SUMMARY : You'd be surprised how much power you can have if you make the right request, Peggy'd said the last time they'd seen each other. They were helpful words, Becca's words calling him an asshole and asking what the hell was going on constantly, were not so much.
. . .
STEVE
. .
.
Things suddenly start moving very quickly. There's barked orders, engines starting up and telegrams firing out at inconceivable speeds. It's an confusing change of pace from the slow tense march of the last few days.
Just as quick as the crowd formed they disperse, war nurses shoving their way forwards with army doctors, and quickly and efficiently start herding the wounded and limping men into overcrowded tents. The rest are handed off to food tents or other outlying areas while camp quartermasters rush round trying to accommodate four hundred more men than they were expecting.
Peggy hovers close by among the men slapping each others backs, long enough to raise an eyebrow and jerk her head at Bucky. Steve manages to nod and smile at her; yes, this was his friend before Philips' bark of "Carter!" comes from somewhere unseen.
"I'll be back", she says, then tells him to get something to eat.
Bucky's shifting from foot to foot behind him, but successfully managing to avoid any nurses' searching hands. Steve says, "It's taken three days longer than I wanted it to, but we're getting you checked out. No arguments - come on." With that he grabs Bucky by the shoulder and physically steers him towards one of the medic tents.
To say it's hectic is an understatement - the place looks as though it was full before their march arrived - now it's pandemonium. It's rather awful, in all honesty.
"Join the line." A gruff looking doctor without a white coat, but with sleeves stained with blood up to the elbows, says to them - "If your walking you'll have to wait."
There's nothing to do but follow his orders this time, and following orders instead of giving them is a relief in itself. Bucky spends the entire time grumbling and arguing with him until another harried looking doctor - grey-haired and bearded - waves them over and hurriedly checks Bucky over in a dim-lit corner of the tent still standing. The man tries to morbidly joke about the five-star accommodation; "No beds let alone cubicles for you boys, only seems fair considering your not paying the fees. Only giving your lives for the country instead." He scoffs derisively at the end.
"Haven't ever had a hospital to compare it to doc, so don't sweat it." Bucky replies, grunting when the man runs his hands down the sides of his ribs.
Steve explains about the truck and the explosions in the firefight. Bucky's back is as tense as he's ever seen it the entire time. The man diagnoses Bucky with bruises and possibly a fractured rib all without taking his shirt off, and is about to send him on his way to Steve's dismay when he spots his elbows.
The doctor, while gruff in words is gentle-handed. Bucky still jerks his arms back like he's been scalded when the man goes to touch them. "Have you seen a doctor already, Sergeant?" The man looks half suspicious and half annoyed that they may have wasted his time. Steve answers the negative when it seems Bucky doesn't plan to. The doctor harrumphs, frowning, and Bucky kicks Steve behind his back when he opens his mouth to explain the marks. He remembers Bucky's scabby feet layered in dried blood and clicks his teeth together without fully understanding why he is. The man asks for Bucky's name to check off his list and lets them leave with little to no fanfare - already onto the next patient.
It's all a little anti-climatic than what Steve was expecting, and he's a little lost when he walks back out into the sunlight. Before he has a chance to turn back round Peggy appears from nowhere, "Have you eaten?"
"Um," Steve splutters inexpertly. "Not - Not yet."
"I told you to eat."
"I was -" he motions behind him to the tent when he catches sight of the sun, and realizes and hour or so must have passed in the time they were waiting to be seen.
"Ah." Peggy replies, understanding. "I suppose that explains it, I can't imagine it's roses and daises in there." Without preamble she leans past him to look at Bucky, whose no doubt judging every poorly conceived word out of his mouth - speaking to his friend for the first time. "Have you at least been seen, Sergeant?"
"All clear, ma'm." He answers, putting on a brave and an as always effective smile when Steve glances back at him.
"Good. Well get something to eat quickly. We fly out in just under an hour."
"Fly out? Where?"
"London. Your report will need to be heard by more than just us here - you've caused quite a stir."
For a good few moments Steve can't think of anything else to say other than; "That was quick." Bucky subtly pokes him in the back in a way that his disappointment is evident.
"Intelligence of this extravagance normally is." Peggy answers without a beat. "I'll see you at the gate in twenty minutes, I can't push it any longer if we want to make it to the airfield in time."
"Right okay, yes I can-No wait--" He quickly backtracks, hand going automatically to where his friend is stood. He can't just leave. Not when-
"Several hundred of the POWs are getting flown out as well for debrief." Peggy interrupts, her eyes kind but words professional. "I'll ensure Sgt. Barnes is on the first plane with you."
Steve sighs out, hoping his sincerity is evident. "Thank you, Agent Carter."
She nods at him, already turning. "Twenty minutes, Captain. I expect you not to be late this time."
. . .
An hour later Steve's boarding a small plane, hastily eaten bread and stew sitting heavy in his stomach, with several officers, Peggy and about twenty of the prisoners he freed.
Apparently there's two much larger planes flying in at unspecified times tomorrow and the day after for the rest of them once the remaining officers have determined whose accounts hold the most relevance to the Allied brass in London. That Bucky's on the plane with him now, to anyone who isn't them or Peggy is quite simply pure dumb luck; and Steve has to consider again how many pockets she has a hold on and how she got to where she is. He's more impressed with every moment that passes. When she straps herself and an army pack in diagonal to the them, Bucky grunts and mutters, "Agent, huh?" under his breath. He promptly passes out next to Steve ten minutes into the flight, having been fighting sleep since getting in the truck on the way to the airfield. After a while Steve decides to try and join him, but finds once again he can't; too riled up for what might be coming in London.
Now he's not going to the city to preach and dance for the woman, but no children, with the USO tour he has no idea what to expect. He sighs out harshly, staring at the ceiling of the cargo plan and listening to the engine rumbling behind his skull.
"He looks comfy."
His head switches to the side quickly, barely concealing his slight jump at Peggy's voice. Everyone else around them, bar Philips and the pilots who are muttering to themselves at the front, seem to be sleeping; but Peggy's watching him with an eyebrow raised.
Clearing his throat he glances to the side to see Bucky has slumped further down in his seat, head leaning against the strap of his seat-belt and half into Steve. His mouth's hanging open, and for the first time since Krausberg, he's not twitching in his sleep. He huffs out a laugh, half grinning at Peggy.
"Figures it would be on the loudest plane journey that he finally lets himself go." He answers.
Peggy sets aside a file filled with random words and symbols - and the code she seems to be deconstructing vertically down the side of it - closing it tightly before Steve can read it upside down. "I for one would say our plane journey was far louder."
Steve has to give her that. "True. This is definitely an improvement from flying through German-held airspace."
Peggy's eyes flash with a smile before she glances at Bucky when he half shivers in his seat. "Does he normally look so terrible?"
Steve glances at Bucky sadly, "Not normally no."
"What did the camp doctor say?" Peggy asks, kind but shrewd. So subtly that Steve almost misses it, her eyes flick down to Bucky's now covered elbows and bruised neck, and a older circular burn on his collarbone Steve knows comes from a cigarette.
She, like Steve, knows better than to believe his "all clear, ma'm." The difference is while Steve's knowledge comes from fourteen years of friendship, hers comes from trained awareness. Close to a hundred thoughts fly through his head in the seconds before he answers, half the truth and half lies. She, in many ways is far more trustworthy than the camp doctor, and she's more knowledgeable when it comes to Hydra and the serum. She was the one who orchestrated Erskine's escape from Hydra and refugee in the US after all. She knows more about the situation than anyone which could be both a good thing and a bad thing - because she would know what it means if Hydra did perfect their version of the serum.
Steve can only hope that all of the Hydra doctor's research, whoever he is, was destroyed in the explosion with the rest of the factory. He hopes to god Bucky may be his only conceivable advance in it, if that is even what he is, whether his friend does realize it or not. But what will it mean if he is?
"Badly bruised and malnourished, but mostly just exhausted. " He answers instead, like he did with the doctor, but admits, "he wasn't in a good state when I found him."
She nods, "With any luck he'll be recovered soon. I'm glad you found him alive Steve - though you certainly kept us waiting."
"It's a long story, but I suppose I'll have to save it for the debrief?"
She nods again.
He can't help but ask. "I didn't get you in too much trouble, did I?"
She smirks at him, a subtle quirk of her lips, "Nothing I couldn't handle."
"Of that I have no doubt."
She raises an eyebrow at him, "Well now, that almost sounded like a compliment."
"It might have-yes. It definitely was." He can feel himself flushing a little, but she's definitely smiling now, of that he's sure.
She reopens her file and rests it on a crossed leg at an angle to hide the page from him. "You've improved, you know, the fourth time round."
"I'm sorry?"
"At speaking to women. You're much better at speaking to them than you were in that taxi. If nothing else Senator Brandt's tour has improved your confidence."
Steve blushes again, and tries to paste the charming grin he watched Bucky perfect in the mirror when they were seventeen on his face. "After you've spent hours in the dressing rooms of twenty women complaining about holes in their pantyhose and how to find that perfect shade of red you tend to realize they're not as scary as you thought they were."
Peggy chuckles, and marks something off on her paper. "I've heard that and much worse in my childhood; men will probably never grasp the conversations that go on in an all-girls school."
"Dirtier jokes?"
"Oh definitely. Much more than you will have heard in you Catholic School."
"I can imagine," he can't help but add, "from some of the stuff I heard when they forgot I was in the room."
Peggy smiles and hums, looking down at her paper still. "I'll bet." She adds quietly, focused, then huffs in disbelief, scribbling on the page. "It's like their not even trying." She mutters under her breath.
She continues scribbling, pen on paper, pleased but almost annoyed that she's broken whatever code is on the page so easily. She likes challenges, Peggy Carter does; he can tell. She's not one to take the easy route out. He waits until she seems to be finished.
"Peg-Agent Carter?"
She glances up, "Yes Steve?"
"I hope you don't mind me asking, but, what exactly should I expect in London?"
She lowers her pen back down to give him her full attention again. "From the Generals and the Officers - probably somewhat like your expecting - harsh questions with clear answers; ones that will undoubtedly grate at you. You mustn't let them get at you. Answer honestly, most importantly. These men have done this a hundred times before and the debrief will last hours - and there will probably be more than one. If you lie, they will find out. Not that I expect you will," She faces him again.
"I won't soften it for you Steve, it'll be exhausting; they will question every decision and choice you made and make you feel as though you made the wrong one. Remain firm, but respectful in your conviction -don't doubt yourself, and with any luck you'll be out in time before last call."
Steve huffs, pleased and grateful for her honesty. "I think a bed is more of a priority than a whisky at the end of the night Agent Carter."
Mildly, she adds, "As for the politicians; just imagine Senator Brandt on steroids and a room of them at that. I'm sure you'll get the picture."
He grimaces, "I have to expect more of that too?"
She gives him a look. "You rescued four hundred men, Steve; walked sixty miles with them back to safety and returned with what will be invaluable technology and intel on the Nazi's Scientific Division. You're a hero. I'd damn well say you should get used to it."
"I didn't bring down that entire factory on my own-"
"-That's not what I heard-"
"-I didn't. And I didn't win those firefights in my own either, it was a team effort. And there were casualties."
"There are always casualties."
Steve's head snaps back up at her words, and seeing it, she seems to soften her tone. "It's harsh but true. We're at war. I am sorry you lost those men though, I'm sure you did everything you could."
"What if it wasn't enough?"
"I thought I already told you to keep your conviction. Don't doubt yourself, if you do you'll never be able to sleep. You did everything you could, Steve."
"You haven't heard my report yet," he argues, almost feebly. How many men has he killed in the last week? One, ten, twenty - more?
"I don't need to." Peggy replies without a beat, and unclips herself from her seat to head towards Philips with her broken code. "I have faith, and I'm rarely wrong."
.
. . .
.
"Are we there yet?"
"Nearly."
They touch down at exactly noon, and are immediately hurried off board, and then taken by bus across the city. Bucky numbly follows him from the plane to the bus, still half asleep. He comes to more when he spies Big Ben and lines of lines of barrage balloons in the sky through the window, and asks about the girls. For a hot, inexplicable second, Steve goes blank on who the girls are, then almost smacks himself. He tells Bucky about Becca's secret fella' she was keeping quiet, which at first he thinks is a bold faced lie.
"What's his name?"
"So you can go warn him off?"
"No-Yes."
Steve rolls his eyes. "I'd like to see you try and give him the shovel talk all the way over the Pacific, pal."
He relays Lily's request, again, to send any European bird feathers he finds over for her collection and finds out Buck never got her letter or Steve's last two.
"Last one I got from you was written in August and I couldn't read half of that 'cause the ink had run." Bucky's voice, while now clear and awake, is dead to the ears. He only truly comes back to himself when Steve mentions the condolence letter sent out, at which point he jerks out his seat.
"I know. I know." Steve quickly jumps in, "But it was probably only just sent out, we'll send our own as soon as we can, it won't be long. I know." He keeps repeating it, because he does know; he remembers what it was like to get George Barnes letter of death, sealed and stamped. He remembers Winfred Barnes knocking on their door at one in the afternoon, tear tracks on her cheeks and the twins hugged tight to her.
Bucky ends his spiral rather quickly considering, sagging back into his seat. "I forgot about the letters, how could I forget about the letters?" He seems quietly distraught about it in a way Steve hasn't seen before - and bus ride finishes in a silence that isn't quite comfortable anymore.
Peggy taps him on the shoulder as he goes to stand with the others and motions for him to stay seated. "We have another stop yet. You'll be brought back here when we're done."
Bucky won't quite look him in the eye as he shuffles past Steve's knees to leave the bus, and with Peggy standing at his shoulder - he's not quite sure what to say as his friend walks away and is handed a winter coat. The armed guard returns to his position at the head of the bus; Peggy takes a new seat behind him, and the engine rumbles into movement. Steve slides into Bucky's previous spot and watches London's landmarks flitting into vision between the white washed buildings of Wimbledon. Now that he's looking properly, he realizes this is not as picturesque as the quiet American cities he's been to. London is bustling with people still, but every third building or so there is a pile of rubble or empty space. There are women and older men sweeping bricks, dust and broken glass off the main streets, and a milkman finishing his rounds, climbing over a pile of rubble under a crumbling archway. There's stacks and stacks of sandbags atop one other everywhere, and armed soldiers standing at attention. There's posters dotted on the buildings and bus stops, 'KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON' blazoned across the front of them.
A lone paper boy has made himself taller by four feet, stood on the base of a statue missing it's head and chest, yelling about Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin at the Tehran conference, paper in hand. Everyone, quite literally it seems, is stubbornly carrying on in the devastation.
"It's not quite like New York is it?" Peggy comments from behind him.
He huffs out a breath. He knew, but clearly he didn't know. "New York isn't getting bombed every night... But everyone seems to be-"
"Carrying on as normal? Stubborn British pride, not much else to it." Peggy explains, "It is different though, than how it used to be. The first bomb was dropped three years ago, and before you knew it they were everywhere, indiscriminate. We're still recovering from the worst of Blitz now, years later, and every-time there's progress they drop another hundred or so." Peggy sighs, "I worry sometimes, that we'll get so accustomed to bunkers and blackouts that eventually we forget what we used to be."
Steve looks back at her, and from her face can see she's just admitted to a worry she'd normally keep private. He feels like he needs to honour the trust she's just unwittingly counted him in. He replies, soft but sincere. "If all the British are as stubborn and strong as you, then I have faith they won't."
He seems to have said something of the right thing as Peggy looks at him out of the corner of her eye, then she smiles. "Well that was a sly one."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Agent."
"Captain."
Before he can say anything else the bus lurches to a stop in gridlocked traffic, and Peggy and Philips stand.
"We might as well get off here, we're not far." Philips says briskly then strides off the bus, pack in hand. Steve jumps to his feet quickly to catch up and match their pace. They turn a corner quickly and purposefully onto a wider street, under a hanging Union Jack and cross the road so their march is lined by a long classical building. Steve's costume gains several looks, even under the jacket.
Right as they begin to descend several stairs, Steve asks from behind, "We're not far from where exactly?"
"Churchill's War Rooms, Rodgers. Do keep up." Philips informs him brusquely, and Steve falters a step in shock as the Colonel immediately turns at the base of the stairs and knocks, rapid fire, on an unassuming door in the brickwork.
He blinks, dumbfounded, as it opens outward to reveal an British MP. Now that he looks, there's armed guards across and down the street, at attention but clearly aimed towards the now open passage. Philips flashes him his credentials immediately. "They're expecting us. They're with me; both of them. Agent Margaret Carter and….Captain Steven Rodgers, SSR." He turns back to Steve as he waves Carter in first, and almost seems to grin. "Be mighty glad the Bulldog is busy in Tehran, Rodgers, he's a tough man to please. Even for the man of the hour. Get in."
.
. . .
.
"Anything else you wish to add to your account, Rodgers?"
"No sir. I believe I've answered everything as accurately as I can. The bases I saw on the map - I don't know if you need me to…"
"We have the general locations, we'll have you lay them on a map in due course. And all the equipment you recovered has been handed over?" The British official asks him from the end of the table.
"Yes Sir."
"Everything Captain Rodgers had on his person was handed over to Allied SSR personnel at 11:05 hours, I have the paperwork to verify that here." Peggy pipes up, and slides documentation across the table. "All other recovered items from the mission-"
(That's what they're classing it as, to the press and otherwise. Officially the rescue of Krausberg was approved and sanctioned by Allied collaboration and not a half-baked adventure by his truly.)
"-not able to be securely transported was seized at the Paularo unit base. We're still waiting for a final breakdown to be telegrammed over but we have it under authority that an enhanced tank, grenades and several altered firearms have been recovered."
The third man from the right, whose directly under Churchill apparently, harrumphs. "Good. In that case I can confirm the interview of Captain Steven Grant Rodgers on the matter of Operation Shield is concluded. The time is 23:16 on the sixteenth of November 1943." The man stands and sharply straightens his paperwork with a tap tap; everyone follows suit to stand. "Very good men. Rodgers; we'll be in touch." He strides out, then turns at the door. "And Rodgers?"
"Yes sir?"
"Good work, son."
He leaves out another exit than he arrived at, out onto a new street he doesn't recognize from the journey here. Peggy Carter leads him out the maze of underground corridors once he's been searched on exit as he had on entry.
They're awfully close to being in complete darkness, the entire city in blackout. As he blinks and his eyes adjust he can just about see the faint moonlight reflecting off the windows onto the cobbled pavement and can spy the sides of barrage balloons hidden in the clouds. Around the corner of two streets a black car pulls up with it's lights dimmed, and Peggy bids him goodbye and goodnight.
"You're not-"
"Not yet. I have a few things to-well, you understand."
He nods, "Of course."
"You've been lodged into a small hotel for the night until other accommodation can be found. The driver will take you there directly. Another car will be sent tomorrow, likely in the morning. Get some sleep, Steve."
"I will, ma'm."
When he arrives at the small hotel, family owned, he's lead down a narrow corridor and up two flights of stairs by candle light. He's exhausted and desperately needs a wash. Stripping out of his jacket and costume, he wipes the dirt off his face and hands, and finally is able to relieve himself following the ten and a half hour underground interview. A pair of slacks and several shirts have been left folded on a chair for him and he's infinitely relieved to escape from his sweaty USO costume tomorrow. The room's slightly musty, and someone's opened the window a crack to air it out behind the closed curtains. He slides it fully shut out of habit to avoid catching a chill; looking out onto the back and side of the building. There's candle light still on in the window across from him, and Bucky's sat on the sill with a glass of water; watching him.
Steve catches his eyes and mouths, "go to bed."
Bucky nods across the space and disappears. The light of the candle blows out.
.
. . .
.
In the morning before he leaves he knocks on the room he thinks is Bucky's. Listening with his ear to the door, there's silence on the other end. Eventually he hears shifting as Bucky must turn over in bed, but nothing further. He leaves Bucky to sleep and is returned to the War Rooms for another day of invasive interviews and rigorous reports. The best part of his day is when they settle him in front of a typewriter for several hours before he finishes, so he has some semblance of quiet.
He glimpses Philips briefly throughout the day but he doesn't see Peggy at all. At the end of the underground day under sun lamps he isn't returned to the hotel; instead he's taken far from the city to a base somewhere in Surrey. Immediately he recognizes several of the men that were on the first plane with he and Bucky, and several who weren't. They all must have been flown out of Italy, he thinks, almost certain when he spies a bowler hat in the distance. He's given private officers quarters, and there's a full dress uniform with a Captain's rank already pinned to the lapel in his size.
No more pretending; he's a real solider now.
.
. . .
.
DATE RECIEVED: 21ST NOVEMBER 1943
WAR & NAVY DEPARTMENT
V-MAIL SERVICE
(PRINT THE COMPLETE ADDRESS IN PLAIN LETTERS IN THE PANEL BELOW, AND YOUR RETURN ADDRESS IN THE SPACE PROVIDED ON THE RIGHT. USE TYPEWRITER, DARK INK, OR DARK PENCIL. PAINT OR SMALL WRITING IS NOT SUITABLE FOR PHOTOGRAPHING.)
[CENSOR STAMP -REDACTED]
TO: REBECCA BARNES FROM: CPT. STEVEN RODGERS
3421 45 HILLREST ST. NEW JERSEY
DATE: 16TH NOVEMBER 1943
Becca,
There's a lot to explain, and a lot I haven't told you when we've been writing. But it's important. If it hasn't already reached you or them then I need you to You need to go to your ma's house and don't start with me here about it. Go to your ma's. There's a telegraph going to come saying Buck's missing or killed in action. Calm down, it's wrong.
I have him. He's with me. He's-he's not okay but he's in one piece. He's going to write you too- but- the letter was already sent out. You need to tell them that it's wrong.
I'll send you another letter in the Postal not the V - I'll try to explain as much as I can. I don't know how much will go through censorship or-I'll get someone to come by if it doesn't work.
If you need to write back send it to me at Tweedsmuir Camp, Surrey, Great Britain.
Talk soon.
Go to your ma's Becca, I mean it.
Steve
.
. . .
.
In the evenings he speaks to Bucky and the other men who have arrived from Italy for a duty break; his friend quiet and dishevelled while the others are boisterous, but he seems to be more himself the more days that pass. In the daytimes, he speaks to more officers, more politicians, and Howard Stark (who's also appeared with a plane full of Hydra equipment) - the Captain's rank weighting heavy on his shoulders. He's told he's been nominated for a medal of valour, and while he's proud, it's another stage ceremony he could do without.
Peggy's gone for a week and a half with no word before she reappears with tired eyes, bruises on her arms and more intel. By the end of that first week, he starts hearing rumours he's going to be given a team - Hydra their target.
.
. . .
.
Peggy comes to him one evening, slipping in to take a seat across from him in the mess. Steve's spooning beans and potatoes into his mouth with one hand and looking over personnel files with the other.
"I see you've heard a rumour." She says as greeting.
He glances at her with a smile. "A convenient copy of a correspondence between Philips and General Mackenzie found it's way under my pillow."
She hums, feigning innocence, humming as she sips her water.
You'd be surprised how much power you can have if you make the right request, she'd said the last time they'd seen each other.
"What do you mean?" He'd asked.
"Play the political game," She'd answered, "I'm sure you already know how with Senator Brandt. Subtlety is key." She'd then said, disappearing behind a filing cabinet.
Peggy begins tearing apart a bread roll with her fingers, scattering crumbs all over the table before beginning to chew; uncommon for her usually so controlled nature. "Ask about Dernier first - he's foreign but both our countries are very fond of their Resistance fighters. Stress the explosive expertise. Corporal Morita, you know, was already part of a special covert audio deception unit. Did you-know, I mean?"
Steve nods.
"Good. And of course I'd imagine you'll ask for Jones. I've rarely seen someone so gifted with languages and ciphers and I should know, I studied them in Bletchley before Enigma was developed. Approach his suggest carefully though, I'm sure I don't need to tell you why."
Steve frowns, unhappy about it, but has to agree. He has a feeling that's where the most resistance will come in. "I understand. And Falsworth, I want him too." He adds, who's a thinker, albeit one whose prone to peppering his everyday speech with abstruse quotations - a flotsam of his university years. And that's not forgetting his extensive airborne experience. "I have a soft spots for Brits, I guess." He then dares to say, and smiles quickly at the warm, pleased look she gives him back.
"His university's patronage is considered rather liberal, actually, if your interested."
"Yeah." Steve says to her mused comment, glad his attempt at flirting was taken well. "We talked about socialism a little." Peggy knows he's a liberal from the fight he got staff duty for in Basic when Hodge made a very poorly timed comment regarding civil rights.
"Hm." Peggy considers, concealing a smile and probably remembering the long agonizing night he had to spend following Lt. Fisher around. "Who else?"
"Well, Bucky of course, and Dugan. He saw a lot in Africa, knows a thing or two, and he's been serving for years before."
Peggy stands, her bread roll finished. "It seems like you don't need my help after all, Captain. Enjoy your meal."
.
. . .
.
"And I want the unit to be, well, you," Steve says, "and Dugan, Gabe, Morita, Falsworth and Dernier. Us seven. And Peggy and Howard would be involved, but it'd be us on the ground."
Bucky, slumped against the back wall of a booth in a shady pub a mile from the base in Surrey with a double whisky in his hands, raises an eyebrow.
Continuing straight on, almost defensively Steve adds. "I'm not doing it if I can't pick my team."
"They won't say yes. Not all of them at least and not Philips. Dugan and Jones maybe. Okay, Dugan probably, he can't help himself at the best of times but…"
"I've been talking to them-"
"They might not all say yes. They don't want to go back. " Bucky argues again, even knowing as he does that they'll probably all be sent back anyway.
"That's okay." Steve replies mildly. "But I think they might. They're a good group of guys. Besides they might be more persuadable with a couple of pints down them. And leave Philips to me."
.
. . .
.
"What about you?" Steve asks after a while, chewing the side of his cheek straight afterwards. "And I understand if you don't want to come. I do…You can say no. But, what are you thinking?"
Bucky doesn't answer him, and Steve backtracks.
"You don't have to decide right now." He adds quickly.
"Maybe." Bucky says after pausing long enough to make Steve sweat, and leaves to relieve himself round back.
.
. . .
.
"This one was here in Poland. Near the Baltic…and the sixth one was….about…" he leans forward with his pencil closer to the map, "here. Thirty or forty miles west of the Marginal Line. I just got a quick look." He adds as the aide takes the map away.
Peggy, who's leaning against the table quips, "Well nobody's perfect."
As they turn together Howard appears from behind them under an arch. "Hey, hang on. Aren't you supposed to be picking up a medal right now?"
"I've decided," He replies, looking at Peggy who sends him a small amused smile. "I'm officially off the press circuit."
"Rodgers." Philips now calls, joining the group. "You just embarrassed a United States Senator in front of a room full of reporters and ten members of Parliament."
Shame, Steve thinks unrepentantly.
Then Philips laughs, "You deserve a medal just for that." He says, then hands him a notebook. Steve smiles back, finally feeling like he's getting somewhere with the man. The Colonel turns to Stark whose turning a rectangular device glowing with blue light in his fingers. It's not one of his inventions. "You figure out what that is yet?"
"Well if you believe Rodgers it's the most powerful explosive known to man."
It is.
"If?" Steve shoots back almost sharply at the supposed sarcasm.
Howard looks a little startled that he's been called on it, but looks at him seriously.
"Well either you're wrong, or Schmidt's rewritten the laws of Physics."
.
. . .
.
DATE RECIEVED: 25TH NOVEMBER 1943
WAR & NAVY DEPARTMENT
V-MAIL SERVICE
(PRINT THE COMPLETE ADDRESS IN PLAIN LETTERS IN THE PANEL BELOW, AND YOUR RETURN ADDRESS IN THE SPACE PROVIDED ON THE RIGHT. USE TYPEWRITER, DARK INK, OR DARK PENCIL. PAINT OR SMALL WRITING IS NOT SUITABLE FOR PHOTOGRAPHING.)
[CENSOR STAMP -CLEARED]
TO: CPT. STEVEN RODGERS FROM: JOSAPHINE RICHARDS
TWEEDSMUIR MILITARY CAMP, SURREY
DATE: 19TH NOVEMBER 1944
Steve Rodgers,
You complete and utter turd! Do you have any idea how worried the girls and I have been? We thought you were dead!
But apparently not - you're alive and a great big hero. Brandt says you're not coming back and the tours cancelled. We've already left Europe and are on our way back in the States, we were gone from camp one day after you took off into the wind. On another show now. The usual propaganda dances.
Heard you were London. Have you got your wish? Are you part of the war now? It was so fucking stupid Steve! Urgh! I am so angry at you.
You better write me back you reckless shithead or I'll come back over there and thwack you into next week. I hate you so much for scaring me.
Josie Richards
.
. . .
.
The markings on his map have been added to the one in the centre of the bunker in wooden factory sculptures and flags. The expectation is clear. Steve begins.
.
. . .
.
"These are the weapons factories we know about. Sergeant Barnes said that Hydra shipped all the parts to another facility that isn't on this map."
"Agent Carter, coordinate with MI5. I want every Allied eyeball looking for that main Hydra base."
"What about us?"
"We are going to set a fire under Johann Schmidt's ass. What do you say Rodgers, you drew a map, do you think you can wipe Hydra off it?"
"Yes sir." Steve replies immediately. "I'll need a team."
"We're already putting together the best men."
"With all due respect sir, so am I."
.
. . .
.
"Half of these men aren't in the US Army, Rodgers."
"Last time I checked the SSR was an Allied organization, not an American one." Steve rebuffs automatically.
"One of them's Black."
"Yes sir."
"You are aware there are segregation laws in effect?"
"I am sir, but with all due respect-"
"-Why do I feel like I'm going to be hearing that every day for the foreseeable future?" Philips mutters.
"-we're fighting against an enemy using technology that is quite literally out of this world. And Hitler on another front, in charge of a government who's committing war crimes against the Jewish race. In all honesty, with what it takes to win this fight it shouldn't matter what colour skin I have fighting beside me. Gabe Jones is skilled, speaks three languages fluently and was one of the few who stood out. I trust him. I don't want anyone else."
There's a silence, then Peggy says.
"A black man standing side by side with Captain America," she muses, "That might rub our German friends up the wrong way, don't you think?" Philips turns to stare at her, as she casually comments. "Just an observation."
"I'll push it through, god help me."
"Thank you, sir."
"I better not get demoted for this, Rodgers."
"You won't regret it."
.
. . .
.
Bucky's eyes slowly begin to loose the bruised look of sleep deprivation, though they stay shadowed under the floppy fringe of hair that still makes Steve blink twice to see - so used to Bucky with Brylcream; Bucky with a satin sheen to him and Bucky with a sharp collar and polished shoes. He's not used to Bucky with scruff and eyes that still seem sunk too deep, cheekbones that stand out, and a quietness that is untoward for him. It makes him want to throw Bucky into bed until he sleeps, or hug him until he calls Steve a 'big soggy lump' and starts making fun of him again. There's been happy and sweet moments, but there's also been moments when Bucky hasn't laughed at inside jokes that would have had him on the floor before.
.
. . .
.
DATE RECIEVED: 29TH NOVEMBER 1943
WAR & NAVY DEPARTMENT
V-MAIL SERVICE
(PRINT THE COMPLETE ADDRESS IN PLAIN LETTERS IN THE PANEL BELOW, AND YOUR RETURN ADDRESS IN THE SPACE PROVIDED ON THE RIGHT. USE TYPEWRITER, DARK INK, OR DARK PENCIL. PAINT OR SMALL WRITING IS NOT SUITABLE FOR PHOTOGRAPHING.)
[CENSOR STAMP - [CLEARED]
TO: CPT. STEVEN RODGERS FROM: REBECCA BARNES
TWEEDSMUIR MILITARY CAMP, SURREY
21TH NOVEMBER 1943
Rodgers,
Everything was blacked out in the post, what the fuck is going on?
It didn't explain a shittin' thing. I talked to them. I got there a hour after the messenger boy came with the telegram. The neighbours were round. The girls are calm now, but quiet.
What the fuck is going on?
Becca
.
. . .
.
"What about you, you ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?"
"Hell, no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight, I'm following him."
.
. . .
.
DATE RECIEVED: 8TH OF DECEMBER 1943
WAR & NAVY DEPARTMENT
V-MAIL SERVICE
(PRINT THE COMPLETE ADDRESS IN PLAIN LETTERS IN THE PANEL BELOW, AND YOUR RETURN ADDRESS IN THE SPACE PROVIDED ON THE RIGHT. USE TYPEWRITER, DARK INK, OR DARK PENCIL. PAINT OR SMALL WRITING IS NOT SUITABLE FOR PHOTOGRAPHING.)
[CENSOR STAMP - [REDACTED]
TO: REBECCA BARNES FROM: CPT. STEVEN RODGERS
3421 45 HILLREST ST. NEW JERSEY
DATE:29TH NOVEMBER 1943
Becca,
Okay, I'll try and send someone from the [BLACK BLACK] to come talk to you. I'm working on getting it cleared, might be able to pull in a favour.
We're in London, we're building a team. I can't tell you for what, it's complicated.
If you want to write send it to this P.O box in London. It'll go into a locker for us to pick up whenever we touch down in London, or will be forwarded to us. Buck's is the same. We're going to [BLACK BLACK BLACK]for training.
Steve
.
. . .
.
…Lorraine kisses him between the shelves, Peggy fires three bullets at him. He gets a new shield.
.
. . .
.
The day before they leave for Achnacarry for short, but intense commando training, he's pulled away from putting the satisfying final touches to his last report.
Steve follows the aide across the camp and deep into the office bunkers. He's led to a familiar room, and the aide waves him in and closes the door firmly behind him. Peggy and Colonel Philips are the only ones in the room, which is a change; the Colonel looking perpetually grim-faced. Peggy's stood to the side, face studiously blank.
"Colonel. Agent Carter." Steve greets politely, saluting. He wonders what this is about. Philips' eyes twitch, but otherwise stay almost stone-like as he lets the moment stretch too long and Peggy glances at him before telling Steve to sit in the lone chair facing the Colonel.
Philips still says nothing, just stares at him in a way that reminds him uncomfortably of Camp Leigh. Steve tries not to shift, "Am I here to give another report, sir?"
Peggy is the one who replies, and even she seems grimmer than usual. Philips remains ever still, right eye twitching. She starts, "Of a type. Captain Rodger-"
Philips cuts her off as though he can't contain himself any longer. "When, if ever, did you plan to mention that Sergeant Barnes came from Hydra's Isolation Lab!? Or were you planning on keeping that particular information to yourself forever?"
Oh.
With a start, any words Steve had ready are silenced.
How does he even answer that?
I was going to tell you, even though he's not entirely sure he would have.
I didn't think it was important, even though he absolutely knows it is.
I was worried you wouldn't clear him for the commandos, and I need him with me and in my sight if I'm going to do this. I can't have him back on the front line alone.
I was trying to protect him.
Instead, what comes out is: "H..How?"
Philips harrumphs, angrily and bitterly. "So it is true then."
Steve blinks again, a dumbfounded look on his face as he realizes he's just confirmed what was only a suspicion. Philips is furious. Peggy, the more he looks at her, is somewhere in-between that and disappointment.
"A camp doctor on duty the morning you returned to camp reported he examined Sergeant Barnes and noticed puncture marks, the level of which he's only seen in severe opium addicts, and several signs of collapsed veins. And while none of the men you recovered could have been considered sanitary, the doctor makes a point of expressing Barnes' standard. Something which didn't escape my notice as well." Peggy explains flatly, "That report was followed by a Private reporting to his surviving Sergeant that another Sergeant on the march back helped lift part of a turned-over truck off him during a firefight. When questioned further, he identified Sergeant Barnes."
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Peggy looks down at the notes in her hands. "Major Falsworth, your new Tactical Airborne Expert, when questioned this morning admitted to me, likely without realizing the significance, that you deliberately headed to the Isolation ward in the factory, and when you returned you had Barnes with you. Confrontation with the Red Skull not withstanding."
Fuck.
"How long was he in that isolation lab?" She demands as Steve tries to heave in a calming breath.
"I don't know exactly."
Philips snaps, "Don't lie to us, boy."
"I'm not." Steve says, even though he is. "I'm not sure how long….he wasn't with the others in the cages when I released them, and when they mentioned there was an Isolation Ward I….I went out on a limb. I didn't think I would find him at all at that point, but-"
"But you did." Peggy says.
Steve nods, closing his eyes for a moment. He can't keep lying, not when they've thoroughly caught him out. "He was strapped to a table - that's why the doctor got away - I heard Bucky mumbling his name and serial number - so I went that way instead."
"Tortured?"
"Yes….I think so, sir."
"Drugged?"
Steve frowns, then has to admit. "That too. I don't know with what exactly, but it took him a few moments to recognize me. He was in and out of it for the first day or two of the march back."
"You should have reported it. In your very first interview." Peggy bites out, "Did you really think we wouldn't find out?"
"No. I just…I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry." He apologizes, looking them both in the eye.
Peggy looks back down at the reports, head shaking. "Unfortunately the camp doctor didn't do a thorough or even close to a full examination - that will need to be corrected. Blood taken too."
"Agent Carter-" Steve tries to protest.
She slams a picture down on the table instead of letting him speak. It's a surveillance photograph dated late 1941. "This the doctor you saw with Schmidt?"
Steve's eyes catch on the pictures. The face, the glasses, the receding hairline.
"That's him."
"Armin Zola." Peggy informs him, looking at him dead on now. The disgust must have bled through the shock in his voice. "He has PHDs in Engineering and Bio-chemistry. He became Schmitt's go to scientist in technology and bio-enhancement after Erksine's removal."
"I'm sure your smart enough to know what that means, Rodgers. If you think Johann-goddamn-Schmitt will have stopped his crusade to create another Nazi-super-mutant you've got another thing coming." Philips snaps. "If he experimented on Barnes-"
"I understand sir. I do." Steve tries to stop the spiral before it starts. "And as I said, I'm sorry."
"Apologies don't do jack in war. You know what does? Protocol. Information. Honesty." Philips lists, "That's the last time you ever lie to this administration, do you understand me?!"
"Yes sir." He replies again, conceding and contrite. "I'll go get-"
"Barnes is already on route, we don't ass about here. I want blood and a full physical done in an hour." Philips orders sharply, standing. "Then get him into interrogation. We need to know what he told them."
Steve bristles at that almost immediately, "He didn't tell him anything!"
"Thought you didn't know anything?" Philips retorts without a beat.
"I know he didn't talk. He wouldn't have."
"Every man breaks eventually Rodgers. Every man. Best you learn that quickly." Philips pushes himself into Steve's space. "You are goddamn lucky you're untouchable right now Captain, anyone else and I would have buried them so deep in military prison they'd be lucky to ever be heard of again, without a second thought. You best remember that."
Without another word he storks off, slamming the door behind him. Peggy follows his cue.
"Peg-Agent Cart-"
"Don't Steve. You were in the wrong, and you full well know it."
The door clicks firmly behind her, and he stares at the corner of the oak table, pushing the breath out of his lungs slowly to calm himself. She's left the photograph on the table, purposely he knows, and he picks it up and tucks it into a pocket; the name forever etched in his head. Bucky didn't know, or wouldn't tell him the man's name.
He heaves another breath and leaves to try and intercept his friend.
Just as things were starting to look up.
.
.
.
Notes:
As a heads up, as mentioned in a previous chapter with the telegram there will now be V-Mail transcripts (Army letters) peppered in throughout the story. They will continue in this format except for the maybe occasional heavily censored one to show the blacked out censors. Things are moving quickly for Steve, but it looks like he's been caught in a lie! Yikes! And things were seemingly all working out for him, and was on his way to learn how to do all the things Basic never taught him and get to know the team so they don't bomb their way through their first mission. Hope you enjoyed this little filler chapter setting up the coming events; and thanks so much everyone for getting this over a 1000 hits, and for the reviews on the last two chapters!
REFERENCES:
V-MAIL: V-mail, short for Victory Mail, was a hybrid mail process used by the United States during the Second World War as the primary and secure method to correspond with soldiers stationed abroad. To reduce the cost of transferring an original letter through the military postal system, a V-mail letter would be censored, copied to micro-film, and printed back to smaller paper upon arrival at its destination. The V-mail process is based on the earlier British Air graph process, and allowed the Army to carry twice the amount with five times less weight, and if a plane happened to be shot down - they had copies to send again.
CHURCHILL'S WAR ROOMS : Construction of the Cabinet War Rooms, located beneath the Treasury building in the Whitehall area of Westminster, began in 1938. They became fully operational on 27 August 1939, a week before Britain declared war on Germany. The War Rooms remained in operation throughout the Second World War, before being abandoned in August 1945 after the surrender of Japan. This was wear all of the command scenes were based in the film, and this is a photo of the real entrance as it would have looked closer to the time period; and how inconspicuous it was. Now there's a big huge modern entrance shoved on the front for tourism. LINK: .
FUN FACTS ABOUT THE CABINET WAR ROOMS: They had slotted boards that gave news of the weather to those working underground. During air raids as the indicator was changed to 'windy' as a joke. Despite a reinforced concrete slab up to three metres thick installed above the rooms in December 1940, a hit from anything larger than a 500-pound (227-kg) bomb could have penetrated the building and destroyed the War Rooms. Secrecy was the best security for the site. LINK: /collections/item/object/205094719
BRYLCREAM : A hair product created in the 1930s, it was particularly known to be used by pilots during WW2, who had the reputation of being: being cutting edge and sophisticated, to keep their longer hair perfectly in place during intense air battles. It's advertising jingle was: "Brylcreem—A Little Dab'll Do Ya! Brylcreem—You'll look so debonair. Brylcreem—The gals'll all pursue ya; they'll love to run their fingers through your hair!" [I don't know why I'm telling you this other than I found it quite funny.]