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The following morning, the pain in the back of her head was almost completely gone — making her internal clock begin to tick unconsciously again. She had to pull her hair back into a braid, which cooled her slightly from the heat.

After what one could consider a breakfast in the middle of a war, Victoria went to see if there was any more books to be found. Among some paperwork, she discovered a book on new types of medicines, probably from one of the fresh faced nurses she had seen wandering around (not at all looking battle worn like Amelia did).

Victoria made her way over to Bucky's cot, which was near the other side of the tent, finding him with his eyes closed and his hands intertwined on his stomach. She sat down quietly next to him and opened the book, beginning to read silently.

"Victoria,"

"James," she said, not looking up from the pages.

He chuckled, "Why do I always find you reading?"

"Always is a bit extreme, but," she met his stormy eyes, "not much else to do."

He gave an agreed nod, sitting up, being careful of his shoulder.

"Who has my book?!" called a nurse towards the front of the tent.

Carefully, not making too many movements, Victoria slipped the book under the stool. Bucky, who had watched her the entire time, let out a good laugh — a hearty one. Her lips turned upwards into a grin, a slight blush on her cheeks. She had no idea the fate of the soldier laying in front of her, but she was happy to make him laugh, genuinely laugh. War was hell, and could mentally destroy even the strongest of humanity.

They began talking, his attention focused on her and not on his injured brothers around him, or the pain he must've been in. She let him lead their conversation, worried she would let something slip up about the future or about the war. He talked about growing up in Brooklyn with his best friend — Steve — and all the things he and they did. He talked about what he wanted to do when the war was over, but his eyes darkened at the mention of the war.

She could not tell him that the Allies actually ended up winning the war, but she felt such a need to reassure him. "I'm sure we'll win."

"You think?"

I know. "Yes."

"So what're you going home to? Husband? Children?"

"A small, empty apartment," she told him honestly.

"Where do you live?" He paused, "I hope that's not creepy,"

She chuckled lightly, "Not at all — I live in Manhattan," Back in 2013, she thought to herself.

"Ah, a New York girl," he smiled.

"Born in the Bronx, moved to West Haven, then moved to Manhattan when I turned eighteen," she revealed. "And you? What're you going to go home to?"

He pursed his lips, "About the same as you,"

She nodded in acknowledgement, glancing away from his face to look at a new soldier being brought in. A few nurses surrounded him and eventually they hauled him away to be seen by a surgeon.

"Some other soldier isn't going to steal you away?"

Her eyes flickered back to Bucky, smiling at him, "Until that supply run, my attention is all yours."

Bucky smiled in a relieved sort of way, his tense shoulders now relaxed — his wound healing nicely. Amelia had informed him that as long as he didn't tear his stitches, he would be sent back out soon.

Unfortunately, the time came for her to return back to her present. She felt such a need to say a goodbye to Bucky, she owed him that much for keeping her company.

As she approached him, guilt ate at her insides. He had a big, goofy grin on his face — delighted to see her, as he had been the times before. She could not stay, she knew that, this was a war after all, not a scenario where she could play her options out with this man.

She sighed as she sat down beside him, and she could tell he knew what this was by the falter in his smile.

I like him, she admitted to myself, staring at him with a tiny frown. After only a few days, how pathetic am I?

"The supply run." was all he said at first. "Well, I suppose the good times always have to come to an end."

"Don't make it seem like that," she said, glancing away from him, unsure exactly what to say. How could she comfort him? Would he end up becoming a veteran with undiagnosed PTSD? Would he end up dying in battle? Victoria felt sick at the thought.

"But it is like that, doll. It is like that." he said, bitter undertones to it, probably not to offend her — she had no idea how long he had been fighting bloody battles, where friends died needlessly beside him. "I'll be sent back in a matter of a week or two, and that won't change."

Victoria took a long breath to steady her erratic heart. She knew it was wrong, but it seemed the best course of action was to make it seem like she didn't exist. Amelia would probably be just as confused. Make it seem like she was just a fever dream. It was undeniably cruel, but he needed to focus on staying alive and not on some girl he met in a medical tent.

"Your fever seems to have gone," she said in an airy voice, glancing away from his face again. She was not even sure if he'd had a fever in the first place, but she guessed anyways.

"What?"

She looked back at him, with a sad smile. "Good luck out there."

Thinking clearly on her present, on April 1, 2013 — on her Manhattan apartment. She began fading from 1943 with sad eyes as Bucky watched in horror, perhaps with the idea that she wasn't actually real and he had simply imagined her.

It was heartbreaking to watch.

Opening her closed eyes to avoid looking at Bucky as she disappeared, she came to realize she was in her apartment. Just as she planned. She sighed in relief, but her heart hurt. Messing with the past and the people within it was always tricky business — one thing could alter the entirety of the future; the fragility of it all.

"Jesus, Vic, you scared me,"

Victoria jumped, turning around to see Elliot on the couch with his laptop in his lap. She placed a hand over her heart, taking a deep breath.

He chuckled, "Looks like I scared you too,"

She nodded, her lips breaking out into a smile. "Sorry, El, unplanned trip."

He nodded, eyes flickering down to his laptop screen and then back to the red-head. He did not necessarily live with her, but he bounced around from place-to-place, and eventually she just gave him a key. He was quirky and introverted, but she trusted him and he left money around for her (she told him he really didn't need to, but it did help with groceries, so she just started appreciating it).

"Ooh? Where?"

"1943."

He let out a low whistle, "Damn, V, World War II? Fuck."

"It wasn't planned," she reasoned, "got one of my jump-migraines and was stuck there for a bit."

"In a war zone?"

"Border of one," she paused, thinking, "It was a medical tent."

He pursed his lips, typing away.

"So, El, crazy, totally just a curious question," she stepped closer to the couch, "would you be able to...get a social security number for the late 30's? Or money? Or clothes? Or...uh...a nursing license or whatever?"

He broke out into a grin, "Why ya askin'?"

Victoria furrowed her eyebrows, "Just curiosity."

Truth was, she was curious if she would be able to go back to Bucky's time to see him again, before America entered the war and started the draft. And Elliot was a master at getting what you needed, considering all his connections and his master at anything regarding technology. It was actual a freaky ability, something she would compare to her ability to travel through time (extraordinary; not normal).

"Well, I could probably do all those things. Considering it's the 30's, there are documents I could just copy and alter slightly that would look legit." He shrugged, a sly smile on his lips, eyes turned to his computer screen.

A smile started on her face, "Oh? And how long would that take?"