And I will stay up through the night
Let's be clear, won't close my eyes.
And I know that I can survive
I'll walk through fire to save my life.
A menacing cloud hung low in the sky when Charlotte Quartermain walked out of her tiny flat and into the bustling streets of London. The air was relatively chilled for mid-September and as a particularly strong gust of wind blew against her, she found herself wishing she had worn something a little heavier than her thin leather jacket and jeans.
With a quick glance down at her watch, her pace hastened as her long, blonde hair blew all around her face. She was notoriously late for almost everything within her social life – but she'd be damned if she ran late today. Today was the day she had been looking forward to for months. Today, she was finally able to see her uncle Gabe for the first time in what felt like forever.
Charlotte had known Gabe Jones her entire life and though he was not actually related to her, he was an integral part of her family no less. Gabe was her uncle and even if there was no true bloodline shared between them, he was the only family she had left now that her father, SHIELD Agent Clay Quartermain, was gone.
Back when Clay had first started at SHIELD, Gabe Jones had become an almost fatherly figure to the blonde man. Clay was reckless and sought out danger more often than he prevented it but something about the wild man spoke to Gabe. Perhaps it was his involvement with the U.S Air Force prior to SHIELD or his fierce loyalty – something stood out to him.
He had been there for Clay on several missions and was one of the main contenders when it came down to ensuring Fury saw the raw skill Quatermain possessed. He had even been there – maybe more so than ever before – when young Charlotte was born twenty-seven years prior.
At the time, Gabe had been a few years into retirement when he had received a phone call from an extremely anxious Clay. He stuttered on and on about how a baby girl had just 'turned up' at his door that morning. Clay had not seen the baby's mother, Georgia Fowley, since their one fateful night nine months prior but when the woman's brother showed up at his house with a blonde little girl on his arm, there were no doubts that the baby was his. She might have had her mother's straight-edged nose and rosy lips but she had her father's hair and his eyes; a strange shade of grayish green that ran on his side of the family.
After what must have been close to a thousand questions, Clay had found out that the baby's mother, Georgia, had died from complications during childbirth and though the little bundle had been a blessing to the remaining family, it was much too painful of a reminder of the life now lost. With that in mind, Georgia's brother went in search for Clay and thankfully found him not four weeks later living in a high rise in Manhattan.
Naturally, Gabe had played a vital role where that was concerned, too.
Clay's first thought had been to give the baby up for adoption as the life of an agent was much too dangerous for a baby, but upon talking to the one man in the whole world he could trust endlessly, he began to find the faults in that plan. Here was a precious baby girl with the sweetest little smile he had ever seen and she was his, all his. He had taken part in making something so pure and perfect and in a world full of ugliness and danger he would be damned if he gave that up.
But having a family and being one of the most significant agents of SHIELD did not come easy. There were constant threats, constant dangers to him let alone his family – especially when he became involved with the U.S government and their efforts against the Red Hulk. It was then that Gabe truly stepped up to the plate. He had taken the youngster under his wing much like he had done with her own father back in the day and had been there for all of her big moments; communion, confirmation, graduation – but it was when Clay was murdered and found in a meat packing plant seven years prior, that Gabe really stepped up to the plate.
Charlotte could distinctly remember every little detail of her fathers' funeral. From the weather – a sunny, warm day in late May – to the tasteless hors d'oeuvres and dozens upon dozens of unfamiliar faces that muttered their condolences. She remembered it all it, but perhaps what she recalled the most was feeling the heaviness of Gabe's palm on her shoulder as she stared down at the shined mahogany. It was oddly comforting despite the situation at hand; even when coffin was lowered into the cold, damp soil the weight of his hand was still there. It was just enough to get her by.
She was only nineteen then. Nineteen and orphaned with no true family besides that of her Uncle Gabe – but somehow, that had been enough. Despite his own ageing frame, the older man ensured he was there for Charlotte Quartermain, no matter what.
He couldn't save Clay, but he'd be damned if he didn't help young Charlie along the way.
In fact, he had been the one to push her in the direction of London. He knew how many enemies her father had had back in the day and having Clay Quartermain's daughter roaming the streets of New York City – the city where a lot of those enemies still dwelled – seemed like trouble. So, on her twenty-third birthday, Charlotte packed her bags and moved across the pond.
Her flat was small and sat above a local pub just south of Piccadilly Circus. The rent was cheap enough and sat only a stones-throw away from Smoke – a 1940's themed bar she had been working in for the last year and a half. It was ideal for what it was. Sure, at times she found herself missing the States but she had nothing there.
Gabe had moved across the pond just a few years after she had once he had been diagnosed with lung cancer. The best doctors were over there and, though he'd never admit it, Charlotte knew her being there was a major reason as well. The pair had become an almost family-like unit and if his time was coming, he'd be damned if he spent it anywhere else than with his beloved niece.
"I.D, ma'am?" A large burly man asked as Charlotte finally approached the familiar building that housed her uncle.
With a small nod, the blonde trudged through her black purse and pulled out the glossy I.D badge that granted her access into the expensive facility. She knew it was a rather elite home made solely for ex-SHIELD agents or the like but every time she looked at the tall, glassy structure it amazed her.
"Miss Quartermain?" Her steely eyes dropped from the staggering tower down to the balding man that stood before her. "Have a nice day."
Shooting him a small, half-hearted smile, Charlotte swung her purse further up her shoulder and made her way inside of the expensive structure. The clip-clap of her booty heels sounded down the hallway as she eyed the nearest elevator and as she reached out to press the button, she was pleasantly surprised to hear the loud ding before its doors opened up.
Fixing the strap of her bag so it was higher on her shoulder, she stepped into the elevator and waited for the thick doors to close – but when a hand stretched out and stopped the doors from moving, a rather strange nervous feeling erupted in her gut.
The man was normal enough. Medium build, minimal facial hair, average height, brown eyes and hair, but something about the stranger made Charlotte take a subtle step closer to the wall. She had been raised on suspicion, a trait handed down to her from both Gabe and her own father, but she'd rather assume the worse than go into situations blindly.
The doors closed within moments and as the pair stood in silence, a gnawing feeling of anxiety bled into her senses. Something about this, about him felt wrong. Raking her eyes up his frame rather quickly, she wasn't entirely shocked to find his eyes already trained on her and her alone.
That was when her stomach fell.
"You forgot to pick a floor." Was all she said, trying to be nonchalant as she glanced at the buttons.
The man said nothing at first, simply just looked from her, to the buttons and then back to her before giving her a gentle shrug. Within moments, the man's fingers tapped the floor above her own. "How silly of me."
Swallowing hard, Charlotte attempted to give the man a smile but knew how mangled it must have looked. She was nervous and she knew it showed. She hadn't even realized she had been holding her breath until the quiet ding sounded from above the doors. She made it.
Breathing out evenly through her nose, she stepped out of the elevator and moved to turn left but stopped upon feeling a cold hand envelope her wrist. "Quartermain, is it?" Her blood ran cold at the man's tone and as she turned back to face the stranger, her stomach fell at his sneer.
"How—" She paused. "Who are you?"
With his free hand, the man reached into the pocket of his trousers – a move all too nerve-wracking for Charlie – before pulling out the familiar badge she had pulled out from her purse only moments before. "Just returning this to you, Miss Quartermain."
The gesture was hollow and the feeling the man had left her with was ever-present as she carefully peeled the laminated badge from his hand. "Thanks." She muttered, racking her brain on whether or not she had gotten it back from the security in the first place.
The man continued to stand there looking at her in a way that made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge, but before she could make a move herself, the elevator doors began to close with the man still inside. "Be seeing you soon, Charlotte."
The doors shut within seconds leaving Charlotte both confused and nervous. She had often thought about changing her surname to anything but Quartermain knowing full well just how infamous her father had been during his time with SHIELD, but she could never bring herself to do it. Changing her last name would be like changing a part of herself – the part that brought her closer to her dad – and doing that just felt wrong.
With a steady breath, Charlotte rolled her shoulders and attempted to put the minor confrontation behind her. This wasn't the first time she allowed her nerves to get the better of her and it certainly wouldn't be the last. So, with that in mind, she pushed out a small smile that truly wasn't so hard to come by considering who she was about to see, and made her way to the sign in desk.
"Hi, I'm here to see—"
The woman looked up at the blonde and waved off the introduction. "I know who you are love," the older woman smiled. "Mr. Jones is just finishing up his lunch if you want to meet him in his room."
Charlotte nodded and once again shot the older woman a small smile before she made her way down the familiar corridor that lead to his room. The building was unlike any other palliative care facility around as it was funded by Stark industries and was every bit as lavish as it was modern. It felt and looked more like a high-end hotel than anything else and though she knew her Uncle Gabe was the polar opposite of lavish or modern, he liked his time here and that was all that mattered.
When she rounded the corners that lead to his room, she was pleased to find him happily – albeit weakly – munching on the last of his pudding. His eyes were focused outside of the large floor-to-ceiling window that took up the entire right wing of his room but before she could walk right in, one of his nurses intervened. "Just a word before you go in and see him."
Charlotte nodded and eyed the male nurse nervously before sidestepping back into the hallway. He couldn't have been much older than she was but the worry lines creasing his forehead made her stomach squelch nervously.
"Is he okay?" Were the first words tumbling out of her mouth. She looked over the man's shoulder towards her Uncle who had now finished up his pudding. When the nurse didn't answer right away, she looked b. "Well?"
"He's getting weaker." The nurse told her, glancing back at the ageing man sadly. "We ran a few blood tests last night and the cancer does seem to be spreading. Not at an extremely fast pace, but it is spreading."
The lump that had formed in Charlotte's throat was enough to bring her to her knees but rather than succumbing to the grief, she looked back at the nurse and sighed. "How long does he have?"
The nurse eyed the blonde carefully before gently shaking his head. "It's hard to say. He is ninety-six years old, he's had a hell of a life as you well know and—"
"How long?" She demanded, feeling the familiar tingle of tears behind her eyes.
"A few months at best. Maybe less."
It was as if she had been hit with a freight train. For a moment she was left breathless and reeling as she thought selfishly about her one last remaining family member leaving her. She was dizzy and felt sick but she refused to cry at this point. She couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to him.
"Is that my Charlie?"
The quiet voice of Gabe woke Charlotte out of her reverie and before she could think of letting her emotions show, she turned and shot the man a watery smile.
He looked good and as he pushed away the reminder of his meal and grinned across at her, she found her own smile widening. "Hey, Uncle Gabe," she muttered, her heart racing in her chest with this new information. "How are you feeling?"
She walked over towards him and took a seat in the plush chair that sat by his bed. He had tubes and IV's in his arms and though he wore a starch white gown and mesh booties on his feet, she could tell his spirits were high.
"Look at you, kid," he said, grinning at her fondly. "Boy howdy ain't you lucky I'm stuck in here. I'd have to kill all of those boys out there thinkin' they're good enough for my niece."
"Oddly enough a college drop-out working as a part time waitress and full-time secretary doesn't warrant the lineup of suitors it might have back in the day." She teased, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
Gabe rolled his dark eyes as he adjusted the pillow under his back. "A tall, beautiful blonde in any decade is still a tall, beautiful blonde." He quipped, giving her a small, genuine smile. "So how's life outside of these walls, Charlie?" His thumb stroked her outer palm as he stared adoringly up at her. "Everything okay?" She was a horrible liar and she knew it would only be a matter of time until he saw the sadness behind her eyes but before she could so much as speak a word about it, he cut her off. "Don't be giving me that look, Charlie."
Her grip on his hand tightened. "So you know, then?"
The old man allowed his head to lull onto his pillow. "Of course I know, but I'm ninety-six years old, how can I be upset about it?" He relaxed back into his mattress. "I've lived a good life."
Charlotte swallowed hard as she fought for control of the lump in her throat. She knew if she spoke to soon the tears would only flow, so before she said a word she let out a long, low breath of air and swallowed. "You aren't scared?"
Gabe looked up at her and tenderly brushed a strand of light hair back from her face. "Sweetheart, everybody's scared of dying but that isn't an excuse to stop living."
He had been out of the South for years now but that obvious little twang was still ever present when he spoke. It had always made her laugh as a kid, but now, watching him waste away to nothing, it only made the hollow sensation in her chest ache.
Sensing this, the old man stared across at Charlotte for quite some time before he gestured to a locked cabinet beneath his personal attributes. "There's a key in that bin over there. It opens up the safe. Can you open it for me?"
Charlotte was quick to comply and did as she was told. Half expecting to see exactly what you'd expect to find stashed away in a safe, the blonde was rather confused to find a stack of notebooks in the very center of the safe. Nothing of monetary value as one would expect, just six leather-bound books. With furled brows, she carefully took them out and eyed each book before handing them off to her uncle. "You writing a life story or something there, old man?"
Gabe grumbled something beneath his breath before she joined him back on the chair. "I need you to keep these safe, ya hear me? And read 'em, too." His dark hand swept over one of the books before he flipped it open where his messy scrawl could be found littering each page. "I kept these during the war mostly but there's a few new ones."
Charlotte's brows rose at the age of them before she too grabbed one to gently flip through. He had attached pictures to various pages inside of the notebook but she had to laugh at the various pictures of women that stared up at her. No two were the same. "Lady killer back in the day, eh?"
The grin she had come to know so well spread across his cheeks like wildfire as he scanned the spread of women he had been in contact with during the war. "This one, nurse Cornwall, she was my favourite."
Charlotte laughed out loud and playfully shook her head. "Dirty old man." She teased before flipping open another book. This one didn't have near as many pictures of women in it but there was a photo that caught her attention. It was a small black and white photo, very much worn from age, of six men. She narrowed her eyes at Gabe's messy writing in hopes to decipher it.
Italy, November '43
The group of men in the picture all held guns and neither wore a smile but she could sense there must have been some form of brotherhood between them. Chancing a look at her uncle, Charlotte pressed her fingernail to the picture and cleared her throat. "Your Regiment?"
Gabe's dark eyes fell from his own notebook to the one she held and allowed a rueful smile to pull at the corners of his lips. "My brothers," he affirmed. "We called ourselves The Howling Commandos." She had heard the term from her father for years but never once did she have a face to the name.
Charlotte's grey eyes scanned over the picture for what must have been close to a dozen times before landing on one of the men. He looked oddly familiar for a man who would be nearing one hundred years old by now, but there was something about him that she had seen before.
"Who was this?" She found herself asking, pointing to the man that stood to Gabe's right. He was handsome and tall and had dark unruly hair with a strong jaw line.
Gabe, whose eyes were still glued to the picture, smiled sadly down at the image before opening his mouth. "That was James Barnes. Insisted on being called Bucky, though." Despite the obvious sadness in the old man's eyes, he shot the younger woman a smile and laughed. "You think I was a ladies' man, you shoulda seen him in action. Hell of a sniper, too."
Charlotte continued to stare down at the picture of the man when she asked her next question. "What happened to him?" She knew the answer, of course she knew the answer, but she couldn't shake the familiarity of him for the life of her.
Gabe's smile was suddenly gone as he undoubtedly went to the dark place in his mind where she knew most of his war memories had been kept. "He died." Was all he said before patting the hard leather. "He's in there. All of them are. I want you to have them."
Slowly, Charlotte looked up from the picture to peer across at Gabe. "You don't want them?"
Gabe rolled his eyes. "Now what in hell do you think I'm going to do with 'em? Get buried with them? I worked with a hell of a team," he paused. "We were one hell of a team and I want someone to know our story. Not just what the Smithsonian says."
She had wanted to go to the Smithsonian to see the small tribute to Gabe and the rest of the Howling Commandos ever since it had been erected but had never found the time to. She never thought she needed to, in all honesty. Between what the history books said and the stories she heard from her own father – what more could a small plaque tell her?
"There's mention of your father in these books, too." Gabe went on to say. "And you as well."
Charlotte beamed across at Gabe as she slid the six thick notebooks into a bag. "Hopefully none of his former conquests are in here?" she teased, being careful to stack them neatly. "I can handle seeing yours, his not so much."
Gabe only smiled. "No other woman mattered once you came along, Charlie."
Her smile fell just slightly as she sat there beyond touched at his words. There was a lot of pain from her father's murder and with the information on Gabe's rapidly declining health, Charlotte felt her chest constrict with a fresh bundle of tears.
She wouldn't cry, though. Not now. Not when Gabe needed her most.
"You gotta promise me something, kid." Gabe began as Charlotte placed her hand on top of his once again. "You remember what Clay and I always said to you growing up? You always have to be looking over your shoulder. Trust your gut at all times." She vaguely thought back to the man in the elevator but didn't think it wise to bring it up now of all times. "Your dad would want you safe and sound. I want you safe and sound. Ya hear me?"
Like a child being told to obey, Charlotte nodded her head and gently patted his arm. "I'll be safe."
Gabe nodded. "You still go to those classes down at your gym?" Those classes he had been referring to were self-defense classes she had been going to for all of about four months before she got bored. She knew the fundamentals of fighting, both Clay and Gabe had ensured that much, but glory, was she rusty.
"Sure." She lied, grinning down at the old man. "Every day."
But there was no trace of a smile on Gabe's lips. "Child, I swear to the Lord above if you do not—"
"I'll start up again," she soothed, not wanting to upset him. "I promise."
Seemingly believing her, Gabe hummed back his response before settling back into his plush bed. "Now, tell me what's been going on, sweet girl? How's work been?"
From there, the pair fell into their old ways of catching up but Charlotte kept the man in the elevator out of the conversation. She knew she had probably been overreacting that something about the interaction shook her.
And try as she may to look past it, something in her gut told her to be on high alert.
She would see him again. She just knew it.
