Chapter Four

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Pulmonary or choking agents cause an inflammatory can be life-threatening if inhaled. No specific antidote exists. Treatment is mainly supportive.

Morim and Guldner, 2019

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In light of Steve's improvement, Phillips gave the order to prepare to move out. He wanted to get away from the derelict Hydra base and back behind Allied lines as soon as possible, both for the safety of everyone, and so Steve could have a checkup at a proper hospital.

Even without the checkup though, the medic guessed Steve would be fine. Since the acid had been neutralized, the serum was finally able to start healing the damaged lung tissue. It would take some time for his lungs to get back to normal, and he would need to take it easy for the next while while they figured out if his distended heart would heal as well, but the doctor had no reason to believe the captain wouldn't continue to improve.

"With the serum, we really don't know what will happen or how long it will take," he confessed, shrugging helplessly. "But I'm optimistic."

It had been an intense few days, filled with pain and suffering and sleepless worry, and Peggy was just glad to move on from it. Warren's body would be buried with full honors.

Steve's situation was another matter altogether. For any other man, this would have meant the end of the war. He would have been sent home. But Peggy wasn't naive enough to think that would happen to the captain. Despite the damage and suffering he'd been through, he healed quickly. The brass would send him straight back out again because they could.

And Steve wouldn't complain. He'd go back out, and fight until something else took him out, or the war ended.

It was brutally unfair. But it was the reality of war.

With the camp packing up, getting ready to move out first thing the following morning, Peggy finally tore herself from the captain's side and went back to her regular duties, only to find herself waking up a half hour later with her cheek pressed into the pages of her report and a very incredulous colonel staring down at her. He'd sent her summarily away, so she'd reluctantly curled up in the back of a truck and taken what felt like a positively inexcusable nap.

When she finally woke, disoriented but feeling slightly more like a human being, she went to find Howard.

She'd expected to find him cocky and grinning, jubilant over this latest success. Instead, she found him alone in an empty tent, staring down a sheet of paper as though it were an opponent.

"What is it, Howard?" she asked, and he jumped visibly, only relaxing when he saw her in the doorway.

"Sheesh, warn a fellow," he half-complained. "How's Cap?"

Peggy felt her cheeks warm. "Doing much better." She stepped closer, leaning one hip against Stark's folding table. "Thank you, Howard."

Howard grinned, but then his eye caught the paper on the table and some of the joy went out of his face. "Don't thank me yet, Peg."

Curious, Peggy turned to look at the paper, but she barely had time to see more than a scribbled jumble of letters and numbers before Stark's hand dropped over it.

"It's nothing," he said in response to her raised eyebrow. "I - it's just a little something to go in Phillips' report."

Something cold settled around Peggy's heart.

"It's the formula, isn't it?" she asked. "The formula to the poison gas?"

Howard nodded, reluctantly. "We could develop it," he said slowly, the words sounding somehow flat. "Develop it, discharge it behind enemy lines. America never signed the Geneva Protocol, so we wouldn't be breaking any international treaties. We'd win the war in days, Peggy. Days."

Peggy slowly clasped her hands together, the implications of that little slip of paper careening around in her head. She thought of Steve's suffering - of Warren who had never stood the ghost of a chance - of her uncle who had been scarred so terribly back in the Great War.

And then she thought of all the lives that were daily being lost in this great struggle. Of the men, women, and children on both sides, casualties of war, soldiers and civilians.

It was too, too big. Too great of a decision for her to make.

"At what cost?" She whispered. "Every nation will try to develop it, if it's used even once. It's too terrible, Howard."

Howard went back to glaring at the paper.

"It's science, Peggy," he said quietly. "That's how science works."

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That evening, Peggy handed the completed report to Phillips, as he sat beside the small fire they'd dared to light. She stood by, watching as he paged through it.

Phillips stopped dead when he reached the little slip of paper in Howard's handwriting, backed by the pages in German they'd retrieved from the base. He didn't say anything, but his face suddenly fell into deep furrows, highlighted by the flickering light of the small campfire they'd dared to light. He looked very old and very tired, and Peggy was reminded of Phillips' past. This wasn't his first time as a soldier - he'd served before, during the Great War.

He knew all about what poison gas looked like when used as a weapon of mass destruction.

It was the only reason she'd been able to put that report in his hands, leave the final decision to him. He was the only man in the company who could have made it.

At length, Phillips looked up and met her eye.

"You typed up a copy of this report?" he wanted to know.

Peggy shook her head. "Not yet, Colonel."

Phillips nodded and looked down again at the papers in his hands. "That will be all, Agent. Good night."

She looked back one last time before entering her tent, but the Colonel was still sitting where she'd left him, bent over the papers, reading them in the light of the small fire.

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The giftgas formula would never make it back to headquarters.

"Lost," was all Colonel Phillips would say, something grim and hard around his jaw. The ashes of last night's campfire had been stomped down and carefully buried, and Peggy had the distinct feeling that nobody would ever find those particular papers again.

"I'm pretty sure I could…" Stark started, but Phillips cut him off shortly. "No, son. You couldn't."

Howard blinked, but whether he was more surprised at being told he couldn't do something, or at being called "son," Peggy wasn't entirely sure.

"Haven't you got that experimental engine you're working on?" She asked quickly, before Stark's surprise could turn into indignation.

He stared at her, and then slapped his own forehead. "Of course, of course! My baby's sitting back there just waiting for me to come back to her. She's a beauty, Pegs - a real sweetheart. Got to pack up and get back to her right away. You'll send word if you need me again, won't you?"

He spun on one heel and was gone before she could answer, racing past a bemused Bucky Barnes who was just then approaching.

"Was he talking about a dame, or about his engine?" Barnes greeted her, jerking a thumb toward the inventor's retreating back.

Peggy laughed. "Possibly both - I've no idea."

He fell into step beside her as they crossed the camp. All around them, the place was bustling as people packed up. It was time to move out, time to travel on to their next assignment.

"How is he this morning?" Peggy asked.

Bucky shrugged. The line of blisters high on his cheek from the acid Steve had coughed up was already fading, faster than the similar marks Peggy had on her wrist. "Sitting up, eating soup and trying to sweet-talk the nurse into letting him get up and get dressed instead of ride in the medic truck. Still sounds like a frog croaking, but they say that'll pass when his throat finishes healing."

Peggy nodded. Steve's larynx had been stripped and severely damaged from all the abuse it had taken - it was no wonder he sounded like a frog. The only wonder was that he could make a sound at all.

Still, Steve Rogers was always one to beat the odds. She had the feeling he always would be.

"I'd better go check on him before he makes a run for it," she decided, bending her steps toward the medic tent. "And Barnes - " she paused, looking up at her captain's best friend. He had kept her sane through this whole ordeal. "Thank you."

He looked down at her, grinned, then winked cheekily. "Anytime, Carter. Anytime."

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The convoy rolled out.

Steve rode in the ambulance after all, with as much comfort as they could give him, which wasn't much at all. The medic and nurse had bundled him up as warmly as possible, though it wasn't all that cold outside, trying to prevent him from catching a chill.

It was a very dull and uncomfortable ride. His eyes were better, but still not healed enough to read. He'd hacked up the last of the liquid and phlegm from his lungs that morning, and now just struggled with a dry, nagging cough that tugged painfully at the strained muscles in his chest and abdomen. Lying down only worsened it, and right now he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. All morning, he'd been sitting upright to ease the cough and try to get some sleep.

At least the serum was healing him quickly. Back home, pneumonia took him weeks to get over. This time around, it was clearing up in a matter of days.

Hopefully by the time he had to face the enemy again, he'd be back in fighting condition.

Just as he was about to drift off for the tenth time, a movement at the opening of the ambulance caught his attention, and the next minute Peggy Carter hoisted herself into the slowly moving vehicle.

Steve's heart thumped unevenly against his ribs. He blamed it on the distention it had suffered. Never mind that he'd felt the muscle pulling back into place all day. It would probably be healed in a week, he figured.

"Agent Carter," he rasped, and then made a face. Surely he couldn't sound as bad as all that.

She came over and sat on the empty cot opposite. "I've brought you some water," she said, offering him a canteen. "The medic says you're to drink as much as possible to flush out any poison left in your system."

Given that the medic and driver were only three feet away, and that no wall separated them from the interior of the ambulance, Steve didn't say what he thought of the medic's orders. He also didn't mention his own canteen was nearly full. Instead he merely accepted the canteen she offered and took a long pull at it. Immediately he spluttered into another cough, getting himself very wet in the process.

"Sorry," he gasped when he could breathe again.

Peggy didn't seem phased. Then again, she had seen him cough up considerably worse over the last few days. "How are you feeling?"

Steve nodded. "Swell," he said. He still felt cold and shaky, his lungs still ached with every breath, and his eyes were still sore and blurry, but those would fade with time. Even with his impaired eyesight, he could see Peggy's doubt over his assessment of himself, so he changed the subject. "Been meaning to ask." He paused for breath and chose his words carefully, "The formula for the gas - did it end up in the report?"

Peggy shook her head. "Colonel Phillips misplaced it," she explained calmly, and something tight and sick in Steve's heart unraveled in relief at her words. He sank back against the wall of the ambulance, smothering a new coughing fit between his teeth.

"Wanted to thank you," he rasped - then shook his head in frustration as his abused voice gave out. He tried again. "I hear you were the one who found the cure."

That was not entirely true. Peggy raised her chin. "Barnes is a terrible fibber," she retorted. "He's the one who found the papers, and Stark synthesized the antidote."

"And I've already thanked them." Steve paused, cleared his throat painfully, and then tried again in a hoarse whisper. "But I wanted to thank you too. You stayed by me, you…" he trailed off. Words weren't coming easily at the moment, and he couldn't think what to say anyway. He didn't know how to begin to thank her for everything she'd done. So instead he reached to lay his hand over hers where it lay on the edge of the cot. Her wrist was bandaged - he knew he had given her the blisters the bandage covered, and it hurt to know he had caused her pain. "Thank you, Peggy."

She hesitated, just long enough that he started thinking he'd presumed too much - and then her lips curled up in the warm smile that made his heart do traitorous things again, and she turned her hand to squeeze his briefly.

Then they both remembered the medic and driver just a few feet away, who were no doubt listening to everything with interest, and the moment passed. Peggy retrieved her hand demurely, and he let her go.

"Can I get you anything, Captain?" she asked, already preparing to depart. He nodded, and took another drink.

"Paper?" he asked, "and something to write with?"

She hesitated, raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Can you see well enough to write?"

Reluctantly, he shook his head and took another swallow of water, hoping to get more sound out of his voice. "Getting there. Wanted to write Warren's folks though."

"I believe the colonel has already sent a condolence letter," Peggy said carefully.

Steve gestured in exasperation. He didn't have enough voice to explain that a standard condolence letter wasn't enough. Warren had been a good soldier, albeit they'd barely known each other. He'd had parents, a kid brother, probably a sweetheart back home. "His folks deserve more," was all he could manage.

She looked at him levelly, and he saw in her eyes the moment when she understood.

"I'll get the paper," she agreed, and moved toward the entrance. "You mustn't strain your eyes though. Let me know if you need me to take dictation."

Steve thought about it. He figured he might take her up on her offer. After all, time with Agent Carter was hard to come by.

"Bucky was right," he whispered hoarsely, just as Peggy reached the rear of the ambulance.

"Mmm? About what?"

A grin tugged at the corners of Steve's mouth, but he bit it back and managed a perfectly angelic expression. "My mother would've liked you a lot."

She stared in surprise. To his shock, Steve realized she was actually blushing, the color in her cheeks mounting at the realization he'd heard at least part of the conversation between her and Bucky. He felt his own face heat in response.

"I think I'd have liked her too," Peggy confessed at last, so softly that he barely heard it - and then with a small smile that made his heart skip again, she slipped out of the ambulance and was gone.

After Peggy departed, Steve leaned back, looking down at the canteen of water in his hands. He thought about the other part of their conversation he'd heard while drifting in and out, clinging to the voices of his friends like a lifeline.

"...the way he looks at you ... I see that light in his face again…"

The sentiment itself wasn't a surprise. He'd felt that light in his heart, slowly but surely unfurling and bringing more joy and hope with every day that passed. He just hadn't realized it showed. Could Peggy see it too? Somehow he hoped she could - and if he was really, supremely lucky, maybe she had something similar in her own heart.

After all, not every guy was fortunate enough to know a girl who would stick by him to death's door and back. And to have his oldest friend approve of that girl - well, that was an added gift that he hadn't expected.

Steve Rogers drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.

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Poison gas may never be used again as an agent of destruction, but only if wars cease.

Aldred Scott Warthin, 1919

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THE END

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Whew! And it is done! Happy New Year, dear friends! Thank you so much for almost five years of support and for being the best readers a girl could ask for. :D

Poison gas has never again been used as a weapon to the extent it was during WWI. The horrors stuck long enough in the minds of men that when WWII started, both sides agreed to wait to see if the other side would use it first.

In the meantime, both the Germans and the Americans set chemists to making new gases, testing gas on volunteers, and stockpiling. The Japanese, who had not signed the Geneva Protocol, did use poison gas to some extent, and America (who hadn't signed it either) is known to have shipped at least one boatload of mustard gas as far as Italy where it was bombed by German submarines, the freed gas killing soldiers and civilians in a nearby town. Despite the fears, however, neither side ended up using poison gas as a main weapon.

During my research, I was dismayed to discover that there are still four countries in the world who possess stockpiles of poison gas left over from the Cold War - and America is one of them. In fact, until a few years ago, one of the larger stockpiles was kept very near my childhood home. As per international agreement, America is systematically and safely destroying their poison gas reserves. They estimate it will take until 2023.

Sources used in this story:

"Medical Diseases of the War" by Arthur Hurst, M.A., MD (Oxon), FRCP, 1917

"The Medical Aspects of Mustard Gas Poisoning," by Aldred Scott Warthin, 1919

"Adjustment of the Service Gas Mask" Official Training Film, War Department, produced by The Signal Corps in collaboration` with the Chief of the Chemical Warfare Service, 1941

StatPearls, "Chlorine Gas Toxicity," Morim and Guldner, 2019