15.

Brooklyn, New York City

October 10th, 1942

When there is a knock at the door of the Barnes residence, it takes a while for anyone to answer. Mr. Barnes is at work, as he so often is these days, and Mrs. Barnes is making the weekly trip to the Farmer's Market.

Bucky is sat on the fire escape outside the girls' bedroom window soaking up the last days of warmish fall air before winter sets in. He is drawing anything he sees from his vantage point, or at least attempting to, trying to practice his artwork so that when he is out in the field he can do little drawings of the places he goes to send back to Steve and the family. He knows his work will never be as good as Steve's, but maybe the drawings will help with describing what it's like along with his written word. Since Steve is evidently not going overseas with him, he wants to give Steve a bit of insight, let him live his fantasy in some way.

The knock grows persistently louder and eventually, a voice calls out from the other side, muffled through the thick wood. Robert and Becca emerge from the boys' room, the book they had been reading abandoned on the bed. Despite being told not to open the door to strangers, the twins relent upon realising who is knocking by their voice. Poor Steve isn't the stranger they'd thought, and pull they door open to stop his persistent banging. Steve's face is red, his breathing is shallow, and he looks distraught.

"I'm going to get Bucky," Robert says immediately, disappearing down the hallway just as Becca asks Steve if he is okay. She takes Steve's thin hand before he can protest and drags him to the kitchen table, pushing him into the closest chair.

"I'm sorry we didn't answer the door. Mommy says we aren't allowed to open the door to strangers. We didn't know it was you until you yelled." When Steve begins to cough, Becca clumsily pours him a glass of water from the sink and hands it to him.

Bucky appears in the kitchen, running through the doorway. "Steve? What's wrong? What happened?" He takes in Steve's rumpled appearance and watery eyes.

Steve wheezes, and then a harsh, hacking cough escapes his lungs, and Bucky wishes that Isabel was there because she's always been better at dealing with Steve's asthma. Bucky leads Steve over to the ice box, rubbing his back as he breathes in the cold air. The cold is a trigger for Steve's asthma but Bucky needs to get Steve's core temperature down, which has skyrocketed with his exertion and is making his asthma worsen. The twins stand in the doorway, eyes wide and curious.

"Go to your rooms, Steve's just not feeling well," Bucky reassures. They leave without question and Bucky can just hear the low murmur of Robert reading the novel aloud from where they'd left off.

Within minutes, Steve's breathing calms and he is back in the chair, wiping at his sweaty face with a handkerchief Bucky found in his back pocket.

"What were you doing to make yourself so sick? Don't you know better than to run laps around the borough in this weather?" Bucky demands, exasperated with Steve for pushing himself too hard. The weather in New York is severe enough to make Steve sick without him running around town.

"Ma," Steve breaths. "She hasn't felt well for months… Told me everything was fine. Thought it was a virus… Isabel knows she's been sick. Had to call an ambulance for her, she couldn't breathe. Found her passed out on the floor." Steve takes a deep breath, his lungs burning. "The ambulance came and took her away, but they wouldn't let me in the truck. Told me there wasn't enough room, I had to meet them there. They wouldn't tell me what they thought was wrong, just told me to get there quickly. It's bad, Buck. It must be. I-I didn't know what to do, so I ran here because its on the way, and– and–" Steve's breathing picks up again rapidly and Bucky surges forward, hushing him to calm him down.

Bucky's heart feels like its skipping a beat. Sarah Rogers has been working on and off in the tuberculosis ward for months now, and one doesn't work around such a potent disease without risking contracting it.

"I'll come to the hospital with you. Isabel's there working, maybe she knows what's going on," Bucky offers, level-headed as usual but unsure of what else they can do to help. Whatever is happening to Sarah, it isn't good. The suspense is already eating away at Bucky; he can't imagine how Steve is feeling.

"Please," Steve nods. "I'm normally the sick one, I don't really know what to do."

"Ma will be home real soon, Becca and Robbie will be okay until then," Bucky decides. He grabs a set of apartment keys and his wallet from the pocket of his other slacks, tells the twins where he is going and to not get into trouble, and slams the door behind them on their way out.

Isabel sits in the break room, revelling in the feeling of taking the weight off her feet. She sips on a cup of coffee and eats a sandwich she bought from the cafeteria, flicking through the newspaper left on the table. Two of her fellow nurses and friends, Katrina and Molly, also sit around in the kitchenette, making conversation with Isabel over the news in the paper. She loves the two dearly, they're great friends and colleagues, but they're both compulsive gossipers and sometimes their excessive talking gets irritating. If anything relatively exciting is happening in the entire borough of Brooklyn they'll know about it, and Isabel is likely to find out on the next shift.

"Did you hear about the nurse that got brought in in the ambulance today?" Molly says, changing the subject from talking about the ration on stockings. "She's been off-colour for months now, coughing and wheezing, but she insisted she was fine, that it was only a flu," Molly continues, pulling a mug from the cabinet. "Then she stopped coming to work, said it was getting too much for her in her older age. But she's been coming in every few days for treatment. Not sure what for. Today, the ambulance brings her in, she's coughing up blood and hardly breathing. Her son called the ambulance, found her passed out in the middle of the kitchen floor. The doctor diagnosed her straight away. Turns out she's had it for months and she was getting treated for it, but the treatments didn't work."

"TB?" Katrina guesses, worry creasing her forehead. Isabel's interest is piqued, and she folds the newspaper and pushes it away to fully join the conversation. Molly takes a sip of her coffee and grimaces at the lack of sugar before giving out any more information. She pushes a stray piece of her vibrant red hair back from her face.

"Mm," Molly agrees, stirring more sugar into her coffee. "It's a shame. Sarah's a lovely woman."

"Sarah?" Isabel whispers, looking at the redhead for further explanation. Oh no, please don't be Sarah, not my Sarah.

Molly looks worriedly at Isabel. "You know, the Irish nurse. She's been at the hospital for years now, I'm sure you've met her before. She's-."

Isabel doesn't stick around to hear the rest of it. She takes off toward the infectious diseases ward, only stopping to tell her other friend Clara to cover for her for the rest of the shift.

Isabel doesn't think she has ever run so fast in her life. Her heeled shoes pound on the tiles as she makes her way from one side of the hospital to the other, squeezing past doctors and nurses and occupied beds lining the hallways. She's rarely been in this part of the hospital but she follows the signs, eventually ending up in the cold waiting room outside the infectious diseases ward.

When she approaches the desk in a flurry, the middle-aged receptionist looks startled.

"Can I help you, hun?" She asks, standing up in her concern.

"Sarah Rogers. Please, I need to see her," Isabel pants, hysteria clear in her tone.

Recognition dawns on the receptionist's face. "Are you family?"

"She's like a mother to me, please," Isabel pleads.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you. You know the hospital's rules. We contacted her next of kin over an hour ago, a –" she checks her file, "Steven Rogers. He said he would be here as soon as possible."

"Please, just... tell me. Is it tuberculosis?" The words are choked out.

Before the receptionist can answer, there are loud footsteps in the hallway and Steve comes rushing around the corner, his breathing laboured. Bucky follows behind, and Isabel deduces that Steve had gone to get Bucky on the way to the hospital. Steve approaches the desk and gives the clerk his name. Isabel can't bring herself to look at her friend, fearing her eyes will give away the anxiety gnawing at her insides.

The receptionist calls for Sarah's doctor, and a few seconds later he emerges from one of the many hallways of the ward, discarding his gloves and mask in the quarantine bin. He approaches the group quickly, a clipboard in his hand, and adjusts his round glasses upon his nose.

"Steven Rogers?" He asks, eyeing Steve, most likely wondering about his age. "I'm Doctor Peters."

"My mother, what happened?" Steve asks, cutting to the chase. Peters hesitates, eyeing both Isabel and Bucky. "They're fine, they're family," Steve assures, his hand reaching out next to him. It brushes Isabel's and Isabel grasps it in her own, holding Steve's like a lifeline.

Peters nods, sighs, and runs a hand through his greying hair. "I've worked with your mother for many years. While I normally admire her stubbornness and drive, now I wish she would not be so independent. Your mother seemed fine, at most maybe suffering from a chest cold. She took some time off, said work was too much for her and she couldn't shake the virus. A few days later she came to me saying it was more than a cold. We ran some tests."

"She told me she was still working?" Steve mumbles, confusion rolling off his tongue. "She was still leaving the house every few days for a shift at the hospital?"

"She was attending the hospital, just not for her shifts. She has been coming here every few days for treatment."

"Treatment for what?" Steve asks quietly.

Isabel can't stand all of the doctor's bedside manner. She reaches forward and snatches the clipboard from the doctor's hand, skimming over Sarah's file until she finds the diagnosis. She doesn't tear her eyes away until the doctor forcefully takes the clipboard back from her.

"Your mother has tuberculosis," the doctor says, glaring at Isabel before turning a sympathetic glance back to Steve. "The diagnosis is quite severe. She is very sick, and she has been for many months. We thought we may be able to cure her tuberculosis, or at least make life more liveable whilst suffering from it, but judging by the state of her health today, she is getting worse, not better. Haven't you noticed anything out of the ordinary about her health?"

Steve nods at the doctor. He can't digest what he's being told. His mother has TB? But she'd told him that the doctor who'd come out to their apartment diagnosed her with the flu. Unless… of course. Sarah had lied so as to not worry Steve. She'd attended her tuberculosis treatments and pretended to be working. She had stayed away from him lately, wearing a mask when preparing food; she'd said it was so Steve didn't catch her virus, but now he knows it was so he didn't contract TB. He can't even imagine how sick she's been for the last few months, but she's pushed through it for him. Even when she was sick she still made sure he was well and dealt with his medications and doctor's appointments. She still worked as much as she could so she could give him everything he needed.

He has no idea when she got sick, but he knows how; working in the infectious diseases ward. If she knew that could be the case, why hadn't she told him? Now that he thinks back, she had been complaining of fatigue for weeks, coughing and spluttering and looking unwell, and when he'd asked about her she'd said she was fine. Steve tells the doctor all of this, and the doctor clicks his tongue.

"I won't sugar-coat it. Your mother is in bad condition. There is a chance that an earlier diagnosis and a hospital admission from the beginning could have seen her fully treated, but we all know money is tight nowadays, so it wasn't a possibility, and now we'll never know. Her lungs are failing her quite rapidly, Mr. Rogers. It is unfortunate that I must inform you to prepare that she may not last the night."

All three are silent, staring open mouthed at the doctor. What he said can't be true. Sarah Rogers is a fighter, just like Steve. There have been many nights when the doctors had said Steve would never make it, and yet he's still here today. Perhaps Sarah Rogers will pull an unimaginable feat.

"Mr. Rogers, you are cleared to see her. However, I cannot let your friends in. It's too risky." The doctor eyes the defeated-looking Barnes siblings. "I'm sorry, I understand how frustrating this is. I suggest anything you wish to say to Mrs. Rogers, you pass on through Steven." Peters doesn't wait for an answer, instead entering back into the ward and waiting for Steve at the entrance to the hallway.

Steve turns to his two friends. His exterior seems strong, but in his eyes, his fear and dread are evident. He squeezes Isabel's hand tightly. "What would you like me to tell her?"

"Tell her we will always be grateful for having her in our lives, and that we will watch out for your ass," Bucky replies solemnly, trying to lighten the situation by slapping Steve on the shoulder. Bucky knows Steve doesn't like relying on people for help, he's stubborn that way, but he hopes his unspoken promise to always be there for Steve is obvious.

"And that we love her so much, and thank you for everything she's taught us," Isabel adds quietly. She hugs Steve quickly, long enough to whisper in his left ear, the one without any hearing trouble: "It will be okay. No matter what happens, we will be here."

Steve nods appreciatively, heading off down the hallway with Peters. He puts on a mask and gloves as instructed, as well as scrub-like clothing over his own. Then, he disappears into a room on the right, the door closing behind him, and then near silence falls on the waiting room. Isabel and Bucky silently take seats and watch the goings on of the ward as the clock on the wall slowly ticks through the hours.

When Steve reemerges in the waiting room at a quarter past seven, he finds Bucky sat on one of the hard, plastic chairs, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward, his head in his hands. Isabel sits in the chair beside Bucky, dozing with her head on his shoulder, exhausted after her unfinished shift and the adrenaline rush from a few hours before. Her and Bucky had still held out hope that Sarah would pull through – until Isabel fell asleep, that was, and conversation about it diminished.

Bucky stands when he notices Steve, and the sudden movement wakes Isabel. She stands too, a little groggy, but notices Steve's eyes are glassy, his mouth pulled into a straight line.

"What's happened?" Isabel asks him quietly. A bad feeling has settled in the pit of her stomach.

"She's gone," is all Steve says.

Isabel's hands fly to cover her mouth in shock as a panging pain stabs her heart. Sarah Rogers had been like a second mother to Isabel and Bucky ever since they'd taken Steve under their wing. She'd had them over for dinner and bought them Christmas presents if she could afford it. She'd never questioned their friendship with Steve, never asked whether the children of a Jewish immigrant could befriend a Catholic. When Isabel was sixteen and her only boyfriend had broken up with her, Sarah had hugged her while she cried. Sarah had inspired her to be a nurse and to help people, after teaching her how to treat Steve's illnesses. It seemed like nearly every major life event Isabel had experienced, Sarah had somehow been a part of it. And now she's gone.

Isabel only takes a few seconds before she composes herself. She stops the tears before they fall, wiping a hand at her eyes. She has to work out how to deal with this. Steve is on his own now, he has no biological family left, but Isabel isn't about to let him feel that way. She needs to stay strong for him. Just as she feels herself calm, the tears threaten to emerge again. She curses inwardly at how much harder it is to disassociate when the patient is practically family.

Isabel watches as Bucky pulls Steve into a hug, more gentle than she has ever seen her brother be with Steve. Normally, Bucky doesn't hold back from his rough manhandling just because Steve is sickly. When they pull away, Steve's stare is hard and his eyes are cold. Bucky, always the more emotional of the two friends, turns away to let a few tears fall. Isabel is expecting Steve to break down at any moment, but she should know better. He is stubborn and strong and he isn't going to be caught crying in public.

"Stevie," Isabel whispers. "I'm so sorry."

There she goes with the nickname again. Any other time it embarrasses him, or is just a substitute for his normal name, but right now Isabel's use of the nickname leaks comfort and understanding and warmth, and follows on from her promise that she will always be there. Steve doesn't know if he can conceal his emotions with her like he could when Bucky hugged him, so when she moves toward him, he steps away.

"Can we go home?" He asks quietly.

"Of course," Isabel says, trying not to let the hurt show on her face at how Steve purposely stepped away from her. He just wants space, she reminds herself. She can't even begin to imagine what he is thinking, how he is feeling; just the number of things he will have to deal with is overwhelming enough. Instead of dwelling on it, the three of them set off toward Steve's apartment.

When Steve opens the door, the apartment immediately holds an eerie atmosphere. They expect Sarah to come through the kitchen and greet them when they enter, but everything stays silent. Steve trudges through the kitchen to the lounge and sinks into the cushions.

"Would you like us to give you some privacy?" Isabel asks from where her and Bucky still stand by the front door, unsure whether they should impose.

Steve nods his head and refuses to make eye contact, his bottom lip only trembling slightly in the pillows.

"Okay, Stevie. We'll come back tomorrow morning," Bucky says, taking Isabel's arm and leading her out of the apartment.

As the Barnes siblings make their way home through the chilly night air, Steve Rogers lays face down on the couch and muffles his scream with the cushion, soaking it with his tears within minutes. The world feels like its closing in on him, the blackness suffocating him. He cries and cries, feeling strangled by his own life and its circumstances, before the world goes black and he finally feels a sense of peace, letting sleep carry him away.

When Bucky and Isabel arrive home, Bucky heads straight for the liquor cabinet. He silently pours himself a glass of whiskey, a low-grade brand that's all they can afford, and downs it straight away in one gulp. The burn in his throat is almost comforting, and it makes him forget about everything that's happened that night just for a second. He pours another and turns to move to the couch, surprised to see Isabel standing silently in the doorway watching him. He'd thought she would hide out in her room. He pours another glass of whiskey and silently hands it to her.

"Good thing I'm old enough to drink, I have a feeling we'll be doing a lot of it," she whispers, taking the glass.

"Even if you weren't, I wouldn't snitch on you," Bucky tells her. "I'd tell you to have the drink, it ages you."

"Whiskey doesn't make you look older," Isabel deadpans, not understanding Bucky's joke.

"Oh, doesn't it just? Have you seen dad? I know he looks like a wreck, but he's really only thirty-five," Bucky retorts, but his voice doesn't seem to cooperate and the joke falls flat. Especially since George Barnes had a chronic drinking problem when he first came home from the Great War. Bucky probably should have seen that as a sign that war's just a major fuck-up in the mental department.

Isabel slowly sits beside Bucky, looking carefully at the whiskey in her hands.

"It's giggle juice. It'll make you feel better," Bucky tells her, downing his second glass.

She throws her head back and downs it quickly, wincing and screwing her face up at the burn in her throat and stomach. She puts the glass on the coffee table, looking at it in disgust. She's never had a whiskey before, and she doesn't care for it, though she's sure a few more glasses would see her feeling a little better, just like Bucky said. She doesn't have the time though because her face quickly turns to one of sadness, and tears begin to spill from her eyes.

"Hey, hey," Bucky says, fighting back his own tears. He grabs his sister's shoulder and pulls her into him, holding her tightly and resting his chin on top of her head. He wipes away some of her tears at one point, her mascara running down her cheeks. "A face like yours is too beautiful to be so sad," he tells her, and it just makes her cry a little harder.

They stay that way for a long while, until the grandfather clock in the corner has chimed twice on the hour, and Isabel starts to fall asleep on Bucky's shoulder.