RED CODE

Chapter Three

The Return.

The morning came gray and heavy, the kind of morning where the cold settled into your bones and refused to leave. Mist clung low along the ground, curling around boots and tents, blurring the edges of the camp into something half-real. I hadn't slept. Not really. I'd dozed here and there, but every time I closed my eyes I saw Steve disappearing into the night sky or imagined Bucky trapped in some Hydra hellhole, his face slipping further from me each time I tried to picture it.

By dawn, my stomach was a knot I couldn't untangle. I forced myself into my uniform, combed damp fingers through my hair, and stepped outside into the chill air. The camp was awake and buzzing, but it wasn't the usual morning bustle. There was an edge to it, sharp and restless. Radios crackled with static and half-heard reports. Colonel Phillips' voice barked orders sharp enough to cut. Men moved with quick, clipped strides, their conversations hushed.

Something was coming.

And then I heard it. Not words, not yet. Just sound—distant at first, then growing louder. Voices. Cheering.

I froze mid-step, every nerve alight. The sound swelled, spreading through the camp like a tide, pulling people out of their tents and off their posts. Soldiers craned their necks, officers paused mid-order, and I found myself moving toward it without even realizing. My boots crunched on gravel, my breath clouded in the air, my heart thundering in my chest.

I rounded a row of tents, and the sight stopped me dead.

They were coming back. Dozens of them—dirty, bloodied, uniforms torn and stained, but alive. Alive. They marched as best they could, some leaning on their brothers, some carried by medics, but they were here.

And at the center of it all was him.

Steve.

Shield strapped across his back, helmet under one arm, his shoulders squared with a confidence that seemed to radiate from him. He was taller, broader, but that wasn't it—not really. He carried himself differently now, like he'd finally stepped into the skin the world had been trying to squeeze him into for years. This wasn't the Steve I'd walked the streets of Brooklyn with. This was Captain America.

For a moment, all I could do was stare, breath caught in my throat.

"Elena!"

The voice ripped through me like a gunshot. I spun so fast my vision blurred, searching—until I saw him.

Bucky.

He looked rougher than I'd ever seen—hair matted, soot streaked across his cheek, uniform in tatters. But he was standing. Breathing. Alive.

I didn't think. I just ran.

The moment I reached him, I threw my arms around his neck, clinging like he might vanish if I loosened my grip. My chest hitched, a sob breaking free before I could stop it.

"Bucky—" My voice cracked against his shoulder. "You stupid, stubborn idiot—you scared the hell out of me!"

His laugh was hoarse, low, but it rumbled through his chest against mine. His arms came up strong and certain around me, holding me like he'd been waiting for this moment too.

"Easy, Lena," he said, his voice rough but warm. "I'm not going anywhere."

I pulled back just enough to see his face, my hands still gripping his arms. His smile was tired, worn at the edges, but it was real.

"You look like hell," I whispered.

"You should see the other guys," he shot back, and for one wild second it was just like being back home, the three of us trading jabs on the Brooklyn sidewalks. My throat burned with the memory.

"Guess we owe Rogers one, huh?" Bucky added, his eyes flicking toward the man who had saved him.

I turned then, and there was Steve—watching us, silent, his expression softer than I'd ever seen it. The look in his eyes wasn't pride exactly, or relief, but something deeper. Like he understood every word I hadn't said.

He'd done it. He'd brought them home.

The camp erupted around us. Soldiers cheered, clapped each other on the back, voices rising in disbelief and awe. Colonel Phillips stormed out from his tent, his scowl sharp enough to cut glass, but even he couldn't completely smother the ripple of triumph coursing through the men. Peggy stood nearby, eyes locked on Steve with a flicker of pride she didn't bother hiding.

But I barely noticed any of it. My world had narrowed down to just two men.

Bucky Barnes—my brother in all but blood—back from the jaws of hell. And Steve Rogers—my best friend who'd somehow become something more, something larger than life—standing steady in the center of it all.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself breathe.

The cheers still rang through the camp when Colonel Phillips stormed forward. His cap was pulled low, his jaw set like stone, and for a moment, the entire crowd seemed to shrink back under the weight of his glare.

"Rogers!" His voice cut through the noise like a whip.

Steve stepped out from the mass of soldiers, standing tall, shield strapped across his back. I could feel the energy around us shift—the pride, the awe—into a heavy silence.

Phillips paced once in front of him, eyes sharp. "What in blazes do you think you're doing? You were given a direct order to stay out of combat, and instead, you take it upon yourself to break into enemy territory, disrupt a Hydra base, and—"

He gestured broadly at the line of exhausted, dirt-smeared men standing behind Steve. "—bring back half a regiment."

The silence cracked, a ripple of laughter and cheers running through the rescued soldiers. Someone clapped Steve on the shoulder. Another let out a whoop.

Steve didn't smile. He just said, calm and steady, "Yes, sir."

Phillips glared at him a moment longer, then huffed out a breath through his nose. "Well. If you're going to disobey orders, Rogers, you'd better at least be good at it."

The soldiers roared with approval. I felt my own chest lift, pride swelling so strong it almost pushed tears into my eyes again.

Peggy had been standing off to the side, her expression composed but her eyes shining. Now she stepped forward, her voice clear, cutting through the noise. "You saved nearly four hundred men, Captain. That's no small thing."

Steve looked at her, something unspoken passing between them, and my throat tightened.

Phillips cleared his throat loudly. "All right, all right! Enough with the hero worship. Rogers, from now on you'll be heading up a special unit. Pick your team, train them, make sure they don't get themselves killed. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Steve said again, though this time, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The men behind him erupted into chants—his name, his title, fists pounding the air. Even the ones who had mocked the "dancing monkey in tights" before now looked at him like he'd walked straight out of legend.

I stood frozen for a long moment, drinking it all in. Steve, standing taller than I'd ever seen. Bucky, alive at my side. Peggy, watching with pride. Even Howard, leaning against a jeep nearby, smirking like he'd known this was coming all along.

For the first time, it hit me: the world had changed overnight. And we were standing at the center of it.