A few miles outside of Azzano, Italy
October 1943
Italy was supposed to lift her spirits. That had been the plan, after all, to go somewhere she was needed and bury herself in work to forget. Life was grueling and tedious on the front. Remembering the advice Joan had given her, she did not bother to learn the names or the faces of the young men around her. There would be no point, half of them wouldn't live to see Christmas.
Despite being a persistent worker, Colonel Phillips kept her at arm's length, always having something negative to say about her work or her presence in general. She subsisted off the crumbs of praise he gave out sparingly. Betty worked extra shifts, late nights, and early mornings, anything to avoid being alone with her thoughts. Every time she closed her eyes to go to sleep or let her mind wander for more than a few moments, she could see Ben's face, she could smell death. On a good night she might get three hours of uninterrupted sleep before either nightmares or a distant bombing campaign woke her up.
Unlike most of her work in England, nearly everything here was classified. People spoke in hushed voices, their eyes always darting around to make sure they couldn't be overheard. The most Betty knew was that there was a base about thirty miles away, across the border and whatever was there, the Nazis were keeping it a heavily guarded secret. Getting even within twenty miles of it had proven to be impossible.
Morale was abysmal in the camp. Despite months of trying, they were still unable to recapture the town and every day more refugees flocked to the camp to try and barter any of their possessions for food. The children were the hardest to turn away. Sometimes if a kid were lucky, a soldier would throw them a candy bar but for every kid that got one, there were ten more waiting in the tree line. The COs stopped letting the refugees enter the camp once they found out that the Nazi's holding the town started shooting random civilians that were suspected of fraternizing with the enemy. The next day the camp awoke to a new sign one of the soldiers had posted at the entrance. It read; 'Hope dies in Azzano'. Ten days later thirty-four men died trying to retake the town and someone else added, 'And so will you.'
No one bothered to take it down.
Betty had no contact with the outside world since arriving in Italy. Mail was unbelievably slow and didn't arrive half of the time and when it did it was often heavily redacted. Out of a sense of obligation she sent letters out to Steve, the Barnes', Vivian, and yet another unanswered letter to Bucky. She had no way of knowing if the letters even got to their destination.
"Rogers!" Vickie's grating voice snapped Betty out of her daydream. Her fingers were still hovering over the shiny typewriter keys. Vickie slapped down another dozen pages on the desk next to Betty and smirked. "The Colonel needs these done by noon." Before gathering up a notebook and pen from her own desk.
"These are your lists, Vickie. I'm not going to do your work for you." She gathers the papers back into a folder and holds them outstretched in front of her, but Vickie doesn't move to take them. Her face crumples into a smug smile. "Sorry, Rogers. They've asked me to sit in on a very important meeting." The way she over enunciates words makes Betty's anger flare. "Top secret stuff. So, I won't have time to finish my letters." With that she pranced out of the room and joined the crowd that was starting to form a few yards away. She gritted her teeth and started once again to type out another batch of official letters of condolence.
Dear Mrs. Susan Davis,
It is with regret that I am writing to confirm the recent death of your husband Private Alan F. Davis, who was killed in action on 11 October 1943 in Italy. I wish to inform you that he died bravely and honorably in the service of the country he loved. I know the sorrow this message has brought you and it is my hope that in time knowledge of his heroic service to his country, even unto death, may be sustaining comfort to you.
I extend to you my deepest sympathy.
Sincerely Yours,
Colonel Chester Phillips
Every letter is nearly identical to the last. Every man died bravely, heroically, and in service to the country he loved, without question. The letters left very little room for the truth. In reality, most of these men died crying for their wives and mothers. They died in the mud, they died in the pouring rain, they died sacrificing themselves in an unsuccessful attempt to recapture a town that remained in the hands of the Nazis. They died to gain a few square feet of land that in the long run, wouldn't actually matter.
The crowd outside grows bigger and louder until finally a car pulls into the center of camp. From her limited vantage point, Betty can only see the backs of heads and the flash of camera bulbs. The crowd started cheering and she thought that maybe there's a USO event that she hadn't heard about. It's not until Howard Stark and his entourage walk up that she realizes that this must be the SSR meeting that Phillips had been dreading for weeks now.
The group made their way towards the Colonel's makeshift office. Betty stood at attention as the group shuffled in, nearly gagging as Howard Stark's pungent cologne filled the room. He turns his attention towards Betty, leaning in a little too closely as he shakes her hand. "Howard Stark. Pleasure to meet you, honey." Vickie is almost falling over herself to assist Stark, whose secretary lacked the security clearance to attend the meeting. A brunette in a crisp khaki uniform follows in from behind, she doesn't bother to introduce herself to anyone. She simply shuffles in with the rest of them into the Colonel's office. She giddily thinks to herself how jealous Bucky is going to be when he hears she met Howard Stark before she must remind herself that all her letters have gone unanswered the last few months.
Stark's secretary makes herself right at home at Vickie's desk, propping her feet up on the table and taking a magazine out of her purse. She doesn't say anything to Betty but every so often will laugh at something funny in an article or pop her bubble gum. The constant smacking sounds coming from her mouth grates on every single one of Betty's last nerves. Occasionally, the secretary will look up from the magazine she's reading and stare directly at Betty before flicking her eyes back down to the page. The gesture went from annoying to unnerving and Betty came close to snapping at the young woman several times. Instead, each time it happened she took a deep breath and focused on the stack of condolence letters in front of her.
It was nearly dark when the group finally exited back out through the front of the tent. Betty's fingers were numb from the incoming cold front and the constant clacking of the keys. She flexed her sore fingers a few times before grabbing her coat and purse to leave. Most of the group had already left apart from Phillips and the brunette. When he finally retreats back in, no doubt to smoke a cigar and decompress from the day, the woman turns her attention to Betty. They both eye each other for a moment before the woman speaks. "Is it always so miserable around here?" Betty's lips twitch into the first smile she's experienced in weeks. The gesture feels so unnatural. "You get used to it." Betty shrugs.
"Agent Peggy Carter." She stuck out her hand and Betty reciprocated the gesture. "Corporal Betty Rogers." The Englishwoman gives her an odd look, her expression becoming unreadable.
"Do you happen to be related to Steven Rogers?" Betty is taken aback by her words and hesitates for a beat before nodding. She hadn't talked about Steve since before Ben's death. "He's my brother." The hint of a smile graces her painted lips.
"I met him while he was at Camp Lehigh. He spoke very highly of you, Corporal." Betty was taken aback by her admission.
"Have you heard from him recently? Our communication lines have been all but cut off out here." Agent Carter's smile fell and she stood a bit straighter. "I'm afraid I haven't seen or heard from him in months." Betty's shoulders slumped and she felt the hope she had been holding onto for the last few moments deflate. She drummed her fingers against her thighs anxiously.
"Not to worry, Corporal. I did hear a rumor that the USO tour might be making its way to Europe in a few weeks. Perhaps we'll get lucky out here." Betty must stop herself from getting too excited at the prospect. They couldn't even capture a tiny town; they surely didn't have the infrastructure to support a full USO tour coming through. "Maybe." She remarks wistfully.
"How long will you be here, Agent Carter?" The brunette woman pursed her lips. "I'll be staying near the evacuation camp…indefinitely." The bugle call blares over the loudspeakers, calling everyone to dinner in the mess. Betty shoved the last few errant papers into a folder and filed them away for tomorrow. "It was lovely to meet you Agent Carter, perhaps I'll see you again soon." The other woman nods and with that Betty leaves for the canteen.
She dreads the prospect of spending another meal sitting alone but she pushes through her anxiety because she knows she needs to eat something, or she'll regret it. Vickie sits just a few tables down from her and is surprisingly quiet considering the events that took place today. She simply sat with her back to Betty, flipping through the magazine that Howard Stark's secretary left. She feels a sense of relief when she can finally head back to her tent and try to get a few hours' sleep.
There was a chill in the air that made it hard for her to roll out of bed that next morning. Betty stretches out on her cot, wishing for five more minutes of sleep but as soon as she closes her eyes again the company burglar is playing Reveille. It was in these moments Betty wished that she were back home in her own warm bed, waking up for a shift at Bendel's. She pulls on her uniform in record time before dashing out to the mess hall.
As soon as she enters the pungent smell of powdered eggs and mystery meat makes her stomach turn. Betty had never been a picky eater, mostly out of necessity, but the unrelenting routine of powdered foods and K-rations were certainly turning her into one. She pushed around the dense yellow blobs on her tray before handing the whole thing over to a private who had been eyeing her food since she sat down. She figured he probably needed it more than her anyway. She looked down at the army issued watch on her wrist, downed the rest of her lukewarm coffee, and headed out.
"Rogers!" Phillips barks at her as soon as she enters his makeshift office. Betty subtly glances down at her watch again to make sure he wasn't angry at her for being late, but the clock indicates she is three minutes early for her shift. Despite her early arrival, he is more on edge than usual.
"Our communication lines were sabotaged last night, and we have a troop transport coming in later today from the south. We need those lines back up as soon as possible." He reaches over to the desk and tosses her a set of keys and there's a second where she expects him to tell her he wants her to start laying the wires. "You're taking the new electric lines over to the evacuation hospital."
"With all due respect, sir, isn't transportation Dotty's job?"
A grimace graced his face. "First Sergeant Warren has the stomach flu and it's going to take her seven and a half months to recover. She's had a medical discharge." Betty felt her jaw drop at his implication. "And until we get a replacement, you're the new transportation officer in addition to your other duties."
"Does that come with a raise, sir?" she asked, half joking, half serious.
"That's not how this works, Rogers." He spits back. "Vickie Taylor will assume your duties today, Corporal." Betty bites her lip to suppress a smirk, wishing she could see Vickie's face when Phillips told her that. "Thank you, sir." He dismisses her with a curt wave as she heads back out into the early autumn chill.
Betty throws her hair up in a hairnet while she waits for the truck to be outfitted with supplies. If she learned nothing else from basic, it was to keep her hair away from heavy machinery. They had watched too many workplace safety horror films for her to want to risk it. She lays a map across the hood of the truck, tracing a rudimentary path from their camp to the hospital. Driving wasn't exactly Betty's forte. She pulls out a pencil and starts to circle certain markers on the map to help her avoid getting lost. It's then that she hears the all too familiar click of a Kodak camera. She doesn't even have to look up to know who it is.
"Get lost, Cal." She sighs, trying not to let his presence get under her skin. "I'm just doing my job, baby doll." She snaps the map closed. "Your job is to document the war, not to take candid camera shots of unsuspecting women." It takes all her willpower not to walk over and smack the smug smirk off his face. "And if you call me 'baby doll' again, I will snap your camera in half." He gave her a sheepish smile and held the camera up in one hand. "Property of the US government, Rogers."
"I don't care if it's the personal property of the king of England, if you take another picture of me, it will end up in a million little pieces." She sloppily folds the map up and sticks it in her pocket, walking around to the side of the jeep, not wanting to be within a ten-mile radius of the sleaziest member Signal Corps currently occupying the European continent. "You need to learn how to relax, Rogers. Most broads would just be flattered by the attention." Betty rolls her eyes so hard that she thinks she might burst a blood vessel. "I doubt that any woman wants your attention, Cal." He smirks again and then leans across the back of the jeep and Betty takes immense pleasure in jerking the car out of park, causing him to stumble and fall face first into the dusty road.
The evacuation hospital and camp are fifteen miles southwest from the frontlines. Despite being a recovery zone for some of the worst injuries, it was much livelier than the camp Betty came from. Betty stands aside while the others unload the supplies from the jeep. The WAC commanding officer greets her with a smile and ushers her into their mess, letting her know it would be a while until she was able to head back. Betty was more than happy to comply with her orders. A morning off was practically a vacation. For the first time since England, she drank decent coffee and can eat breakfast slowly, instead of just shoveling it down her throat before she due at her assigned job. She tries to inquire about her potentially missing mail and the WAC officer even sends a runner down to their post office to check, but she comes back empty handed. Betty tried not to take it personally, it was more likely than not a communication line issue but didn't soothe the voices in her head telling her that she had been forgotten.
She does not receive orders to go back to the frontlines until the early afternoon, by then the road to camp is clogged by the incoming wave of soldiers from the south. Realizing she was going to get nowhere sitting in the traffic, she just pulls off onto a makeshift side road until the commotion starts to die down. It wasn't a terrible way to spend a day, in fact it was shaping up to be the best day she had experienced in Azzano. When the throngs of trucks and soldiers finally clear off the road, she puts the keys back into the ignition and starts to pull back out onto the main road.
She doesn't even make it a mile before she spies a small group of men walking beside the road, they look ragged and worn, one walks with a limp. Feeling bad, she pulls over and waves them down. "You boys are looking a little rough, need a ride?" She hollers at the group.
The bigger man tips his bowler hat at her and the small group hobbles over to the jeep. She sticks her hand out at them and shakes the man's hand. "Corporal Rogers."
"Corporal Dugan, ma'am." He turns around and points to the men clamoring in the vehicle behind him. "That one is Private Jones." Jones gives a small wave. "And that's Private Cohen." The other man nods at her. Once everyone settled into the truck, Betty moved to put the vehicle into drive but Dugan spoke up again. "Ma'am if you don't mind, our jeep broke down a few miles back and we left our Sergeant and the rest of our squad back there. One of them is injured and can't walk far." She looks back and observes the amount of space left in the back. "It might be a little tight back there but luckily camp is just a few miles up the road."
"Beats walking." Jones quips.
Betty pulls out the map and Dugan shows her roughly where they left the rest of their men behind to look for help. It's a twenty-minute drive through the forest and she finds their company exceedingly pleasant. The group informs her that they were part of a specialized detachment coming from Salerno with the rest of the transport. In the distance she can see the outline of a jeep and a couple of men piled in the back. One soldier is leaning over the engine, half of his body obscured by the hood of the vehicle. As they drew closer, she could see smoke billowing from the engine.
As she pulled in next to the disabled jeep, the rest of the passengers jumped out and immediately started helping the others pile into her vehicle. The soldier beneath the hood was still banging on the engine as the rest of the squad settled in, leaving the front seat open for him. "C'mon Sarge, just leave it!" The man shuts the hood and turns towards the group and for a moment everything stands still. He blinks his eyes a couple of times as if he cannot believe what he's seeing.
"Betty?"
Before she can form words, suddenly she is pulled out of the vehicle and into a crushing embrace. She is too stunned to react at first but as the realization hits her, she pulls him in tight. Too soon, Bucky pulls away from her and there's a moment where she thinks he's going to kiss her in front of God and everyone, and there's a moment where she wants him to kiss her in front of God and everyone.
But he hesitates and the moment glides past them.
"Betty, what the hell are you doing here?" He asks as he holds her out at arm's length. He looks different than he used to. His face is skinnier, and his eyes have deep set purple rings around them, like he hasn't had a proper night's sleep in months. And she is sure he hadn't. His uniform is hanging off his body and she wonders when the last time he had a proper meal.
"I've been in Azzano for a month! So, the real question is, what are you doing here?" A smile breaks across his face and it almost looks unnatural given his ghostly appearance. Despite the crowd, her mind is screaming at her to reach out and pull him into a scorching kiss, but she reminds herself that she has no idea what they are or if he even wants that anymore. After all, he had been the one that ceased all communication months ago.
"Can we go or are you two going to stand there and flirt all day?" Betty had momentarily forgotten about her jeep filled with soldiers. Bucky puts her hands on her shoulders and turns her towards the group. "This is Betty Rogers." There were audible groans from everyone in the car. Betty's eyebrows shot up and she turned her head towards Bucky for some sort of explanation.
It was Dugan who spoke up. "No offense ma'am but the Sarge here has not stopped talking about you since England." She bites her lip to suppress a smile. "England? I've been hearing about her since we boarded the goddamn Dorchester!" Private Jones whines. She playfully nudges him in the ribs. "What have you been telling people about me?"
"Only the good things, sweetheart." He holds out his hand to help her get back into the driver's seat, although she doesn't need assistance, she gladly takes the invitation to hold onto him for a moment. She starts up the engine as he climbs into the passenger seat. He slings his arm across the back of her seat, casually, his fingers delicately brushing against her shoulders. She tries to focus on driving instead of the way his touch is burning across her skin. He leans his head back and smirks at the passengers behind him. "You know, I taught Betty here how to drive." Betty rolls her eyes.
"You were a terrible teacher, you just yelled at me the whole time." she exclaimed, smacking his arm playfully. "Yeah, well you weren't exactly a star pupil either. You scratched dad's car and I had to take the fall. He's still mad at me for it."
"I'm sorry I was distracted by Becca and your stupid girlfriend fighting in the backseat!" For the first time in nearly a year, Betty felt normal. She felt like her old self again instead of the shell of the person she had been since England. They keep up the lively conversation, with an occasional embarrassing comment from the men in the backseats. Betty drives slower than she needs to because she knows that when they get to camp, they will be separated again, and she cannot stomach the idea. She knows it's selfish but even in the few minutes since they've been reunited, she has started to feel like a human being again. The ice around her heart was beginning to thaw and she felt herself smile at that idea. When they do finally make it, the men shuffle out, helping their two wounded comrades and Betty points them in the direction of the doctors.
Bucky's unit is being sorted on the other side of the camp and since he has no injuries he is supposed to report immediately to his commanding officer. Before he turns to leave, he reaches out as if to touch her arm, his fingers brush against the rough fabric of her coat, but then he drops his hand. "Find me when you're done with work." She nods and reluctantly starts to walk away. She doesn't make it twenty-five feet until she feels the urge to turn around to glance at him again, trying to convince herself he's real and here with her. When she finally gathers the courage to turn around, he has done the same thing. She feels like a teenager with a schoolyard crush, and she must remind herself that this is a man with whom she was intimately acquainted. A simple glance should not be causing her this strong of a reaction. They stand there both locked in this intimate standoff until another soldier comes behind him and administers a spirited slap to the shoulder snapping him out of his trance. He waves to her one last time before melting into the crowd.
She is in such an exuberant mood that she barely registers Vickie's sour attitude. Phillips seems startled by her change in demeanor and even asks if she is feeling okay after he drops a stack of extra paperwork on her desk, and she thanks him. It's a good distraction to pass the time while she awaits the evening ahead. "What is wrong with you, Rogers?" Vickie snaps at her after the third time she's jumped up from her desk to inspect a group of incoming soldiers. "Nothing." Betty grumbles before getting back to her typing. As soon as her shift ends, Betty bolts out of her chair and gathers her things as quickly as she can. "Late for a date, Rogers?" Vickie asked sarcastically.
"Yes, actually." She normally wouldn't respond to one of Vickie's jabs, but it was worth it to see the stunned look on her face. The mess hall is lively like it is right after they get a new group of soldiers. A hand touches the small of her back and she looks to see Bucky smiling down at her.
"How's the grub around this place?" Jones asked. Betty shrugged, "It's great if you really love Bovril and powdered eggs." Jones groaned and placed his tray down on the table.
"How'd you end up out here? Barnes said that you had some cushy job in Cambridge?" Dugan inquired, Betty immediately looked down and pushed her food around the tin tray. As if sensing her shifting mood, Bucky grabbed her hand under the table. "I was there for a few months, but then I lost someone, a friend of mine from home. He was a paratrooper. Died in a plane crash right off the base…" She felt her throat constrict and she prayed that they wouldn't ask her anymore questions about Ben. "Shit, I'm sorry kid." Betty shrugged, trying to brush off the conversation. "I just couldn't be there anymore after that, so I got a transfer and now I'm here."
The others spark up a lighter conversation across the table and she gathers up the courage to look over at Bucky. He's staring off at the far wall, and it isn't until she squeezes his hand that he looks over at her. He smiles, but the light doesn't meet his eyes. There's a melancholic energy surrounding him. He continues to look at her until Dugan calls out his name and his attention snaps back to the conversation.
"...that was the same night that Sarge over here had to bail us out of jail." She realized then that Dugan had been telling her a story this whole time. She nudged his shoulder, "That's probably the first time that he's bailed someone else out of jail." The others burst out laughing.
"Hey, that was just the one time!"
"Twice, actually! Once I know about and once I'm not supposed to." He laughed, genuinely this time. "You're not supposed to know about that second one for good reason." He casually slung his arm around her shoulder. It felt strange to finally have someone to talk to again. While she knows there are other people around them, her universe has now recentered itself around him. Every quip he makes is funnier than it used to be, every smile makes her heart flutter, and every silence is comfortable.
When dinner was over, they piled into Gabe Jones' and Izzy Cohen's tent to play a round of poker. The room is tight and cramped and she has to sit practically on Bucky's lap in order to fit in the room, which only added to the awkward tension between them. This also gives him an unfair advantage over her in the game because he is always peering over her shoulder and looking at her cards. After yet another round of Betty bluffing like her life depended on it, he leaned in so close that just the two of them could hear and whispered, "I see you're still a dirty, rotten, cheater, darlin'." His nose brushed the skin right above her ear and she was practically vibrating at his closeness.
"Hey knock it off you two!" Jones snapped, playfully. "Is it always gonna be like this?" Izzy sighed and Betty couldn't help but roll her eyes at their dramatics.
She yawned as she stood, stretching out her stiff legs. "I've got to turn in, early shift tomorrow. You boys have a good night and don't clean him out too bad." They all bid their goodnights, except for Bucky who shot up, shoving his cards towards Cohen. "I'll walk you back." He grabbed his coat and followed her out amid the whistles and catcalls his friend threw their way. Ignoring them, he held out his arm to her and she gladly accepted it.
It's a very short walk to where she lives but she makes sure they take every detour to get there. If he catches on to her plan, he doesn't say. She tries to gather the courage to confront him about why he stopped writing to her but every time she opens her mouth to ask, something else comes out. "Do you hear from Steve often?"
"A few things here and there but it's very sporadic." He shoved his other hand in his pocket and didn't look over at her. "We don't get much mail out here and I haven't heard anything in a few weeks." She cast her eyes over his face, wondering if this would spark the much-needed conversation they needed to have but he only hummed and kept walking forward.
"You'll hardly recognize him when you see him again, he looks completely different. He's…taller." She tried to keep her tone light to mask the disappointment she felt at him for dodging her intentions. "Is that so?" He smiled. "Sounds like the army was a good fit for that dork after all." She laughs.
"I'm only glad he's still with the USO. That's at least one of you that I don't have to worry about constantly." He stops in his tracks and turns towards her fully. "You worry about me, Bette?" He murmurs while running his fingers up her arm. She wants to smack him for his stupidity, but she reigns her frustration in. "Of course, I do." He looks like he's going to say something else, but he stops himself and they keep walking.
When they finally stop in front of her tent, he takes a moment and just looks at her, his eyes shining in the artificial light. He takes a quarter step forward until he's close enough that she can feel his breath flutter across her face. Betty's heart jumps as he reaches out his hand to brush a stray hair off her cheek and tucks it behind her ear. His fingers linger for a moment, brushing against her jaw before he drops his hand, and the warmth of his skin disappears. "Goodnight, Bette." There's something raw about his tone and Betty's stomach fills with icy disappointment, about which she isn't entirely sure.