Steve presses his watch into Diana's hand and leaves. If he stays one more second, he'll lose his nerve and stay with Diana, choose selfishness over duty and let the world burn if it means one more minute with her. This is so much bigger than both of them and while he wants to be selfish, what kind of world will Diana have if he fails at this? She deserves the kind of world she talks about. The one where peace fills men's hearts because Ares, the god of war, whom Steve still isn't entirely sure he's willing to completely believe yet, is destroyed along with all the weapons crafted at his bidding.
He pushes all thoughts about tomorrow, waking up with Diana in his arms, out of his mind and fights to get on the plane carrying Dr Maru's gas. Thinking about anything beyond the mission is a distraction he can't afford. There is only going to be one casualty because of Maru's creation tonight if he can help it.
His entrance to the plane is marked by a vicious blow to the head that leaves him momentarily dazed as he collapses back against the metal siding. Adrenaline pumps hard through his veins, giving him the energy to push past the pain and throw the pilot out. Personal injury doesn't mean anything anymore; all he has to do is get the plane higher, further away from his friends and the people counting on him.
He slips into the pilot's seat, comforting in its familiarity despite the task that lies before him. His hands flying over the controls, initiate lift without conscious thought. The plane takes barrels down the runway then climbs through the air like an eagle reaching for the heavens. There is something magical about flight, the freedom the peace. It's what he fell in love with the first time he sat in the pilot's seat; a freedom that he'd never felt before and constantly chases.
Steve catches a quick glimpse of the chaos and destruction that he's leaving behind at the airfield, but he pushes it out of his mind. Diana will keep his friends safe in a way he never could. They're in safe hands, soft, delicate, but strong hands. This, this is what he can do. Save today, to protect tomorrow, to let Diana save the world.
Higher and higher the plane climbs, chasing open sky and a safe distance to blow up the gas. A sick panicky feeling wells up inside of Steve. This is it, the last thing he's ever going to do. He always suspected when he joined the war that he wouldn't see the end, but now that the moment is here, he isn't sure he has the strength to be the one to pull the trigger. It's one thing for the enemy to do it, he has no control over that, but to do it himself; is he strong enough? He looks back at the payload lining the inside of the plane; enough gas to devastate all of England and turn the tide of the war. A hysterical laugh bubbles out of him. It all rests on his shoulders now. Perhaps fate should have chosen someone better. He knew this was a bad idea when Diana demanded to be taken to the front when they were back in London, but Diana had been so sure she could save mankind; it's hard to deny that kind of conviction.
Diana.
He raises his gun and points it at the weapons. At least he knows exactly what he's dying for. A feeling of acceptance washes over him as his last seconds tick by, unmarked by the clicking of his father's watch, which now lies safely in Diana's care. He closes his eyes and takes a deep fortifying breath. His finger refuses to close around the trigger.
A week ago he wouldn't have cared. It would have been his duty and nothing more; the goal he had set out to accomplish when he stopped ignoring what was going wrong with the world and took action. He long believed he wasn't cut out for the life of an average man. The wife, house and children seemed monotonous and predictable and unappealing; claustrophobic when compared to flying.
Now he's hesitating. For the first time he actually wonders what domestic life would be like. What would it be like to wake up next to Diana and watch the light dance across her skin as the sun rises in the sky? Maybe there is something profound in the act of promising to love someone for forever, to delight in the simple things. Wasn't that what he had been trying to protect for others all along anyways?
Disappointment and outrage flood his veins; the universe is a cruel place. He finally found something worth living for and his card's already punched. The thing he wants more than anything else is back on that tarmac and he's hurtling towards oblivion.
Steve swallows past the lump in his throat. It isn't meant for him, he tells himself. Happiness with Diana isn't in the hand he's been dealt. It isn't meant for him, but he can give it to her. He can give her the world she envisions, where she'll be happy and safe and find love with someone who is truly worthy of her. It isn't going to be him, but god it felt amazing to have just stood in her light for a fleeting moment.
His finger curls around the trigger, the pressure building until the click of the firing pin roars in the confines of the plane and the recoil of the gun runs up his arm. And then there's nothing but blinding violet light.
The warmth embrace of nothingness shatters in a blinding all consuming explosion of purple and silver light. The intensity of it should be painful and hot but there's nothing but the sensation of freefall. Steve's back slams painfully against something hard knocking the air out of his lungs. He tries to suck in another breath but his lungs wouldn't cooperate fully. As quickly as the light appears, it vanishes leaving darkness and smoke in its wake. The smoke burns his lungs, choking him and leaving him incapable of drawing breath.
There's noise and movement happening all around Steve but he can't make his body obey; the simple task of opening his eyes akin to pushing a bolder up a mountain. There are voices in the distance, distorted like he's underwater, coming from all around, conveying an urgency he can't understand. None of them sound familiar.
He's slipping under the darkness again, back into its gentle lull and welcoming arms. The world's pulling away, getting further and further away until all he can hear is a distant word: clear.
Consciousness snaps back to Steve, violent and sharp. It takes all his strength to part his lips in a desperate attempt to pull in a breath. Panic flares in his chest, focusing his wandering thoughts when he can't convince his starving lungs to fulfill his request. Everything aches, there is no one singular spot he can pinpoint as the source, but he lacks even the strength to curl in on himself and try and ease the discomfort. Death should have been instant; there shouldn't be any time to linger and suffer. Is this hell or has Diana found away to pull him from the plane at the last minute? He whispers her name, a sweat prayer upon his lips, but his saving angel fails to appear. It must be hell.
There are hands on Steve, poking, probing, pulling at his clothes and tipping his head from side to side. A bright white light shines in his eyes sending a wave of pain through his skull. It's enough to shake the fog that's been dulling his senses, and like a switch being flipped the world comes crashing back in crystal clarity. There are beeps and people shouting; the words are in English but somehow still foreign to him.
He tries to fight as something is strapped to his face, covering his nose and mouth but lacks the strength to raise any meaningful protest. Cool air begins to flow out of the mask, easing some of the protest in his lungs but not ebbing the dull pain that weighs down his whole body. His head's spinning and his stomach rolling, making it hard to tell which way is up and which is down.
The familiar sounds of battle rage just beyond the dark walls and unfamiliar faces floating around him. It's the only thing he recognizes in a sea of strangers and strangeness. Suddenly everything begins to shake and tremble and Steve's overcome with the sensation of decent. It feels like landing a plane but he's going straight down. The activity around him increases as what appears to be nurses and doctors began organizing supplies and issuing orders.
Steve licks his dry lips. He wants to ask what's happening? Where is he? No one could survive what he did and yet, here he is, very much alive. Something's wrong though, something beyond the unbearable ache that refuses to release him from its grip; he can feel it in every fibre of his being. There's a wrongness in the air, that despite the fact he appears to be in the hands of medical professionals, he isn't safe.
Out of the corner of Steve's eye he watches as a nurse pulls over some strange piece of equipment and manoeuvres it over his head. It's like nothing he's ever seen before and can't even begin to hazard a guess as to its purpose. His heart begins to pound in his chest as fear begins to wake up from its dormant slumber. What if this is some lab of Dr Maru's and he's a prisoner of the enemy? He saw what she's capable of. Steve has no desire to be a lab rat.
Steve tries to pull away from the device. The best he can do is get his head to lull to the side slightly. A groan escapes instead of the thousand questions burn through his brain and crashing against his tender head. Gentle hands that couldn't possibly belong to the enemy carefully pull his head back and fasten a thick strap across his forehead. Steve cracks open his eyes again, hoping to see the gentle touch belongs to Diana; at least then he'd know everything was going to be alright.
It isn't Diana standing over him, nor Charlie or Chief or Sameer. A wave of despair washes over him, flooding him with sorrow and fear. It's too much to take in right now and he needs his friends to help him make sense of everything that's happened.
"What's happ'ing," he slurs. He needs answers. Not just about his own well being and future but about the people that mean the world to him; the ones he chose to save the world for. Being alive after he chose to sacrifice himself would be meaningless if they hadn't escaped too. Did he even save the day?
"Shhhh," the nurse hushes, gently brushing aside an errant stand of dirty blond hair from his forehead. She looks genuinely concerned and apologetic for his current state. But there's a sadness lurking in the depths of her eyes, one Steve has seen a thousand times before, right before someone did something they thought they shouldn't.
His hand, despite his wrist being strapped to the bed, latches onto the nurse's wrist, surprising both of them. Her skin is soft and warm under his touch, something firm and real in what still feels like a wistful dream in the final moments of life. "Diana," he breaths, soft and lovingly because he needs to know if she won, if she survived to see the beautiful world she spoke of.
Everything shakes violently, rattling Steve's bones and knocking everyone else off their feet. The lights flicker before everything tilts sideways and then flicker out.
It's pitch black and Steve has nothing but his frantic breaths and pounding heart to ground him in it. The gunfire still rages outside, sounding even closer than it did before. The high pitched whistle of an incoming ordinate breaches Steve's ears, sending his panic into overdrive. He frantically tugs at the restraints around his wrists and feet, looser now but nowhere near ready to let him go. He needs cover, safety and he isn't going to find it here strapped down.
The world rocks violently again accompanied by the sound of metal and earth being beaten into submission. The darkness rips wide open as the wall at the opposite end of the room Steve's trapped in tears away, exposing the outside world and raging war taking place outside. Fire burns bright and hot, beginning to spread causing the already panicking medical staff to give into frantic survival. Is he trapped at the still burning airfield? Is their fight not over?
When everything finally stops shaking and turning, Steve finds himself looking at the world sideways strapped to a gurney lying on its side. The medical staff's attention is clearly diverted towards escape from the raging fire trying to engulf the room. No one seems too inclined to help Steve with that escape. He bites his lip and pulls against his bindings with every ounce of strength he can summon. He's not going to die if he doesn't know what he's dying for. The restraints finally release, no longer able to with stand Steve's struggles and the chaos throwing the gurney around.
His face hits the floor as he flops gracelessly from the gurney to the floor, unable to convince his arms to overcome gravity faster and break his fall. He lays there for a moment, trying to get his breathing and senses back under control. His limbs are useless at his side, resembling gelatine more than the capable hands that saw him through countless battles. The events unfolding outside are still a mystery but one thing is becoming clear as he stares at the fire dancing around the newly formed hole in the side of the room; he has to get out.
The process to find his sea legs is painfully slow, but he manages to pull himself up and take a few shaky steps towards the open night. He shuffles towards safety, the scene eerily familiar to the one that played out minutes ago? Hours, days, weeks ago maybe? Everything is still a blur. Steve realizes he still has no idea how long it' been since he decided to fly a plane full of dangerous gas on a one way trip to the heavens.
A hand clamps tightly around his shoulder, yanking him back with embarrassing ease. His unsteady feet trip and stumble but the hand around his arm manages to keep him up right.
"Where do you think you're going?" demands Malick, his arm raised and ready to strike out at Steve with a syringe of bright blue liquid.
Instinct takes hold of Steve, driving his fist firmly into the doctor's jaw. The effort leaves him panting but his opponent on the ground with the syringe shattered on the ground. These people clearly aren't here to help him. The only thing for a well trained spy to do when he finds himself potentially in the hands of the enemy, is to escape. Taking a deep breath he runs towards the flames, jumping over them and throwing himself through the hole the explosive tore in the wall.
He hits the ground hard, fresh scrapes and cuts biting into his flesh as he rolls away. The doctor's voice cuts through the night behind him, "You can't escape!"
That's the red flag Steve needs to know he can't stay with these people. The good guys don't tell you you can't escape them if they're trying to help you.
Steve loves to prove people wrong and doesn't hesitate to take advantage of that goal tonight. His movements are uncoordinated and shaky, but he gets to his feet again. Out in the open with a war playing out around him, he needs to find cover but what he sees isn't anything he's seen before. The vehicles and weapon are unlike those he has become intimately familiar with the last few years. The guns going off around him are hand held, yet producing the damage the large artillery back home manages. The clothes are odd, unlike any he's come across. These armies aren't from any nation he's fought for or against. Everything seems unbelievable, like the world described by the old radio shows about the future and aliens he used to listen to before bed as a child. How much time has he lost? Do the allies know about these kinds of weapons? Where are his friends?
Through all the chaos he manages to catch the eye of one soldier; a man in black who seems to zero in on Steve like he's some sort of prize. A chill passes through Steve, like that stare could pierce his soul if the man was just a little closer. Steve takes his first steps to run as the man yells, "The vessel is trying to escape, run him down, but bring him back unharmed."
The focus of several men who were firing at targets lurking behind the ruins around the motorcade turn towards Steve. He puts every last ounce of his reserve he has into running. He doesn't know where he's going but getting away is the first problem to be solved. The sound of heavy footsteps follows him as he runs and soon the rattle of gun fire accompanies it. So much for the unharmed part.
He turns down different walk ways and streets as he goes hoping to lose the men in pursuit. It isn't like he could get lost if he doesn't know where he is to start with. All he has is a general direction- away from the people trying to recapture him. He can get his bearings after he loses his pursuers; if he lives that long.
The men following are relentless, sticking to him like glue. Steve's starting to doubt if he can shake them. His energy's waning and with it the thoughts of escape. He looks around frantically for some place to hide but the ruins and dilapidated buildings look uninviting and hazardous. The cold eyes peering out of the cracks and broken windows seem relieved that it's not them being hunted in the street like a dog but quite satisfied to watch the show. Weighing his options, Steve decides to try his luck and brave the uninspiring crumbling shack across the street.
With the voices of his pursuers closing in he take his first couple of steps towards the shack. The metal grate under his feet groans and whines before buckling under his weight. The ground falls from under his feet and his flailing arms fail to grab anything solid on his way down. He lands hard at the bottom of a stone tunnel, his fall slightly cushioned by the three feet of water running through the bottom of the tunnel. The foul tasting water chokes him filling his nose and mouth as he struggles to get himself into a sitting position. Wet and aching, he presses himself to the side of the drainage tunnel and holds his breath as he listens for the gunmen to pass him by.
He sits frozen for what seems like forever after the hurried steps fade into the night, afraid to move a muscle and give away his impromptu hiding spot. He stares up at the access hole above, waiting and trying hard not to think too much about the situation and the thousand questions that are circling him like a shark. They are questions he couldn't begin to find answers to until he get out of wherever the hell he is and dwelling on them is only going to fuel the panic that threatens to consume him.
As his teeth start to chatter and his body tremble from the cold wet surroundings, he finds the determination to get to his feet. His muscles pull and spasm at being put into use after being so cramped and still for so long causing Steve to sway slightly. There's no way he's going to be able to climb up the smooth walls of the shaft leading back to the street. The only way is to slog through the tunnel and hopefully to freedom. He takes a deep breath and starts forward into what is the longest night of his life. Hopefully he can find his friends when he gets to the end of the tunnel and figure out what the hell is going on.