DECEASED
The capital red letters printed across the file etched themselves into his mind as he read James Falsworth's file while sitting in the gloomy and silent room of the apartment.
It had taken nearly a week for his request to be fulfilled due to administrative authorizations that Colonel Fury had sped up by personally interceding and asking to have the files unblocked. Agent Johnson had then brought them to him when he was leaving Bucky's room and making his way out of the building.
He hadn't had a look at them until two hours after he got to the apartment, putting it off and watching them from a distance with an apprehensive look before he had finally resolved to sit down at the table.
Steve put the file down and opened the next one.
COLONEL PHILIPPS, CHESTER – DECEASED
And then the next.
MORITA, JIM – DECEASED
STARK, HOWARD – DECEASED
This file reading took the form of obituaries. An endless list of obituaries. He dreaded each new file harder than the previous one.
He reached for the last file and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
CARTER, MARGARET "PEGGY"
His heart pounded in his chest.
RETIRED
The word printed in black was a relief but the lump in his throat was still there.
Everything remained, and was to remain, lost. He couldn't go back into the past and catch up on all those wasted decades. Not years, decades.
His bond with each and every one of them was forever broken. What time hadn't taken away through death, it had worn out to the very core. Peggy wasn't dead but he was dead to her: strictly speaking first, then his memory after a while. Peggy had certainly forgotten about him a long time ago and had moved on.
Last thing she needed was to be haunted by a ghost from her past, not at such a late age.
Steve sat in silence for long minutes, processing the flow of information he had tried to mentally prepare himself for but had failed at nevertheless; gathering the courage to look up her file next.
The absence of document on the right side of the table made him frown. His hands swiftly roamed through all the files as his eyes eagerly searched for her name, but most importantly, her picture. He had to see her face again, just once. That would be enough to revive the memory he had of it and carve it in his mind for ever. It seemed like he was losing it by any passing second, that her features were slowly and dangerously turning blurry every new morning when he woke up.
There was no picture, no name, no file, and it was distressing.
He called agent Johnson that evening firmly asking to speak with the Colonel in person.
She answered he had a busy schedule but that she would try her best to relay the message to him. The Colonel didn't call back that evening.
Steve barely slept that night. He realized how badly he needed to just know. As dreadful as the outcome was likely to be, being in the dark was far worse
At least, he needed to know she had had a happy life, and a fulfilled career as a journalist.
Colonel Fury called the next morning with a composed but curious tone.
"What can I do for you, Captain?" he asked.
"A file is missing," he answered bluntly standing up from the couch and pacing around.
"I also asked to have information on a civilian. A friend."
A short silence followed but it certainly felt like a nod from the Colonel as if he had been expecting this specific complaint.
"We didn't find any Intel on that civilian and the information you provided wasn't specific enough," he said. "I will send one of my agents to you later this morning to collect more details that will help narrow down the search."
Steve didn't say a word but he felt grateful and he didn't have to say it for Colonel Fury probably knew already. There were obvious things that could remain untold and this conversation was one of them.
The Colonel turned out to be a man of word as Steve heard a knock on his door a few hours later. He opened the door to find a slender dark-haired woman with piercing blue eyes and a sharp, thin jaw. She was dressed in a formal and elegant dress along with a blazer and leather heels. She lifted her hand up to her forehead to salute him. She gave the impression of being a formal soldier but a friendly person.
"Captain Rogers. I'm agent Maria Hill. I've been sent by Colonel Fury."
He smiled slightly and stepped aside as an invitation to come in. She stepped inside and followed him into the main room. He waited for her to take a seat on the sofa then he sat on the armchair opposite the coffee table.
"The Colonel said you couldn't narrow down the search?" he started.
She nodded.
"We tried to find her and we still are but the fact she has a very common name makes the search more intricate. I apologize for the inconvenience it has caused," she explained matter-of-factly but with a natural gentleness. He understood why the Colonel was using her as his personal liaison officer. "I would like to ask you a few questions if that's alright."
He agreed with the combination of a sheepish smile, a thankful look and a spark of eagerness flickering in his eyes. Agent Hill smiled back and then proceeded to open her briefcase. She pulled a large-sized pad out and flipped up a few used pages over to the back, holding her pen still in her hand.
"Do you know Miss Rushman's full name?" she asked.
Blank.
"No," he answered softly.
She nodded and smiled as in to brush off the importance this information could have (and indeed it mattered).
"Do you know when or where she was born, perhaps?" she continued.
Another blank.
"No,"
Agent Hill didn't seem disturbed to the least, in the contrary, she showed composure and calm.
"Any siblings or family whose name you might know?"
Yet another blank.
"No," he replied, feeling like a fool.
He couldn't even tell if she had any siblings. It struck him to realize how little he knew about her when she had taken such a big part in his life.
"I'm sorry," he started babbling to justify the obvious lack of information. "It's just…I didn't know her for very long."
Agent Hill took her eyes off her pad to take the time to look at him. She saw his embarrassment over the whole situation right away. She smiled softly.
"It's alright, Captain. I don't know my friends half as much as I normally should, or half as much as they think I do" she joked lightly to lighten up the mood.
He smiled, appreciating the effort she put in making the whole interview less awkward.
"Do you remember what job position she had in 1942 or even earlier?"
He thought he knew the answer: 'The soldiers' housewives magazine'. That was until he found out this paper was pure invention. He smiled internally at the memory of it. Of course he should have guessed it was a fake.
"She was…wanted to be a journalist," he corrected himself as he ensured to recollect as many details as possible. "But she was more of a freelance."
Agent Hill nodded. He looked at her apologetically.
"This can help," she reassured him softly but still formally. "We can search for any article signed with her name then trace it up to her."
"Or you may not find any," he finished. He didn't recall her telling him anything about getting published in a paper.
"Can you describe her to me?" agent Hill went on.
Somehow, that question made him uncomfortable and nervous. He could describe her perfectly, with so many details he feared to get suspicious looks.
"Caucasian. Blonde. Short, wavy hair. Green eyes. 5 feet 3."
He recalled how she had to slightly look up to reach his gaze, how he had to slighty bend over to reach to get closer to her level.
Agent Hill methodically took notes, not showing any hints of what she thought of this description.
"Anything else that might be useful?" she asked.
Steve knew little about her and he realized how good she had been at giving away as little as possible meanwhile developing a strong bond and trust with him. She had committed to their relationship without ever confiding in. He couldn't blame her for it though as he had no doubt she had been sincere and true to herself and to him (nearly all along).
When she returned that last time to say goodbye, he believed every word she said effortlessly. Not because he wanted to but because it was undeniable she meant it deeply, perhaps even to a deeper level than he could comprehend.
Her heartfelt confession, her adoring gaze and the eager kiss she had given him had felt all so profound as if she had been holding them in for a measure a time he was foreign with.
"Captain?" agent Hill called softly.
He emerged and looked in her direction. He remembered the question he had been asked. What extra information did he possibly have when it was clear she had tried to be as secretive as possible? He was hit by a memory. New Year's Eve.
That evening they strolled along the streets of New York, the first time he really talked to her about Peggy, the first time of many others she dethroned her to his eyes.
"She must be brave and strong," she had said softly.
He had gazed at her while her look was slightly down and during that moment, Peggy's continuous presence in his mind ever since he had first met her faded, overshadowed by the undeniable fascination he had for his new friend.
Peggy was wonderful – there was no force strong enough to make him revalue what was his opinion and a fact – but there, at this exact moment, as the cool wind slightly blew over her blonde hair, as the pale shimmer of the moonlight made her look more beautiful than ever before, Natalie overthrew all his beliefs in the most unexpected and delightful way. He shouldn't have thought like that, but he had spent so many months missing Peggy and wondering what she was doing in Europe, he enthralled the appreciation of the here and now he had been feeling ever since Natalie had walked into his life carrying her leather book to have an interview.
"You are brave and strong," he had replied, for the first time paying an earnest compliment to the woman who had started to take a place in his life Not because it was the right thing to reply and certainly not because her comment was implicitly calling for a reciprocal compliment, but because, after the many conversations he had had with her, after witnessing how she had fearlessly and confidently subdued the theft earlier on although she had never let him perceive this strong side of her, he realized what a surprising person she was and how much he looked forward to find out about it all.
That evening he had first opened up about his growing feelings was alsoo the night he had walked her back to her apartment.
"I know where she lived," he exclaimed to agent Hill, taken by the excitement of possessing and providing useful intel but also by the fear of getting closer to finding her. He thought hard to recall the street. He knew New York like the back of his pocket but it seemed his mixed feelings were toying with his memory. "Her address was ...37 East 64th Street."
Agent Hill nodded and wrote it down on the notepad.
"Thank you, Captain," she said after she finished. "This is very useful information. You were a great help."
He believed her and shared her opinion. He felt optimistic that him remembering her address would indeed help them identify and locate her.
He nodded shyly, rubbing the palm of his moist hand against his jeans.
She got up and stretched her hand out to him, breaking the protocol in favour of a less formal but friendlier greeting.
He shook it gladly. The encounter had been brief but it felt good to have company in this dull, empty apartment.
"Thank you," he said, looking straight into her eyes. "For everything."
She understood what everything meant and smiled, then she walked away.
This new millennium was one twisted time, he had realized. The society lived on a daily basis with a multitude of contradictions it didn't seem to be aware of anymore.
The magazines, the cooking shows all preached healthy food style but the streets were crawling with fast-food chain restaurants; the people on the media quickly called out on indecency but the internet spammed your screen with coarse images (he had lost the count of all those impromptu pictures coming up on the screen in the most random and invasive way); communication was the new thing of the century, being everywhere and coming in all shapes but God forbid you'd approach a commuter on the B line without being labelled intrusive and socially unstable; everybody praised and preached for liberty and freedom as long as what you had to say followed the public opinion; the world kept saying they had learned their lesson after 1945 but war was still the common currency across the globe; people partied harder, and to the end of the night, but somehow looked more morose the next morning than he recalled seeing at his time.
He wished he could embrace this new society and make it his as he was now part of it, but he just couldn't yet. The grief was not over, there were too many people he cared about that had been left behind.
When Colonel Fury came to Bucky's room two days later, his face gave away the unpleasant news he was bringing along with him.
"I'm sorry, Captain. We couldn't find her," he announced soberly.
Steve remained numb. The information just wouldn't compute and marked down yet another (the most unfair) paradox. How could a person mysteriously vanish in this society ruled by excessive surveillance and supervision without leaving any trace behind?
"But Agent Hill said you would try everything to find her," he started.
"And we did," the Colonel assured with a strong nod. "We checked all the local and national papers, we went through all the files of women that had the same name in 1942, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing."
Steve gazed at him cluelessly. Colonel Fury looked at him and cleared his throat before speaking.
"Look. Natalie Rushman is a very common name, ・trust me I know what I'm talking about." Strangely, he really seemed to mean that. "And without strong intel, it makes it nearly impossible to find the person. Even for us."
"What about the address I gave you? 37 East 64th Street, remember?"
Colonel Fury's mouth twitched a bit.
"There wasn't any Natalie Rushman living in 37 East 64th Street In 1942, or before. Or ever."
Steve's brows furrowed deeply. His mouth literally fell agape. Fury's gaze started to imply things he just refused to tolerate.
"No. That's impossible. I walked her there," he protested vehemently, closing his eyes as he played the moment in his head again and visualized the plate reading 37 above the thick door frame she passed after saying goodnight. "I watched her step inside."
Fury listened to him closely with an understanding nod of the head but a disapproving pout.
"The only Natalie we found living in this building was a Natalie Wirth and she was a 63-year-old widow."
Steve found no words of protest to say. He remained mute and looked away, feeling overwhelmed with confusion and dismay.
"Captain・ the Colonel began with a soothing voice. Steve's eyes drifted back to him as he watched him carefully pick the words he would say next. "Maybe we should start considering-"
"No," Steve snapped with a hard look. He would never consider it an option.
The Colonel didn稚 flinch at the response. He complied instead.
Steve hadn't moved yet. He stared blankly at the ground, nibbling his bottom lip, processing his thoughts.
"I'm afraid we're gonna have to suspend the search for now."
For ever. That was what Steve understood in this polite phrasing.
He didn't express any more sign of disagreement. Last thing he wanted was to dwell on his frustrations and regret with a stranger.
He nodded emotionlessly.
"Thank you for trying,・he said with a coarse voice, his eyes running across the hallway to avoid contact with te Colonel. Then he stepped back into Bucky's room.
That same evening, Steve grabbed his sketchbook for the first time since he had bought it, taken by the sudden urge to draw her again. If he had lost the first one, he could make another. He held his pencil tight with determination but the lead remained still on the smooth paper for hours as the lack of confidence crept up within him, mercilessly devouring any bit of enthusiasm it found on its way. As badly as he wanted a last souvenir of her, the apprehension of not remembering her features in the most scrupulous details, the fear the final result wouldn't do her justice eventually overpowered him. He encountered one of his strongest artist's block for the sake of perfection. If he had lost the first one, he could make another, he had first thought, but soon he realized it actually meant trading the original for a copy. Nothing was more beautifully sharp and authentic than an original and nothing was more dull and bland than a copy. She deserved better than that.
And perhaps, he deserved better than that. Perhaps, he deserved more than a life missing a ghost from his past by keeping dearly the only remnant of her he could find. Perhaps, as the Colonel Fury implicitly advised, he had to let her go.
It was a feeling he wasn't so foreign with as he had done it once before when she had asked him to, but this time, it wasn't with the promise of a reunion, and this was what made this second farewell more painful.
A very early phone call disrupted the heavy silence hanging in the apartment.
"He's awake," the nurse said on the line more cheerfully than her military status allowed her to.
His heartbeat quickened. It was the moment he had been waiting for for nearly two weeks.
"How is he?" he asked with a tight throat.
"He's fine. He's more than fine," she replied with a smile, he could tell. Those simple words were enough to blow all the anguish away. "He's been asking for you, and for food."
A snort slipped out of his mouth as he shook his head and tried to contain the happy emotions that tingled his eyes. Not only Bucky was back, but there was beauty in hearing he had remained his exact same glutton self.
"I-I'll be right there," he said after clearing his throat.
He put the phone down and sat still at the table for a few seconds. It seemed strange to visualize this world, this twisted and full of contradictions world, with Bucky in it. But somehow, everything appeared less scary and hostile. And for the first time since he had woken up here, he looked forward to what awaited him in this new journey. He could face it now knowing Bucky would be by his side. He could find logic in this new twisted time and grow to like it.
He looked down and saw the blank page of his sketchbook he had spend the whole night trying to fill.
At this moment, he embraced the idea of living in the now and let go of the past even if that meant letting go of her. He exhaled a deep breath then closed the sketchbook, and with it, any further hope of seeing or hearing from her ever again.