Here's chapter 29, hope ya'll enoy it!
Author note: According to Marvel Wiki, Phillips was born in 1879-which makes absolutely no sense to me, because that would place him in his late 60s in 'Captain America', and make him in his early 70s during this fic. Generals McArthur, Eisenhower, and Patton were younger and they outranked Phillips. At the end of WWII, Phillips would have been forced to retire. So, to make this story work and explain his commission still being valid, I'm making him MUCH younger than what is out there on Wiki.
August 18th, 1946; Brooklyn New York
Colonel Phillips looked up at the phone company building. After being let into the SSR, he knocked on Dooley's office door. "How may I help you, Colonel?" Dooley asked as he opened the door. "I'm sure Carter would be happy to get us some coffee if she shows up on time."
"That's what I'm here for . . . I need to borrow Carter," Phillips removed his cover, getting right down to brass tacks once the door was secured. "Six weeks - minimum; maybe longer." Six weeks would make it, at the very least, so Rogers didn't need a full-time caregiver. Maybe they could convince the landlady to look in a couple of times a day after Carter went back to work.
There was a pause. "Why do you need Carter? Thompson or Krzeminski are better agents..." Dooley appeared flummoxed by the unusual request. Walking around the desk, he sat down and tried to feign interest.
Phillips interrupted Dooley with a shake of his head. "I need Carter and Carter only," he insisted, then sighed. They would have to announce the news at some point; it might as well come from him and not some newspaper. "A HYDRA base was found in Germany. It appears that Sergeant Barnes is alive."
The pen stopped twirling in his fingers as Dooley digested the information. "I thought Barnes fell from a train; how the hell did he survive?!"
"The 'how' is Top Secret," Phillips said shortly, "but I'll need to borrow Carter since she was the Howling Commandos liaison during the war."
Dooley gave a short, sarcastic chuckle. "Yes, I heard she was a very good liaison - for all of them." The double entendre was clear.
Colonel Phillips' spine went instantly ridged as he straightened to his full height. His jaw tightened as he remembered his military bearing.
"I will request that you keep your stupid mouth shut and your vile remarks to yourself. Do I make myself clear?" Phillip's voice was low, precise, and no-nonsense.
Dooley's eye shifted toward the door, then back to Phillips. "Crystal, sir."
Phillips relaxed his carriage - slightly. "Back to the predicament of the moment: I need Agent Carter for a minimum of six weeks."
"If you're borrowing one of my agents, then I'm going to need more information," Dooley argued, despite having already lost precious ground.
Phillips tried to keep from sighing his frustration. "Major, you address Carter as 'Agent', meanwhile, she takes lunch orders, does all of the office filing, and yet, to you, she is little more than a glorified secretary. You and I both know that you don't give a shit about losing Carter for the next few weeks. You want to send Thompson or Krzeminski because they'll come back and report to you what's going on." Phillips leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk. "How Barnes survived is classified," he stated firmly. "I'm going to borrow Carter, and Carter only, until further notice."
"I'll let you know if I need her for longer." It was clear that Colonel Phillips wasn't asking permission. "I expect Carter to still have a job when she returns."
"Yes, sir." Dooley nodded and swallowed hard. "I'll . . . ahh . . ." He glanced at his watch. "Apparently, she's late, but you're free to wait..."
"I've notified her." Phillips stepped back and set his cover on his head, "she's already where she needs to be." Turning on his heel, Phillips quick-stepped out of the office. He needed to speak with Barnes' mother about what had happened on the weekend.
He glanced back at the phone company building and shook his head. Phillips didn't call himself a sentimental man, and heaven knew he would never admit it out loud, but he liked Carter. She could be obstinate and headstrong, but she was tenacious, rarely backed down from a fight, and was a helluva strategist. Almost better than Rogers, if he was honest. She deserved better than the New York Office. His mind spun, trying to figure out a way to transfer Carter to DC.
Colonel Phillips sighed heavily as he walked into the Brooklyn Precinct. He was getting too old for this- maybe he should take the hints the high command was giving him to retire. But, he shook his head; he'd be bored out of his mind within a week.
"Colonel Phillips here to speak with Detective Walsh about a shooting on Amanda Street," Phillips spoke to the officer at the front desk.
"I'll go get him. Sign in, please."
Several minutes later, a young detective came out. "Colonel Phillips. How can I help you?" Detective Walsh greeted.
"I heard from Grant Carter's wife you needed to confirm his whereabouts?"
"Yes, I have a few questions about that. It's funny; a couple of the neighbors said they saw him leaving the building after the shooting, they said he was injured. I've called several different hospitals, but there's no record of Grant Carter getting medical treatment." Walsh cocked an eyebrow. "Nor are any John Doe injuries consistent with a shooting."
"I can assure you that Mr. Carter is alive and well."
"I appreciate the update." Detective Walsh pulled a small notepad from inside the breast pocket of his suit. "Could you tell me where I can find Mr. Carter, so I may get his version of events?"
"He's currently in Europe," Phillips supplied without missing a beat.
Detective Walsh's pencil paused as he looked up with feigned surprise. "Europe?" he repeated. "Why is Mr. Carter in Europe, when he's due here for questioning?"
"Don't ask me; ask the President."
"The President? As in 'of the United States'?"
Phillips gave an indifferent shrug. "You can call him if you want." He reached into the pocket of his uniform slacks and pulled out a business card with the White House emblem in the center.
Walsh took the card, looked it over, then handed it back. "I don't think that will be necessary. Do you know when he'll return to the area?"
"Two weeks. And keep the card, Detective. I have a feeling you'll be checking out my story."
"I'll be expecting Mrs. Carter to be in my office tomorrow morning at nine sharp."
"She'll be here. Will there be anything else, Detective?"
"That will be all, Colonel . . . for now." Walsh slipped the card in his notepad. "Good day, sir."
With a nod, Phillips turned and walked away. Only after he was in the protective cocoon of his car, did he allow himself to breathe again.
Phillips looked up as the elevator opened, and Mrs. Barnes stepped out. "Mrs. Barnes, before you visit the Sergeant, we need to talk." He stood and hurried Mrs. Barnes down the passageway to Doctor Johnson's office.
"Is James alright?" Mrs. Barnes asked fearfully.
"An incident occurred over the weekend, and we need to speak with you about it before you see your son," Phillips guided Mrs. Barnes into Doctor Johnson's office. "We tried a little experiment with your son on Saturday that didn't quite go as planned..." Colonel Phillips started.
"What did you do to him?!" Mrs. Barnes' voice raised in pitch.
"Mrs. Barnes..." Phillips cautioned, "physically, your son is healing, and once Stark has a new prosthetic for him, the Sergeant will do better. But mentally, psychologically, he is still very, very sick." He guided her to a chair and helped her to sit down.
"The things that happened to your son would make your hair curl-it makes me ill to think about it," Colonel Phillips continued speaking. "That trauma is the reason why the Sergeant is now prone to fits."
Mrs. Barnes pulled out a white linen handkerchief edged with lace and held it to the corners of her eyes. "I was told he was healing and doing much better."
"He was. However, the doctor and I would be remiss if we didn't do our damndest to make sure that he isn't going to lash out at civilians after his release."
"I don't understand; what happened?"
Phillips weighed his words carefully. "The experiment was for Sergeant Barnes to have lunch outside of the hospital. Agent Carter brought Sergeant Barnes and a few of the Howling Commandos to her apartment for lunch. Unfortunately, there was a physical altercation with a neighbor." Phillips gave a reassuring smile. "The good news is that Sergeant Barnes wasn't attacked; the only time he got physical was when he was trying to defend the injured party."
"Was Agent Carter injured?" Mrs. Barnes fearfully asked.
"No. She wasn't involved. I'm sure you're well aware of what befell Captain Steven Rogers."
Mrs. Barnes raised an eyebrow. "Did he survive too?" She seemed unsurprised.
"How did you figure that out!?" Phillips was barely able to contain his surprise.
"After James survived the fall from a train, I wondered if Steve might have survived. That's what the serum was supposed to do, right? Make him strong?" Mrs. Barnes wondered softly. "Also, James said that Agent Carter gave him knitted socks she'd originally intended for Steve. From the little Steve told us and what I've gleaned from our brief interactions, she doesn't strike me as the type to knit for a dead lover."
Mrs. Barnes was an intelligent woman; he had to give her that. "Yes, he survived," Phillips confirmed. "I can't give you details on how..."
"Let me guess, that's classified, too?" Phillips could tell Mrs. Barnes was annoyed.
"As previously implied, war is hell. Yes, we won, and yes, more soldiers are coming home than being buried. But at what cost? Some of the things those boys had to do to keep the war in Europe and the Pacific, make it so they don't sleep well at night. Hell, I didn't see half of what they did, and sometimes I don't sleep because of it. Civilians shouldn't know what lengths our boys have gone to, to keep them safe."
"I understand. Can you answer a question for me?" Mrs. Barnes asked.
"I will try."
"Will my boy survive?"
"He's going to be alright, that I promise."
"No. I want to know if after all of this . . . experimenting is done, will he survive and come home?"
Phillips paused. There was no easy answer that could placate her and guarantee a future. Besides, the medical part of the situation was completely out of his hands.
"I don't know," he answered honestly. "But we're going to do the best we can to make him the son you knew."
A small smile tugged at Mrs. Barnes' lips. With her free hand, she gave a gentle pat to Phillip's hand. "Okay."
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