1943

[theycalledmeacurse]

World War II. 1943. Even with everything she'd seen, everything she'd learned from the people she'd absorbed in this time, it was still so hard to believe. It shouldn't have been with the life she'd lived thus far, but it was.

Something had gone wrong. She'd felt the timeline resetting, had seen the Sentinels disappear from the room as their universe shifted, and then... Gunfire. Explosions. Shouting. More war.

She'd been taken with the rest of the prisoners to a compound, put into cells with soldiers who were exhausted and shell-shocked, and she'd watched as one by one their numbers had decreased, as those who were sick or weak and unable to work were taken away and never seen again. And then it had been her turn, and all it had taken was one man grabbing her face to get a better look at her before they'd found out she was different.

There were questions and tests. So many tests. She was useful to them, a rare find. There had been talk of putting her into a program, erasing her mind and starting over to make a perfect weapon. That's when they'd strapped her to that table, when she'd fought like a wild animal until they'd had to drug her. The interrogations had started then, the weasely little scientist wanting information before he began the full process, but that, if nothing else, had been familiar to her in the most terrible ways. So she'd resisted and fed him lie after lie, making things up as she went and pretending that the pain was getting to her when by then she'd barely felt any of it.

And then... she'd been rescued. Not because she could be of use to the mission, but because she was a person. Because a fellow prisoner had thought she deserved to not be left there to die. It was more than her friends had ever done for her.

When they'd gotten back to the military camp, there had been more questions, and suspicions from everyone about the strange woman who had seemed so valuable to HYDRA. Perhaps she was a plant, a double agent working for the enemy. She hadn't told them everything about who she was, but she'd told them enough, and eventually... they'd believed her. Or they'd seemed to, anyway. She'd seen the truth in their eyes - she was a danger to everyone if she stayed, but she might still be of some use to them on the front, and if she did turn out to be a spy, she could be dealt with there easily enough.

That was how she'd ended up out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by sleeping men who had been asked to trust her, to work with her so she could get information from the enemy while they did the work they'd been assigned. She shifted on the spot on the ground, legs curled up under her as she stared at the small fire they'd decided to build because they were far enough away from the enemy to risk chasing away a bit of the cold. Only a few of the Howling Commandos were still awake to notice the way she played with the gloves she'd been provided as part of her uniform, tugging and adjusting them over and over. A nervous, comforting habit to help her face a world that wasn't her own, and a war she should never have had to see in anything but memory.

Comments

[takesallthestupid]

Bucky shuddered when she mentioned them trying to make more supersoldiers. Like Steve. Like Schmidt. "Did you ever see him? The Red Skull?" He remembered hearing whispers, while he'd still been strong enough to be put to work on that giant plane; just because the guards were Nazis, didn't mean they didn't gossip just like every other soldier bored while on duty. "He's like Steve, too. What..." Bucky chewed on his lip. What if that's what I turn into? Wouldn't it be better to be dead, than turn into something like that?

But Steve hadn't turned out like that. He had to remember that. And hope that he was closer to Steve's goodness, that his own outweighed the anger and rage and ruthless coldness that settled heavy in him at times. "You don't know that," he finally said softly; not angrily, but just stating a fact, almost like he was letting her down easily. Nobody knew. Not even the scientist who'd created the serum, according to Steve, had really known what the side-effects would be on each individual who was given it.

Finally, Bucky looked all the way at her, his eyes sweeping over her face quickly, but thoroughly. "Y're gonna be okay, too." He reached his own hand out, but let it hover over hers, clearly leaving the decision up to her. "You know that, right?"

[theycalledmeacurse]

Rogue wished desperately that she could make things better for Bucky. Anything, if not everything. He had been through something horrible and now there was a vicious uncertainty hanging over him that wasn't likely to dissipate anytime soon. He was going to be okay, though, she was certain of that. She hadn't met the Red Skull herself, but the impressions of his evil still clung to her thoughts like a bad dream she couldn't shake. Bucky might not be in her head, but she knew him well enough to know that he wasn't anything like the creature they were trying to stop.

When Bucky looked at her, there was something in his eyes that she couldn't place, but that made her throat tighten. When was the last time someone had looked at her like that? And then he said those words and she could barely breathe. She looked down at his hand, wanting so badly to take hold of it, to accept the comfort she had wanted to give him, but she couldn't. The heavy guilt inside her wouldn't allow it.

"That wasn't the first time I've been tortured." The words slipped out easily, though they were as dull as his had been earlier. She looked away as she continued, her gaze moving past him to the dark night. "I spent three years in a lab being studied. Tested. I don't know that anyone can be okay after that."

[on_ur_left]

After a moment, Bucky let his hand drop back to his lap. His shoulders slumped a little, and he became slightly more animated as he reached up to rub a hand over his face. What could he say to that? He wasn't okay, and he'd only been in Zola's tender care for two weeks. Finally, he licked his lips, the only sign of nervousness about him, and still staring into the forest, away from her, he said with only slightly-forced teasing, "I didn' say you'd be okay right away." Despite the teasing, his tone was still gentle. He tried to make it clear that he was trying to lighten the mood, but not make light of her situation.

"Is gonna take years, to be okay with this," he finally murmured, humor leeched from his voice. "But i's gonna end eventually. An' then... Someday, we'll be okay." He knew it wasn't true. Even if they survived, he'd seen his father's generation, survivors of the Great War; drunks or wife beaters, or some just plain crazy, too unstable to hold down a job, forced to beg on the street for money nobody had to spare. But some of them, some of them had been okay. And if he and Rogue could survive torture, and still speak coherently, he thought they'd be okay, too.


Steve couldn't bare to listen to any more. Rolling over, he stretched his arms over his head, then sat up, swiftly standing and turning toward the tree-line, opposite where Rogue and Bucky were sitting.

Bucky didn't seem surprised at Rogue mentioning being studied for three years. He didn't think Bucky couldn't read between the lines to realize what that actually meant. Steve certainly could, and now he wondered if she'd told Philips and the other COs, and he just hadn't been informed, or if she'd kept it hidden. He didn't like either option, just like he didn't appreciate her telling Bucky, but not him.

Steve stopped behind a tree, a little way outside of the firelight's reach, and pressed his back against the trunk, staring up through the canopy of leaves to the few patches of inky black sky that he could see. He'd been briefed on Rogue, before Philips had assigned her to the unit - the only member he'd insisted Steve accept. Steve understood his reasons, but the brief really had been that - brief. Just her name, what they knew about her short imprisonment by Zola, and her powers.

Looking back, he wondered if Philips hadn't had another reason for assigning her to Steve, besides the fact the other soldiers were wary of her. He'd given Steve a look, which at the time had seemed a bit odd, because of it's kindness, which wasn't really Philips' MO at all, but he hadn't thought much of it. He knew Philips respected him now, and they understood each other.

They did understand each other. And Philips knew that Steve had resented being a glorified chorus boy, being used for propaganda by Senator Brandt. The operative word there being 'used.' What would have happened to Rogue, if she hadn't come with them? Philips couldn't put her with any of the regular army units, but there were others, he knew, a lot like the Commandos, strike teams, interrogation experts... Who would have ended up using Rogue's powers to further the war's agenda, if she hadn't been assigned to him?

Steve let out a soft sigh. He'd watch Rogue, to make sure she was doing as well as she could. He'd keep an eye on her and Bucky's friendship, to make sure both of them were handling things.

Straightening away from the tree, Steve adjusted his field tunic, squared his shoulders, and turned back toward camp. When he reached the fireside again, it was as Captain America.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Someday, we'll be okay. The words were like a promise that was more a wish, a hope to cling to when the days were darkest. This was 1943, and if the war in this world went anything like it had in hers, they still had two years to go before they would see the other end of this dark tunnel. If they made it that long, then they would just have years of wartime horror piled on top of their gruesome experiences back in that compound. If. There was a very good chance that one or the both of them wouldn't live to see the end of this war. A war that might not end at all, or at least not the way it was supposed to.

She appreciated Bucky's kindness, though. That gentle teasing was sweet, and the words that followed gave her a little bit of hope, even as she knew that it was false. "You're right," she said softly, her gaze finding his face again, sad eyes catching on those strong lines. "At least, I hope you are. You're a good man, you don't deserve to spend the rest of your life haunted by what happened in that place."

When it came to her own haunting experiences, she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. The reminders were written in her skin, with ink and scarred flesh, and she'd never be able to get the sound of those screams out of her mind. She would never forget the feeling of being utterly abandoned and having no hope left except that one day they might finally let her die.

[on_ur_left]

As Steve's sharp eyes quickly picked out Bucky and Rogue, there was the barest hitch in his footsteps; Bucky was leaning closer to Rogue now, and smiling softly at her. Steve moved back over to the fire, chewing on the inside of his lip.

Bucky glanced over at him, and his eyes were unreadable. "You okay?" he called over softly.

Sighing softly, Steve nodded. "I don't sleep much, anymore. Don't need to. That's all."

Bucky watched him for a moment longer, and it took all of Steve's self-control not to fidget like a naughty choir boy under his best friend's searching gaze. He forced himself to keep eye contact though, and finally Bucky nodded. He turned to Rogue and Steve heard him murmur, "You should try to get some sleep. We'll be moving out come dawn."

Moving over to his spot by Steve, Bucky patted the back of his shoulder as he passed and whispered, "Stop being weird."

[theycalledmeacurse]

Rogue nodded slightly at the instruction, giving Bucky a small smile, before watching him go with that sad look still in her eyes. She could see the way that Bucky was reaching out, even just barely and likely without realizing it himself, and it was so hard to keep her distance. There was no way she'd be able to keep it up, she could already see that now; she was so desperate for friendship and any emotion other than hate and grief that she wouldn't be able to push him away for long.

She watched Bucky say something to Steve before she stood and moved away from the fire, to where she'd left her pack of things a decent distance from the others. It was safer to not be too close, and even if they weren't outright afraid of her, she didn't want to risk making them feel uneasy. As she settled down beside her pack, she fished out another pair of gloves she'd been provided, made of a thick material that luckily didn't tear if she bit into them in the middle of the night -- she couldn't take the chance that she might scream in her sleep, and it was as good a gag as any she would find out here in the middle of nowhere. Her jaw hurt in the morning after using it, but she'd endured worse.

[on_ur_left]

Steve didn't sleep that night. He knew Bucky did, because he'd had nightmares. Not the night terrors he'd had a couple times before, but he'd whimpered quietly in his sleep a few times, always making Steve tense in anticipation of trying to wake him up, and then calm him down afterward. But nothing ever came after the sounds, and Steve would relax a bit, for a while.

He'd watched Rogue all night. Not that he'd ever admit it. She'd made some noises, too, and he hadn't known if he should wake her, or how she'd react even if he did. But again, it hadn't come to that.

Come morning, just as the sky began to lighten along the horizon, but before true dawn, Steve had put the small cooking pan over the low fire, and started boiling water for coffee. He still wasn't tired physically, but his brain was in that foggy in-between place. Even though he'd noticed that caffeine didn't affect him the way it used to, maybe didn't affect him at all anymore, if nothing else, the awful taste of their boiled coffee should give him a jolt.

He was just pouring a cup of the stuff when Bucky settled beside him, rubbing his face. Taking one look at him, Bucky said decisively, "You're sleeping tonight. I don' wanna hear it, Rogers; I'll take watch."

Steve sighed in resignation, but didn't argue. Bringing the tin cup to his lips, his eyes automatically trailed back to Rogue's spot, away from the other men. His thoughts had been meandering last night, but he'd continued to turn them over and around, trying to figure out just what he was supposed to do with her. They were 2 days away from their first target, and he didn't know what would happen when they reached it.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Rogue never slept well, but some nights were better than others. The night in question was one of the better ones, with only a few mild nightmares haunting her slumber rather than the worst of the memories. On the bad nights, she woke up gasping a scream against the makeshift gag she stuffed in her mouth every night -- another reason she slept so far from the others.

The light of dawn woke her. For three years, she'd known only a world of harsh light and unforgiving metal, and so the stark different between night and day woke her every time, even from the deepest sleep. She woke quickly, though her mind felt foggy and she longed for a cup of coffee. The scent from the boiled semblance of the drink drifted over on the wind and she frowned at it.

After packing up her things, she moved closer to the fire pit, keeping a safe distance from the men but making sure it was a natural one. Reminding them all if how dangerous she was seemed like a bad idea.

"Good morning," she greeted softly, southern manners shining through regardless of the circumstance. Still, she cringed just a tiny bit, because it seemed like such a strange thing to say in the middle of a war zone.

[on_ur_left]

"Mornin'," Bucky mumbled, more to his mug than to her. Taking a drink, grimacing almost comically. "Christ on a crutch, Rogers. Could you make this any more foul?" he complained. "Army coffee is bad enough, but this is..."

"Shaddup, i's fine," Steve muttered back, glad Bucky was feeling well enough to give him flak. He took another sip of his own coffee - and couldn't stop himself from coughing a little afterward. "Puts hair on yer chest," he practically wheezed. Bucky seemed determined to - not ignore Rogue, but include her by not drawing attention to her, it seemed. So Steve followed his example.

"I don' need hair on my chest." Bucky glowered at the sludge they were calling coffee this morning. "I need for my coffee to not dissolve my insides. This is what I get fer lett'n' a non-coffee drinker make the coffee."

"Bitch bitch bitch," Steve muttered. He glanced at Rogue. "Apparently, my coffee is sub-par for the connoisseur over here, but you're welcome to some if you want."