He first saw her in the Met. Steve found himself there as an escape. With his sketchbook in one hand and his pencil in the other, he lost himself in drawing the patrons of the museum rather than the actual art.
She stared at one of the Russian dolls, a haunted look in her beautiful eyes. Her blue dress seemed to magnify her sadness and something mentally told him to go speak to her. Steve Rogers, however, did not speak to dames. It was as if the second he opened his mouth, the words mysteriously disappeared. If Bucky were here right now, he'd be sidling up to the lady and asking her on a date.
But Buck was at work and Steve didn't have the Bucky Barnes charm.
She looked real sad, however.
"Ma'am?" He heard himself say. She turned just barely, her expression not alluding to any surprise of him standing there. She simply raised a single brow and tilted her head to the side, blonde curls brushing along her shoulder.
"I apologize if I was blocking the view," she replied. Her voice was soft, but it felt like she was forcing herself to speak with a certain gentleness.
"No need to apologize, miss. I was just coming by to see if you were alright."
Her full lips pulled up at the edge as her green eyes locked onto the doll once more. The pale, innocent eyes of the doll stare right back at her. They're unblinking, unyielding. "Yes, I think I am. Thank you for your concern."
He inclined his head in a farewell and turned to leave, knowing that she wouldn't want to talk to a fella like him. But her voice stopped him.
"Are you an artist?"
"I'm not a real artist, no. I just like to try my hand at it sometimes."
"May I see?"
He wordlessly handed over his sketchbook and watched as she painstakingly took her time flipping through the pages. Nerves bubbled up in his chest and Steve was sure he was going to pass out in front of this beautiful woman. A smile grew across her lips and he felt relief.
"These are amazing," she admitted. "You have a real talent. Maybe one day I'll see you in the halls of a museum."
"Oh, I doubt that," he chuckled.
She handed him the sketchbook back and he didn't know what to say. Here was this woman actually talking to him and he didn't know how to function. So he lamely blurted out, "well, I'd oughta head out."
"I as well," she hummed. "Heading home?"
"Yeah! Yeah...are you?"
"Yes." Her smile appeared to grow at his stammering. "I live in Brooklyn."
"Oh, me too. Can I...do you want me to walk you to your place?"
"That'd be nice. I'm Ada Kennedy."
"Steve Rogers."
They were married in a courthouse seven months later in June of 1939. Bucky was his witness and Caroline, Ada's neighbor, was her bridesmaid. Bucky was still amazed that he somehow managed to score not only a woman who looked like she belonged on the big screen, but someone who was incredibly smart and thoughtful as well. He couldn't carry her across the threshold but she didn't mind. Ada kissed him and reminded him that she's just glad to be able to love him. Bucky helped move her out of her apartment and into Steve's small place. He apologized for the size and condition of the place.
She smiled so widely at the sight of their new shared home that all of his doubts washed away.
The night was full of unsure actions and blushing cheeks, mainly from him. He wanted to cover up and hide from her, to try and limit her shame at having such a weak husband. But she simply sat on their shared bed and unpinned her thick blonde hair.
"Steven Grant, I love you. Nothing can or will ever change that fact. So why don't you help me with these pins so then I can show you just how much I love you?"
His protests were swallowed by her kisses that soon became groans. He found himself staring up at the ceiling hours later, mentally running through all the things he needed to do to ensure that the apartment would be enough for his wife. His wife. His wife who was currently fast asleep next to him, her face soft and peaceful. He worried about her sometimes. Ada held a look in her eye that he couldn't read. She could be smiling and laughing at Bucky and his antics one second and then appear ice cold and scowling seconds later. He felt scars on her soft body tonight but didn't dare ask her. She would tell him when she was ready.
Ada shifted next to him, her body tensing like a snake poised to bite. Her breathing became shallow and then suddenly she was sitting up, wide awake with a wild look in her eye. Her hands clenched the sheets under her and she shut her eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
"Ada?" he asked quietly.
"I'm alright," she reassured him. They both knew she wasn't, but it seemed too early in this relationship to ask why.
The first Christmas in their apartment was a small, quiet affair. Bucky came by for dinner and to exchange gifts. Ada thanked him for the new hat pin and Steve patted him on the back in gratitude for the pencils. Once Bucky left, the young couple sat on the couch and listened to the soft jazz playing from the radio, a luxury brought into the home by Ada.
Steve rested his head in her lap as she ran her hand over his thin body, pulling a blanket closer to his chin. She had a scare with his health in November when a cold left him bedridden and pale as ever. Bucky assured her that he had survived worse but it still made her fret.
She was a nurse at the Red Cross and worked at various hospitals in the area. He worried about her just the same, knowing what being a nurse did to his mother. Yet, she never came home with even the slightest of coughs.
Wind rattled their windows and drafts of cold air seeped into the cracks in the walls of their apartment but with the small fireplace going, the blanket wrapped around them, and just the presence of the other kept them warm.
"...and a Merry Christmas to our listeners. Tonight, we pray for the brave men fighting against Hitler across the ocean. May God protect Great Britain and France and end this war soon," the radio host announced.
Ada's hands stilled in their ministrations and she sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes never leaving the fire. Steve studied his wife's face, knowing that something was wrong but he wouldn't push her to speak.
"There's been a call for nurses. Not Red Cross because America refuses to get involved but...there's a ship that leaves in a week for Britain. They need our help."
"Do you want to go?"
"I think the question I have is do you want me to go?"
"It's not my choice to make."
She pulled her gaze away from the fire to meet his bright blue eyes. With a sad smile, she stroked her thumb along his cheek.
"Will you see me off?" she asked quietly.
"And I'll see you home," he reminded her. "You will come back to me and I will always find you."
"I'll write. As often as I can."
That night, she pressed kisses to every inch of his body and especially to the small dimples of his hips and every bit in between. Ada savoured the feel of him on her, touching her, inside her. He loved her as if it was the last night they would ever touch.
Her ship left early a week later. Ada hugged Bucky tightly, whispering a "keep him safe for me" in his ear and earning a nod back from her friend. The blonde pulled away and immediately moved to her husband. Steve grasped her face gently in his hands, studying every feature of her face as if to commit them to memory.
"I love you, Steven Grant Rogers," she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes.
"And I love you, Ada Marie Rogers. Come back to me."
"I promise," she choked out. Her lips pressed against his desperately, longing filling the space between them and tears building in their throats.
The ship's horn bellowed through the dock and Ada kissed Steve once more before she gathered her bag and headed for the ship, forcing herself not to turn back until she was safely on deck. She waved goodbye to her boys as the ship pulled away from the dock, her blonde curls glinting and glimmering in the sun.
Time passed. The war continued.
Paris fell to Nazis.
London was bombed.
Pearl Harbor was attacked.
The Soviets were slammed by the Nazis, but held them off at Stalingrad.
Allied troops invaded North Africa and began to push the Nazis back.
Bucky shipped out in mid-1942, two years after Ada. Her letters were few and far between and very terse and short. She never revealed where she was or what was happening, just that she was safe.
It isn't until he meets Abraham Erskine that Steve joins them overseas.