fic: Memorial Day (Captain America; Steve; g)
Memorial Day
Captain America (2011); Steve, Gabe Jones; gen; 1,175 words
On his first Memorial Day out of the ice, Steve goes to Arlington.
For the West Wing title project.
~*~
Memorial Day
Steve has a map that Deputy Director Hill gave him, the names printed neatly next to section and row numbers, but he finds himself staring instead at the monument they built to him, the words we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain carved above the dates of his birth and death, which run beneath his marble boots. He was afraid he might stand out in his service uniform, but none of the people moving among the rows even notices him for the moment; as far as they know, he's just another pilgrim to the shrine, and they're not really wrong. He's not even the only one in uniform, though his is seventy years out of date. The names of the other Commandos are carved at the base, starting with James Buchanan Barnes, March 10, 1920 - April 3, 1945 and ending with James Morita, November 29, 1922 - . He traces the cuts in the cool stone, mind suddenly blank, any prayer or petition he'd thought to make gone in the face of the solid, unassailable truth carved there.
"Thought that was you." The vaguely familiar voice startles Steve, and he turns to see an elderly man with a cane coming towards him, an assortment of what must be his children and grandchildren streaming out behind him. "Morita said no, that it was a clone, but I knew it was you. Nobody else slung that shield around the way you did. Do."
"Gabe." Steve swallows hard against the tightness in his throat and the tears in his eyes. He offers his hand and Gabe takes it, his handshake firm for all that his hand is gnarled with age. He tugs gently and Steve lets himself be pulled into the hug.
There's a bench across from the monument, and Gabe lets Steve steer him over to it. Three middle-aged ladies in serious hats--the kind of hats Steve hasn't seen much of since he woke up, Sunday going to church hats--join them, and Gabe beams at them with pride.
"My daughters--Betty, Karen, and Gabrielle." They each shake Steve's hand and he smiles at them, hoping he lives up to whatever Gabe's told them about him. "And the grandchildren." Gabe gestures towards the others, who are placing flags on graves. "Even got a couple great-grandchildren now."
"You live in the area?" Steve asks.
"Yeah. Helped Peggy and Howard set up SHIELD, then spent the rest of my life teaching at Howard." He gives Steve an appraising look. "You haven't been to see Peggy, have you." It's not a question.
"No, I--" Steve looks down at his hands. "No."
"You should go. She--Yeah, you should go." Gabe huffs softly. "I can't remember the last time we were all together. Sometime in the nineties, before Dugan passed. Used to do it every few years until then, here or in California where Morita is. Even made it to London to see Monty and Peggy once or twice. Jacques would come over from Paris and we'd have ourselves a real good time." He shakes his head. "Always missed you, though. You and Bucky." Gabe's voice trembles a little, the only sign of age or emotion in it. "And now here you are."
"Yeah." His own voice is barely more than a whisper. He tries to think of something to say. He thought he'd lost everything, spent time feeling angry and sorry for himself, and he still feels some of that, looking at the evidence of the life Gabe got to have while he was under the ice, but he can't begrudge Gabe or anyone else their happiness. "I--" he starts, but Gabe speaks at the same time.
"We're all proud of you, Cap. Then and now." He nods towards the statue. "They would have been too, if they could have seen you. Aliens." He shakes his head. "Never thought I'd live to see that."
"Me, neither," Steve admits, on firmer ground there.
"But we have. It's an age of miracles and wonders, Steve. You really should go see Peggy." The while you still can goes unsaid.
Steve nods but changes the subject. "So you're still in touch with Morita?"
"Yeah. He's gonna be pissed I got to see you first." Gabe gives him another of those assessing looks. "You're gonna visit him, right? He's got a vineyard out in Napa. Sends me wine every year." Gabe leans in like he's telling a secret. "I always have a glass, though my doctors say I'm not supposed to drink because of the heart medication."
"Yeah," Steve says, stronger this time, and resolute. "Yeah, I'm on a roadtrip for the next few weeks, so I think I will go visit him."
"Attaboy. That's the Cap I remember." He pats Steve's knee. "Now help an old man up. You're coming to the Jones family Memorial Day barbecue."
"I couldn't," Steve replies, helping Gabe ease to his feet. "I don't want to impose."
"Steve, I can't tell my grandkids you're here and didn't come over." His expression is wry and Steve laughs. "Do an old granddad a favor."
"You talked me into it." His stomach rumbles at the thought and he pats it, giving an embarrassed laugh. "I hope you have enough food."
Gabe laughs, too, and claps him on the shoulder. "I remember how you eat. Don't worry. Betty puts out a spread that'll even satisfy your bottomless pit of an appetite."
The rest of Gabe's family gathers in front of the monument, the somber mood affecting all of them.
One of the women says, "Davey, give Captain Rogers the last flag."
Davey, a wide-eyed, apple-cheeked boy of about seven, gazes up at Steve and offers the last of the flags. "Sir?"
Steve's palms are unaccountably sweaty as it takes it, and he solemnly says, "Thank you, Davey."
"Are you really Captain America?"
"I really am."
"Where's your shield?"
"It's with my motorcycle in the parking lot."
"You have a motorcycle?" Davey's eyes go even wider. "Mama, can I ride on Captain America's motorcycle?"
"You can't even ride a two-wheeler yet," one of the other kids says.
"Hush, Marcus. No, Davey, you're not tall enough yet to ride on Captain America's motorcycle." Davey's mom gives him a wry, long-suffering smile. "If you're good, maybe he'll let you sit on it, though, when we get home."
Davey practically vibrates with excitement. "Can I? Really?"
"Sure," Steve answers. "As long as it's all right with your ma."
His mother corrals him; he and the kids chatter excitedly, but the noise fades into the background as Steve faces the monument again. He drops to one knee and plants the flag in the grass in front of it. His thoughts are a jumble and he misses Bucky and his men with a fierce ache that will probably never subside completely. He wouldn't want it to.
When he gets up, he turns to see Gabe standing at attention. Steve returns his salute smartly and then joins his entourage, ready to face the future.
end
*
Note: cut-text and quote on the monument are from the Gettysburg Address. I just made up the dates. *hands*
~*~
Feedback is always appreciated.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/571403.html.
people have commented there.
Captain America (2011); Steve, Gabe Jones; gen; 1,175 words
On his first Memorial Day out of the ice, Steve goes to Arlington.
For the West Wing title project.
~*~
Memorial Day
Steve has a map that Deputy Director Hill gave him, the names printed neatly next to section and row numbers, but he finds himself staring instead at the monument they built to him, the words we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain carved above the dates of his birth and death, which run beneath his marble boots. He was afraid he might stand out in his service uniform, but none of the people moving among the rows even notices him for the moment; as far as they know, he's just another pilgrim to the shrine, and they're not really wrong. He's not even the only one in uniform, though his is seventy years out of date. The names of the other Commandos are carved at the base, starting with James Buchanan Barnes, March 10, 1920 - April 3, 1945 and ending with James Morita, November 29, 1922 - . He traces the cuts in the cool stone, mind suddenly blank, any prayer or petition he'd thought to make gone in the face of the solid, unassailable truth carved there.
"Thought that was you." The vaguely familiar voice startles Steve, and he turns to see an elderly man with a cane coming towards him, an assortment of what must be his children and grandchildren streaming out behind him. "Morita said no, that it was a clone, but I knew it was you. Nobody else slung that shield around the way you did. Do."
"Gabe." Steve swallows hard against the tightness in his throat and the tears in his eyes. He offers his hand and Gabe takes it, his handshake firm for all that his hand is gnarled with age. He tugs gently and Steve lets himself be pulled into the hug.
There's a bench across from the monument, and Gabe lets Steve steer him over to it. Three middle-aged ladies in serious hats--the kind of hats Steve hasn't seen much of since he woke up, Sunday going to church hats--join them, and Gabe beams at them with pride.
"My daughters--Betty, Karen, and Gabrielle." They each shake Steve's hand and he smiles at them, hoping he lives up to whatever Gabe's told them about him. "And the grandchildren." Gabe gestures towards the others, who are placing flags on graves. "Even got a couple great-grandchildren now."
"You live in the area?" Steve asks.
"Yeah. Helped Peggy and Howard set up SHIELD, then spent the rest of my life teaching at Howard." He gives Steve an appraising look. "You haven't been to see Peggy, have you." It's not a question.
"No, I--" Steve looks down at his hands. "No."
"You should go. She--Yeah, you should go." Gabe huffs softly. "I can't remember the last time we were all together. Sometime in the nineties, before Dugan passed. Used to do it every few years until then, here or in California where Morita is. Even made it to London to see Monty and Peggy once or twice. Jacques would come over from Paris and we'd have ourselves a real good time." He shakes his head. "Always missed you, though. You and Bucky." Gabe's voice trembles a little, the only sign of age or emotion in it. "And now here you are."
"Yeah." His own voice is barely more than a whisper. He tries to think of something to say. He thought he'd lost everything, spent time feeling angry and sorry for himself, and he still feels some of that, looking at the evidence of the life Gabe got to have while he was under the ice, but he can't begrudge Gabe or anyone else their happiness. "I--" he starts, but Gabe speaks at the same time.
"We're all proud of you, Cap. Then and now." He nods towards the statue. "They would have been too, if they could have seen you. Aliens." He shakes his head. "Never thought I'd live to see that."
"Me, neither," Steve admits, on firmer ground there.
"But we have. It's an age of miracles and wonders, Steve. You really should go see Peggy." The while you still can goes unsaid.
Steve nods but changes the subject. "So you're still in touch with Morita?"
"Yeah. He's gonna be pissed I got to see you first." Gabe gives him another of those assessing looks. "You're gonna visit him, right? He's got a vineyard out in Napa. Sends me wine every year." Gabe leans in like he's telling a secret. "I always have a glass, though my doctors say I'm not supposed to drink because of the heart medication."
"Yeah," Steve says, stronger this time, and resolute. "Yeah, I'm on a roadtrip for the next few weeks, so I think I will go visit him."
"Attaboy. That's the Cap I remember." He pats Steve's knee. "Now help an old man up. You're coming to the Jones family Memorial Day barbecue."
"I couldn't," Steve replies, helping Gabe ease to his feet. "I don't want to impose."
"Steve, I can't tell my grandkids you're here and didn't come over." His expression is wry and Steve laughs. "Do an old granddad a favor."
"You talked me into it." His stomach rumbles at the thought and he pats it, giving an embarrassed laugh. "I hope you have enough food."
Gabe laughs, too, and claps him on the shoulder. "I remember how you eat. Don't worry. Betty puts out a spread that'll even satisfy your bottomless pit of an appetite."
The rest of Gabe's family gathers in front of the monument, the somber mood affecting all of them.
One of the women says, "Davey, give Captain Rogers the last flag."
Davey, a wide-eyed, apple-cheeked boy of about seven, gazes up at Steve and offers the last of the flags. "Sir?"
Steve's palms are unaccountably sweaty as it takes it, and he solemnly says, "Thank you, Davey."
"Are you really Captain America?"
"I really am."
"Where's your shield?"
"It's with my motorcycle in the parking lot."
"You have a motorcycle?" Davey's eyes go even wider. "Mama, can I ride on Captain America's motorcycle?"
"You can't even ride a two-wheeler yet," one of the other kids says.
"Hush, Marcus. No, Davey, you're not tall enough yet to ride on Captain America's motorcycle." Davey's mom gives him a wry, long-suffering smile. "If you're good, maybe he'll let you sit on it, though, when we get home."
Davey practically vibrates with excitement. "Can I? Really?"
"Sure," Steve answers. "As long as it's all right with your ma."
His mother corrals him; he and the kids chatter excitedly, but the noise fades into the background as Steve faces the monument again. He drops to one knee and plants the flag in the grass in front of it. His thoughts are a jumble and he misses Bucky and his men with a fierce ache that will probably never subside completely. He wouldn't want it to.
When he gets up, he turns to see Gabe standing at attention. Steve returns his salute smartly and then joins his entourage, ready to face the future.
end
*
Note: cut-text and quote on the monument are from the Gettysburg Address. I just made up the dates. *hands*
~*~
Feedback is always appreciated.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/571403.html.
people have commented there.