June 4, 1943 - Brooklyn, New York City
It was late morning in Brooklyn, where a narrow street stretched out before Tommy.
People came and went along the line of old brick buildings—shops, delis, small businesses—each bustling with activity as everyone went about their day. Dressed sharply in his overcoat, Tommy took a slow drag from his cigarette, releasing a cloud of smoke that was quickly carried away by the cool breeze.
'They really like to make it clear, don't they?'
Tommy quietly thought, his eyes landing on a faded poster tacked to a wall. It urged young men to enlist, the image peeling from the corners. Conversations about the wars and the Allies' march in the European theater seemed to be the main topic, as he noticed many men wearing military uniforms in that particular building.
After the chaos he had caused, Chester had told him to do some self-reflection, which Tommy accepted wholeheartedly, much to the colonel's annoyance. He remembered the look on Chester's face darkening further when Dr. Erskine witnessed the whole incident. All the efforts Chester had made to secure another 'talk' had gone up in smoke, causing Tommy to curl up his lips in amusement.
"My dear, Tommy…"
The rough voice cut through his thoughts. Furrowing his brow, Tommy turned to see where it came from, curious as to who would address him so 'lovingly'. But then he realized they weren't talking to him.
Just ahead, near a small fruit stand, a group of men stood huddled by the entrance of a narrow alleyway. They smiled wickedly, revealing crooked, yellowed teeth as they loomed over a skinny man in tattered clothes, who looked like he was begging for something.
"P-Please, Ben, just one more day..." the thin man pleaded.
"Tommy, come on," one of them responded with a sigh. "You and I both know that's not possible. Not anymore..."
Tommy glanced at them briefly, taking another drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke seep through his lips as he watched the group drag the unfortunate man deeper into the alley. Whatever business they had with that poor soul wasn't his concern.
The wooden door of the nearby building creaked open, but Tommy didn't bother looking until it slammed shut with a sharp crack. His lips curled as he turned to see two figures stepping out of the building he had been standing in front of.
"It took you longer than usual, Arthur," Tommy called out. "Something happen?"
"Johnny kept trying to back out," Arthur grumbled. "It was bloody embarrassing. Why'd I have to agree to go in and hold his hand instead of just waiting outside?"
Arthur shoved Johnny forward. Tommy looked at Johnny's freshly shaven head, noting his downcast expression as Arthur glared at the poor guy and said, "You're not a kid anymore, John. Man the fuck up."
Arthur had been discharged from the military after a fight—no surprise there. It hadn't helped that the entire barracks, including Chester, the officer in charge, had witnessed the brawl. In the military, there was an unspoken rule: if someone of higher rank hit you, you offered your face for another punch.
Arthur hadn't quite followed protocol. When his temper flared, he'd thrown punches right back, and that was something you simply didn't do.
"How's the loan situation?" The former sergeant suddenly asked, looking at Tommy. "Come on, Tommy, give me some good news this time."
Arthur didn't have a choice now but to help out Polly when Tommy's so-called plan was finally in motion. He remembered how Arthur hadn't been so crazy after the discharge. Well, not after knowing Tommy had yet to secure the money to start the business.
Tommy glanced at Arthur, noticing the bruise darkening his jawline and the swelling under his left eye—a reminder of their second round of brawling. He touched the bruise near his own temple before shaking his head.
"Same story everywhere, Arthur," Tommy said. "No one's willing to lend without collateral. My rank means nothing to these banks—not after the Great Depression."
One of the loan officers told him the reason why banks were being really conservative with their risk-taking these days. Banks were playing it safe, still recovering from the economic fallout of the Great Depression.
Tommy didn't fully understand all the details, but the whole situation reminded him of his parents as he thought, 'Wasn't that why they moved to the States in the first place?'
It wasn't fair—not for Arthur—but life had dealt them this hand, and there was no backing out now.
"Fuck that, Tommy! You're gonna fucking get it done, no excuses," Arthur cursed. He clearly saw Arthur's face was flushed as the former sergeant took a step closer. "You made me lose my only fucking job. I swear, I won't forgive you if you don't make it happen, you hear me?"
Arthur had every right to be angry. It was his fault, after all. But insubordination wasn't tolerated in the military.
Tommy took a slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his face as he thought, 'Unless it's me, of course...'
"Don't worry, Arthur. You know you can trust me," he said. Tommy recalled a promise he made with Chester the day he got Arthur discharged as he added, "I've got a meeting with someone today. A man with money."
"Yeah, you better meet that guy, or I'll fucking smack your head in again."
Tommy simply blew out another puff of smoke at the threat. He looked at John, who seemed anxious, as he called, "John."
They were accompanying John to enlist. Polly was afraid the little guy would run away and possibly create a problem for them. But Tommy knew better—Polly was just tired of Arthur's constant grumbling around the house and wanted peace for herself, a chance to enjoy her cigarettes and the newspaper without interruption.
"Here, Chesterfield."
"...Thanks."
Tommy tossed him the lighter, watching as Johnny's shaky hands struggled to spark the flame. He patted John's shoulder as he said, "Come on, Johnny. You're a man now. Worrying about fighting the Nazis will just get you killed on your first day."
The words seemed to hit Johnny like a brick as Tommy could see John's face pale. Arthur's lips curled up upon seeing this as he said, "I doubt you'd survive the training, John. Might as well write down your mementos today."
"Oh, shut up!"
"You bloody well died in your first battle, Johnny!" Arthur sneered. "Didn't even make it past the first line of defense. Pathetic."
"Oh, piss off, Arthur! At least I wasn't discharged dishonorably—you remember that, don't you? Sent packing like a dog with its tail between its legs."
"Careful, John. Keep yapping like that, and you'll wish you hadn't woken up today."
Things seemed to be heated between these two. Tommy could feel a few glances in their direction. People seemed to be a bit bothered by their loud voices, but he didn't care much about their eyes as he simply took another drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke roll lazily from his lips.
"Now, now, what a lively bunch we've got here."
A voice called as Tommy turned to see a familiar face approaching in his neat military uniform. He looked at the cap that was slightly imbalanced as he called, "Bucky."
"Colonel Shelby, looking sharp today, aren't we? What's the occasion?" Bucky raised his eyebrows, looking at Tommy's polished appearance up and down. "Oh, no way. You got a date today or something?"
Bucky was technically right—Tommy was about to meet someone Chester had introduced him to. But Tommy wasn't in the mood to explain. Instead, he shot Bucky a look and asked, "You never learned how to put your cap on properly, did you?"
"Oh, Tommy, come on," Bucky immediately fixed his cap as he grumbled. "Give me a break!"
Tommy didn't bother responding as he took a long drag of his cigarette. The thick, heady scent of tobacco filled his lungs, sharpening his thoughts as he watched the smoke curl into the air. Turning to look at the insignia on Bucky's shoulder, he asked, "When'd you get here, Sergeant Barnes?"
"Just this morning," Bucky replied, glancing over at Arthur and John, who had finally stopped their bickering. His lips twisted into a playful smirk as he added, "So, what brings you lot to this dump?"
"John's enlisting today," Tommy said.
Since Bucky had arrived that morning, he figured the others he knew were likely back as well. Still, Bucky should have been reporting to the training facility, not wandering around in places like this.
Seeing that the guy was here, he asked, "Are you not gonna report, Bucky?"
"Thought I'd meet a friend first. Figured he'd be around here somewhere."
Tommy glanced at the dingy building where men were being herded in to enlist, then back at Bucky, who was looking around as if expecting someone to show up. He asked, "This friend of yours—he enlisting, too?"
"Come on, scrawny boy, I dare you to follow me!"
Before Bucky could answer, a loud yell interrupted.
Tommy followed Bucky's gaze and saw a large, brutish figure striding out of a nearby cinema, with a much smaller, scrawny-looking guy trailing behind him. Seeing Bucky's expression, Tommy could tell it was the friend he mentioned as he asked, "Is that the friend you're talking about?"
Bucky nodded, "Yeah."
"That big guy looks like a bully," John commented.
Arthur looked at them walking into a quiet alleyway at the back of the cinema before patting Bucky on the shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid, Bucky. Let me handle it. You're still wearing your uniform—we can't have you getting any dust on it, can we?"
"I didn't notice before, but where's your uniform, Arthur?"
Tommy saw Bucky look at Arthur, who wore a neat suit he bought, in confusion. Arthur responded with an eye roll before shooting a glance his way as he spoke, "Why don't you ask Colonel Shelby over here about that?"
"Tommy?" Bucky turned to him, but Tommy just shook his head. He followed after Arthur, who didn't say anything else and just strolled to the alleyway. John and Bucky followed along as Bucky whispered, "What the hell is going on between you two, Tommy?"
"You'll find out soon enough, Bucky," Tommy replied.
As they neared the alley, laughter echoed off the narrow brick walls. The big guy had the scrawny lad backed into a corner, his face bruised, his body trembling while raising the lid of a dustbin like a shield.
The whole thing was pathetic—Tommy knew the poor bastard didn't stand a chance. Even John stifled a laugh at the ridiculous sight as Arthur immediately shouted, "Hey! What's this? Pickin' on someone half your size?"
The bully turned to face them. Tommy heard the guy spit out a half-broken British accent, "What's this? A bunch of Brits in Brooklyn? Walk away, mate. Ain't none of your business."
"Oh, I will," Arthur growled, his unkempt appearance reflecting the sour mood he'd been in for days. The lines on his face seemed deeper, making him look older than he was. But Arthur didn't bother wasting more words as he cracked his knuckles, "Right after I beat the fuck out of you."
In a blink, Arthur's fist slammed into the bully's face, sending him staggering across the filthy pavement. But Arthur wasn't done. He didn't even give the man a chance to spit out any villainous lines before launching himself on top of the bully, fists flying mercilessly.
It was an utterly disappointing fight since the bully was nothing but a sandbag in front of Arthur.
"Should we stop him?"
John turned to him, exhaling the smoke from his cigarette. Tommy didn't say a thing; he wanted to let Arthur unleash the anger that had been building up inside as he flicked the last of his cigarette.
Tommy crushed it underfoot before muttering, "Let him be."
Yet, to his surprise—the one who'd been on the receiving end of the bullying—the scrawny guy, who should have been relieved, maybe even enjoying the sight of his tormentor getting what he deserved, suddenly rushed forward, trying to pull Arthur off while shouting, "Hey, enough! You're gonna kill him!"
"Get the fuck off me!"
Arthur shook off the scrawny guy lightly, but it sent the guy tumbling to the ground, sprawling across the concrete. Much to his surprise, Tommy saw the scrawny guy quickly get back on his feet, trying to separate them again and again, persistently.
Tommy looked at the scrawny guy; he saw nothing of resentment in those eyes toward the bully. He couldn't help but recall the project he was rejected for, thinking the scrawny guy might be a perfect fit in terms of character. The guy was an idealist just like Dr. Erskine, and he couldn't help but think, 'Such a fool.'
"Arthur," Tommy called.
Hearing his voice, Arthur froze mid-swing; he could still see Arthur's knuckles clenched above the battered man's face. The former sergeant turned to him with a frown, clearly not ready to stop. But he gave a nod in response.
"Fucking hell," Arthur cursed under his breath as he lowered his fists. Spitting at the ground near the bully, sneering, "Consider yourself lucky, you son of a bitch."
"You okay?"
The bully groaned, slowly staggering to his feet, while the scrawny guy, despite his own bruises, moved to help him up. It was a kindness not reciprocated—Tommy caught the rage flashing in the bully's eyes just before he swung his fist, connecting hard with the scrawny man's jaw.
The bully spat before fleeing down the alleyway, leaving a word, "I'll fucking remember your face!"
"Bastard," Bucky almost rushed after the fleeing thug. The sergeant shook his head before turning to help the scrawny guy up as he asked, "You've always been the same, haven't you? Foolish as ever."
"Bucky?"
The scrawny guy seemed to have just realized that Bucky was among the group who 'saved' him. Bucky gave a slight chuckle, then turned to Tommy, gesturing to the bruised man in front of them.
"Tommy, this is a friend of mine. Steve Rogers. Steve, meet Thomas Shelby. And mind your manners—he's a lieutenant colonel."
"Lieutenant Colonel?"
Tommy could see Steve's eyes widen. The scrawny guy was looking at him with curiosity, noting that he was having a hard time standing up after the beating, yet still had those bright eyes that Tommy found somewhat exhausting.
He couldn't help but repeat, 'What a fool.'