#but lottie has been through hell and was abandoned by those who put her in that position

[petalsfordany]

do you ever think how all lottie did was teach the girls breathing patterns and therapy methods but then 25 years later they’re all calling her crazy and blaming her for their cannibalistic cult while she’s abandoned in an institution in switzerland getting electroshock therapy or do you not want to punch several walls?

[buck-buck-boose]

I'll Love You 'Til I Die

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Language, mild descriptions of injuries

Word Count: 2.3k

Author's Note: My apologies, writer's block got the best of me.

Chapter Twenty-Two: The European Theater

June 11, 1943

Lottie’s heart was restless and mournful once more, with every beat she couldn’t help but notice the splinters and cracks that had webbed their way across its surface. Without her two best friends, she could never be completely whole. She put on a strong, clinical face, of course, but there were countless times that her emotional turmoil seemed as real as any wound she’d become accustomed to treating. Months had passed since Dr. Erskine’s assassination. It had been months since she’d been relieved of her duties on Project Rebirth. Months since she’d been torn away from Steve. One year, five months, and twenty-nine days since she’d stood on a train platform, watching as Bucky faded from view.

It had been a rather grim day when she’d received orders that she would be shipped out to London with the SSR. The morning after Dr. Erskine’s tragic death, she and her peers had been summoned to take blood samples from Steve; they were under the impression that it was for continued research purposes. The five of them had been exhausted, nearly asleep on their feet from staying awake all night. They’d tried to sleep at first, but all attempts were abandoned when all they could see was the lifeless body of their mentor every time they shut their eyes. They had held a silent vigil, nestled in their own beds with wide eyes, waiting anxiously for daybreak.

Once their duties had been completed, they followed Steve into the dimly lit central command room of the SSR. The room had been buzzing with energy, with agents milling about and Howard Stark in the midst of it all, tinkering away at some machine. Lottie had looked to Agent Carter, expecting new orders regarding blood sample analysis and re-developing the serum by studying Steve’s cellular structure; Colonel Phillips came along to crush her hopes of continued research.

“As of this morning, the SSR has been re-tasked,” Colonel Phillips began, his gaze firm on the nurses, “The president has ordered us to eliminate Hydra on the front lines. Project Rebirth had been officially shut down, and as employees of the Strategic Scientific Reserve, you ladies will be flying out on a new assignment with us.”

Nancy was the first to protest, “But sir, you said you wanted an army of Super Soldiers—”

Colonel Phillips held up a hand to silence her, “Ms. Powell, we are in the thick of a war, we don’t have the time or the money to redevelop a serum. You are all under contract with the SSR; these are your orders. We’re flying to London tonight.”

All that the nurses could do was look from each other to Agent Carter, who graced them with a small, sad smile. She’d just received the orders as well; it must have been somewhat of a surprise for her.

“What about Steve? He’ll be joining us, right?” Colonel Phillips stiffened slightly at her familiarity with the Super Soldier, most SSR agents accepted their strong bond, but Colonel Phillips never wavered in his beliefs regarding the relationships between soldiers and their nurses.

“Given that Rogers is our only Super Soldier, he is an extremely valuable asset, not one to be thrown willy-nilly into a war. He’ll be staying stateside while we handle the dirty work overseas. Senator Brandt has offered Rogers a promotion, which he's already accepted.”

Frustration bubbled in Lottie’s chest, “So we spent over a year slaving away in that lab and creating the perfect serum for your Super Soldier just for you to toss our hard work aside? He is perfectly capable of being on the front lines!”

The thought of Steve being sent into the belly of the beast that was Hydra had almost made Lottie sick, but the thought of her hard work going to waste agitated her to no end. Going to war was quite literally what he'd been made for, this was the goal from the get-go.

“Ms. Green, we know perfectly well what Rogers is capable of. He has exactly what it takes to carry out his mission here in the states flawlessly.” He dismissed them without waiting for a response, reminding them to “Be ready for takeoff at twenty-one hundred hours.”

The rest of that day had been a flurry of hurried goodbyes and the packing up of what little belongings they’d brought with them. Letting go of Steve was nearly impossible. They bade each other farewell on the runway, the airplane stood in front of them in all of its aluminum glory, moonbeams bouncing off of its surface.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this to you all over again.” Lottie’s gaze was sorrowful, focused on her sturdy black shoes. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye; his eyes always bore through her with an intensity she couldn’t handle at the moment.

“Hey, at least I’ll actually know where you’re going this time,” Steve half-joked. He nudged her foot with his own to draw her attention upward. His face had grown serious, “While you’re over there, make sure you keep an eye out for Bucky, alright? I haven’t gotten any word on where he is, but he’s with the hundred and seventh.”

Lottie knit her brows together and memorized the number. One hundred and seventh. One hundred and seventh. She would have to fight tooth and nail, climb every mountain and ford every stream, just to find James Buchanan Barnes once more.

But at the moment, she had to fight tooth and nail to get this Italian to sit still so she could properly disinfect and stitch his shrapnel-inflicted wound.

Shortly after their arrival in London, the SSR had shipped out to a base in Tunisia from which they could aid in Allied campaigns along the southern coast of Italy; there were plans to capture Sicily, but first, the Allied powers needed to station themselves on surrounding islands. So, they found themselves on the minuscule island of Pantelleria.

Unfortunately, the surrender of the island to the Allied powers was only achieved through 19 days of aerial bombardment. Lottie, her peers, and a small band of fresh-faced nurses had been left to deal with the casualties.

The mousy-haired nurse stood before a bedridden, red-faced man, whose plump fingers were wrapped around his thigh in an attempt to compress his wound. Lottie was armed with her newly acquired Italian-to-English dictionary, penicillin, bandages, and all that was needed to stitch up his wounds. She flipped through the pages of the dictionary; her mouth set in a firm line.

“Bisogno,” she began, gesturing to his freely flowing wound, “Pulire e cucire. Io aiuto.”

Half a dozen other nurses had attempted the same thing, all had offered to treat him, but the man had treated them all with the same oafish aggression that he was showing her.

“A fanabla! Non ho bisogno del tuo aiuto.” He used his free hand to wave her off, spittle spewing from his lips due to his intensely glottal speech. The movement of his deep brown eyes, how they flickered to and fro, indicated his increasing agitation in such a high-stress environment. Lottie genuinely understood his hesitation to accept her help; he and his kinfolk had just spent the past nineteen days trying to survive a deluge of attacks from the Allied forces. Why should he accept help from the very people who nearly destroyed their island?

Lottie gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on her dictionary, “Prego, signore!” For once, she wished that Nancy would show up out of the blue to push her aside and take matters into her own hands, but there were far too many injuries for multiple nurses to work on the same patient at once.

“Lasciami in pace, cretina!” He growled, flinging his free hand out to knock her tray of supplies aside. Lottie stabilized the tray on his bedside table before any supplies could become contaminated, no way in hell was she going to spend another fifteen minutes re-sterilizing those damn syringes.

She’d about had it with the man. If she transferred him to another nurse, the SSR would surely doubt her abilities as a well-established nurse. Lottie would surely deal with more aggressive soldiers on the front lines. Forgoing any sort of decorum or professionalism, she pinned his free wrist down to the cot with her right hand, “Io aiuto. O tu morire.” The foreign words were awkward on her tongue and she didn’t sound nearly as assertive as she’d wished, but the Italian man finally gave in, grumbling what was probably an assortment of curses at her.

Lottie made quick work of removing the shrapnel that had embedded itself into the man’s skin in muscle. It was relatively easy, as she’d had enough practice that morning, dealing with what felt like dozens of injuries just like his. When the island had finally been surrendered, a bevy of nurses and medics had been flown in, Lottie and her peers included.

The Cadet Nurse Corps’ newly initiated training programs had been quite beneficial for such circumstances, but with such accelerate courses of study, many of the nurses were inexperienced and uncertain in their abilities. Thus, most of the morning was spent overseeing the work of the newer nurses; the advice was administered when needed and tasks were delegated to the older nurses when stitches were too tight and fingers too shaky.

The Italian man’s wound was just one of many, at this point. The only remarkable aspect of the interaction was his temperament. Sure, many other islanders had expressed distrust and dismay with the Allied forces, but they had at least been more eager to be treated for their injuries.

“Fatto presto, signore,” she murmured as she began the careful work of stitching his lacerations shut. Her Italian was dreadful, comprised entirely of juvenile phrases and briefly memorized words that could just barely communicate her intentions to her patients. She knew that she probably looked to be a bumbling idiot in their perspectives.

By the time she was finished, nearly every inch of her skin was damp with sweat— although the medic tent provided shade from the sun, its heat, combined with the body heat of so many civilians seemed to suffocate her. The air was thick, her curls clung to the nape of her neck, and her once crisp white dress had become damp and splotched with various hues of orange and blood, remnants of blood and dust.

The former nurses of Project Rebirth remained close, even after the termination of their research, they were often found huddled in one corner of the nurse’s tent, playing cards and smoking, or whispering gossip of their next assignment.

“How long do you think they’re gonna keep us here?” Mary glanced over the edge of her letter, looking to Gladys expectantly. Gladys was always in the know with these sorts of things, keeping quiet and listening in around the higher-ranking officers.

Gladys hummed in thought, rolling an unlit cigarette between her fingers, “From what I’ve heard, we might be heading toward mainland Italy soon. But I’m not sure.”

Lottie frowned, “But what about Operation Husky? I mean, we just bombed this damn place for a good base to capture Sicily.”

“Well, I’ve heard there’s a Hydra base on the mainland. These girls might stay behind for Operation Husky, but we’re better prepared for whatever Hydra has in store for us.”

Betty groaned, “I don’t care where they send us, so long as the soldiers aren’t great louts like these guys.” Lottie had to agree, the soldiers stationed with them in Tunisia and on Pantelleria had been rather uncouth. They drank far too heavily most nights, which typically resulted in uncomfortable interactions between the men and the nurses.

A voice piped up from the other end of the nurse’s tent, a girl of only around 19— her name might have been Nelly —smiled at them brightly over a newspaper, “Well wherever you go, I hope you get to see a USO show because I’d give anything to see Captain America!”

“Sorry, who?” The name was somewhat familiar to Lottie, but she and the other women had never shown particular interest in the USO. All that she knew was that their shows usually had chorus girls all dressed in short skirts and red lipstick, just what a soldier needed to see after what seemed like an eternity in hell.

Nelly ambled over and tossed her newspaper onto Betty’s bed, which the women usually crowded around. None of the women spoke as they took in the headline: “The Star-Spangled Man’s European Tour.”

“What the hell?” Betty broke the silence and held the newspaper up to the light, squinting at its front page. The mouths of the other four nurses were agape, they were at a loss for words as they processed the fact that the culmination of their hard work was being brandished as some sort of cheery mascot for the war effort.

Lottie felt a righteous anger building within her. It was one thing to separate her from one of her best friends for the sake of pursuing separate missions, but this? This was a joke. Laughable, really. She could only think of the late nights, the early mornings, every moment of their time at Camp Lehigh had been dedicated to perfecting the Super Soldier serum. Now that they had their Super Soldier, they decided to waste his talent and their hard work. It was a slap in the face, a punch to the gut. Lottie could only hope that Steve would be reassigned after his European tour; he was destined to be more than just a show pony, she was sure of it.