Inferno: Remember Me

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Disclaimer: I have no idea what the heck I'm doing, enjoy, I guess. You might die laughing, or cringe, or cry, or just die in general. Your choice.

Not until the illumination of sunlight was blinding, and the crystal-clear was devoid of clouds, did Colonel Philips deem at an appropriate time to stop running laps around the campsite. It was ridiculous, as he was making you and Howard do the running. This was not at all standard procedure. Was he delirious this morning? What had struck him so hard that he decided you two needed immediate exercise? He was doing this, for motives inexplicable. You gazed dully ahead as you felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your boots, thumping heavily across the murky grounds, caused mud to splash up your leg. Blistering and blaring was the sun that was pouring distress on your face, which was now rose-red with the flow of blood greatly increased. There was a looming sense that you could be the victim of merciless dehydration. You waited for the heat to incinerate you to ashes, but it never came. All you know is that every ragged breath sends an ice-cold searing pain, your heart pounding.

As you recounted feverishly, you came to the conclusion that this was your 45th mile. Howard had given up on the 2nd. And that, you laughed, for you were sure the millionaire playboy had plenty of exercise declared ' frivolous '. Instead of fatigue edging you on, the only difficulty you faced was dehydration. And the cold. Well, that was a technicality. But you decided that this was enough. You needed to drink water before you collapsed. Even you couldn't handle this much. You picked the moss layering the neighboring trees, picked up your flask of water and drank deeply. From the corner of your eye, you saw the entire division gawking at you. You knew what they were talking about, and instead of feeling pride at this accomplishment, you burrowed yourself in the impending blanket of shame, knowing you had pushed yourself too far.

Now the others knew part of your capabilities. Your strength. The intricate facade Colonel Philips had woven for you, thread by thread, now had a hole seared through the arrow of realization. Besides, what more normal could be about a woman sprinting in her blazer? In the open?

You saw a figure trotting in the distance, on the verge of collapsing. After a few long minutes of silence and staring, the nosy crowd dismissed. Finally. You walked briskly over to who you knew could possibly rescue you from the conversation bound to follow. Ugh. You hated being reprimanded.

Instead, you focused on the mess of a human being in front of you, catching him before he fell.

"Howard. Howard, look at me."

"Hey, sweetheart. Sweethearts. Two sweethearts. There's two of you. Why?" Howard slurred. 

The strong scent of alcohol hit your face. You recoiled in disgust. It was only then that you noticed him carrying a bottle of whisky. You walked him over to your tent and lay him down on your bed, sloshing the alcohol all over his murky clothes.

"Howard, you idiot, have you been drinking? Who drinks at 4 in the morning, you chucklehead?" you hissed. "You know you'll get into so much trouble for this. Tomorrow, you have a conference with Senator Brandt. And we both know it takes forever for you to - "

He cut you off by enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug, and you flinched. You were about to push him away and punch him as hard as you could for trying to crack your ribs but stopped short after the sensation of fast-flowing tears soaking the collar of your shirt. Howard Stark, crying?

Alright, this was it. No more alcohol for him. You calmly coaxed his bottle out of his hand, threw it across the grounds, and patted him on the back, caressing his tousled locks. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he took sharp breaths. You pulled away gently and looked him in his flooded eyes. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and gulped.