More advanced chapters on P@treon.com/Saintbarbido.
-0-
-1944-
-1 month later-
-Austria-
(General P.O.V)
The road was quiet. Too quiet.
The convoy rumbled forward, its headlights cutting through the darkness, illuminating the dirt path ahead.
The lead truck carried Captain America, Bucky Barnes, and a handful of Howling Commandos.
Behind them, the rest of their squad followed, along with the rescued Allied soldiers Hydra had been using as forced labor.
The mission had been a success. Another Hydra base dismantled, more men brought home.
Steve sat in the passenger seat, his shield resting against his leg. His uniform was torn and stained, but his focus remained sharp. They were still deep in enemy territory.
Bucky drove, one hand on the wheel, the other casually resting on his rifle.
"Not bad, Rogers," he said, casting a glance at Steve. "Another Hydra base down. You might actually be getting good at this."
Steve smirked. "Maybe I had good backup."
Bucky scoffed but said nothing. The moment of levity didn't last.
A shadow appeared ahead, standing dead center in the road.
Bucky hit the brakes, tires screeching against the dirt. The convoy lurched to a stop.
The men inside grumbled as they were jerked forward, but Steve and Bucky weren't paying attention to them. Their eyes were locked on the figure blocking their path.
Tall. Broad. A long black coat draped over his frame, a black gas mask concealing his face. He stood motionless, bathed in the glow of the headlights.
Steve narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell…?"
Bucky tensed, his grip tightening on his rifle. "Not friendly."
"I'll check it out. Be ready to move incase it's a trap."
Steve stepped out of the truck, shield in hand. The rest of the convoy watched as he approached the stranger.
"You're blocking the road," Cap said evenly. "Step aside."
No response.
The figure just stood there, silent.
Steve's grip on his shield tightened. "I won't ask again sir."
Still nothing.
Bucky exhaled sharply. "Screw this," he muttered, raising his rifle and pointing it at the figure.
The stranger moved.
Not away. Forward.
Fast.
Before Steve could react, the masked man was on him. A punch came in hard—faster than any normal man should have been able to throw.
Steve barely got his shield up in time. The impact sent him sliding back, boots digging into the dirt.
The convoy erupted into chaos. Soldiers scrambled out of the trucks, weapons raised.
The Howling Commandos moved to intervene, but Steve held up a hand, eyes locked on his opponent.
The masked man didn't relent. He came in low, aiming for Steve's ribs. Steve dodged, countered with a sharp jab, but the man weaved out of the way, fluid and precise.
Steve frowned. This wasn't just some Hydra operative.
Whoever this was, he was trained. And strong.
Steve ducked under a swing, twisting his body and using the momentum to fling his shield. The metal disk spun through the air, cutting toward his opponent—
'Bamnkg!'
And was caught.
One-handed. Effortlessly.
The world seemed to pause.
Bucky moved before Steve could react, pressing the barrel of his rifle against the side of the masked man's head.
"Drop it," Bucky ordered, voice low.
Silence.
Then a chuckle.
Low. Amused. Familiar
Steve's breath caught. No way.
"Bucky, wait," Steve said suddenly, realization dawning on him. "I think I know who he is."
Bucky's eyes flicked to Steve, confusion written across his face.
The masked man tilted his head slightly before reaching up, undoing the straps of the gas mask. Slowly, he pulled it off, revealing a familiar face.
A smirk. Cold blue eyes.
James Bond.
"Took you long enough," Bond said.
Steve exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disbelief before breaking into a grin.
"Welcome back, sir."
Bond tossed the shield back to Steve, who caught it without thinking. "Wouldn't have missed kicking in Red Skull's teeth for anything," Bond said.
"Buck, this is Sergeant James Bond. The man who trained me. Lower the gun, I've seen him dodge bullets."
Murmurs spread through the ranks of soldiers.
"That's Bond?"
"No freaking way."
"Cap wouldn't lie."
Bucky lowered his rifle, scowling. "That's one hell of a way to say hello."
Bond patted his shoulder. "Almost shot me, soldier. Good reaction speeds."
Steve laughed. "Come on. Let's get back to camp."
-0-
Back at SSR headquarters, the war room was tense. A map of Europe stretched across the main table, marked with red Hydra symbols.
Colonel Phillips stood at the head, arms crossed, his gaze sweeping across the gathered soldiers. A subtle nod was thrown at Bond.
"The intel we recovered confirms it," Phillips began. "Schmidt's planning something big. We believe he's targeting New York."
Howard stepped forward, flipping a switch on the projector. A schematic of Hydra aircrafts filled the screen.
"Using the Tesseract," Howard explained, "Hydra has developed long-range bombers. We're not talking about standard payloads here. We're talking mass destruction."
Steve set his jaw. "Then we stop them."
Phillips nodded. "That's the plan. This is the biggest push we've made so far. If we take Hydra down now, we end this."
Bond leaned back in his chair. "Seems suicidal."
Steve smirked. "You scared?"
Bond exhaled. "Of course. That's why I'm going first. Can't let you get to Red Skull before me."
The room filled with quiet laughter, but the weight of the moment remained.
As the briefing concluded, Howard approached Bond.
"You know," Stark quietly mused, "I was thinking about what you said before. About the shield."
Bond raised an eyebrow at the reminder of their conversation after he'd returned. "Regretting it?"
Stark shook his head, watching as Cap laid out the strategy. "Not for a second. Steve's the right man for it. He's earned the name they call him now. Captain America indeed. Or America's ass if you ask the masses." He hesitated, then added, "Erskine would've approved of what you've been doing out there James."
Bond's smirk faded slightly. A rare moment of silence followed before he nodded.
"Yeah," Bond murmured. "Maybe he would've."
Later, Bond sat in his quarters, a small bundle resting on the table before him.
Howard had given it to him after the briefing. "Erskine left this for you," he had said.
Slowly, Bond unwrapped the package.
Inside was an old, worn leather journal.
Erskine's.
Bond's fingers traced the handwriting on the first page.
"James, continue the work."
The words hit harder than he expected.
A knock at the door.
Bond exhaled, setting the journal aside. "Come in."
Peggy stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She was out of uniform and was dressed in a thin gown that emphasized her cleavage.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Then—
"You're really back," she said simply.
Bond smirked. "I had no choice. It was either death or obeying your orders Lieutenant."
She stepped closer, arms crossed. "It's been seven months."
"Has it?"
"You know it has."
A beat of silence.
Then Peggy sighed, shaking her head. "You're impossible."
"I try."
Another knock at the door.
Bond glanced at Peggy before opening it.
Steve stood there.
Bond raised an eyebrow. Then smirked.
"Ah."
Steve's gaze flickered between Bond and Peggy. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Bond closed the door behind him so that it was just him and Steve.
Without a word, Bond pulled out a key from his pocket and pressed it into Steve's hand.
"What are you waiting for?" Bond asked, motioning to the door behind him. "An invitation?"
Steve blinked.
"Well, here." Bond clapped him on the shoulder. "I just gave it to you."
Then, without another word, Bond slipped past him and walked off into the night, grinning. Those two deserved to be together. Even if one of them didn't see it yet.
He just hoped she wouldn't shout at him tomorrow.
On the flip side, Steve wouldn't go to the battlefield a virgin. That was just asking for fate to screw you over.