34.
London, United Kingdom
January 9th, 1944
Isabel stands by herself in her room in front of the full-length mirror. She's wearing a small sized version of the man's combat uniform – a plain white t-shirt that most likely won't stay white for long, a pair of khaki pants tucked into brown military boots, a pair of freshly made dog tags hanging loosely around her neck. She has a knitted olive-green jumper that isn't regulation clothing but it actually fits, rather than the one Phillips had tried to give her. She's also got a brown leather jacket courtesy of Peggy Carter and a thick dark coat to wear in the coldest months.
She looks at herself in the uniform; the shirt a little too wide, a red cross sewed neatly onto each shoulder to indicate she's a medic. The pants are a little too long but when she tucked them into her boots like the other men do, you can't tell. This is the first time in her life that Isabel's ever worn pants and she's in awe. They're not very tight, and if she puts her legs together they almost look like a long skirt, but mainly she can't get over how comfortable they are. She bends her knees a bit and takes some steps around the room, then sends a poorly executed kick out in front of her. She loves them, and she wishes she could wear pants everywhere she goes.
Isabel eventually stops jumping around in her pants and tackles her hair, wary of the time. She doesn't really know what to do with it. They're going out into the field so it can't get in the way, and she ties it back into a neat ponytail, still wavy from yesterday's curls. It looks a little plain so she adds a white ribbon for decoration, though she's sure she'll lose it somewhere along the line. Finally, she puts a bit of mascara on and some blush so that she doesn't look as pale, still unable to go without makeup. She may be going into a war zone, but it doesn't mean she can't look good.
Isabel stands back in front of the mirror, looking at the finished product. She clutches her new dog tags in her hand, runs the cold metal around her fingers. They had to induct her into the Army for her to be a medic. If she'd been only a nurse, she wouldn't have been required to, but then she wouldn't have been allowed onto the front lines of battle and that would defeat the entire purpose of what she was fighting for. She was also, like the other members of the Howling Commandos, inducted as an agent of the Strategic Scientific Reserve.
Private Isabel Barnes, reporting for duty. She nods once to herself. She's ready. She's doing this. She's going out into battle. She's going to make a difference.
Making her way out of her room, Isabel shuts the door behind her, her pack over her shoulder with some of her belongings inside, including Steve's camera. She knows she isn't going to have a lot of time to fiddle with the camera, but she's heard many tales from her father and Bucky of the comradeship that comes with soldiers, and she thinks it would be nice if she could capture some of that for memory purposes.
Isabel gets into the lift car and travels down into the basement to retrieve her medical kit from the infirmary. She checks its contents and shoves it into her pack, closing it securely. Once she's sure she's got everything she runs up the stairs to the lobby, where the Howling Commandos and Peggy Carter are all waiting to be transported to the airfield. When she emerges from the staircase, the men and lady all turn to look, standing in a circle going over last-minute strategies.
"There you are," Dugan says as she joins the group, a few minutes late thanks to her experimentation.
"A girl needs time," she says, hoisting the pack a little higher on her shoulders.
Steve turns at the sound of her voice, looking a little grouchy. His eyes widen when he spots Isabel's clothing choice. "Are you wearing pants?" He asks, dumbfounded.
"Yep," Isabel answers, looking down at the cargos with a smile. She meets the men's confused eyes again, all of them looking amazed that she's wearing pants. "What? Did you expect me to take down Hydra in a skirt?"
"We've talked about this," Steve sighs. "You aren't taking down Hydra, you're going to–"
"I know, I know, I'm going to sit in a little hidey hole outside the factory just in case you guys need me. Over two hundred yards away, as Bucky specified. I understood the first time," Isabel interrupts, glaring playfully at Steve. "Anyone would think I was the reckless one who has a problem following orders."
?, Belgium
January 11th, 1944
The Hydra base in Belgium is tall and flourishing, sticking up through the snowy forest like a true architectural marvel. It's almost as big as the factory Steve saved Bucky and the remainder of the one-oh-seventh from all those months ago. Bucky noticeably gulps when he sees it, but no one mentions it. When they get close enough that the tree-line starts to thin out, they stop so that Isabel and Peggy can go their separate way from the main group, waiting on the sidelines for their time to shine.
"Keep your radio on and your eyes peeled. Don't come in unless one of us comes and gets you, or we call for Peggy to bring you down," Steve reminds Isabel, holding her shoulders to keep her attention.
"I won't, I promise," Isabel says. "We'll be fine, and so will you. Good luck."
"Thanks, we'll need it," Steve replies, ignoring them.
She reaches up and presses a kiss to his lips, and the Commandos cheer quietly like children on the playground. He reluctantly let's go off her arms and she moves away with a bright smile, saying a goodbye over her shoulder to the other Commandos. They watch the two women as they disappear through the foliage on the way to their designated waiting point, Isabel with a bit of a bounce to her gait.
"Isabel is way too excited about being here," Jones notes, shaking his head in disbelief at her retreating form.
"I know, she's camp happy," Bucky tells him, shaking his head in sync.
Isabel and Peggy walk for a few minutes through the dense forest, their feet crunching in the snow, following the map's directions until they're standing adjacent to the Western entry, buried in the tree line. Nearby, they find a tree that's uprooted from the ground, lying on its side as a barricade and hollowed out by years of wear and weather.
"This is good," Peggy says approvingly, kneeling down behind it. Isabel follows. "We can hide inside if necessary, but if not, it's useful to take cover behind," she explains.
Isabel nods, not one to argue since she knows nada, zilch about what they're doing.
They watch the factory through the forest line, eyes just visible over the top of the bark. They can't see much, though, considering it's rather far away and the snow is blurring their vision. Isabel pulls the camera out of her pack while she waits and fiddles with it, snapping a picture of the factory sticking up out of the snowy ground. Once she's satisfied, she sits back, hugging her jacket to her form tightly as the chill sets in now that she's stopped moving. The snow is cold under her, freezing her legs. She's never been more thankful of a thick jacket and socks.
Somehow, even in combat clothes with her hair tied up, Peggy manages to look beautiful and graceful, her red-painted lips turned up into a slight, content smile. Isabel raises the camera again and snaps a photograph of her friend without Peggy noticing before putting the camera away again to keep it safe. Peggy gets out her rifle and takes it apart, cleaning off a few parts of the dirt they've accumulated already. It looks methodical, a certain part coming off here and another going there. Isabel finds herself watching the movement of Peggy's hands, picking up the parts that Peggy puts down on the snow to feel them for herself. Peggy notices her interest, raising an eyebrow.
"If you want to know how they work, just ask," she offers.
"Bucky already showed me how to work mine. He took me to the shooting range so I could practise and work on my shot," Isabel replies, pulling her pistol from her pocket and examining it. "And Howard shows me all of the ones he invents and enhances."
"This one's a little different. It's special. Howard made it for me long before I met you and Steve. It was a gift from him when I first became an agent, not long after I saved Doctor Erskine from his imprisonment within Hydra. Stark and Erskine began working together on the serum, so naturally, Howard was very appreciative of me saving the doctor, or else they wouldn't have been able to work on such a feat. Stark had it engraved, see," she says, showing Isabel the handle, where Agent Carter has been engraved in neat cursive into the metal. "He said, and I quote, "a dangerous lady needs a dangerous weapon". And it most definitely is dangerous."
"How so?"
"You'll see next time we have to shoot someone."
The Commandos get inside easily, sneaking past the guards at the front and snaking through the yards, made up of masses of tanks and cars. They enter the building through a side door, guns blazing, and make their way into the mass of maze-like corridors that lead the Commandos further into the building.
The Howling Commandos come across the first room of importance within a few minutes of scrounging, a conference room of sorts where a group of men in their dress uniforms sit around a large table, listening intently to one man standing at the front with a map on the wall. Steve bursts in through the door, pistol raised at the men's heads. None of them ever saw it coming.
"Wir entschuldigen uns dafür, dass wir die Party abgebrochen haben (We apologize for crashing the party)," Jones says from behind Steve, raising his own pistol at the other men, who hold their arms up in surrender.
"Es ist Kapitän Amerika (It is Captain America)," one of the men gasps.
"Oh, he knows me," Steve says rather excitedly, moving into the room.
"Not hard to miss. You walk around holding a painted target in front of you," Bucky deadpans. He walks into the room and grabs one of the men by his collar, pushing him to the floor in the corner.
"Geh runter (Get down)," Steve tells the others, one of the few German commands he knows. The men hurry to get down onto the floor, huddling together in the corner. "Jones, ask them if there are any prisoners being held here."
"Gibt es Gefangene in dieser Fabrik? Verbündet oder nicht? (Are there any prisoners at this factory? Allied or otherwise?)" Jones translates.
"Nein, keine Gefangenen (No, no prisoners)," the man in charge says, his voice shaky with fear.
"Du lügst besser nicht, (You better not be lying)."
"Nein. Es ist die Wahrheit, (No. It is the truth)," the man replies.
"There's no prisoners, Cap," Jones translates, satisfied the men are telling the truth.
"Wofür wird die Fabrik verwendet? (What is the factory used for?)" Jones continues, getting just a bit closer to the men and making them shuffle backward.
"Waffenproduktion und ausbildung."
"The factory is for weapons production and training," Jones translates.
"Okay," Steve says, looking around the room in thought. "Jones, Dernier, stay here with these men. Make sure they don't go anywhere. Anyone else you find outside, bring them in here too. The rest of you come with me," Steve orders, making his way back into the hall.
Jones and Dernier stay as requested, looking over the hostage of Hydra goons sitting around on the ground. Jones speaks to them in semi-fluent German, ordering them all to stop talking, to stay still, that if they scream they'll be shot. They're all quiet, staring around wide-eyed.
"There aren't going to be any hostages or prisoners to find, so we source any intel and then we blow it to the ground," Steve tells those who followed him. There's a hummed affirmative.
He leads the remainder of the troop toward the factory floor, shield raised protectively in front of them, scouring the area. Bucky flanks on his left with his rifle at the ready, Dugan, Falsworth and Morita behind them. They make their way down the corridors, kicking open the doors to their sides and taking out each Hydra goon with a lone bullet. They leave a trail of destruction behind them, bleeding bodies littering the concrete flooring and slumped where they'd sat at desks in offices.
Schmidt isn't here. They've establish as much rather quickly once the factory sirens start blaring and their presence is made known. The Red Skull is arrogant enough to want to confront Steve again if he was here. They see no red-skinned man run to an escape or confront them, and make their way across the factory, past all of the weapons, to a row of offices and infirmaries. They find the main office, the one presumably used by the Red Skull, but all the information has been cleared out, the desks and drawers empty of everything except blank paper and pencils.
"Dammit," Steve hisses. "There's nothing here."
"Then we get out of here," Bucky says.
"Another job well done," Dugan agrees.
"We haven't got out yet," Steve reminds them.
They continue down the hallway further, coming across the security office by a stroke of luck. Steve bursts in and takes out the eight security guards that huddle around the cameras that show the Captain and his Commandos infiltrating their factory. They can't be very good if they haven't bothered to try to stop them. Steve wonders if they were too scared to confront them.
He throws his shield at them and a burst of bullets, sending them all falling from their chairs. The shield embeds itself into the metal of the control panel, leaving a big dent and split. When Steve goes to retrieve it, he sees a range of buttons, but a large red one catches his attention, hidden beneath a glass casing.
"Looks like we don't need Dernier to blow this rig up. Hydra gave us all the tools right here." Steve presses the button and a countdown begins, ticking backward from seven minutes. "Let's get out."
The Commandos hurry back down to the meeting room, their ears aching from the loud blaring of the alarm systems. Hydra agents run around them like headless chickens searching for the exit, desperately trying to get away from the soon-to-be exploding factory. They don't make it far when Bucky and Dugan pick them off with their rifles, each body hitting the ground with a sick thud.
Steve knocks a few away with the shield, throwing it at a particularly large group that make a last-ditch attempt to take down the invaders. The shield hits one and bounces off into the back of another, sending down at least six of the men with one throw. Steve hurries toward the fray to retrieve it, running forward with the shield and knocking the rest into the far wall.
The explosions start then, sending parts of the factory up in hot flames, the heat licking the ceiling above. The factory floor explodes around them, jostling them a little but luckily not hitting them.
Jones crackles over Steve's radio. "What the hell? You blew it up when we were still inside?"
"Sure did. Get out, quick," Steve replies as he kicks an agent away from him, the motionless body flying a hundred meters away, coughing up a lungful of blood.
After a few minutes of firefight, Bucky makes the last shot. He pulls the trigger, the gun aimed at the last remaining Hydra goon in the area. The bullet flies through the air, forcing its way through the soldier's mask and lodging in his forehead between his eyes. He sways and falls backward, still immediately. The mask conceals the damage, but dark red blood oozes out from the sides of the mask, turning the man's neck slick. Bucky walks over and glares down at the goggled mask before he spits on the body.
When Bucky turns back around, there's a coldness to his eyes and to the thin line of his mouth that Steve's never seen before. Steve is looking at him, his expression almost unreadable from underneath his cowl. Bucky doesn't say anything, instead turning around and walking in the direction of the exit.
Isabel and Peggy watch from their hiding spot behind the tree as the factory goes up in a mass of explosions within an hour of the Commandos gaining access. Peggy doesn't seem to bat an eyelid, but Isabel's jaw drops as the broken slabs of concrete and metal fly into the air, the rest of the building collapsing, slowly crumbling to the snow-covered ground. Isabel has her camera out again, showing Peggy, and snaps another photograph of the burning building. They can feel the immense heat even from this far away and she feels a sickening feeling settle in her stomach. If the Commandos were still inside, that would be hot enough to kill them without the added explosions and fire.
Isabel tears her eyes away toward the entrances to the factory, squinting to see the figures of the Commandos through the smoke and fire. She waits and waits, growing antsy, her view slowly becoming totally obscured by the thick grey smoke that blows toward them in the faint wind. It makes them both cough. Peggy eventually pushes Isabel's head down so that it doesn't stick up over the top of the log. Isabel stays low, waiting and listening.
After a few minutes, they hear the sounds of heavy footsteps and yelling. Isabel freezes, straining her ears to hear over the explosions in the distance. It isn't in a language she understands; it's in German.
"Crawl into the tree," Peggy whispers hurriedly.
Leaving their bags against the trunk, the agent crawls to the other end of the fallen trunk and slips inside easily. Isabel scurries quickly, wiggling herself inside the trunk to hide. It's a tight fit at her end and she almost doesn't make it, her hips snagging on the opening. Her heart starts racing, terrified that she'll be caught by some Hydra agent lying in the freezing snow halfway out of the log like a sitting duck. Finally, she squashes herself inside, thankful they haven't had much food the last few days as they marched to the factory in enemy lines, crawling backward so she's lying inside far from the entrance. She says a silent prayer of thanks that they hadn't gone to opposite ends, as Peggy most likely wouldn't have fit at the end Isabel chose.
Isabel's feet hit Peggy's, who lies the opposite way from her. Peggy's got her pistol raised in preparation, Isabel still armed with the camera; she couldn't bare to leave it out and risk it getting damaged or taken. Isabel forces her eyes away from watching out the end of the destroyed trunk, just enough light filtering in that she can see what she's doing. She awkwardly reaches around and pulls her pistol from her pants' pocket, holding it in front of her face as well, clicking the safety off. It's damp and mossy inside, the bark soft and wet to the touch, soaking their tops and pants as they lay inside.
Seconds later, all around them are a mass of soldier's boots pounding past the trunk along the snowy forest floor in their escape of the factory, blissfully unaware that two influential members of the Allies lie not two centimetres below their feet as they climb over the trunk, their packs sitting on the other side of the trunk. Isabel clamps a hand over her mouth to stifle any noise, the hardness of her breathing and the coughs that threaten her at the suffocating smoke, worried the men will somehow hear despite all the noise they're making. The trunk wobbles dangerously, seemingly threatening to collapse in on them as a few men jump up onto it and push off roughly in their haste.
The men's boots are followed by the sounds of gunfire. There's thud after thud of men hitting the ground, the air filling with strangled and pained screams. Isabel sees one of the men fall to the ground in a heap right in front of her, his masked face staring straight down the bark barrel toward her. She gulps. A rogue bullet embeds itself in the bark above Isabel's head, sticking out of the wood at her, and she stifles a scream, thanking anyone who'll listen that the bark had been thick enough to stop it.
Eventually the footfalls cease entirely, as does the gunfire, everyone either far enough away that they can't be heard or all of them taken down.
Isabel waits, shots echoing through the woods at odd times, before she hears the sound of familiar voices.
"Just our luck that their evacuation path would be right where we told the girls to wait," they hear Bucky mumble grouchily, walking around the area. "Isabel? Peggy?"
Steve calls out too, worriedly. "Belle? Where are you? God, they'd better be okay..."
"We're in here," Isabel replies, her voice muffled by the thick bark.
Peggy easily scurries out her end of the trunk, rocking it worryingly. She stands and brushes off her uniform with help from Bucky, who asks her if she's okay.
Meanwhile, Isabel crawls up toward the top opening slowly as the log rocks, shifted from its original, steady position by the men moving over it. Her shirt snags on a broken piece of bark and halts her escape and she huffs in frustration. She feels a bit claustrophobic, but it's silly considering Steve can probably rip the bark apart to free her with his bare hands.
Steve immediately runs to the sound of her voice and the wiggling fallen tree, his face appearing in the opening. "Thank God," he mutters, relief clear on his face. "Give me your hand."
"I-I'm stuck," Isabel tells him, her voice nearing on hysterical.
She's unable to move forward and Steve's reaching in to grab her but his arms don't quite reach. Isabel reaches around and tries to unhook her shirt awkwardly, unable to move her arms much. She wiggles around, getting more and more anxious with every passing second. Eventually, she ends up just ripping the fabric of her shirt with an almighty tug that smacks her elbow against the wood of the trunk hard. Her eyes water with the pain and she bites her lip to stop from yelling out, awkwardly clutching the bone in her hand.
"Ooh, ouch," Steve says sympathetically, cringing for her.
Isabel takes a second to breathe the pain away and wipe her eyes before she wiggles forward enough to take Steve's offered hand, clutching it tightly. He pulls gently so he doesn't hurt her, helping her shimmy out of the tight fit she's found herself in. She gets her shoulders and hips free, the widest parts, and then Steve pulls her upright as though she weighs nothing, clutching her tightly against his chest.
"You're okay?" He asks, holding her far enough away to flit his hand up and brush her hair from her face and remove a leaf from her shoulder, wiping off a patch of dirt. Steve drops his pack from his shoulder and opens it, pulling out his spare jacket (which he hardly needs considering the warmth of his suit and his increased body temperature), wrapping Isabel up in it tightly to ward off the cold from her now-wet clothes.
"Yes," she replies, wiping the dirt and moss from her white top, ripped at the hem, before clutching her elbow as it aches dully. The jacket warms her immediately. "Just a little dirty. Peggy's a rather good babysitter.
"How'd you know they were coming? You couldn't see anything," Bucky asks, a protective arm reaching out to hover over Peggy's lower back.
"We heard them yelling and running. They were coming toward us quick. We hid just in case they crossed our path, and now I'm glad we did," Peggy says, taking a step closer to Bucky and smiling sweetly at him for his caring gesture.
"Good thinking," Falsworth adds.
"Are any of you wounded?" Isabel asks.
"No, we got out okay this time," Steve replies. Isabel's eyes flick to all of the men, needing visual confirmation. Apart from a few minor cuts and bruises, they're all somehow miraculously unharmed. "We need to start walking, get–"
Steve pauses, hearing something in the woods with his enhancements. He turns around, pushing Isabel behind his back and raising the shield, but doesn't have time to raise his pistol as well before the trio of Hydra agents barrel out of the woods toward them with their own rifles raised.
Peggy acts the fastest, raising her pistol in her hand and aiming a shot at the men. A lone bullet is released - and Steve's vision moves so fast that he can see it flying through the air and he thinks he'd have enough time to dodge it if he ever had to - flying straight into the man in the middle, but when it hits his body, the bullet explodes into a massive fireball, taking down all three men at once and charring the ground and trees surrounding them.
The Howling Commandos stare in shock as the blackened bodies fall to the ground with a thud. Isabel's jaw drops.
"And that's why this beauty is dangerous," Peggy tells Isabel, smirking at Isabel's open-mouth.
"What the hell was that?" Bucky asks in astonishment.
"A little advancement courtesy of Howard. It's a special addition to the gun, there's only ten of those bullets in there. It's awfully handy." She then turns, smirking at Bucky's own open-mouthed stare. "Close your mouth, darling, you'll catch flies," she tells Bucky, patting the underside of his jaw.
"J'ai besoin de l'un de ceux (I need one of those)," Dernier mutters.
"As you were, Captain," Peggy pushes, looking expectantly at a shocked Steve.
"R-right," Steve stammers, taking another glance at the dead men on the ground and the hundreds of footstep tracks in the snow. "We, uh, need to get away from the factory. Hydra is probably going to be drawn here sometime soon to inspect the damage we've done. We also have a day or so of walking to reach the rendezvous position."
"Aye, aye, Captain," Dugan says, ushering for Steve to lead the way.
After a few hours of steady walking along the route according to Dugan's map – which even took them through a small Belgium town where they were greeted by the locals – Steve finally slows his pace and looks around at the area they've walked into. The forest is less dense, but still not a clearing. Despite the sparseness of the trees, the canopy above them is thicker than ever, blocking out any view of the darkening sky above and somewhat stopping the snowfall. The ground is covered in a thick litter of fallen leaves and dirt and not a lot of snow, slightly more comfortable and warm for sleeping on.
"Let's stop here and make camp for the night," Steve suggests as the Commandos catch up to him. The Commandos mutter their agreement, dropping their sacks to the ground and getting out their tiny swag tents, setting them up against the trees.
Bucky and Steve take a walk to search the area for snipers and bugs, coming back empty handed. Dugan starts a small campfire in the middle of the area whilst the others use what's left of the low light to erect their tents and set out their sleeping bags on the inside. They all fight for the spot of their tent, wanting to be closer to the fire so that the inside can be warmed by the heat, the unlucky ones stuck on the outsides of the group where it will be colder, particularly as the night wears on.
It doesn't escape Isabel and Peggy's notice that the men leave spaces for their tent right in the middle of the clump where it will be warmest and safest. Isabel puts her sleeping bag inside the door of the tent Peggy helps her set up and then joins the men, who all sit cross-legged around the fire, their rifles right next to them for easy access. There's a space left for Isabel between Steve and Gabe, Bucky and Peggy sitting side by side across the other side of the fire.
The light has disappeared from the sky just visible through the trees, replaced by blackness with scattered grey clouds. The snow seems to have come to a halt, but it's no less cold. Overnight, it'll probably snow again. There's barely any moonlight, hidden behind the clouds. The smoke from their bonfire fills the air and makes them all smell of ash, lingering in their hair and on their clothes. The smoke swirls and disappears into the blackness around them.
The trees surrounding them act as barriers to the light, along with the tents, the illumination of the fire not extending beyond them. The encompassing darkness is ominous and terrifying, feeling as though it closes in on them further as the fire dims before it's prodded awake again. Isabel looks away, trying to concentrate on the people around her.
She looks down to what Steve's doing, his pencil moving across the sketchbook page in the low light. The book is turned on the side – landscape, he calls it. He's sketching the scene in front of him. There's a fire in the middle, and the faces of all the Commandos and Peggy positioned around the fire, Steve only just beginning outlining their bodies.
"So boys, we seen any of the local inhabitants yet?" Dugan asks by way of starting conversations flowing, rubbing his palms together cheekily.
"The Belgiums?" Falsworth asks monotonously, taking a smoke from his pipe, blowing the smoke back out a few second later.
"Oh, yes. The women in that town we passed through were easy on the eye. Looked like they could do with a piece of us, too."
"I was surprised to see they don't look like us at all, which they, no doubt, are eternally grateful for," Falsworth notes. The women had been impeccable well-dressed for people living in a town that was currently ravaged by war. It was a welcome change from what soldiers normally see in local towns – bombed out buildings, destroyed families, dirty, wounded and deceased civilians.
"Not sweaty and dirty and covered in blood?" Jones asks, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket.
"Exactly."
"What was it Phillips said?" Jones asks. "About the liquor and that? I could go for a pint right now if we weren't in the middle of fuckin' nowhere."
"Language, Gabe," Steve says off-handedly, not looking up from his sketch. The men ignore his comment; Steve, as their commanding officer, is supposed to keep all of the men in line and decent along with Bucky, his Sergeant. Swearing is something that is expected to be kept to a minimum, especially in the presence of civilians, along with the men's appearance and weaponry. However, Steve only gets funny about swearing when there are ladies in his presence, something Sarah Rogers drilled into both he and Bucky from a young age. For Bucky it didn't quite stick, at least not in terms of his sister, but Steve still leads by his mother's example when women are around. Any other time, Steve's got quite possibly the worst mouth of them all, which is ironic considering the innocent perception the media have of him.
"That speech he gave us on our first day on the front?" Morita asks with a laugh, and Bucky snorts as well.
"What speech?" Isabel asks, her and Steve feeling thoroughly confused. Steve looks up from his drawing in interest.
"I'm not sure it is suitable for a woman's ears," Falsworth says carefully, giving Jones a warning look but still wary of Peggy sitting on his left, giving him a dangerous look of her own.
"What bull," Peggy mutters.
"Yeah," Isabel agrees, matching Peggy's unamused expression. "I wanna know, but only in your best Phillips impression. His speeches lose their character without that gruff anger."
"It went a little somethin' like this," Dugan says, sitting up a little straighter, taking on the challenge by setting his face into a severe frown. "First up, beware the local liquor, which is poisonous. Pure moonshine hits the spot much faster than your city-slicker giggle juice."
"You got any giggle juice, Monty?" Morita asks distractedly, taking the flask Falsworth hands him.
"And for those of you contemplating some horizontal refreshment…" Dugan continues his impersonation, and the Commandos cheer while Steve's ears turn a furious pink, accompanied by an uncomfortable cough. "Just be warned. Flies spread disease, so keep yours closed. Those proverbial few moments of pleasure are very likely to leave you with a legacy that is horribly painful, difficult to cure, and may get you sent home–"
"Like that would be a problem," Falsworth interrupts. "A few moments of pleasure for a comfortable bed."
"–to face embarrassing questions from the girlfriend or the wife. However, I know nothing I say is going to discourage some of you, so I'm going to hand you over to Doc Morgan, who has had it all and cured it all."
The Commandos dissolve into a fit of laughter, remembering the look on Doctor Morgan's face at the crude joke at his expense. He'd then gone on to explain the lasting effects of sexual diseases, weather-related illnesses, wounds and infections, complete with photographs of the symptoms, a lecture that had made every soldier embarrassed and nauseated.
Peggy rolls her eyes, though there's a smirk playing at her lips. "You men are all the same."
"So are women," Dugan argues. "Men have been trying and failing to understand the fairer gender for thousands of years."
"And no one's ever come close," Morita adds.
"Except me, of course," Dugan continues. "And maybe Barnes over here. I'll let you fellas in on a little secret, what I see as most efficient – buy 'em a diamond and give 'em a house and they'll love you a long time. And most importantly, they'll be happy. A happy wife equals a happy life."
"Women are not that shallow," Peggy argues, her face set in a stubborn frown. "And it most definitely isn't all about money."
Isabel looks a little guilty and gives Steve a meaningful sideways glance, then looks back to Dugan.
"Perhaps you should stop assuming things about the opposite sex, Private Dugan, and instead ask one a few questions. It may get you further in your research than mere observation," Peggy suggests.
"Oh, sorry. I forgot I was talking to the experts," Dugan retorts sarcastically, stealing Jones' cigarette and taking a whiff.
"We're women, you kind of are," Peggy points out. Dugan waves her away dismissively, and Peggy takes a deep steadying breath, muttering something about Dugan being a pain in the neck that makes Bucky snort.
Eventually, Jones, Falsworth and Dernier veer off from the main group, involved in a heavily translated conversation. Jones reaches over and plucks his cigarette back from Dugan before the moustached-man can smoke it down to a stub, never taking his concentration off the conversation as he translates between Monty and Dernier. Dugan follows Jones' attention to the conversation, his face lighting up in a smile.
"What are you guys talking about over there? Edith Piaf or somethin'?" Dugan asks.
"No, we were discussing our reasons for joining the war effort," Jones answers.
"Now there's a topic I'm interested in," Dugan says. "Let's discuss together. I'll start. I joined the war because I hated my job in the circus and I wanted to do something different."
"You were in a circus?" Steve asks curiously. "Doing what?"
"I was the ringmaster. Not bad at it either. That's what the moustache was for," Dugan explains, running a finger along it. "Absolutely hated it at first, but it grew on me. Couldn't bear to be bare of it after a while, even after I quit the circus. Just like your spangles, Cap."
"Well there you go," Falsworth says. "I never would have guessed it."
"Sometimes I think I miss being in the spotlight, having all the eyes on me around the circus tent as I introduce the next act. I loved travelling between cities and towns, performing for people and lifting their spirits despite the Depression. We'd set up our tents and roll out our attractions…" Dugan trails off with a longing look in his eyes. "But then I remember I'm a Howling Commando, always in the limelight behind the great Captain, constantly moving from one hideout to another, rolling out a new act with a machine gun. Life doesn't really feel much different, only with the added aspect of possibly being blown up at any moment. Feels a bit like I came back home."
"Sure, if that's how you want to think of it," Morita laughs.
"That wasn't the only reason of course. It ain't called "khaki whacky" for no reason," Dugan brags, pretending to shine his badge with his knuckles. "Girls go wild over a man in uniform."
"Yeah?" Morita asks.
"In your case I don't think anything would help, but you may as well give it a go."
Morita laughs, punching Dugan on the shoulder playfully.
"Another failed attempt by Dugan to entice women," Isabel laughs, shaking her head at the man. She doesn't admit that Dugan's actually right – a man in uniform is irresistibly attractive. Though, that may only be one man in particular for her.
"Why'd you come then, Baby Barnes?" Dugan retorts.
"I just followed Steve," Isabel says easily, leaning against his side. "He was comin' over here, and I figured I'd be a lot less lonely if I came, too."
"And, we all know why Steve came over here, apart from being chosen for that damn serum," Bucky inputs. "To satisfy his thirst for adventure, his overbearing quest for justice, and to fulfil his status of having the "self-preservation of a snowball in hell", as Isabel kindly put it in one of her letters," Bucky says through his exasperated laughter.
"Yeah, thanks for that," Steve grumbles.
"Don't even deny it. It's both an admirable character trait and your most pressing flaw. You just can't help but do what's best for everyone else. You're always so moral and just, Stevie. Does it ever get cold on the moral high ground?" Bucky asks in a serious tone.
"Peggy, push him over for me," Steve asks of Peggy.
Peggy makes due with the request, pushing Bucky backward onto the grass. He sits up again, laughing, not even looking phased by just getting a back full of snow.
"Actually, interesting story regarding Steve's self-preservation," Peggy offers.
"Hit us," Dugan says with a smile.
Steve groans.
"So, Steve is at basic training, keeping up with the PT with everyone else. They're all doing jumping jacks, sweating and puffing. Doctor Erskine, God rest his soul, is trying to convince Colonel Phillips that Steve is the best choice to receive the serum in the experiment. But the Colonel wanted to choose a man named Gilmore Hodge – sure he was strong and tall and he knew what he was doing, but he didn't have the heart that Steve did. To prove his point, Phillips throws a dummy grenade into the mass of training men without actually informing them it wasn't a live grenade. Hodge and all the others scramble away, including myself, but Steve–"
"He jumped on it, didn't he?" Bucky cuts in, looking at Peggy with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes, he did," Peggy replies with a surprised expression. "To mi–"
"To minimise the blast so that it wouldn't hurt the others? Yeah, figures," Bucky mutters, rolling his eyes and taking a swig from Falsworth's flask. He's just so done.
Beside Steve, Isabel raises her eyebrows, turning to him with a pointed expression. "You jumped on a grenade?" She says, her voice surprisingly even.
"It wasn't a real grenade," Steve protests.
"Doctor Erskine said something about your act of self-sacrifice. I didn't realise that meant you jumped on a grenade..."
"It was a dummy grenade," Steve iterates.
"But you didn't know that, Steve," Isabel shoots back. "What if it had been real?"
"I was jumping on it because I didn't think I'd be the one to get chosen for the experiment. I figured if I could minimise the blast, it might have saved the person who was going to be chosen for the project," Steve explains. "There were also others around, so many agents and soldiers. I couldn't stand for something to have happened to them when it could have been averted."
"Which is exactly why you were chosen," Peggy notes.
"You could've died!" Isabel cries, still stuck on that fact.
"There's lots of times I could have died, Belle–"
"Not comforting," Isabel hisses, glaring harder, looking absolutely murderous in the red light of the fire.
Bucky starts to laugh then at Isabel's furious expression and Steve's sheepish, rather fearful frown. Steve actually shies a little bit away from Isabel, who crosses her arms and pouts at him. Steve knows this conversation isn't over.
"Alright, back to the question because I'm quite intrigued," Peggy pushes, trying to save Steve from his inevitable questioning. "What about you, Monty?"
"Patriotic duty and all that," Falsworth answers. "Been in the fight since the day England joined. Felt a little too close to home to have another war just over the horizon."
"Fair enough. Jones?"
"Honestly, I wanted to prove that I could fight just as well as any other man, no matter the colour of my skin," Jones admits. As soon as the words leave his mouth, his eyes widen and he looks at those around him worriedly as though expecting backlash for his comments. Instead, he meets immense sympathy.
"And you definitely have, Gabe. You should be extremely proud of your efforts. You're a credit, not only to the African-American people, but to the United States," Steve tells him sincerely, leaning around Isabel to put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Agreed. Despite everything people have done to you guys, you all fight just as hard for freedom and equality. It's an honour to serve beside you," Dugan adds seriously.
"A lot of us wouldn't be here without you," Falsworth mutters.
"Thanks, fellas," Jones says, inconspicuously wiping a tear from his eyes. No one says anything, instead turning to Dernier. Jones repeats the question to him, his voice only shaking slightly at the beginning.
"Les allemands ont envahi mon pays. Je n'avais pas d'autre choix que de me battre ou de vivre sous leur contrôle," Dernier says sadly. "J'ai quitté ma famille à la maison, nous vivons à Marseilles. J'ai promis que je ne reviendrais pas avant que les Allemands aient été refoulés dans leur pays ou jusqu'à ce que je rentre dans un cercueil."
Jones stares at Dernier for a moment, before interpreting. "The Germans invaded my country. I had no choice but to fight or live under their control. I left my family at home, we live in Marseilles. I promised I would not come back until the Germans were driven back into their country, or until I got into a coffin."
Everyone silently looks at Dernier, who pulls a photo from his pocket, holding it out to Isabel. "C'est ma famille."
Isabel sits up from under Steve's arm, reaching to take the photo. It's grainy and grey scale, showing a beautiful woman, no older than forty, with light hair styled in a chin-length bob of barrel curls, a smiling blonde baby bouncing in her lap. Isabel smiles, showing Steve the image. "Elles sont belles – beautiful," she tells Dernier, handing the image back. He looks at it longingly before pocketing it again.
Isabel moves back to Steve, grabbing his hand in hers. Bucky smiles at them over the fire, not wanting to look like a creep watching them but feeling so incredibly happy that they've finally followed their hearts rather than their brains. There's not a lot of things to look forward to and be grateful for in a war, apart from being thankful for still being alive, and Bucky finds himself thankful that at least his baby sister and Steve have something else.
"What about you, Serge?" Dugan asks, steering the conversation away from Dernier's rather solemn tale and breaking Bucky out of his thoughts. "You seem like the type stupid enough to sign up for this shit like the rest of us were."
Bucky pauses. "Actually, I was drafted." Steve's eyes snap up to meet Bucky's, shock on his face. Beside him, Isabel looks away guiltily. "First mass wave of draftees after voluntary enlistment died down. Got the letter in the mail a week after they announced it. Didn't have a choice."
"You told me you enlisted," Steve says accusingly.
"I didn't want you to be upset. Didn't know how to tell you that I was being made to do the one thing you wanted most," Bucky mumbles with a shrug, refusing to meet Steve's eyes. "It's funny. Now that I'm here, I've grown used to it. Before I left home, I thought I'd never get back again, was sure I'd die out here all alone in some trench. It was my worst fear. Now, it's not the dying I'm afraid of. More the fact that I don't know if I could go back home again. Don't know if I could ever get used to not being in the fight."
Over the fire, Isabel watches Bucky carefully, pain written on her features. She realises, in that moment, that she doesn't really understand everything Bucky's going through, and he isn't planning on telling her without a push. She tries to catch his eyes but he looks away, staring at the fire as it flickers in front of him.
"Just feels like it's all too different now to ever go back," Bucky mumbles. He shrugs again, staring into the fire to avoid everyone's eyes. "I dunno."
"They shoulda learn from the first war that it does nothing except rip soldiers from their families, starve 'em and scare 'em, kill of their friends and family, and take away their innocence, with maybe a few lost limbs along the way," Dugan says solemnly.
"I'll drink to that," Falsworth agrees, lifting his flask to his lips and taking a long swig before handing it around the group. The Commandos all nod in agreement and take their own sips, a silence settling over the group.
Finally, as the night grows later, the fire fizzles out into a dull speck of light and then extinguishes altogether, leaving only a small streak of smoke and saturating the camp in darkness. Dugan offers to take the first watch, staying in the middle of the camp by the makeshift bonfire. Everyone else crawls into their tents that they share with one or two others, settling down to sleep. Steve stays up longer than anyone else, conversing quietly with Dugan, their voices only a whisper.
The ground is uncomfortable through the bottom of the tent, twigs and rocks pressing into their backs, but after days of walking, it's a welcome release. As soon as the warmth in the air of the fire diminishes, everyone's teeth start to chatter from beneath their swags. The men quickly unbutton their sleeping bags into larger blankets and share with the person in the tent with them, putting the second over the top so that they have two layers of warmth. They sleep close to one another but none of them joke around about it, too cold and exhausted to protest the added body warmth. Luckily, the tents block the hammering wind outside, the gusts travelling steadily through the trees.
Isabel crawls into the tent she was meant to share with Peggy, freezing when she sees that Peggy isn't alone. Bucky's sitting in there with her, his own sleeping bag around him to fight the cold.
"I-uh, sorry," Isabel mutters quickly, eyed widening.
"Oh, sorry Is," Bucky says, smiling shyly at her, and Isabel isn't sure if Bucky's ever smiled shyly in his life. "We're just talking."
"Okay. Um. Are you, uh, sleeping here?" Isabel asks quietly, her voice almost hopeful. She knows how much Bucky likes Peggy and how much the feelings are reciprocated, so the chances are high. And neither Bucky nor Peggy seem like the type to care about societal norms.
"Uh, if that's okay with you?" Bucky says quietly.
"Yeah, yeah, of course."
"You sure? If you don't want to sleep next to St–"
"No, no, it's fine," Isabel reassures awkwardly, climbing back out of the tent equally as awkward. She trips a bit on the fabric outside of the tent, stumbling a bit backward. She hooks a thumb toward the tent Bucky was meant to share with Steve, acting as though she hadn't just fallen onto her bum in the snow. "I better take this," she says, grabbing her bundled up sleeping bag from the corner of the tent by the door and shoving it under her arm. "I'll just, uh, go. Uh, sleep well."
"G'night, Isabel," Bucky says after her with a chuckle.
"Night," she says, closing the tent up for them, her cheeks hot.
"She's very accepting," Isabel hears Peggy say to Bucky in surprise.
"She just wants me and you to be happy. She doesn't really care about stuff like that," Bucky replies with another content chuckle. "Issy gets all cute when she's nervous."
Isabel's cheeks blush furiously, particularly against the freezing air outside, and she smacks her hand against her forehead, berating herself for being so awkward. She walks quietly over to the free tent and crawls inside, huddling down in her sleeping bag. Without the warmth of someone in the spot beside her, Isabel starts to shiver. She huddles down deeper into her coat and sleeping bag, only the top of her head visible, but still can't get warm enough in the freezing temperatures, feeling as though her feet are turning to ice in her thick socks and boots. She braves the cold for a moment, unzipping her sleeping bag and fanning it out as a large blanket before hastily grabbing Steve's from the corner where he's thrown it and unzipping it as well to make two blankets. She pulls his over her too, feeling a little warmer with the extra layer.
While the Commandos fall asleep in seconds, used to falling asleep in uncomfortable places and doing so on command, Isabel finds she can't, laying quietly with her eyes closed, trying to clear her mind. All she can think of is Bucky's confession from earlier. She'd known he hadn't been quite the same since he returned from his captivity, and she didn't expect him to be. No one could be the same after such a traumatic experience. And he now carries a reminder of it in his system that he doesn't understand, a serum that has permanently changed him. The fact that he doesn't know if he can go home terrifies her. That someone could feel that distanced from their life, from the life he'd been so scared and hesitant to leave, is frightening and disturbing. In just a few months, the war and Hydra have managed to wipe out an entire part of Bucky. She wonders whether he'll ever get that part of himself back, whether he'll ever feel comfortable away from the fight, back in society with a job and a house and kids. She sincerely hopes so, because those were always the things Bucky wanted.
She says a little prayer into the silence, for Bucky and for all of them, and she directs it to God in both of the ways she knows Him, in both of the languages and using both of the prayers she knows. She knows that, as a Jew, she's supposed to pray three times a day; morning, afternoon, and evening. But Winifred never told them they had to pray, never imposed it on them, and George never made them say grace or pray before bed except on special occasions. Her voice shakes and she isn't quite sure what to say, but she's sure this won't be the last time in her life, or even in the next few months, that she'll pray and she's sure it'll get easier. After all, most things get better with practise.
Isabel finishes her thoughts and prayers and tries to sleep, burying down further into the sleeping bags. However, the darkness keeps her awake and makes Isabel's imagination run wild. She can barely see anything inside the tent, and outside she can see faint shadows of the trees above that she can't help but imagine aren't trees but people. She sees the Red Skull in her mind, a picture painted by Steve's description and the drawings he'd done in their free time. She sees herself lying on a medical cot, the Red Skull pumping her with serums and medicines and her screaming the way Steve had in the experiment chamber, the way she expects Bucky did. The thought makes her feel physically sick.
Eventually, Steve leaves Dugan alone, sneaking silently over to his tent and climbing inside, zipping it back up behind him. He props the shield up against the side of the tent for easy access before climbing into his sleeping bag and lying down. Isabel relaxes once Steve's there, his body heat radiating over to her. She finds she can't even open her eyes to see him, the exhaustion taking over. Within minutes, she's nearly asleep, but a small huff from Steve beside her jolts her awake again. He sighs a little again, and takes his arms out of the sleeping bags, and Isabel isn't sure if it's because he's hot or restless.
Isabel slowly reaches over and touches his arm to ask him what's wrong. Steve jolts a mile into the air, frightened by the movement and by the frozen temperature of the hand. "Jesus, Buck, you scared the shi– Wait, Isabel?" It takes him a moment to realise the hand is small and dainty on his arm, fragile almost, missing any signs of physical labour like callouses and roughened skin.
"Hi," she whispers back with a laugh.
Steve looks over, peering through the darkness that his eyes quickly adjusted to, and when he actually looks it's so obvious its Isabel and not Bucky. She's much smaller, after all, frowning at him through the darkness. "Wha– Where's Bucky?"
"He's sleepin' with Peg," Isabel tells him easily. She tenses a little bit then, pulling her hand back from his arm. "I hope this is okay. You know, for you. Because if it's not, I can go kick Buck out–"
"Belle," Steve says quietly, stopping her rambling. "It's fine. I promise."
"Okay, good. It's too cold to get up now."
Steve rolls onto his side and Isabel forces her tired eyes open to peer at him. Her eyes adjust very slowly, but eventually she finds him wide awake and looking at her worriedly, his face mere inches from her own.
"I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep," he whispers to her, but he doesn't lose that worried expression.
"I'm trying," Isabel whispers stubbornly. "I feel like I'm freezing to death."
In answer, Steve carefully grabs Isabel and pulls her closer to him, encircling her in his arms. Her whole body shakes against him and he holds her tight, right up against the warmth of his core. She snuggles into him, reaching one hand under his arm around his side and pressing her freezing hands against the skin of his back underneath his uniform, making him flinch while she giggles. Eventually she warms up, her cheeks getting a little flush to them, and she settles down to sleep.
"Why can't you sleep?" She asks quietly.
Steve sighs, but feels himself relax as she removes her hand from his back and takes his hand, rubbing small circles on the back of his palm. "The usual," he says. Isabel nods. "I'm sorry for jumping on the grenade at boot camp," Steve adds.
Isabel sighs, looking a bit exasperated. "As long as you don't jump on one now, we'll be okay."
"I won't. I can just slam my shield down on top of it now," Steve says.
"Or maybe you can try to steer clear of grenades in general. It's probably for the best, especially for Bucky and I's sanity." She sighs loudly, shuffling a little bit closer to him, if possible. They're practically flush against each other, and Steve's cheeks heat up again. He berates himself internally, forces himself to calm down so he can sleep. "As for going to sleep, just close your eyes and think of somewhere else," she tells Steve, following her own advice.
Steve watches her a moment longer as her breathing deepens and she falls into a peaceful slumber. He lets his own eyes close, and finds his mind wandering toward the Grand Canyon. It's a long shot, since he's only ever seen it in pictures, but it seems to be the way his imagination is sending him so he lets it, hoping it will also lead him to sleep. He imagines himself sitting on the edge of the Canyon, cavernous and terrifying below with seemingly no bottom. But it's also beautiful, a wondrous mystery or nature. The red rocks beneath him and on the horizon glow in the light of the harsh afternoon sun. In his arms is Isabel, her dark hair blowing lightly in the breeze, her skin warm and glowing in the healthy heat of a sun-soaked landscape. He tightens his arms around her as she sits between his legs and leans against his chest. He's the size he is now, free from health problems, and most importantly, they're both happy and safe.
Steve doesn't know at what point he fell asleep and at what point the image of them at the Grand Canyon transitioned from a product of his imagination into a dream, but he jolts awake when Dugan shakes his shoulder three hours later, leaning through the door of the tent to wake Steve for his shift, giving Steve a smug smile at the sight of Isabel sleeping in his arms.
Even as Steve sits, his ears listening for any approaching enemy footstep and his eyes scanning the forest, his hands busy polishing the rifle, he can't get that feeling of freedom out of his mind. His hands can't forget the feeling of holding Isabel, or the feeling of the red dirt beneath them and the hot wind in his hair as he sits on the edge of the expanse.