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Chapter 13

The Watches of the Night

New York City,
Mercy General Hospital

Steve looked up as the nurse entered the room. He felt sharp now, his mind alert and focused after an hours sleep. He sat up, his huge frame comically spilling out of the small hospital bed.

"Hello, Captain," the nurse said, making a move to take his temperature. Seeing his frown, she stopped. "Sorry, force of habit. How was your meal?"

"Very nice. I'd like another, if you have any."

"Another?". She looked in amazement at the three trays piled on his bed table, and then checked Dr. Pym's orders on the chart. "You can really put it away, can't you? I'll have another sent right up. Is there anything else you need?"

"Just a little privacy. Thank you."

She left and soon the food was delivered, which Steve quickly polished off. Checking the time, he made a fast calculation: it would be early in England, but not too early. He had to make this call—he'd put it off too long as it was. Picking up his bedside phone, he dialed a number which connected him to the Avengers automated communication system, and a secure line was established. After the third ring, the line picked up and a familiar voice answered.

"Falsworth Manor, Mr. Trilby speaking."

"Trilby, this is Steve Rogers. I'm the gentleman who—"

"Yes, I recognize your voice, sir."

"I need to speak with Lady Falsworth."

"The lady is sleeping. She had a very late night."

"Could you wake her? It's very urgent."

There was a long pause. "Mr. Rogers, may I speak plainly, sir?"

"Of course."

"Your behavior last Friday, leaving the way you did, it was shabby treatment. You distressed lady Falsworth by your thoughtless actions. You should know this."

That stung. Steve knew it was true. Trilby went on.

"I am about to break a confidence, something I have not done in thirty years of service. Lady Falsworth is not well. It is her heart."

"I…I didn't know. Is it serious?"

"It is. I have observed you well, in the many visits you have made here over the years. Lady Falsworth loves you, as you love her, that much is plain. It is not my place to pry…but, I, too, care for her. I think that you see her as you wish her to be, not as she truly is. She is ninety-five years old, and for the past year, her heart has been failing."

"Why hasn't she told me?"

"It seems the two of you keep many secrets, from each other, from the world. She is a very great person, who served her nation with honor during the War, alongside her comrades, whom she loved. One comrade it particular. Perhaps he might know the reasons for her secrecy. I am merely the butler here at Falsworth."

Steve paused, letting those words sink in before speaking.

"There's news coming out of America which will be upsetting to her. Please tell her not to worry. Tell her Captain America is alive and well."

"Very good, sir. I shall tell Lady Falsworth you are alive and well. Might I suggest you call later in the day? I am certain she will wish to speak with you."

"I will. And, Gavin…thank you. For everything."

"Thank you, Steven. Good day."

Steve hung up, feeling numb. His world had been in freefall ever since Hank discovered the illness. Each time he thought he'd regained his footing, something came along to kick it back out from under him, but was too much. He could stand losing everything, including his life. But he couldn't stand losing her.

Steve walked to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, hating what he saw looking back at him from the mirror; a coward, selfish and thoughtless. Trilby was right; he only saw what he wanted to see. That ended here and now. However much time was left, whatever God saw fit to give him, there were things he needed to make right.

God. The thought was strange. He hadn't been much of a believer, not for many years. There was so much ugliness and horror in the world that it was hard to picture God in it at all. Yes, there was beauty and goodness too, but so much sorrow. How could a loving God allow such sorrow?

'God is both those things, existing at the same time. And God is what life is.'

Where had he heard those words?

He tried to recall something from the edge of memory, a dream from earlier, the images vague and defuse. Buck was there, telling him something, though he couldn't remember what it was. He did remember about Sir Richard's book, that there was help to be found there, help against…

The Skull.

His features hardened at the thought of his old adversary. During the war, they battled on six separate occasions, including the day he disappeared in forty-four, after Schmidt became the thing he now was; the Red Skull, in fact as well as in name. After returning from the ice, an additional nine battles could be added to the ledger. Fifteen separate campaigns, spread out over nine decades…and no victory. Stalemates were the best he ever managed against the Skull. It was the one glaring failure in the career of Captain America. The possibility of dying and leaving the Skull still in the world suddenly dawned on him.

The Skull's existence was a shadow against humanity, a threat of suffering unknown even in history's bloodiest past. This would sound like melodrama if spoken about any other, but for the Skull? It was mere honest observation. He was the most singularly evil being Steve had ever encountered, and he'd faced his share of evil and depravity. The Skull didn't merely lust for power, as so many others did, nor was he driven by simple dreams of conquest, glory or revenge. The Skull burned with a ravenous hunger to destroy this world and remake it in his own twisted image. He was an eclipse, a promise of permanent midnight. For the Skull to live was for civilization to die, perishing into eternal slavery under his iron rule. Simply put, the Skull was evil.

Steve had dedicated his life to stopping such evil. He'd sacrificed everything to this duty, including his personal happiness. Two images came to his mind: the woman he always loved, but could never have…and the enemy he always fought, but could never defeat.

Both things existing at the same time.

Heading back to bed, Steve halted. He searched the darkness of the small hospital room, his battlefield instincts warning of a hidden danger, waiting just beyond the field of vision. He walked to the window and scanned the pitch darkness of the moonless night, seeing nothing but the city in its semi-drowse; a metropolis in repose. The feeling of being watched slowly evaporated. The pragmatist in him said it was nothing, just the tension of the day working on his mind. The soldier in him warned otherwise.

He stretched out on the bed. Tonight, for the second time, he passed through the threshold of death and came back. Now he knew why. Death lay ahead of him, as it did for all, but before taking that final, irrevocable step, Captain America would meet the Red Skull on the field of battle. He would destroy him…or die trying.

With this certainty clear in mind, Steve Rogers fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.