"You can't be serious." Thompson leveled a flat look at Alice and her tall companion.
Alice made her saddest puppy eyes. "Just for a little while, until I find something more permanent. You won't even know he's here!"
He sputtered. "Won't even – it's a horse, Alice! How am I supposed to not notice a horse in my triage tent?"
"His name is Grani and he's a sweetheart." Alice patted his gray neck fondly. He nickered a little, and lipped at her sleeve.
Thompson looked at her funny. "Granny? What kind of a name is that for a horse?"
Alice blinked. "It's not – you know what, never mind. I just need you to watch him for the night while I take care of these men from the 107th, and then I'll be back to figure out what to do with him."
Thompson looked at her. Then he looked at the horse. Then he looked back at Alice. He held his hand out for the leaders. "I want coffee."
Alice beamed as she handed him the leads. "I'm headed in that direction right now – I'll be back in just a few."
She jogged through camp, weaving around tent posts and ties, managing to make it to the mess tent without clotheslining herself. The cook was awake, prepping for breakfast, and Alice often wondered if the man was a mutant like herself; he never seemed to be asleep when she came calling.
"Hey Cookie – I'm glad you're awake. Could you rustle up some of your strongest coffee? I mean strong?" Alice greeted, pulling out her best pleading look as well.
The burly cook Alice fondly referred to as 'Cookie' was a massive man with arms as thick as her waist, and hairier than some dogs. His brow hung low over his eyes, and his beard obscured most of the bottom half of his face. Alice was sure that his appearance was far from proper military regulation, but no one dared to correct him.
He seemed to like Alice though; probably because she kept the kitchen well-stocked with her wild foraging. "What's'n't for me?" he asked, his gruff voice relatively soft for his size.
Alice sighed dramatically. "Why does everyone want something when I ask for a favor?" Cookie shrugged. Alice spotted an open bin and smiled internally. "How about I bring you some fresh potatoes tomorrow, and I take these sprouted ones off your hands?"
Cookie looked pleased with this trade, and nodded his head at the coffeepot. "Ten minutes." Alice returned a thumbs-up, starting her dig through the potato bin. She carefully examined the tubers, pulling out the green and sprouted potatoes that the cook couldn't use anyway.
"Can't believe the distributors send you food that's already bad…" Alice muttered darkly. "What good is that?"
"Better than nothing," Cookie replied gruffly. He checked the kettle briefly and brushed by Alice. "Told 'em to."
"What?" Alice cried, pausing in her potato picking. "Why? That means we get all the crap stuff!"
Cookie looked at Alice pointedly. She stared back, trying not to blink. Her eyes started to water, and Cookie chuckled as she broke eye contact with some rapid blinking. "I have you."
Alice blushed deeply at the compliment. "I might not always be around to forage for you," she added, trying to hide the heat in her face.
Cookie nodded, grunting. "True."
The mess tent fell silent as Alice resumed her potato-picking and Cookie returned his attention to the coffee. Alice shoved her prizes into an empty flour sack and hoisted it over her shoulder. "Thanks for the potatoes."
"Coffee's ready." Cookie unhooked the kettle from the iron structure over the fire, as Alice took a few tin cups and tucked them in the potato sack before accepting a cloth-wrapped handle for the kettle.
"Thanks, Cookie," Alice offered him her warmest smile and his mouth twitched up in his usual semblance of a fond grimace.
"Happy hunting."
"I assume these are yours," Thompson asked as Alice approached, gesturing with a pen to a group of six soldiers sitting along a bench at triage. He was also pointedly ignoring the funny looks said soldiers were making about the horse also in triage. Grani almost seemed like he was looking over Thompson's shoulder at the paperwork while the stalwart soldier tried to ignore him.
"Sure look like it," Alice agreed, setting down her potato sack to retrieve a tin cup. "Do we have any tents that are fairly empty? This isn't going to be terribly fun."
Thompson checked his charts as Alice poured him a cup of the promised coffee. "Well, the quarantine tent just discharged the last lice patient…"
"Perfect!" she grinned, handing him the cup. The collection of soldiers exchanged nervous looks.
Thompson took a hesitant sip of the exceedingly hot coffee, and his face twitched all over as the sludge passed his lips and he looked like he almost spat it out. "Good God, Alice – is this even still coffee?"
"Just add some water and you'll be fine. Come with me, gentlemen," Alice beckoned to her group as she stole a clipboard from Thompson's desk. She led them through the easiest path in camp; that is, the path that didn't involve crossing over open trenches via thin plywood in the dark of night. They shuffled along like good ducklings, her reputation alone giving them the confidence to let her lead.
"Grab a cot along the left side, fellas," Alice instructed, holding open the flap of the quarantine tent with her elbow, and the half-dozen dirty and dusty soldiers dutifully filed in. Alice used the first tent on the right as a place to dump her sack of potatoes, and found a shelf for the coffee.
Alice collected the names of her charges in order of rank, scribbling in what was fast becoming an illegible shorthand.
"Name?"
"Private Jones, Steven Roger."
"Name?"
"Private Erickson, John Henry, Ma'am."
"Name?"
"Private Small, Richard."
"Name?"
"Private Delaney, David Faust."
"Name?"
"Corporal Flynn, Alex Patrick."
Alice was still scribbling on her clipboard as she approached the last bed. "Name?" she asked.
"Sergeant Barnes, James Buchanan."
Alice nearly dropped her clipboard.
Roughly seventy years in the future….
"There's a name you should try to remember," Cable drawled, slicing an apple with an excessively large knife in the palm of his hand.
"Sure, but get your boots off my table first, you monster," Alice swatted at his feet.
His boots thudded to the floor. "You remember how I told you without Captain America, there's no Winter Soldier?"
Alice nodded, sitting down across from him. "What about it?"
Cable talked around a slice of apple, chewing between words. "The Winter Soldier was first one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, who served with Captain America during the War."
Alice shrugged a shoulder. "So… what?"
"So, if you happen to cross paths, make sure you don't fuck anything up." Cable pointed at her with his excessively large knife.
"Please," Alice flopped her hand around. "I'll just avoid him entirely."
Cable raised an eyebrow. "That's a little unrealistic."
"And how would you know?" Alice narrowed her eyes at him.
"None of your damn business," he drawled casually.
Alice glared at him, but Cable was unaffected. "What do I need to know?"
Cable leaned forward across the table. "Barnes will be experimented upon during his time as a Prisoner of War at Azzano, receiving an attempted super-soldier serum. This protects him when he falls from a freight car into a frozen river in 1945, and presumed dead by the U.S. Army."
"So… Barnes just has to make it to Azzano, and he'll be okay after that?" Alice clarified, her mind buzzing with information.
"Yes, but stay away from Azzano. There's no good place for a woman as a Prisoner of War."
Alice stirred her tea thoughtfully. "That doesn't explain the 'Winter Soldier' bit…"
"He's brainwashed and turned into an assassin for the Soviet Union during the Cold War," Cable supplied. "He'll do terrible things with spectacular ease on command, and he'll be rewarded with more torture. It will be the worst life imaginable."
"Ah." Her heart clenched. She averted her eyes. "That must have been a horrible life for him…" she mumbled. "He's born – what, 1916?"
"Seventeen," Cable corrected.
"So he was, what… thirty, when it started? More than half of his life as a brainwashed assassin." She looked up at Cable hopefully. "At least tell me the end was peaceful. Died in his sleep in the late eighties as an old, retired man with a Russian pension or something."
Cable said nothing.
Alice puffed out her cheeks irritably. "Fine, be an asshole."
Cable shook his head. "You don't want more details than that, trust me."
Alice tapped her nails on the mug. "Does it bother you? Knowing everything that's going to happen and not being able to change it?"
Cable was silent for a while, and Alice thought he wouldn't answer her at all. When he did speak, his voice was gentler than she was expecting. "Ghosts follow us all, Sigynsdottir." He sheathed his knife and finished off the apple. "Just keep an eye on the date. Wouldn't want to miss your window; you have a job to do that doesn't involve the Winter Soldier."
August 13th, 1943
Alice scrambled to catch the clipboard mid-air. "Sorry," she muttered. "Long night – too much coffee. How are we feeling tonight, Sergeant Barnes, James Buchanan?" She hadn't known what he would look like – it wasn't like Cable had appeared on her doorstep with a scrapbook.
He offered a hesitant smile. "Pretty crummy, since you're asking."
"Well, I think I can do something about that." She turned slightly so she could address all six men. "I'm sure it's been a rough few days, and the K-rations haven't helped much with the latrines, yeah?" They nodded. Alice continued, "It's going to be a rough night, but I promise I'll get you in fighting shape as soon as I can."
Alice retrieved a set of six tin cups as she continued to give instructions, pouring the strong coffee. "The latrines are just through the back of the tent," she nodded her head at the rear entrance of the tent. "If you feel the urge, don't wait for permission, just go."
"Is it true, Ma'am?" Her attention was drawn from the pour to Private Small's hopeful face. "Is what true, Private?"
He accepted the cup of coffee. "They say you're magic – a good witch."
Alice smiled kindly and shook her head. "No magic here, just good old-fashioned medicine."
He seemed disappointed, but drank the coffee at Alice's urging. "Drink up, everyone; with any luck this is all it takes to get everything moving again.
"And if it does?" Barnes asked.
Alice jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Latrine is that way – I'll be back in thirty or so to check on you."
Alice left the tent at a slightly faster pace than she intended, but she was certain it was still a reasonable pace for a busy nurse. She needed to get a breath of fresh air and shake off the buzzing sensation that had started to take over her hands. She needed to calm the ringing growing in her ears and the nausea bubbling in her stomach.
Alice hunched over at the waist as a sharp pain stabbed at her stomach, and heaved into a bucket. Her gut clenched again and she heaved once again into the bucket. Her eyes ran from the strain and her nose dribbled a little. Alice spat to clear her mouth and slowly stood straight again.
You can do this, she chanted in her head. He's just another patient.
A patient you have to keep alive so he can suffer more than any human can bear, a dark voice whispered back.
Alice flung her body forward and retched one more time into the bucket. Her hands shook as she gripped the sides, spitting again to clear her mouth.
Yeah, she agreed with the dark voice. But I have to.
It hurt her to acknowledge it. It hurt her to acknowledge her place in forging the path towards suffering, towards pain, and towards torture. It sizzled like a smoking coal in her stomach, blackening her insides and leaving her to rot. She would always be able to feel it, like a lingering demon living in her shadow; the taste of complicity.
Alice took a deep breath before righting herself. This time it stuck. She strode slowly across camp as her strength returned, and she rinsed her mouth with some water. She wished it had been a swig of bourbon. She rinsed the thin sheen of sweat from her face and straightened her hair, tucking pieces of her braid back into form.
She was remaking a mask, smoothing the rough edges with sandpaper and repainting vivid colors that had begun to chip away. She did so with the utmost care, ensuring that the façade was perfect beyond all inspection.
Ok, Alice thought, squaring her shoulders, let's go.
The coffee had taken care of Privates Jones, Small, and Delaney in her absence. Alice scratched their names from her clipboard.
Three down, three to go. "You fellas just lay back and try to get some rest, maybe drink some water," she instructed them, and they seemed more than happy to comply.
Alice regretfully decided it was time for the big guns. She retrieved her potato sack and pulled out one of the sprouted potatoes. She carefully trimmed away the shoots with a knife, and cut three thin slivers, each with a distinct green spot, from the potato. She would start with a small dose, very small, and increase as necessary.
"My Ma always told me not to eat green potatoes," Erickson said as he accepted the sliver of potato, the last of her three patients.
"You're about to find out why," Alice replied, retrieving three bedpans from a bin in the corner, just in case. She was intentionally withholding a thorough explanation of the toxins at work, for the soldiers' peace of mind. She watched all three of her remaining patients to ensure they ate the entire wedge.
Alice settled down to wait on a stool just outside the tent. She didn't have long to wait.
Erickson made it to the latrine.
Flynn didn't.
The smell was horrendous.
The sound was worse.
Alice re-entered the tent about fifteen minutes after she had given the first dose of potato, keeping a straight face as she took the very full bedpan to the latrine and poured it out for Flynn. He was red in the face as he passed her, clutching his stomach as he headed for the latrine himself.
Barnes looked on in horror.
Alice washed her hands thoroughly before retrieving the potato. "You must have quite the uncooperative system," Alice mused to Barnes as she cut off another sliver of potato.
"You stay the hell away from me with that thing," he declared, scrambling back against the head his cot.
"Sergeant Barnes," Alice sighed. "This isn't going to get better on its own. I promise after a night of unpleasantness has passed you will feel much better. There's nothing to be scared of here."
"I'd rather eat nails than that potato. And I ain't scared – I've just been watching all these other fellas shit their brains out and I'm telling you I ain't interested."
"That's fine," Alice shrugged, slipping the slice of potato into her apron pocket. "See you in a few days."
Bucky straightened up a bit, brow furrowing. "A few days? What happens in a few days?"
"Hmm? I thought you weren't interested?" Alice quirked an eyebrow.
"Don't try to be a funny dame, now tell me what happens," Barnes warned.
Alice glared. "It's Lieutenant, or Ma'am. And in a few days you'll be so stopped up that you'll be vomiting literal shit left and right."
The look of fear and horror that washed over his face made Alice instantly regret her harsh tone. She hadn't meant to strong-arm him, or force-feed him, but she could understand why he must have felt like she was backing him into a corner.
She sighed and shooed Barnes to the far end of the cot so she could sit next to him. "I apologize for trying to frighten you. I'm very concerned about how a limited diet of rations has affected you and your… latrine activities. It is very dangerous over long periods, but I just need you to trust that I know what I'm doing."
He looked suspicious.
Alice sighed, and launched into the detailed explanation she had been avoiding. "Green potatoes contain high concentrations of a toxin called solanine, which is produced when the potato is exposed to sunlight. Solanine poisoning can start as quickly as ten minutes after ingestion when given in high enough doses relative to body weight. Yes, I am poisoning you," Alice confirmed as he opened his mouth to ask, "I am doing it in a very strategic way to prevent you from dying."
Alice held his gaze, trying to will him to trust her. One hand was clutched around his stomach, but the other plucked at his trousers.
"…gimme the damn potato," he murmured.
Alice smiled appreciatively as she handed him the potato wedge. He hesitated, and Alice held it closer. Bucky groaned, accepting the slice of green potato. "You're not a witch, you're the goddamn Devil."
Alice squeezed his shoulder in comfort.
They waited together.
A/N: Well, it took TEN chapters, but they've finally met! I always knew that I wanted to establish Alice as a well-rounded PERSON before I introduced her to Bucky, but the method of introduction kept getting pushed back. My husband (being a military vet himself) was the one who suggested they meet under these… unflattering circumstances. I have NEVER in all of my fanfic reading EVER seen pairings meet like this. NEVER.
I hope you all loved it. I also can't begin to describe how much stalling went into this chapter.
Don't eat green potatoes.
Also – Cable is an information-withholding asshole. Does anyone think this might be problematic later?
Many thanks to my reviewers, it's what keeps me writing: WonderLoki, Guest, and Sanguinary Tide!
PLEASE REVIEW! (Chapters come out a lot faster if I keep getting notifications from the website that people like it enough to comment)