44.
London, United Kingdom
May 6th, 1944
Isabel comes back to consciousness slowly, feeling as though she's been drinking. She tries to open her eyes but slams them shut again immediately, the lights above her almost blinding. Her thoughts are a little tangled, a little slow, and it takes her an awfully long time to realise that the dull beeping sound is a heart rate monitor behind her. It takes her another few seconds to realise that she's lying in a bed. It's soft, comfortable, like a cloud beneath her, and it feels almost heavenly. She just wants to snuggle back down under the warmth of the blankets and fall back asleep. She tries, tells her brain to switch off again, but it won't.
She cracks her eyes open to have a look around, blinking against the bright lights. She recognises the room – she's back in the infirmary in the London base. She's spent a lot of time here the last few months and she knows it like the back of her hand. The walls are a beige colour, the floors shiny linoleum, the sink in the corner polished stainless steel. The beeping of the monitors, the sound of running water, the smell of disinfectant and bleach. If she didn't know better, she'd say she was back in the hospital in Brooklyn, working another shift. It's comforting to be back, it feels like coming home. So safe and warm.
She hears a noise beside her and looks to her left, frowning. In the hospital bed a few metres away next to her lies Dum Dum Dugan, his arm in a cast and sling. In the bed beyond him is Dernier, his torso wrapped from the wound of the tree branch. Dernier's asleep, his mouth open as he snores, but Dugan's looking at Isabel with a worried frown.
"Dugan?" Isabel forces out, trying to make the sound work when her throat feels like it's about to split in two, dry as the desert.
"Hey, Baby Barnes," Dugan replies with a relieved smirk. "You've been sleeping so long you're even more beautiful than ever before. Sleepin' beauty."
Isabel frowns at him in confusion, a little dopey from what she now realises wasn't alcohol, but pain medication. "Don't be stupid, Dum Dum. How long was I out?"
"Nearly two days," Dugan tells her. "Doctor said you were exhausted. You've had a lot of medication. Lost a lot of blood, too."
"Not surprised," Isabel says, licking her lips. "I did fall out of a plane, before I was shot and tortured."
Dugan laughs at her sarcastic expression. "Humour, that's good. Doesn't matter if it's dark."
"You gotta laugh or you'll cry," Isabel agrees.
She's only then aware of the weight on the bed beside her right hand. She looks down, seeing a familiar head of blonde hair on the bed beside her hand. Steve's sitting in a chair beside her, slumped forward onto the bed as he sleeps.
"Poor Cap thought you were gonna die the entire time. He was beside himself. Serge was the only one who could calm him down," Isabel hears Dugan tell her. "He hasn't left your side once since we got ourselves into that truck and drove away from the burning factory, hasn't taken his eyes off you. This is the first time he's actually slept, though I doubt he meant for it to happen."
"Steve," Isabel murmurs quietly, feeling her heart constrict with love for the man.
She lifts her hand, an immense task because she feels so weak, and runs her fingers through his dirty hair. He obviously hasn't showered since the Commandos arrived back at the base, still wearing his damaged uniform. Steve shifts and murmurs something indecipherable in his sleep but doesn't stir awake.
"Steve," Isabel repeats a little louder.
Steve snaps upright, his eyes wide as he searches toward the door for the source of what woke him, completely missing her in the bed.
"On your left," Isabel tells him, the way her and Bucky used to when they were coming up behind sickly Steve so that he wouldn't get frightened by their sudden appearance. His left ear was always his worst, hearing wise.
Steve swivels back around and his eyes land on Isabel. He smiles, breathing out a sigh of relief. "Belle," he breathes, clasping her hand in both of his.
"Hi," Isabel says with a dopey smile.
"Hi," Steve chuckles. "God, I thought you weren't ever going to wake up."
"Was tempting, this bed's awful comfy," Isabel jokes, smiling at him. "Just kidding. Wasn't plannin' on ever leavin' you."
"Good, because I don't know what I'd do without you," Steve tells her sincerely, cupping her cheek with his hand.
Steve pats her limp hair down, pushing it away from her face. She's still pale, dark black bags under her blue-grey eyes, her lips a little chapped from dehydration. She has a few light cuts and scratches, one above her eyebrow and another on her cheek, the one on her cheek covered with a small bandage. Her ribs were confirmed to be bruised, not that there's much the doctors can do for that. There's a bandage wrapped around her torso to keep her posture straight, but not much else can be done. She's also pretty bruised elsewhere, a large welt on her forehead, a few on her wrists and elbows. He knows some of these are from the fall from the plane, others from her tousle with Madame Hydra. Steve feels a bit of guilt run through him that he couldn't save her quicker.
They look into each other's eyes for a while, both of their blue and grey orbs holding a darkness that was never there before. Steve feels like his heart's wrenching in his chest – Isabel, once so innocent and pure, tainted forever by the war, by Hydra, by the damned Red Skull. Steve had come to terms long ago that he'd never be the same after they got back home (if we got back home), but not Isabel. He isn't ready for Isabel to be hurt, doesn't think he ever would be anyway. He never intended for it to happen this way. Now Steve knows a little bit of what it was like for Bucky, who's spent the last few years of his life sacrificing himself to make sure Steve and Isabel were protected from the horrors of the world, only to have them dragged into everything anyway.
"Am I okay?" Isabel eventually asks, her voice quiet and careful.
Steve's been sick long enough to know that the answer to that question feels a million miles away before it's given. The answer seems to take forever to come, rolling off the person's tongue like a dripping tap rather than a wave, the suspense enough to drive a person mad.
"You'll be fine, honey," Steve reassures, quickly but not too quickly, taking her tiny hand in his own. "Doctors said you're going to make a full recovery. The bullet didn't do any permanent damage, and everything else is relatively minor, just cuts and bruises. You'll be okay."
"W-what about my mind? Because they, you know…?"
Steve sighs, looking at her with his saddened baby blues. "Well, you haven't been awake, sweetie. Only you'll know if you're forgetting things. But I think you're okay – you're awake and talking and you know who everyone is. Bucky told me it took quite a few trips to the chair to do any damage to him."
"So, I'll be okay," Isabel deduces, letting out a breath of air. She looks immensely relieved, allowing herself to actually smile. "What about everyone else?"
"They're all fine, Belle. You did good out there," Steve promises.
"Frenchy's wound never even showed any signs of infection and my wrist was set perfectly back into place," Dugan tells her helpfully from his bed, lifting his arm to show her his wrist now in a cast.
"You can thank Morita for that," Isabel tells him in a hoarse voice. "I only told him what to do."
"Give yourself a little credit, Barnes Junior."
Isabel nods, turning back to Steve. She licks her lips again, swallowing to try to coat her throat. Steve pours her a glass of water. She tries to sit up to take a sip, but her ribs protest immediately, sending pain through her entire abdomen. She hisses and falls back down, which elicits a string of apologies from Steve despite it not being his fault. Isabel waves off his apologies and instead, Steve holds the glass up to her lips so that she can take a sip. She immediately feels better and tries to drain the entire glass, but Steve holds it away from her, only allowing her to sip while she frowns at him, her features darkened against her pale skin.
After that, Steve fusses over her like a mother hen, propping up her pillows and getting her an extra blanket when she gets cold. She feels a little self-conscious, only lying in the bed wearing a very thin, very short hospital gown with nothing underneath, not even a pair of underwear, but Steve keeps her covered in a pile of blankets and rarely drifts his eyes from her face, which makes her feel better.
Eventually he gets out a small wooden comb from the drawer of the bedside table and runs it through her hair, gently getting out all of the knots and tangles. She knows it really needs a wash, but she just can't bring herself to get up and go to the shower, feeling like it's hundreds of miles away when it's really only just across the room. She doesn't even know if she's allowed, whether she's cleared to put weight on her leg. She'll have to wait to see the doctor. Meanwhile, Steve's hands in her hair feel almost heavenly, a massage like she's never had before, and her hair feels slightly better when he lets it go, smooth and silky again against her face and shoulders.
"Cap, why don't you give me that kind of treatment?" Dugan cuts in after a few hours of aimlessly twiddling his thumbs, watching Steve run the comb through Isabel's dark locks.
"Sorry Dugan, I've only got time for one gal in my life and I sure as hell ain't going to pick one as rugged as you," Steve shoots back, not missing a beat.
Dugan barks out a laugh, slapping his leg with his uninjured arm. "You're a real cracker, Cap."
Later that day, the nurses come around to do their rounds. They treat Dernier, looking at the wound in his side with a critical eye, and deem him well enough to leave the infirmary. He packs up his stuff and gets changed, heading up to his room with a smile and a salute. Isabel waves goodbye to him, watching as he disappears from sight. He never really speaks much considering he doesn't understand much English and Isabel barely any French, but she likes him. He always listens, even if he doesn't understand, and he's just nice. He shows her pictures of his wife and child. She likes that.
The nurse spends her entire time with Dugan being flirted with, and she good-naturedly rolls her eyes at the soldier. She tells him he's free to leave as well, but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry. He loiters around as she changes his bed sheets and packs away the equipment, before eventually Morita comes to find him and take him to the mess hall. He waves goodbye, promises he'll come and visit later, and leaves the infirmary.
Finally, Nurse Caroline makes her way to Isabel, giving her a sympathetic and understanding smile. "Hey, Isabel. How you feeling?"
"Hungry, tired, and my leg hurts," Isabel tells her truthfully, sighing.
"Not used to being on the other end of the stick, I see," Caroline says with a laugh. "The first few days are the worst, and luckily for you, you slept through a lot of it."
"Lucky me," Isabel mumbles, rubbing a hand across her forehead, a pain spiking just behind her eyes.
"I'll give you some more pain medication now, you're due for your next dose," she says.
"Speaking of medication, the Commandos' medic pack wasn't restocked properly," Isabel tells Nurse Caroline whilst she remembers. "They have omnopon and morphine in their kit, along with extra bandages and scalpels."
"Oh, I am so sorry," Caroline begins, babbling an apology. "Colonel Phillips has already had my head for it. Really, I am so sorry–"
"You're okay, everyone makes mistakes," Isabel waves her off, feeling guilty for bringing it up when she's clearly already been lectured by Phillips. "Just thought I'd let you know. We're all fine so it's no big deal."
"If you're sure?" Caroline asks.
"Of course," Isabel reassures, smiling at her colleague despite the pain.
Caroline nods before getting back to work, looking a little guilty and flustered. She inserts Isabel's medication into the IV bag hanging on the hook beside Isabel. While the medication starts to take effect and Isabel starts to feel a little dopey and a little sleepy again, Nurse Caroline tends to the few cuts and bruises, disinfecting them again and replacing the bandage on Isabel's cheek.
Then, she turns to Steve, who's been watching her work, smiling encouragingly. "Uh, Captain, if you'd like to step out, I need to check on the wound on Miss Barnes' leg."
"Of course," Steve says, standing with reddening cheeks. "I'll be right outside," he promises Isabel, stepping out and closing the thick brown curtain around Isabel's room. The bed immediately darkens a little, most of the light extinguished, and Caroline turns on the bedside light.
Isabel feels her chest tighten a bit as Steve leaves and she can't see him anymore, but she ignores it, pushes the lump of fear in her throat down. He's just outside, she tells herself. She can even see his boot-clad feet from under the bottom of the curtain, pacing the small stretch of room he stands in.
Isabel looks up at Nurse Caroline and nods, confirming she's ready. She has a feeling her expression says otherwise. Nurse Caroline helps Isabel roll onto her side, lifts the covers and removes the bandage from the back of Isabel's leg. Isabel hugs the pillow tightly as Caroline pokes and prods the wound for a while, every touch feeling like a knife stabbing into her. She flinches and buries her face into the material of the flat pillow, clenching her teeth. Caroline quickly cleans and disinfects it before wrapping a clean bandage around Isabel's leg.
"It's healing nicely, no signs of infection," Caroline tells her. She helps Isabel roll back over and tucks the blankets back up over her hospital gown. "Morita stitched it up on the way back to camp. He did a good job of it too, it's neat. It will probably scar, but it won't be terribly noticeable."
"What about walking?" Isabel asks. "Surely that will be a bit impacted?"
"Yes, Doctor Lewis has written it all out in your charts. I'm sure he'll come and explain it to you at some point. My understanding is you'll be on crutches for a few weeks. It'll be a pain, but worth it in the long run."
"Okay," Isabel agrees.
She's actually relieved – crutches allow much more mobility than a wheelchair, which she'd been dreading would be part of her recovery. Steve probably would've had to carry her up all the stairs in the building. And that fact that the diagnosis comes from Lewis is comforting. The doctor works at a nearby hospital in London, but he comes to the base the offer his medical assistance when he's needed, on call twenty-four hours a day. Isabel's only met him a few times, but he was professional and friendly and extremely competent. She knows she's in good hands.
"When can I have a shower?" Isabel asks.
"You have to keep your leg elevated for tonight, no pressure on it whatsoever until day four. So, tomorrow, if you're feeling up to it. I'll help you. "
"Good, I probably smell a little," Isabel mumbles.
"You're fine," Caroline promises. "Until tomorrow, you just need to rest and not worry. I know it's hard being a patient, but you have lots of friends to keep you company. We denied them all entrance until you were awake and well enough to give your consent to visitors. Except the Captain, of course. No one tried to keep him away."
Caroline reopens the curtain, and Isabel sees Steve waiting patiently outside, twiddling his thumbs and smiling at people passing the main door to the infirmary.
"Uh, Caroline?" Isabel asks, eyeing Steve as she speaks. The nurse stops and turns, her eyebrows raised expectantly but a smile on her features. "Before you go, Captain Rogers has some injuries that need attending to."
Steve blushes as Caroline turns to face him, her eyebrow raised, unimpressed. "And why was I not informed of this, Captain?"
"I... forgot?" Steve tries. He sighs when she doesn't buy it. "I didn't see it as a priority," he eventually reiterates, but he punctuates the words by looking worriedly at Isabel.
"I'm okay, so now you're the priority," Isabel argues. "He was caught in an explosion and fell from a plane. He's got two major cuts along his chest, as well as some major burning. The bandages will need changing by now, I could see them through the rips in his uniform, and the wounds might need some sort of ointment depending on how they're healing."
Caroline nods. "If you'll lay down on the vacant bed, Captain-" Caroline says, pointing Steve toward the freshly made bed that Dernier vacated.
"No, it's okay. You can do it in the chair," Steve says, taking a seat in his chair and glaring a little at Isabel for putting the attention on him. Isabel only smirks back.
Caroline doesn't argue, leaving and returning a few minutes later with the equipment. Steve peels the top of his uniform off over his head with a grimace of pain and clenched teeth, a burst of pain like fire spreading across his chest when he lifts his arms. He puts the charred remains of his uniform over the arm of the chair, leaving him wrapped in thick bandages. The bandages Isabel had initially applied are gone, replaced by Morita sometime on the trip back to base.
Caroline moves to Steve's back, where Morita had pinned the end of the bandage, and un-clips it, winding the material around and around. The inner layers, pressed up against the skin, are soaking wet with both blood and that watery fluid, the final layer itself stuck to the wounds. Caroline pulls it gently, as though it were a stuck band-aid, and it may as well have been for the way it gripped on. She rips it off with a final yelp from Steve, taking a bit of the remaining dead skin with it.
Caroline looks a little sickened by the major wounds, but Isabel thinks it looks much better than it had when she'd treated them, so she doesn't blink an eye. She's rather grateful that they're looking much better than they had, for if they were still the same, she'd be worried they weren't going to heal at all. The large gashes across Steve's chest are still stitched tightly together by Isabel's handiwork in two neat lines. They're almost entirely healed, thick red scars that are turning a pale pink. The stitches could be removed if there was time – not that Caroline doesn't have the time in her schedule, but Steve will doubtfully stay put long enough without tending to Isabel.
The areas of skin that had been entirely missing before, revealing the muscle, have been covered with a thin layer of red skin that has grown over to hide the wound as it heals. The blistering has almost diminished completely, leaving only scarred, red welts in a swirled pattern, the burnt skin bright and shiny under the lights. As much as it is better, it's still a third-degree burn and still incredibly dangerous. For Steve to have not been looking after himself, to be dirty and not eating, it's a surprise he's even healing at all. He needs to keep his fluids and protein intake up in a hope to stay hydrated and strong or else the skin will never heal.
Caroline gets Steve a litre of water and tells him she expects him to drink it over the next hour, and then get another. Steve doesn't argue with her, especially not when Isabel nods her agreement, and downs one glass quickly. He hadn't realised how thirsty he'd been until he'd taken the first sip, so he downs another. Caroline then inserts an intravenous line into Steve's inner elbow, attaching a pouch with fluids containing electrolytes to help hydrate him again. The intravenous also has some antibiotics within it in case he develops an infection.
Caroline then works on the wounds as Steve sits back in the chair and grips the handles in discomfort. She removes any more of the dead skin and tissue from the burned area, but most of it was removed out in the field. She spreads antibiotic ointment on the burns carefully, wary of the way Steve winces when the burns are touched, the skin extremely sensitive. Once she's happy with the burns, and Isabel explains how bad they'd been in comparison, Caroline puts some pads over the burns and then wraps them again in clean bandages, hiding them from sight.
"All done," she says eventually, throwing the old, bloodied, dirty bandages in the bin. "I'll bring you some dinner. Both of you. And you need to eat it all," she tells them.
With that, Caroline gives Steve a new clean t-shirt, similar to the one he'd worn the day he endured the super-soldier experiment. She disconnects the intravenous line for a moment so Steve can pull the shirt over his head, careful not to jostle his wounds, and then she reattaches it. It's a little tight-fitting but it's better than a ripped uniform. When Caroline disappears to the mess hall, Steve settles more comfortably in his chair. Isabel immediately grabs his hand tightly in hers.
"You all good?" He asks.
"Don't act like you didn't hear," Isabel berates without any heat. "It's fine. It'll just leave a scar, is all."
Caroline returns a few minutes later and places a tray from the mess hall on the patient table that she positions over Isabel's legs. It's rather loaded with two large covered plates, enough for two people, but not enough for a super-soldier. Steve will likely still be starving.
"Try to eat, even if you don't feel like it," Caroline instructs. "All those medications don't mix well with an empty stomach, Isabel, and you've been on them for a few days now without food. I'm surprised you aren't sick yet."
Isabel slowly reaches up and lifts the cover off one of the plates, revealing a cheese sandwich, a banana, a small bowl of custard and a tub of ice cream. It isn't what she'd call dinner, but she knows she has to eat smaller meals before she can eat a decent one. She hasn't had any food in close to a week. There's a good chance her stomach might reject it. She also knows Caroline is right – morphine doesn't make a person feel very well if it isn't taken with food. She picks up one of the quarters of a sandwich and takes a delicate bite, chewing slowly and swallowing. It feels like razors in her throat.
"Have you eaten at all in the last few days?" Isabel asks Steve, who's taking his own tray's lid off and picking up a sandwich, putting a whole quarter in his mouth at once.
"Yeah, a bit," Steve says, swallowing it almost hole. "Bucky brought me a plate at dinner last night when he came to see you. They only let him in because he's related to you. He stayed a few minutes, ate his dinner with me, and then said he'd come back when you were awake."
"He came? Is he okay? I know what happened to me scared him," Isabel blurts.
"He's okay, Belle. Just glad that you're safe now, I think. You know he doesn't really talk about things much these days," Steve says a little sadly.
"I know," Isabel agrees, taking another bite.
They sit in silence for a while, Isabel managing to pick away at her sandwich even through the grogginess of the medication. It's definitely been a while since she ate; she feels like her stomach is soaking up the food like a sponge, like it's become a bottomless pit. She has to hold back though – too much food and she'll be sick. But the idea of a bottomless pit of a stomach reminds her of Steve and how much he needs to eat, and if Dugan said he'd never left her side… Steve finishes off his entire tray, but he looks even hungrier, like he hasn't eaten at all. Isabel knows he needs to eat more, much more. Without eating he'll never recover from his injuries. It kills her to suggest it, knowing she'll most likely freak out if Steve leaves, but she wants him to be healthy as well.
"Why don't you go and eat something else in the mess hall? Take a shower, get some sleep? I'll be okay here," she forces out, but she doesn't sound very reassuring.
Steve notices. "No, it's okay," he reassures. "I… I don't want to leave you."
Isabel looks at him contemplatively for a second and then nods. She gets it. She doesn't really want Steve to leave her here, and she knows that he doesn't need as much sleep as the average human, but he also needs more rest due to his recovering body. He may look like he's healing, but his body is still recovering from the major trauma it suffered, and he needs to eat regularly to keep up with his metabolism.
"Okay, just promise me you'll get something to eat," she tells him.
"Once you're settled, I promise," Steve says, smiling at her.
Isabel nods. "How are your wounds feeling?"
"Not bad," Steve admits. "Not moving around has definitely helped. It only hurts to lift my arms, mainly, when the skin is stretched. Caroline asked me if I was injured hours ago and I said no, that's probably why she was so unimpressed."
"I'd be angry too, if I was your nurse," Isabel laughs. "Somehow even when I was unconscious or being shot, I managed to worry about you," she laughs, blushing a bit.
"And I appreciate it," Steve promises, squeezing her free hand.
After a few minutes, Isabel's arms get tired again and she insists she's full. Steve won't have a word of it, picking up the next sandwich triangle and feeding it to her. She's embarrassed with reddened cheeks, but Steve won't take no for an answer, so she munches away dutifully at the meal until every bite of the sandwich is gone.
"What do you want next?' Steve asks inquisitively. He peers at the tray and picks the ice cream up, peeling off the lid. "My ice cream was good. Before now, I hadn't had ice cream since we were in Texas. What's that, like over a year ago?" He asks conversationally, trying to keep Isabel awake.
Steve grabs the spoon and takes a small bite for himself. He makes a delighted sound, even though he already ate his own, and goes to eat another spoonful.
"Don't eat it all," Isabel tells him, opening her mouth for her own spoonful.
She knows he's only eating it to trick her into eating some before he takes it all, but she decides to play along. The ice cream feels nice on her sore throat, cooling, and she and Steve eventually polish off the small tub.
"Kind of feels weird, doesn't it?" Isabel asks. "Like the roles are reversed."
"Yeah, normally it's me in the bed, sick, and you looking after me," Steve chuckles. "At least after so many years of practice I have some idea of what I'm doing."
"You're a very good nurse," Isabel tells him sincerely.
"And you're a pretty good patient. You didn't even complain when I accidentally shoved the ice cream into the side of your mouth," Steve laughs. Isabel shrugs, smiling too. "I know I wasn't a very good patient back then," Steve says suddenly.
"What do you mean?"
"I always got angry and annoyed and sometimes I took it out on you and Bucky and my mom. I am sorry for that," Steve admits, looking guilty.
"Steve," Isabel laughs. "You really don't have to apologise for that. I get it. You were sick all the time, you didn't have a normal life, and it was frustrating."
"Yeah, but it isn't an excuse. You were just trying to help."
"What brought this up?" Isabel asks curiously.
Steve sighs, runs a hand through his dirty blonde hair. "Seeing you in pain, holding you unconscious in my arms, watching from the distance as Morita and the doctors worked on you once we brought you here… It made me realise what it would have been like for you all those years when I was sick. All those hours you spent in the hospital and at my bedside waiting for me to recover. All those times you watched on from the doorway of my room while the Priest came out and gave me my last rights because they didn't think I'd last the night. Showed me how it would have felt when you thought you were going to lose me to some illness."
"It was hard, I will admit," Isabel says quietly. "But we were all well aware of how sick you were. From the first moments of our friendship, your Ma taught Bucky how to see the warning signs. None of it was a surprise. All those asthma attacks, anaemia bouts, heart problems – I knew all about them. And honestly, even when they said you wouldn't make it, there was always a part of me that knew you'd pull through because you're a fighter. Proved me right, too. But Steve, what happened to me the other day, that was pretty different–"
"Still, it made me realise I never thanked you for what you put up with. For all the times you beat the phlegm from my lungs and made me soup. That time you saved me from having an asthma attack in that alley after I got the ever-loving shit kicked out of me. And all the times you patched me up after I got into a fight. All those times we had to cancel or postpone plans because I caught a virus…"
"You don't have to thank me for that," Isabel reassures, leaning forward with a grimace of pain to kiss his cheek. "Or Bucky, for that matter. You know he secretly likes being a mother hen, and nursing is just what I do. Makes it that little bit more worthwhile when the person I'm helping is so important to me."
"Still," Steve protests. "Thank you. I truly don't understand how you did it."
Isabel looks at Steve for a moment, her eyebrows furrowing a bit. "As I said, the situations are very different. You watched me get tortured, Steve. I don't ever expect you or anyone else to be okay with that."
"And we don't expect you to be okay with it either, Belle," Steve tells her.
"I'm okay," Isabel promises. "Sore, but okay, because I know it could have been much worse. Most of all, I'm angry."
"Join the club," Steve mutters. "Belle, I'm serious. If you wanna cry, you cry. If you want to scream, scream. If you want to stay here and fight, get revenge for what they did to you, then you can join the line behind me, Bucky and all the other Commandos. If you want to go home to Brooklyn, I understand that, too. I'll always be here for you, no matter what you decide."
"I'm not leaving," Isabel says stubbornly. "I'm not going home to Brooklyn and leaving you and Bucky here. I can't do that."
"Belle, I don't want you to stay here just for m–"
"It's not just for you," Isabel tells him. "I'm still intent on doing good, just like I was when I first agreed to come with you for the Project Rebirth experiment. I still want to help, still want to patch my Commandos up again when they get injured, want to keep working on the serum. I can't just go home to that empty apartment all alone when there's so much left for me to do."
Steve's eyes flash with understanding, but there's an underlying darkness remaining, and it shows as well in the jolt of a muscle in his jaw. "What if you get hurt again?" Steve asks quietly, his eyes slightly glassy.
Isabel looks Steve dead in the eye with an urgency he rarely sees. "I don't care what the Red Skull or any of Hydra do to me. They can shoot me and torture me all they want. But I won't let them win. Whether that winning is world domination or taking the Commandos down, I won't stand on the sidelines and let it happen. I won't just be a bystander. I'm going to be there right in the middle of it fighting back. And most importantly, I won't let them come between you and me. I won't let them separate us, not when we came so close to it happening. It just can't happen."
Steve nods his understanding, though his eyes look wide and sad. Isabel smiles at him reassuringly, cupping his cheek with her hand. She tugs gently on his jaw and he obeys, leaning forward and pressing his lips to her own.
"I'll be okay, Stevie," Isabel promises. "'Specially if I have you by my side."
Bucky enters the infirmary just as Isabel's swallowing the last spoonful of the vanilla custard. She looks good, no longer hauntingly pale. The bag of blood attached to her arm that the nurse set up only a few minutes ago must be doing her wonders already, the transfusions replacing the blood she lost with her injuries. She looks warmer, a little bit of a flush in her cheeks.
Most importantly, she's smiling, laughing at something Steve's saying to her. Bucky can't help but feel like his heart bursts at the sight of Steve and Isabel together, both of them leaning in close to each other, Steve's hand holding Isabel's and his other hand lifting the spoon away from her mouth, putting it back on the tray over her legs. Steve grabs the napkin and wipes at her mouth where he's managed to push the spoon into her lip again, Isabel laughing.
Bucky feels almost bad for interrupting them, but he hasn't seen his sister awake yet and he needs to relieve Steve so that the blonde can get some rest. Bucky's been in his room the last few days resting, but he hasn't exactly gotten much sleep after everything he saw. He feels more rejuvenated than Steve, though, considering he was far less injured.
Bucky walks around the corner, and Isabel and Steve look up at the sound of his footsteps, smiling brightly. "Look at you!" Bucky cheers happily as he comes to stand beside her bed. "Awake and eating. It's good to see. Last time I came you were out cold."
"Hey, Bucky," Isabel smiles.
Bucky pulls his hands from behind his back, revealing a small bouquet of flowers. They're an assortment of daisies and tulips, and Isabel takes them from him with a smile, smelling their aroma with her eyes closed.
"Got these for you," Bucky tells her. "Ran down the street and picked 'em from the community park while the groundsmen yelled at me. Had to explain they were for my sick sister, but that didn't work, so I told him you were Captain America's girlfriend and it shocked him enough for me to make my escape."
"Thank you, Buck," Isabel says sweetly, putting the flowers on the bedside table to put in a vase later.
"Bucky, please," Steve says, "Stop showing me up. It's real hard to be a good boyfriend when you're around setting the expectations high."
"You'll just have to step up your game to match me. After all, I have much more practise with women than you, pal," Bucky says with a shrug, winking at Isabel. "I'll stay with Isabel a while. Go get some food, take a shower, have a nap. Lord knows you need it," Bucky tells Steve, not leaving any room for argument.
Steve hesitates, looking at Isabel worriedly. "I'll be fine," Isabel promises him, squeezing his hand.
"Don't make me drag you out by those ears of yours," Bucky threatens, standing beside Steve and pulling him up out of the seat, planting himself there so Steve can't sit anymore. "Or worse, I'll make Peggy come get you. She won't be afraid to bully you around."
Steve huffs a little. He comes around the other side of the bed and kisses Isabel on her forehead, careful to avoid the bruise. "I'll be back," he promises.
"Please sleep a bit," Isabel calls after his retreating back, watching him turn the corner and disappear down the hallway.
Isabel had been worried when she'd thought of Steve leaving, though she knows he can't stay here forever; he has to go upstairs and shower and sleep at some point, and he should have had about forty meals by now, not one and a bit. She feels a little guilty that he obviously felt like he couldn't leave her alone. But Bucky's here now, so she knows she'll be okay.
"Is he being a mother hen?" Bucky asks knowingly.
"Yes, he's just like a clone of you," Isabel chuckles. "He doesn't cope well when it isn't him in the hospital bed."
"Ain't that the truth," Bucky says with a chuckle. "Is he keeping you entertained? Wouldn't want our best girl getting bored."
"I'm fine, Bucky," Isabel laughs. "You need to stop worrying. You're almost as bad as Steve."
"Almost was the key word in that sentence," Bucky points out. "So, how are you, doll? Tell me the truth." He grabs her hand in both of his own, warming it again.
"Okay," she says truthfully. "It's a little uncomfortable, but I'll be okay. The pain medicine works wonders."
"I know it does," Bucky chuckles. He smirks at her, but quickly loses the happiness, replaced by a haunted look in his eyes, his lips a thin line.
Isabel immediately catches on. "What is it?"
"Gotta be honest with you, Belle. For a while back there, I thought I'd lost you for good," Bucky says, looking away from her eyes. His eyes are a little glassy.
"I thought I was a goner, too," Isabel admits sadly.
"When Steve stopped the machine and you were just looking around all dazed, not focusing… I… I thought they'd wiped you. Thought you wouldn't remember us," Bucky's saying, tears in his eyes. "Stevie thought it too, he was so terrified."
"I know."
"Then, even when you did come too, said our names and remembered us, I still thought we'd lose you. You were bleedin' out fast and we couldn't get clear quick enough. The ride in the truck back to base was the longest hours of my life–"
Her leather boots pounding the pavement of the factory floor as she sprints, Madame Hydra's eyes flashing evil as she chases behind her like a cheetah stalking after their antelope pray; the blinding pain of the gunshot through her leg, the tight grip on her arms as Madame Hydra hauled her back where she'd come; the electricity running through her brain, sparking memories she hadn't know she had and frying them seemingly in front of her eyes–
"Dunno how I would have gone home if I wasn't bringing you back with me," Bucky says, breaking Isabel out of her flashback.
The feeling in her throat when she wants to scream but it doesn't want to come out, that silence inducing pain that sees her just stunned into silence before the screams burst out of her like a tsunami, the sound echoing off the walls. Bucky putting his head into his hands, covering his ears and screaming along with her–
"Ma would kill you for letting her baby die," Isabel grits out, her eyes stinging with tears that threaten to fall.
She can't make sense of it, the thoughts in her head, tangled, indecipherable–
"Steve, I've never seen him like that," Bucky's saying, but Isabel barely hears. "It was like he was rabid. He broke out of those chains with so much force, with this animalistic rage, and it was like he just saw red. He didn't see anything but his target. I-I've never seen anything like it."
"W-what?"
"You're his weak spot, Belle. Everyone's got a dark side, and for Steve, it's you. He'd do anything for you, you know. He'd kill for you. He'd die for you," Bucky tells her, seemingly lost in his own thoughts as he stares at the bed sheet he leans his elbows on.
Steve above her, kneeling down and ripping her free of the restraints that cut of the blood flow. That animalistic rage Bucky's talking of, she saw it, the tail end of it. That darkness to his eyes, the red of his face, the scowl on his features before they soften, his baby blues drinking her in as he surveys the damage. But still there, deep down, that rage that they got away, that he couldn't rip them apart the way he ripped his way out of his restraints–
All of a sudden, her hands are trembling at the memory of what happened, the memories flashing across her eyes. Isabel's forehead breaks out in a sweat and she shakes all over. She feels like she can't breathe, like someone's sitting on her chest and depriving her of the oxygen she craves. Her chest aches enough to make her eyes water, and she even goes as far as to think she's having a heart attack again. She starts crying, the tears rolling uncontrollably down her cheeks, her breath coming sudden and fast, almost as fast as the heart rate monitor behind her beeping away in a fast rhythm. It's almost like a beat, the beeping. Fast and steady. Too fast to dance to, she finds herself thinking. Bucky could keep up, maybe, but not Steve. He'd step on my feet–
It takes her a moment to realise Bucky's talking to her, pushing her hair away from her sweaty forehead, trying to turn her attention to him rather than staring wide-eyed at her hands in her lap.
"Bucky, I think I'm dying," she cries out, clutching her chest as the pain radiates.
Bucky grabs her up in his arms, holding her against his chest. "You're panicking, Belle. You're having a panic attack, you're in shock. It's perfectly normal. You gotta calm down, just breathe," Bucky coaches her, guiding her through the attack, hushing her and petting her hair.
Isabel finds herself glad that Steve isn't here to see this, he doesn't need to see this side of her. But wouldn't he want to? Wouldn't he want to be the one here comforting her? She finds herself wishing it was Steve holding her in his arms, not Bucky. She loves Bucky dearly and appreciates him endlessly, but all she wants is Steve. She thinks she might have cried out for him, and she hears Bucky say that he isn't here. Maybe if she yells loud enough, Steve will hear, even way up in his room like he should be. But she knows it's silly, it would distress the others, so she forces her mouth shut.
Bucky could go and get Steve, but no, Bucky doesn't want to leave her to go find him, and Isabel agrees.
No, don't leave me.
She clutches to Bucky, holding him just as tight as he holds her, trying to stop him from leaving. As much as she wants Steve, she doesn't want to be left alone in this big empty infirmary. Dugan went to his own room hours ago, leaving it unnaturally quiet.
"I was talking about it just before and I was fine," she whispers through ragged breath. "Is this going to happen all the time?" She cries, her cheeks soaked with tears and her breathing laboured.
"Maybe, doll. They don't make much sense, but they happen, even to me. I know exactly what you're going through, and I'm so sorry," Bucky whispers.
Isabel remembers the few weeks after Bucky got back from his captivity, the shaking and the nightmares and the vomiting. She doesn't quite think she'll ever forget how her brother resembled a shell of his former self until he found his feet again. Not that he's entirely back to who he'd once been, but he's found himself pretty damn close. It doesn't seem to register that Bucky said the attacks still happen, her brain foggy. Still, she feels a little better knowing that she isn't the only one feeling this way, that Bucky knows what she's going through. She hugs him just a little bit tighter, hoping he knows how grateful she really is that he's there, that she isn't alone.
Bucky holds her tightly and rocks her back and forth. He finds himself wishing every time he'd had his own panic attacks, he'd bitten the bullet and gone to someone for help rather than riding some of them out on his own. The ones that Steve or Isabel had been there for had only been the ones induced by nightmares when they were both together in the middle of the night in their room. Others happened in the day when Bucky was buried beneath his blankets and Steve was in a meeting, or in the middle of the night when they were in the wilderness on a mission, and Bucky had taken himself into the silence of the woods to cry it out. He regrets that now, regrets crying alone in the middle of the day on the cold bathroom tiles, quiet enough that he doesn't invoke the attention of anyone on the other side of the walls. He vows to make sure he doesn't let anyone else suffer the way he did.
Bucky presses a kiss to the top of Isabel's head, into her hair, and waits for the tears to come to a stop. They eventually do, Isabel crying and sobbing until she's exhausted. Eventually she goes weak and limp in Bucky's warm embrace, her eyes closed, and her breathing levelled out. Bucky slowly lays her back against the pillow, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders. She buries down a little bit deeper in the blankets, warm, and settles in for the night.
Bucky lets out a deep sigh, looking at his sister for a moment. He settles back into the seat, getting comfortable to stay the night, or at least until Steve makes a reappearance. He's obviously chosen to get some sleep, thankfully. He'll probably be back tomorrow morning.
Bucky pulls a piece of paper and a pencil from his pants pocket and uses Isabel's discarded dinner tray as a makeshift desk. He's got a letter to fashion to home and he's got a lot to write in it. He figures it would be easier for everyone if the news of what's happened to Isabel and the other Commandos came from him; it will spare Isabel from having to relive it all when they get home when she'd inevitably have to explain, and Bucky can write it in a way that will be appropriate for their parents to read. He scrawls into the early hours of the morning by the dim light of the hospital room, hoping what he tells his parents won't cause them too much grief. They deserve to know.
After that, Bucky stays awake, leaning against the soft mattress as Isabel sleeps. He looks around the room and passes the time by doodling on another piece of paper, watching eventually as the underground base outside gets increasingly busier and morning dawns on the city of London. He stays awake to keep the monsters at bay, hoping his presence will put his sister at ease, even in the land of dreams.
London, United Kingdom
May 7th, 1944
"…panic attack…"
"…call me? I would have come down..."
"…happened so fast, I didn't even have time to think of anything but comforting her. That's what I would have wanted."
"You mean when you…?"
"Yeah, pal. I know exactly what she's going through. You know, you both saw it."
The conversation between the two familiar voices had been faint at first, flitting on the edges of Isabel's consciousness. She hadn't even recognised the voices until she'd woken up a bit more, managing to shake off the grogginess of a full night's sleep and the morphine. Isabel cracks one eye open, finding her room closed with the curtain drawn around her bed. But looking down, she notices two pairs of male feet visible from beneath the curtain, Steve and Bucky having a conversation right outside her curtained room. And by the sound of it, not one she was intended to hear.
"God, what are we gonna do?" She hears Steve mutter, his voice agonized.
"Steve, calm down," Bucky says, before there's a muted thud of Bucky putting a comforting hand on Steve's shoulder.
"She's going to have to live with this forever. What if the machine did affect her memory?" Steve asks, nearly a whisper as he forces the words out.
"Let's just cross each bridge when we get to it. Maybe the machine did nothing, maybe it didn't work at all. Or maybe it took away a few key dates, a few childhood memories. We'll deal with it if it becomes apparent we have a problem. Okay?"
"Okay."
"She won't be alone, Steve, she has all of us. And being alone is half of the battle. We'll fight with her. But she's strong, she can get through it, even without us. Okay? You gotta stop worrying so much, punk," Bucky tells Steve with so much conviction it makes Isabel's heart clench.
"Okay," Steve agrees again, sounding unconvinced.
When Steve draws the curtain back again to re-enter the room, Isabel slams her eyes shut, feigning sleep. None of the two are any wiser.
May 10th, 1944
Steve enters the infirmary in a bit of a flurry, his arms laden with a pile of clothes, a cosmetics bag perched precariously on top. He stops beside Isabel's hospital bed and deposits it all at her feet, smiling at her with pride in himself.
"I didn't know which dress you wanted so I picked a few of your favourite day ones. Peggy got everything else together for you," Steve tells her, handing her the cosmetics bag.
"I don't know if I'll be bothering with this," Isabel admits, opening it and seeing all of her makeup inside. She looks at the dresses Steve brought down for her, picking up the navy-blue one with the flared bottom. She knows it will be a little more comfortable against her leg, not being tight at all. "I'll wear this one."
She sorts through the rest of the pile, finding a brassiere and pair of undergarments, silently thanking Peggy for grabbing those things. Steve most likely wouldn't have thought of them or would have been too embarrassed to go through Isabel's trunk and find them. She looks up at Steve and sees he's looking away and his cheeks are red, having seen them in her hand. Well that answers her question.
"They're just undergarments, Steve. It isn't a lingerie or anything," she teases.
Steve hides the way he chokes on his surprise, his cheeks going impossibly redder. "I know," Steve replies a little sourly, not appreciating her joking at his expense. "I'm just giving you your privacy."
"Yeah, okay," Isabel allows. "Help me to the bathroom? I can't be bothered getting the crutches to go that far."
Steve nods and complies. Isabel carefully pulls back the blankets that she's had covering up to her chest her entire hospital stay, revealing a little more of her legs than she would have deemed necessary. She quickly tugs the gown down; luckily it falls below her knees. Steve doesn't say anything, respectfully keeping his eyes on her face, ignoring the blush of her own cheeks.
Isabel expects Steve to just be her crutch to the bathroom, but instead he lifts her easily from where she's sitting on the bed. He's careful not to flash her behind through the back of the loosely tied hospital gown as he carries her the few metres to the door to the bathroom, opening it for her as he puts her down carefully.
"Thanks," she says, cheeks still red, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I won't be long."
"Please be careful, don't fall over," Steve tells her. "If you need me, call out."
Isabel's got one hand carrying her clothing and the other holding her gown together at the back. "You got it, Captain," she says, smirking at him. If her hands weren't full and retaining her dignity, she'd mock salute him.
Steve closes the door for her once she's inside and Isabel locks it behind her, knowing if Steve needed to get in he'd just break the lock, leaning heavily on the door to take the weight off her leg. It hurts just from walking those five steps into the room. She sighs as she drops the clothes pile and bag onto the chair by the shower. She had a shower two days ago with Caroline's help, but it had been rushed and she hadn't washed her hair, being utterly exhausted after standing for only a few moments.
Now, Isabel unties the gown at the back and lets it drop to the floor, turns on the taps, and carefully steps into the spray of the water, staying close to the handrail so she can grab it if she slips while she stands mainly on one leg. She quickly runs the bar of soap over herself and washes her hair with the shampoo Peggy got for her, rinsing it out under the clean water. When she turns off the lukewarm water and towels herself dry, she feels clean. Once she's got her own clothes on and has brushed out her wet hair, she feels like a million dollars compared to before. She feels good enough to even apply some mascara and a bit of lipstick, making herself feel and look almost back to normal.
It's been a long few days in the hospital, filled with lots of medication, snacking, laughter that night all of the Commandos piled in to see her, and lots of tears. She's let herself release a few tears of sadness or frustration over the days, but she hasn't had another panic attack since that first night she was awake with Bucky, which she has no doubt in her mind won't be her last. And she has absolutely no shame in admitting it. Bucky had explained to her it was normal, that he and the other Commandos and every other soldier on the front lines and back home all suffered similarly, and it made her feel like she wasn't alone, which was no doubt Bucky's aim.
It has been hard, but now it feels worth it. She's finally being released, cleared to go back to her own room. She's gotten through and survived it, and not only does she have a new appreciation for her patients, she also has a new understanding of how short life is. Howard may have pointed it out to her some weeks ago, but she needed her own life to flash before her eyes to see it clearly.
She also needed such a thing to happen to her, she realises, to gain an understanding and appreciation of her inner strength. She's got a newfound respect for herself and just how far she can be pushed and still bounce back. Isabel stares at herself in the small mirror for a moment, before nodding to herself. You can do this, she tells herself, and this time she truly believes it.
When she opens the door to the bathroom, Steve immediately jumps up from where he was sitting on the edge of her bed. He hurries to her and supports her weight, helping her awkwardly hobble back to the bed.
"Still hurts a lot," she admits as Steve sets her down carefully on the edge of the bed.
She leaves her used gown on the bed beside her and shows Steve where the small garbage bags are kept under the sink so she can put her used undergarments in there, which she's got bundled up in the gown. While he grabs it, she drops her shoes to the ground and slides them onto her feet. She stuffs her old clothes into the bag Steve hands her, hiding them. Steve hands her the crutches she's been instructed to use, waiting as she adjusts them under her armpits. He takes her cosmetics bag and the bag of her old clothes and walks beside her as she struggles out of the infirmary on her crutches, an arm hovering near her lower back in case she manages to slip or fall. It's awkward and slow, but she eventually makes it to the elevator, stepping in.
"This would be much faster if you just carried me around everywhere," Isabel grumbles, rubbing her armpits that ache already.
"You know I would, but I don't think it's very practical," Steve tells her, smiling down at her. "Bucky had crutches when he was fourteen and broke his ankle playing baseball. Shouldn't have dived for that home run. If he could get through, you will, too."
"Bucky loved the crutches because all the girls kept fawning over him and all the boys wanted a go on them."
Steve laughs. "That's true," he agrees, just as the elevator doors open on their floor.
Isabel steps out, Steve right behind her, and makes her way to her door. Steve opens it for her, letting her inside. She rests the crutches against the bedside table and then all but collapses onto her bed.
"God, I'm so tired already," she tells him, putting a hand over her face.
She feels a weight on the bed as Steve sits down right beside her, smiling down at her as she lays on the bed. "You'll be tired a while longer, Belle. Especially using your new mode of transportation."
"You sure you can't just carry me around?"
"I'm sure," Steve says apologetically.
"I'll just have to ask the other boys, then, just like I'll ask them to teach me to drive," Isabel threatens.
"I promised you I would teach you," Steve argues.
"Hmm, I don't know if I believe you, though," Isabel says cheekily.
"Really? You want to play that game?" Steve laughs, leaning over the top of her. She laughs as his face inches closer to hers, his lips meeting hers in a sweet, chaste kiss. She kisses back immediately, his hand cupping her cheek. He pulls away, watching Isabel smile with her eyes closed in contentment. "I love you," Steve whispers to her.
She opens her eyes, a sparkle to them that he hasn't seen in a few weeks now. "And I love you. Even if you make empty promises."
As the weeks pass, Isabel works on getting her leg back to normal. She uses her crutches for the two weeks and ignores the ache of her underarms, pushing herself to get back to work. A lot of her work with Howard on the serum went unnoticed in her time away with the Commandos, since the inventor himself got caught up in the action. They're a little behind their intended schedule, and Isabel wants to remedy that. They spend a long while in the laboratories working on the serum and Howard's plans, analysing the samples of Steve's blood as usual. Isabel also sneakily monitors Bucky, taking samples from him and labelling the vials slightly different so that she knows they're for Bucky whilst remaining inconspicuous.
The Commandos love the crutches, borrowing them to run around the base with, often leaving Isabel stranded somewhere without the crutches to get around. Mainly they leave her in the lab, so she can work while she waits for them to stop their imitations of their ten-year-old selves and return to their current ages. They always came back and get her, of course, but only after they are either told off for messing around in the facility or when Steve comes to find her and tells them off for abandoning her.
At the end of the fortnight, Isabel starts walking on the leg, making sure she has crutches as support as she walks along. Or rather, hobbles along. The Commandos make jokes at her expense, calling her a range of clever names, but she doesn't really mind. It makes them all laugh, and she surmises they deserve a bit of laughter after everything they've been through.
At night in the privacy of their room, Peggy watches and initially helps as Isabel does the exercises Doctor Lewis recommended. She stretches the muscles and jumps around as requested, lying on the bed and stretching her foot toward the ceiling. The first time, the exercises made her cry with pain, but by the end of the two weeks, she hardly feels a twinge. It feels good to get her leg moving again. She's never really been injured, nothing worse than a sprain here and there from playing sport as a child or from that time she tripped on the sidewalk walking home from work, so having such limited mobility has been a struggle.
June 4th, 1944
One night, in her fourth week of recovery, Isabel finds herself alone in her room, Agent Carter still downstairs in a meeting with Colonel Phillips. She decides to try the next level of exercises she's been given which will stretch the healing muscle even further, which she is supposed to do in the third and fourth weeks of her recovery. She doesn't want it to seize up, she needs to get back into the field in time for the Commandos next mission which could be coming up any day once Dugan's wrist is fully healed, which will only be a few more weeks. It isn't usual for them to have so many days or weeks off, but she assumes it's because they were all captured and witnessed some pretty distressing events, as well as a few of them being deemed medically unfit.
When she's laying on her bed, her leg up somewhere around her head mid-stretch, there's a knock at the door and Bucky steps in without waiting for a reply. He spots Isabel in the unladylike position, stifling a laugh. Isabel quickly throws her leg down, sitting up on the edge of the bed with blushed cheeks.
"Good thing it was me coming in and not Steve," Bucky laughs.
"Steve waits for a reply to his knock before he enters a lady's room because he's a gentleman, unlike you," Isabel shoots back.
Bucky continues on as though she hadn't spoken. "He may not be able to stay away if he got a load of that view." He, of course, is referring to the fact that Isabel's behind had just been on full show of the door.
Isabel snorts out a laugh. "He can't get enough now," she tells Bucky with a wink. "Stop being a smart ass. Surely you didn't just come in here to distract me from my nightly exercises?" She asks, changing the topic.
"Uh, no," Bucky says. He walks in and sits on the bed beside her, looking sheepish. "When you were in the hospital, I sent a letter home to tell them what happened."
"You did what?" Isabel cries. "You told everyone what happened to me?"
"In parent-friendly terms, yes."
"Why?" Isabel cries, hiding her face in her hands in frustration.
"I couldn't hide it from them, Is. They're our parents, they deserve to know what happens to us. Every other soldier sends letters home telling their families what's happening, why shouldn't we?" Bucky argues.
"Because they'll only worry. What we do, it isn't normal, Bucky. We go into the most heavily fortified areas of the whole Eastern Front to take down an enemy organization even worse than the Nazis. We're insane! We purposely put ourselves in danger because we agreed to join the Commandos, not like the others who get stationed where they're ordered to. If our parents knew the full extent of what we do–"
Bucky can see her point, but their parents don't fully know what the Howling Commandos are up to, it's all classified Army information. They were all sworn to secrecy when they were inducted into the troop. Their parents likely think the information in the comics is false, even though it has a strong element of truth. Bucky tells her that, but she doesn't hear it, shaking her head. "God, Ma is going to freak."
"That's the thing, she is," Bucky says apologetically. "Dad replied to my letter, Ma was too beside herself. I knew she probably would be upset, but not to this extent."
"What's she saying?" Isabel asks with a sigh, taking the letter from Bucky's hands and pulling it out of the envelope.
"She's threatening that if you don't get yourself on a ship and take yourself home straight away, she'll come over here and drag you back herself," Bucky mutters. "Honestly, I'd like to see her try."
"Well she can come if she wants, but I'm not leaving," Isabel says stubbornly, proving Bucky's assumptions to be correct.
She takes a moment to read the letter.
Bucky,
What do you mean Isabel's been injured? You say it isn't that bad, but a bullet wound to the leg and a few bruised ribs sounds quite terrible and dangerous. How are we to know you aren't just saying that so that we don't worry about her welfare?
What's happening over there, Bucky? What are you and your friends getting up to? What do they have you fighting? I get the sense it's something much bigger than anyone is letting on to us at home. You all have a comic book, for God's sake. I know you said it would be dangerous, but your sister is only a nurse, and I know sometimes nurses are injured in the line of duty, but what are you all getting caught up in? It doesn't sound like typical nursing and soldier duties, and it makes us wonder whether those comics are more fact than fiction. It sounds more dangerous than it's all worth if you ask me.
Your mother isn't taking the news well. She's been crying for the last hour, and now she's packing a suitcase, says she's coming over and she doesn't care how much it costs; that she isn't leaving to come home again until Isabel is coming with her, and you too. Steve, as well, I think. She says she won't let her babies die for a war that isn't theirs to fight. In a way, she's right. You've both done your part, it's time to put an end to all of this. Steve as well, he needs to give up the Captain America mantle. No one deserves what he's being put through.
I'm talking your mother down, talking her out of it. I'll stop her from coming over, don't worry. But just know she isn't happy. I think she has a few choice words for your Colonel and for the people who did this to you all and who allow you to all fight like you are.
I know you are all too stubborn for your own good and you won't come home no matter how much we recommend it. But I'm going to say it anyway. Come home, Bucky. Bring Steve and Isabel with you. Leave it all behind, come home to Brooklyn. Steve and Isabel, they can live a happy life together now that they've finally worked it out and they're both healthy. And you spoke of yourself finding a nice girl – you can settle down with her, too. You can all go back to work, live normally and free from all this danger. Please.
If you aren't going to see the sense in what I say, please take care of Isabel, Bucky. I know you will, because she's your little sister and you always have, but this is more than the bully down the street. Remember your training – keep your head down and your rifle ready. I don't know how your mother would cope if only one or none of you returned. And myself, for that matter. Remember where you come from and where you need to return to. We'll still be here when it's all over.
Love, Dad
Isabel wipes a tear from her eye, her heart clenching. It's been a few months since she received a letter from home, the notes always coming and going sporadically. Their mail is checked thoroughly considering it's coming to the SSR base and destined for a member of the Howling Commandos, and therefore it takes a long time for correspondence to come through.
Since she left home, she's heard quite a lot from her mother and from Becca, with a sentence or two from Robbie here and there. She's tried to tell them as much as she can about her and Steve's journey into a romantic relationship, about saving the soldiers on the front lines. She knows a lot of what she writes probably is censored and blacked out. Her family have all responded back enthusiastically, Winifred particularly thrilled about her and Steve, which Isabel sourly thinks has something to do with Steve's new status and appearance. Though, she remembers Winifred being much more accepting of Steve just before they left for the Project Rebirth experiment. Perhaps, the knowledge that Steve himself was one of her possible suitors puts Winifred at ease as she knows he daughter's reputation hasn't been ruined, even though it maybe was unacceptable for them to live together as they did.
Her father, though, has been mostly missing from the letters. She supposes Winifred writes it while he's at work, or perhaps he feels what Winifred's written has been enough to cover him as well. George Barnes has never been the overly emotional type, never one to tell someone how he's feeling, and so the letter surprises her. His heartfelt lines at the end, most of all.
"He knows us well," Isabel manages to laugh. "Stubborn is correct." Isabel takes a few deep breathes and a few minutes to calm herself. "I'll write back to them tonight, I promise," she eventually says, sucking in a shaky breath. "I'll tell them I'm fine, that you were overreacting. I really am fine."
"Okay," Bucky says, not-reassured. "Not sure if they'll believe you, though." Bucky stands to leave again, looking a little sheepish for causing the trouble. "You know, there is maybe one good thing that comes from all of this," he tells his sister, turning back when he gets to the door.
"Yeah? What's that?" Isabel asks, already standing at the vanity and finding a spare piece of paper to write on.
"The mental image of our tiny Mama marching right up to the Red Skull and socking him in the jaw. I'd say she has to get in line behind the rest of us, but I doubt she'd be patient enough to wait," Bucky says with a chuckle.