CHAPTER FORTY-TWO —
( I'm with you 'til the end of the line. )

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After briefly stopping at the Smithsonian to retrieve Steve and Evelyn's preserved World War II uniforms, the group began their tense trek toward the Pentagon. Though the distance wasn't great, the weight of what they were about to do made each step feel heavier. Dressed again in their old gear—symbols of another war—they were walking straight into the heart of a new one.

Meanwhile, Natasha split off from the group, slipping into a shadowed alleyway. In moments, she had completely altered her appearance, now indistinguishable from the World Security Councilwoman. It was the perfect disguise to infiltrate the top floor, where Alexander Pierce waited in the central control room.

Once Steve, Evelyn, Maria, and Sam reached the Pentagon, they broke in through a maintenance entrance—quietly but quickly. Maria led the way, her movements precise, almost rehearsed. She pulled out a small device, pressed a button, and instantly, the communications earpieces in the control room sparked and shattered, leaving those inside momentarily stunned and deafened.

As the group pressed forward, they took cover behind a large panel near the main hallway. The door ahead of them creaked open, and a startled technician locked eyes with them. His expression shifted from alarm to understanding. Evelyn stepped forward with a disarming smile.

"Thanks," she said as the man stepped aside and let them through without protest.

Inside, Steve headed straight for the PA system. He switched it on, and the mic buzzed to life; his voice carried through every speaker in the building.

"Attention all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents," he announced. "This is Steve Rogers."

"And Evelyn Parrish," Evelyn added, stepping beside him.

"You've heard a lot about us lately," Steve continued. "Rumors. Accusations. Lies."

"Some of you—especially the Strike Team—were ordered to bring us in. Hunt us down," Evelyn said, her tone sharp but steady.

"But it's time you knew the truth," Steve said firmly. "S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised."

"It's been taken over by HYDRA," Evelyn said. "Yeah. That HYDRA. The same group we fought in the war. The same bastards who want control over everything—and everyone."

Behind her, Sam chuckled at her unfiltered bluntness.

"Alexander Pierce is their leader," she went on. "And the Strike Team? Insight crew? HYDRA too. We don't know how many more are here, but they're in this building. They could be standing right next to you right now. And I won't apologise for my language because I am pissed off."

Steve glanced at her, then shook his head with a weary sigh. "They've nearly won. They almost have what they want. Absolute control. They shot Nick Fury. They silenced anyone who stood in their way."

"They brainwashed me," Evelyn admitted, her voice lower now but no less intense. "Turned me into a weapon."

"And it won't stop," Steve said. "If the helicarriers launch today, HYDRA will have the power to eliminate anyone they see as a threat."

"Mess with them, and they'll kill you and your family without warning," Evelyn added. "They'll do it from the sky, with the press of a button."

"Unless we stop them," Steve said, voice resolute. "I know we're asking a lot. But the price of freedom is high. It always has been. For Evelyn and me—it's a price we're both willing to pay. And if we are the only ones, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet we're not."

Maria flicked the switch, cutting the feed. Silence lingered for a beat.

Evelyn turned to Sam and raised her hand. He grinned and gave her a high five.

"Did you write that down first, or was it off the top of your head?" Sam joked.

Evelyn smirked. "He's Captain America. Pretty sure he dreams in speeches."

They didn't waste another second. The group raced outside, where the launch sequence had already begun.

"They're initiating launch," Maria said through the comms.

"Roger that," Evelyn replied, her tone clipped and ready.

"Hey, guys," Sam asked as he prepared to take off. "How do we know the good guys from the bad guys?"

"If they're shooting at you," Steve said, "they're bad."

Sam rocketed into the sky with a burst of his wings. As he went airborne, Steve turned and grabbed Evelyn's hand, pulling her back for a brief moment.

"Be careful," he said, eyes searching hers.

Evelyn's face softened. "I love you."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "I love you." Then he let go and dove down onto one of the rising helicarriers with a running leap.

Evelyn didn't hesitate. She sprinted in the opposite direction toward another helicarrier, lifting off. Without slowing down, she took a breath and launched into the air, landing hard on the deck.

Gunfire erupted almost instantly.

She threw up her arm, and a thick wall of ice exploded from the ground, blocking the bullets mid-air. Drawing both pistols, she fired around the icy barricade, expertly picking off agents as she advanced.

Turning a corner, she was ambushed by a HYDRA operative. His fist slammed into her cheek, but she didn't go down. With a swift movement, she pulled a knife from her belt, slicing his arm and stabbing his shoulder. As he staggered, she flipped him onto his back and turned just in time to fire at another attacker.

"Hey, guys," Sam's voice crackled through her earpiece, "found those bad guys you were talking about."

"You okay?" Steve asked.

"I'm not dead yet," Sam replied.

"Keep it that way," Evelyn said.

Evelyn pressed forward, moving through the helicarrier as it ascended into the sky. Alarms blared, red lights flashing intermittently along the steel walls. Her boots pounded against the metal floor, echoing like war drums. An agent jumped out from a side hallway, rifle raised. Evelyn barely ducked in time—the shot grazed her arm, searing through her uniform and drawing blood. She winced but didn't stop. With a snarl, she grabbed the man by the front of his vest and slammed him into the wall with bone-shattering force. The crack of his ribs echoed before he crumpled to the ground.

"All right, guys. I'm in," Sam said over the comms. "Oh, shit."

Two more agents rounded the corner behind her, barking commands and opening fire. Bullets tore through the air. One struck her in the side, and another buried itself in her shoulder. Evelyn staggered but didn't fall. Her breath hitched in her throat—more from the sudden impact than pain—the pain she could handle. Always had.

Her eyes burned with fury. She turned, lifting one hand, and a burst of ice flew outward, encasing one agent in ice. The second tried to flee, but she hurled a blade of ice at his leg, pinning him to the floor. Then she stomped over and knocked him out cold with a brutal punch that dented his helmet.

Blood ran down her arm in thin rivulets as she slumped against the wall, catching her breath. Her skin was already beginning to knit itself back together, the wounds closing with a slow, searing sting. She could feel the bullets still lodged deep inside. Gritting her teeth, she dug her fingers into one of the wounds, hissing as she pulled the slug free just before the skin sealed over it. The others were forced out on their own, her body rejecting them with soft, metallic clinks as they hit the floor. She wiped the blood from her palm, squared her shoulders, and pushed forward.

Finally, Evelyn reached the center of the helicarrier—a high-tech control chamber with a glass floor that offered a sweeping view of the sky.

Wasting no time, she raised thick walls of ice over every entry point, sealing herself in and buying precious time. Staggering toward the central terminal, she left a faint trail of blood in her wake. Her fingers flew across the keypad, rapidly entering the bypass code. The main interface lit up.

"Eight minutes," Maria warned.

She dropped to one knee, pried open a small access panel beneath the console, and revealed three identical data chips inside. Without hesitation, she yanked the centre one free. She drew a custom chip specially programmed to override HYDRA's control and reroute the targeting system from her belt.

She slid it into place. The console lights flared, and the system rebooted.

"Alpha locked," she announced.

Behind her, the ice barricade cracked sharply. A deep thud followed, then another. Evelyn exhaled hard, quickly reloading both pistols and turned to face the ice—battered and bleeding but unshaken.

"Let's go," she muttered.

The first explosion hit the wall like a sledgehammer. Evelyn raised both pistols just as they burst open in a blast of smoke. A squad of HYDRA agents stormed in, rifles raised.

She dove to the side as bullets tore through the air. Her heart thundered in her chest, but her hands moved with deadly precision. She popped up and fired—two quick shots dropped the front agents before they cleared the smoke. She vaulted over the fencing and charged.

One agent swung a baton at her; she caught his wrist mid-swing and crushed it with a twist. Another aimed for her head—she ducked, drove her elbow into his gut, then spun and kicked him over the fencing to the floor below. Her shoulder throbbed where the bullet wound hadn't fully closed, and her side was slick with blood. But she didn't stop.

More agents flooded the area.

With an annoyed grunt, Evelyn clenched her fist and slammed her palm to the floor. A freezing shockwave burst outward—ice erupting from the ground, spearing some agents and pinning others in place. She took advantage of the chaos and ran, crashing through the exit and outside the helicarrier.

"Steve, how're you doing?" she gasped into the comms. No answer. "Steve?" Still nothing. Panic twisted in her gut. "I'm on my way."

She tore through the helicarrier, weaving between bursts of gunfire and flying debris. As she neared the edge, a small squad opened fire. A bullet hit her in the thigh, making her stumble—but she caught herself and whipped out a flash grenade. She threw it overhead at the group, shielding her eyes as it detonated with a blinding pulse. They screamed, disoriented, and she charged through, pistol-whipping one and slamming another into a crate.

She reached the edge of the bay. Above her, Steve's helicarrier loomed, surrounded by smoke, flame, and chaos. She could make out him fighting the Winter Soldier, trading brutal blows at the centre of the helicarrier.

"Steve!" she shouted. He didn't hear her.

"Bravo locked," Sam announced.

"Two down, one to go. Six minutes," Maria said.

"Sam, I need you to pick me up!" Evelyn yelled.

"On my way." Evelyn could see Sam flying toward her, and she held her hand up, ready to grab him—but suddenly, he was shot at, and he began to crash toward the ground below.

"Sam!"

"I'm good! Grounded, though. Suit's down. Sorry, Eve."

Evelyn sighed in frustration as she looked for another way to reach Steve. Her wounds still burned. But she couldn't let him do it alone.

She sprinted forward and leapt. Wind ripped at her as she flew through open air and landed hard on the next helicarrier's upper deck, rolling to absorb the impact. Pain flared through her injured thigh, but she forced herself up.

"Almost there," she whispered to herself.

She ran toward another side entrance, but HYDRA agents spotted her instantly. One fired a rocket—she threw up a wall of ice, but the blast still knocked her off her feet and into a crate. She gasped, lungs burning. Her hearing rang.

Still, she stood. A wave of agents charged. She ducked under a punch, drove her fist into the floor, and sent a jagged wave of ice tearing across the platform, knocking them off their feet. She kept moving, pushing through the constant pulse of pain, never stopping. Another squad. Another burst of bullets. She took cover behind a container and drew a deep breath.

"Steve," she rasped into the comms. "I'm here. Hold on."

She rounded the corner and finally caught sight of Steve, locked in a brutal fight with the Winter Soldier—with Bucky—bruised and bloodied but still standing.

"Hey!" she shouted.

The Winter Soldier turned just in time for Evelyn to tackle him with the force of a freight train. They both went sprawling. She scrambled up, ice forming over her fists as she swung at him repeatedly. He blocked, striking back just as hard—but Evelyn wasn't fighting to win.

She was fighting to give Steve time to lock in the helicarrier.

The Winter Soldier slammed his metal fist into Evelyn's side, sending her skidding across the platform. Her back hit the railing with a sickening crunch. She choked out a breath—but still stood. Her healing was working, stitching flesh and bone back together, though far slower than usual under the constant barrage.

Before the Soldier could lunge again, gunfire erupted from behind. More HYDRA agents poured onto the deck—some rappelling from nearby catwalks, others bursting through auxiliary doors. It was a coordinated push. They weren't just trying to win anymore—they were trying to wipe them out.

"Thirty seconds."

Steve was back on his feet, bruised and bleeding, shield in hand. He glanced toward Evelyn, eyes locking with hers just long enough to nod. No words—just understanding. "I've got them!" she yelled, already moving. He turned and ran toward the centre of the helicarrier, chip in hand.

Evelyn sprinted into the crowd. The first agent swung a baton—she shattered it with a frozen punch and slammed him over the edge of the rail. Another came at her with a blade. She let it sink slightly into her arm, ignoring the pain, then grabbed him and froze his entire upper body, kicking him back like a statue. Bullets tore through the air again—one caught her side, another struck her upper back. Her steps faltered. Her skin burned. But she gritted her teeth and pushed through.

One agent tackled her from behind. She hit the deck hard, wrestling for control. Blood splattered across the floor. She screamed and slammed her elbow into his throat, then rolled and shot two more, charging at her.

Her vision blurred. She blinked hard, trying to focus. Her body was screaming in protest. But she could feel her healing at work—agonisingly slow but steady. Pain, blood, rage, adrenaline—they were all the same now. One force driving her forward.

Steve shouted something behind her—something about Charlie being locked and the helicarriers turning on each other—but she couldn't hear it clearly over the roar of gunfire and the pounding in her skull.

More HYDRA soldiers surrounded her. She was running out of ammo. She holstered her pistols, rolled her shoulders, and cracked her neck.

"All right," she growled. "Let's see how many of you I can take out before we all die." She hurled a blast of ice forward, freezing several agents in their tracks, then charged again—fists flying, eyes blazing, the floor beneath her icing over with every step. She tore through them like a storm. An unstoppable, bloodied, freezing storm.

The helicarrier shook violently as the other carriers opened fire, trying to bring it down. Debris flew everywhere—but she couldn't stop. The agents kept coming.

She ripped through another group of HYDRA operatives, her fists encased in jagged ice. One lunged at her with a combat knife—she sidestepped and slammed a frozen elbow into his temple. Another tried to flank her—she spun and shot a spike of ice clean through his shoulder. The floor was slick with blood, bullet casings, and shards of frozen steel.

Her body was bruised, bleeding, and sluggish. Every breath was a battle—but she fought on. Each movement was fueled by raw willpower and fury. And habit. She'd been trained to ignore pain. To fight through it. It was engraved in her.

A particularly large soldier tackled her from the side, sending her skidding across the deck. She slammed into a railing and gasped; the wind knocked from her lungs. He came at her again, but she caught his wrist mid-swing and twisted hard. A sickening snap. He screamed—and she didn't wait to finish him off. One final strike sent him flying over the edge.

"Steve!" she gasped into the comms, scanning the chaos. "Where are you?"

She scrambled toward the centre—the last place she'd seen him. Flames curled from shattered panels. Explosions rocked the deck. She ran across a platform, gripping her side where a fresh wound burned hot. Smoke stung her eyes.

Then she saw him.

At the far end of the platform, Steve was still fighting Bucky. Barely. The Winter Soldier's strikes were fast and brutal. Steve blocked as best he could, already exhausted and beaten down. But he wasn't fighting back anymore.

He was reaching for him.

"You know me," Steve said, his voice strained. "You know me."

Another punch.

"You're my mission," Bucky hissed, raising his metal fist again.

"Then finish it," Steve said quietly. "'Cause I'm with you... 'til the end of the line."

Evelyn's breath caught. "No—no, come on—" she limped forward, dodging flames and falling debris.

But the platform between them crumbled.

She skidded to a halt as the floor below her gave way, burning wreckage plunging to the earth below. "Steve!" she screamed, hands clutching the twisted metal. Bucky stood frozen, his fist raised—but unmoving. His expression flickered: confusion, pain, memory.

Steve, barely conscious, lay flat on the deck. Then the floor beneath him gave way—and he fell.

"No!" Evelyn screamed.

He disappeared from view, vanishing into the smoke and toward the water below.

Bucky gripped a nearby bar, staring down. Evelyn collapsed to her knees, bloodied hands gripping the rail. The wind howled through the collapsing carrier, flames licking at the shredded hull. Debris rained down in sheets of fire and metal. Her eyes locked on the spot where Steve had vanished, breath sharp and ragged, panic clawing at her throat.

Then—without hesitation—Bucky let go.

He dove into the wreckage below, disappearing into the blue.

Evelyn stared in disbelief. For a split second, she couldn't move.

Then she ran.

Every muscle screamed as she sprinted toward the edge. Ice bloomed beneath her boots; she'd stopped trying to control it. Her wounds burned. Her lungs ached. But she didn't stop. She leapt from the carrier and plummeted toward the shore below.

She landed hard on her hands and knees. Pain surged through her, nearly blacking her vision—but adrenaline kept her upright. Staggering to her feet, she scanned the water, eyes wild.

And then—

Breaking the surface, Bucky emerged, dragging Steve's limp, bloodied body toward her.

Steve was pale, still, his chest was unmoving.

Evelyn dropped beside him in the shallow water. "Steve?" she whispered, hands cradling his face. "Hey. No. No, no, you're not done yet."

She pressed her ear to his chest.

A heartbeat.

Faint. But there.

He was breathing.

Relief slammed into her like a tidal wave. She let out a shuddering breath and brushed the soaked hair from his forehead.

"Idiot," she whispered. "You scared the hell out of me."

She turned to Bucky.

He stood there, silent, soaked to the bone. Watching her. His chest heaved from the effort—but he hadn't run. He hadn't vanished into the trees.

"Do you...?" Evelyn started, cautious. Half-expecting him to bolt.

Bucky stared at her for a long moment.

Then, rough and quiet but sure, he said, "Evelyn."

Her heart leapt.

He remembered.

She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Hey, Bucky."

Bucky looked down at Steve one last time. His expression was impossible to read—guilt, memory, grief, something older and deeper than words. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the trees.

Evelyn didn't try to stop him.

She stayed with Steve, kneeling beside him, as the last of the helicarriers crashed into the water and surrounding buildings—leaving destruction and silence in their wake.