chapter three.

❛ mnemosyne. ❜ 

FUNNY, HOW EASILY ONE THING COULD UNRAVEL AN ENTIRE SENSE OF SANITY.

Madeleine Delacour considered herself a good, well-adjusted member of society. Sure, she had had her share of mistakes, and they might have been enormously bigger than most twenty-somethings, but bygones were bygones, forgotten by time and her parents' financial help. She lived a successful life, by most means; good job, good apartment, happy family and home life. All things she knew many would spend all their years searching for. She had it all.

But there was a fragility to the normalcy. A painful one. Everything always depended on a perfectly structured schedule perfectly carried out. And when it changed, or she missed a step, or something went wrong that she couldn't control, it just didn't work. She didn't work. A crack, small as it was, would worm its way across her carefully created walls and they would fall, just as fast as her parents had built them, and she'd have to start all over.

Which usually, was not a problem. Usually.

Mae rubbed at her temples, teeth grinding as she fought to keep her smile pleasant and not strained beyond belief. There was a heavy headache blooming between her ears, pandemonium spreading across her group of high schoolers as they mingled with the other, and they were already ten minutes late to their own organised school trip. 

And all of it led right back into the eleventh step of her skipped morning routine, when Mae realised she was running too late — somehow, when she always had everything so planned —  and couldn't stop for a second cup of coffee. Which would be fine on a normal day; she would just get double the caffeine on her lunch break and bear through her first periods. But it was field trip day, which meant the kids came first and her raging discomfort fell to the very bottom of the priorities list.

Mae sighed and hurried back to meet her class, watching as Kevin Hodge started doing the same. "Let's form a cluster around me, kids, alright? C'mon, step out of the way, I need to explain before we head inside."

Slowly but surely, everyone crowded around. A couple strays lolled in the back, looking everywhere but her, but she could live with that. If they didn't want to pay attention — well, that was their loss. Her raging headache lost them major empathy points.

"So, let me remind you that while this trip is meant to be fun, we are here to gather more intel for your Recalling the Past assignment. So as you walk through the exhibit, I want you to make sure you're taking notes and observing anything you can for this assignment. The Smithsonian has graciously invited our class here for that very purpose, and I don't want to see any of that go to waste. Also, there are guides scattered throughout; feel free to ask questions about your chosen person and for any help you need. Alright?"

A smattering of students nodded, and Mae took that as an unanimous answer. Normally, she'd push for everyone to answer, but with the earthquake erupting in between her ears that day...she would gladly settle.

"We'll meet back here at 2:15, okay? Please make sure you're punctual, because the bus does not have time to wait for any of you." Not that she'd leave a student behind...but she'd do what was needed to make sure things ran on schedule. "Now go — and please make sure to stick with one another person!"

The crowd dispersed fast and the students started trekking over to the large museum building. Most of them had followed her instructions, chatting amongst small groups. However, Mae realised that one student lagged behind the others and avoided their eyes. It wasn't surprising to see Oliver hang back, he had never been the social kind, but still. Maybe she could talk to him, offer to accompany him...

"Mae!"

Oliver would have to wait, however. Mae swallowed her grimace and turned. "Mr. Hodge. Please, call me Ms. Delacour."

"Oh, sure, yeah." He waved her request off dismissively. "Thanks for doing all the scheduling for this trip! You're a real lifesaver — those teaching twats really need to step their game up on that, eh?"

Mae really wanted to remind him that it was his fault she was stuck doing all the work, and that he was the reason she had spent so much nights up, awake, destroying her schedule to save an idiot's joke of a job. But the thought of trying to explain that to Kevin Hodge, a masochistic misogynist with perverted tendencies that made her want to puke, only made her head pound more, and she knew that the stress wouldn't justify proving the point. Not that he'd even listen, anyways.

"Let's hope the kids enjoy today," she said instead, pink lips twisted up into a very forced smile. Most people would see right through her discomfort and leave her alone; but Kevin Hodge was not like most people. "I know mine were quite excited about this outing."

The burly man scoffed and shoved his hands in his pocket. "Sure. I mean, to be real with you, Mae—"

"—Ms. Delacour, if you please—"

"—I never got Captain America's hype myself. Sure, he's built like a greek god, but you know what? He's also a raging jackass too. I mean, I've heard he is. Lotsa people say he's not that great. Which isn't surprising! What loony from the 40's wouldn't be a jerk wrapped in the good ol' flag?"

Mae nodded stiffly, just wanting the conversation to be over. "We are all allowed our own opinions, Mr. Hodge."

"Don't you get what I mean, though? I-I mean you got a head on your shoulders, right, so you know he's prob'bly not that great. Y'know, m-my ex wife couldn't get enough of the star spangled douche, but I think we both see right through that getup and doo-dads."

"I..." there were words, waiting to drop from her tongue and float in the air, but they stuck to her lips. Much as she tried, she couldn't get anything out. "I...think..."

Strangely, a part of Mae wanted to agree. With Kevin Hodge, of all people. She wanted to nod and thank him for being one of the few to see through the righteous façade that Captain America so shamelessly wore. Not that she believed that, because surely Steve Rogers was a good man, she knew that. He was a good man. He had done good...

The politics of superheroes had never interested her. Captain America was just a being. She had no opinion on him. Steve Rogers...meant nothing to her...despite the little voice inside of her agreed vehemently with Kevin Hodge. It screamed that he was right, that Captain America was evil and that there was no good, only selfish desire, in the star-spangled man.

How could he be called a hero, after what he had done?

"I think I should get inside, Mr. Hodge," she managed, swallowing the vicious words before they could spat out. Her head pulsed harder; she wondered if maybe, she'd be sick. "I'll see you on the bus."

"You sure you don't want to stick together? You know what they say, splitting up's always a bad idea."

Mae shook her head, sending blonde tendrils flying around her face and blurring her vision. A part of her lusted after that out of focus view; it seemed so much easier to breathe in when everything was fogged over.

"I believe that only matters in horror movies and apocalyptic situations, Mr. Hodge. Now, excuse me."

That time, she didn't wait for his last words, just hurried off and inside. Brushing through security measures, she strode quickly through the museum in search of the Captain America wing. Which was not hard to find — considering the copious arrows, signs, and flashing 'come this way!' that urged her on, despite how they made her nerves burn.

Her head pounded on. She reached into her purse and pulled out her aspirin, popping another tablet and swallowing it dry. She had already taken two that morning, and it was weird the migraine wasn't slowing, but another couldn't hurt. 

At least it would be a little quieter inside.

Mae looked around for Oliver, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. He must have already gone looking for his person of interest. Never the type to waste time, she knew, and he would hurry through all the preliminary nonsense to get his work done.

Her pace slowed some. She was still looking for her shy student, that was her main objective. Still, that didn't stop her eyes from wandering to the exhibit. 

She had already seen it a couple of times before, for other field trips and also out of personal interest. But it seemed expanded and half the stuff looked different. Selfishly she wanted to explore it more. Get lost in the exhibit and read all about those who gave their lives to a free world —

— no, she reminded herself, she was a teacher first. Personal interests came second. 

Still, as she passed the main display, she slowed even more. Her eyes caught on the seven uniforms laid out in front of her, all in browns and greys except for one in glorious colour. No plaque of information was needed; everyone knew who had worn that luminescent suit. She imagined how many kids had stared up at it, how many grandparents had told them about the version they remembered. Two worlds coming together, united under one man.

 Captain America. The world's first Avenger. Not just that; the world's first superhero. Everyone knew him, loved him, praised him for his services. Mae had taught so much on him, she felt like she could actually say she knew him.

Her head pulsed, making her cringe. The little voice in the back of her mind spat at the red, white and blue shield. What has he actually done, it asked, but sow chaos, and hold back history? He wasn't a hero, he was a glorified murderer who couldn't handle the stress and tried to off himself in the ocean. And if only he had succeeded, then maybe...

Mae massaged her temples, though there was no relief in the action. "Shut up," she muttered to her conscience. If it was even listening. "Get ahold of yourself."

Thankfully, there was no one close enough to hear her talk to herself — that would only make Mae feel even more anxious. The few people around looked far too interested in the exhibit to care about her dawdling self, and she was able to rest in the corner and wait for her aspirin to kick in. 

She looked around idly. None of the museum-goers were her students. Which was odd; she would have thought one or two of them would have made a beeline for the main exhibit. Oliver still wasn't around either, and worry pulsed hot in her gut. She could feel herself souring like a bad wine, and even the little reassurances she mumbled to herself couldn't ease the ache in her head or her stomach.

Something felt...off. And it wasn't just Captain America's fake plastered smile, eyes glaring into her soul. 

It's just Kevin Hodge getting in your head, Mae told herself sternly. And you can't let him of all people do that.

Pulsing brain and uneasy feeling building in her gut, Mae continued through the museum. She skimmed over the exhibits and tried to avoid the glowing bios of the Howling Commandoes. The lights made her head pound worse. It was like a volcano, coating her insides in red-hot, volatile lava bombs that just kept blowing up. One after the other. The aspirin had only barely helped and she wasn't sure if it wasn't just desperation saying that — like her faith in the drug would make the headache stop.

She staggered past another block of text and stared blearily at it. James 'Buchanan' Barnes, the header read, and she didn't have to read the rest to fill it in. Everyone knew Captain America's right hand man, not just nerdy history teachers. She hadn't really studied him much, just because there were already so many obsessed with his life (and tragic end). Still, she knew the basics.

James Barnes smiled grimly down at her. Frozen in faded sepia forever. He didn't look like the sort of person who believed he could ever die — like the bullheaded teenagers Mae would catch performing insane stunts in the cafeteria, or not studying at all only to earn a place on the honour roll. They were always smiling, wide and lopsided, and acting like the world couldn't hold them back. Like they were invincible.

It was the same look in James' time-faded eyes, as Madeleine Delacour stared into them. A steady promise that he'd make it out of whatever life through at him. She guessed that was the thing, about being young, and maybe that was a fever that had infected her too...those memories were lost, but she could guess the feeling. Drunk on cheap alcohol and teenage love, doing stupid things that they shouldn't and never regretting a moment.

But — well, sometimes they went too far. Sometimes they did regret, because they lost horribly. Friends, family, memories of a life, all swept away just like that. No going back after that and then what part did teenage luck get to play?

Mae swallowed and stepped back. James Barnes' was suddenly too much. She had to get out of there and find her student. It was getting to be too much, too many weird feelings and a strange sense of —

"—oh!"

"Mph."

"I-I'm so sorry!" Mae stumbled back from the man she had just ran into, flushed and humiliated. She was always so careful; what a fool this goddamn place was making her. "A-are you alright?"

But she got no response. Not verbal, at least. The stranger she had ran into stared at her, or at least she assumed he was staring at her, because the large grey hood over his face obscured his eyes entirely. He remained stock-still, frozen in the middle of the floor in front of her. And in the corner of her eye, Mae could see his left arm twitching, a fist hardened by his side.

She gulped and took another step away. "I-I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you. Please, don't...I'm sorry, sir."

The stranger still did not respond. He stared forward, at her or through her, and Mae felt like her entire body was on fire. Something about the man was terrifying; maybe it was the hand clenched, ready to strike her down or the way he just watched her, waiting for her to try and run so he could have an excuse to grab her?

Mae's head ached worse and worse. It felt like a warning, only she had no idea what it could be for, only that it was angry and burning and it was taking all of her energy to stay standing.

She exhaled, grimacing when it came out a shaky whimper of air. "I-I just have to get past, sir, so—"

When Mae went to pass to his right, there was the strangest feeling in her gut. Their bodies barely brushed, clothed arm to clothed arm, but their point of contact burned. She threw herself back and stared, aghast, at the stranger. Who was this man? What was he doing to her, what did he want?!

He made a strange noise and turned to stare at her again from behind his hood. Something bright and colourful flashed, but his head moved too fast and she couldn't tell if her addled mind was imagining baby blue eyes, or if it was just a trick of the light.

An image came to mind, so strong and beautiful it hurt. Endless expanses of the ocean, blue and rippling, with the honey orange sun slowly falling to kiss its edges. Something infinite and stronger than anything time could throw at it. Something—

"Ms. Delacour?"

Mae whirled around to meet Oliver's lidded gaze. "I-I-" she turned to look at the stranger again, only to find that there was nothing behind her but the exhibit and the other museum attendees. No sight of the grey-hooded stranger with burning skin that set her body ablaze with just one clothed brush.

"Are you okay, Ms. Delacour?"

The young woman nodded quickly, though she knew it was anything but. A strange sense of dread built in her stomach and sunk to the bottom of her gut. It pulled her down, buckling her knees and making her head woozy.

"What is it, Oliver? And," she swallowed, throat burning with bile as it slipped back down. "Please, I-I told you before you're supposed to stick with your classmates."

The boy ducked his head shyly. "Sorry...I just wanted to do it on my own...I can't focus around them. They're too loud."

Mae understood that, all too well. "That's alright, Oliver. I'll walk with you." She glanced down at the notepad in his hand. "Did you have a question for me?"

"Oh. Yes. It's about my person of interest."

"I figured as much," she teased, though there was nothing light or jovial about her voice. "How can I help?"

Oliver swallowed and looked down to his notebook. "Well, I've been trying to piece together his past, right? But a lot of it is speculation, and I don't want to put something that's not 100% fact into my presentation. But..."

"Sometimes, educated estimation is all we have," Mae told him gently. She wrung her hands behind her back, trying to fight the urge to look to see if the stranger was really gone. She couldn't have imagined him. Right? "As long as your information comes from a reliable, educated source, I'm sure it'd be okay. You can run it past me when we get back to school, if that'd help too."

Oliver smiled slightly. "Thanks, Ms. Delacour. And, um — there aren't a lot of sources that talk about, um, George Barnes at all...do you know anything about him, or James Barnes' family?"

Something snapped. A sense of falling, or flying after the latest explosion sent poor Mae's head into haywire. She stared down at the student, but she couldn't really see him — rather, she stared through him, glossy eyes stuck on the daring, close-lipped smile of Peggy Carter.

Panic was bubbling. Something was wrong. The ocean didn't feel beautiful anymore, it was cold, and it threatened to drown her as she drew too close, helpless against the tides' pull.

"Ms. Delacour?"

"I-I-" Mae fumbled with the lip of her purse and searched for something to help. But all that was there was aspirin, her phone, her wallet and the pile of papers for the field trip, nothing that would curb the anxiety attack flooding her system. "S-sorry, what did you...what'd...what was the question?"

"Are you okay?"

No, she wanted to belt — no, of course I'm not alright? But the breaths she could catch were too far and few between to speak with and she could barely focus on the room anymore. It spun and faded in and out, fuzzy shapes and colours of a million dizzying varieties.

"F-families aren't too im...important," Mae managed, glancing around for an exit. The room was suddenly crowded, too crowded, filled with families and students and tour guides and — everything was too much, too filled, too loud, her head was going to blow any second if they didn't all shut up. "I-it... because of the time, we...not a lot of records...sorry...uh..."

"Ms. Delacour?"

"I-I—" she shook her head like a puppy, trying to make sense of the kaleidoscope around her. Bile coated her throat like a sour drug and she realised with knocking knees, that she had to get out of there. As soon as humanely possible.

"I'm going to need...need your help." Mae swiped her forehead, cringing when her pale hand came back soaked. "I need...where's...bathroom?"

"O-okay, Ms. Delacour, I'll help you. D'you want to lean on me?"

Later, Mae would realise how much of an unquestioning champ sweet Oliver had been. He guided her through the exhibit without question, didn't ask what was wrong or why she could suddenly barely walk. He helped her to the bathrooms quietly and kindly, letting her rest half her weight on him — which was an incredible feat, because the poor boy was barely five foot and tiny. It probably broke a lot of teacher protocol, but Mae couldn't care. She could barely mutter a 'thanks' to the boy before stumbling into the miraculously empty women's bathrooms and falling against the sink, retching and swearing.

And Mae fell apart, into the inky depths of her ocean, no longer sweet blue but a miserable black, taking her away without a single breath in her lungs. It soaked her skin, filling her blood with stinging salt water and colliding against her lips until it could pour from them like a broken fountain faucet. She was a corpse, floating down, floating forever, a lost creature to join the mysteries of the deep.

And someone floated beside her, only she couldn't see their face. But she knew they weren't a friend.

"I'M BOOKING A FLIGHT, RIGHT NOW."

Abigail Delacour was a lot of things. A lot of great things. Yet, every time Mae had a chance to talk to her older sister, all she got reminded of was how brutally stubborn she was.

"No! God, please don't do that."

"You had a breakdown! On school time! Mae, that's more serious than—"

"—it was a small anxiety attack, and I got over it," she retaliated. "I don't need you coming down; it'll only be a waste of your money and time."

"Nothing's a waste when it comes to you."

She tried to smile, only remembering after Abigail could not see it, and promptly dropping the expression. "I appreciate the sentiment. But really, it's fine. I'm only telling you so I can avoid this issue in the future, to...work out what triggered it, and such."

"That's not my main concern! My worry is that—"

Mae sighed and once again interrupted her sister's ramble. "My concern is with my job. I handled it this time, but I don't want to have to be tripped up again. And, I-I don't know why this happened, but if there's something specific, I'd like to know so I can avoid it."

"Mae...I really should just come down. You shouldn't be alone."

"I'm not. I have Theo."

"Tch. Theo." Abigail's derision was thick and palpable even through phone lines thousands of miles away. "Where is she right now, huh?"

"At work."

"Why didn't she come and help you after you dealt with this, like a real fri—"

"—because she has a job! And she is an adult, just like me, who has to learn to deal with their problems alone."

Abigail was silent after that, and Mae knew she had to say something, anything, to mollify her anger. Stubbornness, again, was her favourite tool and while it was great in many aspects of her life...when it came to healthy discussion and compromise, that was near impossible.

"In a dream world, I'd love for you to come," Mae promised. "I miss you, and Mother and Father. But I also know that if I lean on you for this, I might not be able to stand on my own in the future, and I...I'm stronger than you think."

The older woman sighed again, exhale heavy into the phone. "I know you are. I'm so proud of how far you've come. I just...I just worry. I don't want you getting hurt, or..." Mae didn't need her to finish that sentence, to know what she was trying to imply. "But if you think this is best, I'll trust your judgement. Just as long as you tell Doctor Crane everything."

"Abigail..."

"She's there to help. And if you won't let me be there for you, at least she should be."

Mae pinched the crest of her nose between two fingers, squeezing until it hurt. "Alright. Okay. I'll bring it up next session."

"Thank you, dear sister." And while Abigail's tone was as cold as ever and as emotional as a slab of stone, Mae knew that she cared, more than words could ever say. "Now, let's run back this panic attack. What specifically triggered it?"

Mae explained it all to her sister; how she broke routine and missed her second cup of caffeine, her headache, Oliver, the Captain America exhibit...everything but one detail. It was not intentional, just a slip-up she'd only realise after she hung up, but Mae left out any mention of the strange, hooded man she had bumped into at the exhibit, who had sent her senses into even more of a panic.

It wasn't intentional. But it was an important slip.

"I see," Abigail said slowly, mulling over the words. "And, you think it has to do with the museum itself?"

"More the exhibit." Mae tapped her fingertips against the table. "I felt really uneasy walking through it. And reading about the Howling Commandoes, and Captain America and all that, it was really setting me off. I-I felt like my head was exploding like a volcano, you know, and lava was flooding out all of my logical thoughts and it was — well, it was very overwhelming."

"Mm."

"Is, or was, there any point in my childhood, related to them at all? Maybe a bad experience?"

Abigail sniffed derisively. "No. It wasn't anything with that."

"You sound certain..."

"I am," she retorted, an edge to her cool tone. "There are no links to you and the Howling Commandoes, the Army, any of those fallen heroes the news likes to prat on about...nothing of the sort. It's sort of ridiculous to imply something like that, really."

"But—"

"—don't waste your time on silly fantasies and dreams of being a hero, Mae. This isn't a joke."

Mae stiffened. "I...wasn't trying to make one. I'm taking this just as serious as you!"

"It doesn't feel that way, when you're telling me you think you have some fantastical connection to Captain America. I thought that you weren't the sort of crushes, Madeleine."

The use of her full name only stressed her more. Her nails dug rivulets into the worn coffee table wood, but the harm went unnoticed by the doer as she stared forward, unseeing and glassy. "I-I'm really not making a joke out of this, Abigail. I'm being—"

"—I really thought that you were getting better, but clearly these delusions are making you a fool. Simpering about overgrown soldiers and believing that you are anything but a—"

"—what is going on with you right now? I didn't say anything like that. I asked a fair, reasonable question, and you're acting like I signed up to fight a fucking war, Abigail!"

Silence fell on the other end for a long moment, marked only by heavy breaths of presumably, frustration. Mae stared ahead, hand still dealing damage to their poor coffee table without any notice. Her eyes caught on a picture frame across the room, but she didn't really see the smiling women frozen inside of it. Just a blur of bodies, caught in a memory she could only half remember.

"I'm sorry," Abigail finally said. There was something oddly diplomatic about her speech; as though she was negotiating a peace treaty between nations and not bickering with her sister. "I shouldn't have reacted so harshly. It was a long day, and I...I wasn't right to press my frustrations onto you. I only want to help you."

Mae never liked the way they settled arguments. It was always calculated and it always left her feeling small and inferior, like a puppy put in its place after ripping up its owner's shoes. Not that she wanted to fight; that never led anywhere good, either. But she'd rather get too angry than be stuck in this grey slush of inadequacy her sister left her to drown in.

Still, Abigail knew best, and it wasn't fair to be petty for nothing. Even if her apology sounded fake, it was still something. "It's fine. I was being irrational, too."

"It's alright. I think we're both just tired. And you had a long day, poor thing." Abigail shuffled on the other end, rustling through what sounded like papers. "Call in early, head to bed for me? You need a good night's rest. Let's let this day leave your system."

That was a pipe dream. Both women knew that. Still, Mae agreed, and ended their call hoping that her voice sounded calm enough to convince Abigail she was stable. 

"That sounded rough."

Mae sighed and buried her head in her hands, elbows digging into the grooves of their table. "It was."

Something thumped; she imagined her friend come through the door, dropping her bag as unceremoniously as she always did, tossing her shoes at the wall with the same reckless nature. Everything about Theona Chavez was unorganised and unplanned. There was no order and it made Mae envious, because there were no claws stuck in her brain, making her bleed when she messed up the smallest thing.

"You okay, Mae-baby?"

A small snort left her lips, uncharacteristic and bitter. "I have no idea what that even means anymore."

There was no sound as Theo came into their living room; she had some wicked gift of silent footsteps, a skill Mae never really got. Only a slight shuffle told her that her friend was beside her, not touching her but close enough to be comforting.

"Tell me..." Mae buried her face deeper into her hands, pressing shaking fingertips into her eyes to relieve the pressure in her skull. Something itched inside, begging for her to pull back and unravel it, but she couldn't handle the sepia memories that night. "Tell me I'm not crazy, Theo."

"You're not crazy."

"That sounded convincing."

"I mean it! I—" A warm hand patted gently down on Mae's curls. "I promise you, that I know for a fact you're not crazy."

"Theo, you cannot possibly—"

"—I do, and I won't accept your opinion because it's not fact." Her hand settled around Mae's shoulders, careful not to make her friend too uncomfortable. "You're going to be okay. It was just a long day. You'll bounce back twice as strong tomorrow!"

And Mae really wanted to subscribe to Theona's weirdly assuring positivity, but a small part of her worried that today was only the beginning of something much, much worse to come.

MNEUMOSYNE: the Greek goddess of memory/remembrance, and the mother of the nine muses (through Zeus, after nine consecutive nights of lying together). In Orphic poetry, it was said she protected her namesake river (sometimes written as a pool), which flowed next to Lethe. Newly dead spirits would drink from Lethe to forget their past existence and continue into the Underworld. However, those who wished to be reborn/stop their voyage to Hades would try and drink from the river Mnemosyne instead.

Posting this before a doctor's appointment. I meant to edit this, but I'm posting it w/o because I haven't updated this in a couple weeks. Sorry about the wait! I'm good at WRITING the damn things, I just forget to actually post the chapters. Please don't judge this too harshly.

Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought.