March 5, 1943 – The Lab, Camp McCoy, Wisconsin

There are good days and there are bad days. Some start out bad and get better as the day progresses. Some start out perfect. The sun is shining, birds are chirping. Food tastes a little bit better and the fresh air is a little bit crisper. And it all can come to a screeching halt within a moment's notice.

I am pretty sure that I saw Hell that day.

It was a disaster. What happened next all transpired in the matter of a minute and not one second of it was slow. It was truly the definition of Hell, of chaos, of utter catastrophe.

The moment Quentin hit the ground, Nate was running, sprinting even. He didn't stop when he approached Bateman. Head down, shoulders hunkered, Nate tackled Erik Bateman head on, like he was a football player instead of a baseball junkie. Quentin wasn't moving, wasn't making a sound. Sully leaned over him frantically, despite his mangled arm, checking for any external and immediate injuries. I had moved at this point, standing closer to the carnage, to get a better look at the current fight between Nate and Sharkbait.

It wasn't really much of a fight at all. Bateman had managed to throw Nate off of him once, into one of the lab benches, but Nate was persistent. He jumped right back into it and was straddled to Bateman's chest, throwing punch after punch. Bateman was frantically trying to shield himself from Nate's blows, but it didn't matter. Nate's fists rained down on the older man, hitting him back and forth, rattling him to the core. I hated Erik Bateman with every fiber of my being, but I couldn't watch him get beat like this. A few punches were nice to see. This was just annihilation and pure rage for how Bateman had treated Nate, and Quentin, and Sully, and even me in the short time I'd been there. It got to the point where I was truly afraid that Nate was going to kill Erik.

As I started moving towards Nate, the door to the lab opened and the situation before us got a whole lot stickier. In the open doorframe, broad shoulders and imposing figure standing at six feet, was Colonel Chester Phillips, the head of the SSR. Of Project Rebirth. I had only met Phillips a handful of times and in that time, we had never really spoken. Usually Howard and Doctor Erskine did all the talking, and when I was addressed on the subject, I'd respond. He was the only one that ever just called me 'Adelyn' or 'Dr. Frost'. Something about Phillips unnerved me, and I wasn't sure what, but I was glad Erskine and Howard were big talkers.

Phillips opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say died in this throat as his eyes fixed on Nate pummeling away at Bateman. I didn't hesitate when I saw the Colonel though. I surged forward, catching one of Nate's arms as it came up, ready to swing on Bateman again. Even though he was much stronger than me, the moment I touched him, the fight seemed to drain from Nate. I squeezed his forearm tightly and his head whipped around, eyes zeroing in on me. They weren't the happy, light blue that I was so accustomed to seeing. They were wild and feral, like a cornered animal. I swallowed roughly and stood my ground, not tearing my gaze from his. "Nate..." I managed quietly. "Let him go, Nate."

My voice effectively broke Nathaniel. His arm dropped and he sagged back onto his haunches. He was covered in sweat, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. His knuckles were a mess, covered in blood, a mixture of both his own from his hands and Bateman's face. When his eyes found Colonel Phillips, standing in the door, his expression turned from ragged to stricken, like he was realizing his mistake all over again and imagining the repercussions.

I took one look at Bateman and had to look away. The man was a mess. His nose was surely broken in several places, and I was positive he might've had a shattered cheekbone. Both of his lips were split in two different places. His right eye was swelled shut. His left was bloodied, but wide open, staring Nate and I down. His breathing was shallow, but he was still conscious, his one eye following our every move. He hadn't even passed out.

I let go of Nate's fist as I looked away from Bateman and wrapped my arms around his chest, pulling him back with all my strength, which wasn't exactly a lot. I wasn't a wimp, but I certainly wasn't all too built, either. Lucky for me, Nate pulled off rather easily, stumbling to his feet, and staring down at Dr. Erik Bateman, his eyes glued to his wrecked face. My hands were locked around his abdomen, and when he finally stood, one of Nate's hands found mine and he intertwined our fingers.

The lab was utterly silent except for Bateman's rather loud and ragged breathing. Quentin was sitting up now, Sully supporting him. He sported a large bruise which was forming on his right cheek. He seemed a bit dazed. I wasn't close enough to really see what was going on with him, but my money was on a concussion. He seemed half out of consciousness, ready to pass out any moment. Colonel Phillips' eyes roved the room and he was silent, but not for long.

His voice was like thunder as it echoed in the laboratory. "WHAT IN SAM HELL IS GOING ON AROUND HERE?!"

_

"Phillips is going to get a witness statement from Sharkbait."

I was a bit startled at Nate's voice when he suddenly spoke. After the incident in the lab, Phillips ordered everyone into action. He called in a doctor for Bateman and Quentin. Two came in with a stretcher and carried Quentin away to the sick bay. He lost consciousness when they stood him up, and I was worried. Sully, with the help of another doctor whom I didn't know, followed behind, supporting a staggering Bateman.

That left Nate and I with Phillips. He didn't yell like I was expecting. He ordered me, quite calmly, to go retrieve some of my medical supplies from my room, and to stay inside and wait for Nate. It was in my best interest to listen, so I did, but that's not to say that I didn't try to eavesdrop a little bit. It made it harder since he was being so infuriatingly calm.

It didn't last.

As soon as I found all the supplies I'd need to clean up Nate, the yelling started. The words were jumbled and fast and angry, but I caught the gist. Someone needed to pay for what happened to Bateman. And the moment the evidence was turned on Nate, he was going to get canned. The thought made me sick to my stomach.

I was busy cleaning out a cut above Nate's right eye. It wasn't long, but it was deep. Since Bateman hadn't landed a single blow on him, I assumed it had happened when he had been thrown into the lab bench. He hissed a bit as I dabbed a cotton ball with hydrogen peroxide on it to the cut, but he had been otherwise silent. I hadn't yet started on his knuckles, but that was going to be a whole other ball game. He was rubbing his hands together nervously, spreading the blood. Blood welled up from the cuts on his knuckles when he clenched his fists. I'd told him to stop twice, but I don't think he was really listening to me.

As I applied a single butterfly stitch above his eyebrow, he'd decided to speak a single sentence: "Phillips is going to get a witness statement from Sharkbait."

I spared him a glance as I turned around to grab the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a clean washcloth. "What?"

He didn't respond for a few seconds as I poured the peroxide onto the cloth, soaking it. When I turned back to him, he spoke again. "A witness statement from Bateman. He'll blame me. He wasn't even drunk. I didn't catch a whiff of liquor on him. He hit Sully and Quentin fully sober."

My stomach clenched at the news unpleasantly, but I swallowed roughly. "There are witnesses, Nate—give me your hands." He obliged as she spoke. "Me, Quentin, Sully. You were defending Quentin and Quentin was defending Sully."

"Quentin's unconscious. Sully's mentally unstable. Phillips watched you pull me off, he won't trust you. I'm screwed, AJ. Bateman's the only reliable witness here in Phillips' eyes."

I wrapped his hands in the cloth and he winced as I washed the blood off and cleaned out the wounds at the same time. "Hold this here," I instructed. Nate did as he was told as I turned around and grabbed two ace bandages. While I finished wrapping and cleaning Nate up, we were both silent. I knew he was right. To Phillips, Bateman was the only reliable witness. If it came down to it, I wasn't sure anyone would be able to help Nate. Not until Quentin was awake to give his statement.

"Everything will be okay, Nate," I said softly.

"How can you be sure?"

I shrugged. "It has to be."

I finished packing up my medical supplies, and when I turned around, I was startled as Nate's arms closed around me, encasing me in a bear hug. "Thank you, Adelyn Juliet," he whispered into my hair.

I hugged him back, squeezing him tightly. "Any time, Nathaniel Theodore."

Before either of us could do anything, the door to my room flew open. Nate and I jumped away from each other like repelling magnets. It was Phillips, permanent scowl in place and glowering at the both of us.

"If your little love fest is over, I'd like to speak to both of you. Individually. Adams first. Frost, I want you to wait."

"Wait?"

"Yes, Dr. Frost, wait. In the lab. Understood?"

"Understood, sir," I said quietly.

"Good, then get moving."

And so I waited. Out in the lab area, sitting on one of the chairs at one of the benches. There was blood splattered on the ground where Nate had been going to town on Bateman. Part of me wanted to clean it up, but it made me sick to my stomach, just thinking about the entire situation. If Nate would get fired, that meant me being alone with Bateman. Sully was under his influence and Quentin couldn't fight off a fly if I was ever threatened by Bateman, which I was sure would happen. It was a matter of when, not if.

I couldn't hear what was going on in my room and I wasn't quite sure why Phillips was interrogating Nate in it. Maybe because he was just visiting and he didn't have an actual office. I didn't know, but I didn't like it either. I especially didn't like that I couldn't hear the conversation.

I worried about Nate and the risk he'd get fired. I was worried about Quentin and whether or not he was conscious yet. I was worried about Sully and hoped he was realizing what kind of a guy Bateman was. And finally, I was worried about Frank and how he was doing in Tunisia, considering the date he'd written the letter I'd gotten was over two weeks ago. I didn't even know if he was still in Tunisia.

Burying my head in my hands, I groaned. I was so sick of being worried. I was sick of the war, even though we hadn't even been involved nearly as long as Europe. I hated sitting around and waiting for things to happen. Patience was and never has been a strong point for me. I liked to happen in an orderly chain of events, preferably quickly. Waiting around to know whether or Nate would get fired was almost torture. And if he did, my chances at finding myself alone with Bateman were high. That thought scared me.

It struck me that I was truly afraid of Bateman. He was ruthless and he'd proven time after time that he was dangerous. And he certainly didn't like me and wasn't afraid to voice his opinion on my working in the lab. I got nervous when he was around because the man was a ticking time bomb, especially when he was drunk. When Nate was around, which was all the time, my nerves would settle. And now there was a chance that he might be going away for good.

I wasn't sure how long I'd been waiting. It had been a decent amount of time to be left alone with my hyperactive brain. I was all kinds of relieved when the door to my room opened and Nate exited. Colonel Phillips held the door open for me to walk in, but my gaze fixed on Nate. He looked tired and worn out and utterly defeated. He didn't even meet my eyes as he brushed past me. The sight was more than enough to confirm my fears.

"You fired him, didn't you," I said quietly, soft enough that Nate wouldn't be able to hear me.

Chester Phillips looked at me grimly and nodded his head inside. "Come on in, Doctor. We have a lot to discuss."

I entered my room tentatively, sitting on my bed while Phillips closed the door. I asked again, "You fired him, didn't you?"

Phillips didn't respond as he sat down in the chair opposite me, the chair Nate had been sitting in only minutes before the incident in the lab. He regarded me with a sort of cool composure, propping his elbow on one knee and placing his chin in his hand. "What happened, Doctor?"

"What did Nate tell you happened?" I shot back. "Because I'll bet he said Bateman hit Sully. And when Quentin interfered, Bateman hit him too. And I'll bet he told you that he was just defending his friends, right?"

"He said it was his fault."

"What?!" I yelped.

"He said it was his fault, but he also explained what happened just like you told me. And I believe him."

"Then why'd you fire him?!" I asked incredulously.

"Because someone has to go for what happened. And it won't be Bateman because he's the head scientist around here and how he runs things isn't my business. For all we know, Colin Smith deserved that first hit."

"Colin Smith wouldn't harm a fly! The kid practically shakes at the sight of Bateman, he's afraid to step up and tell the truth!"

"And that won't hold in a hearing, Adelyn! If I tell my superiors that Nathaniel Adams was just defending a friend, they'll ask me why 'defending a friend' got so out of hand and I won't have an answer for them. Nate could have handled the situation better and I'm sorry he didn't, but now he has to go. When Quentin wakes up, I'll have more of an understanding about the situation, but for right now, Nate is volunteering himself to take the fall. So for now, he's going to."

"You can't let him if it isn't his fault!"

"He said it was, Adelyn, what am I supposed to do? With a statement like that, Nate's going to go down the road until Quentin provides a better understanding, okay? I'm sorry, but that's how things are. Now if you're done yelling at me—"

"Bateman's an alcoholic," I blurted out before I could stop the words.

Phillips' sentence died in his throat and he frowned. "What?"

"Bateman," I said hurriedly. "He drinks. A lot. On the job, off the job, whenever. That's why he hits. It's because he's usually drunk."

Phillips didn't say anything for a while as he digested what I told him. When he finally did, it wasn't the answer I was hoping for. "Well, that's one hell of an accusation, Adelyn."

"It's true, sir!" I insisted.

"Do you have proof? A stash? Was Bateman drunk when what happened today happened?"

"Well, not according to Nate, he didn't smell any liquor, but—"

"Then I'm sorry, Dr. Frost. There's nothing to be done. I'll at least order a blood alcohol test, but other than that..." Phillips shrugged. "See me when Quentin wakes up and gives his statement. Then we'll talk. Now, I came here in the first place to talk to you about Project Rebirth..."

And just like that, the subject of Nate was abandoned. We talked about my assessments on the soldiers and how he'd been reading them. He said there were several good choices, but the perfect one just wasn't there yet. Erskine had apparently completed a test sample of the serum and he'd given it to Phillips for me to take a look at. "We're closer than ever, Adelyn," he'd said. "We just need to find the perfect soldier."

Too bad finding the perfect soldier was harder than it sounded.

As we continued to discuss Project Rebirth, my mind was only half on the subject. The other half was with Nate, and the fact that he was brave enough to take the blame for what had happened in the lab. He was brave, yes, but when it came to Bateman, I certainly wasn't. As soon as Nate was gone, I'd be on Bateman's radar, I was sure of it. I'd just have to be careful. Careful, I supposed, and hope that Bucky would finally decide to talk to me again and wouldn't mind if I stuck to him like glue.

The sheer thought made me snort.