Pyjama Walks
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Steve Rogers couldn't sleep.
For once, he couldn't blame the noise of tanks or gunfire. There weren't even any explosions in the distance. Azzano was only a few weeks behind them, but where they were stationed now, at the Commando Basic Training Centre on the edge of nowhere in the middle of Scotland, the skies were clear and the nights were silent. So silent, in fact, that he couldn't sleep. Images flickered behind his eyelids when he tried, and even the rigorous training they underwent wasn't enough to wear him out enough that he could slip past them into the oblivion of sheer exhaustion.
Bucky, on the other hand, was out like a log, which the captain found very gratifying.
His friend had been struggling with sleep too, ever since they'd been reunited at Azzano. But Bucky's dreams were violent, terrifying, sometimes almost debilitating. It was good to see him like he was now, passed out, one arm over his head, dark hair tousled boyishly. His face was relaxed in sleep, and he looked more like the Bucky Barnes that had said goodbye to Steve in New York those many months ago.
Rolling quietly off of the canvas cot he'd been issued, Steve groped in the darkness for his boots, dragging them on over bare feet. Out of habit, he reached for his greatcoat, shrugging it on over his pyjamas. The cold didn't bother him the way it used to anymore, but he didn't want to wander around camp in his nightclothes.
Folks might think Captain America sleepwalked. And while that might not be bad by itself, Dugan would be sure to get wind of it and plan some sort of elaborate prank to pull on their next mission.
Frosty grass crunched under his feet as Steve crept out of the barracks. He filled his lungs with the cold air and watched the cloud of his breath as it caught the moonlight. No streetlamps here, but the moon was full, and he could see almost as clearly as if it were day. Idly, he wondered if that was because of the moon, or because of the serum. He still wasn't used to all the benefits yet.
Walking settled his mind some. Heading away from the rows of barracks, he set out with some vague purpose toward the pale gleam of a low ridge, standing out against the dark trees behind it. Stretching his legs, he filled his lungs again and marveled at their new capacity, appreciating the view of the castle on whose grounds the training centre was located.
Six months ago, who would've guessed he'd be here in a foreign country, training in sight of an actual castle?
"Can't sleep either?"
Steve jolted violently, spinning on one heel and very nearly slipping on the frosty grass. Agent Carter leaned against a tree a few yards away, wearing her own greatcoat and boots, with a fur-lined hat pulled snugly down over her ears. He caught the amused twist to her lips, and knew she hadn't missed his inelegant surprise.
"Agent Carter," he said, and tried to find something else to add. "Didn't know you were up," he managed at last.
She pushed off from the tree, coming closer. "I'm sorry if I spoiled your solitude," she admitted. "But I didn't exactly fancy the idea of trying to make off in the other direction without you seeing me."
Somehow, without quite knowing how it happened, they ended up walking together. Peggy had to take three steps to his two, but neither one was in a hurry. At last they reached the top of the ridge and started down the other side. The slope down was longer than the climb up had been, and a small hamlet nestled at the base. No lights shone - blackout curtains covered most windows these days.
"What's keeping you up?" Steve asked at last. During the day he would never dare ask such a thing, but somehow the darkness and moonlight gave him the courage. Peggy shrugged.
"We're moving out in the next couple days," she said, not quite answering the question. "They want to get you out on the front as soon as possible. I suppose I'm rather worked up about it. You?"
Steve buried both hands in his pockets, and wondered if she would be ashamed of his weakness.
"Azzano," he answered after a long pause. "I keep seeing things. Bucky, for one, and all the men I couldn't save…"
"And all the men you killed?"
It was carefully asked, but it hurt like a kick to the face. Steve listened to the rhythm of their footsteps for a while as he debated his answer.
"Yeah," he said at last. "Don't get me wrong - I know what I signed up for, and I'll do my part, same as any man here. It's just…" He withdrew a hand from his pocket to gesture pointlessly, and then rubbed the back of his neck. "They're people too," he finished at last, voice cracking slightly. "And their blood is on my hands."
It was sickening, when he thought about it. Some men turned their minds off, stopped thinking, stopped caring. Perhaps someday he would get to that point, but he wasn't sure he wanted to.
Peggy drifted a little closer to him, keeping steady pace at his side. "That," she told him after a long pause, "is exactly why you were chosen for this."
Steve looked down at her as they walked. "What is?" he asked, slightly confused.
She stopped, and so he stopped too, turning to face her. The moonlight fell full on her features, and he was surprised to see that her eyes were wet.
"Because you care. You see humanity where others see only the features they despise."
It wasn't quite enough, and it would never absolve the deaths he had caused and would yet cause, but somehow he felt a little comforted. She started walking again, and he followed.
"You're not the only one, you know," she tossed back over her shoulder after a few minutes of silent walking. "I think we all have our ghosts."
"You too?"
She laughed, the sound almost brittle in the frosty air. "Yes, Captain - me too. I don't think there's a person alive here who doesn't."
Steve shook his head, and drew even with her. It was true - this war had done terrible things to them all, irrespective of age or race or nationality. "A whole generation of men and women with ghosts on their conscience," he mused ruefully. "What kind of world do you think we're going to leave for our kids? I mean," he fumbled, suddenly realizing his words could be misunderstood, "the - the ones - the generations after ours."
Peggy topped a little rise and paused. The trees were dark behind her, ice-encrusted grass silver in the moonlight beneath her feet. She turned to look at him, and smiled even as she shivered, drawing her shoulders up to her ears.
"One that is free," she said simply.
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They reached the little hamlet at last, and tramped silently around the edge of it. Music caught Steve's ear, and he paused. Peggy heard it too - her steps slowed and she unconsciously trailed closer to one of the buildings. Blackout curtains kept any light from showing, but there was some kind of festivity going on within.
"Sounds like a dance," Steve commented, and then wished mightily that he hadn't. Because Peggy had promised him a dance not so very long ago, and this made it sound like he was fishing.
Which he wasn't. Mainly because he was suddenly very aware that he was only wearing pyjamas under his greatcoat.
Not suitable dancing attire, by any stretch of the imagination.
To his relief, Peggy didn't bring it up, though she did toss him an unreadable look. Then her lips curled up mischievously.
"I suppose boots aren't exactly the thing," she admitted with mock ruefulness. "I shall have to bring my dancing shoes next time we go walking."
Steve could feel himself flushing.
They didn't speak much as they returned to camp. As one of the few women in a training camp full of men, Peggy had been given a room in the castle, so he walked her to the back door, and, unsure how to handle the situation, finally settled on shaking hands with her in farewell.
"Goodnight, Agent Carter," he told her earnestly. "Thanks for - for everything." He felt so much better after having talked with her. Something about her faith, her stubborn hope - it helped settle the conflicting feelings in his soul. There was still blood on his hands, but at least he knew he didn't have to bear the burden alone. And there was a light at the end of the war; a dream of hope and peace that he'd forgotten about until she reminded him.
Her dimples deepened as she gracefully reclaimed her hand, and he flushed heavily, realizing the handshake had gone on too long. "Goodnight, Captain Rogers," she responded simply. "Sweet dreams."
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Peggy watched through the window as he moved away from her door towards the barracks where he and the rest of the Commandos were stationed. Only when she was sure he wouldn't come back did she return to the tiny room she called her own and shed the greatcoat and fur cap, adding them on top of her blankets for more warmth against the cold night as she crept into bed.
It was a shame, she mused. The first time they'd been near music since she promised him a dance - and she'd been wearing pyjamas and rag curls under her coat and hat. She had been very relieved when he hadn't insisted on going in for a dance after her lame excuse about her shoes.
Rolling over, Peggy tugged the covers up over her head to keep the chill out. She intended to stay awake a little longer and plan out the morning's responsibilities. It was quite without her permission, then, that her mind kept replaying Steve Rogers' face in the moonlight and the warm strength of his hand around hers until she fell asleep.
And even then, she saw him in her dreams.
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The Commando Basic Training Centre was opened on the grounds of Achnacarry Castle in Scotland in 1942. Thousands of Allied soldiers took specialized commando training courses there. I figured it was only reasonable that Steve and his ragtag band would probably be sent for some kind of training before being formally tossed into battle. A year ago I got the chance to go up near there to see the Commando Memorial, and that's when I got the idea to write this.
Also… have… have I not updated this in TWO YEARS? Well, that's embarrassing. Surprise! I'm still here. Thank you all for your lovely reviews.
I'm trying to decide what work-in-progress I should focus on next, so please go check out the poll on my profile page and let me know! (You may need to be in desktop view to see the poll, by the way.) And if you can't vote because you don't have an account, then you can leave your vote in a guest review and I'll get it that way. :)
Guest reviewers Laughy Taffy, ChildofGod, Guest, Aslan's Daughter, Kirsten, and Ryn, thank you so much for your kind reviews. I loved every one of them, and while I have no idea if you're still reading this, I wanted to thank you.
Guest (May 4): your mass reviews of my stories were absolutely delightful, and honestly brought me joy for days. Thank you, thank you. It was to express my gratitude that I finally got around to posting this chapter. :)