Marvel: The Journey

As Peggy stood on the immaculately kept lawn, the crisp autumn air bit at her cheeks, reminding her of the sacrifice these soldiers had made. She stood tall, her spine straight, as she and a few others honored the fallen soldiers in a military funeral ceremony. Chester Philips, Howard Stark, and other dignitaries joined her in a respectful salute. The somber notes of Taps filled the air.

While standing among the sea of mourners, the sounds of grief and heartbreak surrounded Peggy. Wives wailed for husbands lost too soon, mothers sobbed for their fallen sons, and daughters clung to each other, tears streaming down their faces. Yet, Peggy remained stoic, a symbol of strength and composure for those around her. She had seen too much death to let her own emotions overtake her.

But then, something caught her eye. She turned to see a statue being unveiled in honor of Steve, and her stoic expression faltered. Steve had been her closest friend and the love of her life. Seeing him honored in such a way was almost too much to bear. Memories flooded her mind, of battles fought side by side and moments of laughter and joy. She felt a lump form in her throat, and her eyes began to well up with tears.

Peggy's body tensed as she stood there, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. The pain in her heart was palpable, a deep ache that felt like it would never go away. She could feel her hands trembling with the force of her emotions, but she gritted her teeth in determination. She refused to let anyone see her break down.

With every ounce of her being, Peggy held onto her composure, her face a mask of stoicism. The tears threatened to spill over, but she willed them away. She had been taught to be strong in the face of adversity and to not let her emotions get the best of her. It was a lesson that had served her well throughout her life, but it was never more important than in moments like these.

Peggy had been holding onto her composure with all her might, but she felt a sudden pang in her chest. Her heart beat faster as she saw a small memorial being unveiled in memory of Ian. She had tried so hard to keep her emotions in check, but seeing the tribute to her fallen friend was almost too much to bear.

Peggy closed her eyes, the memories of Steve and Ian flooding her mind like scenes from a movie. She tried to push them away, but they refused to be ignored.

"I can't cry! I can't show any weakness!" Peggy repeated the words like a mantra, determined to keep her emotions in check. She had always prided herself on her ability to remain composed in even the most trying of situations. But as the memories continued to play in her mind, she felt her resolve begin to slip.

Then, she remembered the last thing Ian had said to her. "See you later." The words echoed in her mind, a bittersweet reminder of all that had been lost. Peggy knew that he would never be able to fulfill that promise, that she would never see Ian again.

Peggy felt her composure slipping as tears streamed down her face like a torrent. She held her head down, unable to look anyone in the eye. The pain of loss weighed heavy on her heart, and she struggled to keep her emotions in check.

"Why? Why me?" Peggy thought bitterly. "First my brother, Michael, then Steve, and now Ian, who reminded me so much of my brother. Why can't a single person close to me just not die? Why am I always left alone?"

Her mind was consumed with questions, doubts, with regrets. She wished she could turn back time, to fix the mistakes she had made, to prevent the tragedies that had befallen her. But she knew that it was impossible.

For a moment, Peggy allowed herself to grieve, to feel the full weight of her pain. She cried until she thought she had no more tears left until her throat was raw and her eyes burned with exhaustion.

Howard and Philips watched as Peggy broke down into tears, her sobs punctuated by hiccups. They both felt a deep sense of sympathy for her, knowing all too well the pain of losing someone close to them.

But even as they looked on, their gazes were drawn to the towering statue of Steve, a testament to his bravery and sacrifice. It stood as a symbol of hope and inspiration for all those who had fought and died in the war.

Howard and Philips knew that Steve would have been proud of Peggy, proud of the strength and courage she had shown in the face of such overwhelming grief. They hoped that she too would find solace in the statue and that it would serve as a reminder of all that Steve had fought for.

After the ceremony ended, Peggy found herself in a dimly lit pub with the members of the Howling Commandos. The air was heavy with a sense of sadness, and the only sounds that could be heard were the clinking of glasses and the occasional murmur of conversation.

Peggy sat down at a table with the others, feeling a sense of camaraderie and shared loss. Despite the somber atmosphere, there was a sense of comfort in being surrounded by those who had also fought and suffered in the war.

They sat in silence for a while, each lost in their thoughts and memories. Peggy couldn't help but think about Steve and Ian, and the weight of their absence felt heavier than ever before.

Dugan's heavy hand slammed down on the table, jolting the other members out of their quiet reverie. He spoke with a solemn tone, "He was a great man, a true leader, and a friend to all of us."

Raising his glass high, Dugan continued, "I propose a toast to the one and only Captain America!" The others followed suit, lifting their glasses in unison to honor their fallen comrade.

As the liquid in their glasses drained away, each member reflected on their memories of Steve Rogers. They remembered his unwavering bravery and unshakeable sense of duty. They thought about the times he had saved their lives and the way he had inspired them to be better soldiers and better people.

At that moment, they all knew that Captain America's legacy would live on, not just in the statue that now stood in his honor, but in the hearts of all those who had been lucky enough to know him. With a final gulp, they downed their drinks, letting the bittersweet taste linger in their mouths.

Peggy sat in a quiet corner, her eyes fixed on the world outside the window. She watched as the people went about their daily lives, smiling children playing in the streets, and her heart ached. She thought to herself, "You did what you had to do to protect their smiles."

Slowly, she lifted her glass to her lips, taking a long sip and feeling the burn of the alcohol. As she set the glass back down on the table, she knew it was time to go.

Peggy rose from her seat and walked towards the door, her eyes still fixed on the sky. In the quiet of the night, a single tear rolled down her cheek. She whispered to herself, "But, you took away mine."

With a heavy heart, she stepped out into the darkness, knowing that the memories of her fallen loved ones would stay with her always.

Overwhelmed by emotions and mentally exhausted, Peggy returned to her new home, provided to her by the SSR in Queens, New York.

As Peggy stepped into the quiet house, shutting the door behind her and turning the lock with a soft click, the silence of the empty house enveloped her, amplifying the emptiness she felt inside. She took a deep breath, willing herself to keep moving forward. The walls around her felt unfamiliar, sterile, and devoid of any character, and Peggy longed for the familiarity of her old life.

But she knew that this was her new reality, and she would have to find a way to make peace with it. With a sigh, she walked through the empty rooms, her thoughts still consumed by the memories of her fallen comrades.

Climbing up the stairs, her footsteps echoed through the empty hallways, reminding her of the solitude that had become her constant companion.

She entered her bedroom and slowly shed her funeral clothes, feeling their heaviness lift off of her as she changed into something more comfortable. Her gaze drifted to the mirror in her bathroom, and she couldn't help but sigh at the sight of her reflection.

Her eyes were puffy and swollen, a testament to the tears she had shed for her fallen friends. Her nose was red and raw, a painful reminder of the grief that she still carried with her. But even in her exhaustion, she knew that she had to keep moving forward.

With a sense of purpose, she splashed cool water on her face, letting it wash away the remnants of her tears and steeling herself for the difficult days ahead. She knew that the road ahead would not be easy, but she was determined to honor the memories of those she had lost, even if it meant facing her pain head-on.

Peggy descended the stairs and entered the kitchen, seeking solace in the familiar routine of preparing a meal. She chopped vegetables and cooked them with practiced ease, the rhythmic sound of the knife on the cutting board offering a small measure of comfort.

With dinner prepared, she carried the plates into the living room, intending to eat alone with her thoughts. But as she approached the couch, she noticed something amiss. There was a figure lying on the cushions, their form obscured by the dim light of the room.

With reflexes honed from years of training, Peggy quickly retrieved a revolver concealed beneath her clothes and aimed it at the unexpected intruder. She moved with caution and stealth, inching her way toward the person on the couch, determined not to startle them.

As Peggy approached the person lying on the couch, her hand still firmly holding the revolver, she was stunned by the sight that greeted her. The man's appearance was so horrifying that Peggy could barely stand to look at him. His right hand, right leg, and the right side of his face, including his lips, were severely burned and disfigured, causing her to wonder how he had survived such injuries.

Peggy noticed that his breaths were shallow and uneven, hinting at the severity of his condition. Despite his obvious physical injuries, his left hand was tightly clenched around a satchel, as if it held a treasure that he refused to part with.

While observing the man lying on her couch, Peggy racked her brain, attempting to place his face in her memory. However, despite her best efforts, she couldn't seem to identify him. He had to be someone she knew, as it was unlikely for a stranger to be in her home. But how did he get there? Was he left here intentionally, or did he somehow manage to gain entry on his own? The questions swirled in her mind as she stood frozen in place, her weapon still trained on the mysterious figure.

She frowned in frustration as the man remained unresponsive, his burned face and body barely moving. She had to take a deep breath to calm herself before trying again. "Wake up!" she yelled, her voice echoing in the quiet house, as she pointed the revolver at him.

After several attempts, the man stirred, slowly opening his eyes, which were clouded with pain and confusion. She lowered the gun slightly, still on guard. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice firm and unwavering.

As Peggy gazed into the familiar blue eyes of the man lying before her, her mind raced with wild assumptions. However, her racing thoughts were halted as she heard the man whisper, "P-Pe-Peggy?" Instantly, she recognized the voice, and her trembling hands lowered the revolver. With widened eyes, she spoke in a quivering voice, "I-Ian?!"