Steve sleeps poorly that night. Now, in addition to grief over losing Bucky, she's worried that tomorrow morning Phillips will be waiting to ship her back to the States. On a rail. Tarred and feathered. Which would be a shame, because she's not going home until Schmidt is dead. Or in custody. But definitely defeated.

With any luck, her men won't let her get sent back without finishing this. They know how to pioratize. At the very least, Falsworth and Morita will make sure she's not hauled off before this is over. Peggy and Howard might help, too. So, yeah. Them against the whole of Allied army. And Hydra. Could be worse.

She gets to the briefing room early the next morning. Peggy catches her eye right away and gives a little shake of her head.

The tight knot of tension in her chest eases.

Peggy walks over and hands her a folder. "Zola didn't say anything," she says softly. "Well. He had plenty to say about Schmidt's plans, but nothing about you."

"Good. That's good, right?"

She hitches her eyebrow. "Of course. Unless you wanted him to talk." She glances at Phillips. "My theory is that Phillips has him frightened enough that he just forgot. Let's hope his forgetfulness lasts."

"What if it doesn't? I'm going after Schmidt. I'm going to burn every hole there is for him to hide in. And I'm not going to stop until he and all of Hydra are captured or dead. If Zola talks…"

"Then we'll deal with it." She smiles and gives a little shrug of her shoulder. "You've got this far. I'm sure you've got another miracle in you somewhere."

"None of the miracles have been mine. I've stumbled in the dark and been lucky enough to have help."

"You still have help." Her eyes move to a point behind Steve. "Your men are here." With another small, private smile, she turns and walks away.

Dugan claps a hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezes. "We dropped by the officer's barracks, but they said you'd already come here."

"Well, I'm anxious to get started," she says, turning. "I'm ready to end this."

"Zola give any information of value?" asks Falsworth.

"I haven't gone over anything yet, but Agent Carter seems to think we know where Schmidt is. And his plan."

"Good," says Jones. "I'm ready kick that sonofabitch's ass." His fists clench briefly before he flexes his hands. "The stupidest thing he ever did was stick a bunch of Allies in a cage and leave us to get angry."

"No," Dugan corrects. "The stupidest thing he ever did was stick Bucky in that cage with us. We were at each other's throats, guys. He's the only one who kept his head and remembered that we were on the same side. And stood up for anyone being treated unfairly. Well. More unfairly than anyone else. He's the only reason we got it together." His eyes are bright. "So. We're going to do this thing, right?"

"For Bucky," Dernier says quietly. Firmly.

They nod, and Steve knows hers aren't the only eyes that are burning. "For Bucky," they repeat.

"Now that we got that out of the way," Phillips says loudly, "Sit." He waits until they've all taken their places. "Johann Schmidt belongs in the bughouse. He thinks he's a god and he's going to blow up half the word to prove it. Starting with the U.S.A."

Steve opens her folder, looking at the information Peggy gave her while the rest of the room discusses whether or not Schmidt could actually do what Zola says he's planning. She doesn't care. He can probably do it. Steve's seen his weapons. It's not a far leap from being able to disintegrate a person and blow up a country. Whatever technology Schmidt has, it might as well be magic. All that matters is one question.

"Where is he now?" she asks.

Phillips holds up a spy photo. "Hydra's last base is here, in the Alps." He points to a map. "Five hundred feet below the surface."

"What are we supposed to do?" Morita asks. "It's not like we can just knock on the front door."

Steve looks at the map, turning the matter over in her mind. All their missions so far have involved them sneaking up in some way. They've been covert, up to the moment they start blowing everything up. But for this…

The plan begins to take shape in her mind. The element of surprise by being overtly… overt. Walking up to the door and knocking.

"Why not?" she says, a smile creeping across her face. "That's exactly what we're going to do."

The look on Schmidt's face when Steve told him that she wasn't special, that she was just a kid from Brooklyn.

No. The look on his face when her men crashed through the windows.

The word the cube had opened up, vast and beautiful, before it took Schmidt.

Punching him in the face.

No. No, she doesn't want her last thoughts to be of him.

Peggy. Yes, that's what she wants to remember. Peggy.

Sluggish, cold, barely able to move, she strains in her seat. The water's up to her waist, and the console is pinning her in. Something's broken in her back, and it's not repairing, doesn't have time, but if she stretches, if she can just lean a little to the left, she can get her compass.

A tearing pain rushes up her spine, exploding in her skull. With a gasp, she lets her hand fall and slumps against the seat.

Well. Maybe not.

She thought she'd be dead by now.

"A week Saturday. The Stork Club," she whispers to herself. "Eight o'clock."

Peggy had kissed her. She knew about Steve, and she kissed her still. Soft and tender and passionate and everything Steve had ever wanted. Her lips soft against Steve's, tongue brushing against her lips. Her strong hand gripping Steve's neck, fingers long and hot against Steve's skin.

The pain begins to fade as the numbness sets in. She can't fee her feet. She can't feel her fingers.

Bucky. He'd kissed her, too. Lips chapped, mouth half open. It'd been sloppy and unexpected, and it makes Steve's stomach twist thinking about it. (The numbness is up to her hips. She feels like half a person).

They never talked about it. She doesn't know if he remembered doing it, if he'd meant to. She never wanted to ask because that would mean admitting that she'd wanted him to. That all those years he was taking care of her, rubbing liniment into her bruises and holding her against him while she struggled to breathe, maybe she enjoyed it more than she should have. Maybe sometimes she took advantage of his willingness to be close to her.

Could you love two people? Is she going to hell because she does?

"Guess I'll find out soon," she whispers, water creeping up to her chest.

Please, let me die before I drown, she begs silently. She's spent too much of her life not able to breathe. She didn't want die like that. Let her pass out, go to sleep, freeze, anything before that

She pushes it away.

Peggy.

The look in her eyes when Steve took the flag off the pole. Her little smile when Steve had climbed into the jeep.

Like she saw all the way through Steve, right into her heart.

"You were right, Bucky," she whispers.

"See? I told you. She wouldn't care what was underneath your clothes. She just cared what was underneath."

"Sap." She's sleepy now. Warm. The pain in her lower body has faded away and she can't feel the cold anymore. Warm waves wash over her, urging her to sleep. To relax. To give in.

She closes her eyes. "I still don't know how to dance," she whispers, not able to feel her lips.

"I'll teach you"

Warm.

Steve opens her eyes.

Light. A breeze. A radio playing softly in the background.

"There's a pitch. It's a ball, high outside. So, the Dodges tied four to four."

This is wrong. She doesn't know why, but it's wrong.

"At the count, no doubt, one swing of his bat."

She was supposed to be doing something. Had been doing something. Talking with Peggy? Had they been listening to a ball game?

That didn't seem right.

Something about dancing?

"This fella is capable of making it a brand new game again. Just an absolutely gorgeous day here at Ebbets field."

Ebbets Field. It's been years since she's been there. If Bucky's listening to the game….

Bucky….

He hates it when games get this close. Can't stand the suspense. Once during a tie, he'd bruised her arm holding it so tightly. Eyes wide, jaw tight, he'd been jeering the Dodgers, calling them bums the second they'd let the score tie.

Then Reiser got an inside the park home run. Bucky had been so ecstatic, he'd grabbed Steve and started shaking her so hard her brain knocked against her skull.

It'd been a rough game.

Something happened to Bucky.

She looks around the room, a sudden vertigo overtaking her. This room isn't right. She should be in a hospital. Right? Or the ship. Hadn't her back been broken?

The ship had crashed. She'd crashed it.

Peggy…

On the radio, Reiser hits a line drive. Inside the park home run.

But…

The door opens and a woman steps in. She's in uniform, but it's wrong. Her hair's too long and it's loose around her shoulders. Her smile is forced. Her eyes are wary.

"Good morning. Or," she corrects, checking her watch, "should I say, afternoon?"

"Where am I?" Steve asks as the radio announces the Dodgers have taken the lead, eight to four.

She can feel Bucky grabbing her and shaking her, screaming so loud she almost goes deaf. Her head snapping back, laughing and trying to push Bucky off. The matching roar of the crowd as their team pulls ahead.

"You're in a recovery room in New York city."

"Fine game indeed!" the radio trumpets.

Bucky screaming, shaking her with joy, peanuts flying everywhere.

Bucky, screaming as he falls into the abyss below the train.

It all come back. Zola. Schmidt. The bombs on the ship, heading to New York. Peggy. Crashing.

"Where am I really?"

Her face shifts. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Had they lost the war? Was she a prisoner? Schmidt had been killed, she'd seen him disappear. What if…

"The game," she says. "It's from May 1941. I know because I was there."

There. The face of someone caught in a lie. Of someone who was going to keep on lying despite having been caught.

She rises. "Now, I'm going to ask you again. Where am I?"

"Captain Rogers…"

"Who are you?"

The door opens and two men—Hydra?—step in. They advance.

Good to know a broken back and a little drowning isn't enough to take away her strength. She throws them through the wall and follows. She's in a warehouse of some kind, only when she burst through the door, she's in an… an office? There are people in suits, but they look strange. The cut and the style. It's all different. And the building smells wrong. The air is too cool and the colors strange. There are hundreds of windows and chrome and it looks more alien than Schmidt and his technology.

She runs. Down the hall, down the stairs, out the front door and…

Into a world of buildings. She runs into the street, head spinning. Everything is tall and bright and lights and…and

Where is she?

"Halt!" someone shouts.

She finds herself slowing without meaning too. Stopping in the street, gawking. It's like seeing herself in the mirror the first time after the procedure. There's something familiar about all this, something underneath, but it's all different. It's not what she knows, and her mind keeps trying to superimpose the correct image over the top but it won't stick.

"At ease, soldier."

Steve turns. A tall black man dressed in black leather walks up. His face is scarred and he's missing one eye. He's not carrying any visible weapons, and his hands are open at his side.

"Sorry about that little show back there. We thought it best to break it to you slowly."

Her heart is in her throat. She doesn't want to know, doesn't want to hear. "Break what?" The only thing worse than knowing is not.

"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years." He's got a stern voice, but it's clear he's trying to be gentle. He's not used to being kind. Or maybe he just doesn't have time for it. He's blunt, to the point. Like Phillips.

Who's dead. Seventy years.

Seventy years?

The world tilts a little on its axis.

Bucky died a few days ago.

Seventy years ago.

She has a date next week with Peggy.

Seventy years ago.

She died a few minutes ago.

She can't breathe.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she says automatically. Because what's she going to say? She's not okay, in any sense of the word. She can barely grasp that everything, her whole world is gone. "It's just, I had a date."

She feels a hand on her shoulder. The man's stepped closer. Despite the brusqueness of his voice, on his face is reflected sympathy. Kindness.

"I'm sorry, Cap."

She laughs. It sounds humorless. Flat. "Yeah."

"If it's any consolation, she's still alive."

"What?"

"Peggy Carter. She's still alive. She's old, but still hanging in there."

This is what brings tears to her eyes. She blinks them back, tries to keep calm as she says "Can I see her?"

The man nods, but turns it into a shake of his head. "Not right away. But you will. But first, we need to talk."

Her mind is a whirlwind. She can't concentrate on anything. Peggy's alive. Bucky's dead. Peggy is old. Steve's… Steve's the same. She died, but now she's alive. She crashed the ship, but she's here.

"How?" she asks. "How am I still alive?"

"We're not sure," the man says. "We think it's something like suspended animation. Erskine's formula combined with the extreme cold... Whatever it was, it kept you alive. And exactly like you were when you went down." He shifts, body moving away, eyebrow going up. "At least, we assume you're exactly like you were. Gotta say, my doctors got a hell of a shock once they got you out of uniform." He runs his eyes over her body.

Steve stares at him stupidly for a long moment, not comprehending. She looks down at herself, noting that her uniform is gone, that she's in an outfit similar to what she wore when she got the serum. Only it fits, even if the shirt is a little snug across her chest.

Her chest. Which is bound, but it feels different than what she's used to.

Out of uniform.

"Oh, God," she breathes. She tenses, ready to run, ready to disappear in the crowds, to escape, to get somewhere.

The man puts his hand on her arm again this time restraining. "Relax. I don't know what happened, I don't understand what happened, but I'm very curious to find out. But don't worry. Nothing's going to happen to you."

"But I…"

"World's changed, Cap. It's not perfect, but we're the good guys. You'll be fine with us." He tugs gently. "Let's go. This isn't the place."

"Who are you?" she asks, allowing herself to be led to the vehicles.

"My name's Nick Fury." He smiles a crooked, roughish smile. "Welcome to the future."

The End

OMG, I can't believe I'm done! Three years working on this, and I'm finally at the end. Thank you so much for everyone who read this fic. Thank you for every kudos and review; I can't tell you how much I've appreciated them. I hope to start the sequel soon and hope you come alone for that ride as well.