"The thing is, I think it's getting worse," Cassie Martin, a fellow USAF veteran, spoke softly. Telling the group, a detailed account of her own personal experience with post-traumatic stress disorder and how her service continued to impact her new civilian lifestyle. Marci hadn't planned on going to the VA this morning. In fact, when she woke up, she had purposefully ignored Sam's pestering phone calls and messages he left encouraging her to show. Yet as she made her way out of bed, her eyes fell upon the burnt blankets that remained on her floor from her mishap yesterday. So here she was, sitting with a group of people, just as troubled as herself, on the hard metal folding chairs that made her body feel just as uncomfortable as her mind when left to her own thoughts. Despite the obvious heavy conversations that were sparked, these meetings always had a way of bringing her comfort despite the difficulties that presented when listening to stranger's accounts of their post war experiences. That's why they exist. "A cop pulled me over last week; he thought I was drunk," she let out a sound that could have been mistaken for a laugh, "I swerved to miss a plastic bag," Cassie paused, finding the strength to continue. Marci watched, pity in her eyes, as Cassie closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm her racing heart, "I thought it was an IED," she admitted, her tone revealed a sense of hopelessness.
Marci allowed her gaze to remove itself from Cassie as the woman finished speaking. Staring at her feet for a moment before she then closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. Cassie's account had hit a spot within Marci's soul. The horrors of her own account with the explosive devices played through her mind like a movie. Distant screams of her dying friends echoed within her ears. Her mind beginning to wander back the flame fueled incident that took place just a day prior as a result of that cursed day. A familiar voice pulled her from her intrusive thoughts and caused her to open her eyes, head rising to put a face to the voice.
"Some stuff you leave there, other stuff you bring back. It's our job to figure out how to carry it. Is it going to be in a big suitcase or in a little man-purse?" Sam Wilson, session leader and friend, made eye contact as he soothed the tension, a small chuckle erupted in Marci's chest and a soft smile made its way to her face but didn't quite meet her eyes. "It's up to you," Sam nodded, eyes still locked on his best friend. Marci sighed as his words sunk into her mind. The session had reached completion and the group of veterans began to disperse into the crowd.
Sam, being the friendly man he was, left the podium area to chat privately with as many people he could. Something he always did to make sure not a single person left feeling worse than they had arrived. He worried for them. All of them.
After making his rounds around the room, instead of finding Marci like he normally would have, he made it way over to someone he had noticed standing discretely in the back of the room for the last few minutes of the session. A slight smirk made its way to his lips as he approached the blonde-haired man.
"Look who it is," Sam smiled as he approached the super soldier, "The running man."
"I caught the last few minutes," Steve Rogers began, a downcast look looming over his chiseled features, "It's pretty intense," he admitted, understanding the lasting horrors of war well.
Sam and Steve continued their conversation, while Marci spoke with Cassie. The pair of ladies both had trauma directly relating to the horrors of explosives had created a bond based on the shared experience between the two. It wasn't often that Marci's fears, the nightmares that plagued her mind could be fully understood by those around her. With Cassie, it was damn close. The conversation between the two women didn't last long. Marci's wandering gaze caught a glimpse of Steve Rogers, Captain America, speaking with non-other than her best friend, Sam Wilson. She audibly gasped, excusing herself from the conversation she was having as politely as possible to appease her want to meet the legendary soldier.
Sam saw a shocked Marci coming towards him and Steve, and his signature goofy smile appeared on his face. Marci slowed her pace before coming to a stop as she reached Sam's side, placing a hand on his arm. "You did good today," she smiled at him, pulling him in and giving him a small hug. As Marci had withdrawn herself from their shared embrace, Sam slid an arm around her shoulder, turning his attention back to the man that stood before them. "This," Sam said gesturing with his other hand, "Is our very own, Marci Cramer."
Marci rolled her eyes at the awkward introduction and shrugged away from Sam's grasp and extended her arm out to Steve. "And you don't need an introduction," she admitted to him, laughing nervously.
A small chuckle left his lips as he extended his arm as well. Steve couldn't help his body's reaction as their skin touched. He withdrew his hand and quickly spoke, "Are you feeling okay?" His eyebrows furrowed as his eyes widened, genuine concern flooding the features of the man she had just met, "You're burning up."
Her eyes reciprocated his surprise, "Oh," She mumbled, a wave of panic overcoming her, pulling her hands from in front of her and tucking them in her pockets, "Yeah, I-I'm fine," she stuttered ever so slightly.
Sam was quick to notice her discomfort and decided to ease the tension, something he was quite good at. "Marci's always warm," he began to explain, "She's like a- a human torch," Sam joked sending a reassuring wink her way.
Steve eyed Marci curiously, "Huh," he breathed, "I think that names already taken," Steve added, an unreadable expressed worn across his features.
Sam scoffed slightly at the blonde's comment. Then whispered, "Well, she's the better one," under his breath. Marci stood wide eyed feeling a wave of discomfort wash over her.
"Well," Marci cleared her throat and clapped her hands together in attempt to ease the tension that had lingered in the air. "How did you two meet?" She asked the question that had been buzzing around her mind to both cut through the air and satisfy her own curiosity. She would have thought that if Sam knew Captain America, he would have mentioned it. Yet as soon as the words left her lips, she regretted how she phrased it, it almost sounded like they were a couple. Yet as the thought entered her mind, Marci glanced and Steve and Sam, eyeing them up and down. She could see the bromance forming.
"Oh, out on a run one morning," Sam answered as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.
"If you call that running," Steve was quick to joke with a slight roll of his eyes and a playful smile coming over his features.
Then the realization hit Marci.
"So, he's the old guy who was lapping your ass?" Marci laughed, a genuine laugh, but as she thought about it, it made sense. Sam was in good shape, she could barely keep up with him the few times they would go out running together, but Steve was well, he was Captain America. He had been genetically altered to be the superior being as the super soldier serum ran through his veins.
Steve shook his head chuckling, "What about you two?" Steve asked Marci with a slight nod of his head, "Did you two serve together?"
"Not exactly," Marci responded with a slight shrug of her shoulders, "I was a medic, a trauma surgeon, while Sam here was para-rescue." She folded her arms against her chest, playing with the cuffs of her knitted long sleeves. She swallowed down the lump in her throat before she responded, "My unit was hit with an IED. It blew the place to pieces," she paused, her voice quieting as she continued, "I was the only one to survive."
"I'm so sorry," Steve's face filled with pity, the look on her face made him regret asking in the first place, "I know how it feels to lose people." He sympathized with her; he knew what it was like to lose people. After waking up from the ice, it seemed as though loss was all he did truly know.
"Well," she let out a heavy breath, "It was what introduced me to my best friend. He pulled my ass out of there, save my life, and has been there for me ever since." Marci looked over to Sam, his eyes already locked on hers. He grabbed ahold of her hand giving it a small squeeze as she sent him a sad smile, "But I wasn't the only one to lose someone."
"You lost someone, too?" Steve looked disappointed that there was so much loss between these two people. Although they had practically just met, both seemed undeserving of all the pain war brought along with it.
"My wing man, Riley." Sam paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. Sam didn't like to talk about Riley much. Marci hardly even can get Sam to talk about it, but Sam knows it serves him good to get it out; to tell his story. After all, that's what he tells the soldiers he counsels, and he knew it would be wise to listen to his own advice. "It was a night mission, standard op, we'd done it plenty of times before. Until an RPG blew Riley's ass right out of the sky. There wasn't anything I could do," Sam looked down, the guilt from the night lingered in his heart, "It was like I was just up there to watch."
"I'm sorry." Steve said once more, that seems to be a common thing said while in this building. So many people apologizing for things they had no part of.
Sam shrugged, "After that, I had really hard time finding a reason for being over there, you know?"
Marci knew.
"But you're happy now, back in the world?" Steve questioned the pair curiously.
Marci thought, not really sure how to answer his question. While searching her mind for even an ounce of happiness that she had experienced lately, her mind came up blank in all avenues except for her time spent with Sam. Her life was so controlled by her fear of herself that she had given up everything that had once brought her joy. She no longer took the time to care for herself in the ways that she should. She hadn't needed to rely on anyone but herself for a long time but now she relied on Sam to bring her an ounce of happiness. It wasn't fair for him to be thrusted into holding the burden of herself. The guilt of how much she relies on him eats her alive daily, no matter how many times Sam works to ease those thoughts. He constantly reminding her that they are friends, and sharing burdens is something that friends do for one another. She was completely aware that having Sam around was about the only that made her smile anymore. "I'm working on that," she said simply with a shrug.
After returning home from Afghanistan, she was happy to be alive. Yet her survivors guilt ate at her mind. There were people she worked with, served with, that were far kinder and much more deserving of life than her. They deserved to make it out too. Every single one of them deserved to make it home. The worst part about coming home without the others was that some of those people left behind their family -- children, wives, husbands.
Marci didn't have anyone.
She returned from war to an empty house.
Sam noticed the deep in thought look on Marci's face and gave her hand one last squeeze before pulling his own out of her grasp. He didn't hesitate to give his own response, one that differed greatly from Marci's, "Hey, the number of people giving me orders is down to about zero. So, hell yeah," He smiled slightly, forced or not, it brought some comfort to the conversation. "Are you thinking about getting out?"
"No," Steve quickly answered without a thought, but paused as if he didn't quite believe that for himself. He made eye contact with Marci, shrugged and shook his head unsure of his own words, "I don't know. To be honest, I don't know what I would do with myself if I did."
"Ultimate fighting?" Marci suggested, a small laugh escaping her lips which caused Steve and Sam to chuckle softly as well.
"You can do whatever you want to do," Sam added, prepared to give the older man advice, "What makes you happy?"
Steve's face a gained look similar to that of Marci's just moments before, a thoughtless expression that made Marci feel bad for the man out of time. He shook his head and lowered his gaze to the ground, "I don't know," he answered honestly, a wave of vulnerability washing over him.
"Well," Marci began, her tone light, hopeful almost, "It's good that you've got a lifetime to figure it out."
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Edited 7/19/22
New Word Count: 2274