Chapter Text
“The American national is… no longer in your custody?” The secretary of the American embassy in Copenhagen repeated, clearly confused. The rapid clicking on the other end paused for only a moment before it continued, somehow more frantic than ever. “Has he been discharged by relatives?” she asked.
As much as Dr. Larsen wished that were the case, it was unfortunately not. She was just as flabbergasted as the secretary seemed to be when the hospital’s security sheepishly reported that the American had run off last night with all of his possessions, with no way to recover his identity excluding his testimony and a few photos.
“He escaped last night under our watch.” Dr. Larsen admitted. “We believe he left around 2 AM through a window. Our security pursued him, but resources had to be diverted to helping out burn victims of a fire at the local docks.” There was a lot she didn’t say, for instance, that the man had somehow broken the safety catch on the window with one arm and then had jumped from the first story window onto concrete before immediately outrunning several, far healthier officers to disappear to who knew where.
A very good athlete? Someone suggested later as they were pouring over the footage, but none of the sports teams participating in competitions in Greenland that year reported losing anyone. Another suggested special forces, giving more credence to the patient’s insistence that he was in the military, but the officer at Thule Air Base denied any kind of particular relation, simply confirming what Dr. Larsen had thought.
“Steve Rogers?” Officer Douglas had repeated, incredulously. “Either this guy’s actually mental, or he just thinks he’s come up with a great prank to get himself to go viral.” Personally, Dr. Larsen thought that it was incredibly unlikely that anyone, no matter how starved for entertainment, would endure so much pain for a mere prank, but she had a feeling arguing wouldn’t help. “Either way, there is no way he’s actually an American soldier called Steve Rogers. Trust me, we would know. Only Steve Rogers we’ve ever heard of was Captain America, and he died decades ago.” And that was that. Officer Douglas did agree to take a look at the photos of the dog tags for authenticity, so hopefully, that would be more fruitful.
Dr. Larsen dutifully reported the offer to the secretary, who thanked her for the information. “Have the police been notified?” she asked.
“We’ve already filed a report to the local police.” They were not happy that the strange American with no valid ID had somehow created even more trouble, but they had promised to look into it. “They believe that he is still in Greenland.” After all, in his state, they reasoned, he could not have gone very far, a belief which the aforementioned security staff were willing to contest.
Dr. Larsen privately disagreed. From what she could gleam together from her conversations with him, she was fairly certain he was not entirely honest at best, and at worst, delusional, so who knew how he thought, or what he would do. The whole purpose of figuring that out was the transfer to Copenhagen, and look at where that had gone. It reminded her of some of the more exceedingly frustrating patients who thought they knew better than doctors with years of experience. Still, his noncompliance seemed to stem more from confusion and genuine belief in his narrative than malicious intent.
Meanwhile, the secretary seemed to have a plan of action. “Considering this is an international disappearance, we’ll have to request INTERPOL publish a Yellow Notice. Could you please send any materials that could help to identify him? You stated that you had photos of his dog tags, correct?”
Dr. Larsen frowned. “We do, but we’re not certain if they are his. For one, the tags claim he was born in 1918.” The simplest solution was theft, she supposed. But if this Steve Rogers was as important as Douglas claimed he was, shouldn’t they be in a museum or something?
Curiouser and Curiouser.
The secretary paused, apparently flustered, before continuing. “Then any kind of photos, descriptions, clothing, and possessions left behind will suffice.” There was a rustling of papers before she asked again, “Did he ever mention a more specific location?”
“Well, he was fixated on New York.” When she reported that to Officer Douglas, he had snorted. “So he is a mental case after all,” he declared. “That’s where the Cap was from.”
“New York,” she repeated. “Ah, thank you so much.” As though there weren’t millions of people in that particular city. “Is there anything else?”
There were many anything elses about this bizarre person, Larsen thought, but nothing that didn't just lead to more questions. Not to mention she was very, very tired. “No, not in particular. We will send you the information as soon as possible.”
“That would be most helpful. Thank you for letting us know about this. I’m certain that once the Notice is published he will be found soon. Please let us know if anything else comes up or if you need anything else. Have a good day.” Her voice was cheerful, but Dr. Larsen could tell she was just as confused as herself and anyone else that was involved in this case.
Still, Dr. Larsen responded, “Have a good day.” before she hung up. Indeed, Dr. Larsen thought, as she laid the phone back down on her office desk, she could only hope that he was found soon, safe and sound and would receive the care he needed. In the end, that was all they could do.