A/N: So I've just finished up my first Captain America 2 story (check it out, it's called "Heading Home") but I couldn't let go of this world. These characters, these stories…they're too intriguing to step away from. So here's my second Captain America 2 story. It's going to go through the timeline of CA:TWS (though I'll be changing the plot of it a bit to fit my story!) and probably go beyond that as well. The other Avengers will indeed be making appearances. It'll be quite a different beast from "Heading Home", I imagine, but it'll be fun for me nonetheless! I hope you like it as much as I do, and as always, leave a review! Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, except for my original characters.

Bucky Barnes let Victoria Marsden hang around with him and Steve for a few reasons.

For one thing, she was a pleasant girl whose company was enjoyable. She didn't mind talking about automobiles or baseball or superheroes (back when they had been children, anyway) and she was different from all the other girls who giggled far too much and discussed things such as hair ribbons. She actually knew how to hit a ball with a bat.

For another thing, she lived in the apartment above Steve's, had done so her whole life. And even though he and Steve had initially rejected her when she had asked to play with them when she had been six and they had been nine, they'd eventually given in because she could be quite fun. As the years had gone by, Bucky had considered severing their friendship a bit—since cavorting about with a girl so much was seen as a bit odd—but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Victoria had no other close friends and leaving her out of things would have felt quite mean. Besides, she was four years younger than them, just a kid. Abandoning her would have been cruel.

Lastly—and this was Bucky's own private reason—Victoria had become a sort of personal project for him. She was a decent-looking girl, rather too slender and petite he sometimes thought, with shoulder-length straight golden-auburn hair, a spray of freckles across her nose, scarlet lips that always looked like she'd been licking a cherry popsicle, and stormy eyes blue-gray eyes. Not quite lovely, but she had a sweet smile. She was also quite lively…but only when she was around Steve or him. Around other young folks, she became quiet and withdrawn. Add that to her looks, which were nice but only when you looked closely (which not many people did) and her small size, and she disappeared into the background at any social gatherings he persuaded her to attend (which weren't many). He still couldn't comprehend why she became so shy around other teenagers but he had made it his personal mission to help her come out of her shell. With the right attitude and perhaps some curled hair and a new dress in a bright color, he suspected she could nab any boy she wanted and befriend any girl she wanted. So as it was, he always tried to make her go to parties and social gatherings at the roller rink and other such places, always trying to introduce her to new people and encouraging her to talk to new people. She usually managed to excuse herself and slip away after a few minutes but Bucky was determined to make this work.

So together with him and Steve, Victoria usually made the third figure in the group. They were almost always seen together. And that was how Bucky assumed it would go, that they would stay a trio until he and Steve went to college and got jobs and Victoria married someone (if she ever married someone…). Never would he have dreamed that things would change so completely. This was a story that wasn't going to end any time soon

Begin.

"She likes you, you know," said Steve mournfully, staring at the blonde girl sitting at the counter. The girl turned around every few seconds to stare at Bucky and then whirled back around to whisper into the ear of her red-headed friend, who was also sneaking surreptitious glances at Bucky.

"Nonsense," said Bucky, smiling. "She's looking at you, you blond hunk."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Even that girl who was supposed to be my date on our double date—what was her name? Marcia… Even she was staring at you the whole time. Even though Connie was right there!"

"Girls are shameless," said Bucky. Then he looked at me and said, "Oops. Sorry, Vic."

I glared at him and he laughed. He knew I hated it when anyone called me Vic. Vic, Vicky, Tori…none of those were acceptable in my eyes. It was Victoria, just plain Victoria. "Boys are shameless too," I said, swinging myself around to plunk down next to Steve. "Always sniffing after one girl—and the second she shows any interest, he's gotten bored and moved onto the next! Kind of like you, huh, Bucky?"

"I would never do that," said Steve honestly.

"That's because you're a gentleman," I teased. "Unlike Bucky here."

Bucky clapped a hand over his chest, pretending to look offended. "I beg your pardon. I'm a swell guy, the chummiest of them all. A true gentleman."

"That's a scream!" I said, smacking the table. "Then explain why you were going with Caroline Johnson three weeks ago—and now you've moved onto Connie Capone!"

"Caroline was…an alright girl," said Bucky, looking a little more serious now. "But Connie's the real deal, Victoria. I think so, anyway."

I tried to rearrange my features into a convincing smile. "That's great, Bucky!" I said, pretending like I was nothing more than pleased for him. In reality…I was dying a little on the inside. I didn't know when it had happened, but my heart had started to pound a little more when I was near Bucky. Which was absolutely crazy, because he was one of my best friends. Why would I feel this way near him? I was itching to ask someone about it but I had no one to ask. I didn't have any girlfriends and asking my mother was impossible. She was dead. Died of dysentery years ago.

Steve and Bucky had moved on while I was ruminating on all of this and were discussing something that made no sense to me. "Fishing!" said Steve, smacking a hand down onto the table. "Let's go fishing."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Steve, the last time you and I went fishing, you nearly drowned us both. We're not going near water. Ever again."

"I can swim," insisted Steve.

"Sure you can."

"Let's go play pool," suggested Steve.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Trying to come up with things to do tonight," said Steve. He looked at Bucky. "Pool? At the Holy Roller?"

"Fine, alright," said Bucky, standing up and straightening his collar. "I could use a few rounds."

I stood up as well and Bucky looked at me in surprise for a minute before laughing (he was always laughing but it had only been recently that his laugh made my stomach feel funny) and saying, "Victoria, you can't come."

"And why not?" I asked indignantly.

"The Holy Roller is no place for girls," he said, shrugging on his brown waistcoat. Steve smiled at me apologetically and Bucky patted my shoulder as he passed. My stomach swooped a little but I ignored it. "Sorry, old girl," he said. "Next time we'll do something else." And then he and Steve walked out the door.

I shrugged on my printed floral sweater and slowly left as well, feeling a bit humiliated and more than a little upset. It was just the constant reminder that no matter how close I was to Bucky and Steve—they were my only two friends—they would always be closer to each other. They would always pick one another. They included me most of the time, but occasionally they'd go off like this and leave me behind and it would be like the door had slammed in my face all over again and I would be reminded of the fact that I was essentially a third wheel. In fact, even our friendship was based upon the fact that I'd forced myself upon them. That had been back when I hadn't known about my true self…

I slowly walked home, not noticing that the sky was getting darker and more stormy until the cold, fat raindrops began to fall, slowly at first and then in a gushing torrent. I hugged my thin, soaked sweater to my frame and ran the rest of the way home, my worn brown leather Mary Janes getting stained by the water. It didn't matter anyway; they were too old for me to care. I let myself into our apartment, which was dark and cold as usual. My father didn't really care about keeping it home-y, not since my mother had died…which had been a long time ago.

I locked myself into my tiny bedroom and threw myself onto my bed without bothering to change my clothes. I stared up at the faded posters of Mr. Strong—the superhero I'd admired so much as a little girl until some other girls began to call me a boy for liking him—that were still up there and I sighed. Steve and Bucky would be at the Holy Roller right now, which, they were right, wasn't a suitable place for girls like me. But then why did they get to go there? The types of girls that hung around the Holy Roller were the types of girls Dolly Carthouse at school called "red women" when I was fourteen. I wasn't actually sure what that meant and when I'd asked Bucky, he'd coughed and told me to mind my own business.

I'd figured it out by now. "Red women" were prostitutes. The kind of women who wore fishnet tights and red lipstick and dark eye pencil smeared daringly around their lids. The kind of women who smoked cigars and cavorted with men as easy as could be. Not that I wanted to be a red woman…but my stomach clenched in jealousy at the thought of one of them smiling at Bucky while he played pool. And he would smile back and he would flirt, because that's what he did with every girl…except me.

I muffled my face into a pillow and let out a loud scream. He would never see me as anything but an annoying childhood friend or a little sister type. A year ago, I wouldn't have even wanted him to see me as anything else. Oh, how the times had changed…

I thought about Connie Capone—cute little Connie Capone, with her high girlish voice and excitable nature and dark curls and huge doe eyes—and I got more and more irritated until I sat up, pointed at a mug on my desk and then lifted my hand in the air. The ceramic mug hovered up into the air and then I flung my hand aside wildly in the direction of my wall and the mug shot in the same direction and smashed against the wall. I glared at the pieces, my heart pounding, and then suddenly I felt queasy and ashamed of myself. I'd promised my mother I wouldn't do this anymore. And I'd broken the promise quite a few times since she'd died, but I felt horribly guilty every time.

No one else knew what I could do. No one had known except my mother, when she'd seen me doing it at the park when I was nine. She'd dragged me off the playground with a fearful look in her eyes, shaken me like a rag doll, and commanded me to never do it again, whatever it was. She'd looked so frightened that I'd agreed without arguing. However, when I was alone, I would float flowers and try to weave them into flower crowns. My mother caught me again when I was ten and this time she slapped me. I had burst into tears and she'd sighed and knelt by me. Kissed my forehead. Apologized. And had explained that if anyone ever found this out about me, I'd be taken away from her for forever and locked up in the loony bin with all the other people with problems. I'd have scientists cut me open to inspect my insides. She terrified me so much that for a while, I couldn't even use my powers even when I tried in the privacy of my room.

Then she'd died when I was ten and I'd run up to my room after the funeral and screamed and brought my hands together like a giant clap and all the papers and paintings tacked to my walls had come crashing down. My powers had come back. But I tried not to use them. I didn't know what they were or where they came from. I just knew they were wild, uncontrollable, and dangerous. I practiced trying to use them in the privacy of my own room because I was always terrified I would cause a scene in public.

This was the reason I had no friends and refused to go places. I was a freak of nature and I was terrified that one day, someone else would discover my secret—and then my life would be over. I'd be locked up or cut up. Steve and Bucky would look at me with disgust and horror. My father would die from the misery of having his only remaining family turn out to be a monster. I couldn't let any of that happen. So I didn't make any friends except the two I'd already made and I rarely went places.

I knew it annoyed Bucky, that I wasn't social like him. I wished I could tell him why, but I couldn't. I couldn't ever let him know. Steve was kinder about it because Steve was also…well, a loser, like me. I wished more people would give Steve a chance because he really was such a funny and swell guy. People just focused on his looks too much, laughing about how skinny and awkward he was, and ignored his personality. It made me angry because at least I brought my social stupidity upon myself. Steve had it forced upon him for shallow, beastly reasons, and the gall of those smirking, popular kids tore at me. I fell asleep on my bed, still in my soaked dress, and I dreamt of sneering kids who laughed at me and then screamed when I hovered them in the air and sent them flying out of the park…

The next day passed uneventfully. It was still August, so school wasn't in session yet. I would be going into my last year of high school. Bucky and Steve had already graduated and school was lonely without them. They were both doing courses at a local college, though Steve didn't seem too focused on his marks. Bucky cared more. He wanted to make his mother proud. Steve's mother was dead, like mine, except she had died only two years ago, not seven years ago like mine. I didn't know what Steve or Bucky were up to but I could guess. Bucky would be out with Connie or he would be working on some car at the garage. He had a real affinity for fixing up cars. Steve would be trying to sneakily enlist for the war, as he'd been doing so for the past few weeks. I sighed at the thought of the stupid boy and then began to clean the apartment from top to bottom. My mother wasn't here anymore, so as the woman in the house, I had to make sure our home was presentable.

My father worked at the bank so he was gone all day. I knew he'd come home looking tired, with a pinched expression on his face. Times were hard and money wasn't pouring through the economy very well. All the money was being spent on the war. Indulgences were frowned upon, though that didn't stop Dolly Carthouse from buying new dresses and new hair rollers and showing off her shiny blonde curls and clothes. I looked at myself for a moment in the mirror in the tiny foyer—pale face, gray-blue eyes, freckles, and auburn hair—and then I sighed. I was alright looking, nothing too tragic, but I also wasn't anything special. My nose was straight and decent and my lips were always strangely red, as if I'd just eaten a cherry popsicles or candy, but otherwise I was completely forgettable. Not the kind of girl Bucky would ever look at twice.

After I was done cleaning, I cooked an early dinner for my father because I wanted to go out (a beef casserole and boiled potatoes that I mashed and sprinkled a little salt on; it wasn't a very extravagant dinner, but again, times were difficult) and I changed into a dark green dress, smoothed back my hair with a thin black headband, and headed out. I headed down the street to the comic book store a few blocks away. I didn't have any money to spend on any comics, but the owner, Reggie, was a nice guy who let me browse (ahem…read) the comics to my heart's content without kicking me out or making me pay. I'd never seen him do the same for any rowdy boy in the store and when I once asked him why he made exceptions for me, he'd smiled his crooked, friendly old-man smile at me and had said, "It's nice to see a young gal interested in comics. Besides, you're quiet and don't make a damn mess like these hooligans who come in here and try to stick gum on the comics." Then he'd scowled and started muttering about "damned hooligans" and I had inched away, ready to throw myself back into a Mr. Super or Lady Liberty comic.

Lady Liberty was my hero. Tall, fit, beautiful, and impossibly confident, she always managed to defeat the enemy—even while being a woman. And the adversaries she faced always underestimated her because she was a woman…until she destroyed them. It made me think that women could do so much more. I'd never before considered the fact that women could fight or do those physical things, not until I'd started reading Lady Liberty comics at the age of fifteen.

It was there in the back corner of the store, curled up on the couch that no one but me sat on, that Bucky found me. "I knew I'd find you here, Victoria," he said, smiling that crooked smile at me. "Always reading." He was wearing a strange jacket and a cap perched jauntily on his head.

"You should try it sometime," I joked. "Do you even know how to spell?"

"Of course I do," he said. "Here, let me spell a word for you right now. S-E-R-G-E-A-N-T. What does that spell, Victoria?"

"Sergeant," I said slowly, looking at him, puzzled. "Why would you—" And then it hit me as I noticed the proud gleam in his eyes, suddenly realized what his clothes—no, his uniform—meant. "Bucky, are you going to go fight in the war?" I asked slowly.

"Sergeant James Barnes," he said. "Commander of the 107th. I ship out tomorrow."

My heart was pounding and my stomach was swirling so much that I felt like I might be sick all over the floor of the comic book store. Tomorrow. He was going to go fight in the war tomorrow. He might not come back. He might get killed. What if he died? Men died in war all the time and their girls back home mourned them. Not that I was his girl—but I would still mourn him for forever.

"Congratulations!" I found myself saying and I hugged him. He lifted me into the air for a second and I closed my eyes and pretended for a moment that he actually meant it—and then he was setting me down and saying, "Let's go out on the town tonight. You and me—"

My heart froze.

"—and Connie and Steve. There's a carnival or something in town tonight and I hear Howard Stark will be there too, with some new contraption of his."

"Sure," I said hollowly, smiling widely. "Sounds like a time."

"Should I find some boy to bring along for you?" he teased.

"No!" I said sharply.

He looked surprised for a moment and then he frowned. "I was only joking, Victoria. But you shouldn't be so…"

"So what?" I challenged.

He sighed. "Never mind. I don't want to fight before I go. Come on, let's go find Steve and tell him. I wonder where he's gone off to?"

"He's at the pictures, watching the war one again," I answered automatically. That's what Steve had done every Friday night for the past four weeks. Lord knew where he scraped up enough money to do the same thing every week—but where there was Steve's will, there was a way. He was obsessed with the idea of fighting with honor for our glorious country. There was something very honorable about Steve, in my opinion, but I didn't see what honor there was in killing. Fighting. Ruining families. It all seemed like one big stupid fight that men had invented for no reason…but I would never say that to Bucky or Steve. They'd would just laugh at me and tell me "I didn't understand." I hated when they said that…which they did quite often. For some reason, Bucky and Steve thought I was some sort of naïve child.

Which sometimes I was. But not all the time. And it was mostly due to staying away from social interactions as much as possible.

We went to find Steve…and find Steve we did. We heard sounds of fighting coming from the alleyway next to the theater and went to investigate—to find Steve being beat up by a guy twice his size.

"Stay back, Victoria," warned Bucky, pushing me gently towards the wall and then he strode forward to deal with the bully. I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to see the violence. This happened about once a month, in my estimate. Steve was forever shooting off his mouth to some dumb jock or bully and getting his face beat in, and Bucky was always stepping in to save him.

"Hey!" Bucky said loudly. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

I couldn't help it—I opened my eyes. Bucky yanked the larger boy off of Steve, who was on the ground using a trash can lid as a shield (so typical of Steve; he was nothing if not ingenious). The boy swung around and came at Bucky, but even though he was larger than Bucky, Bucky neatly side-stepped him and then punched him in the face so hard the boy went sprawling.

"Get out of here," warned Bucky. "Or it's going to be worse next time."

Just like most bullies, this boy suddenly wasn't willing to pick on someone who was willing—and equally able—to fight back. The boy got to his feet, his pants dusty, and bumped against me roughly before he stormed around the corner.

"Hey!" Bucky called angrily but the boy was already gone.

"I'm fine," I said. "He didn't do anything."

"No way to treat a woman," said Bucky, frowning.

"Bucky, he was just beating up a guy half his size," I pointed out. "I don't think he's much of a gentleman."

Bucky turned and hauled Steve to his feet. Steve had a stupid grin on his face, despite the bruise that was already starting to form on his cheek. Bucky whistled when he saw it. "Got yourself a nice shiner right there, Rogers. That'll make the ladies swoon. What do you think, Victoria? Will it make the ladies swoon?"

"I feel weak at the knees already," I said and they both laughed.

"Sometimes I feel like you like getting beat up," said Bucky, crossing his arms and surveying Steve with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. He looked at him the way an older brother would look at his younger brother and I took a step back, suddenly feeling a little out of place. It was one of those moments where I was never sure if I was wanted.

"I had him on the ropes," argued Steve. "One more second and I'd have knocked him flat."

"Sure, sure," agreed Bucky, his tone still laced with amusement. "Well, I've got some news for you, Rogers. Take a look at me. Whaddaya see?"

Steve looked at Bucky as if seeing him for the first time—and then I could see realization hit as his face fell. "You've been drafted," he said hollowly and he sounded as falsely happy as I had, except I knew Steve was upset for a different reason. Steve desperately wanted to go fight in the war and defend his country…except he was too small and runty and weak.

"Sergeant of the 107th," said Bucky and he sounded proud.

"That's—that's great, Buck," said Steve and he hugged Bucky, clapping him on the back.

Bucky hooked a thumb back at me. "I was just telling Vic here—"

"I'm going to strangle you," I said.

"—I was just telling Victoria here…we should go out to celebrate. I've invited Connie out to that carnival or exposition thing tonight. You and Victoria are coming too. You can be each others' dates."

I linked arms with Steve and jokingly said, "What do you say, sir?"

"Anything for you, ma'am," said Steve back. "You look swell tonight."

"Why, thank you, sir!" I looked at Bucky. "See? Perfect gentleman."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Comedians, the two of you. The new Punch and Judy show. You'll draw in massive crowds."

"I knew I was born to be a star," I said, curtseying.

We headed off to the carnival or whatever it was. Evening was falling and the sky was turning twilight but it was still warm out and the crowds grew thicker as we neared the exposition (as I realized it was). When we got close enough, we heard someone shout, "Bucky!" and turned to see Connie Capone jumping up and down and waving a few yards away. She had a blonde girl with her.

Bucky elbowed Steve, who dodged him. "Look, sport. She's brought a gal for you."

So it was Bucky with Connie and Steve with…whatever her name was. She didn't spare a second glance at Steve and he looked uncomfortable around her, like he had no idea what to do with her ignoring him. But still, at least they were standing side by side. I hovered off to the side, a plastic smile plastered to my face, somehow the odd man out…again.

"Oh, look," said someone in a sneering tone and we all turned to see Dolly Carthouse and her group of pretty girlfriends passing by me. "It's Her Royal Oddness, Queen Victoria. What's wrong, Vicky, couldn't find a date?"

My face burned and I shrank away from, shrank away from confrontation, and Bucky loudly called, "Don't you have something important to do, Delia? Like go shopping for a soul?"

Dolly blushed furiously out of anger and embarrassment. Bucky, despite not really hanging around many people other than Steve and me, was still one of those guys that was all around friends with every person—whether popular or unpopular—and was very well liked. His looks probably had something to do with this but he was also extremely confident and nothing seemed to faze him or take the small, amused, casual smile off his face. So getting told off by him in public was pretty humiliating. Dolly flounced away and I shot Bucky a grateful look. To my surprise, he was frowning at me. He grabbed my arm and led me aside a few feet and said, "You need to start standing up to them, Victoria."

"I—" My face burned at being reprimanded and I didn't know what to say.

"No, you don't understand," he said. "I won't be here tomorrow. I'm counting on you, Victoria. You need to stand up to these girls—and guys, too, for Steve's sake. Kid can't shut his mouth but people will be less likely to pick a fight with him if there's a girl with him. It looks bad, see." Then he let go of my arm and walked away.

My night was ruined after that. I kept alternating between worrying that Bucky thought I was a coward, fearing the fact that he was right and I would now have to stand up for Steve and myself, and swallowing down my jealousy when I looked at beautiful Connie with Bucky. The night passed in a blur and had I paid more attention, I would have noticed that Steve seemed glum as well. We ended the exposition by watching Howard Stark fail miserably at displaying his hovering car and then Connie said, "Sarge, let's go dancing!"

Bucky shrugged. "Sure thing. Let's do it. You coming, Steve, Victoria?"

"No thanks," we both said at the same time. We exchanged a surprised glance—clearly Steve had no idea why I was depressed—and Bucky told Connie and the blonde girl to wait for him by the entrance. They left and then he approached both of us. "Why not?" he asked.

"I feel ill," I announced. "I'm going home."

"Hold on," said Bucky. "It's dark. Let me walk you home."

"I can walk home," I said coldly. "I'm not an idiot. Besides, you're busy." I turned away from him and stormed towards the exit. As I was walking, my mind was screaming at me, Don't end it like this! This might be the last time you see him! But my pride and humiliation wouldn't stop me from walking away. I pushed past the crowds, feeling tears burn my eyes, and then I ran the rest of the way home. I was a fast runner; Bucky had no chance of catching up to me.

You're an idiot, I lectured to myself as I locked myself in my room and kicked off my shoes. I promised myself I would go meet Bucky early tomorrow morning and say goodbye to him and apologize for my atrocious behavior. How could I ever expect him to see me as more than a sister if I acted so childishly? This was all my fault. But I could fix it.

Only I never got the chance to fix it. I overslept the next morning. When I woke up, the light streaming in through the window was too low in the sky. I looked at the clock hanging on my wall and shrieked. It was almost ten o'clock. I washed up, ripped a brush through my hair, yanked on a dress and my shoes, and flew out the front door of my apartment—only to smash right into Steve, who had held his hand up to knock on my door. We both fell backwards, clutching our foreheads, groaning in pain.

I slowly got to my feet and hauled him up. "Steve—what is it?" I asked. "I was going to go meet Bucky—"

"He's already gone," said Steve and my heart sank.

"Why didn't you come get me?" I demanded. "I wanted to say goodbye!"

"I didn't even know," said Steve. "They shipped out early this morning. I barely managed to wake up on time to go say goodbye. But don't worry, I told Bucky that you were really sick and throwing up all night and that's why you were so cranky last night. I also told him you said goodbye."

It wasn't as good as apologizing and saying goodbye in person, but it was better than nothing. I gave Steve a grateful look and said, "Thanks," noticing that he didn't inquire as to why I had actually been so cranky last night. Steve was that way; he liked knowing the truth, but he didn't push people.

"So…why were you coming here?" I asked.

Steve's face lit up suddenly. "Because I'm going too!"

I stared at him incredulously. "I beg your pardon? You've been drafted?"

"Yes!" he said happily.

"But…" I didn't want to be cruel, but how? How on earth had he been drafted, considering he'd been rejected around fifty times already?

Seeing my hesitant expression, Steve leaned in close and said, "Don't tell anyone this. But I've signed up to be a part of a secret project. They're going to do some testing on me. They said it'll make me a good soldier."

I stared at Steve in alarm. This sounded suspiciously like the plots the villains in comics were always cooking up. Not that that life was a superhero story—but still, this sounded very suspect. "Steve, are you sure this is…this is a legitimate opportunity?" I asked urgently. "What if…"

"Victoria, it's fine," he said. "I'm getting it done today. In fact, you can come with me. You can't come inside, of course, but you can wait outside the building. Do you want to come?"

"Of course," I said quickly. This whole situation seemed worrying to me and I didn't want to let Steve get into trouble. If I let harm come to Steve within hours of Bucky's leaving, Bucky would never forgive me.

You'll see him again soon. Stop worrying. He'll be back before you know it, a war hero, smiling his usual smile and maybe he'll smile at you slightly differently. Maybe you'll be more grown up by then. More sophisticated.

"Hello? Victoria?" Steve waved a hand in front of my face and I snapped out of my daydreams where Bucky was presenting me with a bouquet of flowers and taking me dancing.

"Oh! Yes, let's go." I grabbed my purse and smoothed down my hair and then we exited my apartment, hurrying a few blocks away to a more industrial, poorer part of town. I looked around nervously as we walked, holding more tightly to my bag. I was by no means a wealthy girl, but I was more well off than the people living in this area—and we all knew it. I could sense the hard stares from the people around me, the judgmental looks that crawled over my clean hair and skin and washed dress and I pressed closer to Steve (though it wasn't as if he could protect me either).

We reached the building where he was to get his "testing" done and he slipped inside, smiling and saying goodbye. I promised to wait right outside and then I sat down on the ground outside the building and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. The hours passed by, the sun moved in the sky, the day got hotter, and I found myself sweating and my stomach rumbling. I hadn't even had breakfast and I craved an ice cream dearly…but there was no ice cream to be found here. Besides, I didn't have any nickels to spare for ice cream.

I even dozed off slightly, though I was still awake, but I was jolted upright by the sounds of—gunshots? And screaming and chaos coming from inside the building. I leaped to my feet in alarm just as a man with dark hair burst out of the building, brandishing a gun. I screamed and leaped back against the wall, clutching my coin purse to my chest, but he ignored me and took off running down the street. I stared after him—and screamed again as another man, this time tall, blond, and muscular burst out of the building.

Hang on—didn't he have STEVE'S FACE?

My jaw fell as I saw Steve's face on the man's body. He gave me a split-second glance and it was definitely Steve's blue eyes I was staring with astonishment into—and then he took off sprinting after the other man. And my word, he ran more quickly and agilely than any man I'd ever seen before. I sagged against the wall for a moment, feeling absolutely weak with shock. Had this been the "testing" Steve had talked about? Turning into someone…someone who resembled Mr. Super from the comics? How on earth had they done this?

A woman with dark curls and heels sprinted out of the building, shooting a gun down the street, chasing after both the man and Steve. I stared after her for a second and then I took off running too, following all three of them. I was actually quite a fast runner and it wasn't hard to follow them. I just followed the trail of destruction they were leaving—the sounds of gunshots, people screaming, cars crashed in the street, and street windows shattered with glass.

I got stuck at a crowd of people, however, and it took twenty minutes just to shove through them. When I got through, I had nowhere to go so I began to make a round around the waterfront edge of the street. Eventually I found Steve and the woman standing there. The dark haired man was gone. I hesitated upon approaching them, not sure who Steve was at this point—he looked so different—but he looked up and shouted, "Victoria!" and waved me forward.

I approached slowly, taking him in with awe. My eyes could have easily fallen out of my head. He was tall, much taller than me now—and I was five feet, six inches, so I wasn't very short for a girl—and very muscular and well-built. He had always had a sweet face but it had never seemed to fit on his scrawny body. Now it did; he looked positively handsome. The woman noticed my gawping and smiled a close-lipped, red-lipsticked smile. "Nice handiwork, isn't it?"

"Did—did you do this?" I gasped.

"The people I work for," she explained. She looked at Steve. "Your little sister?"

"One of my best friends, actually," said Steve. "Victoria Marsden. Victoria, meet Agent Peggy Carter. She works for the military too. She'll be with me when I leave."

"And when will that be?" I asked faintly.

"Tomorrow," said Steve apologetically. "I won't actually be fighting."

"You won't?" I asked, confused. "Then what will you be doing?"

"Wearing a superhero suit," he said, smiling in an a self-conscious way. "I'm going to be a new superhero called Captain America. Go around the country, raise some morale and money, and then head overseas to our boys, to raise their morale."

Captain America. Well, the name certainly fit for Steve; he'd always wanted to fight for our country. And it sounded like he would be out of danger, which made me happy. I nodded, feeling bewildered, and said, "Right. Right. That sounds…right. Fantastic. Right."

"I think she's in a bit of a shock," said Agent Carter in a low voice.

"How can I not be?" My voice cracked and I gestured to Steve. "Look at you! You're—you look so different!" I felt awkward and self-conscious, not comfortable. I was used to Steve's physical presence being not so…threatening. This Steve made me feel positively tiny, like he could smush me with one hand.

Steve saw my panic and grabbed my hands and gently said, "Victoria, it's me. I'm the same Steve I've always been. I'm just…bigger." He laughed and I looked into his eyes and I saw that he was telling the truth. He was still the same Steve Rogers who I knew and loved—he was just able to destroy bullies now. I couldn't help but smile at the thought and Agent Carter smiled slightly at my smile and then Steve smiled self-consciously at her smile and we stood there like idiots for a moment, all smiling small smiles.

But I couldn't smile when I got home, no matter how hard I tried. I ate dinner alone as my father snored on the couch, the radio softly on and reporting war news and late night stories. I washed my plates, turned the radio off, threw a blanket over my father, and went to my room. I changed into my nightgown and tried to go to sleep but my sleep was restless, haunted with dreams of people who kept disappearing. First my mother, then my father, then Bucky, and now Steve… I had no one left to lose at this point.

I was alone.

The days passed in an endless blur. They seemed to all blend and fade together when I had no one to talk to but they also passed achingly slow, as if I could feel every minute I was alone. I spent a fair few days crying in my room and I also destroyed several more objects. Being alone more often, I spent more time breaking my promise to my mother and trying to practice with my powers. It all seemed to be a matter of focusing with my mind on what I wanted and then attuning my hand movements to my thoughts. I floated up a piece of paper and then pulled both of my hands apart. The paper tore in two pieces slowly and then the pieces floated to the ground. I smiled triumphantly, but I was still afraid inside of what I was capable of. Of what people would do to me if they found me.

I listened to the news of the war every evening, sitting by the fireplace and the radio. Months went on and I strained myself to hear any news of Captain America and the 107th—but nothing in particular came. I collected every newspaper and magazine clipping I could find about Captain America traveling around the country and to Europe, trying to raise the morale of the people. I would stare down at the photos of Steve's face, trying to memorize his face and missing and Bucky so much it hurt. It was true what they said, you didn't know a good thing until it was gone. And Bucky and Steve were definitely gone. The girls and boys at school even stopped teasing me; it was like they could sense my sadness and it made them want to stay away from me. The months got colder, winter was approaching faster than ever, and every night I would listen to the radio, terrified that I would hear some disastrous news about either of them. And every night, when the news updates—which were more like morale-boosting cheery stories anyway, not even real news, I suspected—were over, I would put my head down onto my knees and wonder when my boys were coming home.

I got the news about Steve first—though later I found out that they'd both died in relatively the same time frame. The news made its way across the Atlantic Ocean and then it was being screamed from every radio station, every newspaper, and every magazine across the nation. Captain America was dead. He had died a true American hero, having heroically given his life to save his fellow men, women, and country. Knowing Steve, I didn't doubt this was true. It didn't make the blinding pain any less. And it didn't stop the tears from flowing down my face every night when I studied my stupid newspaper clippings of my now dead best friend.

Captain America had been famous and popular. His death had made news. Bucky, as important as he was to me, had just been another man. His parents received the letter letting them know Bucky had died in action a few weeks later. They'd let me know, his mother tearful and his father gruffly proud that his son had died a hero's death. I'd put on a brave face for them and escaped back to my own apartment as soon as I could. Where I proceeded to vomit. Thank God I at least made it to the lavatory in time.

Bucky wasn't coming back. He wasn't going to come sauntering off a train and smile his jaunty smile and regale us with war stories. At this point, I wouldn't have even minded if he ran off the train straight into Connie Capone's arms and drove off to the church right then and there to get married to her. As long as he could be alive. I saw Connie walking around with red eyes for a few weeks after she'd learned of Bucky's death and a part of me wanted to go up to her and console her—let her know I knew how she felt—but I was too afraid to approach her, so I stayed away.

Steve wasn't coming back either. My stupid, honorable friend had gotten his wish. He'd fought in a war, made a name for himself, given his life for his country. But at the end of the day, Steve Rogers didn't exist anymore and this made my hurt ache. I had lost both of them. My boys were gone and they were never coming back. I was going to be alone for forever. Some days I thought I was moving on—but then I'd ponder my horrible, lonely future and remember that they were gone and every moment we'd had, every laugh, every baseball game…all of those memories only existed for me now. My life was built around ghosts. And I would burst into loud, shaking tears all over again. I didn't know how to stop.

Time passed and I became more withdrawn and erratic. Even my father—my clueless father who had largely ignored me ever since my mother died—noticed and tried a few times to awkwardly talk to me. But he had shut me out when my mother died. He didn't deserve my attention now. So I shut him out and shut myself in my room. My powers went unchecked and I smashed and destroyed several things in my room. I even made things come into being, raising up a pile of broken glass shards and twisting my fists slowly in a crushing motion. The pieces came together and mashed into a strange shape. But the second I let my hand drop, the shards fell and scattered everywhere. I didn't bother to pick them up.

Bucky's parents tried inviting me over for dinner a few times. I went once but it was the most horrible experience of my life. We sat around the table silently, every now and then making a stiff and awkward comment. Eventually I excused myself on the ground that I felt ill and fled, my plate untouched. I knew it was atrocious manners and I knew they were hurting badly—they had lost their only child, their golden son, and they'd lost their son's best friend, who they had loved almost as much as they had loved Bucky. And they had lost me, in a way, since I never saw them again after I got the news. I'd grown up in their house more than I'd grown up in my own apartment but I felt like I didn't even know his parents after he died.

People talked about it, of course. But over time they moved on. Plenty of other young men were dying and there were more important things to worry about. They found another man to don a Captain America suit to try and boost morale in the States—since the loss of our heroic icon had cast a dark gloom across the nation—but he wasn't even anything close to Steve, and no one cared one lick for him.

The months passed and I graduated high school with my grades higher than they had ever been before. I had nothing but time to do my homework. As much as I loathed going to school where people avoided me like I was the plague—the girl with two dead best friends—it was still something to occupy my mind and my time. When high school was over, then came summer and that was when I was most lost. Bucky and Steve had been gone for over half a year now and I still didn't know how to function. I was numb. I didn't talk to anyone and I didn't even go to the comic book store anymore. Even Connie Capone was smiling slightly more these days, though she still looked sad when she thought no one was noticing, but I had known Bucky and Steve for most of my childhood. It would take more than just half a year to move on from this. In fact, I didn't think I'd ever move on from this.

It was during one of these listless summer afternoons that it happened. I was absentmindedly washing dishes at the sink and staring out the window above the sink. It was one those warm, stormy-yet-sunny summer afternoons. The sun was golden and hidden behind gray stormy clouds and the sky was slate gray but the air was warm and damp from the rain that had just passed and I could hear the sounds of children playing in the street outside somewhere. I, meanwhile, had the lovely view of the tiny little courtyard behind our apartment building that no one spent any time in anymore. Bucky, Steve, and I had played here as children but no other children played here.

Tears burned my eyes and I hunched over the sink, hating myself for being so weak. Why couldn't I move on from this? Was this normal, to feel this sad? And added to my sadness was guilt. I didn't think I'd even cried this much when my mother died. What kind of horrible girl was I, to cry more over my best friends than my own mother? But still, I'd only known my mother for ten years and I'd known Steve and Bucky for longer than that…

Hot tears poured down my cheeks and I angrily threw my hands in the air, raising all the soapy, wet dishes in the sink—they wobbled and shivered precariously in the air and my arms began to burn and ache from the effort of trying to hold up so many different objects at once—and then I let out a scream of rage and wildly flung my arms outwards. The dishes flew in all directions, smashing into cabinets, walls, the ceiling, the floor… All around me rained down glass and porcelain and I didn't even feel guilty. I furiously wiped away my tears, my chest heaving up and down with rage and guilt and depression and sadness. I was a monster. I was a horrible person. I was out of control. I was—

"Impressive."

Letting out a shriek, I whirled around, my heart nearly jumping out of my throat. I clapped a hand to my thundering heart and staggered back a step, stepping on some shards of glass. "BLAST!" I cursed, hopping away and holding my heel. I stared in horror at the strange man who was standing in my kitchen. He was very small and portly, not very attractive, and he wore a tan suit that seemed far too big and baggy on him. How in the blazes had he gotten in here? Was he a kidnapper or—or one of those awful men who did things to young women? And he'd seen what I'd just done!

"Who are you?" I cried. "Get out of my apartment!"

"Calm down, my dear," he said, chuckling. "I mean you no harm."

"How did you get in here?" I demanded, trying not to let my fear show—even though I was almost positive I was physically stronger than him and could fight him off if I had to. He was extremely short. "Get the hell out!" I looked around wildly and grabbed a sharp shard of dinner plate off the counter. "I'll—I'll—"

"Do what?" he asked dryly. "Stab me to death? Please hear me out, Miss Marsden. My name is Arnim Zola. I work for a…corporation that is involved in intelligence. We've caught wind of your…talents"—he gestured to the shattered plates everywhere—"and we wish to recruit you."

I stared at him in horror, not understanding at all what he was saying. "Intelligence? Arnim? That's—that's not an English name…" The word "intelligence" rang a bell and I recalled a Lady Liberty comic where she had fought an entire team of spies. "You're a spy!" I shouted. "Intelligence, that's the nice way of saying 'spy', isn't it?"

Arnim Zola blinked.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" I yelled. I picked up a half-cracked plate and flung it wildly at his head, panicking. He ducked, looking alarmed, and then he straightened up and sighed. "I'd hoped it would go much easier than this," he said. "I'd hoped you would go willingly. It would have made things much more easy. Unfortunately, we need your talents—so we can't just let you go. You understand, right?"

I suddenly felt very afraid. What did he mean "willingly"? Who couldn't just let me go? Where did they want me to go? Before I could say anything or run away, Arnim Zola produced a small black device—a gun—and pointed it at me. I opened my mouth—to perhaps scream—and he pulled the trigger. I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting excruciating pain and then death…except all I felt was a small pinch in my neck. I looked down to see a small dart sticking out of my neck.

"What?" I said, but my voice sounded blurry to my own ears. I swayed on my feet, the room suddenly swirling around me, and the last thing I saw before I fell were the dark shapes of three men entering the room behind Arnim Zola. I staggered forward and one of them caught me and then my eyes closed and I was drifting in a sea of unconsciousness, trying to stay afloat. My last real thought that I could remember later was My father will be all alone… And then I slipped under the icy black waves and I was gone.