"Careful with that, please, it's a family heirloom," your mother calls to two movers carrying a desk up the stairs. Your father grins and jokingly offers them a crisp five for 'smashing the damn thing'. Doing her best to hide an exasperated smile, your mother rolls her eyes and lightly bumps your father's arm.

"Just joking, Loretta," the sparkle in your father's eyes confirms this and a laugh bubbles from your chest.

It's a beautiful summer day in Brooklyn. There's not a cloud in the sky and a gentle breeze keeps the worst of the heat away. You take a deep breath. The city. The buildings tower high in the sky, dwarfing the apartment complex your family is currently moving into. Still, it gives you a sort of thrill at the prospect of living so far off the ground. Back home, flat land stretched for miles, telling you exactly what was where, but here...here there is possibility. Anything could be around the corner! It's all so exciting.

"Y/n, don't just stand there," your mother chides, "move a box or something!"

"Sorry, mother," you move quickly to grab a box of a manageable size. Your mother smiles at you and you know that no harm was done.

Keeping the box secure in your arms, you twist past the movers, suddenly eager to see the inside of your new apartment. Eight flights of stairs later, you burst through the front door. Breathing slightly heavier, you pause to look around. It's smaller than you're used to. And dusty. Sunlight filters through the open window, curtains blowing gently in the breeze. You swallow, set the box down in the center of the room, and head to the right side of the apartment where your parents had said your bedroom would be. You hesitate at the door handle. With one more deep breath, you swing the door open and step inside. "Oh," you breathe. It's completely empty, but it doesn't matter because there is a window on the rear wall. You rush towards it, eager to see the view. From your window stretches tall buildings as far as the eye can see. Below, a busy street presents people bustling to and fro, never stopping their movements. From all the way up on the eighth floor, you catch the scent of fresh-baked bread-a bakery!

"So? What's the verdict?" You turn to see your father standing in the doorway with his hands stuffed into his pockets, looking unsure.

You beam. "Magnificent!" You rush over to him and fling your arms around his shoulders. "Thank you," you whisper sincerely.

A chuckle comes from him freely. "Thank the company! With the way things are lookin' over in Europe, they wanted some of us closer to the edge, just in case we need to mobilize."

You pull your arms back slightly, feeling the weight of his words.

He clears his throat. "But of course, you don't need to concern yourself with all of this. I'm sorry I brought it up."

"No," You pull away and take a step back so you can look him in the eyes. "I want to know." There's a pause. "Do you think we'll go to war?"

He shrugs. "Perhaps."

You wring your hands together. "Well even if there is a war, you wouldn't have to go, right? Because you fought in the last one?"

His eyes soften. "Oh, don't worry, kiddo. We can only take things one day at a time. And you're fifteen, anyway, you don't need to be talking about wars! You should be out makin' friends!"

You chuckle weakly, indulging him. "Dad, we've been here three hours. I've hardly had the time to meet any girls."

A grin takes over his face. "Well, then perhaps you and your mother oughtta get out of here! I'll handle the moving business, you two find an ice cream shop or something, my treat."

At the mention of free ice cream, all unpleasant thoughts of war leave your mind. "Thank you! I'll go tell mother!" Your dad hands you two dollars, one for you and one for your mother, and you rush down the stairs.

You and your mother find an ice cream shop three blocks from your new home. You even run into a group of girls your age! They seem nice and invite you to join them for their book club on Tuesday night at five o'clock. With the money left over from your ice cream trip, you and your mother track down a used bookstore and purchase a battered copy of Madame Curie's biography. In order to give your father and the movers a little more time to settle everything in, you and your mother walk arm-in-arm around your neighborhood. Brooklyn is lovely. It's crowded and a little dirty, but you can feel in your heart that wonderful things will happen here. Besides, flaws are what make something stand out, and Brooklyn is certainly one-of-a-kind. When your stomachs alert you to dinnertime, you and your mother head towards your new home.

{***}

After dinner, when the sun begins to set and the breeze beckons in a chill, you grab a sweater and carefully climb out your window onto the waiting fire escape. The setting sun's orange fingers brush gently over the buildings. Your heart rate picks up when you realize how high up you are. You feel as if, given a good enough running start, you could jump up and take flight! A clanging below you interrupts your thoughts. Taking a few startled steps back, you look below you to see a boy climbing the fire escape. By the time he reaches your level, you can see that he is not a boy, but a man, perhaps twenty or twenty-one based on his facial features. Exertion from the climb has turned his face pink and wheezes labor his breath. He's skinny, unbelievably so, and only perhaps an inch taller than you. The man looks at you with polite confusion.

"Hello, miss. Can I help you with anything?"

You smile politely. "No, thank you. I'm just enjoying the sunset. I uh-" turning slightly, you point over your shoulder to the window behind you, "just moved in with my family." Feeling comfortable, you find yourself continuing. "I've never seen a view like this before."

Peace and fondness cover the man. "Not a view like it in the world." There's a content pause as you both enjoy the beauty around you. He extends his hand. "I'm Steve Rogers. I live right here." He jerks his head towards the window adjacent to yours.

"Y/n", you respond, shaking his outstretched hand.

"Well, I better get inside, but it was nice to meet you. If you ever need anything, I'm just next door. Don't hesitate to ask."

You can see that his offer is genuine. "The same for you. Have a lovely evening."

He nods his thanks and turns to climb through his own window. But curiosity gets the best of you, and you burst out a question. "Why did you climb the fire escape? I assume you have a perfectly good front door." You don't mean to be rude, but that's how you end up sounding. Thankfully, he grins.

"Easier than walking all the way around."

Satisfied, you nod once, and he takes this as his dismissal, slipping through his window and into his apartment.

You remain on the fire escape until the sun has set completely, and when it has gone, you too put yourself to bed.

{***}

"Bye, darling, have fun at your book club!" Your mother kisses you on the cheek. "Your father and I are going out dancing tonight, so we'll be home late."

You nod and wave goodbye as you duck out the front door. The house you're meeting at is only six blocks away, so you forgo the expensive taxi and choose instead to walk. You stroll confidently through the streets, excited to finally be exploring Brooklyn on your own.

{***}

Book club was interesting! Some of the girls had original thoughts they wanted to share, and some were just there to gossip. In the spirit of being well-rounded, you participated in both. It's only seven and you wager that you'll make it home before it gets too dark, so you decide to walk home. You go slowly, allowing yourself to take in the sights and sounds of Brooklyn rushing home from days of work or leisure. You spot a diner you make a mental note to try, a couple of barber shops, the bookstore you bought your book at, and a gymnasium. It's nearing eight and the sun has dipped below the buildings when you make it back to your apartment. Four men crowd around the bottom of the main stairs, so you do your best to make it past them.

"Excuse me," you request politely.

One catches you around the waist and pushes you back. Suddenly, you're in the middle of the four of them. Unease pools in your stomach.

"Where you goin' all by yourself? It's gettin' dark out, little lady. Not so safe for pretty young things like yourself."

"Yeah," one of the men behind you chimes in, "we oughtta walk her home. Wouldn't be good men if we left her unattended."

Relief rushes through you. Thank goodness, they're just concerned about your safety.

"Oh, I just live right up there." You point to your door. "Thank you for your concern though." You try to break through the two standing in front of you, but one of them shoves you back again, much rougher this time. You gulp. "Honestly, fellas, I'm fine. If you would just let me pass-"

The two behind you lurch forward and grab your arms, yanking you back. Terrified, you scream and kick wildly, catching one of the men in the face with the heel of your shoe.

He grips his face, anger taking over his features. "Stupid bitch!"

The man you kicked lunges forward and gets a fist of your hair. He pulls harshly, causing you to cry out.

"Hey," a sharp voice shouts from above, "knock that off!"

The men ignore the order and opt instead to try and pull you away with them. You kick with everything you've got, getting in a couple good scratches with your shoe. You hear the heavy sounds of rushing footsteps, and then one of the men holding your arms is knocked straight to the ground by a clean punch. As the other man releases your arm to defend himself, you fall to the ground and bang your head on the concrete. Ouch. You cover your head as best you can with the fight starting above you.

"Y/n, take my hand," comes a soft voice from your right.

You blink open your eyes to see Steve Rogers extending his hand with a kind look on his face. Relieved, you grab his hand and allow him to carefully pull you away from the fight and up from the ground. Once you're standing, you take in the scene before you. A tall man with deep brown hair is taking on all four of the guys at once. Steve seems to realize this at the same time you do because he's suddenly rushing back into the fray. He seems to be more of a distraction than a true help, but you admire his willingness. The fight is over relatively soon and the four men are sent running.

Steve turns back to you. "How are you doing?"

You exhale slowly, moving to wipe the sweat off your brow. When you lower your hand, you see the red, sticky blood smeared across the back. "Oh," you gasp, looking in confusion at the blood.

"It probably happened when you fell to the ground. Sorry about that." The man talking to you-the one who did the majority of the fighting-looks sheepish.

Now aware of the pain, you're eager to get inside to deal with the cut. "No, it's not your fault at all. Thank you both so much for your help. I…" The full weight of the situation hits you. "I'm not sure I would have lasted long had you two not arrived."

The man with the dark hair scrunches up his face. "I disagree. You got in a couple of pretty good kicks! You got one of the guys in the face and he was practically crying."

You chuckle weakly. "You're too kind."

"Y/n, this is my best friend, Bucky Barnes. Bucky, this is Y/n. Her family just moved in next door."

Bucky reaches to shake my hand. "Good to meet you." The blood from the cut on my forehead drips down and lands on my nose. Steve reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, which I accept gratefully. Bucky looks at me with mild concern. "Let's get you inside and get that to stop bleeding. Head wounds are tricky."

Especially after what just happened, you know you shouldn't follow two men you barely know, but they both seem incredibly trustworthy. Plus, they literally just risked their safety to ensure yours. Gratefully, you follow them up the stairs and into Steve's apartment. It has the exact same layout as yours, but it's more run down and sparsely furnished.

"Sorry for the mess," Steve abashes. You wave it off.

He motions for you to sit on the couch and Bucky sits next to you, taking the handkerchief and applying pressure to the wound on your head. Steve fishes in the cabinets for a first aid kit and he soon comes back with antiseptic and a bandage. While you wait for the bleeding to stop, Bucky makes conversation.

"Not judging your life choices or anything," Steve scoffs and Bucky throws him a look before continuing, "but what were you doing walking around Brooklyn alone?"

You feel your face heat up in mild embarrassment. "We just moved here from a small town in Idaho. Back there, everybody knew everybody...it was perfectly safe to walk around by yourself even well after dark." You give a mirthless chuckle. "I guess it was stupid of me to assume it would be the same in the city."

Bucky shakes his head, looking at you with a strange expression on his face. "Not stupid. Trusting." There's a slight pause. "We don't have a lot of that left here."

Unsure of what to say, you simply smile. The bleeding has stopped now, so Bucky leaves to wash the handkerchief while Steve takes care of cleaning up the cut. Not wanting to seem like a baby, you make sure not to wince when the antiseptic bites your skin. Steve gently applies the bandage and makes sure it sticks before stepping away.

"Good as new."

You smile at the men. "I can't thank you enough for your help tonight. I will make sure to be much more careful coming home from book club next week."

Bucky scrunches up his face again, a habit of his that you're already starting to notice. "You plan on walking yourself home every week?"

You nod. "Well sure. The girls all live on the opposite side of town and my parents typically work late, although they're out dancing tonight. I'll be more aware of my surroundings though and make sure that I'm home before it starts to get dark."

Steve and Bucky share a look.

"No," Bucky decides.

Now it's your turn to scrunch up your face. "No? What do you mean, no?"

"We'll walk you home," Steve answers casually. Bucky nods in agreement.

You blanch. "B-but it's on the other side of town. And I'm sure you have better things to do with your evening each week."

"Nah," the two answer in unison.

You splutter as you try to come up with an argument as to why they shouldn't. You really don't want to put them out.

As if reading your mind, Steve says, "really, it's no trouble at all. We don't mind."

"Yeah," Bucky smirks, "'help thy neighbor' and all that."

You chuckle hesitantly. "Well, if you insist, then I gratefully accept. But as soon as it becomes an inconvenience, you let me know, alright?"

They mumble their assent, but you can tell that they don't mean it. You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You realize how dark it's gotten outside and know it's time to get home. Before leaving, you write the address of the book club house on a piece of paper and hand it to Steve. Thanking them once more and wishing them a lovely night, you leave and go next door to your own apartment. Your parents still aren't home. You take a shower to clean up and grumble at the dried blood on the side of your face. Hopefully there won't be any bruising so I can avoid that conversation with my parents, you think. Absolutely exhausted from the events of your evening, you quickly change and get into bed, falling asleep quickly.