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cap_ironman2010-11-15 09:52 pm
objectivelyp1nk.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2010-11-15 09:52 pm
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Captain America (The Sarah Rogers Remix)
Title: Captain America (The Sarah Rogers Remix) - Operation Rebirth, part I
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
objectivelyp1nk
Rating: Teen
Wordcount: 1,605
Notes: So there is some effing with continuity here, most noticeably the whole super-soldier-serum process and the events immediately relating to it (But yeah, it's not like Marvel has been particularly good at sticking to continuity themselves). This fic is a bit inspired byschmevil's own always-a-girl!Cap story, The Sea Ice: -1.8 °C (28.8 °F). My bad for the beginning being so similar to hers. Mostly, though, it's an idea that's been percolating in my brain since I drew 40's style propaganda girl!Cap (which you can see here). The first bits of this story deal with ww2, but there will eventually be Cap/Tony.
April 1945
The water was cold. A biting cold that seeped into her bones and weighed them heavy, dragging her deeper into the water. She choked on her last breath of air and then the chill spread to her lungs.
After that it was dark, and there wasn’t anything else for a long time.
April 1941
The thing was, Sarah Rogers never wanted to be a soldier.
She wasn’t like the girls who wanted to run off to war with their boys. She didn’t even have a boy, though she was often assured that this wouldn’t be the case if she would get her nose out of a book occasionally and stop walking around with her hands all smudged with drawing charcoal.
In her opinion, going to war with your lover sounded like the least romantic thing in the world. Providing you could successfully pass for the opposite gender and be accepted into boot camp, what kind of passion could survive drill sergeants and crawling through mud at three o’clock in the morning? She honestly didn’t understand people sometimes.
And she wasn’t about to try out for the WASPs, because she may have outgrown the childhood games but the sly little voices, (Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how did your brittle bones grow?) well, the echoes last for years, especially when she still couldn’t even walk a flight of stairs without feeling her limbs tremble.
The thing was, really, that Sarah had spent a lifetime learning not to want things she couldn’t have.
Like to have her breath not rattle in her chest every goddamn winter-- or for Arnold to keep his eyes off Bethany’s generous curves for once in his life and realize that she could be so good for him, better than anyone else if he’d just give Sarah the chance-- or to stop feeling her stomach churn at every brightly colored You Can Do It poster.
Sometimes she’d even managed to convince herself that she’d never wanted those things at all.
March 1941
She volunteered for a position as a secretary for the US Army. It was odd, though, because the building she worked at was more scientific than military, and more often than not she found herself answering directly to a Doctor Reinstein. Her ability to both use a typewriter and read his handwritten notes without dissolving into tears like his last three assistants secured her position.
Reinstein tried to keep most of the details of the experiments from her, either from some kind of paranoia that she might reveal details to outsiders, or a patronizing attempt to protect her (she bet on the latter), but it didn’t matter. She knew they weren’t going well.
Sarah tried to console herself that the participants were all volunteers; they knew what they would be signing up for. But she understood better than most how bullheaded men could be and how utterly convinced of his own immortality a young man was.
Eventually, Reinstein started allowing her into the actual lab. Not the one where the actual experiments took place, but the one where he mixed the formulas. She suspected that at this point even he couldn’t read his own notes.
And then, one day, the syringe slipped. Looking back on it, Sarah wondered how different things would have turned out if she’d gotten up a little slower, if Reinstein had turned to the left instead of right.
At the time, she wasn’t thinking much beyond Oh, hell.
March, 1941
It hurt more than anything she’d ever felt in her life. More than the pneumonia that had her bedridden for two months and feeling she’d cough up a lung before it was over. More than standing in front of her mother’s grave and knowing she was more alone than she’d ever been before.
And then it was over.
She didn’t get much time to adjust-- there was a moment where her mind just refused to wrap around the idea that she had to look down now, to see Reinstein in the eyes. The scientist’s obvious worry for her was gratifying; she’d gotten to be rather fond of him over the months as well.
The next thing that happened was that one of the lab technicians turned out to be a Nazi spy and Sarah learned very quickly just how strong the serum made her, because she punched him through a wall.
He was probably dead-- she doubted necks were supposed to bend in that direction-- and all Reinstein’s notes were on fire along with most of the room, but Reinstein was bleeding out in her arms so she didn’t care, didn’t care.
April, 1941
They gave her a costume that vaguely resembled the sketches she made, except there was a great deal more support for her suddenly able bosom and instead of a cowl she had loose hair and a facemask with a vaguely tiara-like extension bearing the letter ‘A’ (which made her think uncomfortably of The Scarlet Letter). They called her “Lady America.”
Also, her boots had criminally high heels.
She kind of wanted to punch everyone in the face, now that she could do it without breaking a hand.
May 1941
She wasn’t a soldier, of course, despite the fact that she could now bench press a truck without hardly breaking a sweat. They turned her into a figurehead, had her pose for pictures and newsreels, sent her around training camps to build morale. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the president patted her on the head like a good performing dog.
After a month of this, Lady America settled for a more long-term stay at Camp Lehigh. That was were she met Bucky, which-- thank god. She would have gone insane without the kid, no doubt about that.
Of course, at first he called her a sweet dame and complimented how well she filled out her costume, but once she picked him up by the scruff of his neck one-handed, well. He was a lot more respectful after that. Or at least as respectful as a fifteen-year-old could be.
He stole cigarettes for her as an apology, which Sarah tried to find morally objectionable. But she was too desperate for something to do to be choosy, and chain-smoking seemed a much more reasonable outlet then punching important people in the face.
Bucky seemed a little alarmed at her new hobby at first, and then impressed at her apparently cast-iron lungs, which, yes, that made two of them. The one good thing in all of this was that she never coughed anymore.
All in all, she liked Bucky. He didn’t jump into a salute every time he saw her, or constantly undress her with his eyes. He was also kind of an annoying brat who talked too much and told ridiculously overblown stories that featured him as a hero, but she figured that was what having a little brother was like.
For that reason only, she didn’t strangle the kid when he picked the lock to her room, impatient to speak with her, and saw her mostly undressed and definitely unmasked. She did appreciate that he’d never tell anyone how much Lady America resembled Sarah Rogers, the new secretary working in the officer’s hall, but that didn’t stop her from tanning his hide.
It was a life of constant frustration. She couldn’t accomplish much of anything; Lady America was just a mascot and didn’t do more than smile and wave, and to keep her identity hidden she was called upon to be clumsy and utterly ineffectual as a secretary.
Bucky was her only salvation. By hook or by crook, he could make his way into any part of the camp and knew exactly how everything worked. He’d been there long enough to go through half a dozen new platoons’ training. He taught her morse code and how to use the telegraphs, how to disassemble and clean a gun. They practiced hand-to-hand fighting when nobody was watching. By virtue of her being the lieutenant’s secretary, she was able to keep tabs on many of the troops’ movements in Europe and she and Bucky would keep the kerosene lamp burning late into the night to analyze the tactics.
Of course, the press got wind of Bucky eventually. They thought he was just darling, Lady America and her spirited little lad. He got his own costume, which made him preen for weeks, and joined her on morale-building tours.
September, 1941
When she gave an interview to the Detroit Times stating that she wished she could be overseas with the troops in combat. She didn’t think that her opinion would count for much. But apparently she underestimated the power of a good quote.
“You all right, sunshine?” Bucky said, interrupting her thoughts. She gave him a glare for the persistent nickname, but she supposed it could be worse. At least the others on the transport ship were giving them space, so she didn’t have to worry about them overhearing.
“Just wondering what it’ll be like over there,” she said. “Are you sure you want to come, Bucky? They’ll never let us near the front lines, but it still might get dangerous.”
Bucky rolled his eyes and propped his feet up on a box of cargo. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been waiting for this all my life!”
She knew the feeling. Sarah tapped her gloved fingers against her knee pensively and thought about her utter lack of weaponry. She wished, not for the first time, that they had named her Lady Justice. At least then she’d have a sword.
Author:
objectivelyp1nkRating: Teen
Wordcount: 1,605
Notes: So there is some effing with continuity here, most noticeably the whole super-soldier-serum process and the events immediately relating to it (But yeah, it's not like Marvel has been particularly good at sticking to continuity themselves). This fic is a bit inspired by
schmevil's own always-a-girl!Cap story, The Sea Ice: -1.8 °C (28.8 °F). My bad for the beginning being so similar to hers. Mostly, though, it's an idea that's been percolating in my brain since I drew 40's style propaganda girl!Cap (which you can see here). The first bits of this story deal with ww2, but there will eventually be Cap/Tony.
April 1945
The water was cold. A biting cold that seeped into her bones and weighed them heavy, dragging her deeper into the water. She choked on her last breath of air and then the chill spread to her lungs.
After that it was dark, and there wasn’t anything else for a long time.
April 1941
The thing was, Sarah Rogers never wanted to be a soldier.
She wasn’t like the girls who wanted to run off to war with their boys. She didn’t even have a boy, though she was often assured that this wouldn’t be the case if she would get her nose out of a book occasionally and stop walking around with her hands all smudged with drawing charcoal.
In her opinion, going to war with your lover sounded like the least romantic thing in the world. Providing you could successfully pass for the opposite gender and be accepted into boot camp, what kind of passion could survive drill sergeants and crawling through mud at three o’clock in the morning? She honestly didn’t understand people sometimes.
And she wasn’t about to try out for the WASPs, because she may have outgrown the childhood games but the sly little voices, (Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how did your brittle bones grow?) well, the echoes last for years, especially when she still couldn’t even walk a flight of stairs without feeling her limbs tremble.
The thing was, really, that Sarah had spent a lifetime learning not to want things she couldn’t have.
Like to have her breath not rattle in her chest every goddamn winter-- or for Arnold to keep his eyes off Bethany’s generous curves for once in his life and realize that she could be so good for him, better than anyone else if he’d just give Sarah the chance-- or to stop feeling her stomach churn at every brightly colored You Can Do It poster.
Sometimes she’d even managed to convince herself that she’d never wanted those things at all.
March 1941
She volunteered for a position as a secretary for the US Army. It was odd, though, because the building she worked at was more scientific than military, and more often than not she found herself answering directly to a Doctor Reinstein. Her ability to both use a typewriter and read his handwritten notes without dissolving into tears like his last three assistants secured her position.
Reinstein tried to keep most of the details of the experiments from her, either from some kind of paranoia that she might reveal details to outsiders, or a patronizing attempt to protect her (she bet on the latter), but it didn’t matter. She knew they weren’t going well.
Sarah tried to console herself that the participants were all volunteers; they knew what they would be signing up for. But she understood better than most how bullheaded men could be and how utterly convinced of his own immortality a young man was.
Eventually, Reinstein started allowing her into the actual lab. Not the one where the actual experiments took place, but the one where he mixed the formulas. She suspected that at this point even he couldn’t read his own notes.
And then, one day, the syringe slipped. Looking back on it, Sarah wondered how different things would have turned out if she’d gotten up a little slower, if Reinstein had turned to the left instead of right.
At the time, she wasn’t thinking much beyond Oh, hell.
March, 1941
It hurt more than anything she’d ever felt in her life. More than the pneumonia that had her bedridden for two months and feeling she’d cough up a lung before it was over. More than standing in front of her mother’s grave and knowing she was more alone than she’d ever been before.
And then it was over.
She didn’t get much time to adjust-- there was a moment where her mind just refused to wrap around the idea that she had to look down now, to see Reinstein in the eyes. The scientist’s obvious worry for her was gratifying; she’d gotten to be rather fond of him over the months as well.
The next thing that happened was that one of the lab technicians turned out to be a Nazi spy and Sarah learned very quickly just how strong the serum made her, because she punched him through a wall.
He was probably dead-- she doubted necks were supposed to bend in that direction-- and all Reinstein’s notes were on fire along with most of the room, but Reinstein was bleeding out in her arms so she didn’t care, didn’t care.
April, 1941
They gave her a costume that vaguely resembled the sketches she made, except there was a great deal more support for her suddenly able bosom and instead of a cowl she had loose hair and a facemask with a vaguely tiara-like extension bearing the letter ‘A’ (which made her think uncomfortably of The Scarlet Letter). They called her “Lady America.”
Also, her boots had criminally high heels.
She kind of wanted to punch everyone in the face, now that she could do it without breaking a hand.
May 1941
She wasn’t a soldier, of course, despite the fact that she could now bench press a truck without hardly breaking a sweat. They turned her into a figurehead, had her pose for pictures and newsreels, sent her around training camps to build morale. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the president patted her on the head like a good performing dog.
After a month of this, Lady America settled for a more long-term stay at Camp Lehigh. That was were she met Bucky, which-- thank god. She would have gone insane without the kid, no doubt about that.
Of course, at first he called her a sweet dame and complimented how well she filled out her costume, but once she picked him up by the scruff of his neck one-handed, well. He was a lot more respectful after that. Or at least as respectful as a fifteen-year-old could be.
He stole cigarettes for her as an apology, which Sarah tried to find morally objectionable. But she was too desperate for something to do to be choosy, and chain-smoking seemed a much more reasonable outlet then punching important people in the face.
Bucky seemed a little alarmed at her new hobby at first, and then impressed at her apparently cast-iron lungs, which, yes, that made two of them. The one good thing in all of this was that she never coughed anymore.
All in all, she liked Bucky. He didn’t jump into a salute every time he saw her, or constantly undress her with his eyes. He was also kind of an annoying brat who talked too much and told ridiculously overblown stories that featured him as a hero, but she figured that was what having a little brother was like.
For that reason only, she didn’t strangle the kid when he picked the lock to her room, impatient to speak with her, and saw her mostly undressed and definitely unmasked. She did appreciate that he’d never tell anyone how much Lady America resembled Sarah Rogers, the new secretary working in the officer’s hall, but that didn’t stop her from tanning his hide.
It was a life of constant frustration. She couldn’t accomplish much of anything; Lady America was just a mascot and didn’t do more than smile and wave, and to keep her identity hidden she was called upon to be clumsy and utterly ineffectual as a secretary.
Bucky was her only salvation. By hook or by crook, he could make his way into any part of the camp and knew exactly how everything worked. He’d been there long enough to go through half a dozen new platoons’ training. He taught her morse code and how to use the telegraphs, how to disassemble and clean a gun. They practiced hand-to-hand fighting when nobody was watching. By virtue of her being the lieutenant’s secretary, she was able to keep tabs on many of the troops’ movements in Europe and she and Bucky would keep the kerosene lamp burning late into the night to analyze the tactics.
Of course, the press got wind of Bucky eventually. They thought he was just darling, Lady America and her spirited little lad. He got his own costume, which made him preen for weeks, and joined her on morale-building tours.
September, 1941
When she gave an interview to the Detroit Times stating that she wished she could be overseas with the troops in combat. She didn’t think that her opinion would count for much. But apparently she underestimated the power of a good quote.
“You all right, sunshine?” Bucky said, interrupting her thoughts. She gave him a glare for the persistent nickname, but she supposed it could be worse. At least the others on the transport ship were giving them space, so she didn’t have to worry about them overhearing.
“Just wondering what it’ll be like over there,” she said. “Are you sure you want to come, Bucky? They’ll never let us near the front lines, but it still might get dangerous.”
Bucky rolled his eyes and propped his feet up on a box of cargo. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been waiting for this all my life!”
She knew the feeling. Sarah tapped her gloved fingers against her knee pensively and thought about her utter lack of weaponry. She wished, not for the first time, that they had named her Lady Justice. At least then she’d have a sword.
no subject
And I'm glad to hear you think she's recognizable as Steve! I did worry about that :)