"Are you an angel?" The man in the bed murmured, his throat hoarse from what Peggy imagined was days of pain filled screams.
"No, sir. I can assure you I am not an angel."
But the man was already asleep.
"I'm sorry, Peggy..." Steve started.
"It's quite alright Captain. Rescuing men trapped behind enemy lines is most certainly reason enough to be late for our rendezvous."
Steve grinned at Peggy, rubbing the back of his neck.
"But, that doesn't mean I can protect you from a debriefing - and dressing down - from the Colonel. I suggest you go and find him. It might lessen his wrath."
"I doubt it," Steve muttered, moving swiftly towards the door.
"So do I," Peggy said over her shoulder.
The agent glanced back down at the soldier on the cot. She could see the outline of bandages around a lost leg. The limb must have been terribly injured, for the leg ended before the knee.
Peggy gave her head a slight shake. She felt sympathy well up in her breast. The man was lucky - Steve hadn't saved several dozen of men from the raid. But Peggy also realized that the man's problems had only just begun. He would most likely face all sorts of bigotry upon his return home.
Peggy turned on her heel, moving towards the door. But the sound of a slight whimper stopped her in the doorway. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the injured man was starting to shake slightly.
Peggy looked out into the hallway, hoping that a nurse might be near. She didn't see one, though. Realizing she was on her own, she turned back to the man on the cot. Swiftly crossing the room, she perched carefully in the chair that the Captain had vacated earlier.
"Sir, it's alright..." she murmured, hoping that her tone was reassuring. "I promise you, you are no longer in danger."
Simply stating the words had no effect. If anything, the soldiers convulsions just worsened.
Before Peggy could think her actions through, her hand had grabbed the man's own. She didn't expect it to lead to any change, but it did. The man slowly stilled. Once he had gone still, Peggy saw his lips start to move, forming nearly silent words.
"So sorry, Harv... Failed ya, didn't I?"
"Shhh... It's alright; I doubt you failed him."
The man went silent again, but he also didn't start convulsing again. Peggy didn't think of releasing his hand, instead choosing to move her chair closer.
Peggy sat in silence for nearly ten minutes, before a raspy whisper broke the silence.
"What a beautiful angel..." the man murmured. Peggy's eyes snapped to his face, expecting to see his own open. Instead, the soldiers eyes were still closed and his breath still shallow from sleep. "Must be God's greatest creation..."
Peggy felt her cheeks heat, before realizing that the man was most likely not referring to her. The man was handsome, though he was currently drenched in sweat and his nose appeared to have been broken once or twice. The soldier probably had a girl back home - one he wrote letters to every chance he got.
Shaking her head again, she tried to clear her thoughts. She noticed a book of poetry on the table, probably from one of the nurses, which she reached for and used her free hand to find the marked page. She glanced at the man again, then began reading.
"O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing."
"I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faëry's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild."
Daniel sighed, setting the worn poetry book on his bedside table. The nurse at the hospital in England had been kind enough to give Daniel the book, saying that she had already read it several times. Daniel had read it several more times himself.
He wasn't sure what it was about the book, but it had become a source of comfort for Daniel. He'd wake from a nightmare, and flip right away to La Belle Dame Sans Merci. He couldn't recall having heard it before, but something about the poem seemed familiar.
His nightmares were always the same. He was forced to watch as a bullet passed through his best friend, over and over. That shot would repeat a dozen times, until Daniel was a shaking mess. Sometimes, someone would wake him up.
On the times when he remained asleep, after seeing the death of his friend so many times, a different scene would occur. An angel would appear, her halo of light shining on her brunette curls, and take his hand. She spoke only one thing, "it's alright," and repeated it over and over until Daniel had calmed.
He didn't think of those as nightmares anymore. They were far more dream like to him.
He had mentioned the angel once to Carlota when she had visited. His eldest sister had given him a small smile, obviously doubting his words. He couldn't help but wonder how truly crazy he sounded.
Perhaps he was. Perhaps that God forsaken war had taken both his leg and his mind.
He slowly began to heal - at least physically. He'd been measured for his prosthetic as soon as the VA had declared him fit. He'd recently started practicing with the crutches in physical therapy. He still used the wheelchair for most of the day, but he was becoming more comfortable with the crutches.
His mind, though... That was a whole 'nother matter. Besides the damned nightmares, he also found himself reacting to any startling noise with complete panic.
And, there was of course the angel.
He was terrified that one day he would start seeing her outside of the dreamscape. It hadn't happened yet; not at Harvey's funeral, not during any of the attacks, not even just from the corner of his eye in the VA garden. For some reason, Daniel felt like it was only a matter of time.
The newspapers reported the death of Captain America a month after Daniel switched solely to the crutches. All of America mourned. Hell, all of the world mourned.
Daniel recognized the man. It was the same man who had saved him in France. The one who had carried a shield into battle.
Daniel felt a teasing at the back of his mind, like there was more to that memory that he should be recalling. Daniel fought to remember what it was, but every time he tried he only ended up with a splitting headache.
So, Daniel instead focussed on recovering even more. The VA doctor had told Daniel at his last appointment that a single crutch would be the next step.
Daniel sat up in his bead, moving his hands to the stump that was left of his thigh. He rubbed the tired limb; the prosthetic was far from comfortable, and tended to slam against the stump when he walked.
Daniel squeezed his eyes closed, trying to picture the angel who had once again been in his dream that night. The only thing he ever managed to remember was the curls of brunette hair, the sense of unblemished beauty, and the feeling of serenity.
Reaching once again for the book of poetry, Daniel let his fingers dance across the cover. It was a simple book bound in brown leather.
Opening to the page number he had memorized before he left England, he began once again reading the Keats poem.
This time, as his eyes darted across the words, another voice was in his mind.
It was the angel's voice.
The poem that had been so well written had been completely transformed in Daniel's eyes. Where a simple poem had once stood, a whole other tale had started.
Daniel wondered if that would signify the end of the angel in his dreams. He found he really hoped it wouldn't.
A.N.
The poem is La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John Keats. You should really checked it out - it's my favorite poem ever.