sarah grant đşđ¸ [steve rogers] (charcoal) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2017-11-06 15:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, r * laura, r: sarah grant |
WHO: Sarah Grant
WHEN: UMMM backdated to the most recent painting lesson, which... was idk when, but i will find out
WHERE: Sarah's house
SUMMARY: Sarah gets some memories of basic training!
WARNINGS: Nope!
The men stood in a straight line, their drab olive-green uniforms hanging off them awkwardly in places, like they hadnât begun to fill them out yet. That was what basic training was for, he thought. Except for him. He still didnât know what he was doing there, but he was there, and he was determined to do whatever he had to do to stay there. The other men were distracted, turning around to look at everything around them, shoulders relaxed, talking to each other. He was the only one staring straight ahead. He wished he could say it was because he was following the rules, but it was more because he just didnât know what else to do. Recruits, attention, snapped a female voice from their right, and almost in unison (theyâd have to work on that, Steve thought), the other soldiers stood up straight and looked ahead into the distance. âGentlemen, Iâm Agent Carter, I supervise all operations for this division.â His eyes shifted so he could look at her, but the rest of him was still. There werenât many women out there, so she stood out. Dark brown hair, red lipstick, a strength and a power in her that one didnât see often. It didnât stop Hodge from being a little shit, though. He could hear their conversation - he was only a few men down the line from Hodge - as Carterâs assistant handed out clipboards. âWe gonna wrestle? âCause I got a few moves I know youâll like.â The entire line breaks formation with a scattering of smiles and chuckles as Carterâs fist makes contact with Hodgeâs face, and if Hodge thought heâd be able to get away with talking like that with a woman, he was sorely mistaken. The colonel didnât even reprimand her. âGeneral Patton has said that wars are fought with weapons but they are won by men. We are going to win this war, because we have the best,â the colonel looked directly at him, then, and he could feel the scrutiny, the disapproval, âmen, and because they are going to get better. Much better.â -- Her room was dark when she blinked awake, her throat dry and sticky from drinking red wine the night before, and Sarah rolled over to check the time. With the nights getting longer now, it was harder to tell just how early it was based on how much sunlight was filtering through her skylight. Her clock read 2:13 am. Sarah groaned and rubbed a hand over her face as she sat up. At least sheâd had the foresight to bring a very full glass of water upstairs with her when she went to bed. She drank about half of it in the span of a few seconds. With any luck, that would help fend off the strange red-wine-dreams she was having. -- âKeep up the pace, ladies! Letâs go! Double time!â His esophagus clenched tighter with every step, threatening to close entirely if he didnât stop running. He wheezed and willed his lungs to keep going, to not give up, to help him prove his worth here, that he was so much more than what the other soldiers saw. Finally, they came to a stop in front of a white flag pole. The half-way point, apparently. He honestly wasnât sure his body could handle running more than it already had, and that was after struggling through the obstacle course and other morning jogs. His lungs were nearing their limit. He had to think of something else. He caught his breath and let the other trainees fight over who got to try to climb the flag pole, watching them scramble over each other and fall on their asses when they couldnât make it even halfway up the pole. There had to be another trick to this. He wasnât strong enough to carry himself, so he had to approach it differently. As the other boys filed away, back into formation, he got a better look at the problem he had to solve, and the answer was simple, right there under their noses. He walked up, pulled the pin from the flagpole and let it drop. He unhooked the flag from its bearings and handed it to his SO. âThank you, sir.â The other soldiers were annoyed, but his gaze was focused only on the dark-haired woman sitting in the car, her red lips pulled upwards in a smirk. Hers was the only opinion that mattered - hers and the colonelâs. -- This time, when Sarah woke up, she actually got out of bed. Between the wine and the sight of Margaretâs face in her dreams and the memory of her lips against her own, it was hard to fall asleep and stay asleep. She crept downstairs, her phoneâs flashlight illuminating the stairs, and headed for the bathroom. After splashing water on her face and downing another cup of water, she went back upstairs. âLetâs try this again,â she murmured to herself as she pulled the sheet over her head and burrowed into her pillow. She sent a stray text to Margaret - nothing more than đ - before closeing her eyes. -- âMy grandmother has more life in her, God rest her soul!â He tried to lower himself down to the ground slowly and push himself back up, but his arms shook. The rest of the soldiers had gotten through two, three times as many push-ups as he had. Agent Carter asked for jumping jacks next, which wasnât great, but he was certain that he really wouldnât have been able to push himself back up one more time, no matter how hard he tried (and he did try, very hard, every day). Out of nowhere, the colonel shouted in their direction, âgrenade!â Without a thought, he dove towards it and covered the grenade with his body. The rest of the soldiers scattered, but he didnât notice at first, too focused on trying to protect everyone from the incoming blast. When it didnât happen, he looked up. Everyone else was standing around like nothing at all was wrong. The colonel and Dr. Erskine were watching him. Even Agent Carter was watching him, but she looked impressed. âIs this a test?â -- Sarahâs alarm finally beeped, and she slapped a hand at her phone, fumbling with it before finding the snooze. She must have it bad for Margaret if she kept inserting her into her dreams like this. Who was she kidding? She did have it bad. It was the only explanation. It didn't answer why she was a man in the dream (she was, wasn't she? Not just a short soldier, but a man? The clothes she remembered were old, like something out of a World War II movie, and it wasn't likely she would have been serving right alongside a group of men like that.), but it did explain why Margaret was such a feature. Maybe she'd want to get coffee this morning, Sarah thought. She didn't think she'd be able to get the other woman out of her head otherwise. |