May, 1942

The year the war started was the year that Steve entered art school. He never missed a news segment, read every article about it, and would talk about it with Bucky every chance he got. Bucky, however, was not as captivated by the battle across the sea. He was horrified and angered by footage of the Nazi invasion - but unlike Steve, he didn't feel a sense of duty to do something about it. He felt concerned, afraid of what would happen if the war were to spread. He had seen firsthand what war could do to people. His father had served in the last war, and it had left a very dark mark on his psyche. Where Steve saw the war as opportunity, Bucky saw death and damage. It sparked a lot of heated arguments between the two.

"I agree the Nazi's should be stopped, I just don't see why we need to get involved."

"How can you say that? You know what it's like to be hated for something you didn't choose."

"And it sucks! It's a big problem! Nobody in their right mind would think that what the Nazi's are doing is the right thing. But it's not like we're supporting the Nazi's by staying out of it."

"That's exactly what we're doing! We should be fighting with the Allies, not just sitting idly by and hoping they come out on top in the end."

"I just don't think America needs to get involved in every war that goes on in Europe."

"It's not just Europe, Bucky. Have you seen what's been going on in China and Korea with Japan? It's just as bad, if not worse."

"And they need to be stopped, too! But why does it have to be us?"

"Why not us?"

"Because war is a bad thing, Steve. Lots of innocent people die in war."

"That's why we need to step up and defend those people, so the war can end!"

"But what if it doesn't end? What if it just gets worse?"

"Then we keep fighting!"

"So we just keep fighting until everyone's dead?"

"You know Bucky, America is surrounded by this war. Sooner or later we are going to be pulled in, whether we want to or not. You need to figure out what side you're on."

"And you need to figure out what you're really going to fight for – peace, or yourself."

Two years after the war started, Steve's prediction came true. But there was an unexpected consequence that Steve had not foretold. Deciding to follow the lead of their allies, the US opened military enlistments to anyone who would volunteer, and conscription notices were sent out to all men that were eligible to fill ranks. Steve knew this was coming, because the draft had been set up an entire year earlier. What he had not expected was the mandate that all eligible winged-folk - men and women - were required to enlist, as their unique contributions to the war effort made them invaluable as soldiers and field aids. Only by special circumstance would one be exempt from the mandate.

By the time Steve had raced to Bucky's apartment, his feathered friend was already gone. A large brown envelope sat on Bucky's kitchen table, the letter inside requesting James Barnes to report immediately to the nearest SAA office, no questions.

A week later, Steve got his first letter from Bucky at basic training. It was only a few sentences long.

Steve,

Don't know if you heard, but I'm in the army now. Never seen so many winged-folk in one place. The training is going well. Should be back home in six months or so. You were right.

-Bucky

Steve didn't know what he was right about, but he found himself wishing that he wasn't. He tried writing letters back, but he didn't really know what to say. That he was sorry? That he wished he could be there with him? That he wished he could trade places with him? None of it would make up for Bucky being forced to fight in a war.

When Steve realized that his own conscription letter wasn't coming, he started going to the enlistment stations. That first time being denied enlistment due to poor health was like a punch in the face for Steve. It had never occurred to him before that moment that when the advertisements said they wanted everybody to serve, it came with terms and conditions. It made Steve so frustrated that he had to be dragged from the office after getting in an argument about his abilities with the doctor that had stamped a 4F on his form. They threw him out on the sidewalk, brushing their hands off as they closed the door behind him. When he stood up to brush himself off, he once again saw the enlistment advertisement, causing him to scowl. Underneath the ad was a smaller printed sign that said 'IT IS ILLEGAL TO FALSIFY YOUR ENLISTMENT FORM'. And that gave Steve an idea.

Bucky had been gone for a month and a half, now. Steve walked soppily down the sidewalk, sneering at the form in his hand. The ink in the 4F stamp was still drying. He had tried his best to hide his asthma, his fatigue, and his colorblindness. But the doctors were good at what they did, and he couldn't explain his parent's deaths in such a plausible way that would back up his noticeable conditions and not get him arrested. But it wasn't any good. It was never any good. Steve sighed, telling himself to try something different next time.

Steve tossed the form away, mumbling to himself as he finally reached his destination. The apartment building was grand compared to his own, meant for people who had managed to keep some semblance of their fortunes during the depression. Steve entered through the big glass doors and walked straight to the front desk. The clerk behind the desk gave him a disapproving look the second he stepped inside.

"I think you're in the wrong building, young man." The clerk sniffed as he gave Steve's ragged jacket a once over. Steve quirked an eyebrow at the man.

"That's some quality customer service, right there." Steve rolled his eyes, very much not in the mood to deal with unpleasantness. He pulled a sealed envelope out of his jacket. "I'm here to see Bri Turner."

The clerk flipped through his registry. "And what is the nature of your visit?"

"Just a friendly visit. She's expecting me."

"We shall see." The clerk picked up the phone. He shot Steve a couple more glances as he waited for an answer. "Miss Turner, I have a young man down here who says you are expecting him… yes, he is… are you sure...? Yes... yes, ma'am. Thank you."

The clerk hung up the phone, the scowl on his face not very well concealed as he wrote something down in the registry. "You may go." He dismissed Steve with a wave of his hand. Steve turned away without a word, entering the elevator and requesting the top floor from the operator. Unlike the clerk, the elevator operator was a nice young girl who smiled at Steve as they rode in silence up to the top floor. Steve handed the lift girl a dollar as he stepped off and made his way down the hall to the very last room. He could hear opera music muffled by the door, a man's deep vibrato gracing Steve's ears.

The door was cracked. Even so, Steve still rapped his knuckles against it a couple of times before he pushed his way inside. "I think your door man might want to go see a doctor about that stick up his ass." He shouted into the home, but he doubted Ms. Turner could hear him over the music.

The complex was simple, hardly any special decors or unnecessary furniture. There was very little electrical lighting, as the ceiling was dotted with small skylights that let in plenty of sun. However, the walls were accented with custom, detailed paintings. Steve always loved Ms. Turner's paintings, often wondering how she could manipulate the colors to do such incredible things. Her watercolors of pond lilies and distant mountains made Steve feel like he was in one of the big galleries downtown. He slowly made his way through the apartment, taking in each painting with admiration. There was one of the skyline of Brooklyn at sunset, a man sitting on a bench under a tree and… a winged boy, facing away from the painter, the sun glistening off of his brown and white feathers.

A sudden loud crash sounded from deeper in the apartment, startling Steve out of himself. He hurried into the home, slipping the envelope back in his jacket while turning a corner into the kitchen. Steve was prepared for an emergency, but instead what he saw was Ms. Turner waving her hands in front of her face as tendrils of smoke snaked out of her oven. Her silver hair was tied back behind her and her dark skin had a thin sheen of sweat. Her graying wings waved as well, helping to disperse the smoke after knocking over another bowl on the kitchen countertop. Steve covered his nose with his shirt and coughed.

It was then that Ms. Turner noticed him. She turned to Steve, her dark eyes widening with happiness.

"Steve, you're here!" She abandoned her smoking oven as she embraced Steve's shoulders and pecked him once on each cheek. Steve's mood lightened considerably at the affection, making him laugh. "It has been far too long, kid."

"It certainly has, Bri. I was glad to get your call." Ms. Turner was the only woman that Steve had ever felt comfortable talking to, besides his own mother. "It seems I might be interrupting something."

"This darn thing…" Ms. Turner mumbled off as she slipped on an oven mitt and reached into the oven, pulling out a tray of black lumps of… something. "I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've almost burnt my feathers off with this newfangled electric oven. Oh, there go the cookies I made for you..."

Steve grinned at the old woman. She set the tray down, wiping her hands on her apron. Unlike other women, Brielle Turner did not have an appeal for dresses or skirts. Instead, she chose to wear slacks and trousers with a blouse tucked in. She had explained once that flying with a dress was very impractical. If you want an easy way for people to see your undergarments, she had explained once, wear a dress while coming in for a landing. Ms. Turner believed that most dresses were in fact rejected parachutes. Steve and Ms. Turner set about opening the windows so the smoke could escape.

"I guess we'll just have to make another batch." Steve smirked.

"You can do that your own self, honey." Ms. Turner chuckled, but it was an exhausted expression as she struggled to fly up to the skylight to undo the latch. When she dropped back down, it wasn't as graceful as Steve had remembered her being, proven more by her clutching one of her wing joints. "Baking really takes it out of me nowadays."

Steve got the chance to really look at Ms. Turner as she turned away from him to clean up the mess of burnt cookies. When he had first met the woman who had taught Bucky everything about what it meant to be a winged-folk, she had been in her late forties, but she was still strong and resilient from her days as an Air Ranger. Her style of flying made Bucky look like a butterfly. Her wings were large, almost as large as Bucky's, but the feathers were shaped differently. Where Bucky's were long and narrow, Ms. Turner's were shorter and wider. They had been jet black, except for a small patch of feathers near her wing-elbows that were bright red. But now that she was in her sixties, that red patch had faded to a creamy orange, and the black was a darker gray.

When all the windows were open, Ms. Turner walked over to her record player, lifting the needle and cutting off the opera music. She once again turned to Steve, and they hugged again, properly this time. Underneath the smell of smoke, she still smelled like brown sugar and cocoa. Steve closed his eyes and allowed a brief instant of feeling like he was ten years old again. Before the war, before Bucky left, before things had gotten so damn complicated.

"Now Steve." She said, leading Steve to her living room. "Please, tell me everything."

Steve took a seat in a wide chair, not really sure where to begin.

"I guess the first thing you should know is that my mother passed away a couple years ago."

Ms. Turner closed her eyes and nodded. "Bucky told me. I have missed Sarah dearly. I would have come to the ceremony, Steve. Unfortunately I was away in Paris. Did you get my flowers?"

Steve nodded. It was a large bouquet, and they had rested on top of Mrs. Rogers' grave until the winter came.

"When I had heard, I made a toast to her memory with the finest Irish whiskey I could get. Then I drank myself to sleep." Ms. Turner huffed a single, tired laugh. "It was pneumonia, right?"

"No, tuberculosis. But it was… a lot of other things, too." Steve said, feeling a weight in his chest. "Being sick, looking after me, trying to make ends meet, dad's death… In the end, it was all just too much, I think."

"Your mother was a strong woman, Steve. I don't believe for a second that she once thought is was too much." Ms. Turner's eyes were far away. She chuckled before continuing. "I mean, it only took one of the deadliest diseases known to man to bring her down."

Steve smiled at that, but it didn't stop the twinge of sorrow in his chest. They sat in silence for a few moments.

"When was the last time you talked to Bucky?"

"About a year and a half ago."

"So you don't know about the conscription requirement?"

"Of course I know, they did the same thing for the Great War." Ms. Turner took a seat on her sofa, across from Steve. "How do you think I got involved with the SAA?"

Steve turned his head to look at some of the photographs on her side table. Bri had been a real looker when she was younger. Especially in her aviator suit. Her fierce eyes shined confidently back at Steve from the photo of her in her glory days. To this day, Bri Turner was regarded as the first black winged-woman to serve her country and be awarded a silver star for her actions. She was revered and respected by all. Her medals and stars still hung in a case right next to her SAA Ambassador certificate, the job she had accepted after the war. She had lived quite the life.

"But this war," Ms. Turner continued, her voice low. "It's so much bigger than anything I've ever seen before. It feels like the whole world's gone mad."

"Yeah… and Bucky's being forced into it." Steve switched his gaze to the floor, his mind swirling. "I should be with him."

"Steve."

"He didn't even want to fight, Bri." Steve scowled. "I thought… I thought he was a coward for not wanting to, but then I heard the mandate and suddenly I realized that… that I could lose him."

"Steve, would you like me to tell you what the winged-folk do in the armed forces?" Ms. Turner was calm, her voice controlled. Steve nodded, wondering when these tears had gotten in his eyes. "They do reconnaissance. They scout out for enemy camp sights, mapping the terrain for foot soldiers to traverse unknown territory easier. During battle, they attend the wounded, carrying them out with teams, and lay down fire from a safe distance in the air. Unless they engage with enemies in the sky, winged-soldiers almost never touch the ground in an enemy zone. At most, they deliver payloads and do long range eliminations."

"But what if things have changed? What if they do more than that now?"

"They don't, honey. I was part of the committee that decided to reenact the winged-soldier mandate." Steve started at this, until Ms. Tuner quickly followed with. "I had the final word on the protocol, because I am a veteran and I am the only one alive that remembers what it was like to fly over a war. I would never agree to such a mandate that would endanger my kind. We're an endangered species, you know."

Steve sighed through his nose. "Still, I should be fighting with him. Side by side, brothers in arms and all that, like we always said we would."

"Each person has their own purpose in these trying times." Ms. Turner's piercing gaze rooted Steve to the moment. "For some, it just takes them a little while to figure out what that purpose is. Take heart, Steve. I have a feeling you will get your chance."

Steve had to stop himself from snorting at that, deciding it would not be a good idea to tell her about his 'illegal' failed recruitment attempts.

"Do you know what camp he's at?"

Steve had almost forgotten about the letter in his jacket. He took it out and handed it to her. She opened it and read it quietly to herself.

"Camp Madison?" She mumbled. "Never heard of it."

"Neither had he."

"Steve… why is Bucky wondering if you're getting his letters?" Ms. Turner frowned at the young man, setting the letter in her lap. "How many letters have you gotten from him?"

Steve chewed his lip. "This is the third one since he left."

"Don't you write him back?"

Steve looked away from her. "We kind of had a fight a couple days before he was called away."

He heard Ms. Turner sigh and the slight ruffle of wings.

"Steve, if he keeps writing to you, it means he misses you. It's not fair that you would stay mad at him for this long."

"No, I'm not mad at him." Steve said quickly. "It's just… well, I guess I kind of feel this is my fault."

"You know that's not true."

"Yeah, I know… still sucks, though."

Ms. Turner chuckled at that. "Can't fix that, kid."

Ms. Turner stood, walking into a different room and coming back with a small wooden box. She handed it to Steve with a smile.

"I made these years ago, I was going to give them to you and Bucky as graduation presents, but since he dropped out of school and you took two years longer, I wasn't sure when would be a good time."

Steve quirked an eyebrow, then opened the box. Inside were two leather string necklaces, each with a black feather looped through a hole in the quill along with a smaller red feather. The feathers had been preserved in resin. Steve was speechless. Feathers from the winged-folk were extremely precious, no one was allowed to touch one without the express permission of the bearer, whether or not it was even still on their body. Ms. Turner giving her feathers in such a way was her way of giving the most important thing she owned. Steve carefully lifted one of the necklaces out of the box, treating it delicately even though the feathers had been hardened with the plastic.

"Oh my god…" Steve looked up at Ms. Turner, who was watching him with a wide smile. She nodded her head. Steve slipped the necklace over his head, feeling the feathers thump softly against his chest. "I can't… thank you!"

"You're very welcome, Steve." Ms. Turner winked. "The other one is for Bucky. Just a little piece of me to be remembered when I'm gone."

Steve looked down at the feathers. It was more than that. If Steve were so inclined, each of those feathers was worth a small fortune. Preserved like they were clearly meant that Ms. Turner had intended for each boy to inherit a significant amount if they ever wanted it. The only next best thing that she could have given them was the wings off her back.

"I'll give you the info for how I got this done." Ms. Turner pointed at the feathers. "Who knows, maybe one day Bucky will give you one of his own to add to your collection."

"I doubt that, Bucky's pretty protective." Steve looked up at the woman. "Thank you, Brielle."

"Bah, it's nothing I wouldn't do for my own children. If I had any." She hardened her face then. "But you have to write him back, Steve Rogers. Today."

"I'm sure he's too busy to care about little ol' me." Steve joked, but still kind of meant it.

"I promise you, it's driving him insane."

Steve smiled at her. She always knew what to say.

"There's another reason I came to visit you, Bri."

Ms. Turner perked up at this. "Oh?"

"After graduating, I was accepted to art school." Steve closed the box and slipped it into his jacket. "And I discovered that while I can draw like there's no tomorrow, I can't paint worth a damn."

Ms. Turner laughed for about two minutes at that.

That night, when Steve returned to his own apartment, he sat at his desk and twirled the black feather in front of his face, deep in thought. Finally reaching a decision, he moved his sketches aside and took out a fresh piece of paper.

Bucky,

Hey pal. I just got your letters. Postal system is getting busy, I guess. Things haven't been the same without you around. It's almost too quiet. I went and visited Ms. Turner today. She sends her love, as well as the gift that is with this letter. How great is she? She's giving me painting lessons. So you know I've been staying out of trouble. Mostly. I'll tell you when you get back. I really hope you come back soon. I miss you.

You were right, too.

-Steve

A/N: Hey guys! You finally get to meet the legendary Ms. Turner! The first mention of her is in chapter one, when they talk about her cookies. Although for some reason she's 'Mrs.', not 'Ms.'. I'll need to fix that. We're pretty close to entering the movie events. Hope ya'll are liking the story so far.

Another thing, I was trying to present both sides of how American's viewed the war with Bucky and Steve in the beginning. Many American's wanted to stay out of WW2, but there were lots of people like Steve who thought it was ridiculous to sit by. What isn't mentioned is that there actually were some American's who sympathized with the Nazi's... but we don't talk about that.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!