N I N E

09. | just another fallen soldier.
life can leave you bruised

genevieve.

•

I CALL his name over and over again, but all I hear is static buzzing through the radio. He won't answer; he's hit the ice. I'll never hear from him again. I'll never be able to see his smile or hear his soft shy laugh. I'll never feel his lips on mine or the flames that surge within my core at his gentle touch.

Because he's gone.

Tears don't start to stream down my cheeks until minutes later, when realization punched me hard in the chest. Everyone has since left the room, leaving me alone to deal with Steve's death on my own, just how I would like it.

Why did I have to be so stupid? I ask myself. Why did I have to fall in love again? Why can't I ever learn? My mind is tearing me apart piece by piece. Voices scream inside my head, shrieking at how I can't learn from my mistakes. It's this same ride over and over again — this, this carousel is spinning and spinning around, and with every rotation comes a new lifeless body because of me. Or perhaps it's two bodies, one that's heart has stopped and the other's whose is broken.

I allow my troubled emotions to rack through me. My forehead is pressed against my palm as my fingernails dig into my skin in anguish. Steve is gone, and it's all my fault. Sobs course through me. I don't know what to do anymore. But then again, he's just another fallen soldier, even if he is completely different from the rest.

[•]

I sift through folders and folders of classified information, all descriptions of soldiers. Most have retired after the war has ended, so their information isn't needed anymore. Unlike everyone else, I did not drink joyfully after we received the news that the Allies won the war. I've just piled work on to myself, and just gave a melancholy cheer once I heard.

Colonel seems to know how I've been coping, and has given me more work than the average soldier. He seems rather sympathetic, even though he has seen all sorts of reactions to death.

Peggy tries to help, but I only end up a crying mess once she's done. Everything she says reminds me of him, all of her words that say that it's what he wanted to do, it was his choice, and so on. She's right, it was his choice, but that doesn't mean that it was one that didn't affect people.

The other Howling Commandos invited me out for a drink in honor of Steve, but I declined. I've heard rumors going around that they've pretty much lost three members instead of two now. It's true — Steve died, Bucky died, and I've died inside. But then again, I'm more like a ghost that doesn't seem to understand what time period it is.

I jump at every sound in the compound, whether it's someone dropping a pencil on to the wooden floor or Colonel shouting at someone for not doing their work. My first thoughts are attack, war, soldier, retaliate. But it is nothing in actuality because I know the war is over. However, I still have gunshots and screams ringing through my ears at random points in the day, causing me to tense up and lose all sense of where I am and what's happening. Usually someone has to shake me out of my head, tapping on my shoulder or nudging my arm to snap me out of my little trance. To avoid these, I seclude myself in a small quiet corner of the compound to do my work.

Colonel comes up to my side at my isolated table, where I sort all of the files. He sets a manila file in front of me, giving me a curt nod before stepping away. I stare down at the label — "Captain Rogers". I slowly peel it open, scanning over all of the printed words. Just as I am about to set it with the others, a small paper slides out on to the floor. I raise an eyebrow at it, staring down at the paper. It's a photo of Steve before the serum, the Steve that I fell in love with. Although it's colorless, I can see his blue eyes staring off into the distance and the glare of the yellow sun on his dog tags. I smile down at it, picking it up and holding it gently. I'm keeping this; it's all I have left of him.

Just as I carefully stuff it into my pocket so that it doesn't get any creases, someone comes up behind me.

"Agent Doctor," Howard greets.

I gasp, pretty much jumping out of my skin in surprise.

"S-Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he mumbles.

"Stark," I reply, turning around to face him, as I catch my breath.

His eyes are sad, like he's still grieving Steve too, and it's really affecting him. "If you're interested—"

"I'm interested," I reply.

"Woah, I could've said if you're interested in a fondue. Let me finish."

My cheeks go pink for a moment, but I stay silent.

"If you're interested, I am running an expedition to the icecaps where Captain Rogers might have crashed," Howard informs me. "I think it would be nice if you got out of this stuffy old place for a while, but if it will hurt you to do it. And you don't have to go. It's only a recommenda—"

"I'll be ready in five minutes." I strut away, ready to pack my things. Howard doesn't stop me, so I sprint off to my living quarters. I swing the door open, throwing a leather bag on to my bed. The photo of my mother and sister glints from behind the glass frame underneath the hazy yellow lights. Next to it is an open notebook and pen, where I've scribbled down so many things it's ridiculous. I've written so many letters and drawn so many sketches inside that I don't allow anyone to see it. I look up at it, debating on whether or not to take it with me. I decide against it, setting Steve's picture inside it, closing it, and setting it inside of the drawer of my nightstand.

I take random clothes from my dresser, stuffing them inside my bag. I find a few jackets and heavy clothes, considering that we're going up towards the arctic. I'm almost ready to go.

"So you've agreed to leave with Howard?"

I groan at Peggy's voice echoing through the room. I whip around to face her, her sad orbs staring into mine. She arms are crossed across her uniform strictly, ready to begin an argument.

"Yes, yes I have," I reply defiantly. "He's right, I need to get out of this place."

"You only want to go because it has something to do with Steve," Peggy retorts.

"I was hoping that we could at least find his body!" I spit. "It's the least we can do for him, giving him an actual funeral after his actions, not some little honorary ceremony."

Peggy bites her tongue, her red lips pursed at me. I have to do a double take at them because of their blood-like color, even though she has always used the same lipstick since we've known each other. It just makes my stomach drop every time I see them now. "You know, I'm thinking that you have an obsession now. All you care about is wallowing in your own sadness because of his passing. You act as if there is nothing anymore."

"That's because there is nothing anymore!" I fume, my outburst echoing through the room.

Peggy's brown orbs widen in shock, and she takes a step back slowly away from me.

"That's because without the war, I am nothing," I whisper. "It has never actually ended for me. Can't you see that?"

Peggy sighs, nodding slowly. "It's called PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. It's what you used to tell our first set of soldiers about when we met and first started training. You would tell them about the impacts of war and what it could do to the human mind."

"Yes, and it's happened to me." I run my fingers through my hair, heaving out a long sigh. "But if I died from it, wouldn't you do the same for me?" I ask her. "Wouldn't you want to find at least some part of me after I was gone, despite how mad and bonkers I am? Have others remember me as a woman in the US military who stood alongside Agent Margaret Carter?"

She stays quiet, clearing making my point.

"Exactly. Now I want to show the world and give them the proof that they wish for that Steve sacrificed himself for them. I want to show them that he isn't a hero — he is a legend. He'll never truly die because his story will live on."

"All right," Peggy sighs. "You win, but you only need to find the.....remains, of the plane. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am," I salute. And with that, I close up my bag, give her a quick hug, and step out the door. I pull my bag closer to me as Peggy jogs after me, stuttering every persuasion possible.

"Gen, please, you don't need to be going out there. I need your help on a case file that went miss—" she says, stopping me from going around the corner. Her hand seizes my wrist, pulling me back from the flood of soldiers following Colonel Phillips like little ducklings.

Colonel glances over at me, more specifically the bag in my hand. "So you agreed to go and Agent Carter is trying to tell you not to?" he asks me.

"Yes sir," I huff, shaking my head at Peggy.

"Sir, she won't last a second out there!" Peggy bursts.

"Excuse me? I will be more than fine on my own; I always have been," I retort. I'm pissed again, my knuckles turning white by my sides.

Peggy gives me her wide innocent puppy eyes, trying to get me to stay back more than desperately. "Please."

"This is my choice," I say.

"That is what Steve said before he died!"

"I know, and I told him to make his own choices a few months ago. It was his decision, and this is mine. Now I'll be back soon. Don't touch my stuff."

Peggy stays there this time, not following me to the labs. I feel all eyes on me as I step inside, all cowering in almost fear, for last time I fired a gun inside of here. My eyes scan the rows of scientists, searching for Howard. I eventually spot his beaming expression at my bag, and he drops the wrench he was holding to greet me.

"You do get ready fast," he awes, staring at me through his clear goggles.

"Why would I lie?" I ask. "So we're leaving now?"

"Yes ma'am," Stark replies. He pulls off his white lab coat, tossing it on to the back of a chair, and directs me out of the lab. "So this expedition is going out to the Arctic Ocean in less than thirty minutes. You sure you've got everything?"

"I'm sure," I smile.

"Okay good."

We turn around the corner, stepping into the elevator. He presses one of the buttons and we go up.

"I've got some boys out there now, and they're seeing this sorta energy source in the water. Want me to come up there to see what it might be," Howard explains. "I thought it would be a nice time for you to come, considering that you were the one who was talking to him before he, uh......you know."

"Yeah, he was saying how he couldn't make a safe landing, so more missiles than we thought?" I say.

The elevator doors open, and we exit. We eventually step out into the street, where a car waits for us. We both hop into the back, still chatting casually.

"You know, you aren't as snappy as everyone makes you out to be," Howard smiles, taking out a notebook after he slams the car door shut.

I crack a half smile. "Thanks."

He flips through the notebook's pages, stopping at one with a map taped inside. He shows it to me, pointing to a red circle on the map of the Arctic Ocean.

"This is the area where Captain Rogers might have dropped," Howard says, the humming engine muffling some of his words. "We've searched about half that and have found jack, leaving the other half up for grabs."

I nod slowly, processing all of his words. "Have you searched any of the ice?"

"The thing is a lot of it has melted or been cracked. After the war, a lot of areas have been destroyed from transportation, some of it may or may not being from him."

"So the plane sunk?"

"More than likely."

I scoff. "Great."

A short drive later, we're stepping out of the car and to the helicopter landing pad.

"I thought we were going to the docks to get on a boat," I tell him, adjusting my bag in my hand.

"Well the boys are already so far out there, so this is a good way to get there. We're taking a few more crew members with us. And they're they are now!" Howard points to two scientists that stand outside of the helicopter, chatting up a storm.

"Oi there, Mr. Stark!" one exclaims, waving ecstatically.

"Laurence! How are ya doing?" Howard asks him, shaking his hand.

"Good, good. How about yeself?"

"Fantastic, thank you."

"Good. Who is this lovely young lass ye got 'ere?" he asks politely, shoving up his half moon spectacles up his hooked nose to get a better gander at me. "Ye finally get a mate?"

Howard laughs awkwardly. "No, no. This is my dear friend Doctor Genevieve Edwards. Doctor, meet Doctor Walker."

"Yer a doctor, lass?" Walker asks me, his thin brown orbs twinkling excitedly. He shakes my hand. His palms are dry, his grip is tight, and he won't let go of my hand. "What do ye study in?"

"Psychology," I reply flatly.

"Beautiful!" he exclaims. "Love the study of the human mind, thrillin' thing. I'm more of the Doctor Erskine knowledge kind of type. He was a wonderful man, Abraham. You know him?"

"Very well."

Howard senses my awkwardness, trying to find any possible way to have this man let go of my hand. "Oh, Richards, why are you being so quiet over there?" he asks another scientist.

The second scientist is younger, completely differing from the Einstein-like Walker. His brunet hair is neatly combed back, and he adorns a sharp suit. He seems kind of stuck up, based on the way he glares at the overexcited Doctor Walker, who, however, is actually sweet as I have come to learn. Richards curtly shakes Howard's hand, his stormy gray orbs staring into mine. He gives me a sense of uneasiness, but he seems to be of no harm.

"Oh, just enjoying land for a short while longer," he says in a natural strict tone. He strides past Howard, who is adamant on not letting him go; however, he manages to slide by, stepping towards me. I hold my hand out for him to shake, but he turns it to its side and brings the back of my hand to his chapped lips. "Doctor Edwards."

"Doctor Richards," I reply. As he releases my hand, I pull my bag closer to me and step over to Stark's side. "So, Howard, are we ready to get going?"

Howard whips his head to face me, his eyebrows raised up in confusion for a moment. "Hm? Oh, yes, we should get a move on. Let's go, gentlemen and ma'am." He leads us inside the helicopter, taking a seat in the pilot's chair. Just as the two men make their way to the back, he grabs my forearm just as I am about to turn the corner. "Don't be afraid to call out if you need me to shut those two idiots up, okay?"

I nod, swiftly hopping into the seat across from the two men. I set my bag on the empty seat next to me, sifting through it for something to do in the meantime before we take off.

"Everyone, buckle up!" Howard commands. "Might be a bumpy ride."

I follow his orders, buckling my seatbelt across my lap. The others do the same, and they take things out of their bags. Walker holds a crossword in his lap whereas Richards analyzes a map of the Arctic Ocean. I find a spare notebook and pencil, beginning to sketch lightly on the paper. The first few minutes are silent as Howard takes off, humming a tune, while the rest of us make due with our quiet activities.

"What is a sheet of metal commonly used fer protection in battle with the given letters space-H-space-space-L-space?" Walker asks, breaking the peaceful silence.

Richards seems to be thinking hard, pressing his fingertips to his lips in deep thought.

"Shield," I state. "The answer is shield."

Walker grunts in approval, nodding as he records the answer in his crossword puzzle. "You seem to be really good at these things. I'm awful at 'em."

"I'm not great at them," I reply. "It's just I knew someone who's known for using one."

Richards fumbles with his map. "You mean Captain Rogers? You knew him?"

I scoff. "Of course I did. Howard wouldn't have invited me otherwise."

"Oh, w-wow." Richards clears his throat, hiding his amazement. "Forgive me, I am a fan. He was a good man."

"Yeah, he was," I sigh. I twist my hands in my lap, fighting back a tidal wave of tears. God, I miss him. I barely even knew him, yet I can't imagine life without him, even when I'm living it as we speak. I just want him back.

I erase my thoughts, clearing my throat and heading back into my sketchbook. The tip of my pencil creates lines, which form doodles, from birds to dark silhouettes, on the paper. It's hours later before I lift my head again.

"Hey, if you all want some grub, there's a crate of food back there," Howard announces from up front.

Just as his words are floating in the air for a millisecond, Walker is on his feet and barreling towards the small crate towards the back, snatching out whatever cereal bar or package of dried fruit he can get his hands on. I don't have much of an appetite, so I just sit there quietly.

"Hey, Genevieve," Howard calls, "you wanna come up here for a second?"

"Unless you want to flirt with me like last time," I remark, closing my notebook and setting my pencil on top of it. I make my way towards the front of the enclosed helicopter, pulling my warm jacket closer to me. "Yeah, Howard?"

Howard glances around to face me, a small smile underneath his dark mustache. "Nice view, huh?"

"All right, I said no flirting," I state, turning on my heel to leave.

Howard laughs. "No, although I am pretty good looking. Look outside."

I roll my eyes, following his orders. My eyes widen at the view of glaciers and ice across the ice cold water. It's undoubtedly gorgeous, a spectacle you only get to see once in a lifetime. It is absolutely jaw dropping.

"Wow," I mumble.

"Uh huh. Told you," Stark humphs. "It's astounding, another reason why I wanted you to come — you needed to see it."

I nod slowly, still gawking. My smile falls after a few moments when I allow myself to think. This is what Steve last saw before he crashed the plane. His last few moments alive, he probably thought the same thing about these same exact glaciers, that is if we're in the right spot.

"We're just about there. Coordinates point to a mile or so away," Stark mumbles.

I glance back out the window. There is a small dot in the distance, I'm assuming his boat that we're going to. Just about there. In the sky, I see a small black dot in the azure above. It's probably just a bird or something. Then again, a bird cannot physically be out this far in these temperatures and be as large as it is, and it's growing as it flies closer. Maybe because it's not an oversized bird.

"Hey, Howard, that one of your planes out there?" I ask him, pointing to the black painted plane in the sky.

"Why, ye— wait, no." He gulps.

Just as Howard's hands grip the wheel, swerving out of the way of the plane that is diving towards us. That's not his, and it shouldn't be here. I move to hop into the passenger seat next to him and to get buckled up, but gravity increases on me and I almost fall to my knees. I thankfully catch myself on the back of the seat, not twisting my ankle on the way down. My heart hammers against my ribs, threatening to break through. I swallow down a lump in my throat as Howard continues to try and fall out of the large planes path.

An explosion rings through my ears. I hold on to the back of the chair as the helicopter glides over the ice, eventually falling on to it. Just as we hit it, I glance at Howard. His eyes are shut, and his head is facing my direction — he's knocked out. I fumble through the cockpit, the not so smooth landing throwing me everywhere. My ears ring. My whole body aches. My vision is black.

Someone shot us down.

After what seems like hours, the ringing fades and I can hear some voices. They speak a language that I don't know much of — Russian. I hear a few German rambles, but those are the only words I can sort of understand.

"Knock him out," a surly voice spits. "I don't know why he thinks he can fly in territory where our plane must have crashed."

"Yes, sir," another one says.

I hear someone being punched, most likely Howard. My heart twists as I hear his body go limp.

A few footsteps echo from the back of the helicopter, and someone struggles against the grasp of someone else.

"The other one died on impact, sir," another voice says in German. "This one has yet to go."

"Please! I beg of you! Don't do this!" Richards pleads, his voice broken and not as monotone as before. He is cut off quickly, and I hear bones break. They snapped his neck.

"All right. What about the woman, sir?" the second German asks.

Everyone is quiet, not a word to be spoken.

I feel my lungs begin to close up, and I realize that I wasn't breathing. I gasp for breath, breaking that silence. My eyes pop open, and I can see everything as I heave in air.

There are three men: one with a thick black mustache, another with a sick scowl, and the last with big muscles. All of them wear red military uniforms, and they're obviously soldiers. The muscly one buckles Richard's unmoving pale corpse into a seat, his gray eyes open and dead. The one with a scowl stares at the one adorning a mustache, I'm guessing the commander, and waits for his answer.

"I know this one," the commander mumbles in German. "A doctor that is close with Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers. Although the Captain is dead, she could be a good companion to Barnes; he seems rather lonely."

Barnes. Bucky. He can't be alive. He couldn't have survived that fall. These people are mad.

I want to spit at them that he's dead, but I think it's best for me to stay quiet. I couldn't speak if I tried though, let alone even move. My whole body is numb, and I'm now realizing that I'm laying in a pool of my own blood.

The commander analyzes me closely, a sadistic smirk creeping across his chapped lips and unmasking his yellowed teeth. "Yes, this one will do. Take this one."

The larger soldier stomps over to me, and I can see his dead brown orbs underneath his bushy eyebrows as his muscular arms take up my crippled and bloody body. I wince, trying to fight back. I squirm and kick, but every inch I move causes my vision to blur. For a moment, I don't think that I'll be able to see Walker's cracked glasses hanging from the tip of his bloody nose on our way out because of my lightheadedness. However, my vision isn't clouded by black until the cold wind hits my face, and I pass out as I'm carried into the dark plane.