#*skype rp

[jane-buchanan-barnes]

[Skype RP]

Becky had waited outside the theater for nearly half an hour before giving up and going to look for Steve. It wasn't like him to not show, but it also wasn't hard to guess what had happened. He was Steve, after all. So she started the walk home, taking a few brief detours to check the nearby alleys and parking lots. But there was no sign of him.

That wasn't good.

She finally reached their apartment and trotted up the stairs, key in hand. "Steve?" she called as she opened the door. "You here?"

Of course Steve had felt bad standing Becky up. From the sound of things, she wasn't even the only one. But showing up the way he looked would not have gone over well with anybody. His nose was broken, the entire right side of his face swelling, a huge bruise blossoming across his ribs, exposed since he'd shucked his shirt when he got home. It was bloody anyway, no point in keeping it. Both sets of knuckles sported scrapes, too, as well as his palms (he'd gotten the guy a couple of times, which he had clung to). Except for the blood currently soaking out of his shirt in the bathroom sink, his clothes had come out mostly unscathed, and Steve had holed himself up to read instead of going to the theatre to get himself lectured.

"I'm here," he informed Becky once she had quieted enough. Seated at the dining table, feet up in the spare chair, he didn't have to shout for her to hear him. All the same, speaking up wrenched a short bout of wet-sounding coughs from him, which he paid little mind to. "Don't gotta yell."

Well. That was the sound of her suspicion being confirmed. She hung her jacket up and pulled off her shoes, walking in stocking feet into the apartment proper. "So, what'd the guy do this time?" she asked, looking him up and down and cataloging his injuries -- the ones she could see, anyway. Her hands on her hips, she added, "We outta ice or somethin'? 'Cause that nose is broke for sure."

"I set it," Steve assured her, although he barely even looked up from his book - a study on human anatomy that seemed riveting, if Steve's attitude was anything to go by. He did, however, stop to look over it and offer Becky an apologetic purse of his lips. Apparently that was serious enough.

"I'm sorry I skipped tonight. Figured the theatre'd tell me to go home if they saw me like this."

"I'd've told you to go home 'fore the theater even got a chance," she said, hands still on her hips. "And you didn't answer my question."

He looked like hell. Not that he usually walked away from fights looking great, but it wasn't usually quite this bad. She was itching to go over and check his ribs -- with a bruise like that, there was a fair chance that one or two of them might be cracked. But he was in a mood, she could tell. He'd probably damn near bite her fingers off if she tried.

"Yeah, there's ice," made it out before Steve returned, quite casually, to his book. Becky knew him too well, but that wouldn't stop him from putting on a front. "Just didn't want to waste it."

"You're an ass, Rogers," she said with a sigh. "You know damn well that's not the question I meant."

"I checked up on it," Steve countered easily. "Pretty sure I know myself better than any doctor anyhow. I'm fine." But, after a turn of the page, he did speak up again, albeit a little quieter.

"Was beating up on a negro girl. Talkin' like she was his damn property or somethin'." Another beat preceeded, "She got away."

Becky sighed once more and took a seat on the edge of the extra chair, leaving enough room for Steve to keep his feet up. "You're a good guy, Stevie," she said. "Probably'll get you beat to death one day, but you're a good guy. Lemme have a look at your ribs?"

That knocked the rest of it right out of Steve, although he still managed to argue gently with her as he put down the book.

"Already did it, Beck. I appreciate it, but I'd rather just leave it alone right now."

She was quiet for a moment, worry creasing her brow. "Long as you're sure," she eventually acquiesced. She could never stay mad at him for long, not when it came to this. He was just so good, always standing up for the people who needed it, even if he got himself half-killed in the process. And she'd accepted years ago that he wasn't going to stop, no matter what she said.

Steve's eyes remained on the book as he nodded, fingers prodding it across the table in listless quiet. Eventually, he managed to pull himself slowly up, face a careful mask to hide any pain the movement caused.

"I'm gonna make some tea and turn in early. You got anywhere to be tonight?"

"Naw," she said, shaking her head. "Ma's invited us for lunch on Sunday, though. You'll look a right state -- Kitty'll probably want a war story from you."

A smirk passed unseen over Steve's face, his back to her as he poured a little water for the kettle. "Yeah, I'll have to come up with something your ma can stomach."

"Oh, please. Ma adores you. You're practically her son," Becky said, stretching her arms over her head until her spine gave a satisfying pop. "It's Dad you have to worry about. You know what he thinks of negroes."

"Yeah," intoned, somewhere between grating and disappointed, was followed by the clank of the pot on the stove. Steve ended up staying a moment, hands placed carefully against the counter, measuring his breaths. It wasn't really worth it to return to a seat, when he'd have to get back up.

"Just say some fella wouldn't leave a girl alone and leave it at that. You know the drill," she said, watching him with sharp eyes. "And for God's sake, put some ice on those ribs. Don't think I don't see the way you're breathin' over there."

"I'm fine," he responded quickly, turning to lean back against the counter and prove it. Lucky for him, it was cool against his skin, and he was damn well rehearsed at giving a smile when in pain.

"Figure out how you want me to make up for tonight," he told her as he settled in, crossing his arms in utter defince of his body. It always helped to get into that mindset, made things less of a nuisance in the end. "I'll pencil you in."

"Right," she said dryly. "'Cause your social schedule is just packed these days." She walked into the next room, leaving the door slightly ajar so they could still talk, and began changing into her pajamas. "How 'bout next time we go to Coney Island, you ride the Cyclone with me?"

Content with his spot against the counter, Steve barely even bothered to keep up the facade once Becky was out of sight, although he did focus on breathing again.

"Hey!" he teased back, as amiable as could be in his current situation. "I got a job!" Well, that was partially accurate, anyway. Becky's next statement was far easier to agree with. "Sure." Steve even managed a chuckle. "I can do that."

Fully changed, she nudged the door back open. It gave its usual warning squeak -- not a great quality at night -- but now it would let Steve know to collect himself, so she paused a moment before walking back towards the kitchen area. His dignity had been bruised enough for one evening.

"It'll be fun," she said, finger-combing her hair. "It's got a drop that's 85 feet, didja know?"

Steve did indeed react to the door, standing up a little straighter, and then turning as the kettle began to hiss a little more forcefully. He'd made enough tea to know when to pull it off without disturbing the neighbours, and a packet of herbs awaited it already in a nearby mug.

"I heard about that." Although his voice wasn't exactly enthusiastic, it didn't stray too far past distracted. "Didn't know you had a death wish."

 "I kissed Tommy Malone," she said, taking a seat and flipping idly through his anatomy book. "How bad can a roller coaster be after that?"

"I wouldn't know," teased right back, a smirk thrown over Steve's shoulder as he weighted the tea bag with a spoon. Again he settled against the counter, hands behind him and the relaxing breaths he took more apparent.

"That fella needed a pack of gum more'n anybody else I ever met," she said. "And he had no manners." They were old complaints, but it was something to say that /wasn't/ about Steve's breathing or his ribs, and so she stuck with it.

And Steve definitely appreciated it, gave her a light chuckle for her efforts. "I remember. Wish that was a problem I had. ...With dames," he clarified a second later, frowning at his tea.

"You know you don't gotta clarify with me, Stevie," she said. She'd heard the rumors, had even punched out a couple guys for calling Steve a fairy, but it was plain to anyone with a lick of sense that Steve was interested in dames. If only she could find him the right one...

Steve shrugged a little as he stirred his tea, laid the packet out nearby to let it cool.

"Didn't want you to think I meant me." The smile left Steve's face before he could make it back to the table, a calm settling over him in its stead, breath soft as it whispered across the top of his mug. Each inhale took advantage of the steam, too, and Steve sat carefully at the table, wondered fleetingly if he could just fall asleep in the chair.

"You don't gotta worry about that, either," she reassured him. "I know you, Steve." I vote we go to sleep after your tea, she was about to say, but then a thought occurred to her. "How bad's your shirt?"

"Well, you don't sound like you're lyin'," accompanied a small smirk over the lip of his mug. Becky's next words caught him mid-sip, and Steve furrowed his brow, gave a little shrug.

"Not bad. Just had a little nosebleed, hopin' it didn't stain."

"I can get it out. So long as you remembered to soak it in cold. I'm a professional, remember?"

"Yeah." Steve was always willing to bow to Becky in this, considering her years of developed expertise on him. Sure he could take care of himself, but it was definitely nice to have Becky around. "It's in cold," he assured her over another sip of tea.

"Good man." She tipped her head back and yawned, raising a hand to cover her mouth. "I say we let it soak overnight and I'll tackle it in the morning."

"Sounds good," Steve agreed without complaint, yawning in response to Becky's own. Tea half-gone, he settled back in his chair once more, drank a little more insistently. It wasn't even too late, but he was definitely ready for bed.

The movie hadn't looked that good anyway, to be honest. It was just that all the other girls at work had been talking about it constantly. Sans bruises, nights in with Steve were relaxing.

"You got work tomorrow, or can you rest up a bit?" she asked.

A hum made it out as Steve considered how to answer that question. "I should work tomorrow, but I can probably sleep a little bit. Are you going in pretty early?"

"The usual. I'll try not to wake you up." She could leave the door propped open and maybe skip on coffee. That would let Steve sleep a little longer.

"Nah. I'll get up when you do. I'll be at home either way," he reassured, taking a longer drink of his tea.

"As long as you're sure." She yawned again. "I think I'm gonna turn in."

"Good, I'm going that way soon myself."

[jane-buchanan-barnes]

[Skype RP]

"What the hell was that?" Steve asks the second they're safe, his breath coming only slightly short from strain. He doesn't care who's around, and he addresses Becky with the tone of a commander, not a friend, the words blunt and unquestioning.

"You told us to release the prisoners," she says, her voice flat and her eyes hard. She should have known the question was coming, and for once she doesn't care that there are eyes on them. Dum Dum and Gabe have known what she's been doing longer than Steve has, and they haven't said a word about it. None of the Commandos will, she thinks, not after the bodies all of them had to carry out of the factory in Austria. They've seen Zola's handiwork up close.

"Are you trying to be funny?" Steve spits, concern and pain knitting into the incredulous frown he gives her.

"I'm answering your question, Captain," she spits back. There's no trace of humor in her face, just an icy resolve.

"You know better!" Steve halts altogether and turns to face her, looming over her suddenly and causing the rest of their party to stop with them. "I've seen you fight for people in that position before. What the hell was different there?"

He can loom all he wants; she won't back down, not on this. "There's a difference between execution and mercy," she says, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. "Did you see what he'd done to those men?"

Steve only just barely keeps his anger in check here, just manages not to say something they'll both regret. Instead, voice rising, he continues with, "And that takes away their right to life, Becky? We're here to help them, you know that. Better than anyone!"

"What kind of life," she says, her own voice rising in turn, "What kind, Steve? You think they would want to live like that? You think anyone would want to live like that?" How he could bring up what had happened to her when he didn't know, when he had no idea how many had gone before her into that lab and been carried out as mutilated corpses.

"They deserve a chance, Becky." Steve hesitates, gives a glance to the various faces surrounding them. The overwhelming majority are simply concerned. Steve takes a breath, stares Becky down once more, and, very coldly, concludes, "This conversation is over. You follow my orders or you get out." Uncharacteristic as that feels, and as much as it pains him to talk to her that way, he's fucking angry, and this is not the time or the place to fix it. For now, he turns to lead them out, tries to get his head straight again so that nothing else goes wrong.

She presses her lips into a thin line and follows him in silence, her hands clenched at her sides and her eyes fixed on the broad spread of his shoulders. She was following his orders, even if he can't see it. But he'll understand once he's calmer, once they're away from this place and alone.

He has to.

They make it back in relative silence, Steve not so much stewing as earnestly considering the conversation to come, when he can find enough time to think. Little as he gets of that, he's determined enough that he singles Becky out as soon as he knows they'll have privacy, prioritises this over even allowing himself to settle in. He practically ambushes her. "Got a minute?"

"For my CO? Sure do," Becky says, her voice and eyes flat. She knew this was coming and she knows hostility is not the best way to start this conversation off, but she can't help it; Steve didn't even try to understand back there. He just accused.

For all his earlier fire, and for how upset the situation makes him, Steve's voice is much calmer, his argument far more rational this time. At least, in his opinion.

"The war's affected us all, Beck," he starts, finding the nearest seat, a sign that he's staying for a real conversation as well as trying to put them on more even ground. "I know that." Steve takes a pause, sits forward a little, does his best to put this gently. "But I can't have you doing stuff like that on my team."

She's silent, her arms crossed and her shoulders rigid. "...You remember that homeless man in Red Hook? The one whose lobotomy went bad?" she asks. "How his family'd abandoned him and the cops found him froze to death one winter? Zola, he was cuttin' up those fellas' brains, Steve. You want I should've let those men out, left them doomed to a life like that?"

Far more patient now, Steve watches Becky, listens quietly. As sympathetic as he was when he first sat down, he manages even more of it the more she speaks. He stays still, though, resolute in this, and doesn't make her wait on his response.

"They deserve a chance, Beck. You don't know what's waiting for them. Nobody does. But they deserve that. No matter what the case," he manages after a tiny pause, because it churns his stomach just a bit to remember the look on Becky's face as she did it, "they're innocent in all this, you can't just put a bullet in 'em like some stray dog."

"I know exactly what's waitin' for 'em, Steve," she says. "Better'n anyone. Don't talk to me about chances, not when you've never been under that man's knives."

A chance to what, wake up screaming every night for the rest of their lives? A chance to feel trapped in their own gritty skin? A chance to lose whatever was left of their minds when they found out that the world wouldn't, couldn't understand what they'd gone through? A chance for a drawn-out death?

"You saying you don't deserve a chance?" The compassion all but falls off of Steve's face, an abrupt transition. "Cause if you're looking me in the eye and telling me I shoulda shot you instead of getting you out of that workhouse, you got another thing coming."

"Maybe not you -- I'd never wanna do that to you. But if it was anybody else? Yeah. They should've." She'd never admitted it out loud before, but it wasn't a lie. She was here for Steve, here because he needed her and because she knew in her bones, she wouldn't ever be going home.

This time, Steve's face is nothing better than a frown, his voice rising. "Don't start talking like that, Jane, that's horse shit. You got just as much of a chance out there as anybody else. You got a family back home. So do they. What would your ma say? Your sisters?"

"Y'know, I'm not sure they'd know me anymore," she shoots back. "You sure don't seem to. Dad would, maybe, but even he isn't gonna fuckin' get it, Steve. You got no idea, okay? You got no idea what was goin' on in there, you got no idea what we went through. I dunno why I even expected you to understand, when you were busy off playin' chorus girl. So how about you shut the Hell up?"

"You got people who love you," Steve counters immediately, although he still doesn't stand. "I'm one of 'em. And you already answered for yourself why you shouldn't be pulling shit like this. You wouldn't make me go through that? Well you just made some guy's wife and kids go through that back home. You did that, Becky." It fucking hurts to talk to her like this, but his temper is running away from him and he needs her to hear him, too. For more than the kid she killed, for herself. "Not Zola, not Red Skull. You."

"I said I wouldn't make you kill me, dumb-ass. Or were you not listening?" she snaps. That was a low blow, and it hurts. "You think they'd rather have their boy come home like that, with his brain all sliced up, when he might not even know them? When Jack's so scared of that that he wouldn't even fuckin' marry me 'less we both made it home in one piece?"

And so much for that happening.

"Now at least they got a hero," she continues. "Someone they can be proud of, 'stead of someone broken."

Becky hits hard right back, and she hits true, to boot. Steve falls silent, jaw working, his eyes trained on Becky's for the moment it takes him to gather a response. When he speaks, he's a deadly sort of quiet, not resigned, just ceding. Changing the subject.

"You don't make that judgement call. And you especially don't do it in the field."

"Then you clear those labs yourself," she says, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. "Maybe it'll give you a little perspective. God knows you need it, and I can't seem to get anything through your thick skull these days."

 "Never could," Steve supplies, standing finally. He takes a half step to leave, but hesitates once he's close enough to meet Becky head-on. "Are we understood? You won't euthanize in the field. Next time, it's not gonna be a warning."

"Then you make sure there isn't a next time, 'cause I can't promise you that, Steve."

Carefully measuring his words, voice calm for all its Captain America command, he asks, "Do you need to sit the next one out?" Without giving her time to answer, he gives a little nod. "Take some time. I'll talk to Phillips." If she'll let him, if she's not too heated, he'll reach a hand to her shoulder, give a couple of sturdy pats.

She grabs at his wrist, her hand clenching around it with more strength than she should rightly have. "You are not goin' into the field without me, Steven Rogers," she says. "You are not. Somebody's gotta watch your six, cover your left flank, and that person is me. Not Gabe, not Jim, not Monty -- me."

Just as carefully, he doesn't say anything about the grip, although he's not gentle about twisting his wrist to get it back from her. He doesn't have to be. "I'm not letting you out there unless I know I can trust you to keep a level head, Beck."

 "A level head?" She almost laughs, but turns it into a derisive snort instead. "Who's the one who picked a fight in front of the whole unit? 'Cause it sure wasn't me. My head is plenty level. We're just workin' on different information."

"Then I need us to be on the same page," Steve insists. Whatever it takes.

"Then you need to listen to me. This is reality, not some black-and-white philosophical debate. I know what those men have gone through, Steve, and after that? They deserve relief."

"What is so hard to understand about letting a doctor look at them first? You can't make that kind of call under duress, Beck. Nobody could."

"Our doctors don't know shit, Steve," she says, and something catches in her voice as she finally confesses a small piece of the truth. "They couldn't even figure out what drugs he'd shot me up with, did you know?"

"Becky..." Steve sighs, finally showing his own vulnerability, drops his head. He doesn't reach for her this time, although he wants to. "You gotta give 'em a chance. That's what it comes down to." He's turned so close to apologetic now when he meets her eyes again. "Either you let them come home, get looked at, or I can't have you out in the field with me. Least not for stuff like this. If you gotta sit out these missions, that's fine. I won't question it. I'll make sure nobody else does, either. But I can't have you making those decisions out there. I can't."

"Like Hell am I sittin' any missions out, lettin' you run off into danger alone," she says, her fists clenched beneath her crossed arms. "So I told you -- you clear those labs, not me."

Sit them out? They'd send her packing for sure if she did that; SSR agents couldn't be picky about their missions. And no way was she leaving Steve, not when he was one of the only reasons she'd stayed in Europe.

Again Steve sighs, this time a little less dramatically, and gives a nod. "I'll do what I can." It's a compromise, and if it's the best he's gonna get, then he'll take it. What more he can give Becky...he doesn't know. He wishes he did, every day, but he doesn't.

"I'm sorry," he says instead, meeting her eyes for just a moment, gives her a forced smirk, a small nod. Hopefully that'll be enough for now.

I'm sorry, too, is what she should say, but she can't force the words out. She can't lie to him, not now. Instead, she lets out another trickle of the truth. "I dunno what that man's goal is," she says, her voice quiet, "but it's got nothin' to do with gathering intel about the Allies. I think he just likes causin' pain."

"He's an ass," Steve agrees, glad to have a small moment of camaraderie. "And he better hope neither of us ever find him."

[jane-buchanan-barnes]

[Skype RP]

[arachne]: hey. u there?

[xxx] For you, always

[arachne]: ur sweet

[xxx] honest [xxx] what can I do for you?

[arachne]: im gonna disappear 4 awhile. main threats passed. [arachne]: wanted 2tell u, ill keep my mouth shut about u all

[xxx] is this a resignation?

[arachne]: meaning?

[xxx] you're on the books aren't you? [xxx] I'm asking if you want off them

[arachne]: i didnt realize i was on them 2 begin w/

[xxx] this long it's automatic. under the table ofc [xxx] is that a yes or a no? we got off subject

[arachne]: yes, i want off. i told ur boss in the beginning that i wouldnt work 4 him

[xxx] that's not really an answer either. [xxx] you don't work for anybody but yourself, trust me

[arachne]: how is 'yes i want off' not really an answer?

[xxx] okay [xxx] be safe out there

[arachne]: dont ask for that

[xxx] Bon sang, bien sûr

[arachne]: ppl im going 2 have every right 2 shoot me on sight [arachne]: im going NEway

[xxx] I'll say it a million times [xxx] You want me to talk to Him for you, non?

[arachne]: could u? [arachne]: listen [arachne]: if i can get in touch w/ u i will [arachne]: and if u need help tell me [arachne]: u. not him.

[xxx] (-_-; ) pour toi, bien sûr [xxx] I will. You know how to reach me

[arachne]: id promise if i could [arachne]: but i cant [arachne]: u know who i am. i have a lot 2 answer 4, and its time 4 me to man up and answer 4 it

[xxx] don't answer too much

[arachne]: i may not have a choice

[xxx] you know where I am if you need me too. I'll kick some lawyer ass if I need to, pull some funds, whatever

[arachne]: no. thatll only get u attention u don't need

[xxx] you think I got where I am by being careful [xxx] I know my priorities

[arachne]: and i know mine. [arachne]: 1 is not hurting my friends

[xxx] eh, you damn martyr

[arachne]: hush

[xxx] hehe [xxx] if you're ever where I am look me up

[arachne]: ok. that i can promise

[silence for several moments]

[arachne]: my name is jane. [arachne]: u deserve to know before it hits the rest of the world

[xxx] Je suis Thierry

[arachne]: thank u, thierry. for everything.

[xxx] thank you, too [xxx] I'll miss you

[arachne]: u 2

[jane-buchanan-barnes]

[Skype RP]

[arachne]: found 2 moles

[xxx] location?

[arachne]: katherine holmes in brighton uk [arachne]: fernando garcia in ciudad neza mexico

[xxx] Forwarding to majestie

(appx 2 minutes processing time)

[soldi] How did you get this information? ♚

[album]: human resources [album]: seems they offer health insurance. bad idea. [album]: all records r traceable

[soldi] Do you think you could help someone track that? ♚

[album]: track their health insurance claims?

[soldi] Yes. I'd like to put a small team on it in case it's a bigger problem. ♚

[album]: prbbly

[soldi] I don't need anyone in a permanent position, just a means to get them started. ♚ [soldi] Thank you. I'll get back to you on it. And thank you for the current names. ♚

[album]: ok, can do. ur welcome

[jane-buchanan-barnes]

[Skype RP]

She had returned from Occupied Paris a few hours ago, her mission successfully completed, only to find that the rest of the Commandos were off running a drill. There was little point in joining them halfway through, and she was tired, a headache from the train pounding behind her eyes. So she settled into her bunk with a needle and thread, ready to sew up some rips and tears in her jacket as she waited for her comrades to return.

When they did, it was in a bustle of quiet, a few voices - Steve's among them - that sounded more worn and tired than they were worth, under the thin veneer of humour. A moment later, Steve had sidled in and stopped at the head of her bunk, a half-smile pinned carefully across a split lip.

"You're back."

"I'm back," she confirmed. "And you're banged up. What all were you fellas up to out there?"

"Could ask you the same thing." Steve's tone remains light, although Becky, of course, will be able to hear the tiny touch of exasperation in his words. He doesn't mark it, though, doesn't give her the chance to see his face before he turns his back and heads for a set of clean clothes. "Getting information, mostly. Which isn't what we went in for, but we came out with plenty of it, so that's good."

She didn't take the bait, though she frowned a little at his back before returning to her sewing. "Anything good? We got new orders?"

"Not yet," said Steve's back. "Gotta do some processing first." He had the courtesy to give her a beat in warning before returning to his gentle interrogation. "They've been calling you out a lot lately."

She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "Just doin' what they need me to do, Stevie. You know that."

"I know." There was a bit of roughness to the admission, and it led into Steve hesitating, head down. "I trust you that it's the good work," made it out a moment later, clearly more of a question than an admission.

 She was silent for a moment, eyes still locked on the needle in her hand. "Same work I do for you," she finally said. Which was the technical truth and yet not the truth at all. It was one thing to set her sights on a man who was an immediate threat, but setting her sights on a man who was unarmed...

That was a different kind of sniping altogether.

"Yeah." This time, it was more of a sigh than a word. Another beat, and Steve turned to her abruptly, came to stand over her instead, although there wasn't an ounce of anger in the knit of his brow. "Beck..." But what could he say, really, that would matter, besides the truth? "I just don't want either of us walking out of this with any more weight on our shoulders than we have to. You understand that." Don't you?

"I got plenty on my shoulders already, Steve," she said, finally looking up at him, her voice flat. "Another ounce or two isn't gonna make or break things." If anyone didn't understand, it was Steve -- Steve, who'd been doing the USO circuit while she'd been in that Hell of a factory, scraping and struggling to stay alive, first when her lungs went bad and than when Herr Doktor had taken her.

Steve's hands had always been cleaner than hers were. She'd accepted that years ago.

"Even pennies eventually add up." Steve's jaw works for a moment, but he ends up looking away instead, not wanting to start a fight right now. He's tired. "You can say no, you know."

She shrugged. "I could," she admitted. "But they'd just send someone else. And maybe that person wouldn't get the job done. 'Sides, my hands are already dirty. No use in draggin' someone else down if I don't have to, y'know?"

She knew all the buttons to hit, didn't she?

"They're not sending someone else, though," he stated, as calmly as he could manage. "They're sending you." Again Steve cast his eyes onto her, weighty in silent accusation.

"Just trying to make sure you don't do anything stupid." The words are fond, but Steve knows she won't care in this context. Instead, he reaches out, makes to pat Becky's shoulder in passing.

She was tense beneath his hands, her own clenched around her coat. "Let's stop pussyfootin' around it," she said. "You know damn well what I'm doin', Steve. You wanna make an issue of it, you talk to Colonel Phillips."

There it was. Steve's hand moved away, quick as if he'd been burned, and he straightened, turned on a little bit of the shield he wore about himself to make it through every damn day here. Becky didn't deserve that, though.

"Yeah. Sure, Beck. Whatever you say. So long as you're okay with it, I guess I should be, too."

"You don't like it." That much was obvious. He was putting on the Captain America Face, the way he did sometimes now. As if that could really hide anything from her, when she'd known him most all their lives. "It's not that different from what I do for you," she said, truth and lies molded together like the muddy snowballs they used to fling in Prospect Park. "You think those spies are any less guilty than the men in the trenches?"

"I don't know." They're fighting now, damnit, and Steve can't help the volley of words that leave him. "I don't know, Beck, are those guys shooting at somebody when you put a bullet in their heads? Are they--" Steve shook his head, threw his hands up. "Are they killing Jews or children? I don't know. I said I trust you, I do; it's your own damn conscience, you're the one who's gotta answer for it in the end."

"They're helpin' the people shootin' the bullets, the people killin' the kids," she snapped. "You say you trust me, then you leave this alone. I'm damned as it is, Stevie. Toss a few more names on my list, it's not gonna make a God damn difference."

"Don't--" Steve's nearly on his way out when he turns abruptly, taps a fist against the nearest sturdy piece of wood. "Don't say that, Beck. Just don't."

"Why not? You damn well know it's true." She was on the attack now, ready to knock some sense into his head,  to tear down the facade she usually put up for him. "I've been damned for years, Stevie. You got no idea the kind of things I've had to do."

"You think I got a clean slate?" Clothes lay forgotten in the crook of Steve's arm, his free hand wild with how angry she's making him. "You don't see me running around spouting shit like that. Making it worse. You think you got enough on your head, Beck, this isn't gonna make it any better."

"You don't get it! I got too much on my head already, Steve; there's no goin' back now. Might as well just do what needs doing. S'what I've always done." Her hands were never clean, not even back in Brooklyn, and after what happened at the factory... Something had taken root inside her, something black and ugly, and maybe she shouldn't feed it, but if she had to to keep her men safe -- not just Steve, but all her men -- then she damn well would.

"It is not and you know it," Steve counters, heavy with his words now, pained. Part of him knows she's right, but he refuses to listen to it. "All we got is knowing that what we're doing is the right thing. You can't throw that away."

"And how many Commandments have we broken already, Steve? The 2nd, the 3rd, the 7th... We've both smashed the 5th to pieces and you damn well know it." Her fists were clenched, and she spat out the words with more anger than she'd let show in months. "You talk about right and wrong like it's some easy choice, and maybe it is for you, but it never has been for me."

Steve's ready to argue, but Becky's final statement works like a slap to the face. His brows meet abruptly, body still with shock before he speaks.

"...Where's this coming from? You're not talking like yourself." He hasn't said it, not in so many words, but Steve has been terrified since the moment they locked eyes in that warehouse that what he brought back wasn't the friend he knew. That whatever had happened that Becky never told him about (he never had the guts to ask), it had made a change that even Steve wouldn't be able to reconcile. Most of the time, he manages not to let that fear touch their interactions, and maybe it is just that she's scared, too, God knows everybody is on some level.

At the look on his face, the anger suddenly drained from her, and she sounded nothing so much as tired when she said, "You've got this nice line between black and white, Stevie. You always have, and I dunno how you do it." She sighed. "Me, I just pick the lightest shade of gray I can get away with."

Steve shut his mouth, tried not to grind his teeth as he settled into their new mood. It was quieter, but no less heated. Tired again. Now both of them had reached that point.

"But you know when it's black." That much he must believe. "I gotta trust you to know that."

"Yeah," she said, sighing again. "I know that, Stevie." And even if she'd skirted that line more than once, she hadn't crossed it. Not yet.

That Steve trusted, and although he hesitated a beat longer, he left her this time without argument. Let him get some food into him, let her rest, maybe...maybe this was just a temporary thing. Hopefully, he'd made some kind of impression.

[jane-buchanan-barnes]

[ Skyping with the King ]

Michel had talked her through it a bit, let her know what they were going to be doing, gauged (alongside the single remaining doctor) whether she was up for the conversation. She seemed better off than he would have expected, and he was glad for it, but he was also glad to know he should be rid of his extra guest soon. When Remy entered the room with the laptop, he excused himself, and spared little more than a glance for the face waiting patiently on the screen. He looked tired. Remy placed him in the most convenient place, made sure he could see Becky too, and exited the room in a quiet hurry to leave them alone.

"Afternoon," Jimmy said to her. He hadn't slept, and it was obvious in his voice. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Barnes said. "Thank you." She tipped her head, studying the face on the screen, and added, "You look like death warmed over, though." Probably her fault, that, but she'd had no other options.

"Of course You're welcome," Jimmy responded, with his own little smile, choosing not to respond to her statement. His own tiredness was obvious enough. He sat up a little, though, just for good measure, careful not to move out of the camera's range. "You're family now. We take care of our own. I'm just glad you made it out alright."

"Family?" she asked dubiously, raising her eyebrows. "I thought we'd already discussed this when I visited. I may owe you a favor now, but I still don't work for you."

"You don't have to," he responded easily, as calm as ever. "And you don't owe me anything. If you feel obligated, though, we could talk."

"Then let's talk."

She'd saved his people in Kiev, and that would have seemed a fair enough trade if not for the fiasco Araigneé had told her of. She'd do what she could to make up for those lives, if she could.

There, that was some headway. This time, Jimmy sat back entirely in his chair, rocked it back and forth a little, illuminating that it was some kind of office chair.

"I understand why you didn't tell me anything. You barely knew me. You didn't trust me." A beat. "Do you still feel that way now?"

Barnes shrugged. "You and your people helped me and haven't turned me in. We also have a common enemy, so I suppose that makes you something like an ally."

"I'd like to think that, too. You're kind of a dangerous ally, though," he admitted, still rocking a bit in his chair, this time almost an agitated little tic. "They know we're friends now. That doesn't exactly put me in a great position."

"They already suspected," she pointed out. "Though I've yet to figure out how they made that connection. Either they noticed that we were both after them, or someone in your organization is a double agent." Her voice was matter-of-fact rather than accusing. HYDRA had double agents in all manner of organizations, both legitimate and shadowy.

The rocking stopped abruptly, Jimmy's eyes, having wandered to the ceiling, staring there for a moment, blank in thought. It took him a long moment to respond, a long moment to consider.

"...How exactly would I go about finding something like that out?"

"Their personnel files," she said immediately. "I can access them on-site, but your spider friend may know something I can do to let them be accessed remotely."

"You don't think they'd be using an alias?"

"Maybe, but most of the records have faces. That's how I've been matching people up, not by names," she said. She didn't remember the names of the people who'd worked with her, but there was no reason to tell Rex Album that.

After a moment of consideration, Jimmy nodded. "Alright." An exchange after all. It didn't exactly solve Jimmy's problems, but it would do for a start. "I'll talk to them. Get back to you on it. Thank you."

"Get back to me how?"

"Access to the personnel files." Jimmy turned finally to look at the screen. "Unless you weren't offering."

"I mean how will you reach me?" she clarified. "Because so far I've been communicating with Araigneé by doing searches on public computers that will ping their radar."

"How soon are you planning to leave?" he asked, a frown crossing his face.

"As soon as I can."

"Give me a few hours," he tried, a sigh in his voice as he started to rock his chair again.

"Fair enough," she said.

Sleep was better reserved for people who weren't trying to save the world, it seemed. "Araigneé asked about you," he added, remembering belatedly. "I told them you were alive, but if you'd like me to elaborate, I'll be talking to them shortly."

"You can tell them the truth. I trust them, I think." More than I trust you.

Very plainly, Jimmy said, "They trust you."

Barnes blinked, her surprise plain on her face. Even after she'd gotten their people killed, they still trusted her? That was a shock.

[ FIN due to bedtime ]