8.

Brooklyn, New York

July 4th, 1942

The day of Steve's birthday, which also happens to coincide with Independence Day, Sarah is rostered on to work the night shift, whilst Isabel works the morning shift. Steve knew this as of the night before, when Isabel called him to invite him over in the afternoon. When he wakes up later than usual on July fourth, he takes a moment to lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. It's his first birthday in twelve years that Bucky isn't here to celebrate with him, and he isn't quite sure how he feels about it yet. He can't imagine watching the fireworks without Bucky. He doesn't even remember a year that they hadn't watched them together. In his memory, every birthday has been spent with Bucky, and in turn, Isabel. At least Isabel will be a constant, though he has to wait quite a few hours to see her. It just doesn't feel right to imagine himself watching them without the other boy sitting there too, trying to persuade Steve that the fireworks are put up there just for him and not for the country, and describing the bright colors to Steve as best he can.

Without warning, he feels his throat get tight, his eyes beginning to sting. He blinks rapidly, berating himself for being so emotional. He thinks what hurts the most is that Bucky is experiencing the one thing he longs for. Bucky is training to be a soldier, to go overseas and fight for what's right, to help bring down the enemy. He knows Bucky didn't want to go, that he would've given everything to stay in Brooklyn, and in that regard, he feels terrible for his friend. He just also can't help the jealousy he feels deep inside himself, that Bucky is living his dream. And he hates himself for it. He wishes that he, to make up for the sour thoughts, could march himself to Camp McCoy and bring Bucky home. He's sure Winifred or George would even drive him there, but he can't, and they can't. They're all helpless.

He starts when there's a knock at his bedroom door, and Sarah peeks her head in. "Happy birthday, Stevie," she singsongs, coming into the room. Steve sits up against the headboard, smiling at his mother.

"Thanks, Ma."

"Twenty-four, I can't believe it," Sarah gushes, sitting next to Steve on the edge of the bed. Who woulda thought I'd make it? There were lots of times I nearly didn't, Steve thinks. "It feels like only yesterday you were a baby tottering around the apartment. The first day you started walking on your own you stole a fresh-baked cookie from the kitchen table and tipped the entire plateful onto the floor. I should have known you'd be trouble from day one."

"Your memory must be failing you, I never get into trouble," Steve tells her cheekily.

"Ha ha, I may be getting older but I'm not senile," Sarah deadpans, plenty aware that her child is troublesome and headstrong, and loving him for it nonetheless. "Come open your present."

Steve gets out of bed and changes into shorts and a shirt before going out into the kitchen. There's a small gift wrapped and sitting on the dining table, a small bow glued to the top.

"Ma, you really didn't have to get me anything," Steve protests while he carefully unpicks the sticky tape, unwrapping it carefully so that the paper can be recycled.

"Nonsense," Sarah argues, watching intently. Saving wrapping paper may make opening presents rather time-consuming, but it also saves a lot of money in desperate times. Steve gasps when he finally reveals the present, the coloured pencils he'd been hoping for but couldn't justify spending the money on for himself.

"Ma, these are amazing," Steve gushes, turning over the metal box to read the back. "Thank you." He walks around the table and hugs Sarah tightly, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"An artist can't produce great works without great tools. Though, knowing how talented you are, you could probably make a masterpiece out of eraser scraps. You deserve them," Sarah tells him. "Now, I know you'll be dying to try them out, but we have a cake to bake first. Then, you can try them out to your heart's content."

They start on baking the cake, a tradition they've held since Steve's childhood that they aren't going to give up now that Steve's twenty-four. It's not even so much the age thing, as it's a reason to eat cake for lunch, and Steve doesn't know who in their right mind would turn down an opportunity like that. Once the cake is baked and hastily decorated with sickly sweet icing and the number '24' in little chocolate drops, they sit at the kitchen table with a slice each, Steve practising using the new set of coloured pencils Sarah bought him. They work like a dream, sliding across the paper in vibrant colours, not that Steve can see them properly, but he can still appreciate them. He uses a light grey to sketch out a rough drawing of his mother smiling down at her slice of cake, adding some colours to it with help from Sarah, eventually ending up with another portrait, one of the first he's ever done in colour pencil since they're so much more expensive than graphite.

"Lemme see," Sarah demands, holding out a hand for the sketchbook. Steve hands it over.

"It's not great, I didn't get the shape of your eyes right," Steve insists, deciding to cut himself another slice of cake.

Sarah surveys the drawing carefully, a critical eye. "No, it's perfect. It looks just like me. Steve, I wish you could see just how talented you really are. You have no idea what some people would give to be able to capture someone like this."

Steve blushes, muttering his thanks. He's never been good with taking compliments. Sarah smiles knowingly as she hands the sketchbook back and goes to her room to get ready for work, emerging a few minutes later in her nurse's uniform. She looks at Steve for a moment before kissing his cheek.

"You only have to be here alone for an hour or two before you were invited over to the Barnes'. You'll be fine," Sarah promises, patting Steve's cheek. Steve stares dumbly at Sarah, wondering how she would have known his internal feelings, his aversion to being alone. She smiles at him knowingly before leaving through the front door.

The days have dragged on since Bucky left for basic, and Steve had to resist putting the date of his return on the calendar in the kitchen and counting it down. He knows that would be weird, so instead he just peeks at the Barnes' calendar to see how many days are left. He knows he's pathetic. He never realised how dependent he was on Bucky and his company until they were apart. Ever since they became friends, they've rarely spent more than a few days away from each other. Every important event in Steve's life has happened with Bucky at his side. They've always watched each other's backs, though admittedly Bucky does most of the watching. They are each other's family as well as friends. Even when Steve was sick enough to get the priest out to his house, Bucky never refrained from stopping by to see him, despite any personal risk of infection. Bucky truly is the best friend, and more like a brother to Steve, and Steve doesn't know how he's going to cope without him.

Steve sits impatiently on the sofa, waiting for the call from Isabel. She promised to call when she was home from work and ready for him to come over, which she said would be around four. He twiddles his thumbs for a while, eventually getting his sketchbook out again. He continues working on the piece of Sarah, carefully reading the colour labels on each pencil so he doesn't accidentally make her hair blue or something. He adjusts her eyes until he's happy and works on her golden locks, the picture finally coming along until he eventually deems it finished. He looks at the clock, sighing when he still has two hours to waste.

He goes to his room and searches around for something to occupy the time, his eyes falling on the unfinished drawing of the Barnes family that Winifred commissioned. He's already bought the frame for it, and it's very near finishing, only needing a few touch ups and for him to finish Isabel and Bucky's hair. He picks it up carefully and brings it out to the kitchen, lying it flat on the table. Getting out his graphite pencils, Steve works on the piece, finishing everyone's hair and adding extra highlights and details. The picture really is perfect, but he continues to add aspects to make it even better and finds himself in an "artistic coma" as Bucky likes to call it, so entranced by his work that he barely registers the phone ringing.

He jumps up to answer it, nearly missing the call. "Hello."

"Hi, Steve. I just got home from work and got changed so you can head over whenever you're ready," Isabel tells him.

"Okay, sure. Be right there," Steve promises, hanging the phone back on the receiver. He takes another second to look at the piece and thinks it perfected enough to give to the family tonight. Carefully, he puts the drawing in its frame and locks it back up, turning it over. The frame completes the picture, closing the four siblings within its boundaries as though they might try to escape the picture. Whilst Robbie and Becca's drawn selves look incredibly lifelike, there's something extra about the drawings of Isabel and Bucky. Steve supposes it's because he's drawn them so many times; he knows their faces without having to even look at them, and can draw any of their expressions from memory. Some may think it's creepy, but Steve really does just have an eye for drawing.

He finds the bow from his present that morning and attaches it to the wood of the frame. He grabs the plate of cake from the fridge to take, as well as his wallet and keys, holds the picture under his arm, and slams the door shut behind him, intent on getting out of the apartment. The walk to the Barnes' apartment is short but his arms are loaded up, and gratefully, he's there within minutes, climbing the stairs with some difficulty and knocking on the front door. Becca answers almost immediately, and Steve wonders whether she'd been waiting for him.

"Steve!" She cheers, throwing her arms around his waist in a hug, nearly knocking the cake and picture out of his hands. "Happy birthday!"

"Thanks, Bec," Steve says, freeing one arm and hugging her back a little awkwardly. "Where's your sister?"

"Isabel is sitting in our room," Becca tells him. "Ooh, is that cake?" She asks, her eyes catching sight of the desert.

"Yep," Steve says. He sets the picture down momentarily and opens the fridge to find space for it. "My ma and I made it today. We can eat it later when the fireworks are on."

"Swell," Becca says, smiling goofily at Steve. "What's this?" She asks, trying to turn over the frame.

"That's the drawing your ma asked for. You can't look at it yet, you have to wait until your parents are home," Steve tells her, picking up the drawing again and holding it protectively against his chest so no one sees it.

Becca seems to accept this excuse, though Steve can tell she's dying inside to see it. "Come on," she says, taking him by his free hand and leading him to her and Isabel's bedroom. As they enter the small hallway, Robbie emerges from the boys' room, comic book in hand.

"Oh, happy birthday, Steve," he says, waving at Steve with the hand holding the comic book, an empty glass in the other.

"Thanks, Robbie. How are you going?" Steve asks.

"Great, we're on school holidays," Robbie tells him. "You're so lucky your birthday is in the school holidays."

"Well, it was. I'm not at school anymore."

"That's right," Robbie agrees, abandoning whatever he was going to the kitchen for and following Steve and Becca into the bedroom.

"Hello, Isabel," Steve says politely from the doorway, whilst Becca and Robbie waltz straight into the room and plop down on Becca's bed. Isabel looks up from where she sits on her bed, a thick book in her lap acting like a desk as she writes a letter, presumably to Bucky.

"Stevie!" She says when she sees him. She abandons her work momentarily, coming over to stand in front of him. "What's this?"

"The commission for your mom," Steve answers. "I need to hide it until they get home."

"Easy done," Isabel says, taking it without looking at the image and leaning it against the far wall, the portrait facing the wall to conceal it. Then she turns back to him. "Happy birthday," she finally says, pulling him into a tight hug. Steve hugs back just as tight, thankful that she invited him over. He already feels one hundred times better being in other's company; he can't imagine what the night would've been like had he been home alone. As Isabel pulls away, she kisses his cheek. On the bed behind them, Robbie and Becca giggle with each other, making kissing noises at the two.

"Oh, hush," Isabel tells them, swatting at them to try to get them to shoo. They evade her arms, staying seated. Isabel sits back down, cross legged on the bed. "Come, sit," she tells Steve, patting the quilt in front of her. Steve walks in and sits down. He's never really been in the girls' room before, normally just hanging out with them all in the lounge room, or in Bucky's room and the fire escape when they wanted to talk about guy stuff. Neither Becca nor Isabel seem to have any qualms about him being there though, so he lets himself settle.

"What have you been up to so far, birthday boy?" Isabel asks.

"Nothing much. Ma and I made the cake around lunch, then when she went to work I finished the piece. Is that letter for Bucky?" Steve asks, eyeing the papers she'd been writing on.

"Yes," Isabel says. "You wanna write something to him on here? It'll save money on postage."

"Sure," Steve says, feeling a little guilty that he hasn't written to Bucky in a few days and hasn't replied to the last letter he sent. Isabel shuffles the papers and takes a few out of the bunch, setting them behind her. She hands Steve the textbook to lean on, a pen and a fresh piece of paper.

"What'd you write to him?" Steve asks.

"Mainly, I just replied to his last letter. He asked what we had planned for your birthday today and just about what was happening here. Not much," she says vaguely.

Steve gets to work writing a quick letter to Bucky, trying to remember the things Bucky had said in his last letter. He tells Bucky about finishing the work for Winifred, and about coming over to watch the fireworks tonight. He leaves out the part about being lonely without him here, and also the part about the fight he got into the other day. He does, though, have to tell him about Isabel finding out about him enlisting, since Bucky had mentioned that Isabel sent him an angry letter. He eventually finishes up and gives it back to Isabel, who folds the papers with her own into an envelope and seals it to send tomorrow.

"How old are you, Steve?" Becca asks suddenly, having waited for Steve to finish constructing his letter.

"I'm twenty-four," Steve tells her.

"Oh, so old," Becca says. Curiously, she adds, "What do twenty-four-year old's do?"

"Well, I'm not sure, I only just became one. But I assume it's probably not very exciting. Just work and other adult things."

"That sounds boring," Robbie adds.

"It is," Steve agrees with over-exaggeration, unable to hold his serious composure for long before breaking into laughter.

"Can we watch the fireworks with you guys tonight?" Robbie asks Isabel and Steve. Isabel looks at Steve, waiting for his approval.

"Of course," Steve says, delighted. "We're gonna set up the fire escape with a blanket and pillows. It's got a magnificent view. And we'll eat some cake. It'll be fun."

Winifred and George return from their outings at dinner time, just in time to eat a serving of the meal Isabel and Steve throw together. Steve joins them at the table after a chorus of "happy birthdays", the family talking happily over their food. Still, despite the happy ambience, none of them can shake the feeling that something, or rather someone, is missing. Sunset takes a long time to come, so the group sit around the lounge room, listening to the radio in the corner and making small talk.

Steve seems to forget about the picture until Isabel leans across to him on the couch. "Are you gonna give Mom her present?" She whispers in his good ear.

"Oh yeah," Steve laughs, getting up and going into the girls' room to retrieve it. No one bats an eyelid at his disappearance until he returns with the rather large frame.

"I finished the piece you asked for, Fred," Steve explains, not turning the picture around yet.

Winifred puts her book down, surprised, and stands up. "Steve, honey, it's your birthday. You aren't supposed to be giving out the gifts."

"We did pay for it," George jokes, smiling fondly at Steve.

Steve hesitates. It's one of the first times he's done a commissioned piece for someone so close to him, and he feels nervousness swim in his stomach. "I hope you like it." He slowly turns the image around, and everyone gasps when they see it.

"Wow," Winifred breathes, taking the picture from Steve to look at it more closely. "It's so beautiful," she gushes, her eyes filling with tears. George stands beside her, letting out a low whistle of admiration. Isabel looks too, smiling proudly at Steve.

"Amazing," she says. "As always, of course."

Robbie and Becca take their time to look too, gushing over themselves in the portrait. Meanwhile, Winifred gives Steve a motherly hug. "I don't know how you do it, Steve, but you do it well. I can't even tell you how grateful I am. George, honey, can you hang it up?"

George obediently takes the frame and places it on the hook that's already in the wall, taking a minute to adjust it so its straight. "Perfect," he finally says, stepping back to admire it. It seems to fit perfectly into the apartment, a soft, familiar touch to the already homely space. A portrait of family, done by family.

"I love it," Isabel says from beside Steve. She then nudges his shoulder with her own. "How do you always manage to make me look better in drawings than I do in real life?"

"I don't," Steve says sincerely. "That is you, through and through." Isabel's cheeks redden, her smile enough thanks that she doesn't have to say anything else.

They have to go through Bucky and Robbie's room to reach the fire escape, since the window in the girls' room is broken and won't open enough to allow anyone to squeeze out. They wait until the sun has fully set and darkness has set in over the city before they clamber out. Isabel goes first, kneeling in the corner to set up a quilt on the metal grate and lean some pillows up against the wall to lean on. After a few minutes of sitting it always gets uncomfortable, so they'd innovated by setting up a little bed for the last few years. Steve climbs out the window after her, standing carefully on the fire escape. He loves the view from up here, but it's always daunting standing and being able to see the ground so far beneath him. It certainly doesn't help his vertigo.

"It's going to start soon," Steve says, checking the time on his watch. The fireworks are scheduled to begin in ten minutes.

"Alright, it's all set up. We just need the cake," Isabel confirms. Not two seconds later, Becca's small hands reach out the window to hand Steve two plates of cake, followed by Robbie with two more. Steve takes the cake from Becca and sits them carefully on the grate, before helping a struggling Becca climb through the window. Robbie manages easily, springing over the ledge. Steve sits between Isabel and Becca with Robbie on the other end, already devouring his first piece of cake. They take some time to adjust the pillows to get comfortable, finally settling in and picking up their dessert.

"This is good," Isabel tells Steve after swallowing her first mouthful, her fork already filled with more.

"Good. We'd better have mastered the recipe by now after making it for twenty-four years."

With the plates cleared and bellies full, Robbie puts the plates to the side.

"Before the fireworks start, I want to give you your present," Isabel says, pulling an envelope out of the pocket of her dress.

"Belle, we agreed no presents," Steve protests.

"Yeah, yeah. Like you and Bucky have ever followed that rule when we set it," Isabel retaliates, handing over the envelope. "It's from both me and Bucky. We were hoping Buck would be here as well to see you open it, but, you know. So anyway, here." Steve opens the envelope, pulling out a piece of paper.

Stage 2 Visual Art course at the Brooklyn Community Hall, Brooklyn, New York.

Week 1 class: Graphite drawing,

Week 2 class: Acrylic paints,

Week 3 class: Photography,

Week 4 class: Pottery,

Week 5 class: Pastels,

Classes beginning August 1st, 7pm

Steve stops reading then, looking up in astoundment at Isabel. "You bought me tickets to the art class?"

"Yep," Isabel smiles. "You completed stage one, and then never returned to stage two because you don't want to spend the money on yourself. Your art is great Steve, and we want you to have something you're going to love and that's going to help you. I went to the hall and I spoke to the art teacher – she remembered you, so that's a good sign. She told me that this course is a little different. You can only get in if you did well in stage one, which you did, and every week they have a popular artist who works with that medium come in to give advice. It's an amazing opportunity, and we didn't want you to miss out."

"I don't even know what to say," Steve says dumbly. "Thank you!"

"No problem," Isabel says, accepting his hug.

They jump apart when the first firework explodes in the sky, lighting up the black with colour and producing a deafening bang.

Steve settles back against the pillows, watching the fireworks light up the sky, then trickle back down like sparkles, only to fizzle out into black. They're awfully loud, but they're beautiful, magnificent rays of light. Steve looks over at Becca beside him, her faced awed as she stares open mouthed at the sky. She catches Steve looking and smiles at him, moving closer and burying herself in his side, under his arm. He holds her gently, her body fitting perfectly in the concave of his arm.

He looks to his right and catches Isabel looking at him and her sister fondly.

"What colours are they?" Steve asks Isabel, nodding back toward the sky.

Isabel looks up again too. She leans back against the wall, slipping down and getting comfortable again, and then falls to the side, resting her head on Steve's shoulder. Steve stiffens momentarily, but eventually settles, getting up the courage to slip his arm out from under her and rest it across her shoulders. He never in his life expected they'd ever sit this close, and he's so glad he hasn't messed it up yet.

"That one was a yellow-gold, so vibrant and beautiful. Like daffodils in the spring time. Ah, red. A real bright, fiery red. Anyone who has hair that colour, you'd know they aren't to be messed with. Also the colour of firetrucks. Oh, that one was like an emerald green, like being in a mossy forest in winter when the forest floor is still damp and the leaves are so healthy and green from all the rain," Isabel commentates, taking cues from the way Bucky always describes the colour to Steve.

Steve listens and watches, imagining the colours in the circumstance Isabel describes. He's still distracted by her, though, her hair tickling his chin and her weight pressing into him, but in a good way. She's grounding and familiar, whilst also being strange and frightening. Steve isn't sure if these are the feelings he's supposed to have, and he isn't quite sure what to think of them either, but in that moment, he decides to just go with the flow of it all, two of his best girls tucked safely under each arm.

The fireworks end in a beautiful, extravagant final arrangement, the colours dancing across the sky. The entirety of Brooklyn seems to go up in cheers after the sky returns to black, Becca and Robert clapping along as well.

"It hasn't been so bad, has it?" Isabel asks, lifting her head from Steve's shoulder to meet his eyes.

"No. Not bad at all," Steve reassures her, squeezing her shoulder lightly.

A/N: Hello everyone! So here we have Steve's first birthday without Bucky. Unfortunately it won't be the last; you can thank Marvel for all the sadness over the years to come. I just love the relationship Steve has with Sarah Rogers. I've read a lot of fics that portray them as having a close relationship and I'm all for it. Sarah and Steve only had each other. Sarah has been the only stable aspect of Steve's life since his birth; she's always looked after him, worked to protect them both financially. I love writing strong-willed, independent characters set in a time when women were not always portrayed that way.

Just out of curiosity I was wondering if there were any celebrities that you had in mind that resemble Isabel Barnes and Sarah Rogers? I'd be curious to see who my readers imagine from my descriptions.

I wasn't going to tell you guys since it may skew your own imaginations but I will because I have no self control. Ever since I began this story I couldn't get the image of Emilia Clarke (Khaleesi in Game of Thrones) from my mind when I pictured Isabel. I love her as an actress, I think she's a beautiful soul and she's exactly what I picture. I also did some comparisons of her beside Sebastian Stan and to me they look very similar. I've saved quite a few images of Emilia Clarke in particular vintage settings and some manips with Sebastian Stan and Chris Evans. Obviously none of the pictures are mine, but they are good for inspiration. I also often use her outfits from photoshoots as inspiration for her clothing and hairstyles in this fic. If you'd like to see any, maybe I can make a post on my tumblr? Would love to hear your thoughts!

Enjoy your reading! :)