I Knew a Man (Part One)
REQUEST FOR READMITTANCE
Applicant: Steven Grant Rogers
Discharge Status: [see attachment]
Branch: Army
Title (former): [see attachment]
Status: Pending Psychiatric Evalution
Justification for Status: [see attached file]
"I-I know . . . I know how hard this must be for you, Captain. You are allowed to stop the session early if you wish. Just know that I . . . Well, you have to understand . . . I have no choice but to count that as an incomplete session."
"I understand, ma'am."
"I am very sorry about all of this."
"Why?"
"I understand you would like to serve again."
"I would."
"And you have no choice but to complete these sessions in order to do so."
"That's what they tell me."
"Right, well, you understand, then—"
"I get no credit for incomplete sessions."
"Right, so it would just be—"
"Wasted time?"
"I have no desire to traumatize you more than I have to, Captain Rogers."
"I don't think you can do any worse than the Nazis, ma'am."
Steve wakes up in Hell.
It's only what he can assume to be Hell, anyway, thinking back to a sermon Father Fitzgerald gave in the middle of an August heatwave when he was a kid. It was one of the rare Sundays he was able to convince Sister Cathleen to take him to Mass with her while Ma was at work. It was a hot day and she smelled like roses and sweat.
He remembers clambering onto the bench beside her, having to pause halfway up the climb to catch his breath. In the end, his feet dangled over the edge, barely skimming the ground.
He remembers barely having caught his breath by the time Father actually starts talking about Hell. (His Ma told him enough about Hell, though, and Steve is not a real fan of what he's heard.) It's sinfully hot in the church already so the sermon seems redundant.
Or, that's what Steve's anticipating anyway.
"On the day of reckoning, Heaven will rain fire and stones. On the day of reckoning, Heaven shall scorch us with, and only with the mercy of Jesus Christ Our Lord and Savior will we survive to see His life. The rest shall freeze in the pits of Hell."
So, Steve thinks, blinking awake to the darkness of his downed ship: This is Hell.
He's strapped to his chair. He's pretty sure his leg is broken, but he can't move because he's still strapped down. His hands are blue and frosted to the steering mechanism, and they're numb when he breaks them away. Good, he thinks, turning them over in front of his face. Looked like a world of hurt.
And it would have been, probably. But he was also pretty sure that he was supposed to be dead, so he was hesitant to put any money on anything.
His head was pounding and he could feel his skin trying to stitch itself back together at his temple. There's only the barest amount of light. He knows if he were a normal person he wouldn't be able to see at all, and the more he looks at himself, the more he starts to think that that might have been a good thing.
His seatbelt is completely iced over where it attaches the two straps and he doesn't have enough sensation in his fingers to claw at it right now.
He wonders what woke him.
He wonders how long he's been here.
He wonders if everybody thinks he's dead.
You are dead, he reminds himself. You are dead, and this is Hell, and you are going to sit in this seat and die for the rest of your life.
I thought I was already dead?
You are.
If I'm dead, how can I die for the rest of my life?
This is the fight you want to pick right now?
You got a puzzle or something I can look at?
We don't have board games in Hell.
Well, that's a damn shame.
"But you were awake?"
"I'm not sure. My mind could have been awake. I could have been just dreaming."
"You were found with your seatbelt still on and your hands on the wheel."
"I took them off the wheel before the water came. I'm not sure what I did after."
"Before?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You said 'before the water came'."
"Yes, ma'am."
"You were awake when the water came into the ship?"
" . . ."
We were in a Depression before I got into the War.
I'm well aware of that.
Are you God?
If I am, nobody's told me yet.
I don't think you'd make a good God.
Well, it's a good thing you aren't the brains of this outfit, then, isn't it?
That's not very nice.
I'm not in a very good mood, forgive me.
What's got you so wound up?
Well, we are about to drown to death, I reckon. It's starting to put a damper on my mood.
Drown? How do you figure?
You hear that screamin' the ships doin' over there?
(Steve hadn't been thinking about that over the sounds of his internal dialogue, but now that he was, he could hear it.)
I figure that's a glacier movin' 'gainst the outside of the ship's jacket. Only two things can be happenin' if a glacier moves.
We could be being rescued.
Or we could be sinkin'. When'd you land here?
I don't know.
How long've you been here?
I don't know.
Are they sendin' people to come 'n' find you?
I hope so.
Definitely not the brains of the outfit.
"Jesus Christ."
"Now I don't think there's any need for that kind of language, ma'am."
"I'm sorry! I just . . . You were awake."
"I don't know. Maybe I wasn't. Maybe I thought of this all when I was in that coma."
"Captain Rogers . . ."
"The coma's the only thing that makes sense."
Ow.
You're going to start complaining now?
Where am I?
How'm I supposed to know? You've got your eyes closed.
Are you God?
We've had this conversation before.
You don't sound like God.
Think your brain's got frostbite.
Am I dead?
You hear all that racket? You think they'd be making such a fuss over you if you were dead?
You told me I was gonna die to death.
That you remember.
"Oh my God! He's- I think he's waking up!"
"You're not going to clear me, are you?"
Steve sighs. He feels like the SHIELD emblem serves no greater purpose than to mock him at this point.
He doesn't like SHIELD. He's still a little irked that Peggy would get behind something like SHIELD in the first place, but he knows he ought to trust her judgment until he knows more about it. But isn't that just the problem with this whole damned century?
Steve knows nothing about it.
Nothing more than what was in the dossier, anyway, and that was only six pages long.
A page for every decade. What more do you want? A bible dedicated to all the years you spent as a popsicle?
(That voice in his head never really went away either. Doctor Ida calls them 'intrusive thoughts' but Steve thinks 'jackass' does just fine in the privacy of his own head.)
"Penny for your thoughts?"
And Nick Fury. Steve's not so keen on Nick Fury.
His Ma taught him manners, though, so he straightens out his hunched shoulders and offers the man his hand to shake, which he does. "Just waiting for my discharge papers from Doctor Ida. My last session was yesterday and if I need to talk to the Reserves office, I'd like to do it as soon as possible."
Fury nods, shaking the large envelope in his other hand. "I believe I'm your carrier pigeon for the evening."
Steve raises an eyebrow but takes the proffered envelope.
Fury shrugs. "Joan was one of my recruits. She was a little nervous to deliver these herself, I think."
Steve's heart plummets.
He nods. "Our last few sessions didn't go very well," he says plainly, trying to not think too badly on Doctor Ida. "She did what she thought was right and I have to respect that."
Fury's face remains neutral. "After a waiting period and a few in-between sessions, you can try for another evaluation."
"I might." Steve thinks for a minute. "Thank you for these. I hope it was no trouble."
"No trouble at all, Captain."
Steve doesn't correct him, figuring there's will be a whole publicity thing about his title once they tell the public he's actually alive.
He's halfway down the length of the corridor when Fury calls out to him. "Cap! Wait a second!"
He jogs to meet him, and in a few short strides, they meet just outside of the middle. "Yes?"
"If you still want to serve, there's a place here for you, if you want it."
Steve considers this for a moment. It's not like there's a place for you anywhere else.
"But I didn't pass the test?"
"There's no test for what I have in mind."
I don't like this.
You don't have to like it. You don't have a lot of other options here.
"What did you have in mind?"
Fury looks like he's biting back a smile. "I'm not entirely sure yet," he admits. "See, I have this idea . . ."
REQUEST FOR READMITTANCE
Applicant: Steven Grant Rogers
Discharge Status: [see attachment]
Branch: Army
Title (former): [see attachment]
Status: DENIED
Justification for Status: [see attached file]
[REDACTED] Note: Mr. Rogers is, under no circumstance, to serve as an active or inactive agent without extensive therapy and total consensus from a roundtable of field psychologists. It is recommended that Mr. Rogers seek extensive counseling for his time served during the Second World War and his life during the Great Depression. Mr. Rogers obviously suffers from PTSD, depression, acute-onset OCD, and more than likely an undiagnosed panic disorder. Mr. Rogers did not submit himself with full disclosure for a diagnosis. May God Help Us All. [REDACTED]
Steven Grant Rogers
Avengers Initiative: RECOMMENDED