16.

Brooklyn, New York City

October 15th, 1942

When the Barnes family reach the cemetery, they all pile out of their small black car. In just a few years when Becca's taller and can't sit on Bucky's lap anymore on their drives, they won't all be able to fit. They walk through the intricate gates and head to plot 109, where Sarah Rogers is to be buried. Winifred and George walk ahead with the twins, leaving their eldest son and daughter to fall behind.

Isabel taps Bucky's shoulder lightly to get his attention. "How do you think Steve is, really?" Isabel whispers. If anyone knows Steve best in the world, it's Bucky. They're practically one person.

Bucky sighs. "He's holding it all in. I'm just waiting for the flood gates to burst. And they have every right to. He just lost his only family."

"He has us."

"Of course, but it isn't the same," Bucky sighs again, running a hand over his face. "We need to make sure we remind him of that. We need to make sure he knows there are still people out there that care about him. And make sure he looks after himself."

Isabel nods in agreement, solemnly watching her feet as she scuffs them across the pavement, without the energy to actually lift them. They're nearing the middle of the cemetery now, grave plots surrounding them all on sides, waking down the paved path under the canopy of the trees.

"We should ask him to move in with us," Bucky decides suddenly. "He'll never be able to afford rent on his own."

"I know he can't, and I would in a heartbeat, but where is he going to sleep? And keep his stuff? We live with our parents, Bucky. The apartment is so squished already."

Bucky hesitates. "I know. But I've been thinking on this for a while now. Hear me out. I was thinking of moving out and getting an apartment, hopefully one that is much cheaper than the one Steve is in now. I can convince Steve to move in with me. Then, when I go off to war, I can send back part of my salary to help him pay the rent and just keep enough back to get me by, not that I'll need much over there. That way, when I come back, I'll have somewhere to live. I can afford it, especially if I have Steve helping to pay the rent. And it will clear some room for everyone else. Mom and Dad can have a room back rather than sleeping in the lounge, and you three can share or something."

"You know Steve will never go for that, he's too stubborn and independent," Isabel says, but the prospect of what Bucky is saying does sound appealing. It's true – if Bucky was to move out, the twins could share a room, Winifred and George could have a room, and Isabel could have the mattress in the lounge. There would be more money for food, and less expenditure for electricity and water with one less person in the house. But if Isabel was to move out too… "I want to come with you," she decides.

"What?"

"I want to move out, too. I've had the same thoughts as you. I could move in with Danny, but that's not exactly what I want. It's also frowned upon and something tells me I'm not ready to adjust to such a life of luxury as he lives. But no one's going to think bad of a brother and sister moving out to make room for their family. I can afford to move out on my own too, especially if we all do this together. It will make things easier for you and Steve if he decides to move in with you. Even when you go off to war, at least Steve won't be alone. And I agree, the family apartment is crowded. It always has been, ever since we moved in."

"Let's not rush into anything," Bucky decides. "We'll talk about it later. We'll talk to Steve," Bucky lets the subject drop, although he looks increasingly excited by the prospect. The day is much too solemn to be thinking of such exciting ideas, though the opportunity is only really coming about due to the loss of Sarah.

Bucky and Isabel finally reach the gathering crowd where the rest of the Barnes' arrived a few seconds earlier and take a place beside Steve, who is already there waiting for them. Bucky looks handsome in his hand-me-down suit, a navy-blue number that used to belong to George Barnes but no longer fits him, and Isabel stands on the other side in a black knee length dress. Steve feels a little messy beside Bucky's slicked back styling, with his jacket hanging off his thin shoulders, faded button up, his father's tie and uncooperative hair, which he hadn't had the strength to even try to tame it that morning.

The funeral is a small, affair; Steve doesn't have much money left over, and he hasn't inherited much from Sarah other than the apartment and furniture. Bucky chipped in as much as he could spare for the headstone, but Steve wouldn't take much more if it was offered. Steve has always been someone who doesn't want to be a burden on people. Since he has been so sickly and frail from his youth, he always feels guilty when people have to take care of him. He never wants to bother people, just tries to push on through like it's nothing. Therefore, almost throwing himself into bankruptcy, Steve managed to purchase the site for his mother beside his father in Green-Wood cemetery. The plot is positioned beneath a large oak tree, just off a newly laid gravel path, and the grass is littered with orange and brown dried leaves.

The funeral is a late afternoon session on a cool, windy Autumn day, the setting sun beating down on the backs of those attending the ceremony. The Barnes family, Steve, the members of Sarah's Irish book club and a few of Sarah's work colleagues stand around the casket. Throughout the ceremony, everyone has placed a flower or bouquet on top of the polished wood of the casket.

Despite the Priest's monotone sermon and thick Irish accent, the ceremony is soft and nice, just like the woman herself had been. A picture of Sarah sits on a portable easel behind the Priest, one of her and Steve when he had been a toddler. Isabel doesn't know who took the picture, maybe a friend, but whoever they were, they captured a beautiful moment. Both Steve and Sarah smile toothily at the camera, and even through the black and white of the photograph, everyone can see their blonde hair and blue eyes in their minds.

Even though people say lovely things about Mrs. Rogers, it all truly is horrible. It's something none of them ever wanted to see. Isabel and Bucky didn't ever want to be at the burial of a woman who had been like a mother to them, another parental figure to understand why they do what they do, and to support them, love them.

Isabel finds that the Priest's voice drones out, and she wonders where Sarah Rogers truly has gone. She likes to think it's somewhere nice, but how can she ever really be sure? Living between two religions and cultures all her life has always felt more like it's two different worlds. Sarah and Steve believe in Heaven, that she knows, and she thinks that sounds lovely. Maybe Sarah will become a bright star in the night sky, destined to look down on them all for eternity. That would sound nice, too, if she were from Ancient Greece. But she can't help but also remember what he mother had taught her about the Jewish afterlife, one of the only times Winifred had shared any of her Jewish traditions with her children. Isabel had been no older than seven, and Bucky had been there as well, but Isabel doesn't know if he remembers it.

"The time between life and death is extremely sacred," Winifred had said, petting her daughter's hair. "It marks the conclusion of the soul's journey on earth, but is also the beginning of the soul's eternal life in Heaven. When a person dies, every positive thought, word, or deed that occurred during their life is concentrated into a pristine spiritual light, which is revealed to the world and continues to shine down on those above and below."

"Like a guardian angel?" Isabel asked quietly.

"Kind of," her mother agreed. "Everyone is judged by the life they led. Those who have led perfect lives – those who were nice to others and did good things – they are let into the World to Come. Those who didn't must wait for one year to enter the World to Come. You must always be a good person, kotyonok, so that you may enter the World to Come right away."

No matter what is true, or what Heaven one believed in, Isabel has no doubts that Sarah Rogers has been allowed entrance. One as kind and pure and selfless as her would be guaranteed. She is just glad to know that Sarah's light will continue to shine on Steve, even though she may not be here physically.

As the Priest wraps up his sermon, the casket is slowly lowered into the already dug hole, the wooden coffin eventually disappearing from sight. Beside her, Isabel hears Steve release a deep breath that he'd been holding, his eyes more glassy than usual. She silently takes his hand in hers, interlocking their slim fingers. He stares at their hands for a moment before meeting her eyes, the corners of his mouth only lifting slightly in a smile. She squeezes his hand gently and returns a sympathetic smile.

Once the coffin settles into the ground below them, the few guests begin to make their departure. Steve hasn't planned a wake, hasn't planned an afternoon tea - he just couldn't bring himself to allow everyone into his home, into his mother's home. Everyone mumbles their condolences to Steve and place comforting hands on his shoulder as they pass, a few of Sarah's book club members pressing a kiss to his cheek, having known Steve since he was a bubbling baby.

As the Barnes' make to leave, Winifred embraces Steve tightly in a motherly hug, rubbing a comforting hand on his back. "You need anything, you just call," she offers through teary eyes, pinching Steve's cheek lightly the way she used to when he was young.

"Thank you, Fred," Steve whispers genuinely.

He accepts a hug from George as well, and then one from the twins, Becca's eyes red rimmed from crying despite hardly knowing Sarah Rogers. Steve holds little Becca tight and kisses her forehead before she pulls away, patting down her hair. Steve remembers the day Bucky came to him, said his mom was having twins, how annoyed Bucky had been because that meant he had to share his room. He remembers the first time he'd met Becca and Robbie, babies bundled up in thick blankets, holding little Becca in his arms as she cooed. Now she's not all that much shorter than him, looking increasingly like Winifred and Isabel as she gets older, crying before him just as she had the first day he'd met her. Steve finds it funny how at the loss of one life, he can be thinking about the gaining of another so long ago. It's almost ironic.

As Bucky and Isabel say goodbye to their family, promising to see them back at the apartment, Steve pets down Becca's hair, patting her cheek in reassurance. He then turns away and makes his escape, walking slowly back to his apartment alone.

His Ma is dead, and no matter how many times he says it to himself, he still can't believe it. Even as she was lowered into the ground he had to force himself to breathe, and the only thing grounding him had been Bucky's hand light on his shoulder and his fingers interlocked with Isabel's. Steve takes another deep breath and avoids the older Barnes' siblings, weaving away from Bucky's eyes that scan for him over the crowd leaving the cemetery. He wants to shut himself off again, scream into his pillow again and cry in a tiny ball.

But as he rounds the corner to ascend the steps to the apartment, he hears two pairs of footsteps behind him and he should have expected as much. Not only is Bucky tall enough to see over a crowd, they have also been following each other since they were ten and know each other like the palm of their own hand. Isabel is in tow, and she follows the two boys up the stairs.

"How do you think the service went?" Bucky asks eventually, breaking the silence.

"It was okay, she's buried next to Dad," Steve says quietly. Bucky nods, schooling his expression to hide how his heart has broken. He walks with a bit of a swagger, another tool he uses to hide behind. Sarah Rogers had known Bucky since he had missing baby teeth and was addicted to marbles. Behind him, Isabel wipes a tear from her cheek stubbornly. They are mourning her as well.

"I looked for you after. My folks could have given you a ride home," Bucky replies.

Steve can't imagine losing Mr. and Mrs. Barnes in the way Bucky and Isabel have lost his mother. They have always been there when Steve needed them with open doors and warm food. Bucky's bedroom was always welcome when Sarah worked late, or even when Steve was sick. They were, and still are, his surrogate family.

"It's okay," Steve says. "I didn't mind walking."

Bucky nods. "I was gonna ask–"

"I know what you're going to say, Buck," Steve says tiredly, interrupting him.

Bucky sighs, like he knew it was coming. Is he really that predictable? "We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids," he jokes.

"Or, Bucky and I were thinking of getting an apartment. You could have your own room," Isabel says seriously.

"Come on, it'll be fun, the three of us together. All you gotta do is shine our shoes, maybe take out the trash, pay a little bit of rent," Bucky adds.

"You're going to war, Buck. You don't need an apartment," Steve tells him.

"I may not ever end up going, Steve. I don't know when, or if, I'll be called up. I need somewhere to live in the meantime. You and Belle can live in it once I get shipped out." The three halt on the landing in front of Steve's door as he fumbles in his jacket pocket for his key. After a moment, Bucky kicks aside the brick sitting by the door and stoops to pick up the spare key, handing it to Steve. "Come on, Stevie."

"Thank you, guys. But I can get by on my own."

"The thing is, you don't have to," Bucky says, putting his hand roughly on Steve's shoulder. "I'm with you till the end of the line, pal. We both are."

Steve smiles at them, sad and grateful. They outwardly see his resolve dissolving. "I'll think about it."

Bucky seems satisfied with that answer, because he lets the conversation go as well as Steve's shoulder, turning back to smile smugly at his sister, who hadn't thought Steve would agree.

"Okay," Isabel says, breaking her silence. "Well, we'll leave you alone, if you want?"

"No!" Steve says, maybe a little too quickly. He feels panic rise in his stomach at the thought of them leaving. He'd wanted to be alone before, but now that they're here, he can't stand the thought of them leaving. "No, it's okay. Company would be nice," he corrects, finally jiggling the door open and entering. He hears the door shut behind him but doesn't pause in his step as he goes to the lounge. From beneath the couch he pulls out a pad and pencil. He decides to distract himself with art and try to exhaust some of his emotions onto the paper so that he can be of better company later. He begins scribbling, angrily, his face scrunched up in concentration.

Isabel and Bucky sit at the two-person dining table for hours, with Bucky doodling absentmindedly on a spare piece of paper. They hope that their presence will at least make this a little more bearable for Steve. They also silently wait for the moment when it will all be too much for Steve, and don't want him to be alone when he breaks down, but it doesn't seem to be coming. When the phone rings in the kitchen and Steve makes no move to answer, Bucky takes it off the receiver. Their mother is calling to find where they were, since neither of them had come home for dinner. When Bucky looks at the clock on the wall, he grimaces, seeing that it is past nine at night. Bucky reluctantly tells her he will come home right away

"That was Mom looking for us," he says to both Steve and Isabel. "I've also got work in the morning. I booked today off, but I didn't think about tomorrow, and Mr. Thomas isn't fond of no-shows. I'll come back as soon as I can, if you want me."

As Bucky puts his suit jacket back on and makes for the door, Steve's stomach plummets. If Bucky leaves, then Isabel will leave as well, and then he will really be alone. For the first time since his mother died, it hits him that she definitely isn't coming home, she isn't just on night shift at the hospital. He is completely and utterly alone. Isabel must notice his panic, because she volunteers to stay.

"Ma will understand," she says. "Besides, I have a few days off."

Bucky nods, apologises profusely, and makes his way out into the night. Isabel was planning on staying anyway. She doesn't want to let Steve out of her sight. Steve Rogers has no sense of self-preservation. He throws himself into dangerous situations without thinking of his own welfare, and that's when he's in a good state of mind. She hates to think what he might do now. Steve is not good at taking care of himself, not physically and definitely not emotionally.

When her stomach's rumbling becomes embarrassingly loud, Isabel wanders to the kitchen and makes a sandwich for herself and Steve with whatever she can find in the pantry. She leaves Steve's on a plate on the coffee table beside the couch, but it goes uneaten. She sits on the other couch, eating her sandwich slowly and thinking of ways she can talk to Steve, but finds she has nothing. What do you say to someone who is suffering with such a loss?

Abruptly, Steve stands up from the couch, leaving the sketch open on the armrest as he goes to his room. She hears his bed creak loudly as he topples onto it, and the crinkling of the sheets as he pulls them over his head. After a few moments, Isabel silently moves to carefully take the drawing in her hands. It's angry and emotive, full of all the things Steve was feeling at the time he drew it. But still, even with the messy lines and harsh shading, Sarah Rogers' face is so identical to the real person that Isabel almost thinks it's a photograph.

When they'd all first met, it had taken months for Steve to admit he was an artist, and even longer for him to begin sketching around them. Eventually, he would show them if he was asked, and now he shows his work to Isabel or Bucky without being prompted nearly every time. However, there are still some drawings he refuses to show, and neither of them push it. Isabel has no doubt that Steve left this in plain sight for her to view.

She gives Steve a few minutes, in which she also composes herself, before walking to his open bedroom door. She assumes that since it is open, it's an invitation for company. She peers inside, finding Steve buried in a mound of sheets and blankets, a cocoon where he can hide from the outside world like nothing has happened. Isabel sits lightly on the end of the mattress, by what she thinks are his feet. At the extra weight on the bed, Steve peeks out from the covers at the other end, and then sits up. His hair is even more tousled than usual from being under the sheets, his eyes bloodshot.

"You see it?" He asks hoarsely.

"Yes. It's beautiful."

Steve nods, rubbing his stinging eyes with his slim, artistic fingers. He slides his hand through his short blonde hair, making it stick up even more. "You really think I should move in with you guys?"

Isabel sighs and nods. "Yeah, I do. And I'm not just talking about the financial side of it. Steve, how are you going to be here alone? Everything is going to act as a reminder - the furniture, the memories of what used to happen. I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay."

"I would be fine," Steve argues.

"Okay, I'm just telling you what I think. It's up to you," Isabel reassures him.

Steve sighs loudly, sitting back against the headboard. He looks miserable, eyes wide and bottom lip pouted. His breathing is shaking as though he's fighting back sobs, his glassy eyes another giveaway.

"Stevie," Isabel begins carefully. "It's okay to not be okay."

Steve stares at her for a minute before his bottom lip trembles. His eyes well, and he pleads silently for them to stop, but the tears just kept coming and before he knows it, he's all out sobbing.

"Move over," Isabel commands softly and Steve complies, sliding to one side of the single bed. Isabel removes her heels and climbs in between the blankets, ignoring her mother's voice in her head telling how inappropriate this is. She grabs Steve around the shoulders and holds him tightly, rubbing a hand up and down his arm. He leans against her shoulder and cries into the material of her dress, letting her run her fingers through his hair, hushing him quietly.

Eventually she leans back against the bed and takes Steve with her, intent on lying down since her back is screaming at her, sitting in such a position. Steve immediately sits upright, breaking out of her grasp. Truthfully, she'd fully expected Steve to reject her offer.

"What about Danny?" Steve asks, thinking of how angry the larger man would be if he knew Steve was snuggling up to his girlfriend.

"I don't care about Danny right now, I care about you," Isabel tells him, and opens her arms just a little bit, silently telling him she doesn't mind either way.

Steve only hesitates for a second. It had felt so good before to be in her arms, to just let himself cry. It feels good not to be alone.

She's lying down on her back, so he lays down on his side next to her, resting his head against her shoulder. He keeps his body distanced from her own, as much as he can on the single bed to retain some sense of decency. Once he's settled, Isabel's arm underneath him wraps tighter around his bony shoulders, clutching him tightly. Isabel's cheeks heat up at what she's done, but it's too late to back out now. She reasons that Steve needs this more than she needs to worry about etiquette. Steve's tears quickly soak her shoulder again, and before she totally loses her nerve, she holds out her free hand for Steve to take. He holds it tightly, and Isabel holds their interlocked fingers close to her shoulder, just below Steve's chin.

Sobs rack Steve's body as Isabel holds him, vowing to herself that she will hold on until Steve decides to let go. Hours pass, and by the time Steve calms, he feels like he will never have enough tears to cry again. His throat burns, his eyes are red raw, and his nose is blocked. When he can think straight again, he immediately feels embarrassed for his outburst and for acting like this in front of Isabel, and then sharing his bed with her. His face and the tips of his ears turn red.

He looks up at her face to find she's looking up at the ceiling, her own eyes red rimmed. She is absentmindedly tracing patterns on the back of his hand, and now that he notices it, he realises she has been doing it the whole time and it's surprisingly calming.

"I told her what you said," Steve whispers.

Isabel doesn't say anything, but the shift of her hand lets Steve know she heard him.

"She said she loved you and Bucky like you were her own children. That you helped make her life complete."

Steve feels Isabel's shoulder shudder in what he thinks is a sob, and then hears her sniff.

"Thank you," she finally whispers.

After a few minutes, Steve takes a deep breath. "Ma told me she was proud of me," he notes uncertainly.

Isabel shifts then, rolling onto her side to face Steve. She doesn't remove his arm from under his head, nor does she let go of his hand, holding it underneath her own chin now. She looks into his eyes, searching them. "You didn't believe her?"

What did Sarah Rogers have to be proud of in her only son? Steve can't think of any reasons; he's sickly and was only given a life expectancy of 30 years. He gets beat up on a weekly basis because he can't seem to keep his damn mouth shut. He doesn't have a job, or his own home, or a dame to call his own at the age of twenty-four. Steve settles for just shaking his head no.

"Well, she was. And so am I. For so many reasons," Isabel reassures.

They are silent then, listening to the sounds of the city outside Steve's window. Sirens still pass frequently, even at the ungodly hour they are still awake at. The open curtains give Steve an unobstructed view over Isabel of the street outside and the night sky above the opposite buildings. Steve stares outside, committing the image to memory. Soon, he feels sleep creeping up on him and he welcomes it, hoping for an escape from this horrible reality, even if it is only for a few hours.

"I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be the other way around," he says in his sleep induced state, referring to the fact that Isabel has been holding him the last few hours, gesturing between them awkwardly with the hand that is holding Isabel's.

Isabel laughs lightly. "Doesn't matter." Her own voice sounds tired, as though she is keeping herself awake to be with him.

Steve moves off Isabel's arm, curling up in the blankets facing her. Isabel winces as the pins and needles start up in her arm. She sits up and moves it a bit, then starts to untangle herself from the blankets, getting up to go sleep on the couch. Steve's hand on her arm makes her pause.

"You don't have to, but you can stay here if you want." He tries to make it sound like an offer, like he isn't fussed either way, but the underlying message is clear: don't leave me alone.

Isabel nods, and settles back down, laying on her side so she is facing Steve again. She pulls the blankets around her, resembling a sleeping bag, and tucks her hands under her chin. Inches from her, Steve's breathing has slowed considerably, his eyes closed. She watches him as he slowly falls asleep, his features softening as his peaceful dreams push away the pain of the week's events.

"Don't tell Bucky about this," Steve slurs suddenly, his last thought before unconsciousness takes over.

"I won't," Isabel whispers. Steve's gentle snore follows right after.