Hell Bound

Two

Even though I'd spent a great deal of time at the VA hospital, the building I now had to call "work" was almost entirely unfamiliar. I'd been there for doctor's visits and the one time I came to visit Sam and Hydra blew up my car. But I tried to avoid going back if I could help it. Now I didn't have a choice.

Well, I did have a choice. Sam asked me to fill in for him, and I accepted. But it still felt like I was dragging my feet just to get in there.

I walked through the front doors, balancing a heavy box on my hip. There was a girl behind the reception desk in nursing scrubs, though I wasn't sure if she was actually a nurse. I remembered seeing her the day I visited Sam. I only remembered because she brought us coffee while we waited for the firemen to give the all-clear. Sam had joked about how she'd never go out with him now that she knew his friends were in the habit of getting blown up. I almost felt guilty for taking his job and his chance for a date.

"Hi," she said when I approached. She had a warm smile and little cartoon characters on her pink scrubs. It was easy to see why Sam liked her.

"Hi, um—I'm Sam Wilson's replacement. We spoke on the phone a few days ago. I can't really remember where I'm supposed to go." Her eyes immediately lit up, and she jumped to her feet.

"Oh, right! They told me you'd be in today. We're thrilled to finally have someone more permanent fill in. It's been chaos trying to find new speakers every few weeks. It's so hard to get comfortable with faces when they change so often. C'mon. I'll show you where to go." She came around the side of the desk and started down the hall. I shuffled to keep up with her. "My name is Deanna," she told me once I reached her side. "Are you a friend of Sam's? He put in the suggestion, didn't he?"

"Uh, yeah. We've become pretty good friends. I just moved back to DC, and he asked me to fill in while he's in New York."

"I think I remember you from before. When the parking garage blew up. I can't remember your name, though. They just called you 'Corporal Hayes.'"

"Oh, sorry. It's Johanna."

"That's right! I remember now. Everyone is really looking forward to meeting you. They need to develop personal bonds with speakers. Sam was the best we've ever had. Everyone really loved him." There was a hint of sadness in her tone that made me think Sam's feelings were probably reciprocated.

"He has that effect on people. Either way, I hope it works out, and I can stick around for a while." I wasn't sure that I would. But I meant to say that I hoped my car didn't get blown up again so I'd be forced to leave. She finally stopped in the hallway, and I recognized my surroundings. Then she turned to face me with her bubbly smile.

"I sure hope you do. It's right through this door. I think Graham is already waiting. He likes to come in early. It's kind of tranquil when no one else is here. Let me know if you need any help getting set up."

"I will. Thank you."

After a brief farewell, she disappeared down the hall to return to her post at the front desk. The doors were already open, and sunlight spilled into the room through the tall windows on the other side. The space was open and empty except for a young man sitting in a single metal chair beneath a window. He had a book propped up on his lap and didn't seem to notice me.

I didn't want to bother him, so I headed toward the stacks of folding chairs and set the box down on the floor. Sam told me he liked to bring snacks. It made everyone feel more at home and relaxed. People opened up over coffee and shortbread cookies. I decided to follow his lead and got my coffee maker and a tin can of cookies. But when I set the box down, everything inside shifted loudly.

"Crap on a stick," the kid behind me said, startled. "I didn't even see you."

I stood back up as he bent down to pick up the book he'd dropped when I scared him. He was young. So young, in fact, that it was difficult to believe he was military. They seemed to get younger and younger every year. He stood, and his shoulders were set so straight it was apparent that he hadn't been home for long. It took a while to beat the military out of a person, and in some ways, it never disappeared completely.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," I explained.

"No need to apologize, ma'am. My name is Officer McGuire." Then he brought his hand to his head as if he was going to salute me. I quickly waved for him to stop.

"Please don't do that." His shoulders slumped as he relaxed.

"Sorry. It's a reflex."

"It's alright. It'll go away eventually. But I'm only a Corporal, so there's no need." I turned to reach for one of the folding tables set against the wall.

"Still my superior," he said, rushing over to take the other side of the table. I was actually grateful for the help since just lifting the stupid things made my shoulders burn with pain.

"Not here. And thanks."

"Not a problem, ma'am. Looks like they got your arms," he nodded in my direction.

"Shoulders. Both of them. What about you?"

"Knee." I shook my head and reached to yank one of the table legs out. It didn't give easily.

"The joints are the worst."

"I guess it's better than losing a limb. I had a couple of buddies who lost limbs."

"Yeah, I know someone who lost a limb too."

"Could be worse. Could be dead."

"Mm—or frozen for seventy years." He noticed I was still struggling to get the table leg out and reached out to pop it into place before I could protest.

"Was that a Captain America joke?"

"More of an observation, really." We stood back up, and he pushed the table against the wall without my guidance.

"Do you need any help setting up?"

I looked around the room at the large stacks of folding chairs. Then I sighed heavily and dropped my hands to my sides. I wanted to say no, but the idea of unfolding each and every chair didn't appeal to me. I also got the feeling that he wasn't the kind of person who'd sit there and watch me do it myself. So I reluctantly nodded.

"Do you think you could help me set the chairs up while I finish with the table?" I asked.

"Yes, ma'am. I can do that." He limped off toward the stacks of chairs and began to assemble them. I pulled the coffee maker out of the box.

"And you don't have to keep calling me 'ma'am.' Actually, I'd prefer it if you didn't. Johanna is fine. Jo, even."

"Sorry."

"What's your full name?"

"Graham McGuire." He shook his head. "Ridiculous, I know. But you want to know what's even worse? My dad's name was Fergus. We're not even Scottish. Biggest family joke, if you ask me. Apparently, some great-great-grandparent bought a farm called McGuire farm, and my family just stuck with the theme. How dumb is that?" I couldn't help but laugh at his long-winded explanation. Like it was the most obnoxious thing he'd ever heard. He'd apparently given it a great deal of thought.

"Do you mind if I just stick to calling you Graham?"

"Please do, ma—sorry. Again." I smiled.

"It's alright. You'll get the hang of it."

The room fell silent as I set up the coffee maker, and he assembled chairs. The only sounds were his feet on the floor and the crunch of metal every time he got one unfolded. Once I got the coffee going and set out the cookies, I went to help him finish.

I felt guilty for asking him to help as I watched him limp around the room, but he made no complaints or gave any indication that he was in pain. He seemed so small and boyish even though he towered over me. I hated that the military had darkened him. I could see it in the dark circles under his eyes and the prominent hollows of his cheeks.

"So—what were you reading?" I asked as we worked.

"Oh, Tolkien," he told me. "The Silmarillion, actually. It's not my first time reading it."

"So you're into fantasy?"

"I guess so. I suppose I just like the way everything works out in the end. War leaves a mark, but life goes on. You know Tolkien was a soldier? You can kind of tell by the way he writes. I think that's why I like it so much. He knew what he was talking about; it wasn't like a heroic triumph. His heroes still suffered, but good always prevails anyway." I nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I guess I can see the appeal."

"What about you? What kind of books do you like to read?" I shook my head and reached for the last chair.

"I honestly can't even remember the last time I read a book," I admitted.

"Really? I always find it weird when I meet people who don't like to read." He took the chair from me and limped to the back row. I lingered at the snack table.

"It's not that I don't like to read. I used to love it. Read all the time when I was younger."

"What happened?" he asked since I failed to elaborate. I took a moment to come up with an answer as I fiddled with cookies.

"I got shot," I told him. Of course, the wound didn't cause the damage, but I trusted that he knew what I meant.

"When I got home—reading was the only thing that made me not want to jump off a building. Well—and these meetings."

My heart dropped. I understood the self-deprecating humor of my generation, but that sounded genuine. He was busy fixing the chairs and didn't seem to notice my sudden silence. I didn't want to fail this kid. I didn't want to be so terrible at this job that his life was in my hands. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I failed. But I took a deep breath and turned back toward the cookies to fiddle with them some more.

"It takes time," I said quietly.

"How long did it take for you?" I hesitated again. I could hear him limp to my side, and I searched my brain for something motivational to tell him. But I couldn't lie. He'd be able to tell. They always could. It was something in the eyes. A darkness, I'd been told.

"Still working on it," I admitted. He shrugged.

"Well, maybe you just need to find something that makes you happy. Reading makes me happy. Maybe this job will do that for you. Helping people. Some people are really into that." I nodded and smiled.

"I hope so." I checked my phone for the time and then examined the room to ensure it was perfect. "Would you mind helping me with the lectern?"

"Sure. Not a problem."

He went right to the heavy wooden thing, and we each took a side. He seemed to realize that pushing was causing me pain and took up most of the work without asking. I hated when people did things like that for me. Tony was especially guilty of doing things when I didn't ask. It didn't bother me as much when this kid did it, though. It seemed more like a natural reflex of politeness. And it wasn't that Tony wasn't being polite. Just that Tony couldn't fathom why someone wouldn't accept help when they so clearly needed it. Everything had a solution for him. But this kid did it the way Steve did. Like when he would get things off of higher shelves for me, so I didn't have to suffer the shame of asking. Or even worse, climb on something. It was an absentminded action, and not because I was weaker. I was just shorter. A fact. Not a vulnerability.

"So, do you know Sam? The guy who did this before you?" he asked as we got the lectern in place at the head of the room.

"Yeah, I know Sam. He's my friend, actually."

"Is it true that he went to work for Captain America?" I almost tripped over my feet. "You think he's really the Falcon?"

"Uh...."

"You don't have to tell me if it's classified." He stepped back and put his hands up in surrender. I just laughed and tapped my fingers along the podium.

"Well, I don't know if it's really classified anymore. Not if Sam was the only person who knew how to use that technology, you know?"

"So it's true then? He gets to party with the Avengers?" I laughed again.

"Um—well—I don't actually know. I just know that he's helping Steve—Captain America—with something that is definitely classified."

"So, have you met Captain America?"

God, this kid asked a lot of questions. I wasn't even sure if I was allowed to answer them. But I had a decent grasp of what they wanted secret and what they didn't care about. Steve had never been perfectly clear, but it wasn't difficult to understand.

"I've met him," I confirmed. Then I turned back toward the table to shut off the coffee maker. The whole room smelled like coffee now, and I was dying for a cup. Or at least a distraction.

"What's he like?" he asked, following after me.

"Well—he's been through a lot. You can tell. But he's really nice. His moral compass seems to be pointed in the right direction. Not as big in person."

"Are you friends? You called him by name."

"We worked together once. On a mission. I used to work for SHIELD." I poured myself a small cup of coffee and noticed that his expression had darkened from the corner of my eye. So I immediately felt the need to defend myself. "I didn't know," I told him. "I never worked for them. I had no idea."

"Oh, I didn't think you did. Otherwise, you'd be in prison, right? But—it kind of caught me off guard. You seem too nice." Then I really had to laugh. A full snort that would have made my mother call me unladylike.

"I wasn't a field agent. Even SHIELD had boring office work. Nothing fancy or scary. Mostly just administrative."

"But you did a mission with Captain America." He had me there.

"That was different. Personal reasons."

"Were you there when all that stuff happened?" I nodded and took a sip. The coffee was too hot to drink, but I needed something to focus my attention on so I didn't have to look at him.

"Yeah, I was there."

"That must have been terrifying."

"I got out before any of the big stuff happened. Besides—we both know I've seen worse." He didn't answer, but he nodded to agree. He knew exactly what I meant.