59.
?, Poland
December 22nd, 1944
The snow still falls steadily over the camp as the hours pass, coating everything in a thick layer of white. It's manageable weather, despite the cold, and the Commandos have continued their work cleaning up the camp. Had it not been snowing, they would have set fire to the now liberated concentration camp, attempting to burn it's remains so that it cannot be used again for the German initiative. Instead, they find a tool shed on the far side of the camp with axes inside that the women had used to chop wood for work. They take those axes and attempt to smash the wooden huts to pieces, taking out their angers and stresses on the physical labour. They all feel somewhat better after.
"This place is about to get a whole lot colder," Monty notes, halting in his axing to look up at the darkening sky.
It's nearing the end of the day, the sky darkening as the sun falls on the horizon, but also due to the furious force of nature approaching them across the forest. They watch the angered storm clouds and gusting winds roll low over the horizon toward them. The sky rumbles with thunder and storm, and the air becomes colder, each breathe eliciting a puff of white smoke from their mouths. Earth seems to freeze over with them still standing outside.
"We need to find somewhere to bunker down before that hits," Dugan says, watching in slight awe.
"There's the guard house," Steve suggests, looking over at the wooden houses in the middle of the camp, one of which they'd interrogated the German guard in earlier in the day. They almost look like elaborate mansions compared to the tiny huts given to the prisoners.
"We may as well have something from the Germans," Dugan laughs.
They all quickly return their tools to the shed, swapping them out for shovels in case they need to dig their way out of the guard house after the storm. Steve leads the way to one of the guard houses that hasn't been used for interrogation.
They get inside and shut the door just as the wind starts to howl outside, shaking the wooden framework of the building. It's a larger room with six beds in the bunks, a small fireplace at one end, and a small window to keep the cold out and the heat in. They can just see outside, the world growing colder and more dangerous. The men claim a bunk each, a few of them climbing up the ladders to the top beds. They're all exhausted and fall onto its sheets without a care that a Nazi had slept in it the night before.
Bucky and Dugan go outside and gather up piles of the axed wood, which will come in helpful for the fire. They bring in enough to last a few days so that they don't need to go out in the weather again. Bucky lights the fire and prods it awake, immediately warming the room. Isabel finds matches in the drawer and lights to kerosene lamps on the kitchen table, positioning them around the room to provide enough light to be able to see. Meanwhile, Steve gets the radio transponder out of his pocket and radios base, informing Peggy that they've been caught in the storm and won't be available until it passes.
"Where actually - you?" Peggy asks, her voice slightly muffled and parts of her question missing as the connection cuts in and out due to the weather. "-onel Phillips said something - a concent-on camp?"
"Not sure, somewhere in Poland. About half a day's walk north-east from where Stark dropped us off. And yes, it's a concentration camp," Steve says quietly, wary of the others who have already begun to sleep. "Men in one camp, women and children in another. Worked them all until they dropped."
"So, not - extermination camp?"
"Not this one, no."
"I'll - Howard - you - radio," Peggy says, her voice cutting in and out every word or so. Steve has no idea what she said.
"Can you repeat, over."
"Ho - pick you up - radio," Peggy repeats.
"Radio when we need Howard to pick us up?" Steve asks.
"Y-yes."
"On it. Speak to you when we're free. Captain America, out."
Steve pockets the useless radio again, frowning at it, before looking up at those remaining who are awake. Isabel and Bucky sit at the kitchen table. Most of the other men are snoring, except Dugan, who's face is hidden by his bowler hat, but his tapping feet and hands give away his consciousness.
"Well, we could be here a few days," Steve begins.
"Haven't we already?" Dugan chuckles, his voice muffled by the hat.
"Or a few weeks," Isabel notes. "Depends how long the blizzard lasts."
Bucky gets up off his seat and walks to the small kitchenette in the corner, rifling through the cupboards and drawers for any food. They need to see how much they have on hand so that they can ration it appropriately. He finds that the entire cupboard is stocked with canned foods, pastas and rations.
"I'll bet the other cabins have the same stock," Steve says.
They take a lamp to light their path in the now darkened world outside. Steve opens the door to the cabin and steps out into the weather, Dugan and Bucky following. The three return a few minutes later covered in snow, their arms bundled up with cans and packets. They dump them onto the small kitchen table before going back for more, returning multiple times with food. Isabel starts to sort it all while they're out gathering, stacking the cans and packets into piles of similar foods. By the time they've gathered it all, there's enough to feed all of them comfortably for at least a week, and it is more food on a mission than they've ever had before.
"Oh, thank God, we aren't going to starve," Morita's voice calls through the cabin, the man apparently awoken from his sleep by the rustling and opening of the doors.
"You know I'd never let that happen," Steve says, entirely sincerely, helping Isabel tightly pack the cans and packets back into the cupboard for safekeeping. "We'll be happy in here for a week, two if we cut down one meal a day, and three or four weeks if we only eat once a day with limited portions."
"I hope we aren't here that long. You're saying we still could starve?" Morita pushes.
"We'll be fine."
"Speaking of starving, can we eat now?" Dugan asks, sitting up and fixing his bowler hat back onto his face.
"It's only three in the afternoon," Bucky protests.
"We haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon."
"Fine," Bucky says with a sigh, getting up again from where he'd sat down for not two minutes.
In the kitchen, there's a tap with running water from the water tank across the field, a stove to cook on and matches to light it with, cutlery and plates. It's almost a heavenly sight on the brink of the war in the middle of the Polish forests. Bucky gets to work cooking a rationed amount of baked beans and toast, Isabel helping him. He drops a few cans of baked beans onto a pan and simmers it over the stove. Isabel wipes over the plates and cutlery to ensure they're clean. The smell fills the room and wakes the rest from their naps while Steve ponders over the maps, trying to work out exactly where they are for when it's time to leave. The other men sit around playing cards and wait as the heavenly scents fill the rooms.
Bucky dishes up the meals and the men eat them in a variety of states, some sitting on their beds, others on the floor, and four at the kitchen table.
"What, are we the only civilised ones?" Bucky asks, watching as he, Steve and Isabel eat at the dining table with knives and forks whilst the other men pick the beans and toast up with their hands, eating seemingly without breathing.
"If that's what it going to make you sleep better at night, Serge," Jones says, licking his fingers of tomato sauce.
As they finish up, Jones and Frenchy clean the dishes whilst Bucky retires to his bunk, lying down with a hand over his eyes. Isabel sits at the kitchen table with Steve, face in her hands. She's beyond exhausted, every bone in her body weary and aching, and she supposes everyone else would be similar.
"Why don't you go to bed?" Steve asks quietly, watching her with a worried expression.
"I just might," she says, looking up with hooded, bagged eyes.
Isabel kisses Steve's cheek goodnight before claiming one of the spare bottom bunks. She's asleep before her head even hits the pillow.
Bucky, Steve, Dugan and Jones sit at the kitchen table, a handful of cards each as they play a game of poker. They'd taken one of the ration chocolate bars and cut it up into small pieces as prizes. Normally they'd use cigarettes, but they don't know how long it will be until they can get some more so they're making sure to save them. It's a rather competitive game between the four of them and as usual, Steve always comes out the winner, having a small stash of chocolate in his corner.
The others are still lounging on their beds, awake despite the late hour, listening to the howl of the wind outside. The guard house rattles ferociously in the blizzard, the roof and walls creaking worryingly. Monty quietly hums the melody of a song that none of the others can quite make out, whilst Dernier fashions a letter to home on his bed, which he'll presumably post once they're free.
Finally, Dugan beats Steve with his hand, and he makes a whoop of triumph, fist pumping the air before pulling the nibbles of chocolate toward him. Bucky watches with a small smile, but with none of the enthusiasm he usually holds. Steve frowns at his friend with worry, and Bucky just nods back without expression.
Dugan's triumphant shout not only makes the resting Commandos jump, but also jolts Isabel awake from her slumber. She looks around with slightly wild eyes before running a hand over her face, glaring over at Dugan.
"I swear to God, Dugan, didn't your Mama ever teach you to use your inside voice?" She asks, a hint of humour in her tone, as she crawls out of the bed and goes to the sink, downing a glass of water before filing up another.
"Sorry, Baby Barnes," Dugan chuckles, looking slightly sheepish. "You see, I beat Cap here in a round of poker."
Isabel comes over and stands beside Steve, holding the glass in her hand. "What, like that's hard?" She says with a smirk before moving Steve's arm and sitting perched on his knee. "Deal me a hand, I want to play."
Jones shuffles the deck and deals out their hands as requested, Isabel leaning forward to take hers. Steve's eyes widen a little at the woman sitting in his lap, his blush deepening at Dugan's suggestive expression.
"You better wipe that smirk of your face, Dum Dum, or I'll get Peggy to wipe it off for you when we get back to base," Isabel says with her own smirk, not looking up from her hand as she sorts them, pointing it away from Steve's view. "And you better not cheat, Rogers. I'll get Peggy onto you as well."
"No, ma'am," Steve says with a chuckle. "Wouldn't dream of it."
"Someone's cranky when they first wake up," Dugan notes.
"Only when she gets woken up by your ugly mug," Bucky adds, laughing at Dugan's affronted expression.
"Oh, and happy birthday, Belle," Steve says quietly to Isabel.
"Happy birthday!" Bucky's cheer follows, then Dugan and the rest of the Commandos'.
"Is it past midnight?" Isabel asks with wide eyes.
"It's three in the morning," Steve chuckles.
"I'm twenty-four," Isabel says, her eyebrows rising.
"Uh huh. I'd have gotten you a present, but we're sort of in the middle of nowhere," Steve says apologetically.
"Your present to me can be your chocolate winnings."
They play five rounds to pass the time, and Isabel ends up winning three of them, Steve two. Dugan and Jones' jaws drop when Isabel amasses her own little pile of chocolate in her corner.
"How the hell can you gamble like that?" Dugan asks, watching Isabel gamble a large chunk of chocolate, only to win it all back and more.
"You gotta have faith," Isabel says with a laugh, teasing the men.
"Nah, that ain't faith."
"You're right," Bucky says, deciding to spare Dugan. "Our grandfather on our mother's side was a committed gambler. He was a champion poker player alongside his day-job at the factories. It was a common way for the proletariat to pass the time. He did well off of it, and he taught it to our mother before he died."
"Ain't gambling illegal in Russia?" Jones asks.
"As of 1928, I think," Bucky answers. "Mama doesn't gamble much, obviously, because we didn't ever have the money. But she knows how, and she can gamble well. When we used to have snow days at school and Steve's ma would be going to work, Steve would come over to our house so that Ma could babysit all of us. Obviously, we had to have ways to entertain ourselves since Steve was too sick to go outside, so Mama taught us how to play poker and chess, among other things. Once she taught us, we could play for days and never get bored. Steve and I were pretty competitive, even as kids."
"And naturally, we taught Isabel how to play once she was older and asked us to. Once she understood how it worked, she would leave us all in the dust, she was so good at it," Steve laughs.
"I always won all the sweets," Isabel says triumphantly, laying out another flush and raking in her prize.
"Perhaps you were so good because there was a sugar-related motivation to win," Falsworth pipes up from his bunk where he's watching their game from afar.
"Maybe," Isabel agrees with a shrug. "Or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Bucky told me I wouldn't understand it, so I had a point to prove."
"That's always good motivation," Monty allows.
They play a few more rounds, the sounds from outside starting to grow louder and frankly, more terrifying. Dernier puts more wood on the fire at one point, making it roar back to life, but the warmth doesn't seem to be able to combat the freezing air coming in through the walls, and eventually, their breath comes out in a thick mist, their teeth chattering.
Bucky gets up and drags the blankets off their beds, handing one to Isabel before wrapping the other around himself and plopping back into his chair. Isabel curls up in the blanket like a cocoon and leans back against Steve, who wraps his free arm around her, instantly warming her. His radiator-level body heat has come in handy in winter, she thinks, reminiscing to their night out for dinner when Steve had still been on the USO Tour. It seems like a lifetime ago, waiting around and watching Steve take on the Captain America moniker, adjusting to his new body. Seeing him now, as he is, it's hard to believe that there was a time when he didn't look like this, when he wasn't the Captain. Of course, Isabel has the memories to prove that he had once been smaller and sickly, but he's always just been Steve, and the outside appearance never seemed to matter.
Isabel leans against Steve's chest, head tucked onto his shoulder, and hides her cards against her chest so that he can't see them. They play the rest of the hand like that until they realise there isn't actually enough chocolate left to deal out Isabel's winnings, and no one can be bothered getting up to chop up some more, so they call it a night. Isabel munches slowly on the small nibs of chocolate, letting them melt on her tongue so that they last longer. She sees out of the corner of her eye that Bucky takes a pinch of hers and puts it into his mouth, but she doesn't say anything, smirking to herself.
"It's a shame we aren't back at base," Monty says into the fallen silence, getting everyone's attention. "They were having another Christmas party tonight."
"Well, you can go ahead and try to walk back if you want," Jones jokes. "We'll time how long it is before you get back."
"No, thank you," Monty replies politely, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting one up.
"We can just have our own Christmas party," Dugan says. "Every minute is a party with the Howlers."
"It ain't much of a party without the women," Morita notes. "No offense," he adds quickly, looking at Isabel.
Isabel shrugs against Steve. "I get it. Besides, I'm off the market."
Dugan pats around in his pockets in search of something, his eyes locked on the cigarette in Monty's grasp.
"You missin' somethin', Dum Dum?" Morita asks, watching Dugan pat around in every pocket on his body.
"Home, girls, sleep, nice food," Dugan replies off-handedly, though they know he's likely searching for his own pack of cigarettes. He eventually finds them in his back pants pocket and pulls them out, slightly squashed from being sat on. He lights up one stick before shoving it between his teeth, taking a deep breath.
"Aw, he misses the gals at home. Ask him to dance, Serge," Morita tells Bucky.
"Show me your feet, Doog," Bucky chuckles, holding out a hand to Dugan.
"Sorry, Serge. You're a little too gruff for me," Dugan chuckles, taking a deep swig of his cigarette.
"Suit yourself," Bucky says with a shrug, leaning back in his chair again.
The night passes slowly, the men dozing on and off in the warmth of the fire. It's still hard to break the tradition of waking every thirty minutes or so to check for any danger, and even when they know they're safe and that someone is on watch, they struggle to sleep a full night. It's been that way for the men since they first arrived at the front, even back at the base in London. They suspect, as well, that it will be a hard habit to ditch, even when the war ends, and they return home.
Isabel ends up dozing against Steve's chest, her eyes drooping with exhaustion. She naps a half-hour or so before she jolts awake at any noise from outside, before calming again and falling back asleep. Steve never protests, somewhat rocking her like a child as she sleeps, he and Bucky keeping watch on the door. They talk quietly, Steve's chest rumbling in a way that calms Isabel enough to lull her to sleep when it seems to evade her.
Morning rolls around, and still the blizzard hasn't let up. The winds and snow batter the poorly wooden shack endlessly. The air seems to warm slightly as day arrives, but not to an extent that makes it bearable. They tend to the fire and keep themselves wrapped tightly in their blankets, keeping all of their clothes and boots on, no matter how uncomfortable. They won't come down with hypothermia or anything that serious within the cabin, but once they get cold, they'll find it near impossible to warm up comfortably again.
That morning, Isabel takes over the mirror in the small attached toilet, attempting to sort out her hair. It's been quite a while since it's been washed and as a result, it's limp and greasy, looking terrible and unwilling to behave. She hadn't wanted to wash it because it would make her cold and it may take ages to dry again in the cold cabin, but it has grown to be unbearable, her scalp itching. Isabel plugs the sink before filling it with water and dunking her head under the water and scrubbing with her nails, dislodging all of the dirt and grime. She comes up for air, splashing the water everywhere as her hair flicks. Pushing it out of her eyes, she grimaces at the brownish colour of the water. Quickly, she pulls the plug and lets the water go before refilling the basin and repeating the process. She hasn't got any shampoo, so water will have to do.
Once she's satisfied, she wraps her hair in a spare t-shirt to dry it, running the cloth over it and wringing out the water. Once it's semi-dry and her hands are frozen enough they barely move, she hurries back into the main cabin and sits in right in front of the fire, letting the heat dry her locks.
Without any tools or even a proper washing routine, her hair is still limp but frizzy, curling oddly on the ends. She sits for a while attempting to tie it all up off her face, but it refuses to co-operate, falling out of the small piece of rag as soon as she ties it up.
"Come here, doll," Bucky eventually says after watching her struggle. Isabel complies, moving closer to Bucky who sits on the edge of his bed. She sits in front of his knees and hands over the cloth hair tie. "What style do you want?"
"The braid you always used to do for me for school," Isabel says.
Bucky takes a few strands of hair in Isabel's fringe, expertly wrapping them together and quickly forming a neat French braid, pulling back all of the strands except a few that aren't quite long enough and slip out at the front, framing her face. Bucky braids Isabel's hair all the way down her back to the ends, tying it off neatly with the cloth.
Isabel feels over the braid, smiling. "Thanks, Buck."
"How do you know how to do that?" Dugan asks, his jaw slack in surprise.
Bucky shrugs. "I have two sisters, and Mom wasn't always free to do their hair for school in the mornings. Often, I had to help out, and eventually I was better at it than Ma was, so Becca and Belle always used to come to me to get their hair done."
Dugan and the others still look shocked, though not Steve, since he's witnessed it many times before.
"If you grow your hair out, Dugan, I'd be happy to braid yours for you," Bucky offers with another shrug. "Think about it."
The next night, after yet another day of sitting around waiting for the storm to pass, the Commandos eat another meal of baked beans and stale bread before Isabel and Morita wash up the dishes. While they wait, the male members of the Commandos sit around on the hard floor in front of the fire, leaning against the beds. Dugan and Falsworth remove their boots, rubbing their swollen feet and holding them in front of the fire to heat them.
Isabel finishes up the dishes, Morita putting away the last fork, before the two of them come over to the ground, sitting down in the spots reserved for them.
"Where are your boots?" Isabel asks Dugan and Monty, eyeing their pale, bare feet.
"Back in London up Colonel Phillips' ass," Dugan says.
"We removed them to warm our feet," Falsworth answers, giving her a clear response.
"They're all swollen from wearing shoes for so long," Isabel says. "If you leave them off too long, you may not be able to get them back on."
"Yes, mother," Dugan mocks, flashing a smile.
"You'll thank her when you don't have to walk through the snow barefoot," Jones mutters. "It's sort of nice being in here. It's just like being on a mission around the campfire, except we have a roof over our heads to keep out the weather and walls to stop the wind. And a bed each. You know, before I came here, I never realised how much I'd appreciate a mattress."
"I'd drink to that," Falsworth says, putting his boots back on as he heeds Isabel's warning.
"So, I've been thinking – after the war ends, what are we all going to do with our lives?" Morita asks, changing the topic.
Everyone is a little stumped by this question, frowns pulling at their faces. Dugan and Bucky open their mouths to respond before closing them again. Isabel just looks a little solemn, her face pinched in thought.
"Seems the war is the only thing on our minds," Steve mutters, scratching the back of his neck.
"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do," Dugan begins, a smirk on his moustached mouth. "It's gonna be good times when I get home. You never know, I might even join the circus again. Make a killing from all those poor soldiers coming home wanting a good laugh at the circus. Then, I'm gonna find me a nice girl with great big titties and a smile to die for. Marry her. Then I'm gonna buy a house with my Army pay, a big house with lots of bedrooms for all the little Dugan's we're gonna be making."
The Commandos laugh aloud at that, making Dugan frown. "So crude," Steve says with a stifled chuckle, his cheeks a bright red.
"You can laugh it up now, but I know all of you fellas will be rolling in jealousy come my time in the spotlight," Dugan says knowingly, sitting back against the bed.
"Well at least my wish isn't a fantasy," Falsworth says, smoking yet another cigarette. How he still has any left in his pack blows everyone's minds. "I'm going straight home to York to be with my wife, Mary." Falsworth has a soft smile on his face as he speaks of his wife. He rarely speaks of her, or of much of his personal life in general.
"Monty, do you really think that Mary hasn't run off with some 4F by now?" Dugan mocks.
Falsworth's expression goes from content to worried, his face paling. "Son of a bitch, that's not even funny."
"Just ignore him," Isabel says, glaring at Dugan. "I'm sure Mary is waiting ever so patiently for your return. I'm sure she's also seen that you're a Howling Commando and is spreading the news proudly all over town."
"I'm sure she is," Monty says, his content smile returned.
There's a moment of silence as Falsworth sits in his own thoughts before the next speaks up with their answer.
"Well, I guess I'll finish school first," Morita begins thoughtfully. "Then–"
"Wait a minute, finish school? You mean all this time you've been treatin' our wounds and telling us what to do and you ain't even finished school?" Jones asks.
"Just 'cause you went to freakin' Howard University to study languages, Jones, don't mean everyone else has got a tertiary education. I had to quit school in the fourth grade because my parents couldn't afford to send me anymore," Morita says, a little sourly.
"I'm sorry, Jim," Jones apologises, acknowledging he's likely hit a sore spot.
"It's alright. I got the opportunity now. I could go back to school, get my high school diploma. I dunno what I'd do after that, but it's a start, I guess."
"Doesn't sound like a bad idea," Bucky pipes up, also looking thoughtful.
"You didn't get your diploma either?" Morita asks, looking significantly less upset at the prospect that he isn't alone.
"No. Sort of similar circumstances, my parents just couldn't afford to be with so little wages," Bucky explains. "Ma got pregnant when I was thirteen, which I think may have been an accident – not that they'd ever change it, they love Robbie and Becca. Anyway, they had twins, which was a bit of a shock, especially when the Depression hit a few months later and Dad lost his job. Dad was already living back and forth between our Long Island home and a small apartment in Brooklyn close to his work, so my parents packed us all up and moved into the apartment, selling the house."
"Must have been worth a pretty penny," Jones notes.
"It should have been, but they got nowhere near as much as they should have. No one had the money to buy it, so the price had to be dropped. They got next to nothing for it, unfortunately."
"Oh, what a shame."
"I'd been going with Dad to Brooklyn for his business meetings for years, so I already knew some of the kids in the neighbourhood, including Steve, so starting school wasn't so hard for me," Bucky continues. "That was until, by the time I was fourteen and the twins were turning one, the family wasn't doing so good. All the money from the house was draining away pretty quickly. Dad couldn't get work; Ma couldn't sell her clothes. I knew that if I left school and worked, Belle and the twins could go to school, get a full education and not have to worry about the money. So, I did just that. I waited until I finished ninth grade and then I left school, got a job in the docks through one of Dad's connections, and started making money. About half of the money I made went toward making up the difference for the rent and food, but I kept a bit of it back for myself to save and I gave the rest to Sarah Rog–."
Bucky's eyes widen as though he hadn't meant to say that part, so caught up in the story he'd forgotten to keep his long-kept secret. He looks at Steve, hoping his friend hadn't noticed his slip up, but Steve is staring at him, looking as though he's trying to decide whether Bucky really said what he did. Even Isabel looks astounded, her mouth open and her eyebrows furrowed.
"What?" Steve asks, looking confused and genuinely curious. "What'd you give my Ma money for?"
Bucky hesitates before sighing, electing to be honest. "How do you think she could afford the rent and your schooling on a single wage?" Bucky asks quietly. Steve opens his mouth to reply, looking gobsmacked, but Bucky holds up a hand. "No, I don't want to hear it, and I don't want any thanks, either. I didn't do it for the that. I don't do anything for the acknowledgement, I don't do anything to be a role model; I just want to be an honest man who provides for all of his family and keeps all of them safe. I just needed to be sure that you and Sarah would be okay. You were both my family and I just couldn't have lived with myself if something were to happen to either of you. I knew that with you being so poorly, you'd ever get a physical labour job like I had, the kind of job that required little education. You had to finish high school, at least, if you had any hope of earning any money. I couldn't just let you drop out, not even when you decided you wanted to work alongside me, and I had to talk you out of it."
"But, Buck–"
"No, Steve. Don't try to turn this around and blame yourself. It was my decision. I still kept enough for myself that I could save some money and I did; I saved a lot. Then, the market rose again, and Dad got himself another job and all of the money was mine."
"Bucky, that's not… I can't–"
"It's okay, you don't have to do anything," Bucky reassures, his voice final. "I didn't miss out on anything."
"What? Besides your childhood and your education?" Isabel asks quietly, looking heartbroken.
"I still had a childhood, Belle. I just started work a little earlier, and I wasn't the only kid working in the factories and the docks either. And as for my education, Steve, I always went to your house when you'd finished school and helped you with your homework so that you didn't get behind when you were sick. I helped you with your homework, too, Belle. I asked you both questions about it pretending like I was quizzing you, but I was also learning it myself. In a way, I still learnt everything you did, just didn't have to attend school every day."
The Commandos are all quiet, feeling a little uncomfortable as the conversation feels as though it's one that is to be had in private. They can see the shock, acceptance and utter gratefulness on their Captain's face, the glassiness to his blue eyes, his jaw slack with shock. Steve is speechless, his mouth opening and closing as he searches for the words.
"I can't believe you did that," Steve finally whispers, his voice wavering slightly.
"It's nothing," Bucky shrugs. "You do those kinds of things for family," Bucky says with a small smile, clapping Steve on the shoulder with finality.
Though he hadn't meant to, it feels good to get it off his chest, finally, after so many years of hiding and slyly slipping the money into Sarah Rogers' hand when Steve wasn't looking. Bucky breathes a small sigh of relief. It's one less secret he's keeping, and by God, he feels ten pounds lighter.
The Commandos fall asleep relatively quickly that night, having messed up their sleep schedules the days before. Their loud snoring mixes with the howling wind outside, and it doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon.
Sometime after midnight, Isabel is still awake on the top bunk of the beds, staring up at the mouldy wooden ceiling. She listens intently to the noises outside, straining her ears to hear any approaching footsteps or voices, but she hears none. She knows Steve is awake on the bed beneath her, keeping watch through the night, but she still can't make herself sleep.
Bucky's earlier confession still plays heavily on her mind and her heart. She feels terrible that Bucky was forced to abandon his own potential success in preference of working at the docs just so that she could continue going to school, and then on to nursing college. She feels a heavy guilt for something she had no control or say over. She'd barely even noticed either, and she doesn't even have the excuse that she wasn't old enough to realise, since she would have been a teenager by the time Bucky left school. But, she realises, Bucky had always made it sound like he'd elected himself to leave school and work, believing he had no personal gain in finishing school. He'd never mentioned it had been for the family, or that he'd felt pressured to. It makes her feel even more uncomfortable.
Isabel lies there silently, thinking, until eventually, the room grows impossibly colder. The fire in the fireplace sparks and spits, getting smaller and quieter until it fizzles into nothing, a small stream of smoke coming from the charred logs. The heat immediately disappears from the room and Isabel begins to shiver, burying further into her blankets.
After a good half hour, the cold and her thoughts get to be too much. Isabel shuffles silently down to the ladder at the end of the bunk, stepping carefully onto the railing in her heavy boots and climbing down to the ground. Steve looks up when he sees the small boots descend the ladder, Isabel's blanket-wrapped body appearing behind them. Steve closes the book he's reading, the one he found in the beside drawer next to his bunk. It's in German, but he gets the gist of it.
"Belle? What are you doing?" He whispers.
"I can't sleep. I'm cold," Isabel says.
She carefully and somewhat elegantly climbs over Steve into the corner of the bed, nestling down under his arm and drinking in his warmth.
"God, you're freezing," Steve whispers, rubbing a hand up and down her blanketed arm.
Quickly, Isabel's body warms up against Steve's and she sighs in contentment. Steve's uniform is a little bulky and uncomfortable underneath her, but it's definitely nicer than the hard, cold ground outside, so she keeps her complaint silent.
"I can't even believe what Bucky told me," Steve eventually mutters into the silence.
"I know," Isabel responds quietly.
"And my Ma never ever let on about it. I had no idea…" Steve trails off, seemingly still gob smacked. "They must have promised to keep it between them."
"I didn't know, either. I… I know I was young, and Bucky barely mentioned it. One day he was walking us to school, the next he was walking to opposite way toward the docks. I didn't even realise that was the reason why he left school, he just made it sound like he didn't want to go anymore, and I believed him. I'm only just now realising, as I get older, how much Bucky did for me and the twins as our older brother. I just… never saw it when I was younger, and I feel terrible for not being appreciative of it."
"He said it himself, he didn't do it for thanks," Steve reassures, squeezing her shoulder slightly.
"I know, but a bit of acknowledgement never goes astray. God, he was always there for all of us, and he gave everything he had for us. He still does. Bucky just gives with his whole heart every time, all the time. He does everything to his full extent. He stayed to fight in this damn war to put an end to Hydra himself and to make sure neither of us got hurt. I mean, dammit, he… he quit school to work so that we wouldn't have to give up our own schooling, so that we could pursue whatever career path we wanted. He always helped all of us with our homework, even if he wouldn't have really understood it because he never did it himself. Every bully, he was there to fight them off. Every injury, he helped patch it up. Every event in our lives he's been there, and I've never even said thank you," Isabel cries, putting her face in her hands in frustration with herself.
"He knows, Belle. He knows that you're grateful and that you love him, and you do exactly the same for him. Actions speak louder than words, remember."
"I know. I just… I think I'm in shock or something. I lived in the same house as him and it never even clicked why he'd quit school. I thought he just decided to work."
"Knowing Bucky, he would have hidden it from you so as to not upset you. He wouldn't have wanted you to feel guilty or undeserving of your opportunities just because they differed to his own opportunity. I mean, he didn't tell me how he was drafted and was terrified of going to war because he knew how badly I wanted to go and didn't want to offend me. He thinks of everyone else before himself."
Isabel pauses. "He's a really good person," she mumbles.
"Yeah, Belle."
"He doesn't deserve any of this."
Steve pauses, a little taken back by her comment. "No, he doesn't."
"I just hope that when this is all over, we can all go home. I just want Bucky to be happy – to marry someone he loves and have the career he desires, to never have to worry about money or illness or getting shot up because you stuck your head out of a foxhole. I know it sounds like a fairytale and awfully naïve, but I don't think it's too much to ask for someone so good to have a happy life."
"I don't think it's any of those things, Belle," Steve promises. "We'll all be happy, one day, I promise."
Isabel pauses, thinking, her eyes a little glassy. "See, I don't know you can make those sorts of promises, considering that only two days ago in the camp, Bucky couldn't even promise that we could all make it home at all. He could only promise that when the war ended, I would go home. He couldn't say about himself or even you, but only me. How is that fair if only I go home? And how can you both have such different things to promise?"
"I don't know, Belle. But Bucky is right, we are going to get you home. And, of course, I am going to try my absolute hardest to make sure I follow you back to Brooklyn, too. Bucky's also right, though, in that I can't promise anything to you. It's just too unsure of a life we live."
"Then what will happen? If we all go home, what will happen?"
"I'm not so sure our lives will be exactly the same," Steve notes.
"I figured," Isabel says.
"Well, we said it before, on the rooftop in London," Steve begins. "We're going to travel to all the places we've ever dreamed, appreciate the beauty rather than the destruction, eat everything we see, meet people from all over the world."
"Yeah, but… what's going to happen with Captain America?" Isabel asks hesitantly.
Steve pauses. "I'm not really sure."
"Phillips has never hinted?"
"No, he's too focused on the war effort, understandably."
"Well, you can't very well just give it up. Not if you help save the world. Everyone is going to know who you are, if they don't already." Isabel reasons. "Besides, as much as you are Captain America, I think he is now a part of you. A part of you that you can't just cut away and discard."
"Well… I don't know. You're right, I suppose; I can never completely lose… him. And I suppose I would always have a career with the Army, if I wanted it. I can't see that there'll be another war anytime soon once this one is over; this war has just been enough for everyone's lifetimes. And hopefully there'll be no more Hydra, either. Still, I think there'll always be a reason to have Captain America, because there'll always be a cause for him to fight for."
"But maybe it doesn't have to be you doing the fighting," Isabel suggests, catching onto Steve's train of thought.
"Exactly. If Howard perfects the super-soldier serum, maybe I could pass on the mantle. Because, I think once the war's over and we go home, I'll be done with fighting. Done with all the guns and the blood and killing and the threat of dying at any moment. I think I've had my share, as we all have. It would be nice to pick up our old lives as we left them as much as we can, only this time, I'll have a much longer and healthier lifespan to look forward to."
"So, you want to go home to Brooklyn? Be an artist?" Isabel says, the hope unmissable in her voice.
"Yeah. I've missed my art so much. My hand almost craves using a pencil. For a while I was worried my new hands wouldn't be able to draw and paint like they used to, they just don't seem very… artistically inclined. But you've seen me sketching every now and then, and I've got a sketchbook in my room that I work on some nights, and I haven't lost my touch, thankfully. And I need to go back to Brooklyn. It's home. As much as I said that it would always be with me, nothing would beat going back there again, being with our family and friends and that familiarity. We can travel, sure, but Brooklyn just seems to call my name, you know?"
"I want to go home, too," Isabel admits. "See my parents and Bec and Robbie. See all our friends. See the familiar streets and parks and faces. To not feel so… lost."
"You want to go back to nursing?" Steve asks curiously.
"Yeah, I don't think I could stop doing that. As horrible some things I've seen out here have been, all it's done is help me. I'm much more equipped now to deal with certain wounds," Isabel contemplates.
"What would you…?" Steve begins before trailing off, clamping his mouth shut on the thought. "Never mind."
"No, what?" Isabel asks, sitting up a little and looking into Steve's eyes, trying to read his thoughts.
"It's silly," Steve says, looking away from Isabel with bright red cheeks and ears.
"It probably isn't," Isabel argues. "Tell me, please?"
"Well. I was going to say… What would you say to, once we get back to Brooklyn… settling down?" Steve asks slowly, looking up even slower to make eye contact, his eyes a little fearful.
"Settling down, how?" Isabel asks, taken off guard by Steve's idea.
"Well, getting an apartment for ourselves, maybe. As much as living with Bucky is fine, it would be nice to live on our own. And well, getting married, and not just because it's a little wrong to live together out of wedlock. I'd like to… you know… get married one day. And, and having kids one day, too? Starting a… family?" Steve stutters, growing more awkward with every word. He scratches the back of his neck, looking extremely uncomfortable.
"Steve," Isabel breathes. Her heart pounds uncomfortably in her chest, her stomach swooping around. "W-what made you think of it?"
"Well, recently, the thought came up the other day with Greta. Seeing you with her, holding her and singing to her, it made me feel something inside. I felt the same thing in Avignon when you delivered little Isabel. I-I wanted that with you. And it made me realise that all those years seeing you with Becca and Robbie, I felt the same thing then, I just never realised it."
"You mean Captain America got clucky?" Isabel can't help but laugh.
"Hey, I'm only human," Steve laughs. "Anyway, seeing little Greta without a family made my heart ache for her. I couldn't help but think that, if it were up to me and if it were even remotely possible, I would have taken her myself. Adopted her. But she probably does have a family waiting for her, somewhere and she'll be okay. Even if she doesn't, there'll be someone in the world who'll find her and want to give her a good life."
"She will be okay, Steve. Gabe's right, she's a child. She has a whole life ahead of her and she'll have someone beside her," Isabel reassures.
"I know. And to be honest… Well, I've always sort of thought about spending my life with you. It always just seemed right, even if I could come up with a million excuses why it shouldn't be right. Even when I was sick and knew I couldn't provide for you, there was this selfish part of me that wanted you. Bucky made me promise before he left for war that I would look after you, especially if something happened to him while he was fighting and he never came back. I promised I would always look after you, no matter if we were friends or something else, but honestly, when I promised, marriage was what I was thinking of – marrying you, buying you a house, providing for you, giving you children…"
"Why did you never tell me?" Isabel asks quietly.
"Same reason why you never told me how you felt about me," Steve says with a simple shrug. "I was scared of rejection and of ruining the friendship, and I thought you deserved better than me."
"I don't," Isabel reassures. "I couldn't get any better. Steve, as much as I want to go home, we could be here fighting here forever, and it would be still enough. Of course, I want that other stuff, but if I couldn't have any of that and I could only have you, well, that wouldn't be so bad."
Steve sits up a little bit against the pillow, taking Isabel's small hand in his. "Belle, there isn't anyone else in the world I'd ever want to be with but you. To live the rest of my life with you by my side would just be Heaven on earth. I can't think of anything I'd rather and anything that would make me happier."
Isabel's eyes widen a little, looking down at her hand in Steve's. Her mind wanders, immediately going toward marriage proposal, considering that's what they've been talking about. She'd say yes, she knows she would in a heartbeat, but she could think of better timing and circumstances, perhaps even waiting a little longer.
"Is-is this…?" She asks, her voice barely a whisper. She doesn't know if she wants it to be or not.
"No, no," Steve quickly reassures. "I-I'll do it properly, I promise. But I just needed you to know what I was thinking, and I needed to know that that is what you want."
"Of course it is, Steve," Isabel reassures. She leans in and presses a kiss to his lips cupping his cheek in her palm. She pulls away, her breath ghosting his red lips. "And it always was."
?, Poland
December 30th, 1944
The blizzard blows over within a few days. The strong winds die down, the snow halts in its descent from the sky, and the temperatures rise slightly as the warm sun extends across the cloudy skies. After ensuring the nicer weather is there to stay, the Commandos deem it safe to exit the cramped cabin.
Steve goes first, opening the door to reveal a wall of snow that falls into the cabin and floods the wooden floorboards. He and Bucky then spend a few minutes shovelling away at the large pile that blocks their exit. It barely seems like work to the enhanced men as they shovel the thick snow to the sides, leaving a lined path for them to exit.
The Commandos step out of the guard house into a floor of padded snow, still high enough that it comes up to their knees, their boots sinking awkwardly. Nevertheless, the air feels fresh after days stuck in the cabin. The Commandos all take a deep breath, soaking up the sun and fresh air, the slight wind whipping their hair. Their entire world has been turned a brilliant white, sparkling in the sun that shines through the clouds above. The huts of the camp are buried entirely, masking the horror from the world. It feels somewhat like an awakening, a rejuvenation.
Steve radios back to base while the Commandos sit around outside, barely caring that they've plonked themselves down in the cold snow, a few lying back as though they were going to make snow angels. Isabel and Dernier sit beside each other on a small bench they've managed to uncover underneath the snow and brush off. Isabel brings her knees up to her chest and points her face toward the sun, closing her eyes with a content smile on her face. Dernier watches her a moment before copying her behaviour, humming a soft melody into the silent landscape.
"We've got a bit of a walk, but it'll do us good to stretch and get the exercise," Steve eventually says, breaking the silence. "About two miles north there's a large airfield used by the Germans that Howard is going to land the plane in and pick us up."
"Won't it be guarded?" Bucky asks carefully.
"Not sure, so we're going to go check it out. I doubt it, though, considering they would know we were only two miles away. If it is, we take out the guards. If not, we radio through to base and confirm the rendezvous point is safe."
The plan seems solid, so the Commandos gather up their few belongings and a stash of food each before starting off in a northward line toward the airfield. The forests seem to be lit by the white snow that coats every surface, leaving them a clear path to follow through the dense greenery.
When the forests clear out again, they are confronted with a large open field, a single runway formed straight down the middle of it, notable only by the lights that line it and not by the dirt runway itself, covered in a thick blanket of snow. There's a singular hangar on the far side, a garage-like building, and a small office beside it. There are no planes in sight, as well as no people.
Steve and Bucky leave the others by the edge of the field and venture out into the open, crossing the field quickly toward the hangar. They search the premises quickly, guns raised in preparation for an onslaught, but they find no one. Bucky waves to the others and they walk toward the building, still wary of forces that may be hidden in the trees.
"It's abandoned," Steve says once they're in hearing distance.
"Thank the Lord. I don't know if I could face another Kraut today," Dugan mutters.
The group waits inside the hangar, protected from the winds and cold air. It isn't a long wait, a few hours at most, but all of them are beginning to grow a little antsy from being cooped up for so long in the guard house together with nothing but the howling winds outside, a stack of cards and a few packets of cigarettes.
Eventually, they hear the far-off buzz of a plane penetrating the sounds of nature. Steve stands and walks outside the hangar, squinting up into the sky in the direction of the plane.
"It's Howard!" Steve confirms with some relief, waving both hands up into the sky.
The plane begins its descent toward the airfield, getting lower and lower in the sky. It skims over the trees by the edge of the clearing before sliding gracefully toward the ground, landing on its wheels on the slick runway with a small skid and a wobble. The brakes are slammed on and the plane slows, coming to a stop in front of the hangar, turning around so that it has the entire runway at its disposal to take off for their departure.
With the engine still running, the cabin door to the plane is opened, and Howard Stark appears, standing on the top step.
"Hello, fellas and lady! I see you all got a little caught up in the snowstorm," Stark calls, waving them all on board.
"I don't want to hear or see snow ever again," Dugan mutters, jumping up faster than anyone and practically running to the plane and into the warmth of the cabin.
Everyone else gets up from the concrete ground of the hangar with a groan, their joints frozen from the cold and from the exhaustion. Steve holds out a hand to help Isabel up from the ground, walking her over to the plane with a hand on her lower back.
Howard ushers the exhausted, dirty Commandos inside and out of the cold wind that still batters the field. They all claim a seat in a chair or on the floor, slumping again. Dugan is already sitting on the floor and seems to have fallen asleep immediately, his mouth falling open with a loud snore.
"Don't you all look a little shabby," Howard notes with a laugh, looking inside at the exhausted men.
Isabel stops to smile at Howard in greeting. "Not everyone had a vanity to get ready in front of this morning, Howie," she tells the inventor with a raised eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"Don't worry, that comment wasn't directed at you," Howard promises her. "You look beautiful as ever."
Isabel laughs, pushing him away slightly. "Pfft, please don't lie. There may not have been a vanity in that damn cabin, but there was a mirror."
Isabel heads through the cabin, steps over Dugan's definitely sleeping form in the aisle, and plonks down in one of the empty seats by the window on the inside of Bucky, who took the aisle. There are tens of other seats she could have chosen, but she sits beside her brother, who sits with his legs stretched out and his arms crossed over his chest. Isabel rugs up in her jacket, pulling her knees up against her chest to keep the warmth in.
Steve secures the cabin door behind them and makes sure everyone is buckled up or settled on the floor before following Howard into the cockpit for their take-off, smiling lightly at Isabel and Bucky as he goes. Bucky's got a sour look on his face, pouting as he does when he's in deep thought. Steve takes note but continues into the cockpit. He sits in the passenger seat and watches as Howard starts up the plane again, racing it down the snow-covered runway and into the sky, surrounding them in a wall of white, the small snowflakes whipping against the windows. The wind is much louder up here, howling against the plane.
"I heard about what you found," Howard says quietly so that the others can't hear, looking over worriedly at Steve.
"Yeah?" Steve says simply, staring straight ahead with a blank expression, though the pain is evident in his blue eyes.
"It isn't the only one," Howard says vaguely. "And it certainly isn't the only horror in his damn war. I'm still sorry you had to see it."
"I'm not sorry," Steve assures. "Sure, I'll never forget it. That stuff, it's engraved on your memory, burned there. But… we saved a lot of people the other day. We made it so that a lot of people could go home, a lot of families could be reunited, and a lot of people who died at their captor's hands could be returned home. I don't regret it, and I'm not sorry to have seen it and done what we did."
Howard nods at that, seemingly lost for words.
"If I could find all of the camps and liberate them all, I would, trust me," Steve continues. "But my first… our first and foremost objective is to take down Hydra. We take down Hydra and then we concentrate on the rest of the war."
"Sounds like a plan, Captain."
Isabel can vaguely hear Steve and Howard talking, can see their mouths moving as they speak, though she can't make out anything that they're saying. After a few tense words the two men settle into silence, but the quiet of the plane is penetrated by the sounds of the howling winds and the roaring engines outside. The plane rumbles beneath them in a steady buzz that causes a few more of the men to doze off into sleep, lying on the floor of the plane or hunched over in their seats.
Isabel can't bring herself to sleep, instead staring out the small window beside her to the world outside. The plane carries them across the dense snowy forests, snow-capped mountains, fields, and possibly, more of those camps and soldiers and people fighting and people dying. Isabel looks backward in the direction of the camps they'd liberated in the distance. She can't see them at all through the denseness of the trees and the white blanket that covers the world, doesn't even really know where they are, but she can somewhat sense them, feel the atmosphere still hanging over them.
"Thank God we're leaving, right?" Bucky says quietly to her, breaking the spoken silence.
Isabel turns to face Bucky. His arms are still crossed, he's still lying back in the seat and slumped in on himself, his face still thoughtful, but there's a sense of relief in his own posture and tone, a softness returned to his eyes that had been missing during their adventures in the camps.
"Yeah, thank God."