73.
London, United Kingdom
May 18th, 1945
Isabel wakes up bright and early one morning, her eyes fluttering open. She sits up slowly and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, wiping away at the sleep in her eyes. Peggy's already gone for the morning, her bed neatly made, the sheets pulled tight. Isabel looks around for a moment and instantly, the memory of her last conversation with Howard rolls through her mind.
"There's a ceremony on in a few days for Steve. The whole of London will be there, and the whole world will hear it. You should be there with the other Commandos and with Peggy."
She'd done that, she'd spoken to the crowd at the ceremony, given them her own opinion on Steve and Bucky, ensured that they'd never been forgotten. As Howard had promised, it had helped. Not only her, but Peggy and the others, too.
The war has ended in Europe and there is nothing else for her or the other Commandos to do. Germany is defeated. Hydra is defeated. Their jobs technically, as soldiers in Europe and agents of the Strategic Scientific Reserve, are finished. The others have spoken about leaving and are planning on heading home within the week to their families and to their own countries. Isabel, of course, also considers going home to Brooklyn, because she doesn't want to spend her time at the base with nothing to do. Peggy will still be busy with the SSR, so she'll be alone all the time.
But she's also hit a stump since the ceremony in that she hasn't moved any closer to accepting what's happened, and she thinks that's because she needs to fulfil the second part of Howard's suggestion.
"When that's over, go home to your family and be with them. Your parents and siblings, they'll be needing you as much as you need them right now."
Suddenly, her heart clenches with a need to go home, to see her parents and siblings, to walk through the familiar streets. As much as she's grown familiar with London and befriended the Commandos, nothing beats the familiarity of her life before the war. It will never be the same, but it will be more comfortable than anywhere else in the world.
Within a few minutes, she makes up her mind. Though, she knows it isn't a rash decision. A part of her has been wanting to go home since the moment she left with Steve to go on the USO Tour, but she'd never been able to bring herself to leave, and in a way, she's grateful she didn't. But now, with the Commandos all leaving the base and Peggy likely moving off at some point, too, there's nothing tying her to London. All of her ties lead her back to Brooklyn, and so that's where she'll go.
Isabel gets up, showers, and gets ready. Then, she moves around the room she still shares with Peggy, packing up all of her belongings back into the suitcase she'd first brought them over in. There's a great deal more clothing and accessory items than she'd arrived with, since she's had nearly eighteen months over in London to accumulate possessions, and so she has to cull some things and leave them behind. She leaves her old, worn dresses in the wardrobe to make room, and leaves her Army uniform in there as well, since she has no need for it anymore. It's bittersweet to hang up the dirty white t-shirt with the red cross sown into the sleeve, the parachute pants she grew to love, the olive green jacket with the padded hood she'd bunkered down into in the winter snow. The only thing she packs into her suitcase are her boots – she can't seem to leave them for some reason. Her dog tags are still tucked around her neck.
With everything packed and the suitcase locked up, Isabel moves next door to Steve and Bucky's room. She opens the door, berates how the lock is still busted and anything could have been taken, but it's still exactly as it was left.
She goes to the wardrobe and pulls out Steve and Bucky's suitcases, putting them on their respective beds. Slowly, and with a few tears, she starts with Steve's possessions. She packs his clothes into the suitcase, most of it new since he'd had to buy it all after the serum. She settles his sketchbooks in amongst the clothes to keep them safe from damage. Then, she searches through the drawers of the dresser, finding a small stash of letters Steve brought that come from a range of people (not that Isabel reads, but she can recognise the handwriting on the front) – one from Winifred, a few from Bucky, and a few written by Sarah. All of them have been opened, many times before over the months by the looks of their crinkled and dirty envelopes, but the ones from Sarah look the most worn, likely written many years ago, perhaps even when Sarah first got sick. Isabel is curious at the sight of that, wondering what Sarah could have written in the letter, but she doesn't pry, instead tucking them safely into the case.
With Steve packed, she moves onto Bucky's things. A few things are still thrown about the room, but anything that isn't is thrown into his trunk with no order at all. She folds it all neatly and puts it into the case, along with his own letters and possessions. In his drawer she finds letters from home, and a drawing that was done by Becca way back when Bucky went to basic training. She smiles at the drawing fondly, remembering how Becca had made her add it to the letter at the last minute, before folding it up and putting it in her own pocket.
Isabel clips up both suitcases and then quickly searches the room, ensuring everything important has been packed. Everything else, she puts into a large garbage bag to be collected by the cleaners, the things that can be thrown away. It's mainly old clothes and toiletries, since they won't be needed anymore.
Isabel drags the heavy suitcases to her room, wondering just how she's going to manage taking all three onto the ship whenever she decides to depart, and leaves them beside hers where she can lock the door and keep them safe.
Then, she goes downstairs into the base and locates the Howling Commandos. She finds them all in the mess hall, eating lunch. The men wave to her as she walks in and she waves back, bee-lining to the lunch line as her stomach grumbles, since she missed breakfast. She takes a sandwich and some fruit before turning back to the table. She pauses when she sees that behind Dugan, there's a suitcase, and another behind Morita.
"Are you fellas going home?" Isabel asks, sitting in the free seat beside Jones.
"Sure are, home's a-callin'," Dugan says with a happy smile.
"We figure there's nothing left for us here. The war's winding down, and we sure as hell aren't going back out there to finish fighting, not after all these months of sitting around. Home seems like the next best thing," Morita continues.
"Oh," Isabel says. "Well, I–"
"You gonna miss us?" Dugan says with a smirk.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," Isabel shoots back immediately, humour writhe in her tone. "I, um, was actually thinking of heading home, too. Just finished packing, actually."
"Well, you can catch the boat with us," Morita offers. "Boats aren't full up yet because most people aren't back from the front. We're leaving this afternoon, around four. The boat goes straight to New York, and then Dugan and I are going to get a train to Boston and Fresno from there. We can't exactly afford a plane ticket."
"That sounds nice, actually. I'm sure it's lonely without company," Isabel admits, taking a bite of her sandwich. "I'm taking Steve and Bucky's stuff home with me, too, unless there's something of Bucky's that Peggy wants to keep. I may need a little help getting it on and off the boat."
"Happy to help," Dugan says. "Besides, the boat ride's a bitch all alone. It's much better with a friend. Or two."
Peggy takes the news of Isabel, Dugan and Morita's departures relatively well, but that's mainly because she was expecting it. She'd fully expected Isabel to go home right after the loss of Steve, and so her perseverance with staying this long has been surprising. Peggy smiles when Isabel tells her of her departure within a few hours and reassures her it is the right thing to do.
"You have a family to get back to. Just promise me you'll write," Peggy pushes.
"Of course, I will," Isabel reassures, a sad smile on her face. "You're one of my best friends, Peg. I'm not letting you go anytime soon."
Satisfied with that answer, Peggy and Isabel exchange home addresses and phone numbers before they move upstairs to their room. Isabel offers anything of Bucky's to Peggy. Isabel escapes into the bathroom for a moment to tidy up, but really to give Peggy some time alone with Bucky's things to decide. When she comes back out, Peggy's eyes are a little redder than before, and in her hands is Bucky's telescope.
Isabel says nothing about her choice, but Peggy takes a deep breath, looking down at it as though she wants to say something. Isabel pauses, looking at her expectantly.
"You remember that night, a few months ago, when Bucky and I went to Hyde Park?" She asks, her voice quiet.
"And you didn't come home until midnight and Steve was worried about you being out in case of a Blitz?" Isabel says with a laugh, remembering how Steve had been pacing the hallway waiting for Bucky, only to lecture him when he got back, as though Steve wasn't the friend who always made the reckless decisions.
Peggy laughs. "Yes, that night. We weren't meant to stay so late," Peggy confides. "It was just meant to be a sunset stroll. But Bucky brought his telescope along and he was determined he was going to show me the stars in the night sky. The way he spoke about it… He just lit up. The only other time I see him light up was when we were in the Stork Club, but even then, it wasn't as bright. And then we just lay there, looking up at the stars. It was the calmest and happiest I've ever seen him. I never want to forget that."
Isabel smiles. "Hold onto it, and the memory," she insists. "He would've wanted you to have it."
Peggy helps Isabel carry the three cases down to the lobby. The Commandos all meet down in the foyer of the building to wait for a taxi that would take the three departing Commandos to the ship yards and to the boat that was bound for New York City. Dugan and Morita wait, already with their cases, and are saying goodbye to their friends, exchanging addresses and phone numbers to ensure they could all stay in contact.
Dugan has tears in his eyes as he hugs Falsworth goodbye. The men have an odd but hilarious friendship that consists of them mocking each other, mainly, but it seems to work.
"You'll be fine, old friend," Falsworth is promising, patting the man's back as they hug.
"Say hello to Mrs. Falsworth for me," Dugan asks of his friend.
"Of course. Mary will be honoured."
Isabel walks into the lobby, carrying two suitcases rather awkwardly. She drops them with a thud when she gets close to the Commandos, her arms weak. Immediately, she is engulfed in Gabe's arms. He hugs her tight before pulling away, holding her at arm's length.
"It was an honour to meet you, Isabel. Thank you for being so… accepting," he says, genuinely honoured, a content smile on his face.
"How could I be anything else?" Isabel asks, entirely serious. "The honour was all mine. Keep doing good, okay?"
"Wouldn't dream of anything else."
Falsworth hugs her next before handing her a small piece of paper. On it is an address to a house in York. "It's my house. Send me a letter, if you like. I've told Mary all about you and she'd love to hear from you," he explains, smiling fondly.
"I'll send word as soon as I reach the shores of New York. I'll tell you all about the horrors of the ship ride with Dugan," she jokes.
"I look forward to it. I'd also love to hear of your adventures in Brooklyn. The city quite intrigues me, as does America, in general. Mary and I may pay you a visit someday. And if you're ever in England, pay us a visit, okay?"
"I will," Isabel promises, giving him a final hug.
Last, she approaches the ever-quiet Dernier. "Au revoir, Denier (Goodbye, Dernier)," Isabel says quietly.
"Au revoir, Mademoiselle Barnes. Ce fut un plaisir de faire votre connaissance. Tu es vraiment merveilleux (Goodbye, Miss Barnes. It has been a pleasure getting to know you. You are truly wonderful)," Dernier says, kissing her on both cheeks. "Je vous souhaite bonne chance pour le reste de votre vie (I wish you luck with the rest of your life)."
"Merci et toi. Dites bonjour à Leah et bébé Emilie. J'aimerais voir des photos d'elle en train de grandir. Elle est belle. (Thank you, and you. Say hello to Leah and baby Emilie. I'd love to see pictures of her growing up. She is beautiful)," Isabel says sincerely, smiling at the man. Her French is still rough but Dernier appreciates it nonetheless. "Et merci de me laisser toujours hurler, même si vous n'avez pas compris. C'était bien d'avoir quelqu'un qui m'écoute sans se disputer. (And thank you for always letting me rant to you, even if you didn't understand. It was nice to have someone listen to me without arguing back)."
Dernier laughs at that. "À tout moment (Anytime)."
Isabel moves away from Dernier, coming to standing before them all. They all watch her as if waiting for her to speak. She takes a deep breath. "I'll miss you all a lot. Thanks for all the laughs and all the memories. I'll never forget any of you. And look after yourselves. If you do anything reckless, I'll find out." She attempts to put her most authoritative voice on, but her words crack with laughter.
"We'll be good, miss," Jones promises for them all. "It's up to you to babysit Dugan from here on in."
"I'll do my best," Isabel says, looking sideways at Dugan in warning.
A large taxi pulls up outside, with hopefully enough room for all of their suitcases.
Isabel picks up one of the suitcases, and Falsworth and Peggy grab the others whilst Dugan and Morita drag their own outside. They step outside the doors and to the cab, where the driver has already popped the bonnet. Isabel throws her case in with a grunt of exertion before stepping away, allowing the men to attempt to make them all fit.
She can feel a bit of sadness building up within her as she takes more steps away from the world she had become to accustomed to. It hadn't seemed hard when she'd just made her decision in her room, but now that she's leaving and losing this part of her, it feels as though yet another part of her heart is breaking away. She is leaving all the people she's become familiar with, the people she has grown to think of as family. But she has another family that need her, her real, blood family, and that is now missing two members, because Steve was family too.
She wonders what life in Brooklyn will be like now without the two beaming boys to bound around the neighbourhood and make everyone's lives just that bit better. It is scary how her life has so dramatically altered within only a few short weeks. Bucky and Steve had been her everything, they were her boys, and now they're both gone. As they'd gone, they'd taken a part of her heart with them, and it hurt like hell.
Isabel feels a stabbing pain in her heart as she thinks of the two holes that can never be refilled. Even as she's surrounded by family, about to embark on a journey with two of them, she's never felt more alone in her entire life.
"You'll never be alone, Isabel."
Isabel snaps from her thoughts, realising she had frozen in thought after moving away from the trunk and looks up into Peggy's sad brown eyes. Had she said that last bit aloud?
"I know this sounds clique," Peggy continues. "But no matter what the outcome is, no matter how we find them, if we ever do at all, they will always be with you. In here." She points to Isabel's head, and then her heart, as if she had known about the painful ache radiating throughout her body from there.
Isabel can only nod, lost for words. Peggy pulls her into a tight hug, a hand rubbing her back soothingly.
"Send me a letter or a telegram if you need anything, or if you just want to talk," Peggy offers, before pulling away. "You have my number and my address. I'll mail you if anything changes."
Isabel gives her a watery smile. "Goodbye, Peg."
"Goodbye, Belle. Be safe."
Isabel slides into the backseat beside Morita, Dugan taking the front passenger seat. She waves wildly as they drive off toward the family she is leaving behind, who come out and stand on the curb, yelling their goodbyes and well wishes.
Once they're out of sight, Isabel sits back against the leather seat, preparing herself for the long trip home across the Atlantic. She has a lot of things she can think about to entertain herself, but not a lot of it is desirable or healthy. She's grateful that Dugan and Morita will be there to distract her until she can get back to her family, who'll no doubt he able to keep her company.
"I'm in cabin 509," Isabel informs the men, looking down at her boarding ticket in her hand.
"We're in 522," Dugan says. "In the men's quarters."
He and Morita are walking behind Isabel, lugging their suitcases through the cramped hallways of the ship. Three men walk ahead of Isabel, each of them carrying one of Isabel's three suitcases. It hadn't been hard to wrangle them into carrying them. Isabel had simply said once how heavy they were as they were taking them out of the taxi's boot at the dock yards and the men had appeared in an instant, practically fighting over who would carry them for the lady. They're all soldiers, dressed in uniform. Isabel isn't entirely sure whether it's because they recognised the Commandos, or because she's a woman. Probably the latter. She isn't about to complain.
Doors line the metal walls of the hallway, only sliding doors, leading to the hundreds of rooms aboard the ship in the common class level. Even though they technically have the money, the three hadn't seen the point in shelling out the cash for a first or second class ticket, and instead had just settled on the common rooms. They'd been reassured that they were clean and roomy, and from what they can see of the open doors they pass, they are to standard.
The three men in front of Isabel stop and turn to her expectantly. "Room 509, miss," one of the men says, his accent undeniably from Boston.
"Oh, thank you," Isabel says. She slides open the door to the room, revealing a bunk bed in one corner, open space, and then a second door leading to a bathroom off to the right. "Just, uh, in the corner, please," she tells them, moving aside so that the men can stack up the suitcases on top of one another in the corner, Isabel's luckily on top.
"How much clothing you got, love?" One of the men jokes.
"It's, uh, not all mine."
"Sure," he laughs, his tone disbelieving.
"Thank you very much, fellas," Isabel says sincerely.
"You're welcome. You need anything else, you come find us. We're in room 415," the man from Boston offers. He raises his eyebrows to Isabel rather suggestively.
Isabel frowns slightly, but it isn't like she's used to soldiers' flirtatious natures. "I'll keep it in mind," she allows with absolutely no intentions.
The three men walk out of the room with a wave and hurry down the hallway toward the deck of the ship, likely off to search for another woman they can help get onto the ship. Dugan and Morita still stand by the doorway and they peer into the room. Dugan whistles as he looks around.
"More space than I thought. You never know, you might have the room all to yourself. The boat isn't all that full."
"Hopefully," Isabel says, looking around, too.
"Well, we were gonna drop our cases off and then we were thinking of going up to the stern of the boat to watch the pull away from the docks. Wanna come?" Morita offers.
Isabel pauses for a moment. "I'll meet you up there," she promises. "I'll find you."
"Suit yourself," Dugan says easily, before the two men disappear into the hallway.
Isabel sits for a while on the bottom bunk of the beds, twiddling her fingers in her lap. The boat rocks lightly in the waves of the Thames River, and she can hear the masses of people aboard the ship talking, people hurrying through the halls toward their rooms, lugging suitcases around.
Isabel pulls a small photograph from the pocket of her dress, along with another folded piece of paper. She looks at the photograph first, one of her and Bucky and Steve. They're at the Stork Club, where they spent at least half of their time in London. They're sitting together in a booth, Isabel and Steve on one side with Steve's arm firmly around her shoulders, Bucky on the other, raising his beer to the camera. Peggy hadn't been there that night, though Isabel isn't sure why. She was probably working. Isabel smiles at the photograph, at how happy they'd all been. Gratefully, she has many more photographs from their time as Commandos in her suitcase.
Next, she unfolds the piece of paper, the butterfly drawing Becca did for Bucky. She looks at it a moment, smiling, reminding herself of why she's on the ship, why she's going home. It feels like a lifetime ago that Bucky had left for basic training. When Isabel thinks back about how worried she'd been for him, how upset she'd been with Bucky gone, she thinks it seems rather unimportant in comparison to now. She'd worried about the danger when he'd been safe at basic. When she thinks of all the things Bucky did as a Commando, even what she did, she almost can't believe it actually happened.
Isabel jumps a mile in the air when the door to the room suddenly slides open, the photograph and paper going everywhere. She hurries to pick them up from the floor and shove them back in her pocket, looking up at the person who's entered. It's a young woman, rather elegantly dressed with bright red lips and blonde bouncing curls cut to chin length. The woman takes one look at Isabel, unimpressed.
"I've got number one, which means bottom bunk," the woman says, curt. "That means you're up top."
Isabel nods and stands, moving aside. The woman hefts her suitcase onto the bottom bunk where Isabel had been sitting to claim it.
"I'm, um, I'm Isabel," she greets, her voice rather small.
The woman turns around, her eyebrow raised. "Annie," she says easily, reaching out a gloved hand for Isabel to shake. Isabel takes her offered hand, smiling slightly. It's strange she can find the woman so intimidating when she's faced Madame Hydra and the Red Skull, but she does. "Look, I bought an economy class ticket and I have no qualms about the common class, but I'd much rather be up in first," Annie says bluntly, seemingly out of nowhere.
Isabel raises her eyebrow in confusion. "So, why didn't you buy a first class ticket?"
"Because, it's much lighter for the wallet to wiggle your way into first class on your own devices," Annie explains, pulling a low cut dress from her suitcase to show Isabel. "Being a woman is a powerful tool. It can get you far in life. On this ship, it can get you at least a few night's rest up in economy class with a handsome soldier or a wealthy businessman."
"You're going to seduce your way into the first class accommodation?"
Annie pauses only a second. "Yes," she says easily. "Do you want to come? I'm sure you'd do fine with the men. I can lend you a dress if you want something more persuasive?"
"I-I'm okay," Isabel quickly reassures. "I don't mind economy. It's comfy."
"I hear the beds in first are comfortable as well," Annie tries. She reaches around and unzips the back of her deep red dress.
"No thanks," Isabel says easily, feeling rather small in the corner.
Annie shrugs her shoulders. With that, Annie drops her dress from her shoulders, leaving her standing there only in a slip. Isabel looks away quickly. Annie swiftly steps into the low cut dress, the material sparkling black sequins. She zips it up, tugs it around to get it straight, and then steps into a pair of black heels.
"Okay, sweetheart. Your choice. Hopefully I won't be here much, but I'm leaving my suitcase so do make sure it doesn't get stolen. You change your mind, come find me. I'll probably be in the bar with all the fellas."
"I'll watch it," Isabel promises quietly. Annie smiles at her before leaving the room, walking down the hallway. "If you aren't going to be in the dorm, can I at least have the bottom bunk?" Isabel calls after her, but the woman doesn't turn back.
Isabel emerges onto the main deck of the ship and makes her way toward the stern. They're still parked at the docks waiting for their departure. She scours the crowds, many people who are leaning against the railings, hoping to get a glimpse of family and friends, or even a final wave to the city, before the boat departs. Finally, after many minutes of searching, she spots Dugan's bowler hat. She heads toward the men who lean up against the railing, leaving a slightly larger gap between them to save room for Isabel when she comes. She squeezes in between them, leaning against the railing.
"There you are! You nearly missed departure!" Dugan says, patting her shoulder.
"We were beginning to think you'd jumped ship," Morita says with a smile.
"No, just getting settled," Isabel reassures.
The three of them watch as the propellers beneath them in the water slowly start up, spinning furiously and churning up the water. As the sun sets over the city, the sky turns a beautiful display of pink and orange and purple, the clouds illuminated like mountain ranges. The boat begins to move, pulling away from the docks and lazily swimming down the river, past the buildings and houses and parks along the waters edge. The people on the docks wave and blow kisses, as do the people standing on the deck. There's a mass of goodbyes and good lucks being thrown back and forth.
The boat speeds off down the river, flying through the middle of the city of London, under the Tower Bridge. Isabel and the others get one final look at London before the ship finally makes it to the open ocean. They stand and watch as the entrance to the river get smaller and smaller along with the city, until eventually it is swallowed by the blackness of the night.
"Have you eaten, yet?" Morita suddenly asks.
"No, have you?" Isabel asks.
"Yeah, we went to the mess hall quickly." He pauses at Isabel's wary expression. "Why? Should we not have?" Morita asks, sounding worried.
"You aren't supposed to eat much when you go on long sea voyages. It helps with the sea sickness. There's supposed to be bad weather tonight so there's more chance of getting sick. I'd have thought you would have known considering you both got to the front on boats."
"So, that's why there was no one else eating in the hall," Morita ponders.
"And why the butler said it was good to see not everyone was put off by the weather..." Dugan trails off.
"Hopefully, you'll be fine."
?, ?
May 20th, 1945
As it turns out, Dugan is not fine.
Dugan gets severely seasick, not only from eating dinner but also, apparently, something that he failed to mention about his boat ride out to the front in nineteen-forty-three - he'd gotten so sick on the voyage to Europe that he'd been sent to the infirmary for complications of dehydration.
So, Isabel and Morita spend the first two days on the ship in Dugan and Morita's shared cabin while Dugan sits on the bathroom floor over the toilet bowl, rocking with the movement of the ship. He vomits every few minutes, bringing up only a slight amount of stomach bile, or mostly just gagging, making retching sounds into the echoing bowl. He's long ran out of food to bring up, having not eaten for two days now. It smells absolutely foul and the ventilation of the room does nothing to help so they have to leave the door open, which stinks out the hallway with vomit.
"We have to get him better," Isabel tells Morita on the second day. "They'll quarantine him when we get to New York if he still looks like that."
They both look at Dugan, head in the toilet. His face is pale, his forehead sheen with sweat, and he's got a slight fever the last time Isabel dared to touch him.
"He's got a week," Morita reassures.
They try everything in those two days to try to help Dugan's seasickness, but there's nothing they can do except hope that it passes. The wild weather truly settles in and it makes the boat rock violently, so much that a few times both Isabel and Morita also have to use the toilet. They bring up only a bit of bile as well, their stomachs churning with the movement of the ship. They're just glad they haven't eaten anything much since boarding.
A voice comes over the PA system on the ship every few hours to remind everyone that the decks of the ships are currently off-limits. The deck is too slippery and wet, and the ship's movements are too unpredictable that it's too dangerous for anyone to venture outside in case they tumble overboard. So, even if they wanted to, none of them ventures out of the room those two days. They couldn't even go to the mess hall to get food if they wanted it as it requires them to walk outside.
They stay in Dugan and Morita's foul-smelling room most of the two days, except when Isabel goes back to her own room to sleep. She still shares the room with the well-dressed woman, Annie, but they haven't spoken at all since the first day when she'd claimed the bottom bunk. She's very rarely even there, never even to sleep. Isabel presumes she goes out to party with the soldiers all day and night, and maybe finds a way to sleep in the first class cabins for a better accommodation like she'd said she was planning to do.
Nevertheless, Isabel climbs up the small ladder and lays on her top bed, dangerously close to the low ceilings, and stares at the peeling paint the entire night hoping for sleep to come. Her stomach churns again uncomfortably, and she clutches the small bowl she'd brought up with her closer, just in case. She may not make it to the bathroom in time. Just like she did on the ship with Howard in the Arctic, she allows herself to just be quiet, to clear her mind of any thought and to just feel the rocking of the boat around her and the sounds of the waves crashing against the ship outside. Eventually, and thankfully, the blackness washes over her.
On their fourth day aboard the ship, Isabel wakes from possibly the deepest sleep she's had in a long time, managing to drift off sometime the night before while reading one of Steve's books, which is still open on her stomach.
She sits up in her bed, folding up the book as she does and forgetting just how low the ceiling is. She promptly slams her forehead into the roof. She collapses back onto her flat pillow, groaning and holding her head. Isabel waits for the pain to pass before carefully clambering down the stairs and putting the book back on top of the suitcases so she doesn't lose it. She showers and dresses in the bathroom connected to their room, a tiny bathroom no bigger than a wardrobe. She puts on makeup in the mirror, sighing at the red mark on her head that is slowly getting darker. She covers it with foundation, hoping it won't bruise too much.
Once she's ready, she walks through the hallways to Dugan and Morita's room and knocks on the door. Morita answers, looking bright and bushy-tailed, his own seasickness long passed. Dugan sits on the edge of his bottom bunk, looking pale but much better than he had in the days before.
"Feelin' better, pukey?" Isabel asks, walking in and standing in front of him.
"Do I look it?"
Isabel pretends to assess him. "Mildly. Come on, the storms' passed so you need to eat and drink something. I heard through the grapevine that apparently green apples are good for seasickness, so that's what you'll eat."
Outside, the wild weather has cleared off as the boat passes through the storm. The decks are still a little slick with rain, but the sun is shining brightly above them in the sky, and so they're quickly drying off. There are signs and chairs and tables thrown everywhere by the battering winds, and the ships' crew are busy running around turning everything back upright so that the passengers can have places to sit outside. There are a lot of people around looking just as ill as Dugan did, some of them still vomiting over the side of the ship, others just basking in the sunlight and the fresh air.
"The whole ship stinks," someone complains as they walk past. "Even first class."
Isabel smirks at the idea of Annie thinking first class would be any more comfortable than the common floors.
Isabel leads the men to the kitchens, happy to have a mission to keep her mind occupied. They walk in and its quite crowded, since everyone on the boat stayed away from food while they were passing through the bad weather. It's been four days since anyone ate a proper meal, so everyone is starving. The smell of food, however, makes Dugan feel sick again instantly, so Morita takes him to sit outside on one of the decks in the fresh air whilst Isabel goes inside and gathers some food for them all, waiting in a very long line. She returns and hands Morita his share and Dugan a plump green apple. Dugan bites into it hesitantly, chewing as though it tastes disgusting, and swallows as though it were made of knives. He eats it, though, and looks mildly better afterward. The loud growling of their stomachs settle down.
They sit on the deck a while after that in the fresh air under the sun, the wind cooling against their faces. It feels nice after days of being hauled up in the smelly and stuffy cabins. Many people pass them, going to stand beside the balcony and look down at the large propellers just underneath the water at the back of the boat. They look out at the bright blue ocean, the never-ending expanse. Far-off in the distance, they'd miss it if they weren't looking for it, they can see a smudge of black and grey, the storm that they'd passed through. With nothing to stop the storm, it'll continue moving along the oceans.
Dugan and Morita make a game of guessing why everyone is on the boat. Isabel only pipes up every now and then, just content to listen. They watch the people come and go, a mix of soldiers and civilians travelling to New York. A few are dressed very aristocratically, and they assume they're going to New York for a holiday or maybe to return to their wealthy homes in Manhattan somewhere. Many of them have accents, some American, some English, and they even think they hear an Australian, oddly enough. Isabel's never met an Australian or heard them speak, so she just takes Jim's word for it.
"Now, that is a dish," Dugan notes, eyeing off a particular woman in a red dress.
Isabel looks up and can only see the back of her, but she looks vaguely familiar. When she turns, Isabel recognises her as her roommate. "Oh, she shares the room with me," Isabel mentions. "Her name is Annie."
"You share a room on this ship with a beautiful woman and you don't tell me?" Dugan asks, sounding wounded.
"I haven't seen her since the first day, she's never in the room. She slept her way into first class. Besides, what am I, your wingman?"
"You could be, if you wanted to."
"You need more than a wingman, Dugan. You need a goddamn miracle," Morita laughs.
"You've been headfirst into a toilet for the last four days. Didn't really think you had time for flirting," Isabel points out.
"It's always time for flirting," Dugan says, before standing on weak legs and starting toward the woman.
"This'll be good."
Dugan waltzes up to Annie and stops beside her, leaning against the railing. They can't hear what he's saying, but the woman doesn't look very interested. She frowns at him in both confusion and maybe a bit of disgust, mainly eyeing off his thick moustache. She looks over to where Dugan had come from, spotting Isabel, and her frown gets deeper. Isabel waves shyly. Annie nods, and looks in confusion between them both, and at Morita sitting beside Isabel.
After a while, when Annie looks like she's about to walk off, Dugan's face goes a sickening shade of green again, and a second later, he's vomiting up his apple over the side of the ship. The woman scampers off rather quickly.
Dugan returns once his stomach settles, flopping back into his chair. "The apple didn't work."
?, ?
May 24th, 1945
Isabel and Morita sit on the floor of the boys' room while Dugan lies on his bed, groaning with his arm over his eyes. They're playing cards, and Dugan had attempted to play, but looking at them had made him sick so he'd laid down again.
As usual, Isabel is winning, raking in the chocolate winnings, a little pile on a handkerchief next to her. Morita looks frustrated, unable to beat her no matter what he does, and after a while he gives up, throwing his cards down in defeat.
"I give up, you're unbeatable."
"You're just sour," Isabel protests, beginning to pack up the cards. "The only people who had any hopes of beating me were Steve or Bucky. They aren't here so I'm reigning champion."
"Mm," Morita agrees. He looks at her for a moment, a small frown on his face as she tries to squeeze the deck back into its cardboard box. "You doin' okay, Barnes?"
Isabel looks up and then smirks at her large pile of chocolate. "Are you seein' the same pile I am?"
"Not the game. I mean… With everything?"
Dugan sits up at that, his interest piqued. Morita looks genuinely concerned, so Isabel holds in her annoyance. It had been nice not being constantly asked that the last six days, almost peaceful, and it had allowed her to not think about it so much.
Isabel sighs, looking away. "I guess," she finally admits. "Still feels like a lot's missing."
"It'll feel like that forever, probably. Not to sound horrible," Morita tells her. "I think it'll get easier once you get home. You parents will be sad a while, but together you can get each other through. You're doing the right thing, going home."
"I hope so," Isabel says eventually, smiling at them. "Well, fellas, I'm pretty beat. I think I'm going to head off to bed and take my chocolate with me. Hopefully my roommate doesn't ask me how my friend Dugan is doing after his close encounter with the side of the boat. I haven't seen her since."
Morita and Dugan aren't stupid, they know she's leaving because Morita asked her that question. They let her go, though, because clearly she wants to be alone. She's spent almost every second on the boat with them except for when they separated to sleep. As much as she probably doesn't want to be left alone, it's good for her to readjust to being on her own. They don't want her growing dependent on constant company.
"If you see her, ask her if she'd be willing to give me a second chance," Dugan tells Isabel, lying back down.
"I'll tell her. No promises, though," Isabel says as she retreats, sliding the door shut behind her.
Isabel sighs once she's out of sight, closing her eyes for a moment. After a second to recollect herself, she starts off down the hallway toward her room. She goes to her trunk and pulls out a small journal she sometimes writes in, but normally just tears the pages out of to send letters to home. She heads back into the hallway and emerges onto the deck, walking down the platform toward the back of the boat where they'd been earlier.
It's night outside, the stars out to play, sparkling brightly in the sky above. The wind is cold, almost freezing, and she's only wearing a thin coat, but she hardly cares. Isabel walks to the banister and looks out at the open ocean, at the waves that are illuminated silver in the moonlight. She grips the banister to keep herself upright, feeling a little dizzy looking over the edge like that. The wind sends her limp hair billowing out behind her and she looks out into the black ocean where she can see nothing but black and white stars for thousands of miles.
She picks up her diary. She hasn't written in it in months, not since the first few weeks after her time with Hydra while she was recuperating. There's an entry from when she and Steve were dating where she wrote some sappy things about the date Steve had set up for them on the roof of the SSR building. There's one detailing her worry for Bucky when he'd first come home from his own Hydra capture. Then, there's a few other entries toward the front of her adventures in Brooklyn, about Bucky leaving for basic, working as a nurse, getting her apprenticeship with Sarah, her graduation day from high school. Not a lot of events in her life are detailed, but some of the more important are.
She flips to a new, blank page, wipes it for no reason, and then just stares at it.
Eventually, after the minutes pass by and her fingers go numb holding the pencil, the words come to her. She wants to write something to herself that hopefully she'll remember for later in life, so she doesn't make the same mistake she did this time around. If there is ever a next time.
If someone comes into your life and they're good for you and you love them, be thankful you crossed paths, she writes. Everyone you meet will help to shape you, whether they guide you or push you or leave you to your own devices. And even if they can't stay for some reason, be thankful that, somehow, they brought joy into your life, even if it was for a short while. Life changes. People come and go. Some stay and some don't, and that's okay. Remember the good times and smile that it happened.
To those who wait, don't.
She puts down the diary, satisfied, and goes back to the banister, looking back out at the ocean. She can feel something deep in her stomach and in her heart, a pain, but she doesn't know what. It takes a while of thinking, but then it comes to her in a rush.
Standing there, after how she left Dugan and Morita like that for just a simple question, she feels an intense sense of guilt fall upon her shoulders. She feels confused and guilty, like the way she's acting is uncalled for and over-exaggerated. She's suffered a major loss in the war and she's been moping about it, but she has not experienced as much loss and devastation as others around her, others that are still stuck on the front lines trying to end the war. Other soldiers have fought for their countries and have seen hundreds, if not thousands of their fellow men fall; brothers and friends and strangers, all dead at the hands of the enemy. People back home, like her own parents, have lost children, others brothers, sisters, parents. If those people saw her break down over the loss of only two men, one who happened to be Captain America who was loved by all, it would only infuriate them.
She had not fought on the front lines unprotected. She and the Howling Commandos, the strongest men she has ever come to meet, had followed a leader who had given his all to try to protect them. Even when she had been in danger, she was never really at the same time because Steve would have taken a bullet for her before she even got a scrape. Bucky would have, too, undoubtedly, even before the war. She did not starve, and she hadn't been a prisoner of war. She should be grateful she is even still alive.
In comparison to others' loss, hers is minor. In the reality of things, in the grand scale, her loss is minute. Her loss is also not only hers, because everyone lost Captain America, and a hell of a lot of people lost Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes; her parents, the Commandos, Peggy, Howard, the entirety of the world lost them, too, and yet she's been acting like she's the only person to have suffered.
She's selfish. She's weak. She's emotional and lonely and she feels horrible for so many reasons.
And yet, despite the guilt, she realises that she has a right to be upset as well, because she would bet her bottom dollar that everyone in this world now has someone to miss and mourn.
She knows that there is an aching, gaping hole left in her chest where her heart once resided. And anyone would miss their own heart, right?
She'd given her heart to Steve Rogers long ago, long before she was even consciously aware that she'd done it, and he'd promised her he would take care of it, holding it in both of his hands for safekeeping. He'd taken it to every hospital appointment, showed it to her with every smile and kind conversation, taken it into every alley fight, into the experiment chamber with him, into every battle and every conversation; he'd always protected her heart from damage. But naturally, that meant that when he'd gone down in the plane, he'd still been holding onto it and he'd taken it with him. She was a little silly in that way, not leaving any for herself. But Steve had given her his own heart in return to keep for him. She's tried so hard to keep it safe, and she's gotten through with it still with her. Steve's heart can comfort her, but it can't beat and keep her alive. And what use is a heart to hold without the person attached to them as well?
The world seems a scary and lonely place without the presences of Bucky and Steve. They have been her lifeline for so long, for almost as long as she can remember. They'd picked her up when she was down, helped her when she needed it, supported her, loved her. She can't think of anyone, not even the rest of her family, who can do what they had for her.
She can't help but think of all the things that will be missing from her life now.
Who will tease her about her "boyfriend" when she goes on the date with a Steve to Dolly's Diner in Brooklyn? Bucky certainly never had the opportunity to in Brooklyn before, since they hadn't been going steady then, though Bucky never wasted an opportunity in London.
Now that she has left most of the Commandos and will be parting from Dugan and Morita in New York, who will whistle and hoot as Steve's strong but always gentle arms twirl her around the dance floor to the beat, her dress flowing gracefully behind her and her melodic laughter rising above the music. How will Steve ever get better at dancing if he isn't even here to learn? Who will teach her the rules of baseball and how to hit the ball, because god knows she still doesn't understand that game? Who will show her his drawings? Who will protect her no matter what? Who will she marry and have children with, laugh with and cry with, live her life with?
She supposes no one.
Manhattan, New York City
May 28th, 1945
There's a rush of excitement as soon as land can be seen on the horizon.
Isabel, Dugan and Morita join the rest of the crowd as they trample down the docks of the ship toward the side near the front, giving them a perfect view ahead of the city. It's so familiar, Isabel almost cries in relief, and she feels a weight lift off her shoulders she'd never noticed had been there until now. Once it's gone, she realises the weight settled the moment she left New York and her family. This is what it feels like to come back to the place you grew up, to your family, to your home.
The tall buildings of Manhattan stick up in the middle of the skyline, tall skyscrapers that seem to have grown since she last saw them. To the left she can see the sprawling suburbia of New Jersey, and more importantly to the right of Manhattan, she can just see the familiar building landscape of Brooklyn, of Coney Island right along the water's edge.
The boat steers closer to the city, to the Statue of Liberty waiting for them with open arms like a green goddess. As more landmarks come into view, Isabel starts to point them out to the others – the Empire State Building in the middle of Manhattan, the Chrysler Building, Coney Island, Ellis Island sitting behind the statue. Dugan and Morita look rather entranced, neither of them having been to New York much in their lifetimes.
They stand for a long time after that in silence, admiring the beautiful towering city beneath the beautiful bright blue sky. They breathe in the scent of the new air, undeniably of a city, the smells of food and gas and salt floating over the ocean toward them. Isabel's got a content smile on her face that the men haven't really seen in a few weeks.
They're all wearing their best clothes since they knew this would be the day they would be disembarking. Isabel tried to make herself look especially presentable for her reunion with her family. She has no idea who's going to be there, how many members of her family, if at all. She'd told them she was coming home, though she doubts they would have received the letter in time, since she only sent it about ten days ago and letters take at least a few weeks. She is fully expecting no one to be at the docks waiting for her. If not, she'll surprise them by showing up at the family apartment. However, they also need to look presentable to pass easily through immigration. People wearing shabby clothing and looking unwell are often questioned by customs officers upon arrival.
The boat bee-lines toward Ellis Island, passing beside the Statue of Liberty. Lady Liberty, representing Libertas, the Roman liberty goddess, stands tall above them on her island perch. Her right arm is raised above her head holding a torch, while in her left hand, held close to her body, she carries a tabula ansata inscribed with the Roman numerals "JULY IV MDCCLXXVI", the date of the U.S. Declaration of Independence. Isabel looks up at her like an awestruck child, having never been this close to her before. She thinks of how many millions of people, immigrants and returning citizens, have passed by her welcoming arms, even long before she was given to the United States by France.
Isabel hears footsteps beside her, and then out the corner of her eye, she sees a young brunette woman lean up against the banister, following Isabel's eyes up to the Lady Liberty. They're both silent for a long while, and Isabel doesn't think much of it.
"Are you away to live in America?" A small female voice asks from beside Isabel, coming from the woman. Her accent is unmistakably Irish, and it's so familiar for Isabel because of Sarah Rogers that she nearly falls over. She hasn't heard a voice like that in a long, long time.
Dugan and Morita look over but turn away when the Irish woman is clearly speaking to Isabel. She looks at Isabel for an answer, like a child looking to their older sibling for answers, despite never having met Isabel before in her life.
"No," Isabel eventually says.
"Just visiting?" The woman asks. She clearly hasn't picked up on Isabel's distinct Brooklyn accent.
"I live there already," Isabel reiterates, and by speaking more words, her accent becomes clearer.
The woman's face clears in recognition. "Really?" She breathes. "What's it like?"
Isabel pauses to think. "It's a, uh, big place," she begins, not knowing how to explain an entire city in just a few words. She doesn't even know where the woman will be living. She could explain Manhattan and the girl could be on her way to Wisconsin.
The boat is slowly pulling up to the docks on Ellis Island. There, immigrant officials will process immigrants, detain some, allow others entry, and deport those who cannot legally live in the United States. Those who are returning American citizens will pass through a separate investigation process and be allowed back into the country, taking a ferry back to the mainland with the immigrants who have been processed.
"I'm going to live in Brooklyn, New York," the woman says, her tongue rolling over the words just the way Sarah's used to. Her eyes are wide as they scan the city skyline ahead of them. "Do you know it?"
Isabel swallows. "I'm from Brooklyn, actually," she says. She turns away from where she's watching the crowds at Ellis Island, looking at the woman, who's staring at her awestruck. "You see over there, on the other side of the river? Those buildings?" Isabel asks, pointing out the sprawling structures of the borough, most of it cut off from view by Manhattan. "That's Brooklyn. I was born there, raised there, and now my family are waiting for me there. It's a big place, but it's a good place. I promise."
The woman hesitates. "People have told me that there are so many Irish people living there, it feels like home. And lots of Europeans. They call it the melting-pot because so many cultures make up the city. Is that right?"
Isabel doesn't see the mousy-haired woman, but instead she sees Sarah Rogers; young, blonde, coming out to live in America as an Irish immigrant, not long before she had Steve. In fact, from what she had said, they'd been trying for a family before they left Ireland, but she hadn't been pregnant then. All that's missing from the scene in front of Isabel is Joseph Rogers. Isabel imagines how scared the young couple must have been, but how also excited, faced with the prospect of a new life in a new country where they could start anew in the country of opportunity.
Little had they known that Joseph would leave to go back to Europe and fight in the Great War a few years later, leaving Sarah pregnant with Steve, and he'd come home when Steve was already born, a few weeks old. Joseph would be sick with mustard gas poisoning and would've last much longer, wouldn't see Steve grow at all. But Sarah had still managed to make Brooklyn a home for her and Steve. She'd gotten work as a nurse, joined a book club, sent Steve to school, found a family with Bucky and Isabel and the Barnes'. It had worked out for her before she met her untimely death.
"Yeah, it'll be just like home," Isabel promises. "And if not, it won't take you long to settle in."
Isabel remembers what Sarah Rogers had once told her about her immigration, how terrified they'd been going through the immigration inspection, how they'd very nearly been turned away just for the sake of it.
"When you get to immigration, you'll have to go through the foreigner portion," Isabel tells the woman, hoping that any of the things Sarah had told her could be helpful, or at least make the process easier for the girl. "You won't get to bypass customs like we will, because you aren't an American citizen. Make sure you look presentable and healthy. Don't give them a reason to turn you away. Keep your eyes wide up and look as though you know where you're goin'. You have to think like an American."
The girl nods, hanging onto Isabel's every word.
"Once you find your residence in Brooklyn and you get settled, you're gonna get hit with this intense homesickness and it'll make you want to die, but there's nothing you can do about it apart from endure it. You'll get through," Isabel promises. "Then, one day, the sun will come out, and you might not even notice straight away, it'll be that faint. You'll catch yourself thinking about something or someone that has no connection with your past, something who's only yours, and you'll realise that this is where your life is. This is where you've grown into a person and become comfortable. This is home." Isabel puts a hand on the girls' shoulder. "Make yourself your own life that belongs to only you. Home is wherever you create it. And don't worry yourself too much. Ireland will always be there if you want it."
Getting through immigration is insanely easy. Isabel, Morita and Dugan wait patiently in the short line of returning citizens, each person presenting themselves to the immigrations officer.
When it's Isabel's turn, she pushes the small trolley she's been given up to the desk, the three suitcases stacked precariously atop one another. She hands her passport and the returning citizens paperwork she filled out to the officer, who reads them carefully while she lifts the top suitcase onto the bench to be searched. The man confirms her identity and paperwork before opening her suitcase and quickly searching through. She takes it down and replaces it with Steve's, and then with Bucky's, each case getting passed by the stern officer.
"Welcome home, Miss Barnes," the man says, finally smiling.
"Thanks," she breathes, a little breathless from lifting the cases back onto the trolley, and then pushes her way past the desks and to the other side.
She waits by the wall for Dugan and Morita as they're cleared for immigration. The man looks a long time at Morita, and Isabel fears they may turn him away, but as soon as he speaks with an American accent, he's passed through, confirming his nationality. He walks through with his case and breathes a sigh of relief, imagining himself being imprisoned in some prisoner of war camp somewhere until the war ends.
The three of them exit the immigration chambers onto the dock on the other side of the island where a ferry waits to take people over to the mainland. They board quickly, just as the ferry is leaving, and set up camp along one of the benches for the short ride across the harbour. They sit by the water, getting sprayed slightly by the salty waves, and eventually the ferry pulls up to the docks at Battery Park. Everyone disembarks easily onto the mainland port, amidst the trees and the towering buildings of Lower Manhattan.
"Well, boys, this is Manhattan," Isabel tells them, pointing to the buildings that stretch away from them for miles.
"And that's Brooklyn?" Dugan asks, pointing behind her across the water.
"God, no, that's New Jersey," Isabel remarks, pulling a face. "Brooklyn is that way," she corrects, pointing toward the other way where she can see the docks of Brooklyn in Red Hook.
"Are your parents here?"
Isabel looks around, but she can't see them at all. "I doubt it. They probably haven't even received my letter yet. They won't know I'm here."
"You gonna be okay to get home, then?" Morita asks her. "Do you want us to walk you before we catch our trains out?"
"It's a little far to walk," Isabel laughs, knowing how misguiding the distances can be. Many a times she's believed she could walk somewhere, only to have to catch a taxi when it proved to be much further than she'd thought. "I'll be okay, fellas. I can catch a train or get a cab."
"Well, if you're sure."
"I guess this is goodbye, then," Dugan says eventually, after a moment of standing in silence.
"You don't want to stay a while?" Isabel asks, sounding slightly dejected. "I, uh, I have room, even if it's only for a day or so. You must be tired from the boat ride."
Dugan and Morita share a look. "We are, doll. But what's a few more hours on a train each?" Dugan pauses, smiling at her. "We'd love to stay a while, we really would, but we want to get home. We have parents and siblings that are waiting for us, counting down the hours. Besides, you've got a family here you owe some time to. We've hogged you for a good year and a half now," Dugan tells her.
"Okay," she agrees without hesitation, seeing their point. "You have families to get back to, as well."
"That we do," Morita says. He steps forward to give her a tight hug. "It's been a pleasure getting to know you and working with you. Thanks for saving my skin, more than once."
"And thanks for saving mine," Isabel replies. "Write me, okay?"
"Will do."
Isabel turns to Dugan next, and she actually feels her eyes tear up at the idea of leaving him. Dugan notices, of course, and he chuckles at her, shaking his head. He hugs her real tight, the way Bucky used to.
"I'll see you around, Baby Barnes," he teases, but the promise in his voice is unmissable. He smiles at her, the edges of his eyes crinkling.
"'Course. I look forward to it."
"Who wouldn't?" Dugan jokes. "Now, where exactly would we get our trains from?"
Isabel laughs. Trust them to not even know how to get home. "Grand Central Station. Trains from there go all over the States. It's a long way away from here, you'll need a cab."
"Got it," Dugan says, and Morita hails a cab. The yellow car pulls up to the curb and the driver gets out, opening the boot for their cases. "Say hello to Mr and Mrs Barnes for me! And your brother and sister!" Dugan calls over his shoulder as he's getting into the cab.
"I will!" Isabel calls back.
Dugan and Morita get into the cab, and Dugan tells the man where they're going. They wave as the cab pulls away, leaving Isabel standing on the crowded footpath, surrounded by people but once again, utterly alone.