Author's note: Giant-sized thanks to everyone reading and reviewing so far! Now, let's take a very brief interlude to see what's going on with this guy.

We Were Soldiers

4. A Man Alone

22nd June, 1943

Project Rebirth was dead.

Steven Rogers had watched it die. Held it in his hands as it passed away. Felt the air of its last breath taken. Doctor Abraham Erskine was gone, and with him went America's hope for a swift end to the war.

He'd never known his father. What little he knew of the man he would have called 'Dad' came from the infrequent stories his mom had told him when, as a child too young to understand the pain and permanency of loss, he'd asked, 'Why don't I have a dad, like everyone else?' From his mom's stories, he'd gleaned that his dad had been a strong, caring man who'd shouldered the weight of responsibility well after being called up to go to war. He'd been a man who'd known his duty and done it, even though he'd regretted letting it take him away from his young family.

All his life, Steve had tried to be a son his dad could be proud of. It was hard, not knowing what would make Dad proud, but he'd tried his best. Given to those more needy, stood up for those whose voices were too quiet to be heard, and he'd tried his hardest to excel at everything he put his mind to. For the most part, he felt he'd succeeded. He had a nice job doing something he loved, his school grades had been excellent despite his frequent, health-related absences, and his college tutors had praised his skill with pencil and paint alike.

There was only one area where he'd let Dad down. One thing about himself that Steve, until now, hadn't been able to change: a frail physique brought on by a long list of medical conditions and childhood maladies. All his life he'd been standing up to bullies, but sometimes it felt like his own body was the worst bully around, and standing up to it wasn't as easy as taking a few punches from some tough-guy's fists. No matter how much he ate, no matter how hard he worked out, or how often he practised boxing down at the club owned by Bucky's dad, he just couldn't gain an ounce of muscle. Couldn't even gain an ounce of fat. His arms had been beanpoles at five years old, and at twenty-five, they were the same poles, only a little longer.

Few and far between were the people who were willing to spend the effort looking beyond his outside, to the person he was within. Inside, he felt like a giant. A giant confined to a frail prison of sickly flesh. Bucky had made the effort when they'd been kids, because that was who Bucky was; even at nine years old, he'd been the kinda guy who saw a little deeper, and took the time to get to know people for who they really were. Bucky's family had been an extension of that, but as far as the rest of New York was concerned, Steve Rogers was an insignificant annoyance. He'd long ago given up with girls, because he hated seeing the pity and disappointment he saw in their eyes when they looked at him. Mary-Ann had been different. She'd had a crush on him since they were kids. But Mary-Ann was Bucky's sister, and like a sister to Steve, too.

In Erskine, he'd found someone who, like Bucky, took the time to look beneath the surface, to the person he was inside. But in Erskine, he felt something more. Like he'd finally found someone who looked at him like a father might look at a son; with fondness and hope, and even pride. Every time Steve had glanced at Erskine as he watched the candidates put through their paces, he'd seen a small smile on the doctor's face, and it seemed to Steve that Erskine's tiny nods of encouragement came most often when Steve was at his most aching, exhausted and bruised. Erskine never lifted a finger to help him, of course, because that wouldn't have been fair to the other recruits, but just knowing the man was there, silently encouraging him, willing him on despite the physical prowess of the other candidates, gave Steve the strength he needed to keep taking one more agonising breath, to find something in him to manage another push-up, to scale that damned cargo net that seemed determined to catch him out.

Now, Erskine was gone, and Steve didn't even know whether he'd left any family behind. Whether he had kids of his own; kids that he'd given nods and smiles of encouragement to when they needed it, just like he had for Steve. All he really knew about the doctor was that he'd been a good man weighed down by the guilt of the monster he had created. That, in Steve, he'd hoped to right the wrongs he had been forced to commit in the past. And the last thing Erskine had done, with his final drop of strength, had been to remind Steve that he, too, was a good man.

Warm tears stung his eyes. For the first time in his life, he was experiencing a complete reversal of his self. Always, before, he'd been bigger on the inside than he had on the outside. Always, before, it felt like there wasn't enough of his body to contain his spirit. And now… now, he had a body men would kill for. Literally. He was tall, he was broad-shouldered, he was incredibly strong, and he could out-run cars. But on the inside? On the inside, he felt like the frail, weedy Steve Rogers who'd needed to be rescued from bullies by his best friend. For the first time in his life, he was strong enough to take on the bullies alone… but he wished more than anything that Bucky was with him, to offer some words of consolation, or a reassuring thump on the arm; a clap on the shoulder just to let Steve know that he was there.

Strong as he was, he hadn't been able to stop Erskine getting shot. He hadn't been able to use his strength to save the man who'd given him a new purpose. A new life. He hadn't even been able to use his strength to stop the man who'd shot the doctor from crunching a cyanide pill and ending his life before he could be interrogated. For all of his new strength, he'd failed terribly, today.

Knock knock knock.

At the sound from his bedroom door, he brushed the stinging, salty tears from his eyes and sniffed deeply a couple of times to clear his sinuses from that need to cry, stuffed with cotton wool feeling. "Come in," he called.

He'd been expecting another medic, come to take more blood, or perhaps one of the hotel staff enquiring if he need anything. When Agent Peggy Carter walked in instead, he bolted to his feet and tried to smooth a crease out of his shirt. For one brief, dizzying moment, he thought Agent Carter had shrunk. He very nearly bent his knees a little, to try and put himself at her height. This whole being taller situation was going to take a heck of a lot of getting used to.

"How are you, Steve?" Agent Carter asked. He could see the shock and sadness of the earlier violence still etched onto her face, echoing from the depths of her dark brown eyes. She'd known Erskine, had worked with him and beside him, for much longer than Steve had. And she'd had so much invested in the SSR, in Project Rebirth, that she had to be feeling this loss as painfully as a physical blow. That the first thing she asked was how he was doing, made him feel warm inside.

"I'm… well… I don't honestly know," he admitted. "I guess I'm a little of everything."

She gave a brief, sympathetic nod. "That's understandable. So much has happened recently; I can only imagine how lost you feel."

Lost. That summed it up perfectly. In the space of a week, everything had changed. His life had been turned upside down, and Steve felt like he'd been turned inside out. The world had moved on, and for the first time in a long time, Steve had moved with it. Bucky was gone, probably already halfway to England by now. Mary-Ann was in Baltimore, doing her bit building the Liberty Fleet. Charlie was off to college. Doctor Erskine was dead, and Colonel Phillips was shipping out for Europe, taking Agent Carter with him. Steve was now… new. Improved. Better. He finally felt like the son his dad could be proud of. And yet, despite the success of the experiment, Steve was once again being told 'No.' Phillips' words came bounding back through his mind.

You are not enough.

Was that why, six hours ago, he'd made a crazy decision to accept a spur-of-the-moment offer from a guy he barely knew? Phillips wanted to stick him in some lab, turn him into a rat. But Steve wanted—no; needed—something more than to spend the rest of his life in a maze, endlessly chasing cheese. Senator Brandt had offered him that chance, and though Phillips had gnashed his teeth and grumbled loudly and even thrown around a few cuss words, he didn't have enough political pull to go against one of the few senators actively promoting the SSR's agenda on Capitol Hill. The colonel couldn't afford to upset the man who might pull committee funding away from the division if he didn't get his way. So, Phillips had cut his losses and let Steve go. Probably thinks I'm more trouble than I'm worth.

"You probably think I'm being foolish," he said. "Agreeing to go with Brandt without first reading the fine print. Without even reading the large print, actually…"

"'Foolish' would never be high on the list of words I would use to describe you, Steve," Agent Carter assured him.

It was a relief. Most of his adult life, he hadn't cared too much about what dames thought of him. Now, he cared. Not about what dames in general thought of him, but about what Agent Carter thought of him. It wasn't just that she was pretty. 'Pretty' was an understatement. She was beautiful, and graceful, and self-assured, and competent… and no matter where she went, she had guys drooling over her. There had been times, in the barracks at Camp Lehigh, that he'd wanted nothing more than to punch one or two of the recruits—Hodge, in particular—for their lewd suggestiveness. They didn't say anything to Agent Carter's face, of course; she'd already proven she had a mean right hook. But at nights, after lights-out, they talked, and Steve didn't care for some of the things they said.

No, it wasn't that Agent Carter was beautiful. It was that when he looked into her eyes, he thought he saw something in them. Something that said she was looking at a man she wanted to see succeed. A man who was more than the sum of his parts. And she'd looked at him that way even before the experiment's success. That was why he cared about what she thought of him.

"I know how desperate you are," she continued. "I just hope you're not setting yourself up to be let down."

"You think Senator Brandt is gonna renege on his promise to let me serve?"

"I don't know." She gestured questioningly to the chair opposite the bed that now felt too small for him. The SSR had put him up in a hotel near the lab, and tomorrow he'd be heading to Washington with Brandt. When Steve nodded, Agent Carter sat and crossed her legs, managing to look elegant even doing that. "Senator Brandt has been a generous benefactor—" a hint of irritation crept into her cultured accent, "—despite his propensity for putting important reports aside instead of reading them. But when it comes down to it, he is a politician, and in my experience, politicians rarely act purely out of altruism. Every politician has their own agenda, and I've found it prudent to question the motives of somebody who's offering me the very thing I've always wanted. If it sounds too good to be true, it usually is."

"Usually, but not always. Doctor Erskine's formula proved that something can sound too good to be true, but still be real," he reminded her.

"Yes." The smile she offered was weak; one for show, more than anything. "But remember this: Doctor Erskine's formula is only as good as the man it is put into. That's why he picked you. He wanted only the best."

"Thank you. For everything. I know the decision was never yours, but I'm certain Doctor Erskine wouldn't have picked me if you offered objections."

"Then it's a good job I only wanted the best, too," she said, and for a moment he got completely lost in her eyes. Drowned in them a little, until she stood and surreptitiously smoothed a crease from her skirt. "I have to go. It's getting late, and we have an early flight. I just wanted to say goodbye, and to wish you luck for the future; whatever it may bring."

He jumped to his feet, hovering between hanging back to delay her departure, and chivalrously reaching for the door. After a moment of swaying on the spot like some booze-hound on an all-night bender, he opted for the door. But he positioned himself a little inside it, so that it didn't look like he was trying to usher her out. Or… was that the wrong place to stand? The Steve of twelve hours ago wouldn't have been any obstacle, but the Steve of now was so large that Agent Carter would have to go sideways to pass by him. Idiot, you can't make a dame brush past you like that! He quickly stepped away, to stand by the side of the door. Forgot to leave his hand on it, and it swung closed.

"Sorry," he offered, feeling a blush creeping up his neck, willing it desperately to stay down there, away from his cheeks. "I'm still getting used to being… well… bigger. Bed's too small, shoes don't fit anymore, doors are… awkward." No, idiot, it's just you who's awkward. Thank God Bucky wasn't here. His best friend had always despaired over his lack of social grace where dames were concerned. If Bucky was here now, he'd be in stitches over this.

Agent Carter accepted his explanation with a knowing smile. A little too knowing.

"Don't rush it, Steve. You'll quickly get used to the world being a little smaller than it was yesterday. Your motor control will adapt soon enough."

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, I'm sure you're right." He reached for the door again, and managed to stand beside it and hold it open without further embarrassing himself.

"Take care of yourself, Steve." Agent Carter stepped up in front of him, and his heart skipped a beat. Two beats. Three beats. Ah, there it went, beating normally again. And he realised something, then. She was even more beautiful, from up here. "I know how badly you want to get to the front lines, but I would hate to see you come to harm."

He nodded. "Can't let anything happen to the SSR's new asset, right?"

"You're not an asset; you're a man. And the moment you stop believing that, is the day that Doctor Erskine—and his vision—truly dies."

Her words felt like a dagger plunged into his chest, and drew a thin veneer of tears across his eyes. Maybe she was right. For as long as he lived as the man Erskine had wanted him to be, the doctor's work, his sacrifice, had not been in vain. He had to remember that. Failure meant letting Doctor Erskine down. Betraying his memory. And that was unacceptable.

"Maybe I'll see you out there," he offered, to stall the tears.

"Maybe."

The moment seemed to hang, stretching on for an eternity. It was an eternity filled with a pair of deep brown eyes that seemed to peer into his soul and see all the things he was trying to hide; the fear, the sadness, the loneliness…

And then the moment ended. Agent Carter was stepping through the door. Walking down the corridor. Glancing briefly over her shoulder to offer a farewell smile. And Steve was left holding the door whilst, for the millionth time in his life, opportunity passed him by.

When he finally remembered to close the door, he let it swing shut, and returned to the bed. It really was too small. As he lay back with his head on the pillow, his feet dangled over the end. Subconsciously, his fingers went to the pocket of his shirt; pulled a chain from it; toyed with the small, round bit of silver hanging there. Familiarity took his fingertips to the clasp, but his fingers were, for the first time in forever, too large to work it one-handed. He had to use his left hand to hold the silver whilst his right hand worked the clasp, and when it finally fell open like a clam revealing its pearl, he looked at two tiny pictures; a blonde-haired, smiling woman in the left half, and a dark-haired, smiling man in the right.

"Hi Mom," he whispered. "Hi Dad. It's… it's gonna be a while before I can come and see you again. But before I go, I'll leave orders with the florist. Get him to put out a new wreath, every month. Just until I can get back and start doing it myself again. I know you're lookin' out for me, but I wish you were here. Both of you. Everything's changing, and that's good. But… everything's changing, and that's scary. I don't even have Bucky anymore, to talk things through with. He's gone off to Europe, to fight the good fight. I don't know when I'll see him again. Tomorrow, if I had my way. But something tells me I'm not gonna get my way. Then again, that's nothing new, right?"

He paused, letting his eyes linger over the familiar face of his late mother, and the stranger's face of his father. When he was a kid, he'd taken his mother for granted. She'd always been there, and he knew she always would be. Then, one day, she wasn't. Not anymore. For the first time in his life, Steve had known what it was like to be alone. And now, he felt that again.

Bucky was gone. Erskine was gone. Phillips and Carter and Stark, all gone. All he had now was a politician's promise that he would soon be serving his country. He didn't know if that was enough, but it would have to be. It was something to cling to, in the emptiness.

"I love you," he said. "Both of you. And I want you to know that, despite all that's happened over this past day, I'm still me. I'm still your Steve. And I'll try my best to always be your Steve. To be a good man. The man that Erskine saw when he looked at me. The man that I know you want me to be."

Bringing the locket to his lips, he kissed it briefly then closed it and put it back into his pocket, where it would be safe. His parents were never far from his heart.

He rolled onto his stomach and let out a deep sigh, trying to relax into the too-small bed and the too-soft mattress. Family. All he knew of it was gone. It wasn't supposed to be this way. That was half of the problem. Steve wasn't supposed to be alone in this. He was supposed to be the first of many. There were supposed to be others. Brothers. Good men who'd undergone the same screening process and been selected to undergo Erskine's treatment. The spearhead of an army; that was what he was supposed to be. But the destruction of Erskine's formula meant that there would never be anybody else like Steve. He wasn't just the first of many; he was the first and only.

During the first day of testing, at Camp Lehigh, Colonel Phillips had said that every army starts with one man… but it wasn't supposed to end with him. Steve was both the beginning, and the end. He was the experiment come full circle, and there was nobody else like him in the world. Nobody he could talk to. Nobody he could compare experiences with. Nobody he could turn to for advice.

Now, he was truly alone.