11.

Brooklyn, New York

August 16th, 1942

Isabel and Steve make their way into the dance hall, Steve much more reluctantly than Isabel. The hall is nowhere near as crowded as a usual dance, with many of the young men already off to basic or war, and those remaining not feeling the enthusiasm for a good time when their friends and family are overseas.

They cut through the crowd to the bar, Steve waiting patiently to get the bartenders attention while Isabel escapes momentarily to talk to another group. Steve sees her speaking to a man around their age, leaning into him for a hug, but he doesn't think much of it. Isabel has always had a few friends other than himself and he's glad that she does. It probably wouldn't be normal if her only friends were her brother and his friend. Steve orders them both a drink, surprised when Isabel returns quickly to his side, thanking him for the drink, before they make their way over to the tables in the corner.

"You aren't going to make me dance, are you?" Steve asks carefully, sitting down at the table beside Isabel, who's making herself comfortable and taking off her jacket. "You know I'm a dead hopper."

Isabel takes a sip of her wine, laughing at Steve. "No, I don't really feel like dancing, so you've been saved tonight. I just wanted to feel some sort of normality," she admits.

Steve can't help but admit it isn't a bad idea. Going to dances has been a tradition of theirs for years. The thumping of the music and the laughter of the dancers spinning each other around is comforting and familiar. Steve feels himself relaxing, especially knowing he doesn't have to dance, and a stiff drink doesn't hurt either.

They sit in silence for a while, just watching, before Steve notices the man he'd seen Isabel hugging in the corner. He swallows down his jealousy, his curiosity winning over this time. "Who was that? Over by the bar?"

"Oh. That was Danny."

"Danny as in that guy your Ma wanted to set you up with?"

"Yeah," Isabel says, unusually dejectedly. "We've kind of been going steady."

"What? Since when?" Steve asks, a little hurt Isabel hadn't told him.

"A few months."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Steve asks, his eyes revealing the hurt he's feeling.

Isabel sighs. "I'm sorry, Steve." She can't tell him that the reason why she didn't confess was because she didn't want to see Steve look upset, because maybe he likes her that way and never told her, and seeing her with someone else would be heartbreaking. But she also didn't want to see him delighted about it because that means her feelings are only one sided. "I don't know," she admits instead. "I just didn't know how it was going to turn out. But we are getting pretty serious, I guess."

Steve looks at Isabel a moment, trying to read into her dejected tone and her saddened features. "Are you not sure how you feel about him?" Steve asks sympathetically.

"I just have a lot on my plate," Isabel admits quickly. "I hope I don't seem horrible not telling you. I wanted to. And I'd introduce you to him, but he isn't exactly coherent." She runs her finger over the rim of her glass to make a soft whistling sound. "I tried talking to him when you were ordering your drink, but he was too drunk to really take much interest. He and his friends have evidently been drinking for a while."

Steve watches as Danny and his friends mess around, shoving each other playfully and downing more drinks than he can keep count of. A few of them dance with random girls on the dance floor, but their movements are awkward and lagging, and the women usually give up after a few minutes.

"They look ridiculous, don't they?" Isabel laughs pitifully, watching Danny practically collapse face down on the bar. "At least you and Bucky know your limits."

They watch as Danny's friends gather him up and try to walk him out of the hall, stumbling themselves. Danny isn't unconscious as they'd thought because on the way out he spots Isabel and attempts to stumble his way over to her.

"Iiissss! You wanna dance, baby?" Danny slurs loudly across the hall since he isn't close enough to be within speaking range.

Isabel's cheeks heat up as the people around them turn to stare at the commotion, laughing at the wasted man being escorted from the hall. One of Danny's less-drunk friends shoots Isabel an apologetic glance, moving Danny toward the exit.

"I'll make sure he gets home," he promises, quickly herding Danny out the door. They hear the faint hollers of the men outside as they make their way down the street, causing a ruckus with the people attempting to enter the crowded hall.

Steve watches Isabel carefully, seeing the embarrassment on her face. "It's kind of hot in here. You want to go up to the roof?" He asks nonchalantly.

Isabel looks relieved, uncomfortable under the heavy gazes of onlookers. "Sure."

They take the rest of their drinks and make their way out the back of the hall, finding the stairs and climbing up to the roof. There are a few pallets already set out on the roof, since it's a popular spot for people to escape the dance momentarily.

"That really wasn't a great impression," Isabel defends Danny's honour, taking a seat on a pallet. "He really is a nice guy. He just can't handle his drink. I'll introduce you some time, if you want."

"I don't doubt he is, Is. I'm sure he's lovely, and you'll both be happy." Isabel smiles her thanks, looking away from Steve. In doing so, she misses the flash of hurt on his features, having pained him to say such a thing when he is the one who wishes to make her happy. He pushes the thoughts away and looks out at the view instead.

It's a warm night, a slight breeze blowing from the west. From the roof they have a view of Brooklyn, and in the distance, the Manhattan skyline stretching up into the clouds. The night sky is still rather light due to the glow of the city, but they can just make out the light of the stars. The two friends sit in silence on their own pallets. Steve watches the commotion of the city below, wishing he had his sketchbook so he could imprint the beautiful views onto the page. Isabel, on the other hand, stares up at the stars.

"What do you think the stars really look like?" She asks suddenly.

Steve's a little thrown off by the question, not expecting it. He has no idea what stars look like, since he never really paid attention in science class. Neither did Isabel, apparently, or at least she doesn't remember. Science was always Bucky's interest. "Bucky would know. He probably has it in a textbook somewhere."

"I'm going to take a guess and say they're just massive balls of light or something," Isabel laughs.

Steve nods. After a moment of silence, he asks, "How do you think they got there?"

"I'm not sure," Isabel answers, her tone inquisitive.

"Hmm. I remember reading somewhere that in Greek mythology, the stars, or rather the constellations, were god-favoured heroes and beasts who received a place amongst the stars as a memorial for their deeds. 'Living, conscious entities who stride across the heavens'," Steve recites, remembering the book from one of his days hauled up on bed rest.

"You believe that?"

"Not sure. I think it kind of goes against the whole Catholicism thing," Steve smirks.

"It's still beautiful. Whether it's true or not, they were still remembered in one way or another. Wouldn't it be nice to be remembered like that? Immortalised for something you did."

"That depends," Steve contemplates. "I would want to be remembered for doing something good for the world."

"I don't think you'd need to worry about that. You're the most selfless person I know," Isabel admits, finally tearing her eyes away from the stars to meet Steve's gaze. "You're meant for greatness. One day you'll do something even more amazing for people than you already do. I just hope I'm there to witness it."

Steve doesn't know how to respond to that, so he goes back to looking at the stars, hoping his blush isn't too noticeable. "Would everyone be stars? Or only best people? What about those who are just normal?"

"I'd like to think everyone. It's like a second life."

"Not Heaven?" Steve asks.

Isabel sighs. "I've grown up caught between two religions. I've been told two different things, learnt two different lifestyles, lived between two lives. I don't really know what's real and what's not anymore. I guess no one does, and those who do aren't alive to tell the tale. I'm not the type of person to say that any idea is wrong. They're just people's interpretations, and in a way, maybe there'll all correct. Maybe being immortalised in the stars is heaven, or a form of it. Everyone has their different ideas."

Steve hums in agreement. "So, for the sake of this conversation, if we were to believe that we would become stars, what do you think it would be like?" Steve humours, intrigues by this new outlook.

"I wouldn't be able to say, and I don't even know if we'd have the words to describe it," Isabel says. "But what I do know is that if you were a star, you would be shining the brightest, Steve Rogers." Steve turns to Isabel, eyebrows raised, finding her smiling contentedly at him. The way Isabel says this, with complete confidence, utter conviction and undeniable trust, has Steve's heart thumping hard in his chest.

"I think you'd be a contender to that," he says honestly.

Isabel smiles thankfully at Steve, looking away and tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "I'd like to think so."

A/N: Much shorter chapter this time, but it's mainly fluff. Steve and Isabel are so cute they make my inner romantic so happy. It's like I can see them together in my head and they've been leading me through their story :)

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