Flick. A detailed drawing of a woman in 40's army gear. Flick. A rough sketch of the faces of his old comrades. Flick. Doctor Erskine, sheepish grin, empty bottle in hand. Flick. A picture of Bucky, laughing.
All the people he would never see again. Friends he couldn't save.
The man started as a drop of rain plopped onto the page, smudging Bucky's face.
He looked up from his sketch book with a sigh, shoving it into his jacket pocket. As the pitter patter grew, people rushed passed, struggling to draw umbrellas, huddling close together under newspapers to ward off the storm, children shrieking as parents herded them down the path.
He sat back on the ornate park bench and watched them all rush by. Sometimes, after a mission, he would come out just to watch, and remember who he was fighting for. Because the absence of his friends made it so much more difficult to keep that simple goal in mind. Fighting for those who couldn't fight for themselves.
He watched two young men laughing as they ran through the rain, pushing each other into puddles. He remembered when that was him. Him and Bucky. Then, later on, the Howling Commandos too.
All brave, courageous fighters, giving up years, sometimes all of their lives, to save strangers they would never meet. They fought every enemy, every new threat, with enthusiasm, defeating them all.
Except, of course, the most dangerous, most terrifying enemy of all. One that crept, invisible, intangible, up to you, so quietly, so slowly, that by the time the gun had been cocked, it was too late, and the bullet had been shot.
The one enemy no one could defeat.
Because of course, Time was the greatest enemy of all. Nothing survived Time. Not completely. Pages crumbled, bones decayed, fortresses fell. Even stories became so warped, it was impossible to know how the original tale was first told.
And people grew old. They lived their lives out, be they long or short, and then they died. All without him.
The one enemy he couldn't fight.
The man looked up from his thoughts, to see that the path had cleared, though the rain continued to pour down through the trees.
Through the harsh rain, he saw a figure, sitting all by itself across the path on the opposite bench. He couldn't see the figure clearly, but wondered who else was so lonely, and so lost that they sat by themselves in the rain, simply watching the world go by, wondering where it had all gone wrong.
After waiting what felt like an age for the rain to stop, the torrent slowed enough so he could see through the light drizzle to the figure across the path.
A young woman stared right back at him, soft smile on her face, like a mother looking at her child who has defied her wishes, and grown up, and though she knows she should be proud, it still tastes bittersweet on her tongue.
She was dressed in a style he now knew to be retro, but on her, it wasn't a fashion statement meant to separate her from the crowds. She wore a grey skirt that went past her knees, and had yards more material than anything you could find today. A matching, form fitting jacket was buttoned tightly, hat perched on soft brown hair, with a black pair of gloves and a long coat to ward off the chill.
She looked, like him, as though she didn't quite fit with the changing times. Yet she was far more comfortable in her surrounds than he, resting easily on the bench.
She sat all alone, grey eyes watching him gently, and it was like Time had slowed just for her.
His silent reverie was broken when the woman stood. Slowly, she made her way over to him, her footsteps softer, not as hurried as the busy people of the modern era.
She sat down, spreading her skirts, sad smile on her face, grey eyes staring up at him, piercing his very soul.
"You can't save them all. No matter what you do. There will always be something taken from you, something you regret. And it never gets any easier."
Though the woman was younger than him, she looked at him with the same wise eyes Dr Erskine had the night before the experiment, the same that Peggy looked at him with in that ruined pub after Bucky's death. He was learning that appearances never told the full story.
"Never?" He whispered.
"Never. But you learn. That things will be taken from you, people will die, and sometimes there will be nothing you can do. But never let that get you down. Keep fighting. Because there is a silver lining to every cloud, no matter how dark the night is. Even if you can't see it, someone can. You just have to find them."
He snorted. "Have you any idea how difficult that is?"
As she stood, she smiled sadly, but her eyes were far away. "More than you know." Unlike him, she bore no physical marks of Time. Her skin had no scars, wrinkles had missed her face entirely. She looked, for all those with eyes, Timeless.
But the windows to her soul told of unbearable sadness, of a long history that would make a lesser person try to end their pain.
And yet she stood, two feet solidly on the ground, and her head held high as she made her way down the winding path.
For a moment, he could almost see the gas lamps lighting the misty grey twilight, ghostly figures with waistcoats and long skirts seeming to shape themselves out of the mist.
As she reached the corner and glanced back, the smile that graced her face was swift but heartfelt.
The moment before she walked out of his sight, the rain stopped, and the sun came out from behind a cloud, a gentle ray hitting her. In the second it took for her to disappear, her drab gray clothes flashed an eye dazzling silver.
AN: I know it looks like I have a review from myself, but that's actually my friend, who was read this fic on my computer, and forgot to log into their own account. Oops!
Please review. One word, two seconds out of your day, makes mine.