Remember me love, when I'm reborn
Natasha might have shared Howard’s last name, but she named Steve her next of kin. Which meant that all of her personal belongings were now his. They showed him her work station, her lab notebooks and told him he would be allowed to take all of her personal effects. Her lab notebooks were Army and SSR property, along with whatever she worked on. Steve could care less for those things. For all intents and purposes, those projects killed her. HYDRA wanted her inventions and her designs. She wouldn’t surrender so they killed her.
Steve collected Natasha’s personal belongings from her workstation, taking with him the physics and engineering textbooks and her assortment of tools. Steve stopped short when he saw that there was a picture of him, from his pre-serum days, framed on the desk. She loved him unfalteringly, unconditionally. And he failed her.
He couldn’t protect her when it counted, when it mattered. What good was he if he couldn’t even protect the most important person in his life, the love of his life? Why does he have this power if he couldn’t use when it mattered the most? So far, he had failed Dr. Erskine and Natasha. Would there be more people felled by his incompetence, his inability to do what was right?
It hurt. Somehow, this hurt more than when Ma died. Steve thought he was alone when Ma died, but the creeping loneliness and the cold emptiness he felt right now was more profound than anything he felt after burying Ma.
With trembling hands, Steve picked up the framed photograph and added it to his pile of Natasha’s personal belonging to keep. It was the only part of her he could hold any longer.
Back in their room, Steve placed the items on the desk. He rummaged through his pockets for the stuff he pocketed from the lab, and in his haste one of the items fell to the floor and roll under the bed. Steve sighed and knelt down to retrieve it, patting the floor for it until his fingertips touched on something that he didn’t expect to be there.
It felt like a box, something sturdy. Steve peered inside and sure enough there was big trunk tucked under their bed. Steve hadn’t felt any emotion other than despondency and melancholy ever since the funeral, but for some reason, he felt compelled right now to get inside and pull that box out, investigate what was inside. It might be Natasha’s, and would provide him another piece of her to hold on to.
The box was an army issue cargo case, emblazoned on top was the words “Property of Natasha M. Stark”. It was heavy, but for Steve’s super strength it was of no concern. As he opened it, he found even more of Natasha’s personal effects. There were pictures of her family, the Scholls, the three of them posed stoically for the camera. There was a picture of Natasha as a little girl, a tomboy wearing a jumpsuit holding a wrench and a screwdriver, with the remains of a dissected cuckoo clock in front of her. The picture brought a smile to his face, at least Natasha had a happy childhood no matter how brief it would be.
The case also contained blueprints, design schematics, research notes. The writings and mathematical equations on them were things that Steve couldn’t hope to decipher. There was her diploma from MIT also in the case, an identifying document designating her as Natasha Magdalena Stark, asylum paperworks, all the letters Steve ever sent her, his sketches, both the silly caricature ones to the portraits he’d done of her mixed in among her treasured possessions. And finally, Steve spotted her brown leather bound journal with an envelope addressed to him clipped on to it.
Steve picked up the journal, feeling confused and out of sorts. The preliminary reports on her death stated that Natasha died from internal bleeding on injuries sustained from a bullet wound to her stomach. She exacerbated her injuries by going on to heal almost everyone on base, leading to fatalistic blood loss and death, her journal was nowhere to be found on her person. The consensus by the MPs investigating her death was that HYDRA assassins killed her for the possession of her journal, as they believe she had knowledge that would further the HYDRA mission to empower the Axis.
If her journal was in HYDRA’s hands, then what was this one? Had she have two journals all this time?
With unsure hands, Steve plucked the envelope addressed to him and opened it, hoping it would give him some explanation to this new revelation. Inside there was a neatly folded paper with Natasha’s handwriting all over it. Another letter, the last letter she wrote to him. Steve closed his eyes, overwhelmed by grief again. A letter prepared beforehand meant she knew, or at least anticipated, her death to come. Was there ever anything that he could have done to prevent this?
My Steve,
If by some miracle I made it through this war alive, you won’t ever be reading this letter or even find this journal. They would be relegated to the fireplace at the Brooklyn apartment we would be living in right now. But if you are reading this letter, that means I’m gone. I’m sorry, love. I never wanted it to be this way, I don’t want to leave you but I have to.
You must have questions, and I will try my best to answer them in this letter. There are two journals, one that HYDRA will have undoubtedly pried from my cold dead hands, and the one in your possessions. I made two journals for the express purpose of tricking them to build a rigged version of the Tesseract stabilizer, one that would malfunction and backfire on them the more they use it. Considered it as my own parting gift to the organization that killed my parents but in a twisted way brought you into my life.
The journal in your possession contains the correct design, my love. I will defer to your judgement on whether to inform the SSR and the Army to disclose its existence. The ability to control and handle the Tesseract are ones that I fear humans are still unsuited for. The Tesseract represents great sustainable and unending power. Studying the Tesseract, learning everything about it for the sole purpose of providing the world with sustainable energy would be the best use of my designs.
But imagine power like that in the hands of anyone who has even the slightest inclination to subjugate others. Imagine the destruction that could be wrought, the wars that would be fought in the future after further exploration and studies on the Tesseract. It would make the death and destruction we have seen thus far comparable to a street fight. It would transform our wars to a higher form of war, one that I fear no one could survive. I have little faith in my fellow human beings, other than you of course. I trust you would make the right decisions on my behalf, Steve.
Steve, please don’t blame yourself. My death wasn’t through any fault of yours. It’s been a long time coming, I knew of it. When news of Dr. Erskine reached me, I knew that I would be next. I just didn’t know when the exact moment would be, but I knew it was coming. You gave me such happiness and peace in this tumultuous life. I will cherish your love forever and ever.
If I were to be reborn, Steve, I want to finally have a chance to spend the rest of my days with you. To build a life together and to love each other without consequence. If we were to be reborn, I will find you and you would find me and we would remember each other on a deep, visceral, instinctive level born from two souls recognizing its counterpart.
I’m with you always. Because I carry your heart with me, Steve. I carry it in my heart.
I couldn’t separate myself from you, anymore than you could part from me. This separation won’t last forever. We’ll see each other again, soon.
We will be together again, my love. This I promise you.
All my love,
Natasha
Tears streamed down his face without his consent. Natasha’s parting words, her last messages, absolved him of his crimes. She knew death was coming her way, hid it from him in a misguided attempt to protect him and his heart from feeling the guilt of failing to protect her.
She believed in him, she believed in them. They would meet again someday, Steve had to trust in that. But now, Steve had a job to finish, to eradicate HYDRA and its sinister machinations from this world and to avenge her.
Steve would take up the mantle of her avenging angel, full of wrath and self righteous anger. He would be the First Avenger.
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Clouded by grief and desperation, Steve’s supposedly final mission to stop HYDRA by attacking their supply lines cost them Bucky. Another loss for the Commandos and another failure for Steve.
Two deaths now. Two deaths on his head, his best friend and his greatest love, both ripped away from this world because Steve was too consumed by anger, too blinded by grief, to stop and think clearly about the mission. His single minded fervor to avenge Natasha cost him Bucky, caused his brother to plunge into the icy embrace of a snow covered cliff.
If he wasn’t hesitant before, he was more convinced now that he should be eating the barrel of his gun before he cost the death of anymore people around him. He was a liability now. It would be the best thing he could do to ensure the success of the SSR’s missions.
Peggy found him, sitting morosely in the bombed out remains of the bar they went to that night that seemed so long ago. When he saw Natasha again after one year of separation, when everything was right in his world. He had been trying in vain to get drunk, to numb himself from the gnawing pit of grief that was opening up further within him, swallowing what was left of his soul to its gaping maw. He clutched desperately at the amber pendant, the only thing rooting him to this world, a reminder that he wasn’t finished yet.
“Dr. Erskine said that… the serum wouldn’t just affect my muscles, it would effect my cells. Create a protective system of regeneration and healing. Which means um…I can’t get drunk. Did you know that?” he asked despondently.
“Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person. He thought it could be one of the side effects.” Peggy nodded, observing him patiently. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Did you read the reports?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know that’s not true.” Steve took a long gulp straight from the bottle, knowing it wouldn’t affect him in the least but just needing an excuse to gather his thoughts, “Tasha’s death. Bucky’s death. Everything was my fault. If only I was strong enough…”
“You did everything you could.” Peggy insisted, “Did you believe in Natasha, in Barnes? Did you respect them?” Steve shot her a look. How could she ask something like this? She, more than anyone, knew the depth of his feelings for Natasha.
“Then stop blaming yourself. Allow them the dignity of their choices. I know damn well Natasha thought you were worth it. You were her entire world. And he must have thought so too.”
Steve looked down at the pendant, pondering Peggy’s words. He had one last chance, one more try to bring a stop to everything. “I’m goin’ after Schmidt. I’m not gonna stop till all of Hydra is dead or captured.”
“You won’t be alone.” she placed a hand on his shoulder. The weight of her convictions and her strength in the face of such losses encouraging Steve. He was grateful for Peggy, she had been a great friend to him. In another world where Natasha didn’t exist, they might have been good together. But as soon as that thought crossed his mind, Steve dismissed it. If there was ever a world where Natasha didn’t exist, Steve wouldn’t have existed either. It was moot point, no use in mulling over what was and what could have been. They had a mission to complete.
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The plan worked. Natasha’s trojan horse successfully dismantled the HYDRA facility. It went up in flames destroying it, taking down many HYDRA soldiers and weapons with it, burning it down to cinders and reducing HYDRA’s legacy to ashes. Good riddance.
His plan to storm into the HYDRA facility and take on Schmidt worked. He managed to escape on the Valkyrie, but Steve didn’t give up, giving chase with Colonel Phillips and Peggy’s help, stowing himself away in the plane’s cargo hold. There were atomic weapons, designated for each major cities in the United States’ Eastern seaboard. New York City among them. Steve felt his hackles raised at the thought of his beloved city targeted by the Red Skull. There was no way he would let that happen.
Steve started to disable the fighter planes, and once that was done, made his way up to the cockpit for one last fight with his archenemy, the man responsible for so many losses in his life.
“You don’t give up, do you?” the Red Skull sneered.
“Nope!”
They fought, hard and viciously. Steve channeling all his grief, rage, anger, sadness, and desperation to every punch he landed, every kick he delivered. He hated him. He hated Schmidt. He took Natasha away from him, took Bucky away from him, and was now planning on taking everyone else’s world away from them.
“You could have the power of the gods! Yet you wear a flag on your chest and think you fight a battle of nations! I have seen the future, Captain! There are no flags!” he boasted, showing that great hubris he seemed to possess, amplified by the imperfect serum flowing in his veins.
“Not my future!” Steve retorted back. He lost patience and seek to end the fight now. He flung his shield at the Red Skull, knocking him backwards towards the Tesseract. Natasha had told him how despite being unusually stable, slight disturbance to the molecular surface of the Tesseract was capable of eliciting a great burst of energy. Pushing the Red Skull would cause some damage to say the least.
The Tesseract was released from the stabilizer, causing Schmidt to panic. “What have you done?!” he picked it up, sufficiently disrupting the cube and triggered by it, a great burst of energy emanated from the cube. Steve watched in astonishment as a giant void started to appear behind the Red Skull, created by the Tesseract. A tendril of blue energy slithered out from the void, grabbing the Red Skull, whisking him away into space, the man screaming all the way.
Then just as fast as it appeared, the void closed, leaving Steve and the Tesseract in the Valkyrie. The cube burned through the steel railings of the cockpit and all the way to the bottom of the airplane, falling far far away into the ocean, hidden away from human hands and their misguided attempts to utilize it.
Steve then took over the plane’s controls, the navigation screen showed its direction as heading to New York City. He tried in vain to reverse course or change the coordinates to somewhere safer to land the plane before he realized that the navigation system was damaged during his fight with the Red Skull. There was no other way around it then, Steve had to put the plane in the water and himself with it.
He leaned back in the pilot’s chair, accepting the inevitable. He took out his compass and opened it, Natasha’s beautiful face staring back at him. He traced a finger reverently over the picture, “I’ll be with you soon, my love.”
He tried the radio one last time, hoping the base would pick up his transmission, “Come in. This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?”
Morita answered him, “Captain Rogers, what is your…” before Steve heard him being shoved to the side and Peggy’s voice replaced him. “Steve, is that you? Are you alright?”
“Peggy. Schmidt’s dead.”
“What about the plane?”
Steve looked around the empty plane, empty except for the atomic bombs it was carrying to the East Coast, “That’s a bit harder to explain.”
“Give me your coordinates, I’ll find you a safe landing site.”
“There’s not gonna be a safe landing. I’m gonna try and force it down.”
“I’ll get Howard on the line, he’ll know what to do.” Peggy said again, her voice frantic.
“There’s not enough time. This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading for New York.” Steve inhaled deeply before saying his next words, “I gotta put her in the water.”
“Please, don’t do this. We have time. We can work it out.” Steve thought he heard Peggy’s voice breaking a little.
“Right now I’m in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die. Peggy, this is my choice.” Steve told her, “Peggy?”
“I’m here.”
Steve thought of what to say to her. This woman who had been a great friend for both him and Natasha. He thought about how she would fare after everything was said and done. But Steve had no worries for her. Peggy was strong, stronger than him. She would bounce back, rebuild her life, and maybe she would think fondly of him and Natasha once she finished mourning. “Thanks for everything.” then Steve disconnected the radio. He wanted some silence before the inevitable.
As he looked outside to the skies beyond the cockpit, he thought of how unafraid he felt in his last moments. He took out the amber pendant from its safekeeping place in one of the pouches of his utility belt and looped it around his neck, taking comfort in having a piece of Natasha with him in his final hour.
Suddenly the warmth that he never thought he’d ever feel again surround him, enveloping him. It felt like someone wrapped an arm around his shoulders, providing him safe haven, a place to lay his head on. It felt the way it would feel when Natasha healed his wounds, fixed the broken and sore parts of his body with a touch of her hands.
A beloved voice whispered in his ears. Rest, Steve. I’m with you now.
Steve closed his eyes, comforted by her touch and her presence. The plane dove faster to the ground. There was a loud crash, and everything ceased to be.
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Heaven felt a lot like a recovery room in an SSR barracks. Or maybe it was hell. Steve had never been that good of a Catholic boy to begin with, what with his secret desire and attraction to both men and dames. He confided this fact in Natasha before, and to his great relief she took no issue in it. Telling Steve that you couldn’t help who you love. Love was love was love.
The radio was playing a game that he remembered with great clarity. It was a game from 1941, he, Bucky and everyone else in the complex huddled around the only radio set in the whole tenement complex to listen to it. Why would it be playing now? Was it a set up to lull him to a false sense of security?
A woman entered the room. It wasn’t Natasha, in fact she was the furthest thing from Natasha with her extremely done up face, all rouged up and spiffed up. So he was still alive then. If he was dead, he had hoped God would be merciful enough to finally let them be together. The fact that she still wasn’t here reinforced the fact that somehow he had survived the plane crash. Pitiful.
“Good morning.” the woman greeted, then looked down at her watch. “Or should I say, afternoon?”
“Where am I?” Steve asked.
“You’re in a recovery room in New York city.” she affected a calm and collected answer, but her racing heartbeat betrayed her. She was nervous for some reason.
“Where am I really?” Steve questioned her again. The old game playing on the radio, her nervousness and the wrongness of the whole situation put him on edge. Has he fallen into the hands of the enemy after his plane crash?
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” she said again.
“The game, it’s from May, nineteen forty one. I know, cause I was there.” Steve stood up from the bed, towering over her. He relished the look of fear he gleaned from her widening pupils and the way her heart rate kicked up, “Now, I’m gonna ask you again. Where am I?”
“Captain Rogers…” she discreetly pressed the silent alarm she had been carrying with her.
“Who are you?” just as soon as Steve bellowed out the question, two men in black uniforms brandishing a weapon burst into the room. Good, Steve had been itching for a fight since the moment he woke up.
He easily defeated them, tossing them through the wall, which happened to be a fake, makeshift wall camouflaging him from the rest of the world. Steve ran through the building, looking for a way out. As he ran through the building, he took note of the way it was constructed. All glass and steel. So different from the buildings he was used to. What was going on? Why did everything look so strange?
Steve burst out onto the street and started running in a random direction, hoping to shake off his pursuers. As he ran through the streets, more things started to look familiar and strange at the same time. It looked like New York, it really did, but it was more crowded. There were more lights, people were dressed strangely. He ran in the direction of Times Square, hoping someone there could clue him in on what happened. Was the war over? If it was, then there surely would be people gathered there. Ma once told him that was where everyone gathered when the armistice was signed to mark the end of the Great War.
Times Square was different from how he remembered it. There were lights, huge screens that seemed to be advertising something. But it was different from the usual ads Steve would see. The ads would change colors, change texts, it was moving around. There were symbols for companies Steve never even heard of. Steve was so close to grabbing someone and asking them what the hell was going on before a fleet of black cars stopped him in his tracks.
“At ease, soldier!” a man called out. Steve turned around to see a Black man in a black trench coat and an eye patch marching towards him. He seemed like someone with great authority. “Look, I’m sorry about that little show back there, but… we thought it best to break it to you slowly.”
“Break what?” Steve husked out. He was overwhelmed, scared and confused. Nothing he was seeing or hearing was making a lick of sense.
“You’ve been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years.” What?
“You gonna be okay?” the man asked again.
If there was a fate worse than death, then Steve seemed to have found it. “You should have left me where you found me.”