Hello everyone! Sorry for the wait - I had the Black Plague. Well, probably not that, but I did spend a week lying on the floor in misery, too sick to write. I am all better now, ready for the homestretch! That's right - we should only have about five to six chapters to go. And now - on to the fun!
Chapter 20 - May 2, 1944 - Falsworth Manor, Devon
Howard Stark met her in the garden, sleek and smart in his black tuxedo, lapel graced with a slender, purple iris.
Is that the same tuxedo? Stevie idly wondered. Or does he have a closet full of them? It wouldn't surprise her.
"Welcome to the Rainbow Room," Stark said.
He ushered Stevie into a trellis-shaded gazebo, overhung with climbing wisteria. On a small table, a record slowly revolved on the phonograph, and a bottle of champagne gently sweated in an ice bucket. The evening breeze was cool, but the music was warm and smooth as wine.
"Is that Frank Sinatra?" Stevie asked.
"None other." Stark handed her a flute of champagne.
"But...he hasn't released any records."
"Maybe not for the hoi polloi," Stark said, with a mischievous grin. "But for his personal friends…"
"You know Frank Sinatra," Stevie said. "You've got to be kidding me."
Stark pointed at her accusingly. "I'm not the only one with a famous friend. I hear you've been pulling strings yourself."
"I don't know what you mean." Stevie sipped her champagne, bubbles tickling her nose.
"Well someone's made some calls to Senator Brandt and I know it isn't me."
"Oh, that."
An incensed Sergeant Dugan had come to her when they got back to the manor and told her about Corporal Morita's family. Soldiers were fighting for the safety of a country that imprisoned their families - it was a horrible betrayal. The fact that the American people had allowed it to happen made Stevie sick. A very angry long-distance call to Senator Brandt had followed, during which she managed to get a promise that he'd do "what he could" for the internees, Morita's family in particular.
"Don't tell Jim," she asked Stark. "Please? I don't want to embarrass him." Or get his hopes up, if the Senator can't actually swing it.
Stark made a gesture as if to zip his mouth closed. "My lips are sealed. But in return…" He put down his glass next to the record player and held his hand out to Stevie. "May I have this dance?"
Stevie stood up and smoothed her skirt over her thighs. She was wearing her blue Christmas dress, the same too-tight shoes. For a moment, she hesitated, memories of a host of unsuccessful sock hops flashing through her mind before she mentally shook herself and took Stark's hand. He drew her in close. On the phonograph, Frank crooned - Blue skies, smiling at me...Nothing but blue skies, do I see...
"It's simple," Stark said. "Start with your right foot."
He stepped forward and she stepped back. "Slow, slow," he said, in time with the motion. "Now to the side. Quick, quick, slow." He smiled, looking into her eyes. "Now you just keep it going. Piece of cake."
Stark gently guided her in a circle around the table, one hand on her back, one holding her hand. Under his jacket, Stevie could feel the firm muscles of his shoulders and back. He smelled of bay rum and Brylcreem, and was just the slightest bit shorter than she was.
"Stark," she said, when she was certain her feet could follow the rhythm by themselves. "Tell me about the Rainbow Room. The real one."
As they danced, Stark's eyes had gone lazy, half-lidded, contented as a cat's. He leaned forward a little and murmured in her ear.
"The windows look out over Manhattan, which sparkles in the night like a million spilled diamonds. Under a crystal chandelier, the dance floor is bathed in colored lights, and as Frankie sings, the cream of New York society mingles with movie stars and foreign dignitaries."
Stark's voice was hypnotic; Stevie could almost see the glamorous women in diamonds, hear the clink of a hundred champagne flutes, the murmur of a thousand conversations.
"When we walk in, everyone turns to stare," Stark continued. "'Who's that girl?' they say. 'Could that magnificent creature really be the famous war hero, Captain America?'"
His eyes met hers, and she saw a depth of feeling that stunned her.
He's in love with me. The thought hit Stevie like a sucker punch. Was she in love with him? She wasn't sure. He tripped her up. He made her feel like they were playing a game and she didn't know all the rules. She stopped dead and let him run into her.
"Howard," she said.
"Yes?" She saw his pulse in his neck, like a bird's wing fluttering.
"Kiss me."
It was a skilled kiss - just the right combination of gentleness and passion, forcefulness and patience. But then, why did it feel like something was missing? Why was she thinking of a drunken kiss on the steps of the Swiss chalet - the prickle of stubble, a mouth that tasted like sorrow and cigarettes?
May 11, 1944
"Alright," Peggy said briskly, in what Stevie thought of as her 'schoolteacher voice.'
"When you're attacking you want to hit your opponent's vulnerable spots as quickly as possible. And they aren't necessarily the spots you'd think of first."
Peggy looked much as she had teaching hand-to-hand combat to the ladies at Camp Lejeune - drawstring trousers, loose cotton shirt, hair in a tight braid. Suddenly, she snapped into action like an unwinding spring.
"Side of the wrist. Forearm between the wrist and the elbow." As she named each location, she gave Stevie a sharp tap. "Side of the neck. The throat, just below the Adam's apple. The kidneys."
She danced back away, her speed impressive - for a normal human. "All with as much speed and force as you can muster, which, for you, shouldn't be a problem."
"True," Stevie said. "So…" She entered the ready position Peggy had shown her, one foot slightly back, arms raised. "Wrist, forearm, neck, throat, back."
She aimed jabs at each location, stopping just short of contact. Peggy would move to attack, to defend - Stevie's job was to keep aiming for the same spots. According to Peggy, she had to practice until it became automatic.
"You're using your fists," Peggy said. "Try to use more of an open-handed chop. With a proper chop, you can break a man's arm. Well," she smiled. "I can break a man's arm. You could break someone's arm if you slapped them hard enough."
The boys were across the lawn from the two women, playing something resembling a combination of soccer, rugby, and American football, their happy shouts travelling on the spring breeze along with the scent of lilacs. Stevie was amazed at how quickly she could learn the moves Peggy was teaching her. Her body - which used to betray her at every opportunity - was suddenly her friend: eager to learn, eager to please, like a well-trained animal.
She had speed, power, reflexes...But would it be enough?
"What's next, teach?" She asked Peggy.
"The high heel defense," the other woman replied with a slight grin. Stevie raised a questioning eyebrow. "I learned it dealing with...overzealous suitors. And speaking of suitors..." Peggy paused delicately.
"I haven't decided," Stevie said. It had been a week, and she still wasn't sure what to do about Stark. Did it matter if he was in love and she wasn't? "I haven't had a lot of practice at...this."
"At love?" Peggy smiled as Stevie blushed. "Fine, I won't push you for details. Come on, let's get back on track. Grab me."
"I have a feeling that this will end badly," Stevie sighed, as she took hold of the smaller woman, pinning her arms to her sides.
"So," Peggy said. "Your assailant has you in his grip. A quick way to get out is to scrape your boot sole down his shin and smash his foot with your heel, like this."
"Ow!" Stevie cried out, more in shock than pain, as Peggy stomped on her instep. "You didn't pull that hit at all!"
"If I can do that to you, imagine what you can do to a normal person." Peggy cocked her head to one side. "But you're not planning to use my amazing techniques on normal people, are you?"
"Guilty as charged," Stevie said, raising her hands in acquiescence. "What gave me away?"
"Well, you've mopped the floor with everyone we've come across so far."
"Because I'm stronger than they are. And faster. But I'm not trained. If I went up against someone who shared my...abilities...they'd lay me out."
"Someone who shares your abilities?" Peggy frowned. "There's only one person I know who fits that bill."
A chill seemed to pass over the sun. The only man who could match Stevie's strength was Dr. Erskine's other subject - Johann Schmidt. The Red Skull.
"So that's why you're so keen to take care of the Runestone and Leviathan. And Weapon X." Peggy crossed her arms over her chest. "The three projects closest to Schmidt's heart...You're hoping for a face-to-face meeting."
"Got me again." Stevie tried to keep her tone light. "I guess that's why you're the secret agent and I'm just a girl who punches things."
"Don't sell yourself short," Peggy replied. "You also drive a motorcycle very well."
The morning strategy session had revealed at least a dozen possible targets for the Howling Commandos, but the three Stevie had chosen for their next missions - a castle in the Danish Straits, a submarine in the North Sea, and a laboratory on a mountaintop in Czechoslovakia - were possibly the strangest of the bunch - and the most remote.
"I have to confess, it isn't just the possibility of socking that bastard on the jaw that attracts me," Stevie said, her jovial tone growing hard at the edges. "I'm sure you picked up on it. No rescue operations. No prison camps."
She looked into Peggy's dark eyes.
"I can't put the men through that again. I can't put myself through that again."
Peggy laid a hand softly on Stevie's arm, and didn't speak for a long moment.
"You know, I've always wanted to see the Danish Straits," she finally said.
"We'll do the Runestone first, then," Stevie replied.
"Enough lollygagging." Peggy took Stevie's hand. "Time for thumb holds. Even the strongest opponent can't fight the thumb hold."
"Ow, ow, yes I can see that!"
"Dancing lessons, ladies?" Bucky drawled. He had sauntered over from the men's game, jacket off, hair disheveled, a patch of sweat sticking his t-shirt to his chest.
"Agent Carter is teaching me the fine art of fisticuffs," Stevie said.
Bucky put a hand to his chest, feigning indignation. "Didn't I teach you how to hold your own back in Brooklyn? Did you forget so soon?"
"You taught me how to throw a punch without hurting myself," Stevie responded. "Which was about all I was up to at the time."
"Managed to sucker punch Johnny Shotsman, though," Bucky chuckled. "I still remember the look on his face."
Peggy cleared her throat. "I was just about to show the Captain some throws…" She looked at her watch and did a convincing imitation of surprise. "But I've just remembered the Colonel asked to talk to me about something at half past. Sergeant Barnes, as a brawler of the first order, I'm sure you can take over from here."
Stevie looked at Peggy incredulously. There was no meeting; Peggy had the entire afternoon free, just like everyone else. This was a transparent ploy.
What are you doing? Stevie mouthed at Peggy behind Bucky's back. She was answered by a bland, innocent smile.
"I'll leave her in your capable hands," Peggy said, waving cheerily, as she hustled back to the house.
"Well…" Bucky said after a pause that was just long enough to be awkward. "Throws."
"...Yeah."
"If I show you, you have to promise to be gentle," he said with a grin.
She returned his smile. "I promise not to damage your pretty face. Too much."
Bucky laughed, and the awkwardness was gone. He showed her how to throw someone who attacked her from the front. From behind. How to block a knife. How to disarm a sentry without making a sound. And, as she moved with him, Stevie was amazed by how - right - it felt. She was in a country she never thought she'd visit, doing a job she never thought she'd do...but being with Bucky made everything feel like home. She wanted to fight at his side forever.
I'm in love with Bucky Barnes. The realization was so stupefying that she didn't see the attack Bucky was directing at her until he punched her right in the stomach.
Finally, Stevie makes some sort of decision! And there was much rejoicing. But it's still an uphill road for our star-crossed lovers, so don't worry.
Historical notes:
If you want a soundtrack for the first part of this chapter, go to YouTube and look for "Blue Skies, Frank Sinatra."
Peggy's fighting tips come from the awesome 1942 combat manual "Get Tough!" by Captain W. E. Fairbairn - a Historic BAMF in his own right, who helped develop the FS Fighting Knife, a dagger beloved by commandos even to this day. Fairbairn wrote several other manuals on self-defence, including"Scientific Self-Defence" and "Shooting to Live." If you need to beat someone in a street fight, and have twelve dollars to spend in the Kindle store, "Get Tough!" is your absolute best bet.
As always, your feedback is appreciated! Let me know what you think. Next chapter - In Czechoslovakia, an unexpected twist.