Steve was sitting in the enlistment office, wearing just boxer shorts just like the rest of the men waiting for enlistment and their names to be called, while reading the newspapers of everything that Nazis were doing during the war.
"Kinda makes you think twice about enlisting, huh?" a man asked.
Steve lowered his paper. "Nope."
"Rogers, Steven," the army doctor called. Steve folded the paper, standing, walking toward the doctor for his medical assessment, anxiously watching the doctor scan his file. "You Briana's brother, huh? Had to turn the girl down for ranking and medical given her own issues."
"Yes, sir," Steve answered. "But she can handle this, doctor. And so can I. If you--"
The doctor cut him off. "What did your father die of?"
"Mustard gas," Steve answered. The doctor looked up. "1918. He was in the 107th Infantry. I was hoping to get assigned to them if--"
"And your mother?" the doctor asked.
"Few years back, she was a nurse in the TB ward," Steve answered. "Got hit, couldn't shake it." The doctor shook his head. "They weren't weak, Doc. They were fighters. If you just give me a-"
"Sorry, son," the doctor told him. "You'd be ineligible on your asthma alone."
"You can't do anything?" Steve asked.
"I'm doing it," the doctor told him. "I'm saving your life."
The doctor stamped Steve's file with 4F.
✯
Bree:
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