Fic: Times They are a changing
Title: Times they are a changing
Author: cat_13145
Pairing/characters: Union Jack (Brian Falsworth)/Destroyer (Roger Audrey), Captain America (Steve Rogers), Captain America (William Naslund), Captain America (Jeff Macey), Captain America ("Steve Rogers" A.K.A 50's Cap), Captain America (Bucky Barnes), Bucky (Fred Davis), Bucky ( Jack Munore), various other characters referenced.
Rating: PG 13
Notes: Written for the queer_fest rompt: Marvel Comics, Captain America, the five Captain Americas and their experiences/Relationships with the LGBT Community. Meant to post this ages ago, but life got away from me. Sorry for the weird formatting, I can't figure out how to fix it.
Warnings: Historic homophobia, including langague and attitudes, discussion of the concentration camps, Not betaed
Summary: What the prompt says.
Captain America tried to relax. Or at least relax as far as possible when you’re five miles behind enemy lines, with your teammates captured and possibly facing summary execution and couching in a hidden bunker with a resistance fighter who kept staring at you.
After he caught him, “Brian Falsworth” as the other man had introduced him, staring for the fifth time; Steve Rogers put down his bowl of weak stew and pushed it away from him. The other man smiled in apologise.
“I’m sorry. It’s just…you remind me very strongly of someone I used to know. A…dammed good friend.” He shovelled a couple of mouthful of stew into his own mouth.
“What happened to him?”
The British man just looked at him. “What do you think?” He asked, indicating his costume. He sighed. “I was sent over, he followed me and we were both picked up by the Gestapo.”
He shrugged “Last time I saw him.”
“He could still be alive” Steve suggested gently.
Brian Falsworth snorted, picking through his stew, as through searching for something at least vaguely edible. “You’ll forgive me, Captain, your nation hasn’t being in this war very long.” He smiled a bitter muscle spasm. “There are no atheists in foxholes and no believers in charnel houses.” He sighed, his eyes fixed on his stew. “Roger...Roger was one of the best men I ever knew. And I loved him.” He said the last part in a rush, glancing at Steve nervously, looking for judgement, disgust, anything.
Steve froze. His natural, his instinctive reaction was to pull away. What this man was talking about was illegal, perverted.
But he thought of the way Brian spoke of this man, of the way Arnie look at him sometimes when he thought Steve wasn’t looking. He thought of John McDougal, his father’s best friend from school, who had never married, but always brought things over to their house. A box of overripe or bruised fruit from the docks, packages of clothes that “couldn’t be traced”, pencils and books for Steve. He remembered his mother once talking to him.
“You don’t have to do this, John; I know Jack didn’t pay his dues.”
John had shrugged. “I gave him my word that you and Steve wouldn’t starve.” He sighed. “Does it matter if he didn’t always pay into the union fund? He was a good man.”
He was saying all the right words, but he couldn’t look Steve’s mother in the face. Then she reached out, grasping his hand and squeezing them tight, as John’s face broke, that was the only word for it, and tears seemed to threaten at the corner of his eyes. “I miss him.” The voice was little more than a whisper. “Even if I knew he’d never...he was still my best friend.”
“I know.” His mother was whispering now, her cheeks physically wet. “I missed him too.”
Steve had snuck away before either of them had seen him, but he’d never forgotten it. John McDougal had being a good man, whatever the state or the church might say about him. And so was this man.
He reached out slightly uncomfortably placing a hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly in a comradely gesture. “Tell me about him.”
/**//*/*/*/**//*/*/*/*
After the third day, Brian was the only one who actually bothered to eat breakfast. The others would stop when summoned for dinner, but otherwise they got up worked in silence.
He was fairly sure that Fred had actually stopped eating completely, so tired of throwing up the small amount he could force down himself, and for once Toro wasn’t baiting him about it. Jim seemed to be burning with a silent anger as they walked around this hellhole, and even Namor was silent.
Leaning back against one of the buildings, William Naslund tried to catch the scent of the river, which he knew was only a few miles from here. But all he could smell was ash and death. The smell of the camp lingered for three miles in all directions, or at least that was what the troops who had liberated it said.
Or maybe Liberated was the wrong word, given the probably fate of those in this particular camp. Kicking a rock, he glanced over to huge concrete building, the Human laundry, as the soldiers and Red Cross personnel referred to it. Here members of the Red Cross and other aid agencies washed and tried to “get some idea what they were up against” as one member put it. Normally from there, the inmates were moved either to hospital or to one of the camps that were springing up across Germany and Poland, but here it was more likely to be a prison infirmary, as the state argued that these men, and some women, were actually guilty of a crime.
William snorted. He had no idea whether for a man to have sex with another man or a woman with another woman was a crime or not, and frankly, he wasn’t entirely sure it mattered.
He could come up with no crime that deserved this.
He heard the rumble of a truck in the distance and turned away quickly. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to know if it was an army jeep bringing more men, a Red Cross truck bring more suppliers, or a van to take the survivors to prison.
His feet carried him almost unconsciously to the mounds of earth that acted as the only marker for the graves of the men who had not survived.
He thought of the dead eyes of the men, he thought of the comments and jokes he’d heard his side making, he thought of Brian, who might be eating, but was barely speaking and certainly wasn’t sleeping.
Captain America was supposed to be the good guy, the one who spoke up for what was right.
But he wasn’t Captain America. He was just some guy in a costume, as Namor never let an opportunity slip to remind him.
“I’m sorry.” He muttered, not sure whether he was apologising to the dead for being too late, or to the living for his own cowardliness. “I’m so sorry.”
/*/**//*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*
Namor was wrong, Jeff Macey thought, as he sat enjoying a quiet cup of coffee. He had said that No opinions were changed, no legacies redeemed, no mark of any kind.
He snorted.
No opinions were changed.
Alright, maybe the opinions he’d being hoping to influence hadn’t changed, but people’s opinion of him definitely had. He and Bucky were finally getting along, after a year of quasi-hostility. Toro was also being more open, friendlier towards him, as was Jim. Namor was being almost civil!
Laughing slightly Jeff shook his head. If he’d known to get Namor to respect him, all he had to do was punch the other man in the jaw; he’d have done it months ago.
More than that, Brian Falsworth, Union Jack, and Roger Audrey, the Destroyer had made contact again, properly visiting the team and talking to them for the first time since Steve Rogers’s death. It had being nice to watch the teams interacting. For the first time since he’d put on the costume, Jeff Macey actually felt like he was properly part of a team.
No Legacies redeemed? Well, all right the Patriot was gone, but he wouldn’t totally say that his legacy was.
Sitting alone in his office, Jeff Mace opened yet another letter. Skinner had told him about them in one of their more heated discussion, and he’d persuaded Betsy to let him have a look.
There were thousands of them, from all over the world. Hundreds of men and women writing to thank him for what he’d done, what he said. A lot of them weren’t signed, or were signed with made up names or nicknames. There were five from a guy called “Pinky” and about twelve different Tinkerbells, and hundreds of Dorothys and Mrs Kings.
But each one had taken a huge risk writing this letter, committing the thoughts, the acts that had led to Casey’s death to paper and then trusting it to the mail service of their country. Some of them seemed to have got the wrong idea about his and Casey’s relationship, offering their sympathy and their condolences.
The one in his hand is different, the paper crisp like the sort you get in hotels, and crumbled, like the writer flung it in to an envelope before he could change his mind.
Sir,
If what you said at the funeral was true, and you really are a friend of Jacobs, then I am almost certainly the last person on the planet with whom you wish to have correspondence.
You see, I am the reason that Jacobs was discharged.
He was a good man, a far better one than I could ever be. His profession meant that he was alone and isolated, where as my unit saw me as a good luck charm and protected me.
That does not make my denial of him right, but I hope it makes it understandable. I enclose a photograph of the child of my wife. His name is Jacob. I hope he will be worthy of it.
There was no signature at the bottom of the later, and the photo of the child had being torn in half to hide the parents.
Jeff paused for a moment, gazing at the boy and trying to see if there were any familiar features in his face, before he tucked it away behind the photo of himself, Casey and Mary Morgan.
Maybe the patriot Legacy wasn’t redeemed, but someone was thinking of Casey and continuing his.
And as for nothing changing.
Jeff snorted, looking at the sheer wealth of letters littering his desk.
Maybe not yet. But it was going to. He could feel it.
//*/*/*/*/*/*/**//*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*
The building doesn’t look like anything much from the outside, just a red brick building, indistinguishable from the others here in Greenwich village, but their contact assured them that this was the right place.
Jack Munroe felt a slight tinge at the memory of the young soldier cowering, his face bloody and bruised after Cap had finished with him, but he forced it away. These men were betraying America. There was no other way about it.
“Once above and two below.” Cap muttered, reciting the signal the young soldier had eventually told them would gain admittance. “You ready partner?”
Jack nodded, checking the small domino mask was still in place. Cap marched up to the door and banged once above and twice below a small shutter in its opening.
The shutter was pulled back.
“I’m looking for Dorothy.”
The brown eyes peered closely, looking into the darkness at them.
Then suddenly, “SHIT!”
The shutter was flung shut, and Cap flung himself at the door, forcing it open and knocking the door keeper out cold.
“Upstairs, quickly.”
They raced up the rickety staircase that felt like it might collapse under Cap’s weight, never mind Bucky’s. Cap paused on a first floor landing and flung open a door.
A party was going on, with a bar in one corner. There was something...off about it, but it took Bucky about ten minutes to realise what it was. There were men and there were women, but there were no couples. Well, there were some men dancing with men, like guys at the barracks did when they were practising for their dates. And there were some women dancing with women, like guys like Fred Davis said they had before the war.
Fred Davis didn’t really like him or Cap. Had refused to get the FBI involved in his.
“Show me some proof that they’re commies, and I’ll help you. Otherwise,” He had shrugged, glaring at Steve, at Captain America. “I won’t let you dishonour another legacy.”
Steve had called Fred some pretty bad things, and had gone above his head to get permission for this raid. Jack felt kinda of guilty about that, because Fred was a nice guy. He had given Jack a card with his number on it the first time they’d met. “Any time you wanna talk...” He’d said. “Doesn’t have to be about this. Could be about anything, just call me, O.K.?”
He still had that card, even though he’d never use it.
Why would he? He can talk to Cap about anything.
Cap doesn’t really seem to notice the party, his eyes roaming the room, looking for something.
Suddenly he cuts across the dance floor. No one tries to stop him; Fred thinks everyone is still in shock.
Fred followed, trying not to trip over his own feet. The gun feels big in his hands, especially in this room, where no one was actually trying to resist.
Cap lifted the shield up and smashed through a wooden door.
There was a small room behind it. A plaque, barely visible in the dark on the door read “The Mattachine Society of New York”
In the room, masked men rose to their feet, some grabbing magazines off the table.
These guys might be as surprised as the folks outside, but they were more ready. One of them slung a fist at Cap, hitting the shield.
The man didn’t seem daunted. “Fight the fifth. Fight entrapment!” he yelled.
Steve glared down at him, as New York’s finest rushed in, arresting the men.
As the police left, Steve leant down, picking up one of the magazine’s that had being dropped on the floor.
Jack could just make out the title “ONE”
“Filth.” Cap snarled. “See what I told you, pal? These men,” He spat the word out, as though he didn’t think they had any right to call themselves that. “Are polluting America!”
“Whatever you say Cap.” Jack said, trying to ignore the small voice in his head that was asking what exactly they’d done.
/**//*/**/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*//**/*/*//*/*
As he crouched on the rooftop overlooking the parade, all Bucky could think was, “I wish Brian could have seen this.”
Brian would have loved it, the crazy mix of people, the costumes, the energy.
He had tried to persuade Roger to come with him, but Roger had just shaken his head.
“Should see your first one on your own,” He had said.
Beyond that, this wasn’t really Roger’s thing. He had always being the more conservative, the less flamboyant of the pair.
Not that either of them had anything on this crowd.
But Brian would have got that little half smile he got on his face when he saw Steve putting on a dress for those ridiculous undercover missions, or when he saw Bucky in a dress, cause it’s just easier for a girl to get into some places.
He would have liked it, and he never even got to see when homosexuality wasn’t illegal.
A part of Bucky wanted to go over to the Baxter Building, beat the snort out of Reed Richards, pitch his time machine and pull Brian here.
But Steve read him enough Buck Roger stories, and he’s heard enough stories from the others to know that that’s a bad idea.
He was about to go when he spotted another float coming down the street.
He couldn’t help smiling when he sees his costume, Steve’s costume, the Captain America Costume standing there waving to the crowd.
He watched as the guy looked up, spotting him, his face turning slightly pale as he carries on saluting the crowd.
Bucky saluted back.
Yeah, Brian would have liked this