La Petite Fleur

Progress

Tiny flakes of snow swirled through the air and stung Steve's face as he crouched on the mountainside. The air was frigid, and the relentless wind bit through his suit, numb though he already was. His hands shook as he lifted the binoculars to his eyes for the last time. He stood and looked behind him at his elite, ragtag team of soldiers and friends. Morita and Falsworth were intently listening to the staticky transmissions on the radio. Dugan and Jones were preparing the equipment.

He stood and took a step before Bucky intercepted him. His best friend stared down at the train tracks they were about to zipline towards. "Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island?" Bucky asked, still staring down the ravine.

"Yeah, and I threw up?" He followed his friend's line of sight and gulped, instead staring at the mountain across from them.

"This isn't payback, is it?"

"Now why would I do that?" Steve chuckled a little before he heard the train rumble toward them. Morita began to pack up the radio. The men were ready. Steve pulled out a hook and rod contraption and latched it onto the zip line. He had to move faster: the train was coming. It would be roaring around the corner any second now.

"We've only got about a ten second window. You miss that window and we're all just bugs on a windshield!" he told them over his shoulder. He was forced to shout above the wind and rumble of the train turning into the ravine.

"Better get moving, bugs!" Dugan added.

Steve waited until the cry of "Maintenant!" told him he was clear. He pushed off from the edge and sailed down the zipline, clinging desperately to the bar with frozen fingers.

Bucky followed him, then the others, each with a shout of the one French word Steve knew. He planted his feet on the slick metal surface of the train roof. Instinct took over, training gained control of his muscles, and his brain slowed down. He crept across the roof and started to move through the motions he'd rehearsed in his head hundreds of times.

If only he'd known that not everything would come away as planned.

He and Bucky entered the train and moved cautiously forward. The next thing he knew, they were being shot at. He didn't remember much of the battle itself until the end. Bucky lifted the shield off the train floor to protect himself from the coming strike.

Steve felt time slow. He knew what was coming. The chill of horror filled him as the shot bounced off the shield and flung Bucky against the train door that had been previously blasted open. He covered the distance between them after taking out their attacker and held out a hand for Bucky. He stretched as far as he could; he risked falling out of the train himself. Just a little further- if he could reach just a little further.

He tried desperately to save his friend but the last thing he knew was Bucky's terrified face as he plummeted to a snowy death in the bottom of the ravine.

Steve woke with a start, panting and shaking as if he had relived the entire experience. Bucky was dead and it had been all Steve's fault. He could've done something! Moved faster, taken the shot, brought down the attacker sooner. Anything to save his friend. But no- he hadn't done anything, and it had cost him the life of his best friend. The last thing he'd been prepared for had shaken him to the core.

In frustration at his own stupidity and bitterness, Steve pounded a fist dully against the wall. It didn't make much of a thud and there was no dent. He squeezed his eyes shut and bent over with his fingers laced behind his neck.

When he sat up again, he saw Antoinette watching him. Wariness was written in the angles of her posture, concern etched in her expression but suspicion in her eyes. He looked away from her and down toward his shoulder.