Hello, beautiful readers! Guess who just watched Civil War? Me! And it filled my fangirl heart with such joy - and exciting ideas for future directions this story could take. Not to be a corporate shill, but you should see it.
In personal news, I had some job interviews this past week. Wish me luck! I could end up in the Pacific Northwest...
And now, what you really come here for - the story!
Chapter 24 - December 24, 1944 - La Gleize, Belgium
"Well," Stevie said, letting a lump of half-frozen stew fall from her spoon back into the can. "This Christmas is shaping up to be something of a disappointment."
Bucky grunted, gnawing on a ration bar.
They had been dropped into the valley of Cheneux with the 82nd Airborne and had ended up in La Gleize, a village whose roads were more suited to ponies than Panzers. That didn't stop it from being taken and retaken, as Kampfgruppe Peiper's tank division tried to push back the American advance. Colonel Phillips had been right on the money when he sent them to the Ardennes. The forests and hills and sleepy villages were Hitler's final battlefield on the Western Front. If they broke the Germans here…
We could chase them all the way back to Berlin.
For this mission, the Howling Commandos had been split up, lending their skills wherever they were needed. Dernier and Jones were blowing bridges with the Corps of Engineers, Dugan and Morita coordinating artillery strikes. Peggy and Falsworth provided tactical support at base camp, and Stevie and Bucky...well. They were the bruisers. For the past week, they had fought from street to street and house to house, trying to break Peiper's hold on the village, his last bastion.
Now they sat on the floor of the chapel as mortars boomed in the background, unable to risk a campfire to keep out the cold. Squat and thick-walled, the church had survived for centuries only to lose its tower and half its roof in the past few days. One corner was completely open to the night, and gusts of wind whirled through the gap, stirring up glinting crystals of snow.
Stevie abandoned her can of stew and pulled her jacket more tightly around herself.
"How do you think the kids are doing?" She asked Bucky.
"Better off than we are," Bucky said, giving the rest of the ration bar a skeptical look before rewrapping it and stuffing it into his pocket. "Enjoying the full Falsworth Manor Christmas while we're freezing our asses off."
"Language. And you know what I mean."
"Yeah." Bucky was silent for a moment.
After Stevie had come back from that lab in the Tatra Mountains, she had stowed the children in the Howling Commandos' own tents, with Sergeant Dugan watching over them like a father bear. Then - blood still drying on her face - she had gone to see Polkovnik Yakunin, to tell him the children were going to England. Surprisingly, the Polkovnik had given in without a fight.
Erik hadn't. He'd wanted to go with the Commandos, had begged to go. Stevie turned him down.
The next morning he was gone, Yana and Margot with him.
"Erik's tough," Bucky said. "He can take care of himself. And the girls aren't exactly shrinking violets, either. You heard what happened at Malmedy."
"I think everyone has."
A force of German tanks had surprised an American convoy at a crossroads near Malmedy - another little village, not 15 miles from La Gleize. When the Americans surrendered, the Germans had herded them all into a field and opened fire. They would have become another terrible footnote in the general carnage - but the bullets stopped in midair, turned to strike the men who fired them. The tanks were found later, on the road to Ligneuville, twisted and torn, thrown about like toys. Even the soldiers who had been there talked about the event in hushed tones, wondering what had saved them - miracle or monster?
Stevie knew. Erik.
The children had disappeared in Poland over a month ago, and now they were only minutes away. Were they cold? Hungry? In danger?
"I hate this," Stevie said. "Being so close, but not being able to do anything for them."
"You aren't the Second Coming. You don't have to save everyone. Hell, some people don't want to be saved."
The wind had stilled. In the icy silence, Stevie could hear the soft hiss of snow as it fell through the splintered rafters like sand.
The Commandos had gone with the children back to Falsworth Manor, partially to help them settle in, partially to make sure no one intercepted them en route, took them away to be living weapons for some other power.
There were twelve, now that Erik and the girls were gone, ranging from little Omar - who had walked through a locked pantry door and been found asleep, covered in jam - to Rosa, a ten-year-old girl who could paralyze a grown man with a touch. And, of course, Stefan, with his golden hair and his haunted eyes. Stefan, the fire boy.
Falsworth's staff were made of sterner stuff than most, and hadn't turned a hair when told the nature of their charges.
"It'll be good to have children about for Christmas again," the housekeeper had said. "Poor little things."
Colonel Phillips had snorted at that. "Normal children are bad enough. We'll come back to find this place torn down around their ears."
Sooner than Stevie would have thought possible, the children were running, laughing, climbing over Sergeant Dugan like puppies - all except Stefan. He lurked on the fringes like a specter, until Stevie took pity on him and challenged him to a game of chess.
The boy was a good player - thoughtful, if a bit tentative. Stevie had plenty of practice from her days staying home with head colds, but Stefan could still beat her - even if it wasn't often. Sometimes, Stevie would talk about her Brooklyn childhood as they played - long summer days reading on the porch. Matinees and popcorn, going to baseball games with her pa. Sometimes, she'd ask Stefan questions. What did he like to read? How did he like English food? Little by little, he started to open up to her, but he still wouldn't talk to anyone else. Wouldn't stop hovering at the edges of rooms like a ghost.
One afternoon, they set up in Falsworth's library, next to the suit of armor and the cannon. They had made their usual opening skirmish, and Stevie picked up her bishop, tapped it against her chin as she thought. Threaten, or attack?
"Can I ask you something, Captain?" The boy said.
"Sure."
"I know you're leaving soon."
"Yes."
Stefan hesitated, looking at the board, tipping his ebony rook this way and that.
"What are you getting at?" Stevie asked.
"Can I come with you?" It was almost too soft to hear.
Stevie's heart sank. Not again. Don't make me lose another one. She set her bishop down with a soft click.
"Stefan." She tried to meet the boy's eyes, but they were still fixed on the board. She made her voice as kind as she could. "A war is no place for a…"
"Child?" He looked at her then, voice harsh, face flushed with anger. "I'm not a child. You don't know...you don't know what I've done. What...what I am."
The anger left Stefan as quickly as it had come. Now he was blinking back tears. Stevie bit back a surge of anger at Ritter, tried to keep it out of her face even as she mentally cursed him for escaping justice.
When I find you, you bastard...
"Let me get this straight," she said gently. "You think you're such a terrible person, that going to war, fighting - killing Nazis - is the only way you can make amends?"
Stefan's lower lip trembled and he bit it, hard. His hand was fisted on the table. Stevie took it in both of hers.
"Something bad happened to you," she said. "But that doesn't make you bad. Whatever you've done, whatever you were...you don't have to be that anymore. You can choose."
His tight fist opened, and he took her hand, holding on as if he'd be swept away without it.
"The others need you here. You're the oldest now. They need you to keep them safe."
"I was Ritter's pet. They don't trust me."
"They will," she said. "When you earn it."
"Don't you mean if I earn it?"
"When."
Stefan pulled his hand from hers, scrubbed at his eyes fiercely with his sleeve. He took a deep, shuddering breath. Another. When he finally spoke, it was a whisper.
"I'll try."
Amid the rubble of the church, a statue of the Blessed Virgin stood incongruously unharmed, slender hand lifted in blessing. Clouds streamed over the moon, and shadows flowed over her face like a veil - concealing, revealing.
I know you probably have better things to do right now. Stevie prayed. But, if you're listening, please take care of the kids. Take care of Stefan. Show him that he isn't broken. Give him a chance to grow up.
Bucky bumped his shoulder against hers.
"Hey. You alright? You aren't falling asleep on me, are you?"
Stevie wiped her nose, cleared her throat.
"Just wondering what you got me for Christmas this year," she said.
Bucky put on a tone of mock indignation.
"What, the rock I got you last year wasn't enough? A genuine, Roman rock." He shook his head. "Women. Never satisfied."
"You know, I still keep that rock. Carry it with me everywhere."
"Liar."
"Want to search me and find out?"
Bucky spluttered.
"Ha!" Stevie crowed. "You're blushing!"
"You can't prove that."
"You are! You're buying the drinks next time. I got you, Barnes."
He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. Their breath mingled in the dark.
"Yes," he said. "You do."
"I could get used to this."
Peggy stretched languorously, and leaned back in one of the morning room's soft, upholstered armchairs.
"You mean real chairs?" Stevie replied.
"Chairs! Beds! Hot baths! Hot tea!" She picked up her own cup, took a sip, and sighed rapturously. "It's paradise."
"Well, enjoy it while you can. Colonel says we're going back to Belgium next week."
"Then I will savor this moment." Peggy closed her eyes, let the morning sun play over her face.
Stevie took a sip of her own tea and winced.
"What do you people have against a nice, hot, cup of joe?" She asked.
"Dark and strong?" Peggy opened one eye, playfully. "Is that how you like it?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Stevie said, taking another anemic sip.
"Mmmm," Peggy's eyes were closed again. "I notice you aren't that upset about dear Howard's absence. One might think you'd found someone else. A new beau on the scene?"
Howard was in Germany, working on some top-secret project, and Stevie was relieved. She didn't look forward to their next conversation. Time had proven that she was no good at talking about her feelings.
"I don't have a beau," Stevie said. "Good grief, you're as bad as Doris."
"Who's Doris?"
"Someone I knew in the USO."
"Was she beautiful and skilled?"
"Try nosy," Stevie said. "And a pain in the neck."
How was Doris? She wondered. And Sal, and the rest? Still touring, even after she'd left them in the middle of Italy? Stevie had never bothered to find out.
I'll get in touch, She promised herself. As soon as we get home.
Home. During the past year, she'd barely thought about Brooklyn, about who and what she'd left behind. She felt almost guilty at the realization.
"Am I interrupting?"
Both women turned to find Bucky standing in the door. Clean and shaved, healed and rested - he looked more like the boy Stevie had sent off to war than he had in months. And suddenly she understood. She hadn't been homesick, because Bucky was here. She was more at home in Germany, or Belgium, or Poland with Bucky than she had been in Brooklyn after he left.
"Not at all, Sergeant Barnes," Peggy said. "We were debating the strengths of tea versus coffee. Do you have a preference?"
Bucky looked from one woman to the other, mouth quirking up in a one-sided grin. "I'd rather not take sides. Colonel wants to see the Captain, I'm afraid."
"Ah," Peggy leaned back in her chair, waved them away regally. "Well, in that case, you may go. Don't make too much noise on the way out."
Stevie followed Bucky out into the corridor. She had meant to tell him. After her standoff with Yakunin, she had meant to go straight to Bucky, to tell him how she felt. When she got to his tent, he'd been getting cleaned up, buttoning up his shirt, wet hair slicked back. Her words had tangled in her throat and they ended up talking about Dr. Ritter's escape. Not a romantic theme.
"What does Colonel Phillips want to see me about?" She asked.
"Nothing," Bucky replied. "I just needed to talk to you. Come on."
He picked up the pace and Stevie stretched her long legs to their full stride. They went down a flight of stairs, around a corner. Bucky stopped at an inconspicuous door, looked up and down the hall, and ushered her inside. They bumped into each other in the dark for a bit, until a light clicked on, illuminating a room full of neatly folded sheets.
"The linen closet? Bucky, what is this about?"
He was facing away from her, shoulders hunched with tension.
"When you fell," he said. "When I thought you were dead...I realized there was something I had to tell you. I've been meaning to tell you for ages, but it never came out right."
I've been tying myself up in knots, Stevie thought. And all this time, he's been trying to tell me the same thing.
She realized she had been holding her breath, let it out...and suddenly she was laughing. At the linen closet, at herself. At what idiots they both were.
Bucky turned, as surprised as if she'd punched him.
"What? Why are you laughing? What did I say?"
She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. For a moment, he froze in surprise, but then he responded, hands moving to the small of her back, pulling her tight against him. She wasn't sure what to do with her hands at first, so she twined them into his hair.
When they broke apart, both were breathless.
"I love you, Rodgers." Bucky's eyes burned into hers. "I think I've loved you since we were kids."
The room smelled of lavender and clean laundry, and Stevie knew she would love that scent from now on. Bucky's hands were still on her back. Stevie stroked his hair back from his face.
"Well," she said. "What took you so long?"
This week had been the longest time Stevie and Bucky had spent alone together. They had slept next to each other in foxholes and lean-tos and bombed-out buildings, so tired even the boom of artillery couldn't wake them. There was barely time to eat, and no time to wash. They were cold and bruised, and occasionally terrified. It had been the longest week of Stevie's life. She didn't want it to end.
Bucky unscrewed his flask and took a drink, then passed it to her.
"Do you ever think about what you'll do after the war?" Bucky asked.
"Oh, Peggy and I have it all worked out," Stevie replied, taking a sip and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "We're going to share an apartment and be telephone operators."
"I'd hate to disturb your plan," he said softly. "But I heard about something...vets who come back get all sorts of perks. Loans for houses, college for free, that sort of thing."
"You planning on college, Buck?" Stevie asked, teasingly. Bucky always told her he had enough of school by tenth grade.
He snorted.
"Like hell. You'd go to college. I can get my job at the shop back."
"And the house? You thinking of moving upstate?"
"We could go anywhere - California, Arizona. Didn't you tell me you wanted to go West? Sent me enough sketches of mountains."
We...Bucky's talking about moving in together. He's talking about getting married. Stevie was surprised by how little she was surprised. She guessed it had been coming for a long time.
"I've always wanted to see the Grand Canyon," she said. "The Redwoods."
"Guess you'll have to tell Peg the plan's off."
"I'm sure she'll get over it," Stevie said. "Will we make pillow forts in our big new house?"
"Anytime."
"Then I'm in."
She put her hand on his, fingers intertwining through two sets of gloves. She smiled in the darkness of the church. She didn't know what would happen tomorrow, or even in the next five minutes, but this moment was hers, and it would never end.
I promised Stucky fluff and Stucky fluff I have delivered. Writing about Stefan makes me want to see him and Falsworth have Cold War adventures with the other mutant kids. Anyone want to write it for me?
Some historical deets in this chapter:
Astute readers may note that this chapter takes place during the Battle of the Bulge, an offensive that was super important and complicated and has whole books written about it. I tried to be as accurate as I could within the confines of not wanting to take months off to research it. Anyway, La Gleize is real and the chapel is real. Look up "La Gleize, chapel, statue, ww2" and the first few image results will be the statue that Stevie sees in this chapter. The dates and details are fudged a bit; please forgive me.
The massacre at Malmedy really happened. Sadly, since young Erik was not on hand, the Americans did die. Kampfgruppe Peiper was known for this kind of thing - his tank unit were called the Blowtorch Battalion because they were known for setting villages on fire. Nazis really were terrible people, folks.
Next time: A brief interlude, and then we're back to movie continuity...and you know what that means...