74.

Manhattan, New York City

May 28th, 1945

Isabel waits a moment, giving herself time to collect herself. She looks around at all the people, smiles at a woman that walks past. Then, she turns to the three suitcases she's got to lug, having had to give up her trolley when they got off the ferry. The crowd around her is dwindling as people get into taxis and walk off through the streets, disappearing from the docks. Isabel is debating how to go about moving it all when a particularly large group moves off, leaving a gap in the crowds, and she spots a familiar person standing there. Two familiar people.

Her eyes widen. Winifred and George Barnes stand off to the side, arm in arm, glancing around at the crowd in search of their daughter. They must have been just out of Isabel's sight when she disembarked from the ferry, because now they stand not far from the exit where she would have seen them had the crowds been smaller. Winifred is dressed in one of her best outfits, the dress she saves for church, and George is in a casual suit and tie. They look nervous, excited, hesitant, and devastated all at once.

Isabel can't find her voice or make her legs work to carry herself to them. She just stares at them, wide-eyed. Winifred must feel eyes burning into the side of her head because she turns then, her eyes immediately making contact with Isabel's. Her jaw drops, and then her face lights up. She grabs George's hand and rushes them through the crowd.

Isabel takes a few steps to meet her. Winifred grabs her shoulders and holds her still, looking her over just once to make sure she's intact. Isabel sees the flash of optimism in her mother's eyes, that maybe all of their children would have returned and all of the letters and the card in the mail was all an accident, all a misunderstanding. Isabel's face falls, and she shakes her head. Winifred's optimism quickly turns to disappointment and acceptance. Her face crumples into tears.

"Mama," Isabel breathes, her own heart breaking for them.

They clash in a tight, emotional hug. Winifred sobs into Isabel's hair, her body shaking. Isabel looks at George over her mother's shoulder, and George puts a hand on each of their backs. Isabel squeezes her eyes shut, relishing the feeling of her mother's hugs, a feeling she's missed since she left. She's passed then to George and she presses her face into his shoulder, squeezing tightly around his waist. George pats her hair, rubs her back, presses a kiss to her forehead. Winifred stays close, tucked under George's other arm against his side.

While George and Winifred cry, Isabel doesn't. She thinks she may have run out of tears to cry, though she knows she'll probably be proved wrong at some point. She's cried enough for a lifetime in the last few weeks, let alone in the time since she left Brooklyn. It's been a hard and emotional few years.

As soon as Isabel pulls away slightly from George, Winifred grabs her face like she used to when she was younger, looking carefully into her daughter's eyes. She rubs a hand over Isabel's cheeks and then presses comforting kisses to her cheeks and forehead.

"What did they do to you? What have you seen? Oh, my poor, beautiful kotyonok," Winifred cries.

It's silly to ask because they know, of course, of everything that's happened to her. Bucky told them what Hydra did to her, how she was shot and tortured in the chair. They know that Bucky fell from the train because they received the notice in the mail only a few weeks ago and because Isabel sent them a letter explaining everything, a letter she wrote with Steve. And now they also know that Steve went down in the plane, considering its plastered on ever newspaper and featured on every radio broadcast worldwide.

"I saw a lot, Mama. But it wasn't all bad," Isabel reassures quietly.

"I'm sure it wasn't," Winifred agrees, remembering the adventures Isabel and Bucky had spoken of in their letters, the friendships and relationships they'd formed.

"Come on, girls," George says, pushing on their backs. "There are two very excited people waiting at home to see you."

Getting to the family apartment is hardly a struggle considering Winifred and George bought the car. They load the boot up with Isabel's three suitcases, which they don't even ask about the contents of because they recognise them, as well as Bucky and Steve's names and addresses scrawled across the top in place of a luggage tag.

George pulls up to the curb in front of the familiar apartment building, turning off the engine. Isabel is practically pressed up against the back-passenger window staring out. She jumps out when the car's stopped and looks around at the brownstone buildings, the street signs, the park down the road. The streets where she grew up, the park where Steve used to draw in the summertime, the neighbors houses that the Barnes children did odd jobs for to make some extra cash. Children practice their baseball pitches on the road, and Isabel recognises them. They'd been much younger when she left, but the boys still have the same features, the same smiles, and the same children are still friends. They seem to recognise her, too, and they wave brightly at her.

George leaves the suitcases in the boot to take to Isabel's apartment later while Isabel looks around the street in awe and longing. Winifred taps on her shoulder to get her attention as George leads them up the stairs to their second-floor apartment, unlocking the door. Isabel steps inside and looks around at the familiar kitchen, living room, piano and bookshelves in the corners. She lets out a relieved, comfortable sigh.

"I missed this," she whispers, mainly to herself, but her parents hear. She turns to them. "I missed you guys."

"We missed you, too, sweetheart," George reassures, putting an arm around her shoulders. Suddenly, there's two pounding pairs of footsteps coming down the hallway. "Speaking of–"

Becca bursts into the room, followed by Robbie. Isabel gasps.

Last time Isabel had seen the two of them, they were thirteen, with young and youthful faces. In the nearly two years since she's left, they've aged considerably. They've grown toward adulthood, matured, lost that childhood innocence.

Robbie is at least a head taller than he'd been before having gone through a growth spurt. His hair is slightly longer, slicked in one direction with the sides shorter as all men wore it these days. Men, she realises she thought. He's not really a man, of course, being only fifteen, but he's getting there. Robbie's always had a baby face, always looked younger, but now he looks so much like George Barnes, and Bucky, that the resemblance is uncanny. It shocks her. It's like looking at a photograph of Bucky when he was fifteen.

Meanwhile, Becca looks nearly the same as she did when Isabel left, only older. She wears a bit of makeup, something she never used to do. Her hair is shorter than it used to be, cut to shoulder length in waves that float around her features. Her face is slightly thinner, losing its baby fat, but her body is slightly curvier as she grows toward womanhood. But, as Isabel had noticed that night that Becca stayed at her apartment when Steve was at basic training, as Becca gets older, she resembles Isabel more and more. Hair, eyes, eyebrows, nose, all of it is the same, features they inherited more from Winifred than George. The males of the Barnes family take after George, though they have a hint of European to their features, whilst the women take after Winifred.

After a moment of staring with shocked eyes, of taking each other in, Becca squeals Isabel's name before she pounces onto her sister, engulfing her in a tight hug. Isabel buckles slightly under the force, but she manages to stay upright. She clutches Becca tightly, barely able to believe that she's here. After all she's done, all she's seen, she's back where she started, standing in the kitchen of her childhood home and hugging her little sister.

She opens her other arm and Robbie jumps in, hugging both his sisters tightly. He has to actually bend down to hug them, and Isabel is just in shock of how tall he is.

"Bec, Robbie," Isabel breathes. "I missed you so much." She pushes them both away to get a good look at them. "Look at you both, you've grown up so much. Becca, you're so beautiful," Isabel says, cupping Becca's cheek. "And Robbie, so handsome," she continues, pinching Robbie's cheek. "I-I can't believe it."

"We missed you, too," Becca promises with a bright smile, drinking in Isabel's touch. But then her face falls into confusion and she looks at Isabel critically. "You look so different."

"Older?" Isabel asks with a chuckle.

"No, not that," Becca says, looking thoughtful. Her and Robbie share a look, communicating with only their expressions the way they have since they were little. "Don't worry," Becca eventually says with a smile. "We're just so glad to see you. To have you back."

"It's been a real long time," Robbie adds, eyes downcast.

"I had to go. I'm sor–" Isabel says immediately, about to apologise for being gone for so long.

"We know," Robbie interrupts, quickly plastering on a smirk. "You had to help save the world. You had to follow Bucky. You always did, it's not like we expected anything else. And now you're a Howling Commando."

"Did you bring any of them with you? Can we meet them?" Becca asks excitedly.

"Dugan and Morita caught the boat back with me, but they left for the train station right away to get home to their families. But they'd love to meet you. All of them would, Monty and Gabe and Dernier. Bucky… he told them a lot about you, about all of us. They practically know you," Isabel chuckles.

"Bucky spoke about us?" Robbie asks quietly.

"Every chance he got," Isabel promises. "You know how proud he was. He had pictures and letters and stories to tell everyone. The Commandos loved it."

"Are they nice?"

"Of course. They're the best."

"I want to meet them. Can we write them a letter?" Becca asks.

"We can. I'm under strict instruction that I need to correspond with all of them. I have their addresses. You can help me write it," Isabel promises, smirking at Becca. Her smirk drops off slowly as she thinks. "You know, you already have met some of the Commandos. Maybe even the best two. Definitely the bravest and strongest. You had the pleasure of being related to one and growing up with the other as your brother."

"You mean Bucky and Steve?" Robbie asks quietly.

"Yeah. The compass and the heart of the Commandos. We were pretty honored to have known them, hey?"

"I wish Bucky had come home," Becca says solemnly, leaning into her father's side, her eyes glassy.

"So do I," Isabel whispers.

There's a moment of silence where everyone is quiet, thoughtful. Then, Robbie speaks up. "Was he scared? When he died, was Bucky scared?"

Isabel pauses. She remembers Steve's drawing, of Bucky falling from the train – the terror on his face, how Steve had described his scream. "No," Isabel says, his voice wavering. "No, he wasn't scared. He– It was quick. He didn't have t-time to think about it at all. But he died a hero."

"What about Stevie?" Becca asks. "He crashed into the ocean–"

"He wasn't scared, either," Isabel promises quickly. "I was talking to him. He was okay. His last moments, he wasn't alone–"

Isabel can just hear the fear in his voice. What she wouldn't give to be there with him, to hold him and reassure him it'll be okay.

She covers her mouth with her hand to hold in the sob, scrunching her eyes shut. "Steve, I love you," she says in a desperate rush, her voice hysterical. She needs to get it out, needs to tell him, because she has no idea how far away he is from crashing, from there being no more time. He needs to hear it one last time.

"Oh God!" Steve yells, his voice so full of fear that it has Isabel's own heart and breathing racing for him. Isabel slams her eyes shut and imagines anything else than the mental imagines her mind is providing. "I love you, Bel–

Isabel swallows thickly, her eyes welling with tears. She meets her father's eyes, and he's disbelieving, his expression solemn. He knows she's lying, can probably see in her own eyes the pain of what she's experienced.

"He wasn't scared. They weren't scared," Isabel protests, her voice stern. "And now, they're in a better place."