AN: I swear, I'm gonna skin these plot bunnies alive. This is what happens when I'm driving home from work, listening to Carrie Underwood. Rawr! I have too many other fics to update and they do this!

Okay, ranting over. This story is dedicated to the fabulous CosmicHorse, and her Lost Voice series. Thanks again for letting me write Greta, Cosmic. She's such a fun character, and I hope I'm doing her justice in this fic.

My Soldier

Chapter 1

"Just A Dream"— Carrie Underwood

The church doors opened. The whole room quieted as Greta entered the room. She stood still for a moment, waiting for the preacher to give her the signal.

At her side stood her mother. She noticed Elsa had her hair pulled back into an elegant bun, wearing a black silk dress, short gloves and matching pumps. Greta was surprised she had chosen something so plain for such an event, save for the birdcage netting Elsa wore in place of her jewelry. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes, yet Elsa held them back. Though whether to show strength in front of her daughter or fear of her mascara running, Greta did not know. Surprisingly, Elsa took her daughter's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She gave her a small, sad smile before giving her one last check over.

It all seemed impossible. Here she was, getting ready to walk out in front of her friends, and those she considered family. Many she knew from living on the base. They had helped raise her whenever her father was on duty. She considered them like second fathers, uncles and older brothers. She gained encouragement seeing the familiar uniforms.

Looking out at the seating, Greta barely held back a sob as she spotted her best friend among the crowd. Beside Lithia were Tony and Pepper, and on the other side sat Loki and Evangeline. She was surprised they were here. Something was off but she pushed it to the back of her mind. The sound of music drew her back. She wouldn't allow this unexpected situation to distract her. She could figure out how everyone got there later; she still had to make it down the aisle.

The song signaled it was almost time. She remembered watching others walk down this very aisle. They had kept their calm as the neared the alter, some even braved the walk alone.

She was ready.

Elsa went first, her head held high to preserve her sophisticated appearance. She carried two long stemmed roses in hand, deep crimson intertwined with ivory white. She walked between the two lines of officers before she reached the alter. She placed her flowers down and was handed a small parcel before she turned around to join the others. When she took her seat, it was Greta's turn.

The young girl took a deep breath and had one last look down the aisle. Greta felt her heart flutter, already feeling the tears burning in her eyes, but she held them back. She never cried. At least, not when she still had control. And she wasn't about to loose it now. She would not cry. She just had to make it to the end. It would not last long. The pastor would say a few words and then it would be over. Then, then she could cry.

Greta started to walk, her feet crunching dead leaves along the path. She looked down. In her hands she held a beautifully carved wooden box sealed by a golden lock. Over that, she also carried a bouquet of dark crimson roses, poppies, and sweet pea.

She heard the trumpets from the military band as she reached the end. She looked up and saw the pastor standing behind the alter. She prepared herself for the next part. She turned to look back at the crowd one more time. Everyone had their heads bowed as the room filled with a deathly silence. The only face she saw was that of her mother. The tears finally were allowed to fall from her while her arms gripped tighter on the folded flag pressed to her heart.

Greta turned back to the stage. Her eyes rested on the dark oak surrounded by flowers. She knew what, whom laid inside. She knew what would meet her sight if she opened the lid, already seeing him with her mind's eyes.

First, she saw his uniform, then the bandages to cover the wounds. The wounds that not only would never heal, but had also been the cause of death. The face completely mummified. She knew beneath the bandages was a face that would never again smile when she came home. Never again would she see eyes that burned fire at the acceptance of a challenge. And never again would the gruff, gentle voice tell her he loved her.

She opened her eyes to look at the coffin. Surrounding it were small photo frames displaying images of the past. She smiled when she caught one of a little girl with chocolate curls laughing as she sat perched upon the shoulders of a tall officer. Beside him was a blonde woman, giving her husband a kiss on his cheek as she held a banner that read, "Welcome home!"

Choking back a sob, Greta set the box in front of that picture. Then she pressed two fingers to her lips before placing them against the frame.

"Goodbye Daddy…" Turning to place down her bouquet, Greta caught a glimpse of something out if the corner of her eye. She knew what she would see. Once she turned, she would stare into a photo of those familiar eyes one last time.

However, when she turned it was not the face she expected. In place of burgundy hair and amber eyes, the image held blond hair combed back and bright blues stared back at her. The flowers dropped from her hand.

"No…"

Greta turned to see the pastor standing beside her. In his hands lay another folded flag. He held it out to her. "It's time. Please take your seat beside your mother."

"No, this isn't right!" Greta stepped back. Her eyes frantically scanned the pictures. She gasped. They had all changed!

In place of her father another man stood. Some of the photos were black and white, while more recent showed the man in various places: standing by the Avengers on the Helicarrier, another at Evangeline's last birthday party. Many of the pictures showed the soldier in his iconic uniform. One picture, taken on Halloween. She nearly cried when she saw the one of him standing beside her in her high school prom dress. The last one showed her and the man at a fifties themed resultant sharing a milkshake.

Greta startled when a hand touched her shoulder. She turned to find the pastor looking at her. "My dear, we need to begin," he told her, holding the folded flag to her once more. "Please, take your seat."

Greta slowly stepped back, one foot off the stage. She looked out to the sea of faces, but they all remained frozen.

"Someone tell me what's going on!" she shouted."Mom? Mom!" She looked around and spotted her mother had also become still.

Only silence answered her.

"What is wrong with you!" Fear was slowly creepy its icy fingers around her heart. She glanced back at the coffin.

"This isn't happening…"

Greta leapt over the flowers and placed her hands on the lid. She had to see the body for herself.

She threw back the lid, revealing the corpse inside. Her eyes fell on the face. It was completely wrapped in bandages, concealing the dead man's identity. That would have eased her, but the sight of the decade old uniform made her doubt. Slowly, Greta raised her hand to remove the gauze, but she hesitated. Someone from the audience shouted at her to stop, but that was the push she needed. She ripped the bandages off, revealing the face of the soldier.

Steve Rogers.

A scream tore from her throat.

"NO!" Greta woke with a start. Her heart was beating rapidly. There was a cold sweat on her brow. When she managed to get her pulse back under control, a single tear fell from her eye. Despite the twist at the end, she had relived this dream before for what seemed like a hundred times. It meant only one thing.

It was Veteran's Day.