In Your Eyes // Steve Rogers

53

I didn't know what else to do except run. I ran from Bucky Barnes, from Steve, from whatever life in 1945's Brooklyn held for me.

All I had asked, to whoever was listening, was the chance to be with Steve again. Being transported back in time wasn't what I had in mind. 

It felt as though I was in the dark about any and everything that was happening. I didn't know why I was sent back, if there was more to it than a yearning to be with Steve. 

"Who's to say you can't be the one to fix this?"

If I was there to fix the civil war, being put to the place where Steve Rogers was still normal, still human, meant something. It didn't take a genius to figure that was the start of it all. Steve becoming Captain America was the action that sent a ripple effect through time. 

"Intercepting that would change more than just his life... My life... Tony's, Bucky's..." I whispered hopelessly to the sky. I paused. "Bucky..."

Bucky Barnes was lost to the world the minute he fell from that train. That mission was where the Winter Soldier was born. Intercepting the place where he died could fix the civil war. If Hydra never brought their number one assassin to life, things had a chance of being fixed. Bucky would be put to sleep once and for all. Peacefully. 

I came to a stop at the end of an alleyway. I ferociously wiped at my eyes. From foot to foot, I bounced, regaining as much energy as physically possible. I needed to be awake, in my head, focused, for what I was trying to do to work. 

"1945," I begged. "A train. It's cold, winter time. Hydra's Arnim Zola is on that train. 1945, a train, where the Howling Commando's are. Take me there. Take me to the place, the moment, where Bucky Barnes needed saving."

Then, I began to run. At the end of the alley, I waved her hands. My eyes slammed shut. I jumped, desperately hoping there was going to be a portal to catch me. 

Where I landed was anything except soft. I landed in the back of a truck, an army owned vehicle, on boxes upon boxes of ammunition. The rattle and spillage of bullets wasn't heard over the sound of music. 

"Who will campaign door-to-door for America,

Carry the flag shore to shore for America,

From Hoboken to Spokane,

The Star Spangled Man with a Plan!"

Spastic, I scrambled to the front of the vehicle, peeking over the seats enough to see where the music was coming from. I ducked almost instantly. Four soldiers were sitting on the hood of the car. 

I looked at my outfit. In the bright polka dotted dress, I would stick out like a sore thumb in the mass of tan colored uniforms. I needed to get my hands on a uniform and fast.

I opened a portal into the nearest tent. It was empty, due to the mandatory attendance show going on. I crawled through.

I rummaged through the extra uniforms on the beds, finding the smallest size, then changed. I tied my hair up into a helmet and popped the collar to hide the band on my neck. 

Into the mass of men I ventured, keeping her head low. I stopped on the edge of the crowd. I crouched. 

Showgirls dressed in red, white, and blue danced across the small stage. One man, dressed in a cotton costume, remained in the center the entire time. A badge shaped shield was loose on his arm. He held it at an angle, reading out his lines carefully. 

"Steve," I whispered. 

"So, how many of you are ready to help me sock ol' Adolf on the jaw?" he asked. 

The crowd of soldiers was silent. 

"Okay... Uh, I need a volunteer!" he tried again. 

"I already volunteered, how do you think I got here?!" yelled a soldier. 

His reply was met with dozens of agreement cheers. 

"Bring back the girls!" 

Steve, eager to please, looked behind the curtain hopefully. "I, uh, I think they only know the one song, but I'll see what I can do," he promised. 

"You do that, sweetheart!"

"Nice boots, Tinkerbell!"

"Come on, guys, we're all on the same team here," said Steve. 

"Hey, Captain!" shouted a soldier, standing. "Sign this!"

Steve and I both made the mistake of looking. 

Beside me, a man whipped the apple he was eating at the stage. Another man followed his lead. Steve avoided getting hit by using his shield. 

To please the soldiers, the women hustled onto the stage again. Cheers broke out across the crowd. 

Steve left the stage. 

I left the mass of men. I watched the curtains, between them specifically, for glimpses of Steve. 

By the time I managed to sneak behind the curtain, the showgirls and the men were gone. The rain had flushed them back into the safety of their tents. 

Everyone except Steve, it appeared. He sat on the stairs behind the stage, a green jacket over his costume. He was drawing in a small sketchbook on his lap. 

I took a step towards him. I stayed behind the jeep watching for too long. My over sized boots sunk into the mud and I slipped.

Through a portal, I fell, transporting me from exactly where I wanted to be.