A Golden Sight in The Darkest Place
For @steggyfanevents
Steggy week 2023, Day 2 WIPs & updates
One shot written by @thesongofthegreens
Photo edited by me @pentaghastx
Brief summary:
During WWII, Steve wanders off to have a moment alone, however, on top of hill outside the trenches, he finds a beautiful sight that makes him forget about everything around him... just for a moment.
Note:
This piece was a WIP for a while but we managed to finish it for Steggy week! I always wanted to do a collaborative piece with Artemis where I edited a photo based off their writing, I am so glad I was able to pump this out with them! The photo is mixed in with the writing so keep reading for a surprise that I am very proud of!
Read it on Ao3 here!
Thank you for reading!
——— ✴︎ ———
It had been early April, in France.
Behind them, there were the remains of all the trenches from the Great War; some trenches still remained, shrapnel and all. At times, the men wandered into them and found trinkets to send home - Steve didn’t blame them. They were sitting ducks for the moment, waiting for orders that were days late.
In those few days, he had wondered if the supposed messenger was dead somewhere, orders tucked safely away, but no closer to his troop than before. He then let himself wonder if he would have to push the company forward, without orders. He would rather push than wait and lose their chance. The mission that was before them could only wait so long, with Schmidt on the move and attempting to make a new base anywhere that could be found, and Hitler's troops scattered in nearly every crevice to be found.
When the sun began to slip under the hill, he had made up his mind: if the messenger did not come by tomorrow night, he would send the men forward into the unknown territory and fight with all the might that they had left.
Rather than stare at the night sky and stay in open territory, he decided to have the men settle into the bunkers, shielding them from weather that might come, or the enemies that might wander. He split his men into three groups, sending each to a different bunker with a radio and a code word to send to those who were on watch.
The first code word was taste, the second being teach, and the final word was tenor. Of course, these were already code words that their troop knew, as well as other American troops, but the enemy would be in the dark, if their line had been intercepted, so long as it was used in a proper sentence.
If the word was wrong, or there was no check in amongst the bunkers every few hours, a secondary call would be made, and then arms would be taken up. He hoped it would not come to that.
After searching the trenches and assessing that there were no threats waiting, the groups dispersed for the night and to hopefully catch a few hours.
The bunkers were empty, but the bunks for soldiers were still there; some had thin mattresses that were covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, even long dried blood from their former owners. Many had only large springs that would dig into someone all night, but keep them high above mold and rats. For most of his men, as long as their pack was against their backs, they could sleep nearly anywhere.
Someone had saved a bunk for him, one of the few with a mattress in half decent condition, as he was the highest ranking among them and meant to lead them into possible battle. As grateful as he was for the gesture, it felt wrong to have been given the mattress when many around him hadn’t been blessed with such rank by powerful serums and mere coincidence.
He left the mattress out and let the men decide who would be next in line for it, settling against his own leather jacket as a pillow until he would take his watch.
He fell asleep to the first signal from bunker two.
He had finished taking his watch a few hours ago, but sleep did not come so easily the second time. He would have to move the men today, without orders or a clear way in. The troops would understand, but he doubted they would be content with the fact that he had moved without a single word coming from the higher ups. They wouldn't mind later, when they, hopefully, celebrated a victory.
Sitting on the springs of his bunk, he could see the light pouring in from the opening of the bunker, inviting him to go out for fresh air, to think over his choices. He took the bait, stopping by the last man on watch and picking up the radio to haul along with him.
As he stepped out of the bunkers and into the trenches, he spared one thought to his father, to how he had died in a trench somewhere, his body left to rot and only a few bones to send home. Steve wondered if his father had even been afraid of death when it came, or if it had been a relief in the face of living more and more days in hell.
Shaking away the thought, he found a slope and climbed it, standing above the trench and taking in a deep breath. The crisp morning air filled his lungs, just as it did in New York, when the fall rain had just swept in. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine Brooklyn and the cars passing down the street. He let himself dream of it, just for a moment, when no one could see him.
Despite the fact that he was sure he hadn’t bathed in a few weeks and he hadn’t eaten more than a few spare crumbs over the last few days, he felt peace.
But he was not alone, nor the first in the sunlight.
Under a cherry blossom tree lingered a figure, with the same color of uniform as himself, though quite different from the men around him - being as she was a woman. But even in a room full of women, she would have stood out, her brown curls framing her face and gently swaying in the wind.
It had been weeks since he had seen her hair out of its usual styling; he assumed part of it was the inability to wash it regularly while they scouted France. And yet… he would have thought she had just stepped from a movie screen.
The cherry blossom petals fell in her hair as the wind continued to move over the land, almost as if to form a crown. She laughed, looking up at them and giving her head a shake before looking down to her journal. A compass was settled on top of the page, her perfectly manicured fingers holding it in place. She was a piece of Heaven on Earth, he was certain of it.
After some gawking that he knew his men would have laughed at, he checked behind him, checking in the trench lines for anyone who might have seen. When there was no one, he moved forward, as if he were already on the mission rather than a few feet away. It was only a few strides before he was right in front of her, wishing to say something poetic.
All that came out of his mouth was, "Am I ruining your sunlight?" You’re a damn fool, just like the rest of ‘em, he thought, before she looked up to him. A smile spread onto her red lips and he knew he was ruined. His heart might as well have been signed, sealed, and delivered to her doorstep… or at least to her bunk.
He shared her smile, sitting next to her, and setting the radio at his feet. Soon enough, the men would be waiting for the moment he would announce that they would be pursuing the mission. But the news would come soon enough. He began picking a few petals from her hair, rubbing them between his fingers. “If you’re not careful, you’re gonna sprout a tree,” he teased, tossing them to her lap, suddenly wishing he’d saved a few petals for his own journal, to press between the pages and remember her, even if his memory was shot after all the years.
“Oh hush, Rogers. You’re interrupting my thoughts.” Her words were sharp, but her voice remained honey; he could have grown drunk on it, if his body would let him - perhaps he already was, with such thoughts swimming around in his mind.
Silence fell over them, but her pen had not started again, not yet. Her attention was on him, and he knew what she was waiting to hear. He picked at the grass, closing his eyes and wishing for one more day. Just another day and he wouldn’t be leading his men to a slaughter. Or it would come for them anyway and he would be a fool.
“We have to move them or we’ll lose the Germans, or worse - Schmidt.” At this point, he wasn’t sure if he was facing Hydra or Hitler everywhere he went - both stood in the way of the freedom he was fighting to protect. “And all I can think about is leading them to a troop who may just kill us all.”
He sighed, opening his eyes to find brown eyes waiting for him, already softened and as warm as the sun behind them. “If anyone can lead us in, give them hell, and come out of it, it would be you, Steve. You’ve already accomplished it many times and I have no doubt you’ll do it a few dozen times more.” She paused, pursing her lips before leaning closer. “This is what I knew you were meant for, since the day I saw you jump on that grenade. I always knew you would do great things, with or without a vial of blue liquid.”
It might have been the wind, the stupidity he held within him, or the petals in her hair, but he leaned in as well, his hand cupping her cheek, and turning her head slightly. Their lips met, softly, before her hand curled into the collar of his uniform. At the same moment, his other hand pulled her closer to him by her waist. Though neither of them dared to say it, they both knew it may have been the last one they would share before they marched to their demise. It was that thought that sent him chasing after her mouth when she pulled away, a soft chuckle escaping her before she gave in.
She must have shared the thought too.
Right as his lungs were set to burst, their kiss broke, and both of his hands moved to rest against her cheeks, cradling her as if she were the last treasure he held in this world. A current sent white blossoms floating down to both of them, a small smile spreading on his lips. “If we survive this, Peggy Carter, I’m going to marry you.”
