CHAPTER FORTY-THREE —
( I'm not leaving your side. Not ever. )

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The hospital room was quiet, dim except for the soft glow of monitors and the golden edge of sunrise creeping through the blinds. Machines beeped steadily. Outside, the world continued to move—but inside this room, everything had slowed.

Evelyn hadn't left Steve's side since they arrived.

She sat in the chair, pulled tightly against his bed, curled slightly forward, her hand clasped around his. She hadn't let go—not once. Not when the nurses came in to check vitals. Not when they told her he was stable but still unconscious. Not even when Natasha Romanoff came in and dragged her out for medical attention.

"You're bleeding through your shirt, Evelyn," Natasha had said, arms crossed and jaw tight. "If he were awake, he'd throw a fit."

Evelyn had tried to argue. Natasha didn't let her.

She'd been forced to sit on a sterile table for ten long minutes while the medics wrapped her arm, stitched a shallow cut on her leg, and taken out all of the bullets still lodged inside her. Her body had already begun healing on its own—bruises fading to pale yellow, gashes softening into lines, the worst of it already mended beneath her skin. Super-healing had its perks. But Natasha insisted.

"You're no good to him passed out on the floor," she'd said bluntly.

So Evelyn let them patch her up. And the moment they finished, she was back in Steve's room—back in the chair, her fingers intertwined with his.

Now, her eyes were heavy. She was trying—fighting—to stay awake. Her body was worn and sluggish, still repairing itself quietly, and sleep was creeping in around the edges. But she didn't want to miss it. Didn't want to risk not being there the moment he opened his eyes.

Her grip on his hand never loosened. Her head leaned slightly forward, her chin almost resting on their joined hands. Her eyes fluttered once. Twice.

And then she dozed off.

Just as her breathing softened and the last of her tension slipped away... Steve stirred.

It started with a twitch of his fingers. Then, a slow, aching breath. His eyelids flickered before they slowly, sluggishly opened. It took a moment for the haze to clear, for his gaze to steady. He blinked up at the ceiling, confusion soft in his furrowed brow. His body felt like stone—heavy, sore, barely responsive—but familiar warmth grounded him.

He turned his head.

Evelyn was asleep beside him, still holding his hand.

Her hair had fallen slightly into her face, and there were faint shadows beneath her eyes, but the worst of her injuries had faded. Her skin was no longer bloodied. The bruises on her face had lightened. She looked exhausted. And beautiful.

His chest ached. Everything did. But none of it mattered—not when Evelyn was there, her head tilted slightly forward, fast asleep, her fingers still wrapped around his.

Steve blinked slowly, a tired but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He turned his hand slightly in hers and gave the gentlest squeeze.

She didn't wake.

Steve just watched her.

He didn't try to speak. Didn't move. He just lay there quietly, watching her sleep—his eyes on the woman who had stayed, fought, and hadn't left him for even a second.

Her bruises had faded, her arms were bandaged, and she looked peaceful in a way he hadn't seen in a long time. She looked exhausted—and safe.

He squeezed her hand again, just barely. Not to wake her. Just to remind himself that she was there.

Steve's eyes drifted shut again, but the smile remained—and his hand stayed in Evelyn's.

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A soft breeze rustled through the trees as Fury approached the gravestone. The new marble stood clean and stark against the green of the cemetery.
Nicholas J. Fury. The world thought he was dead. That was the point.

It had been just over a week since the helicarriers fell, and while Washington was still recovering from the chaos, the wounds left behind ran deeper than structural damage. Steve, Evelyn, and Sam stood quietly as Fury approached the trio.

"So," Fury said, "you've experienced this sort of thing before?"

Evelyn didn't flinch as he walked up to his own grave. She gave a small, casual shrug, but there was weight behind her words.

"You get used to it. I've actually visited mine a few times."

Steve glanced sideways at her. Evelyn's tone was light, but he saw the flicker of something in her eyes. She looked toward a nearby row of headstones, her gaze distant.

"It's next to my parents'... and Bucky's."

Fury nodded slightly, then looked back at them.

"We've been data-mining HYDRA's files. Digging through the wreckage. Looks like a lot of rats didn't go down with the ship." He paused. "I'm headed to Europe tonight. Wanted to ask if you two would come."

Steve's expression didn't change, but there was purpose in his voice.

"There's something we've got to do first."

Fury turned to Sam. "How about you, Wilson? Could use a man with your abilities."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "I'm more of a soldier than a spy."

Fury gave a slow nod. "Fair enough."

He shook Sam's hand firmly, then did the same with Steve. As he turned to Evelyn, she raised a hand before he could offer his.

"Oh no," she said with a sly grin. "You look like you want a hug."

Fury gave her a flat look. "I don't."

"Come on, Nick," Evelyn teased, stepping forward.

Fury sighed. And although it looked like he didn't want the hug, he needed it—especially from a friend of over twenty years. He stepped in, wrapped his arms around her for a brief moment, and then pulled back just as quickly.

"If anyone asks for me, tell them they can find me right here." He nodded toward his own grave, then turned and walked away.

From behind, another voice chimed in.

"You should be honoured," Natasha Romanoff said, striding up to them. "That's about as close as he gets to saying thank you."

"He says thank you to me," Evelyn smiled.

"That's because he likes you," Natasha said, then turned to Steve. "Not going with him?"

Steve shook his head. "No. Not staying here?" he asked.

"Nah," Natasha replied. "I blew all my covers. Gotta go figure out a new one."

Steve gave a small smile. "That might take a while."

"I'm counting on it."

She hesitated, then turned to Evelyn, her expression softening slightly.

"I'm sorry for putting your past out there. The world knows everything now."

Evelyn shrugged, not bitter—just honest.

"It was going to come out eventually. Better it be from you than someone like Pierce."

There was a pause. Then Natasha reached into her coat and pulled out two folders, handing one to each of them.

"That thing you asked for... I called in a few favours from Kiev."

Steve flipped open his folder. Evelyn's eyes scanned hers. A photo stared back—her, blue-skinned, frozen in cryostasis, glassy red eyes and unseeing. Beneath it, another black-and-white picture of her in the 1940s. Alive. Smiling. Human.

"Will you do me a favour?" Natasha asked, her eyes flicking between them.

"Depends," Evelyn said warily.

"Go try out that ballroom dancing class down the road from the Pentagon."

Evelyn laughed softly. "I already know how to ballroom dance."

"Yeah," Natasha said, flicking a glance at Steve. "But I'm pretty sure he doesn't. Might be good for him."

Steve raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. Evelyn leaned slightly into his shoulder.

Natasha stepped forward and hugged Steve briefly, then embraced Evelyn, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

"If you ever need me, you know how to track me."

Evelyn smiled as she pulled away. "And you know how to track me. I love you, Nat."

"I love you too, Eve." She began to walk away but called over her shoulder, "Be careful, guys. You might not want to pull on that thread."

Evelyn watched her go, then slowly opened her folder again. The Russian text sprawled across the page like a shadow from a past life.

Steve leaned over to glance at the papers, brows furrowing. "I'm gonna have to get you to translate all that, aren't I?"

Evelyn grinned. "Yeah. I'll walk you through it. Slowly. With diagrams."

Steve chuckled under his breath.

From behind them, Sam's voice cut in. "You're going after him."

Evelyn turned. Sam stood with his arms crossed, already knowing the answer.

"You don't have to come with us," Steve said.

"I know," Sam replied with a smirk. "When do we start?"

As they headed back to the car, Evelyn continued to read her file. She paused as the memories hit her, the weight of every horrible thing she'd done rising off the page. Steve stopped almost instantly beside her.

They stood in silence.

Steve's eyes landed on a grainy black-and-white surveillance photo—Evelyn mid-mission, expressionless, a blade in one hand, a man lying still at her feet. She was in all black, with a mouth guard covering her face, her hair wild and unkempt, as if HYDRA hadn't even cared to tame it. She looked cold and detached. His brow furrowed, lips slightly parted. There was something hollow in his expression.

Evelyn exhaled. "That one's from 1959. Istanbul."

Steve didn't look at her right away. "I... I didn't know they had photos of you like this."

"There's more," she said quietly, flipping to a page of redacted reports and sterile white captions. "Videos. Mission logs. Names."

Steve closed the file gently. Evelyn glanced down, then away. "There's enough out there to paint a target on my back for the rest of my life."

Steve looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she said, folding her arms, "every intelligence agency in the world knows who I am now. The Annihilator. That's what they called me. Not Evelyn. Not even Agent Parrish. Just the name they gave their... monster."

"Evelyn—"

"I killed people, Steve. A lot of people. Some were enemies. Some were just in the way. And I remember them all. Those files out in the world now—they're enough that if anyone wants revenge, they'll come for me." Her voice wavered, but she pushed through. "And now that it's public, people will hunt me. People who've lost family. People who think I'm still HYDRA. Or worse."

Steve stepped closer, his file tucked under one arm. His eyes were fierce but soft. "Then let them come."

Evelyn blinked, startled.

"I'm not going anywhere, Evelyn," he said. "I don't care what's in that folder. I know who you are. You're the woman who jumped off a burning carrier because she refused to let me die. The woman who stayed by my side, bleeding and exhausted, until I opened my eyes. You're not a monster."

"I was."

"But you're not now." He took her hand, warm, steady. "You were used. Controlled. That wasn't your choice. This, standing here, facing it with me, that's your choice."

Evelyn looked down at their joined hands, her throat tight. "You think the world's going to see it that way?"

"I don't care what the world sees," Steve said softly. "I see you. And I'm not leaving your side. Not ever.
If someone wants to come after you, they'll have to go through me first."

A shaky breath escaped her. "You're too good, Steve Rogers."

He smiled crookedly. "No. Just in love."

Evelyn huffed out a laugh and leaned into his chest. His arms wrapped around her instantly, grounding her. She closed her eyes, safe in his embrace.

He whispered against her hair, "I'll always fight for you. And we'll always fight together. That's all we've ever done."

She nodded. "Then let's keep doing it."

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Evelyn stood in the far corner of the dimly lit exhibit, partially hidden beneath the shadow of a tall support column. Her hood was drawn low over her brow, obscuring most of her face. The Smithsonian was busy at this hour—perfect for hiding in plain sight.

Her eyes, however, never left him.

James Buchanan Barnes moved slowly through the Captain America exhibit. His fingers ghosted over the glass of a display case, where old war photos and propaganda posters sat preserved behind protective panes.

His expression was unreadable, but Evelyn recognised the slight crease between his brows and his jaw clenched whenever he lingered too long on an image of himself. Not the Winter Soldier. Bucky Barnes.

This wasn't sightseeing. He wasn't just learning about history. He was trying to recover it and reclaim the fragments of who he used to be.

Her heart ached quietly as she watched him round a corner and stop in front of the section dedicated to him.

"Sergeant James Barnes," the plaque read. War hero. Captain America's best friend. KIA.

When he turned slightly, Evelyn tugged her hood lower, hiding herself just a moment longer. She'd known he'd come here. Of course, he would. If she had no memory, past, or answers except her name, this is exactly where she would've gone.

She took a quiet breath and stepped forward. Her boots made no sound on the polished floor as she moved to stand beside him. She kept her head low, her posture unthreatening, letting the silence stretch between them before speaking.

"He's looking for you, you know."

Bucky stiffened at the sound of her voice, instinctively turning toward her—then easing once he recognised it. His shoulders dropped slightly, and his gaze returned to the glass before him.

"I know," he said softly, eyes fixed on the image of himself in uniform—young, laughing beside Steve.
"But I can't see him. Not yet. Not until I get my memories back. I want to remember who I am before I see him again."

Evelyn nodded slowly. She understood that need—the desperation to rebuild yourself before facing the people who mattered most.

"And why are you here?" he asked, his tone quiet but curious.

She glanced at him sideways. "Because I'm not stupid. This is the first place I would've come, too. The Smithsonian has an exhibit with sections about our very lives."

He looked at her—really looked this time. A flicker of guilt was behind his eyes, etched in the tight lines near his brow.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For trying to... kill you."

A small smile touched her lips—warm but laced with old pain.

"Don't take it too hard. You're not the first to try." She paused, voice softening. "And I knew it wasn't really you. Not the real you."

"But I still did it," he murmured, mostly to himself.

Evelyn didn't argue. Instead, she reached into her jacket and pulled out a thin, neatly folded folder. She handed it to him.

"Here. You'll want this. It's your old HYDRA file."
Her voice was gentler now. "You have to be careful, Bucky. HYDRA's not the only one hunting for you. They want you back."

He accepted the folder, flipping through the first few pages. His mouth tightened.

"I know," he said simply. "But I'll be alright."

"I believe you."

Evelyn's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer. She gave him a faint smile—quiet, hopeful, understanding.

"Just... look after yourself."

With that, she turned and walked away, her footsteps light and deliberate. She didn't look back.

Bucky stood there in the silence, the folder in his hand, watching the space she'd left behind.

Behind the glass, the photo of him and Steve still stared back—but something felt different now. He wasn't just a shadow anymore. He was coming back.

And this time, he was staying.

AUTHORS NOTE
I FINALLY FINISHED EDITING THIS OH MY GOD
I hope y'all enjoy this new updated version of my babies. Hopefully I don't go for an updating spree again 💀
My 2nd book has been published titled The Gemini if you want to continue to read about Evelyn and Steve!!! However, that book hasn't been edited yet, so don't expect awesome 😬
Please like and comment your thoughts
and I'll see you in my next book!!!!
Au revoir
Pheebs/-rosepetal