Angie hated running.

Looking back at that little fact now, she found it humorous that her newest occupation in the army consisted of much more physical activity than she would've liked as a child. Ever since she was a kid, she wanted to be a writer, to tell stories as a career and cuddle up on a couch with a book in her lap during her free time for the rest of her days. Not run marathons every other day, though when her country needed her, she wasn't just going to sit around and do nothing.

Though she loathed the pain of running for hours and hours on end throughout her life, Evangeline was grateful for the fact that it had conditioned her body to take sprinting in stride without getting winded easily.

None of that mattered when she ran face-first into a wall a few moments later.

The swift kick of agony to her nose sent the woman falling backwards to the hard, tiled floor and she landed with an unattractive thunk to the ground. Though she knew her new powers made her practically invincible, it didn't come as too much of a shock when Angie decided that staying on the ground was a much wiser choice than trying to get back up. Better to just lay there for a minute and gather her bearings than jump up and pass out, although she wouldn't have known the difference since her surroundings were pitch-black anyway.

The sound of pattering little footsteps in her ear caused a gasp to skim her lips and Angie struggled to get to her knees, but the little girl was upon her before the frightened and disoriented lady could escape. The familiar, quick hissing noise of a match attempting to be lit replaced the footsteps and the candle came to life once again, though this time the flame was only a few feet away from herself.

With the world around her now obviously spinning, Evangeline's eyes met the milky white pupils of the little girl's.

"Are you alright?" The child questioned and cautiously set the candle holder on the floor. It wasn't exactly the first thing Angie thought a murderous ghost would ask before killing their victim, but talking was a good sign. Talking meant communicating, and communicating usually led down a none-death road. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, I swear."

Angie's confused gaze moved from the child's eyes to the blood on her body. She opened her mouth to speak, but-

"Oh, right," The little girl sat on the floor and pulled the hem of her nightgown high enough to reveal a badly bruised and bleeding wound on her knee. "I tripped in the dark when I was looking for my candle. I fell down the stairs before I could get to the supply closet. Its down the hall from my room. Papa keeps the candles in."

Now finally coming to terms with the fact that this girl was genuinely alive and not a threat, Evangeline was about to ask her another question when-

"Yes, it hurt a lot," The little girl answered her, as if she'd read Angie's mind. "But I'm tough." She started flexing her little muscles, but stopped as if she'd remembered she was a tiny shrimp of a person compared to the grown woman before her. The little girl's arms flopped to her sides. "At least, that's what Papa says." 

Evangeline opened her mouth again-

"Oh, you're right, I haven't told you my name," The tiny person reached out for a hand-shake; her lightly-colored eyes gleaming in the flickering flame of the candle. "I'm September."

The woman took September's hand and got to her feet. Though she was still light-headed from ramming head-first into a wall, Evangeline made herself more concerned with her new friend's state; it wasn't in herself to think of her needs before the welfare of the people around her. Before she could ask-

"Oh, the first-aid kit is in Papa's lab. He's probably working there anyway," September picked up her candle holder in her opposite hand and began to lead them back down the hall to where they'd first encountered each other. Evangeline knew how to step lightly as her feet hit the tiled floor, but September was soundless. As if she were floating, hovering just above the floor like the ghost Evangeline first thought her to be.

"September, who exactly is your papa?" Evangeline couldn't help but wonder who exactly could've produced such a strange offspring like September. The woman had never seen or even heard of a person with such odd eyes. Or had she been experimented on, just as Evangeline had been? Though that seemed to be the more logical answer of the two options, Angie prayed that it wasn't, knowing how terrible and painful the latter could have possibly been.

"Well, he isn't my blood father, to be honest," September paused as the two turned a corner and were met with a wooden door. Due to the line of light that appeared on the floor, it was obvious that there were candles or oil lamps working from the inside and the sound of voices speaking could be heard. "But he'll explain everything when we get inside."

**********

As the hours went by and one soldier after the other continued to make their own surprise calls to home (each call lasting a half hour at the least and an hour at the most), it left plenty of time for Bucky and Steve to think about the words they'd exchanged with who they both assumed to be their soulmate. Despite Steve having his journal to draw in as a way to pass the time, the captain knew that Bucky had nothing other than the vows of his would-be bride and the rings they should've been sharing as company. Knowing that his friend was suffering almost worse than he himself was, Steve decided that a distraction for the both of them was the best remedy to this unfortunate situation.

With a sack of rations in one hand and an old deck of playing cards in the other, Steve made his way through the tiny camp and found the depressed would-be groom just as he thought he would; sitting on his cot with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. The captain unceremoniously dropped the sack on the edge of Bucky's makeshift bed and playfully smacked the back of the sergeant's skull. 

"Head up, soldier," Bucky immediately looked up to see who had a disturbed him with a somewhat ticked expression on his face, though it softened slightly when Bucky realized it was Steve. "You're going to need a good attitude if you want to last through this game." Steve took a seat on the opposite end of the cot and began to deal out the cards. Bucky gave a sad smirk; he knew what Steve was trying to do. And he loved his friend for it.

"I don't know, buddy," the sergeant scoffed back as their two separate piles of cards continued to grow. "If I remember correctly, you're usually the one who gets their ass handed to them whenever we play."

"And that changes today, Barnes," Once the correct amount of cards had been split, both men picked up their collections and examined the cards they'd been dealt. "My super-human serum did more than just give me a six-pack."

"Yeah?" Buck rolled his eyes with a chuckle. "What else did it do?"

"Gave me the super-human ability to school you at your own game."

Bucky narrowed his eyes evilly.

"Alright, Rogers, if that's how you want to play. You're on."