Glossary:
Body snatcher - stretcher
Queenie rubbed her neck. They'd been at this for what felt like hours, and the damp atmosphere was not helping.
"Name, rank, ID, and where are you hurt?" she repeated for the thousandth time while Bucky took notes for her. She quickly inspected the man before her, rattled off a list of vitals, written dutifully by the sergeant, who then handed the paper to the soldier. "You're not severe, report to the hospital. Next!"
Another man, propped up by two others approached. Queenie's attention focused on the head bandage of the middle immediately; the other two had been helping out as well as Bucky and she knew they were fine.
"Lord have mercy," she breathed. After a quick inspection, she found the soldier in need of several operations at once, but she didn't know if he had time to get to the operations tent.
"How come you didn't bring him forward when I called for severes?" she demanded of the two holding him.
"He was at the back of the line, ma'am. And his buddies couldn't get up to the front to tell us sooner. He's here now, isn't he?" the taller one replied, bowler hat perched jauntily on his head. Queenie swept a practiced eye over the remaining troops.
"But this is the last severe one?"
"Yes ma'am," the other man, his dark skin gleaming, answered.
"Right. Clear the table, Sarge, and get him up here." Queenie opened her kit with her tools. "I can at least stabilize him. You," she pointed to the African American, "run to the operating tent and ask for Jonesie with a body snatcher. Tell the Captain blunt force head trauma and multiple abdominal lacerations, not to mention the bullet in his arm." The man dashed off. "You," she addressed Bowler Hat next, "get those men into two groups. Limb wounds versus non-limb wounds. Let them sit if they like, but sort them. And could somebody for heaven's sake get that tank out of here?" she yelled to whoever was in the tank. A head popped out.
"Quel est le problème?" {What is the problem?}
Queenie groaned, but something about the voice sounded familiar. She didn't have time to think about it though.
"Char d'assaut! Sortez-le d'ici!" {The tank! Get it out of here!} she yelled back. The man stared at her. "Immédiatement!" {At once!}
He ducked back in and started up the tank. She refocused on her patient. Quickly she stripped the soldier of his coat and carefully inspected the abdominal wounds. The dried blood around the edges still allowed fresh blood to seep through as she peeled back his shirt.
"Did they lay him facedown on top of a grate and then light a bomb under it? That's what it looks like," she muttered, proceeding to call the Nazis a vile name that set Bucky laughing. "Alright, nurse, hold here."
As Bucky held back the shirt, she whipped out a small portable IV from her kit and quickly hooked up the man to it. Bucky found a place to hold the bag so he could help her. Hands flying, Queenie began to perform surgery on his chest, removing the shrapnel and preparing him for the real operating table. Bucky stood near her with a rag on which she placed the shrapnel she extracted. Looking up once after removing the biggest pieces of shrapnel, she cast about for Jonesie.
"Where on God's green earth is he? I need that body snatcher! I don't have the resources to perform complete surgery here!" she exclaimed, passing the scalpel to Bucky so she could swipe the sweat from her face.
"What do you need?" Bucky asked, handing her the scalpel once more and picking up the rag to receive the bits of metal once more.
"I need Jonesie to get off his ass and get here - Speak of the devil! Where have you been?" Queenie yelled as Jonesie came sprinting up with a stretcher in hand, the African American alongside. Queenie rattled off vitals as she and Jonesie lifted the man to the stretcher. The two men carried the soldier back to the operating tent as fast as they could. Queenie retrieved her tools from Bucky and cleaned them before stuffing them in her kit.
"Men sorted, LT," Bowler Hat said as he returned and saluted. Queenie glanced up and saw that he had done just that. She allowed her shoulders to slump slightly before rolling them back determinedly.
"What's your name, soldier?" she addressed Bowler Hat.
"Dum Dum Dugan, ma'am."
"Alright Dugan, I'm Queenie or Queens. Give me a hand here, will you? Oh, and Brooklyn," she turned to look at him shrewdly, "You sit down over there and don't move. I'm gonna check you out last, if you can bear it. You don't have any noticeable wounds, but I'm not clearing you for duty yet." Queenie crooked a finger at Bucky, and he obeyed with a quirk of his lips. She refused to think about how nice his lips looked and slung her kit across her body instead, heading to the non-limb wounded group first, wiping her bloody hands on a spare rag, Dugan in her wake.
'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'
"I can't believe we're in London again!" Majorie squealed once they dropped their bags in their new apartment. Queenie grinned sideways at her as she began to turn on lights.
"You know we're not actually here, right?"
The SSR had recalled them back, no doubt for their next assignment. Most of the POWs had been sent home, but a few remained in London, although whether it was at the behest of the SSR or Army, Queenie didn't know. Whatever the reason, Queenie was simply grateful for the respite and the chance to look halfway human again - clean, pretty, and neat. Having a few nice looking men on hand didn't hurt either. A certain Sergeant was in town still, she knew.
"Oh, sure, I know we're here for whatever the SSR needs from us, but oh, damn, am I glad to be out of Italy! It just seemed like mud and rain, not at all what I'd imagined." Majorie's enthusiasm refused to be dampened.
"That's because we were there in November, silly. And watch your language. You're a lady, remember?" Queenie admonished fondly.
"Honey, I'm an Army Nurse. I'm allowed to swear if I damn well please."
"Fine, but have some decency not to do it in front of superiors," Queenie retorted, purposefully snooty to tease Majorie.
"Nuh-uh. You are not pulling rank on me. We are going to have some fun this evening. Dugan said he and some of the fellas were going to the Whip & Fiddle, and that's exactly where we're going. Wear your bombshell dress, doll - we're going dancing!" Majorie did a little jig and hop in her anticipation.
Queenie laughed at Majorie's excitement, but obediently went to the closet of their apartment and pulled out the black "bombshell dress" Majorie had referred to. It had small capped sleeves to cover her shoulders and tapered in to fit her waist snugly before slightly flaring out from her hips to her knees. Majorie pulled out hers next, a navy blue velvet dress with three-quarter length sleeves and a sweetheart neckline that hugged her figure before flaring out from the hips like Queenie's. Little silver stars decorated it, giving it some shimmer in the soft light. The girls dressed eagerly, and did each other's hair and makeup before donning hats, coats, and gloves. With pocketbooks in hand, they set off for the nearby pub.
'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'
Majorie quickly found the POW boys who'd helped the girls the most upon their arrival in Italy: Dugan, Gabe Jones (the African American), Jim Morita (a Japanese-American from California), James Falsworth (an Englishman), and Jacques Dernier (the Frenchman).
"Hiya, fellas," Majorie greeted them with a charming smile. Dugan grinned back at her and pulled up a chair for her as the boys chorused their greetings. Queenie approached the table more slowly, smiling at Majorie's familiarity with them. Movement caught her eye and she glanced up to see Peggy Carter, of all people, walking out of the back room of the pub looking like a million bucks in a form fitting red dress.
"Wow, Peg, you clean up swell, honey," Majorie said in awe, as she followed Queenie's line of sight. Peggy smiled at the two girls. Queenie once more noticed the glint in Peggy's eyes that usually signified someone was around… but Peggy was talking, and Queenie didn't pursue that line of thought.
"Thanks very much, so do you two. You ladies have a lovely evening, but report tomorrow morning at eight o'clock sharp. We've got your next assignment." This last part was addressed to Queenie, who took the instructions with a grin.
"We'll be there."
"By the way, Queenie… that really is a fantastic dress. Looks like a dream on you," Peggy complimented with a smile.
"Well, if I had half your talent with hair, it'd be even better, I think. You'll have to help me out sometime," Queenie replied, blushing and breaking eye contact. Peggy winked and whisked out of the pub. Majorie sighed.
"Queensie, honey, just accept the compliment like a lady! We've been working on this, boys. She thinks her hair is drab, and therefore the whole look is ruined. Help me out here, fellas."
"Majorie Whipple, they'll do no such thing. I'll only accept unsolicited compliments, gentlemen. As for you, Miss Flirt, you only get one pint tonight, so pick your poison carefully. I am not dealing with your hangover tomorrow, and you heard Peg. We gotta be at the office bright and early," Queenie answered loftily with a grin.
Majorie groaned, but gladly accepted Dugan's offer to buy her a Guiness.
"Say, Dum Dum, is that your real name?" Majorie asked the man as he handed her the drink.
"Oh, no it isn't. But like Queenie here, my real name is too much for me, so I go with a nickname," Dugan answered, but Queenie didn't catch the rest of the conversation as Jacques captured her attention.
"Je ne te connais pas de quelque part? j'y ai pensé et je pense que je fais," {Don't I know you from somewhere? I thought about it and I think I do} Jacques addressed Queenie.
"Voyons voir. J'étais en France de mai dernier à juillet," {Let's see. I was in France from last May to July} Queenie replied after a moment's thought. From there, it was a quick check of facts to discover that Queenie had patched up a bullet hole in Jacques' arm earlier that year, and in gratitude and celebration, Jacques bought Queenie a drink.
"Hey, fellas, we've got Buck on board, too - hey, Majorie! Queenie!" Captain Rogers' voice called to the group, and the girls turned to see the man exit the same back room where Peggy had been, Bucky in tow. "You girls look great!"
"Thanks, Captain, you don't look too shabby yourself," Majorie replied flirtatiously, winking cheekily.
"Tact, darling, tact. We've talked about this," Queenie reminded her with an affectionate groan. She pretended she wasn't avoiding Bucky's eyes, even though she straightened slightly, casually.
"I will be ladylike when you are, Queensie dear," Majorie returned, as she took a sip of her drink and flashed a brilliant smile at Dugan.
"What does she mean by that?" Bucky asked Queenie, as he and Steve joined their table.
"Oh, nothing of any importance," Queenie replied quickly, shooting a look at Majorie, who shrugged. She was not going to fish for compliments from Bucky Barnes.
"Oh, well, anyway, would you care to dance?" Bucky asked her, offering his hand.
"I would love to! But, Majorie…" Queenie stopped herself from taking his hand and looked at her friend through narrowed eyes. "I need someone else responsible enough to make sure she doesn't drink anything besides her pint. She gets one, and it's in her hand now."
Steve volunteered with a laugh as Majorie gasped in mock hurt.
"You don't trust me? Say it isn't so!"
"Oh, it's very much so. I trust you about as far as you can throw, dearest. Which isn't very far at all. Now, Sergeant, where were we? Oh, yes, dancing."
Queenie gave the man her hand, trying to ignore the sudden tingle that ran through her arm at his touch. Bucky pulled her up with a grin and drew her to the dance floor.
"By the way, Lieutenant," he said, as they joined the few couples dancing, "You look," he subtly looked her up and down, "absolutely stunning." Queenie flushed.
"Thank you, Sergeant. You look pretty dashing yourself, now that you're all cleaned up." Queenie bit her tongue to keep herself from downplaying his compliment as Majorie's words from earlier echoed in her head.
"Thanks to you."
"Oh, I didn't do much except work you to death when you finally made it back! Oh, gosh, I feel so awful about that. I should've remembered you had just walked 30 miles! And after-" Queenie shook her head as she remembered.
"Queenie. Hey. It's ok. It's a pleasure to work alongside a beautiful woman in charge."
Queenie couldn't suppress the stupid grin that rose to her lips at his comment, but she wasn't one to shy away from flirting.
"And it's a pleasure to find a man so domesticated," Queenie rejoined boldly, but she wondered instantly if it was the right thing to say. She flirted all the time with injured soldiers - yet this time, the playful banter wasn't to distract a man from his sorrows… nor was the man in question the least bit impaired. Not to mention, she had good reason for NOT looking for a man, she firmly reminded herself.
"Would you like to find out just how domesticated I am?" His voice was low and husky now and the music was soft and enticing...
Queenie opened her mouth, although to say what, she didn't know. Her brain seemed to short circuit. At the movement, his eyes had flickered to her lips and all thoughts vanished from her mind. Before she could respond, the music swept to a close and suddenly Bucky dipped her. Her breath caught at his nearness but she finally regained some sense of mental capability to add one last little comment, brazen to cover just how flustered he made her.
"Is that an order, Sergeant?" she asked softly. His pupils dilated in response, turning his eyes desirous and dangerous, a sight that thrilled her even as she swallowed her chuckle. She'd won this battle of wits, yet she too was hard pressed to hide her own pounding heart as they rose and he escorted her back to the table.