Rumors of War || The First Avenger

Chapter Twenty-Two: Who Are You Supposed To Be?

Picture is a Union Jack retro dress that is very similar to what I envisioned for Emma's Lady Liberty costume.

Music is "In The Mood" by The Andrews Sisters.

·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Who Are You Supposed To Be?

"Where in the name of the King did you get that awful helmet?"

Steve traps on the dreaded blue helmet with a giant "A" on the front in white lettering, a smirk on his face. "I borrowed it from Alyssia."

"Alyssia Steinback? One of the dancers?" I sigh, shaking my head.

Steve then gets playfully defensive. "What? You look ridiculous, too. Look at us, both willing to go behind enemy lines in these ridiculous costumes."

"Well, my Sergeant's uniform has too tight a skirt. I'd die before we even hit the ground."

Steve rolls his eyes. "I still can't believe I'm letting you come with me. I should never have agreed."

I raise an eyebrow. "Steve, to me you're still a ninety-five pound asthmatic. I can't believe I'm letting you go behind enemy lines. It's dangerous."

"And reckless," he adds with a sly grin.

"And it might be the only way we can save the man we both love," I add. "So... suck it up." I swallow visibly, not used to being so stubborn around the most stubborn man alive. "I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not." The plane hits turbulence, and I grab tightly to the nearest thing to me, which just happens to be part of the plane. "I hate flying. I really hate flying."

Steve places a comforting hand across the aisle to rest on my knee for a mere moment. He then turns to Peggy across the aisle from him, sitting beside me, and begins to pull his parachute over his arms.

"The HYDRA camp is in Krausberg, tucked between these two mountain ranges," Peggy says, pulling out the map of the surrounding area. Steve and I look at it observantly as she shows us the little X marked "HYDRA." "It's a factory of some kind."

Our pilot, Howard Stark, speaks up, "We should be able to drop you right on the doorstep."

"Just get us as close as you can. You know, you two are gonna be in a lot of trouble when you land."

Peggy scoffs, "And you two won't?"

"Where we're goin', if anybody yells at me, I can just shoot 'em."

Peggy picks up the shield laying across the seat to her left. "They will, undoubtedly, shoot back." Her eyes are softer this time, as if true worry covers her features. Underneath the facade of not caring, Peggy Carter cares very much. This much I've learned.

"Well, let's hope," he bangs his fist on the shield to his right, "it's good for somethin'." He nods to my weapon of choice in hand. "Your baton? Are you sure that's such a great idea?"

I grip the patrioticaly-colored baton closer to me. "Steven Rogers, I'm not certain that any of this is 'such a great idea,' but it's better than nothing. I'm not used to a gun, and I've been practicing with the baton behind the scenes. Evidently, one of the stage managers used to be into martial arts; he's been showing me how to strike with it as a bow staff."

Steve chuckles to himself. "The fourth-grade teacher turned martial artist. All right. I believe you. I remember last week you accidentally decked that prop guy by accident. You never did tell me how it happened."