook my head. I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't… I couldn't…

"Time to wake up, Fräulein. We have a busy day ahead of us."

No, no, no, no. Not again. Please, not again. I tensed and kept my eyes closed, not wanting to open them. Maybe if I just kept them shut, if I just willed it hard enough, he would disappear and I would be left in peace.

There was a sigh. "Still uncooperative, I see. Shame," he tutted. "No matter. We shall continue."

A whimper involuntarily escaped my lips as the needle pinched into my neck and the horribly familiar cold fire started to seep through my veins. I clenched my jaw and grit my teeth together, biting back the scream that was trying to claw its way up my throat. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry. I didn't want to be weak anymore. I wanted to be strong.

There was another pinch in the other side of my neck and the scream ripped its way out of my throat against my will as the second round of fire clashed and mixed with the first, burning a hundred times hotter. I tried to move, to run from the pain, but I couldn't lift my limbs. I couldn't get away. I couldn't escape the molten lava that was incinerating my very being from the inside out.

Something heavy started weighing down on my mind and I felt myself losing my fragile grip on reality. Maybe if I just gave in, if I just sunk into the darkness, if I just did what was asked of me, maybe then the pain would stop. Maybe then they wouldn't torture me and drag me through the deepest pits of Hell day after day. I just had to follow orders, be a good soldier… Soldier… I knew a soldier… A good soldier… The best soldier… Favorite, he was my favorite… Short, blonde, stubborn as they come. Brightest blue eyes I'd ever seen in my goddamn life… Name… What was his name?

Simon? Sam? Scott? No, no, no. Ugh. Damn it, Anna, think! It was… Ste… Steven? Yes, Steven! Steve. I remember him now. Stubborn, loyal, passionate, kind—God, he was so, so kind. I remember how strong his morals were, how clear his view of right and wrong was. I remember how he was a fighter, despite everything holding him back, and how he never gave up… He never gave up…

If he could only see me now. Would he be disappointed in me for being so weak? Would he turn away in disgust and lose all faith in me? No, I shook the thoughts off instantly. He wouldn't do that. Not Steve. He was too good a person, too kind, to ever do that to anyone. And while I knew that was true, I also knew he'd hate it. He'd hate seeing me give in and stop fighting. He'd hate seeing me lose hope.

What did I always tell him? "You can do this. I believe in you. Never give up." I felt like such a hypocrite. How could I tell others to do something I couldn't even do myself? But he had done it, hadn't he? He had never given up, and he had come out on top at the end of it all. Steve… I just had to be more like Steve… I had to fight…

I couldn't give in. I couldn't.

Anna. My name is Anna. I'm an agent of the S.S.R. I was born in Queens, New York. Breathe, don't give in. Anna. Born in Queens. Agent of the S.S.R. Don't scream, don't move, don't give in. Anna. Queens. Agent. Deep breaths. Anna. Queens. Agent. Fight it. Don't give in. Be strong. Anna. Quee—

My internal mantra was cut off by the sound of the door slamming open.

"Doctor Zola… progress…"

"Serum… energy transfusion… levels stabilized, but… complication… proceed…"

XxXxXx

November 3rd, 1943

Steve sat on a set of wooden steps leading down from the back exit of the stage, alone with nothing but a notebook and pencil in hand. The weather seemed to be reflecting his mood perfectly; dark gray clouds were overhead and icy rain was pounding down relentlessly around him. He sighed and darkened a line on the page, making the image of the dancing monkey he'd drawn stand out boldly against the stark white paper. The sketch was more self-reflective than he'd like to admit—for that was what he was now, wasn't it? A dancing monkey. No more, no less.

He paused, pencil hovering over the page, and wondered how his life had come to this. Flashes of the last performance still echoed in his mind: the tomatoes that had been thrown at him, the cry for the girls to come back on stage, the mockery from the men. It was a far cry from the reception he was used to receiving. Five months he'd been on this 'morale-boosting' tour with the USO. City after city. Performance after performance. He'd been to the U.K., Buffalo, Philadelphia, Chicago, New York City… And now, finally, Italy. It was the first time he'd performed for soldiers of the war, for men that had actually gone out and fought, and their less-than-impressed reactions brought home exactly how far he'd fallen.

Had Erskine spent his entire life creating the serum, dying for the serum, for him to become no more than a novelty act? Steve didn't even have to think to know the answer to that question. He was meant to be more than this, he knew that. What was the point of being the only successful super-soldier if he wasn't allowed to even fight in this damn war? He stared down at the dancing monkey and frowned. This… This wasn't what he'd wanted. He should've listened to Anna when she'd tried to warn him what Brandt meant, but he'd been so sure it was the right choice.

Anna… His chest ached slightly at the thought of the dark-haired woman. For the first few months after they'd parted ways, they had sent each other letters as often as possible. They were usually only short and consisting of nothing more than lighthearted topics, but he had never particularly minded. She cared enough to keep in contact with him, and that was all that mattered to Steve. Just hearing from her had always brightened his day, his week even, and he'd always sent his responding letter off the first chance he got, in the hopes it would make her reply come ever faster. He'd kept all the letters she sent, every single one. He wasn't sure why, and he sure as hell would never tell anyone that, but he found a certain comfort in reading her words whenever he started to feel low. She'd always signed her letters "Remember, Steve: You can do anything. Anna". And just reading that, remembering all the times she'd told him those words in person, brought him hope whenever he needed it.

He supposed that was why he felt the absence of her regular letters like a dull ache in his chest. He hadn't heard from her in weeks now and it worried him. There had been no explanation, no reason for her sudden disappearance. One day they'd just… stopped. He still sent her letters every week to the base in England she'd been reassigned to all those months ago, detailing which city he would be visiting next so she'd be able to contact him if she wanted. But he hadn't heard a word.

Footsteps drew his attention back to the world around him, the soft click of low heels on the raised platform behind him reaching his ears over the constant downpour of rain. He glanced up from his notebook, turning back to see a flash of dark hair. For the briefest moment, he couldn't help but think it was Anna approaching him, but then he focused on the woman's features and his heart dropped slightly despite himself.

"Hello, Steve."

The smooth British accent rang softly through the air and he smiled slightly in greeting, glad to see a familiar face, even if it wasn't the one he wanted to see most. "Hi." He couldn't keep the slight surprise out of his voice, wondering why Peggy was in Italy, not England, and standing before him.

"Hi," she repeated quietly, folding the long coat she was carrying over her arm and taking a seat on a random prop near the top of the stairs.

When she made no other move to speak, Steve tilted his head slightly in question. "What are you doing here?"

"Officially, I'm not here at all." Her eyes fell to where her hands were folded in her lap, tightly gripping one another. Steve couldn't help but notice that something seemed different about her. "That was quite a performance."

"Uh, yeah." He cleared his throat, unconsciously glancing back down at the drawing in his hand. "I had to improvise a little bit. The crowds I'm used to are usually a little more, uh… twelve."

"And I understand you're America's new hope."

"Bond sales take a ten-percent bump in every state I visit," Steve said monotonously, reciting the words he'd been told over and over again whenever he questioned the USO how exactly this was the 'most important battlefield of the war'.

Peggy wasn't fooled. "Is that Senator Brandt I hear?"

"At least he's got me doing this," Steve sighed. The words didn't sound convincing even to his own ears. "Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab."

"And these are your only two options?" Peggy questioned, finally looking up from her hands to raise a brow. Steve opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He had no argument to that. Hell, he'd been thinking along similar lines only mere minutes ago. Peggy glanced down at the drawing he still held in his hands. "A lab rat or a dancing monkey? You were meant for more than this, you know."

He turned his gaze back to her at the quiet words and noticed for the first time how pale and drawn she looked in the muted light. Her blue eyes met his for a brief moment before returning to her hands clenched in her lap. But that fleeting glimpse had been enough for Steve to see the red lines in her bloodshot eyes and the dark circles dusting underneath them. She looked emotionally spent, exhausted, as if she hadn't slept in days. He bit down the questions that wanted to escape his mouth, not wanting to overstep a boundary by prying into her personal life.

The downpour of heavy rain was the only sound between them for a few minutes. Peggy eventually raised her eyes once more, noticing the look on his face. "What?"

Steve shook his head, swallowing back the burning questions he wanted to ask her. Instead, he gestured to the dancing monkey drawing and sighed. "You know, for the longest time I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines, serving my country. I finally got everything I wanted… And I'm wearing tights."

Peggy gave him a sympathetic look, opening her mouth to respond when a loud car honk in the distance caught both their attention. Steve watched as medics rushed out of a large tent to the truck that had pulled up outside, frantically calling out orders as they helped injured soldiers off the back of the truck and inside the makeshift medical ward.

Steve frowned and let out a low sigh. "They look like they've been through hell."

Steve, still watching the medics and injured men, missed Peggy's flinch at the words. "These men more than most," she murmured softly. She cleared her throat and swallowed back the tears rising behind her eyes. "Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men went up against him, and less than fifty returned." Her hands clenched tighter in her lap. "Your audience contained what was left of the 107th. The rest were killed or captured."

Steve straightened abruptly, not hearing the crack of emotion in Peggy's voice on the last few words in his panic, his mind caught on one thing. "The 107th? Are you sure?" he questioned frantically, spinning to face the dark-haired agent. Cold fear trickled down his spine when Peggy nodded.

"Steve, there's something you should know…" she started, but Steve was already shooting to his feet, notebook forgotten on the steps behind him.

"Sorry, Agent Carter. I promise we'll talk later, but I… I need to see Colonel Phillips…"

With that, he took off into the rain without another second to waste, sprinting with inhuman speed to the Commander's tent where he knew Phillips would be.

"Steve!" Peggy called out urgently. She cursed when he didn't so much as glance back, scooping the notebook up on her way down the steps as she jogged after him.

By the time she reached the Colonel's tent, she was completely and utterly drenched. Her dark hair was plastered to her face and neck, clothes sticking uncomfortably to every inch of her body. Peggy barely even noticed, however, too preoccupied by the two men facing off against each other a few feet away.

"Well, if it isn't the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan," Phillips snarked, looking up from the papers on his desk. "What is your plan today?"

Steve took an anxious step forward. "I need the casualty list from Azzano."

"You don't get to give me orders, son."

"I just need one name," Steve begged lowly. "Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th."

Phillips sighed and pointed his pen at the soaked form of Peggy. "You and I are gonna have a conversation later that you won't enjoy."

"Please tell me if he's alive, sir," Steve jumped in. "B-A-R…"

The Colonel raised a brow and cut him off. "I can spell."

Phillips didn't move for a long moment, studying the blonde in front of him. He'd seen the look in his eye many times before in others. The pain, the fear, the dread. Phillips sighed and got to his feet. "I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count," he admitted. "But the name does sound familiar." Phillips paused, a sincere look crossing his features. "I'm sorry."

Steve stumbled back a step, as if the words were a physical blow, and let out a shaky breath. He struggled to rein in his emotions for a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat. "What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?"

"Yes, it's called 'winning the war'."

Steve frowned. "But if you know where they are, why not at least—"

"They're thirty miles behind the lines," Phillips cut him off with a grunt, "through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We'd lose more men than we'd save." He leveled Steve with a long look. "I can't risk that just because you have a friend missing and a crush on one woman. But I don't expect you to understand that, because you're a chorus girl."

Steve froze for a moment, thrown by the information he'd just been unknowingly hit with, and glanced back at Peggy. She lowered her eyes, her pained silence all the confirmation Steve needed to know that it was the truth. Bucky. Anna. His chest ached painfully, fear settling deep in his gut.

"I think I understand just fine."

XxXxXx

Anna… Queens…

Tired. I was so tired.

Agent… Anna…

How long had I been here?

Queens… New York…

Was the floor shifting? Or was I hallucinating again?

Howard… Peggy… Steve…

Was that footsteps I heard? And… whirring? What was that noise?

Anna… Queens…

The grinding of something metal. The floor shifted again.

Anna… Anna… Anna…

I opened my eyes a crack. There was a moment of disorientation before everything came into sharp focus. Every object and shape clearly defined, detailed, bold. Even the dull monochrome of the lab seemed brighter somehow—glowing, almost. Was everything usually this clear?

Anna… Queens… New York…

The whirring sound got louder. I frowned and twisted my neck, wincing at the stiffness in my muscles. There was a large machine next to me, around me, with large metal cuffs holding me down. Wires were attached to multiple points of my body and a metal helmet was strapped onto my head. My breathing picked up and a small keening sound left my mouth as I tried unsuccessfully to pull myself free.

Agent… Queens…

"Ah, you're awake just in time, Fräulein," a despairingly familiar accent called from a few feet away. I turned my head to look at him, trying to hide the raw fear in my eyes.

"I told you, don't call me that," I snapped lowly, my voice slightly hoarse with disuse. I tried to glare at him, tried to fill myself with anger, in a desperate attempt to hide the terror coiling in my gut.

"I see keeping you sedated hasn't checked that attitude," Zola sighed in faux sadness. "No matter, no matter. We'll fix that later."

"Like hell you will," I spat.

Zola merely smiled, a knowing glint to his eye that set my nerves on edge and made my throat constrict in fear. He picked something up from the table in front of him after making a few more adjustments to the machine I was attached to and made his way over to my side. I glared at him as he raised his hand to trace the side of my face, internally cursing myself a thousand times over when my body instinctively flinched away from his touch.

"You may be needing this, Fräulein," he commented, raising his other hand to show the object he held. A small piece of wood was in his hand, two pieces of fabric attached to either end. I frowned in confusion before realization slowly started to dawn on me. My eyes flew back up to his in horror. He merely smiled again and pried my chin open with one hand, slipping the wood between my teeth and securing the fabric behind my head before I could even think to react. "We wouldn't want you to injure yourself now, would we?" he murmured slyly.

Anna… Queens… Agent… I took in a deep breath and tried to ignore the pounding of my heart, clenching my teeth down on the wood placed between them anxiously.

Zola turned and picked up a vial to his left. It shone an unnatural blue in the fluorescent light. "This… This could be the key, Fräulein," he breathed, staring down at the vial with something akin to wonder. Was it… Was it glowing?

"Wha— mhhhm— fu— mhhp—" I tried to question, but the wooden gag in my mouth made the words come out an unintelligible mess.

Zola merely smiled, his eyes gleaming again in that way that unnerved me to my core, and filled a clean syringe with the unnatural blue liquid. I let out a muffled cry, redoubling my efforts to wriggle out of my restraints. It was useless though, and the next thing I knew, the needle was piercing the skin of my neck and the contents of the syringe was emptied into my veins. My heart rate rocketed, terror clutching at me with an iron grip, as the unknown liquid seeped through my bloodstream. It was cold, so cold, cold like I'd never felt before. That type of cold that numbed you to the point of no feeling, and yet incinerated every inch of you with unforgiving molten fire.

I could feel it spreading every inch through my body. First down my neck, then my chest, then my arms… By the time it reached my legs, my teeth were clamped down on the wooden gag so harshly I swore I felt it splinter in my mouth. And by the time it reached my toes, it started to burn ten times worse than before.

Anna... Queens... Agent...

I screamed.

XxXxXx

"The HYDRA camp is in Krausberg, tucked between these two mountain ranges," Peggy explained, pointing to the location on the map she held. "It's a factory of some kind."

Howard glanced over his shoulder from the cockpit. "We should be able to drop you right on the doorstep."

"Just get me as close as you can," Steve called back with a grateful nod. He turned back to face Peggy with a sigh. "You know, you two are gonna be in a lot of trouble when you land."

Peggy shrugged. Truthfully, she hadn't given much thought to what would happen when she and Howard returned to base. And quite honestly, in that moment, she didn't much care. If it worked, if it meant Anna came home safe and sound, then she'd do it all a thousand times over. No matter the consequence. "And you won't?"

Steve shrugged. "Where I'm going, if anybody yells at me, I can just shoot them."

"They will undoubtedly shoot back."

"Well," Steve hit his prop stage shield from where it was resting beside him, "let's hope it's good for something."

Peggy opened her mouth to respond, but she was cut off by Howard's flirty voice ahead. "Agent Carter! If we're not in too much of a hurry on the way back, I thought you could fill in for Annie and we could stop off in Lucerne for a late-night fondue."

He threw a halfhearted smirk and wink over his shoulder at her, eyebrow raised in question. Steve tensed beside her, but Peggy merely eyed Howard with concern, choosing not to comment on how his eyes seemed hollow and tired, or the way his mouth was almost unnoticeably tightened in worry.

"Way to make me feel like second best, Howard!" Peggy called back, trying to keep the atmosphere lighthearted, but her words sounded strained even to her own ears. She shook her head slightly, swallowing her emotions, and turned back to where Steve was sat rigidly opposite her. "Stark is the best civilian pilot I've ever seen. He's mad enough to brave this airspace. We're lucky to have him."

Steve nodded his head distractedly at her words, looking over at Howard with a frown before returning his gaze to Peggy. "So, do those two… Anna and Stark, I mean… Do they… fondue?"

Peggy stared at him in silence for a few seconds after he'd finished stuttering out his question and waving his hands around in Stark's general direction, eyebrows raising. "All the time," she replied slowly, unsure why he was concerned with Anna and Howard's eating habits when they were currently minutes away from flying over enemy territory. "It's kind of their thing."

Steve let out a choking sound at the response, looking almost horrified as he gripped the seat under him. Peggy eyed his erratic behavior with a frown and wondered what the hell had gotten into him. Nerves? she wondered. A low sigh escaped her lips, knowing they couldn't afford for him to lose his grip on himself now. "This is your transponder. Activate it when you're ready and the signal will lead us straight to you."

Peggy held up the aforementioned object and passed it over to Steve, who took a deep breath and straightened. He looked over the transponder in his hands, forcing himself to focus back on the mission. "Are you sure this thing works?"

Howard snorted. "It's been tested more than you, pal."

Steve had no time to respond before a sudden explosion rocked the plane violently. He flung his hands out to brace himself against the harsh tremors, Peggy doing the same across from him. The moment the aircraft stabilized again, he was on his feet and grabbing his shield, moving towards the back of the plane without a second thought.

"Get back here!" Peggy called out, jumping to her feet and following after him. "We're taking you all the way in!"

Steve ignored her, opening the small door and positioning himself so he was sat with his legs hanging out into the dark sky. "As soon as I'm clear, you turn this thing around and get the hell out of here!"

"You can't give me orders!" Peggy argued. She grabbed onto a metal bar next to the open hatch to steady herself, dark hair whipping violently around her in the strong winds.

"The hell I can't!" Steve gave a half-smile. "I'm a Captain!"

"Steve!" Peggy grabbed his arm just as he started to tip forwards, stopping him from jumping. Her eyes were heavy with unspoken emotion as his gaze met hers. "Bring her home."

Steve's eyes momentarily softened before he gave a determined nod and flung himself out of the plane without a second thought.

XxXxXx

Zola leaned forwards, fascinated, watching her every move intently as she thrashed and struggled against the restraints pinning her down. This… This time would work, he thought. He could feel it. It had to. He'd exhausted all other options.

A raw scream rent the air and her back arched unnaturally as her body started to convulse in violent tremors. He frowned. This was not quite the reaction he'd expected. But then, he hadn't known what to expect. It was impossible to predict the full outcome of his experiment, he'd known that when he'd started. Mutating it had been a risk, given, but Zola hadn't become the greatest mind of this era by limiting himself to boundaries. For a moment, he swore he saw her veins shimmer the same unnerving shade of unearthly blue, but when he blinked and pushed his glasses further up his nose, nothing but pale skin stared back at him.

It was mere minutes later when her thrashing suddenly intensified, muscles convulsing at an increased rate from before, eyes wild with pain. She screamed against the wooden gag in her mouth once more, back arching, before she jolted violently and her piercing cry abruptly cut off, body falling limp against the gurney.

Zola let out a breath as the room fell eerily silent. "No," he muttered, taking a small step forward. Disappointment curled through him as he stared at her still form.

A sudden screeching sound wailing loudly through the building caused him to jump and let out a startled cry, the clipboard he held clattering to the floor. He barely had time to collect himself before Schmidt was barging into the room, the warning alarms growing louder through the open door.

"Go collect your work, Doctor. We are under attack." When the smaller man didn't immediately move, Schmidt shot him an impatient glare. "Now, Dr. Zola."

"But, the girl—" Zola started, still frozen mid-way to the table where she lay.

Schmidt took one glance at her unmoving body and raised an unimpressed brow. "I think you'll find she's dead," he snapped. "Leave her. We have the only thing that matters." He gestured to the box he had just carefully placed the Tesseract in.

"One moment—" He quickly approached and placed his fingers to her neck, just wanting to be certain. He sighed after a few seconds and shook his head. No pulse. He took a step back and let his hand fall back to his side in disappointment. He had been so sure…

Gun shots started to echo faintly in the distance and Schmidt growled impatiently, grabbing the Tesseract box and heading to the door. Zola took one last disappointed look at the woman laying lifelessly on the table before he sighed and nodded, following Schmidt out of the room as they shortly detoured to the surveillance room.

"I take it your experiment was unsuccessful?"

"Yes," Zola admitted, rubbing the bridge of his nose in disappointment. "It appears it was too much for the human body to endure."

Schmidt glanced at him before making his way over to the controls of the room. "It is of no consequence now."

He glanced at one of the screens streaming the outside surveillance cameras, noting how it appeared that a few of the escaped POWs had hijacked one of their tanks and was erratically shooting bursts of Tesseract energy at various trucks and other transportation vehicles. He flicked the protective guards off of the series of large red buttons on the control panel before him, slamming his hand down onto each one without a second thought.

"No, no," Zola breathed, rushing forward. He stared at the seven-minute countdown warning in horror. "What are you doing?"

Schmidt gestured to the screen he had previously been watching. "Our forces are outmatched," he said plainly.

He turned and grabbed the box containing the Tesseract once more, gesturing over his shoulder for Zola to follow him as he exited the room. "Hurry, doctor," he drawled. "We don't have much time."

Zola took one last look at the chaos on the screens, dabbing nervously at his forehead with his handkerchief, before he obediently hurried out after Schmidt, heading to where the aircraft were kept to the east of the factory.

Unbeknownst to them both, back in the lab they had just left, a gasp escaped chapped lips and a pair of eyes flew open, temporarily burning an unnatural blue before fading into their familiar light gray as a bolt of energy shot through her veins, kick-starting her heart into action once more.

Author's Note:

…Heya guys! I'm baaaaaack. *nervous smile* I literally cannot apologise enough for the long wait on this chapter, or thank you enough for how incredibly understanding and supportive you've all been about it. I could blab on and on about how life has been so completely and utterly crazy hectic with university, work, social life etc., but I just want you guys to know how amazingly grateful I feel for having you amazing human beings as my readers. I seriously can't even put into words how much your support means to me. You're all the absolute best and I love you all! :)

I thought I'd try to apologise by giving you guys a ridiculously long chapter to try and make up for it (like seriously, this thing has a word count of just under 12000, which is roughly 20 pages on word). *sad puppy eyes* Apology accepted?

I also just wanted to take this moment to point out that yes, Zola has experimented on Anna, but no, Anna will NOT become some OP OC (okay, there were too many acronyms going on there) Mary Sue. Don't worry, I'm not going to give any spoilers, I just wanted to make that clear now to save any confusion.

Timeline

The only date that is actually canon is Steve leaving on a—let's face it—slightly suicidal mission to save the captured POWs, including Bucky, from the Austrian HYDRA factory on November 3rd. All of the other dates used in this chapter were purely random.

Oh, I also just wanted to mention that there is nothing I can find that states Bucky's heritage (the half-Irish line just kind of popped out because I felt like it was something he'd say just to be sassy if nothing else). I know there's the whole debate about whether Bucky is Irish Catholic (like canon Steve), Anglican, Jewish, or of protestant descent, amongst other things. However, I really won't be touching upon religion or heritage at all within this story, so let's just roll with that lol.

Translations

As always, google translate was used so if any of this is incorrect then I apologise. If you know the correct translations, then let me know and I will change it.

'Non… Non, s'il vous plaît, non…' = No… No, please, no…

'Trop tard… Nous sommes trop en retard… Ils les ont… Ils les ont…' = Too late… We're too late… They have them… They have them…

Sneak Peeks

So, to all of those who received a sneak preview of this chapter, you may have noticed that I changed the setting of the whole "they're taking the sick ones" scene. This was purely due to Jim Morita somehow weaselling his way into the story early. I literally had no intention of introducing him yet (I'm not planning on him having a massive role in this fic, so I hadn't really given it much thought), but apparently he had different plans and now here we are. *shrugs*

Oh, and I was also thinking of continuing to do sneak peeks every chapter to all my lovely reviewers since the first lot went so well lol. What do you guys think? Something you'd be interested in?

Reviews

Thank you so much to everyone that reviewed! I'm still a little in shock due to how much amazing support this story has received. Again, thank you all so much for being incredible human beings! Due to these A/N's starting to become so long (sorry for my incessant babbling haha), I've been PM'ing my responses to all those that review with accounts. To all my lovely guest reviewers, here we go:

Kimberley: I know, writing the hallucination scene literally hurt my heart too haha. I'm putting it all down to the sad music I was listening to whilst writing. Safe to say I've banned myself from ever doing it again. ;) Thank you so, so much for your review! I made sure to add some more over-protective Howling Commandos moments in this chapter for you. Hope you enjoy! x

Guest: Thank you! Sorry for the long wait, but hope you like it!

Jo: Haha, that they do. Here's them causing a little more chaos. ;) So, I was going to have Steve rescue them this chapter… But then somehow all this happened and it was getting ridiculously long and yeah, just yeah. Sorry, lovely! I promise he'll be there to save them next chapter though! As always, thank you so much for your review! *hugs*

Anonymous: It's a bit late, but here you go! :)

Guest: Oh my gosh, you have no idea how much I love your review! The fact that you have read this story three times means the absolute world to me and I literally cannot tell you enough how much I appreciate your support! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really hope you enjoy this chapter just as much and I'm so sorry for the long wait, lovely.

—

So… Anna and Bucky have been having some seriously crappy luck recently. I'm starting to feel a little bad. Or am I? Maybe I should throw a little more misery their way *evil smile*. Nah, I'm just kidding. I feel like there's been a little too much doom and gloom happening recently, so you'll be pleased to know I have some happier chapters (*gasp*) on the near horizon.

What did you guys think of this chapter? We finally got a little glimpse of Steve again, the soon-to-be Howling Commandos were up to their usual antics, Zola (ugh) made his appearance… Unfortunately, we didn't see as much of Bucky, but he'll be in the next chapter a lot more (promise!).

Anyway, I think I've ranted on enough now. I'm going, I'm going.

Until next time! x