26.

United States

August 8th, 1943

The USO Tour drags on as Steve is driven and flown from state to state. Brandt puts him up in classy hotels every night, Isabel in an adjacent room, and they practically have access to anything they desire.

Isabel spends the first few times in the various hotel rooms staring at the room itself, in awe of how expensive and fancy it seems compared to the life she lived in Brooklyn. Their second night she runs herself a full bath, not having to worry about the price of the water, and pours in all of the soapy liquids along the cabinet, sitting in the bubbly tub for over an hour, just relaxing. She would've gotten out earlier had Steve not knocked on the door to her room, making her hurry out of the tub to get dressed.

Over the months, Steve spends his days rehearsing new scenes and learning the women's dance choreography so he doesn't get in the way. He films various news reels and movie clips and poses for posters and photographs.

As the icon travels the country, he gains momentum in fame, appearing in newspapers and comics that sell off the shelves within minutes. He spends his evenings performing, doing one show and then eventually two every night in each state to a roaring crowd of super-fans decked out with their own helmets and stars. The shows gradually become more extravagant, adding scenes and even a motorcycle that Steve holds above his head, complete with three women sat on its leather seat.

After each show there's a meet and greet for those who buy war bonds, where Steve spends hours taking pictures with babies and children and signing the autograph he'd learned over and over on books, comics, pictures, and even people's arms. All the while he starts to become more comfortable in his new role, smiling while he's performing and making easy conversation at the meet and greets, not even freezing by the time he holds his twentieth baby, giving it a kiss on the cheek for the camera.

Isabel watches the shows from the crowd, seated somewhere toward the back of the auditorium where there's less people. She smiles and watches Steve blunder around, still not entirely coordinated in his new body. Eventually she finds herself singing that disastrous song, the tune getting stuck in her mind and repeating itself day in, day out. It's enough to make anyone go insane.

After the shows, she waits patiently as Steve does his meet and greets, waiting for him in his dressing room or watching from the side of the stage. She hardly sees Steve for more than an hour at a time, save for watching him on stage and at odd moments here and there, when they are mainly flanked by someone else. It feels as though Steve hasn't been left alone since he emerged from the chamber, always being questioned or interview or fitted for a new pair of red boots or being updated on a change to the script. Isabel watches him sigh in defeat, accepting her isn't going to get that twenty-minute break to do some sketching, and answer their questions and listen to Senator Brandt's rambling, grateful for this opportunity but oh so sick of it at the same time.

Still, Isabel keeps herself busy, sending letters to her family and to Bucky. Her parents flip when they find out that the Steve Rogers touring the country as Captain America whose face is plastered in magazines and in the commercials before the talkies start is actually their Steve, the skinny kid from Brooklyn they've watched stumble through life, so different to his confident persona onstage. They ask hundreds of questions, which at first Isabel is unsure whether she can answer. She asks Brandt and finds out she is cleared to tell them whatever she wants. She has a feeling that's just the Senator rebelling against the strong hold the Army tries to maintain over Steve, and so keeps the facts to a minimum, playing upon what they'd already told them before the experiment occurred. She tells them to keep looking out for Steve on the radio and in magazines, and every now and then they send her a pamphlet or a book where his image has been printed, or a newspaper article about his success.

She gets letters back from her family, but never from Bucky. She'd expected to get one back very soon from Bucky after she'd told him what Steve had done. She'd expected him to be angry too, confused, scared, the works. But she never got a reply, nor to the other five or six she's sent since. It doesn't sit right in her stomach, since he'd promised to always write, but she supposes that letters get lost in the mail all the time, and the front is notoriously hard to get letters delivered to in some areas. She hasn't heard of any other letters being sent home, so she doesn't let herself worry. No news is good news.

When she isn't writing home or the front, she's reading up on her medicine, analysing the data she gets from examining Steve. Every Monday morning, Brandt gives her time to fulfil Erskine's wish without interruption. They eat breakfast together on Steve's bed, taking the time to talk. She then drags Steve into the bathroom. He sits patiently on the closed toilet seat, looking way too large for the cramped space, and Isabel sets up the medical kit on the counter by the sink. She takes a small vial of Steve's blood, checks his vital signs, and takes his bodily measurements, looking for any changes that may indicate that the serum is failing or only temporary.

Steve eventually goes off with Brandt when he comes a-knocking, looking regretful, and Isabel stays at her hotel room a little longer with her test kits, continually working from the bathroom. Luckily there are never any changes, Steve seemingly going to stay Captain America for the undetermined future. She writes down her results in one of Erskine's books she'd found amongst his things and then flushes the blood sample down the toilet, sanitising the bathroom each time. Stark had told her she had to be extremely careful with any samples from Steve, considering the serum could be replicated from his blood. She checks and double checks every time, paranoid she'll leave a trace behind.

One morning, Isabel decides she needs more time to investigate the changes in Steve. "I need you a little longer this morning, so when Brandt comes, I need you to tell him you aren't ready yet."

"Why? What are we doing?" Steve asks, shoving another croissant in his mouth, unable to stench his hunger.

"I've been taking your vitals and your measurements but it isn't enough to really understand the physical changes you've undergone with the serum. It's clear from your first day with the serum when you chased the agent through Brooklyn that you have enhancements, but we don't have any idea of what. We need to do some physical, exercise-based tests. Erskine said he took note of how you performed at boot camp, and Howard was kind enough to have it delivered to me a few days ago. So, we're going to replicate the tests and see how you do now. It still won't be enough to understand the full scope of your abilities, and maybe you never will, but at least it's a start."

Steve agrees and leads Isabel down to the stage area, not even waiting for Brandt to come and find him to inform him where they're going. She sits cross-legged on the hard-wooden ground of the stage, putting the open notebook in her lap and sorting out her pencil sharpening it beside her. She reads over Erskine's notes, seeing the different exercises they were rigorously tested in.

"Your asthma wouldn't have liked this," she notes.

"Doesn't matter anymore. I don't think my asthma stuck around," Steve answers, running on the spot to warm up.

"Okay, first up was push-ups. Says here you could only manage five before you started to struggle, and eight before you couldn't manage anymore." Isabel looks up at Steve and eyes his thick arm muscles. "Bet you a dollar you can beat that."

"Nice try," Steve deadpans, getting down into the push-up position. He begins, moving up and down easily with a bend of his elbows. "How long do I keep going for?" He asks, his breath not even quickening even as he passes the one hundred mark.

"Don't know, I guess until you start to feel muscle fatigue?" Isabel asks. "We'd be here all day if I said until you collapsed."

Steve throws her a sloppy salute with one hand while still pumping one-armed push-ups with the other. Isabel tries not to watch as he does push-up after push-up, the strain of his arm muscles, the strength of his tight back, but its so hard to look away. She doesn't want to get caught staring so eventually she forces her eyes away, back down to the notebook, and makes notes about the changes. Steve makes it to the one thousand mark quite a few minutes later before he gets up.

"My arms feel slightly fatigued, but it's nowhere near unbearable. I'm sure I could go another thousand or more before it becomes a pain, and even then I could probably continue," Steve informs her, smiling at the success of his efforts. Isabel writes it all down in the notebook.

"Jumping jacks?" She asks, and Steve begins dutifully, jumping up and down and bouncing the dust around on the stage. She watches a few minutes, the bouncing almost rhythmic. "We'll be here forever," Isabel eventually mumbles, and Steve jumps a little faster, not once breaking his perfect posture. He reaches a thousand jumping jacks as well before he stops, saying he could keep going all day, only a few beads of sweat on his brow.

Isabel gets up off the ground and flattens out her skirt, her backside and legs uncomfortably numb from sitting on the floor. "Okay, so you're super fit," she says, writing those exact words down in the notebook. "I'd suggest seeing how far and fast you can run, but we're working with minimal space. Let's see how high you can jump. A no running start, flat footed jump. I'll just have to estimate."

She watches as Steve stands with his feet apart, bends his knees, and springs upward some ten feet into the air, landing effortlessly on his feet again. "What the hell?" She breathes, mouth hanging open. Steve repeats the jump, this time getting a little higher than the last. He almost manages to grab hold of the catwalks hanging over the top of the stage. He could probably haul himself up there if he wanted.

"You gonna write it down?" Steve asks with a cheeky smile, apparently very pleased with his new abilities.

"Uh, yeah," Isabel replies, quickly scribbling it down. "How is this even possible?" She mutters to herself.

"What's next?" Steve asks, bouncing around with energy to burn.

"We don't know anything about your healing factor but I don't want to test that out. I'd rather not inflict any harm on you, unless you deserve it," she adds with a wink. "So, we'll move on. We've kind of established what kind of weights you can lift, and with ease too. You held an eight-hundred-pound motorcycle above your head with one arm and with three women sitting on top of it, and you didn't even bat an eye to it or break a sweat. I think super-strength is almost an understatement."

"True," Steve replies. "It strained a little bit, but it wasn't unbearable. Would've been much easier to hold with both hands."

"You could pick a person up like they're a feather," Isabel says in astoundment.

"Like this?" Steve asks cheekily, standing in front of Isabel in two long strides and grabbing her under her armpits. He lifts her easily and gently, as though she weighs nothing, her feet dangling above the floor. Isabel grabs his forearms to steady herself. "Steve," Isabel laughs awkwardly. "Put me-"

"I reckon if we went dancing I could do some of those whack spins and jumps the men do."

"Probably," Isabel agrees, a little breathless.

Steve tries something, though Isabel wouldn't call it a dance move. He spins in a circle, taking Isabel with him, her skirt flaring in the wind. She laughs and so does he. When he stops spinning her legs keep swinging like a rag doll, flicking to one side before coming to a stop. He puts her down carefully, though she's a little dizzy and hangs onto him for a moment.

"Never thought you'd do that spin me round like I was a four year old, but here we are," Isabel laughs.

"Life is mysterious. You'll never know where you'll end up."

"This gives me an idea. You're strong enough, easily. Maybe you could start you own one-man furniture removals business if the Captain America soldier expedition falls through," Isabel suggests, smirking at Steve. "Keep the uniform too. The Star-Spangled Mover with a Plan. How easy would it be for you to lug a sofa up a staircase? Or an icebox? You are going to get so many help calls from family and friends in the future."

"Ha ha, can't wait," Steve deadpans.

"Rogers?" A voice bellows from the far side of the auditorium, and Steve and Isabel spin around to face the voice, watching as Senator Brandt storms down the row and makes his way onstage. "Where the hell have you been? I've been looking all over!"

"I've been here, sir. Isabel and I were testing my abilities."

"Oh, that's just great, except that you're due to start filming a film reel ten minutes from now at a film lot that's a twenty-minute drive away. Hurry up, you can get your uniform on in the car," Brandt berates, and then turns and storms back out the auditorium.

While Steve is off filming, pretending to be running through war-town European towns, dodging fake explosions, and having photos taken of himself in uniform pointing at the camera in Uncle Sam fashion, Isabel is left at the stage to keep writing notes in Erskine's journal and to entertain herself. It's a usual experience, since she's left alone quite a lot. Eventually she always grows bored and leaves the location, spending a few hours walking around the latest city they are visiting, watching the people and admiring the buildings and parks. She realises that even though the city is her home, not any city will do. No matter how beautiful or similar, nowhere will be equal to New York City, or at least, not for her.

Eventually after walking around a while she gets lonely, wishing she weren't having to walk alone, and always makes it back to the auditorium in time to wish Steve luck before his show.

By the end of each night, when all of the viewers have left and the meet and greets have wrapped up, Steve goes back to his dressing room to change back into casual clothes. Brandt had sent Isabel out to shop for a whole wardrobe for Steve after the success of the serum since none of his old clothes had a chance of fitting. Shopping for undergarments had been especially awkward. Once Steve is dressed and ready, and Brandt has given him any breaking news since he last saw him before the show, Steve and Isabel are driven back to their hotel and left to their own devices for the rest of the night, which usually isn't long.

Augusta, Maine

September 12th, 1943

Steve holds the door open for Isabel as she clambers out of the car into the cool night air. He closes it behind her and waves the driver off, leaving them alone on the sidewalk.

"You hungry?" Steve asks. "We could get dinner somewhere?"

"Sure," Isabel agrees, looking around the street they're standing on.

There's a small diner on the corner, similar to their local hangout in Brooklyn, and they both decide on it, heading inside. They take a seat at a booth, Steve facing away from the open room to avoid being recognised. They take a gander at the menu and order, the waitress not even batting an eyelid at the familiar-looking blonde.

"So, we head back to New York tomorrow for your last show," Isabel notes, taking a sip of her Coke. She savours it, since it was always a delicacy for them growing up.

"I know. Feels a little surreal. We've done so much in so little time."

"Well, you have," Isabel laughs.

"You haven't been too lonely, have you? I feel like I've neglected you," Steve admits, looking guilty.

"Don't be silly, Steve. You don't need to entertain me every second of the day."

"But you have been lonely?" He pushes.

"Maybe a little at times. Leaving New York was hard at first. But I've kept in touch with my family through letters. And there's a purpose behind all this. I've been ensuring Doctor Erskine's work doesn't go unattended. You've been selling War Bonds. We're making a difference. That makes it worth it," Isabel tells him, smiling assuredly.

Steve nods at her. "If you're sure."

"I am." A pause. "What do you think will happen once tomorrow night is over?"

"Not sure, anything could happen, knowing Brandt," Steve sighs. "I hope I don't get demoted back to lab rat."

"You wouldn't let that happen, and neither would I," Isabel disagrees. "I don't think Agent Carter would either if she found out. Phillips may see you as a bit of a dancing monkey right now, but we all know you could snap him in two with your pinky finger. You'd be a critical asset to the war effort with your brute strength and strategist mind, he just doesn't see it yet. I bet if you tried to enlist again you'd get sent straight to the front before anyone could even ask where you'd run off to."

"I don't doubt that either," Steve says, thanking the waitress when she puts his burger and fries down in front of him. He looks at it sceptically, since it definitely won't be enough to satisfy his enormous appetite. He takes a big bite of his burger, his stomach rumbling as they sit there.

"I'd like to see you snap Phillips in half," Isabel mutters, before taking a delicate bite of her burger.

"Of course, you would," Steve laughs.

"Don't act like you wouldn't like it," Isabel tells him.

Steve doesn't answer, but his sheepish grin gives away his distaste for the gruff Colonel. "Are we going to see your family once we're back in New York?"

"I doubt we'll have time tomorrow since we only get in two hours before the show starts, but maybe the next day, supposing you're allowed to leave the premises."

"I'm sure Brandt can let me out for a few hours."

"Are you sure? He's got you on a pretty tight leash." Steve doesn't reply, but he doesn't argue. "Here, you can have the rest of mine, I'm full," Isabel offers, pushing her plate toward Steve, who's already cleared his own. He eats the remaining half of hers, and then ends up ordering another, the waitress looking at him both in surprise and disgust.

Steve insists on paying the bill, having come into a large sum of money for his work so far, and then holds the door open for Isabel as they make their way into the night. The air is cool, and they're both without jackets. As they walk the block back to the hotel, Isabel takes Steve's offered arm, threading her hand into the crooked of his elbow and leaning into his warmth.

"You're like a radiator," Isabel laughs, holding his arm tightly. She can't help but think how good he'd be to cuddle, with his warmth and solidity.

"It certainly will come in handy in winter," Steve says.

They enter the lobby of the hotel and make their way up to their floor in the elevator, standing shoulder to shoulder. The doors open and they take out their room keys, opening the doors at the same time.

"If you want, you can come in with me for a while?" Steve offers. "We can listen to the radio, do some drawing, write a letter to Bucky?"

"Okay," Isabel says, her heart aflutter. "I'll be right in, I'll just put my purse away."

Steve nods and they disappear into their own rooms. Steve halts when he sees a figure sitting in the chair in the corner of his room. Senator Brandt stands up, looking guilty. "Sorry for imposing on your hotel room, Steve, but I have the spare key."

"That's okay," Steve says carefully. "Was there a reason for your visit?"

"Actually, yes. I need to discuss with you the next stage of the USO Tour."

"The tour is continuing?"

"Yes, to the European front. We won clearance."

Just at that moment, the front door flies open and Isabel walks in, her arms filled by a book to write in, various ink pots and some photographs and pamphlets to include in the letters. "I got the– Oh, Senator Brandt. Hi."

"Hello, Miss Barnes," Brandt says. "You may as well be included in this conversation too, since it will affect you. Take a seat."

Isabel awkwardly puts the stationary down on the desk and sits on the end of Steve's bed beside Steve, Brandt sitting again in the chair in the corner. She looks questioningly at Steve, who shrugs in return. "The USO Tour has been cleared to travel to the European front. To perform to the soldiers in the infantries," Brandt explains.

"Are you sure they'll like that?" Steve asks sceptically. "Won't they think I'm a bit of a joke?"

"Of course not, you're an American hero."

"A hero who's never fought or experienced any type of battle and can't imagine half of the things those men have been through. With respect, sir, all I've done is sell war bonds and done a little song and dance. They'll never go for it."

"They will, Rogers. You don't need to worry. You just need to wear the costume and say the lines." Brandt clears his throat. "The new show has already been planned. There's hardly any props or choreography, and only six of the original twenty dancers are coming along, so you won't need to worry about being in their way. It's only slightly similar to the original so you'll have a new script to learn. I have it here. It has been modified to accommodate the soldier's circumstances, obviously. We are not promoting war bonds, but comradeship, morale, and continued contribution and loyalty to the Allied war effort."

Steve looks unsure. "Sir, I–"

"You'll be closer to the battle," Brandt tells him quietly. "I'm on your side, Steve. I myself can see this isn't what you were made for. I'm trying to help you here, kid."

Steve looks up at Brandt. He seems to contemplate this, because he nods his head. "Okay, I'm in. When do we leave?"

"You'll fly out tomorrow night after the final New York show. That way we'll be in Europe by the next day."

"We don't get a night in New York?" Isabel asks, her voice solemn.

"No, unfortunately not. The timeline and budget doesn't allow for it. I suppose you are going to Europe too, Miss Barnes? You are still keeping to your own agenda? Not staying in New York?"

"Yes, I'm still employed by the SSR to monitor Steve's vitals. I can't very well do that from New York when he's somewhere in France," Isabel says sourly, upset at the thought of not seeing her parents and siblings again.

"Actually, Italy is our first stop after the London show. Those boys are in dire need of a morale boost." Brandt stands up, slapping his hands on his upper legs as he does. "Well, it's settled then. We have a five-hour drive to New York tomorrow, followed by your two performances, and then the flight to London leaves at eleven. It'll be a long day, so get your beauty sleep." With that, Brandt lets himself out, leaving the two friends sitting on the end of the bed.

"Looks like we're going to Europe," Isabel mutters, staring at the door after Brandt.

"Looks like it."

Manhattan, New York City

September 12th, 1943

Steve wraps up his final show in his home city to a tremendous applause, fireworks exploding in the sky above him. He holds the motorcycle above his head, a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. Despite the embarrassment and unfulfillment of the USO Tour, it has been his chance to get closer to his goal, has strengthened his confidence immensely and has allowed him the precious time to adjust to his new body. He's also been able to be of some help to the war effort, having sold enough war bonds to seemingly keep the Army going for years to come.

The lights go down and the curtain closes, and Steve easily puts the motorcycle down, the girls jumping off. They file off the stage, Steve at the back of the pack, pulling his cowl off of his head. He finds Brandt at the side of the stage, who ushers him downstairs to a private room for the final meet and greet of the American leg of the USO Tour.

"There likely won't be meet and greets on the front, so this may very well be your last. Make the most of it, and remember these people paid extra for this experience. There's going to be a few photographers this time for the newspapers, but don't let them distract you," Brandt tells him, guiding him to his position. "Put your cowl back on," he tells Steve, helping him pull it down over his blonde hair. They both then look up as the door to the room is opened by an aid. "Ah, in come the ladies."

A flock of women and children enter through the single door, the children dressed in Captain America merchandise, all battling for front position to meet the iconic hero.

"People please, remain civil! Form a line, you will all get your turn," Brandt calls out, herding them into a neat line and stopping them from clogging each other into the door frame as Steve starts signing autographs and posing for pictures.

Steve slowly makes his way through the fans, his hand cramping from its grip on the pen and his eyes stinging from the flash of the camera. The children beam up at him and throw themselves into his arms for photos, and he knows the women would do the same was there not a security guard to Steve's right keeping them in step. Instead, they bat their eyelashes at him and smile seductively, appreciating his physique in the costume and making him blush profusely, which only makes them giggle more. He just smiles back at them and signs "Captain America" in fancy cursive on their items of propaganda, posing for the photographs and ignoring the fact that their hands seem to flit very close to his spangle-clad behind.

He pushes through the seemingly never-ending crowd of women and children, eventually nearing the end of the line, when one photographer yells out to him.

"Hey, Cap! Who's the girl? She's been everywhere on this tour, she your girl?" Steve looks up in confusion, then follows the man's eye line, finding Isabel waiting patiently behind him with Brandt. She looks up too, glancing questioningly at Steve's stare. The flash goes off and she looks to the cameraman in surprise, while the photographer smiles, knowing he's just captured Captain America staring at an unknown woman who's been present for the entire tour.

"We'll make no comment," Brandt answers for Steve, though the statement alludes to more than an answer would have. Isabel puts her face in her hands, embarrassed. This is sure to be in the paper tomorrow. Steve signs his final autograph for a young boy, ruffling his hair good-naturedly. The boy runs back to his mother, excitedly showing her the paper, and she smiles thankfully at Steve, who fake salutes her for show.

The aid closes the door to the room, ushering the photographers out. Isabel follows Steve back to his dressing room, where he has to hurriedly get changed so they can make their flight. He changes while Isabel waits outside, both of them still mulling over Brandt's comment. When Steve opens the door, he's also holding both of their suitcases, which they'd brought with them to the theatre. Isabel goes to take hers off him, but he waves her away. "I got it."

"Oh, Captain, how strong you are," Isabel imitates the other women who got an autograph, touching his bicep in wonder. "And so brave. You really know how to dazzle a woman. If only you had a free hand so that you could sign an autograph for me."

"Doll, you can have an autograph anytime," he replies in a Brooklyn drawl, sounding an awful lot like womaniser Bucky. Steve laughs at her antics and at his own response, but immediately falls serious again. "You know that picture will be in the paper tomorrow? Everyone is going to see your face."

Isabel sighs. "I know. The photographer asked if I was your girl. You can bet that'll be mentioned somewhere if it isn't the headline."

"They're going to imply some pretty awful things," Steve warns sympathetically. "A single woman travelling with her male friend across the country without an escort."

"This isn't 1899, Steve. A woman can be friends with a man," Isabel laughs.

"I know that, but not everyone else does. If you want, we can ask Brandt to release a statement. Put the rumours to bed?"

"Not a very good analogy, Steve," Isabel laughs. "But yes, I know. The media can be cruel, but we'll deal. Don't worry about getting Brandt to say something, he normally does more damage than good. The only reason the USO Tour was so successful under his leadership is because he was behind the curtain with the lighting crew and not on the stage. It'll be fine."

"Okay, I won't say anything," Steve agrees.

"I just hope it wasn't a bad photo. He rather caught me off guard."

They would end up seeing the photograph a few days later when it gets sent to them by Brandt. It isn't too bad, Isabel has to admit. She just looks a little confused and Steve looks a little embarrassed. "Captain America's girl?" The headline asks. "Who is the mystery love interest? How will she help Captain America in his quest for freedom and justice?" Isabel cringes and throws the newspaper back into Brandt's hands.

"You had to say it," she tells Brandt, shaking her head.

Neither Isabel nor Steve had ever been on a plane before the USO Tour. Most of the legs of the tour had been driven, and they'd therefore spent a lot of time in cars and on busses, but the longer journeys had to be made by plane to save time.

Their first experience in an air plane had been interesting on the flight from Florida to Tennessee. They'd both been a little frightened by the loud noises and feeling of weightlessness that came with flying, but by the end were accustomed to the feeling, intrigued by the view of paddocks and farmland below them when they'd looked out the window. By the end of the tour, they considered themselves professionals at the flying game. They knew how the check in worked, the baggage claim, and the ins and outs of boarding the plane and the plane ride itself. It was a pretty surreal feeling for two city kids who'd never left the state before that time.

When they settled in for their long-haul flight that night, they had no idea how different it would be. They were aware it would be tiresome and boring, considering the flying time was over eighteen hours, but they had preparations to combat that. Steve had his sketchbook and Isabel had multiple novels all shoved into Steve's backpack. However, despite the airline's cheerful advertising and top-notch service, the air travel is far from comfortable.

Steve himself is much too big for the seats, so he takes the aisle at first, his shoulders tight and squashed into himself so that he doesn't lean into the aisle. Half an hour in Isabel puts the arm rest up so that Steve can lean toward her side more, since she barely takes up any room in comparison.

They try not to think about how expensive their seats were, especially when the food is brought out and they can't even believe their eyes when they're presented with a steak, potato and vegetables on a silver platter.

"I don't think I've ever eaten a steak like this before," Isabel all but drools, digging in immediately.

The flight itself is awfully loud, cold and unsettling. For a first-class ticket, it doesn't feel first-class at times. The engines emit a loud hum and rattle the entire flight, the wind howling against the windows. The cabin isn't pressurised, so the plane flies at a low altitude, meaning it is bounced around a lot by the wind and the weather. Without the bouncing, Isabel thinks you could almost forget you were flying through the sky hundreds of feet above the ground.

Part way through the flight, while Steve is sketching and Isabel is reading her book, neither of them tired enough to sleep despite how late the hour would be back in New York, the Captain of the plane announces they are flying into a storm. Steve puts away his sketchbook to save it from damage, Isabel putting her book in the seat-back in front of her. The plane begins to bounce around dangerously, dropping and lifting through the sky and causing their stomachs to sink as though they were on a roller coaster. Isabel grabs Steve's hand in panic, holding it tight, imagining all the scenarios of the plane going down and them falling to their deaths and drowning in the ocean below. Steve puts his other hand over hers too, rubbing circles into the back of her hand comfortingly, not showing his worry outwardly for her sake.

"Don't worry," he tells her with a cheeky smile. "If the plane goes down, I'll kick a hole in the side of the plane and jump out when we are about to hit the water. You can ride on my back and I'll swim us far enough to be safe, and then I'll just lay back and you can use me as a flotation device until someone finds us."

"I'm glad you have a plan at the ready, but it's still not comforting, Steve," Isabel hisses.

"No one's going to let Captain America drown in the middle of the ocean," Steve reassures. Isabel glares at him. She puts down her window blind that she can't see the darkness outside, the black ocean only just visible in the expanse below.

They pass through the apparent storm and emerge out the other side, the plane returning to its normal rhythm, and Isabel eventually relaxes.

"We need to sleep," Isabel tells him. "Brandt will probably have you working as soon as we land." They look to the seat behind them where Senator Brandt and his aid sit, both of them asleep with their mouths open, snores escaping them. How they slept through the storm, they'll never know. "They'll be bright eyed and bushy tailed and we'll look like we haven't slept in two years."

Steve laughs and agrees, settling back in his seat with his head against the headrest. He is still for a while before he starts shuffling, unable to get comfortable sitting up so straight. Isabel lies there too with her eyes closed, but she's too wary of all the sounds and the movement of the plane, of Steve rustling beside her, and the fact that her backside is going numb from sitting on it so long. The plane is also freezing, the blanket hardly doing anything to fight the chilly air of the cabin.

"Why is this flight so long? I'm tired and cold. I just want to lie down," Isabel eventually groans, leaning her head on Steve's shoulder. Her tiredness is starting to make her grouchy, but she can't make herself sleep.

"It would've been nine days on a ship," Steve reminds her, his eyes still closed.

"Least we would've had a room and a bed and our own toilet," Isabel grumbles. "Why don't you take the window seat so you can lean against the wall of the plane with a pillow? At least then you'd have more room," Isabel offers.

Steve hesitates. "No, it's okay. You lean against the wall."

"Steve–"

"I don't need as much sleep as you do. If I sit here long enough, I'll probably doze off."

Isabel rolls her eyes. "I'm not the one who's been performing and practising all day and all night," she argues, unbuckling her seat belt. She stands up and lifts her leg, awkwardly trying to climb over Steve's lap without flashing anything under her skirt.

"Wha– What are you doing?" Steve stumbles over his words, his eyes wide as Isabel stretches over his legs. She falls forward with a jolt from the plane and lands sitting on his knees, using his shoulders to steady herself, her face not all that far from his.

"This was more graceful in my head," Isabel mumbles, laughing with embarrassment. Steve gulps, his heart picking up the pace. She quickly makes it into the aisle, flattening down her dress again. "I'm going to use the restroom. By the time I'm back, I expect you will have moved to the window seat, unless you want me to climb over your lap again? Your call," she tells him, disappearing down the aisle.

Steve rubs a hand down his face. He's really too tired to argue. He undoes his seat belt and moves over obligingly, settling into the window seat. He leans against both the seat and the wall, finding it to be much roomier, though his legs stretch quite a way into Isabel's leg space. He bundles up his pillow and stuffs it in the gap between his chair and the wall, just perfect for him to rest his head against. He gets comfortable, pulling the blanket over him and lays back against the wall, already feeling sleep coming on.

Isabel comes back after a few minutes, slumping into her new seat. She bundles up her pillow and squashes it in the gap between her seat and Steve's, making it stay upright. She leans against it, but looks awfully uncomfortable, just lying there with her eyes closed.

"Come, lay here," Steve whispers to her, patting his chest.

"What? No," she says grouchily, moving her pillow and trying to find a better place for it.

"Come on, it'll be warm," he persuades.

He grabs her pillow from her and rests it on his chest so she hasn't got a choice. She looks at him hesitantly for a moment before giving in, apparently persuaded. She carefully lays down against him, her head on the pillow and by extension on his chest. It's immediately more comfortable and extremely warm, Steve's body heat radiating through his blanket and her own. He pulls her blanket up to her neck and settles his arm around her shoulders to hold her in place as she snakes her free arm around his waist, her other arm tucked up under her. Within seconds she's asleep, the exhaustion taking over.

Steve takes a second to push her hair from her face before he closes his own eyes, letting sleep take him away.