#mangled writing

The reason I split it in two is because it was getting lengthy, and there was a nice splitting point. The first half covers the altered incident from chapter 60-63, while part two is going to cover the following days/weeks.

(Chapter 62 no wings)

While the ship is obviously Yeonhwa/Ayeon, Dahye's role in the fic has grown a lot from what I envisioned. No wings is the story of the three girls, after all.

It had taken Natasha a moment or two to realize that the man talking to her on the phone was not, in fact, a man she knew. And it took her even longer to process what he was saying.

“I just...I thought it would be over by now you know?” The man sounded seriously distressed. “I mean. It’s been two years you know? I’ve been discharged for two years, with honours and awards and everything, and I still can’t fucking forget any of it.”

A soldier. That made Natasha’s heart soften. She had dealt with soldiers before. She knew what haunted them in the dark corners of their minds.

“Every night, every fucking night, I see the explosions and the bodies and I hear the choppers. And the drones. I saw the fucking drones in action Sam. I saw them cut down children. Fucking children. I mean, what was the point behind that?”

After a short pause, Natasha realized that the man expected an answer. “I wish I could tell you.” She said softly. “I really do.”

The man made a startled noise. “I. Uh. You’re not Sam are you?”

Natasha cracked a smile. “No I’m not. I’m Natasha, and you are?”

There was a slight pause before the man answered. “Steve. Steve Rogers. I uh, I’m sorry about...all of that.”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.” Natasha assured him. “It sounded like you needed to get some seriously heavy stuff off your chest.”

“Yes. Well.” Steve cleared his throat. “I thought you were my buddy Sam and he knows what it’s like you know, to see that kind of stuff.”

“I know what you mean.” Natasha said. “It’s hard to tell civilians these sorts of things. All they ever see is what gets put on the news and what politicians and political pundits have to say about it. They don’t know. They think they do but they don’t.”

There was some silence.

“You too huh?” Steve asked, with what sounded like an attempt at lightheartedness.

“More than you can imagine.” Natasha said, eyes downcast.

“You know...if you like...you can tell me about it...I mean, it’s only fair, considering I told you all my shit.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because it’s kind of long story.”

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t look like I’ll be going to sleep again any time soon.” Steve assured her.

Natasha smiled. She fell back onto her bed and stared up at her ceiling. “Well, where to begin?”

If Sam had a dollar for every time he saw a grown man sitting in a corner hunched over and crying over what appeared to be a bowl of noddles he had dropped, he would have...well he would have like three dollars.

The man in question didn’t at all look like the type to cry over that kind of thing. Even from his hunched over position, Sam could tell that the guy worked out like a beast. He actually kind of reminded Sam of the football players back in high school.

For a moment, he considered just leaving the man be and have his lunch. But a part of Sam just couldn’t do that. It was probably the part of him that still remembered his mom telling him to always be considerate of people in their time of need.

Sam tentatively approached the man, gingerly placing his tray of food on a nearby table. “Hey, uh, man. Are you ok?”

The guy looked over his shoulder and Sam could see how bloodshot his eyes were, which only made him feel worse. “Wh-what?” He didn’t seem to have processed what Sam had said.

“I said are you ok?” Sam crouched beside him and tried to not feel so awkward about the whole thing. “You seem a little....distressed.”

To Sam’s surprise, the guy cracked a smile and laughed a bit. “You could say that.” He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes before standing up. Sam quickly stood up as well and saw just how tall the guy was. “Sorry, I just...” The man sighed. “I’ve just had a bad week.”

“I feel that.” Sam smiled back. “I’m Sam. Sam Wilson.” He put his hand out.

“Steve Rogers.” Steve shook his hand. He had quite a grip.

“You want to talk about it Steve?”

Steve considered the offer and the corner of his mouth twitched. “I probably should. You don’t mind do you?”

“Of course not.” Sam insisted. “It’s pretty much what I do for a living.”

Looking slightly more at ease, Steve smiled a little more. “Ok. Just let me clean this up first, I don’t want one of the cleaners to have to deal with this.”