Of Which We Are Certain

Summary: Life has always been a strange and fickle mistress, and now with the war raging on, things are spiraling even more out of control than ever. Still, there are some things Vera Monroe is certain of. One, chocolate is the cure to everything until the cure to everything is found. Two, Bucky Barnes likes dancing. Three, he also likes asking her to dance. Four, he feels like what home should be. Five, she is going to outlive him by a very long time.

Disclaimer: From here on out, all that you recognize from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, does not belong to me. Nope. Nada. Zilch. Characters thought up by yours truly, though, are another thing entirely.

Chapter One: December 31st, 1940

In the second floor bedroom of the rowhouse sitting in the middle of Carlton Avenue, the faint scratch of the fountain pen trailing across paper was the only sound to be heard, apart from the toned down crooning from the radio on the windowsill. A young woman caught between the hazy states of sleep and wakefulness tossed her head back in a yawn, the sound jarringly loud in the mild quietness and shivered when a tendril of brown hair tickled the nape of her neck with the current that blew in through the cracks of her window.

It had been a bitterly cold week in New York thus far, with the first snow of the season falling just a few days ago. Although it came noticeably later than usual, the snowstorm blew through the hemisphere with a quick and harsh vengeance nevertheless, encompassing the entire east coast with what was to be the coldest Christmas and New Year's Eve they've had in the last decade. In the span of a single evening, the state of New York had gone from a land of dull slate grey to being blanketed in a thick shroud of powdery snow everywhere, leaving the residents flummoxed at the sudden change of landscape overnight.

Another biting draft drifted into the room, sending a tremor down Vera's spine despite the fire roaring in the fireplace downstairs. She had never been the kind to take to wintertime well. There was always something about the season that brought forth a sense of weariness deep within her bones, making her feel more listless and sluggish than ever.

Vera grumbled under her breath and tugged the sleeves of the stolen sweater over her cold-numbed hands. She had it taken from Thomas' closet earlier that week, since none of her own ones were doing a good job of keeping her warm. She doubt he would be remiss to notice its absence. The sweater had been sitting in a corner of his closet, sad and neglected, tucked under all of the other shirts she remembered telling him to put away. It was clear to see why the garment was being pushed to the side though. The thing was old, incredibly out of shape and of a ghastly washed out puke green that was not at all flattering for anyone. But it was warm and soft and it was comfortable enough that she considered not returning it to Thomas when winter was over.

Another breeze and another shiver. Having had enough of the cold for the night, she got up to shut the windows properly before reaching over to turn the radio off as well, having gotten sick of the overplayed songs. Without the upbeat warble of The Andrew Sisters, the air grew still. Vera peered through the frosted windows out at the darkened streets of her neighbourhood. Inside the brick walls of her brownstone, she was sheltered and safe. Outside, the world was dark, lit only by a handful of snow-tipped street lamps that were in desperate need of maintenance. One had gone out completely near the front of the street while another flickered in on-and-off intervals, casting a bright rhythm against the brick walls of Mrs. Pollack's house.

For a New Year's Eve night, Carlton Avenue was exceptionally quiet. The air was quiet, the only movement being the flickering of the street lamps and the occasional thud of icicles falling from leafless trees. Things were eerily still, but that was how Vera liked it.

It was the reason why she had chosen to find a place in this part of town when they decided to move out of the previous neighbourhood they were living in. Their first apartment upon reaching America was in Queens, a dingy two-bedroom place on the corner of Trafford Lane in the northern part of the borough. Having no prior experience with the country, they had no idea the area was actually a red light district, and as expected, they did not get much rest their first week in the States. It had taken them three weeks of restless nights and an instance of Josie getting mugged by two teenagers on her way home that they decided to move out and find someplace safer and less likely for them to contract any type of diseases.

From there, they found their quaint brownstone row house in Prospect Heights.

1291 Carlton Place was the smallest property on their street, with three bedrooms, a modest backyard overran with weeds and a central fireplace that was in severe need of repair. But despite the overall rundown state of the house, the place was pretty much perfect. It was a stone's throw away from Brooklyn College, where Josie was enrolled in their accounting programme and it would take Vera a mere half an hour by the subway to her nursing job in Brooklyn Hospital. While Thomas was not quite as taken with the brownstone as the girls were, he was happy enough with being the one in charge of turning the house into a home for his family.

The streetlamp flickered against Mrs. Pollack's place again and Vera caught sight of the curtain shifting in one of the windows. She wondered if she was going to file another complain with the Town Council and for the Council to ignore her once more.

"What are you looking at?"

Her head snapped towards the voice, holding in a startled gasp before she registered who was standing by the door. Josie blinked at her reaction, but said nothing otherwise as she waited for her answer.

"Nothing," said Vera. "Well, the street lamp's still broken."

"It's been broken ever since we moved here. That was almost two years ago," Josie noted and followed Vera with her eyes as she returned to her seat at the desk. "Writing again?"

Having left her fountain pen unattended, she realized the ink had leaked through the nib and a midnight blue blob now stained the part of the page where her thought had broken off. A piece of tissue was quickly drawn from its box as she set to work on blotting the ink out before it permeated through to the other pages beneath it.

"I'm growing old," said Vera as she dabbed at the ink and took care to not smudge it further. The excess ink was absorbed by the thin fiber and was drying up quickly, although a faint mark remained where it had started. "My memory's not as good as it used to be."

"Oh posh! You're not that old!" dismissed Josie. Her dark eyes were alight with humour; twinkling behind thick, curled lashes and subtly lined lids.

Vera merely cocked a brow in return, countering her words with silence as she tossed the used tissue into the wastepaper basket at her feet. She picked her pen up once more and returned to the diary; mentally reaching for that broken train of thought she had been working on only to come up short. It seemed words were not coming easy to her that evening and she blamed it entirely on the hearty meal and the bottle of red they had polished off for dinner a few hours ago.

But it was New Year's Eve after all, and it went without saying that a satisfying (if impossible, decent at best) meal was the key to ending the year on a good note. And despite the war raging in other parts of the world, it had been a good enough year where Vera and her family were. The Great Depression had all but ended and America's economy was slowly but surely getting back on its feet. Though it was not to say that the impoverished population had turned rich overnight; poverty was still a continual problem down in the slums and more rural parts of the country, but the majority of the people were at least able to afford the most basic of necessities without having to sell their children for them, and that was a vast improvement in itself.

This year, Thomas was able to score a sizeable leg of ham at a reasonable price from the butcher's that would not have been possible before. Coupling that chunk of hearty meat with Josie's honey butter glaze, Vera's French onion soup and the wine that she had brought along with them from France, it was safe to say that their year had ended on a very good note.

And now all Vera wanted to do was to cuddle up in bed and sleep the indulgence away.

With a soft sigh, she flipped the journal shut and replaced the cap on her pen, placing both items into the writing set, along with the pot of ink, before locking it away in the top drawer of her desk. The cherrywood set had been a Christmas gift from the siblings earlier that week and it was serving her far better than she thought possible, having been incredibly attached to the pen she was using before. Her old one was a gift from her father when she was ten and just started a habit of keeping journals. It served her well, accompanying her on her father's business trips about the European continent. That was, until it dropped into the sea by accident when Vera and the siblings were crossing the Atlantic for America. It was a huge pity, after so many years of companionship, but she had long accepted that the pen was just another casualty in the pieces of her past she was losing. As a child and later a young woman going through the hardest time of her life, her mother had drilled the fact into her head keenly.

'You have to understand, Verena,' Her mother had said, looking down at Vera from under an elegant ski-slope nose. Her piercing eyes were fixed on her daughter, gaze sharp and ready to catch any wrongdoings and outward show of disobedience. It made Vera feel infantile, made her feel smaller than she should be as a 20-year-old young woman. 'The fact remains that you're going to live – live much longer than anyone and anything you know, and the only person who can help you is me. So, whatever it is I tell you to do, it's for your own good. Remember that.'

Of course, she broke that rule several times through the years. There was only so much of weak-willed bending and gutless compliance to all of her mother's overbearing dominion that she could take. A perfect example being the young blonde who was leaning against the entry to her bedroom, watching her in interest.

"How many is that now?" Josie nodded towards the chest sitting at the foot of her bed. It was where all of the journals she had amassed over the years were kept under a heavy lock that would only be unlocked on the last day of every year when a new diary would join its peers for the rest of days. "Fifty? A hundred?"

Vera shrugged in response. "Too many."

"You do realize with all the diaries you've written so far, you could publish your own biography, don't you?" Josie suggested. She kicked off her shoes, made her way towards the bed and hopped onto it with a graceless flail. It was obvious that between the two of them, grace was something that only Vera possessed in abundance. A burst of lavender flooded the chilly air as she patted the covers and burrowed herself deeper into the soft linens. "It would probably run several volumes and contain some seven hundred or more pages each."

"I could," Vera nodded in thoughtful agreement. Then she smiled a puckish little grin that wrinkled her nose and her façade cracked. "But then again, who would want to waste their time reading about my unexceptional life, isn't it?"

"I would if you'd let me," prompted Josie, her voice coloured with the unspoken request. The hopeful smile on her face faded when the brunette shook her head with a pointed look.

"No."

"It was worth a shot," Josie shrugged, unaffected by the curt rejection. She picked up one of the perfume bottles from the bedside table and pumped a few spritzes on her neck. The scent of vanilla and musk fill the air as she did so and Vera was tempted to let her know just a single pump of the concentrate was more than enough to last her a few hours, but as always, she decided not to.

"I don't know why you and Thomas still do," she said instead and reached over to snatch the perfume bottle back when Josie motioned to take another spray. "You two already know what I'm going to say."

"We figured we might be able to lower your defenses one day and conquer that chest of forbidden secrets," Josie declared with a flourish, earning herself another look from the older woman. She snorted and added, "Or at least annoy you enough for you to give in. Thomas thinks it's fun to see you getting so defensive. You're normally so... emotionless."

"Emotionless? Ha!" scoffed scoff. There was not a tinge of humour to be found in the mirthless sound. "If only that were the case."

"Is it... is it really that bad?"

Vera gave pause, carefully considering Josie's question and the hesitation colouring her rouged face. While she had no doubt the siblings cared for her as much as she did them – they did spent the last sixteen years together after all – it was still comforting to know that they worried for her, especially over something none of them could control nor help. It made her feel a little less lonely each time.

"It's... not without uses," she finally said, smiling at the younger girl in assurance and subtly avoiding the question. "It's like a... never-ending nuisance with added benefits. Especially useful when your dear brother gets into one of his fits."

As Josie laughed, Vera stole a quick look at the clock, wondering why she was coming in to make small talk when it was already nearing their usual bedtime. She turned back; ready to ask her when she finally registered the entirety of how Josie looked.

Unlike the simple smock she had on for dinner, she had it traded in for a fancier light blue dress that Vera had only seen her wearing a handful of times and only during special occasion. It was belted at the waist – tight enough to emphasize her modest curves but loose enough for her to move easily, with the added warmth of the thick overcoat she had thrown on over it. A brow rose then as she studied her immaculately done-up face. Just a few hours ago, she was mostly fresh-faced with only a light tinge of stain on her lips and now she sat, dressed in her best with a lightly blushed cheeks and a carefully drawn crimson pout when it was close to their bed rest.

A second brow joined its sibling. "Going somewhere?"

Josie smiled impishly. She pulled at a blonde curl and let it spring back to its fixed position, looking mildly satisfied at the holding power of her hairspray. "There's a New Year's Eve party down at the bar by Grey's. O'Malley's. They're giving away free drinks upon entry."

Vera frowned.

"A bar?" Thoughts of drunken men and their natural inclination towards uninhibited deeds flashed through her mind. Some men were ill mannered enough without the help of liquid courage and most that visited bars were the ones who always acted as if they had alcohol running through their veins. Her head was shaking before she even realized it. "I'm not too sure about that, Josie."

"It's safe!" assured Josie, only for Vera's brows to climb further up along her forehead. "Well, it's safe enough for a drinking establishment." She scooted closer towards the end of the bed and nearer to her. "And Thomas is coming with us, it'll be fine."

"Us?"

"Mmhm," Josie nodded confidently, dark eyes glimmering in the warm yellow light. "You're coming too."

Vera huffed. "Do I not get a say in this?"

"Nope," grinned Josie, releasing the word with a pop. "It's a brand new year tomorrow, Vee! We have to celebrate it. And you know what they always say about New Year's Eve! That they're magical and good things always happen when there's magic."

"Not always," Vera snorted, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned back in her seat, doubt apparent on her face. While she was not always the most affable person – which was a rather ironic thing in itself, seeing as she worked as a nurse in the surgical care wards where good and kind bedside manners were always important – Vera was exceptionally curt at the moment, thanks in part to the cold and what was going to be a lengthy grovelling, judging from the determined set to Josie's lips. "Besides, since when do we ever celebrate New Year's Eve?"

"Since we became Americans!" Josie chirped, not letting her doubtful words bring her down. She got up off the bed, sidled towards Vera's chair, and planted herself on the armrest. "It's good for us to embrace the Yanks' traditions!"

"If you're embracing being American, you should lose the habit of calling them 'Yanks'," quipped Vera. "I don't think they appreciate that."

Josie ignored her. "You're always missing out on the celebrations."

Vera sighed. "There's a reason why I don't go to such things, dear. There are just too many people."

"But you can't always hide away at home!" Josie argued, frustration lining her words. "You have to go out sometime. Meet new people! Make some friends!"

"I go out," retorted Vera, pointedly ignoring the mocking sneer she was receiving. "And I do know people and I do have friends."

"I'm not just talking about the hospital and dance studio, and the three old women you work with," retorted Josie, rolling her eyes. "I'm talking about places with normal people. Socializing places – dance halls, clubs, the bar."

"These places are normally where acts of debauchery happens."

"It's also where you get to meet eligible men," Josie sing-songed.

"Yes, of dubious nature."

"You're too paranoid."

"This is New York, Josie, not the French countryside," she rebuked sternly. "Things and people are different here."

Realizing from the firm set of her lips and the stubborn glint in her grey eyes that she was not yielding at all, Josie let out a huff of exasperation and got up off the armrest. Then, she dropped to her knees beside Vera's legs and scooted closer to her before propping her chin up on her lap. She peered up at the older woman through her lashes and widened her eyes just a touch to look plaintively forlorn.

"Please?" she murmured, the French word slipping from her lips softly. Her mouth was set in a pout that was small enough to look the right amount of piteous but not enough to be absurd. Almost instantly, she could see the stiff lines in Vera's mouth soften and she had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to temper the triumphant smile. "It's just this once. It'll be fun!" Vera frowned, mouth open to voice her rejection once more, but Josie ploughed on. "Besides, you know how stupid Tommy can get when he's had one too many drinks. You can be there to control him."

"Don't call your brother stupid, Joséphine," chided Vera, her tongue curling around the language naturally, pronunciation as accurate as that of a native speaker.

"I wouldn't if he's not and he wouldn't be if you were there. So you see, you have to go."

"Where is he anyway?"

"He left for the bar first to grab us some seats," explained Josie. "He left me in charge of persuading you to come with us. You wouldn't want him to be disappointed in me, would you?"

"Oh, this is bordering on ridiculous."

"Please? Just this once and I'll never ask again," implored Josie. Vera snorted because Lord knew that was never going to happen. She said the same thing the last time, when she begged Vera to let her go on the trip to the beach with some friends of hers from school. "I promise! Please? Please, Mama."

If Vera had been considering giving in before, she was definitely surrendering to her now.

The victorious glint in Josie's eyes told her she knew it too.

The stiffness in Vera's stance had all but melted away with the utterance of the one word. She knew what Josie was doing and it was working very well, much to her dismay. There was a reason why Vera never wanted the siblings to call her that, instead making them stick to calling her by her name and reinforcing it as a habit. It was wrong, since she was not their birth mother, no matter how much it warmed her to hear it, and it would only serve to complicate things in the future when they got older. The last thing she wanted was to draw unwanted attention to them and undoing all of Vera's hard work in keeping them away from the prying eyes of others.

But there were moments where Josie and Thomas would ignore the rule on purpose, and those were the times when they wanted something badly, be it a new toy, going for a trip to the beach in Marseille, or in Josie's case, dragging her out somewhere she very much did not want to go. While Vera liked to think she had grown impervious to the children's tricks over the years, it was evident her resolution wasn't as strong as she thought it to be.

Begrudgingly, she pulled on one of Josie's golden curls and smirked. "You are a crafty little fox, young lady."

Josie's eyes lit up once more and she pushed herself back on her knees. "So you agree? You'll go?"

"Very well," she acceded with a huff, and over Josie's whoops of glee, added, "Now English, please."

"We're at home, Mama!" Josie said, but switched back their common language once more. She bounced towards the closet, pulling it open with a flourish and began raiding through the rack of garments immediately. "Nobody's going to care."

Vera watched as she flicked through the pieces of clothing, all the while mumbling under her breath and making faces in various degrees of disapproval or agreement. Every now and then, she'd pull out a hanger from the depths of the closet; scrutinize it with narrowed eyes before tossing it onto the bed without another word.

Having watched the heap of clothes growing on her bed with concern and irritation at knowing she was going to be the one putting them back again, Vera finally asked, "What are you doing?"

She was ignored in favour of a mud brown skirt that she did not remember ever purchasing and couldn't help from scrunching her nose up in distaste at the balloon shaped apparel. The colour wasn't any better than Thomas' sweater, if anything, it was much worst, and the shapeless silhouette was not helping its situation at all. The skirt would make any woman look as if she's bottom heavy without even trying. Vera's mother would have turned in her grave thrice over if she had seen it.

"What is this... thing?" Josie muttered with a similar look of disdain. She held the skirt up by the tips of her fingers, flicking it left and right as she tried to find meaning in its existence. "You have the strangest taste in clothes sometimes."

"I do not!" insisted Vera, affronted.

"Look at the sweater you're wearing and see if you can say the same."

She huffed. "At least it's warm and comfortable!"

"And the ugliest thing I've ever seen," Josie admitted and looked at the skirt in her hand. "Well, second ugliest." She tossed the offending item onto the floor, deciding that it wasn't even worthy of the bed and disappeared back behind the closet doors. A pair of well-worn, flaying pointe shoes joined the heap, followed closely by a grey day dress.

"Josie."

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm finding you a proper outfit to wear, of course," her muffled voice explained. "You didn't think you were going in that sweater, did you?"

Vera looked down at the wool she was wearing and hummed in quiet agreement. "Do you think Thomas noticed me nicking it from him?"

"Oh, he noticed," affirmed Josie, tossing yet another blouse over her shoulder. Vera got to her feet and started to sort out the unwanted clothes with a sigh.

"Darling, please, you're messing up my room."

"Tommy just didn't want to say anything," she continued, acting as if she didn't hear the annoyed chiding. "He's been waiting for the chance to get rid of that sweater, but he didn't want to do it without hurting your feelings... Ah-ha!" The crow of victory was paired by her brandishing a dress and holding it out in front of her with an accomplished smile. "This is perfect!"

Vera nodded. "That is a really nice dress."

"I know; that's why I picked it out."

"Is it not a little too nice? For a bar?"

Josie scoffed. "Nothing's too nice if there are handsome men around, Ma."

"Your constant mentioning of men is rather concerning, Josie," Vera frowned as she was pushed towards the full-length mirror by the window. The cloth that she kept draped over it was pulled aside quickly by Josie quickly, before she found the dress to be held in front of her lithe form. "Do I have to remind you that you're still too young to be thinking of them?"

"But I've already been on dates," quipped Josie, much to her adoptive mother's displeasure as she tutted at her and muttered a 'Be serious,'. "I've still got a ways to go, Vera, don't worry. College's the only thing on my mind right now. Other than this dress. Oh, look at it! It's beautiful!"

Vera turned her attention back to the mirror. She smoothed the dress down, feeling the soft material gliding across her skin and was inclined to agree. It was one of her most expensive outfits, bought on a whim for a date that did not come to fruition and had only been worn once before it was pushed back into her closet where it never saw the light of day again.

The mid-calf double-layered dress was made of a navy blue silk that swished about at the hem and moulded to the gentle curves of her body. It was form fitting yet floaty at the same time, giving her a sensual look without being indecent. Small ivory pearls were sewn into the modest neckline and the hem of her sleeves, reminding Vera faintly of how stars looked against the backdrop of the night sky. The dress was cool to the touch, thinner than what was appropriate for wintertime, but she supposed her coat would suffice for the trip to the bar, seeing as it was bound to be stifling hot with the crowd in it. At that thought, she faltered, considering the amount of people that she would have to be in close proximity to and felt the inclination to stay home.

But one look at the excitement in Josie's face and she was tempering down her protests again.

"Why have I not seen you in this before?" asked Josie, plucking at a bead.

"There wasn't an occasion for it."

"There's a good one now," the blonde chimed and propped her chin on her adoptive mother's shoulder. She smiled up at Vera and poked at a smooth cheek. "You're so pretty, Mama, I don't understand why you have to dress like a 60-year-old kook."

"That's because I am a 60-year-old kook, dear."

"Pish posh! You look as beautiful as always," Josie stressed as she pulled at the rubber tie holding Vera's hair together and let the dark mane fall about her shoulders freely. She raked a gentle hand through the curls, working out the knots the way Vera used to do for her when she was younger and grinned. "I'll bet you the men at the bar –"

"Another mention of men and I'm changing my mind, Joséphine," Vera snapped and the younger woman clammed up instantly.

"I'll just go grab your coat and shoes while you change," she offered instead, grabbing her own heels off of the floor and making for the door. Right before the door clicked shut, however, it swung open again, and her blonde head popped in through the gap. She appraised Vera with narrowed eyes. "Coat, shoes and lipstick." She added with a firm nod, agreeing with herself. "Definitely some lipstick."

When the door was finally shut, Vera tossed the dress over the back of her armchair and ran a hand through her limp curls, brushing them away from her face with a roughness that pulled at her scalp. All she wanted to do was to spend the last few hours of the year in the comfort of her house without having to. But that clearly was not going to happen with Josie's obstinate nature. With a sigh, she reached for the buttons at the back of her dress and started undoing them.

With the evening dress slipped on, she proceeded onto making herself look a little more presentable, no matter how much she was feeling like a rugged sack of potatoes and simply wanted to crawl into bed at that moment. She reached for the hairbrush from the end table and began to brush through the kinks and knots until the mane of curls fell over her shoulders in a glossy waterfall. With that done, Vera chanced a look at the face in the mirror.

Under the warm light of her bedroom, her grey eyes took on a bluish tinge that accentuated the faint bags hanging underneath them. It seemed that no matter how well-rested or how long she spent her nights tossing and turning, the eye bags were always present. She leaned forward then, eyes focused on the face as they searched for the faintest signs of lines in her skin.

There was none, as always. A smooth, creaseless face looked back at her blankly.

The only blemishes to be found were the cluster of freckles speckling across the bridge of her nose, and the 2-inch long scar she had acquired in an accident many years ago.

The person looking back at her was far too young to have lines marked into it. Josie was right – with pinked cheeks, a severe jawline softened by waifish features and cream skin unmarked by time, Vera was beautiful. She was beautiful and she hated it, because she wasn't supposed to be.

Vera Monroe was 68-years-old, born on a wintry day in 1872. She was supposed to be a weathered prune of a woman now, with graying hair, a constellation of age spots and wrinkles marring her skin and a frail stature who should have lost some of her motor reflexes and mental capacity. Yet, the woman blinking back at her from the mirror looked not a year passed the age of 25, and was as sharp as she ever been.

Her hands tightened around the hairbrush as she fought against an inane urge to throw it at her reflection. There was no need to terrify Josie and ruin the good mood she was in, not without a good enough reason that did not involve Vera dumping a boatload of problems on the poor girl.

Sighing, she tossed the hairbrush back onto the end table before bending to pick up the discarded cloth from the floor. There was another flash of a scornful sneer before it and her reflection was gone as the cloth was pulled back over the mirror once more.

Just wanted to let you guys know the basis of this story - it will take place about a year or so before the events of CA:TFA and will carry on through to the following 2 sequels. I'll be taking the time to build up the relationships between the characters first before we get to the invasion with the 107th and moving onto the movie, instead of jumping straight first into the romance. Because realistic.

Anyway, sorry about this chapter taking way longer than I expected. It sort of got out of hand lol. I know there's no Bucky here, but be assured, he'll be appearing in the next chapter so keep a look out!

Much love and appreciation to the reviewers: Dot909, Hazel, youngbones7, LovelyFandomLover, thekindlyones, antepenult and Audrey and subbies!

As always, I welcome all comments/constructive criticisms because who doesn't want to improve themselves right?

Till next time!