"What are strong men like yourselves doing?" A voice sounded through the dark alley. A woman appeared. Her voice held a slight British accent.
"Teaching some punks a lesson," the largest of the five bullies said gruffly. He eyed the woman hungrily...
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《《☆》》
Dugan and Marlene were the last to fall into a deep slumber the previous night. She was running off of pure adrenaline. He didn't want her to be up alone. It was an old habit the Howling Commandos had picked up during the war, never allowing Marlene to be the last awake.
It was a habit that always annoyed her. It always made her feel like they were doing it to protect her. This time, however, she was never more thankful. Perhaps it was finally being able to speak with her comrades in person, but it was refreshing. Especially once he started talking.
He told her a tale about this short man stealing his hat. She couldn't contain her laughter in the slightest. She felt sorry for anyone she had accidentally woken up, if she did.
"So what about you?" Dugan asked. He continued at the look on Marlene's face. "Oh come on! You expect me to believe that you just sat around washing clothes?"
"I suppose not," Marlene smiled slightly. "I've been doing some assignments for Phillips. I've done some undercover work, found some people he needed me to, delivered anyone he asked, and the usual."
"You aren't working with Stark anymore?" he asked. "I assumed with everything going on that your partnership was temporarily broken, but before that. Why aren't you with Peg at the SSR?"
"Howard basically told me to take some time off or he is going to fire me," she shrugged nonchalantly. She was trying to make it seem like she didn't care that much, but she was left alone to her thoughts. "I'm not at the SSR because Peg told me not to join her at first. Both had the same bloody reasons. They told me that I needed time to cope, to heal from their deaths. They didn't want me drowning myself in work, which happens to be a bad habit of mine."
"How are you doing with everything?" Dugan asked her. "With their deaths and with Stark's mess?"
"There's not a day that goes by that I don't miss them," she said, gazing into the fire. "I see my brother's eyes in the mirror, looking back into my soul. I see his spirit in all of the children that stand up for what they believe in. I see him all around the world, his image, his message. I'm already starting to forget what his laugh sounds like. I truly only remember his face in the photographs. I keep trying to remember if his smirk tilts to the right or to the left. The small details are becoming more and more indistinct.
"It's the same with James. I don't remember the minor details about his face. I can't remember if the scar is on his right jaw or his left. I can't remember what his laugh sounded like. The only minor things I remember are the purity of his smile, the color of his eyes, his voice, and the way he lifts his chin slightly when he's proud of himself.
"I never took the time to form a mental photo of their face in my mind. I never took the time to remember everything so minor about them, because I was naive. I thought they'd never leave. I'll never forget them. That's for sure. However, I fear that one day, all of the small things that I remember now will be gone. That I won't remember that Steve always crossed his arms, and his right pointer finger would always tap anxiously against his left bicep when he was nervous. I'm afraid that I won't remember the perfect cupid's bow of James's top lip or the way he always fought with a locked jaw and a completely concentrated face.
