Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On December 31^st, 2017, a taxi cab travelled through San Francisco, from Chinatown to Marin.  The car carried a single passenger - a woman.  Her birth name; Adaline Bowman.  Current alias; Jennifer Larson.

This is the first and last chapter of her story.

Stepping out of the cab, the young woman pays her fare and gives a decent tip before walking to the front door of the towering apartment building in front of her.  Reaching out to press a button, she is immediately buzzed in.  It wasn’t her building, and yet she makes her way up the stairs as if this is a task she has completed many times before.

She’s an attractive woman, something a tenant notices as they pass her on the stairs; long brown hair falling around her wool-coat covered shoulders, creamy pale skin dusted with a hint of pink from the chill outside, and a sunny kind of warmth in her smile that very few people possess. This smile, however, appeared far too rare for someone as young as she looked, because, despite appearances, her life had been far from short and sweet.

Finally reaching the floor she was searching for, the woman easily walks to apartment 24’s door and knocks, said door swinging open soon after.

There is a beat of silence as the two people look at each other.

“Sorry, you just gotta be quiet.  My dad - he's still sleeping, he works nights.”  A fairly young man explains his silence with a bashful smile and a hushed voice, swinging the door open wider.  “C'mon in.”

Stepping in, Adaline closes the door quietly before following the boy to another room.

“I, uh, finished the colour seps and the digital printing last night.  I pulled some line art from the internet and printed the imperfections.”  Adaline glances around the room, simply curious, as the boy stands from his computer, proudly brandishing her new forms of identification.  “See, that's kinda my secret, the dust marks and the discoloration.  No one's gonna question that detail in a million years.”

Handing them over to her, he can’t help but flirt awkwardly with the beautiful woman as she examines the passports and driving licences.

“So, why 26? I mean, if I were you, I’d shave a couple of years off – you could definitely get away with it.”

Adaline glances up at him, accepting the compliment with a small smile, fairly impressed with his work.

“You're very kind, Tony,” she hands over the owed money as she answers.  “Nice work.”

Their business over, they step back out of the room and into the hallway.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you. If any of your friends ever need anything--”

“Why are you doing this?”

Cutting him off, Adaline walks down the small hallway as he follows to show her out, his answer clearly confused.

“Come again?”

“You're a smart kid, forgery's a felony.  $250,000 fine - six years in jail.”

The facts fall from her lips casually, as if said often, which instils a panic in the young man.

“Shit, you're...  You're a cop?”

Adaline chuckles lightly, shaking her head and placing her purchases in her bag as she stops at the door and turns to face him.

“No, I'm about as far from law enforcement as you can get,” she glances up, looking at the boy with a soft, almost sad smile.  “I just hate to see wasted potential, Jeff.”

“Tony. It's Tony.”

Adaline smirks, tilting her head slightly and giving him some parting advice.  “The autographed baseballs in your bedroom...  Made out to ‘Jeff’.  Don't get sloppy, it's the little things that trip you up.”

Flashing him one more quick smile, Adaline opens the door and leaves, her low heels clicking softly as she makes her way back to the stairs.

Chapter Text

Adaline Marie Bowman was born at 12:01am, January 1^st, 1888, at Children's Hospital, San Francisco, the only child of Faye and Milton Bowman.

On June 16^th, 1908, just as Adaline Bowman and her mother stopped to admire the expanse, where many years hence construction would be finished on the Golden Gate Bridge, a young engineer displayed uncommon gallantry.

“No, mother.  Honestly, I’m perfectly fine; I still have a decade – at least – before anyone can consider me a spinster, surely!”

The last word leads off to a chuckle, which her mother rolls her eyes at with an affectionate smile.

“I just worry about you, Addy, you know that.  I only want you to be happ—”

She’s cut off by Adaline’s small squeal as her hat is finally ripped from her head by the wind.  It had threatened to go a few times, but the three hairpins holding it down had managed to keep it in place – for a while, at least.

Turning to chase after her hat, Adaline sees it fly towards the water’s edge before being captured by a pair of hands.  Her eyes move upwards from the hands – which are now reshaping her hat and brushing off any dirt – to bare forearms, rolled up shirt-sleeves, and, finally, to the very handsome face of her hat’s rescuer.

When she catches up to him her smile is a little breathless – from a combination of the jog over and the good looks of the man in front of her – but that doesn’t matter to her when she receives one in return.  His eyes betraying that he was just as awestruck by her as she was him, he steps forward to offer her the hat.

She takes it with a small ‘thank you’, flashing him another bashful, but grateful, smile, completely oblivious to her mother’s proud, know-it-all smirk a few feet behind her.

Eighty-seven days later Adaline married Clarence James Prescott, at Old Saint Mary's Cathedral in San Francisco.  One year after that, Adaline gave birth to a baby girl.  They named her Flemming, after Adaline's paternal grandmother.

On February 17th, 1914 eight workers and two engineers lost their lives when a section of scaffolding fell through a safety net during construction of the Golden Gate Bridge.  Among the deceased was Adaline's husband.

As she sat in the church, staring up at her husband’s coffin, Adaline felt her heart break all over again.  What use were funerals, if all they did was remind you that your loved one was dead?  She didn’t know, but it was a necessary evil, and, perhaps, in the long run, she’d be grateful they’d gotten to say goodbye.

“We’ll be okay,” she mutters quietly into her daughter’s hair as she tucks Flemming’s head under her chin, terrified that she’d just uttered the biggest lie of her life.  “We have each other.”  That one, at least, she knew to be true.

Ten months after her husband's death Adaline was driving north to her parents’ beach cottage, where 5-year-old Flemming was waiting up for her, when something highly unusual occurred, something almost magical...   Snow fell in Sonoma County, California.

At first Adaline had found herself a little entranced by the snow – it was beautiful, and something rarely seen by her.  Now, however, she was cursing it.  She could barely see out of the window to where she was going, the very small wiper doing little to clear her view, and her car was rattling awfully as she drove over bumpy terrain she hadn’t expected and, therefore, hadn’t slowed down for.

She cursed the snow even more when she finally saw something through her windshield…  A fence.

Swerving at the last minute, Adaline tries to prevent the inevitable, but it’s too late.  The wooden fence gives way easily to the vehicle as it crashes through, tilting on its side and losing no speed.

As the car rolls down the hill, Adaline finds herself thrown right and up, then left and down, over and over again, her seatbelt only just managing to hold her in the car.  It was all happening very quickly, but she could feel every injury as it was inflicted, and her only thought was a prayer that this would end soon. 

Which it did, as she found herself submersed in freezing cold water.  Her car was sinking in a lake, with her contained in it.

The immersion in the frigid water caused Adaline's body to go into an anoxic reflex; instantly stopping her breathing and slowing her heartbeat.  Within 2 minutes, Adaline Bowman's core temperature had dropped to 87 degrees.  Her heart stopped beating. 

At 8:55 a bolt of lightning struck the vehicle, discharging half a billion volts of electricity and producing 60,000 amperes of current.

Its effect was threefold.

First, the charge defibrillated Adaline Bowman's heart. 

The black into which she had previously sunk was suddenly pulled away as her body screamed at her from all over.  Opening her eyes, Adaline manages to push herself up and automatically starts swimming to the surface of the water in search of air. 

Second, she was jolted out of her anoxic state causing her to draw her first breath in 2 minutes. 

She is still trapped in her car, but her head has broken the water’s surface, and, after coughing up a lungful of water, she can breathe.  Adaline has never felt more grateful for those horrendously boring swimming lessons she’d had with her father as a child.

With thoughts of Flemming on her mind – she had already lost one parent this year, she needn’t lose another – Adaline pulls herself up and through the open window of her half-sunken car, managing to drag herself out and swim to the muddy edge of the water.

She pulls herself along the ground for a short while, but exhaustion eventually takes over and she drops, lying still and simply grateful to be alive.

Third, based on Von Lehman's principle of electron compression in deoxyribonucleic acid, which will be discovered in the year 2035, Adaline Bowman will henceforth be immune to the ravages of time.  She will never age another day.

Chapter Text

As the years passed, Adaline credited her unchanging appearance to a combination of a healthy diet, exercise, heredity, and good luck.

“Adaline?”

She cringes a little at the sound of her name and the hand on her arm.  She hates these interactions.  How do you explain to your old friends that yes, you were indeed 40 years old, just as they were, and yes, you looked exactly the same as the last time they saw you ten years ago, and no, you did not know why?

She worried about it often enough, people needn’t bring it up.

Painting on a smile, she turns around, taking a second to recognise the woman.

“Miriam, hello.”

“My god, you haven't changed a bit.”  Her voice is amazed, and as she looks Adaline up and down, she finds her statement to be completely true.

“Oh, that's very kind of you to say.”  Adaline quickly accepts the compliment, grateful that Miriam’s manners force her to move on and acknowledge her daughter.

It’s a low blow, using her daughter as a shield, but Flemming always assured her that she didn’t mind.

“Flemming, you're all grown up.”

The 19-year-old grins as she answers, sending a fond expression her mother’s way.  “That's what I keep telling my mom, but she doesn't believe me.”

“Oh, darling.”  Adaline affectionately brushes a finger over her daughter’s cheek, smiling slightly before turning to address Miriam.  “I-I'm sorry, we really must leave.”

“But you…  You look like sisters!”  Miriam steps forward as she speaks.  She’s almost chasing the women who seem ready to bolt, letting her manners go as she examines the two, who really do look very similar in age.

She tries not to sound as nervous as she feels, painting a polite smile on her face.  “You better stop, or it'll go straight to my head.”

Once again Adaline tries to leave, taking her daughter’s hand and turning, but her old acquaintance refuses to let it, and her, go.

“How is that possible?”

“A new face cream...  From Paris.”

It’s an excuse she’d started using years ago, although it no longer seems to appease the way it used to.  Especially not when Flemming adds in her two cents for fun.

“Made from the royal jelly of the queen bee!”

Almost rolling her eyes at her daughter’s addition, Adaline starts walking away with conviction, pulling Flemming with her as quickly as she could.

“Okay, darling.  Bye-bye now, great seeing you!”  She shouts back at the woman as they push through the door, Flemming grinning, having found the whole confrontation hilarious.  Adaline, however, simply grew more anxious – there was definitely something wrong with her.

Action was required just weeks later, when, living a quiet suburban existence, Adaline was pulled over for a minor traffic infraction.

The police officer peers through the open window with a doubtful look on his face, Adaline’s driver’s permit clutched in his left hand.

“Ma'am it says here you were born January 1^st, 1888.”

Her seemingly non-aging skin had never posed that much of a problem before – sure, it caused for some awkward questions that she couldn’t answer, but there was a drastic difference between old (avoidable) friends and a government official.

“That's right.”  Answering with a smile, Adaline knows that even though her documentation is real, this man doesn’t seem to think so.

“That would make you...”  He tilts his head as he does the math, his expression becoming more and more disbelieving.  “40 years old?”

“Yes.” Her smile becomes a little more unsure, so she gives him an affirmative nod, hoping that the nervous lilt in her voice isn’t as obvious as she thinks it is.

“Ma'am, I'm gonna hold onto this.”  Fear grips at Adaline’s heart, and her bright red lips slowly lose their smile.  “When you come by the station house to pick it up, please bring your birth certificate.”  He says the words in a way that makes her feel like he expects her to argue, so, of course, she immediately complies.  She may not be a criminal, but she damn well doesn’t want to draw even more attention to herself.

“I'd be happy to, Officer, is tomorrow morning all right?”

“Sure.”

His answer is brief, and he walks back to his car briskly, leaving Adaline upset and anxious at the thought of her condition – and what it meant in terms of her future.

She could no longer skate by on lies of creams and genetics.  Something had to be done.

Soon after, Adaline moved back to San Francisco and took a clerical job at the School of Medicine.  There, she availed herself of every opportunity to research her condition.

After a year of intense study, Adaline Bowman was forced to confront the fact that there was absolutely no scientific explanation for her condition.

The rain poured down from the sky as she walked away from her workplace, seeming to mirror her mood.  With one had holding up her large black umbrella, Adaline’s face contorts with worry.  She still hadn’t found a reason for her youthful looks, and in just three more months she’d be a 42-year-old whose body hadn’t aged in around 15 years.

She’d entertained the idea of telling someone, a professional; like a doctor or a scientist, many a time, but had never gone through with it.  She couldn’t stand the idea that she may simply become someone’s lab rat to poke and prod at.  And so, she continued her search alone.

Unbeknownst to her – until they called out - two tall, suited men in black hats and dark coats had begun to approach her from behind.

“Adaline?”

On instinct, she spun around to face them at the sound of her name, but one glance at them told her all she needed to know – her thoughts had been heading in a terrifying, but very real direction

“Oh, I'm sorry, you have the wrong person.”

 Forcing a smile as she answers, Adaline spins back around the second the last word falls from her lips and continues walking, a fearful frown marring her face.

 “We're from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Miss Bowman.”  The agent reaches into his pocket and pulls out his identification as Adaline turns to face them once more.  Holding it up for her to see, he continues speaking.  “We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind.”

“Why?  I-I've done nothing wrong.”  She glances between them, trying to put on the righteous front of someone the FBI should have no interest in bothering.  “I'm a good American.  How dare you bother me at my place of employment?”  It doesn’t work.

“It couldn't be helped, Ma'am.”  Both agents step forward and grab each of her arms to force her over towards a parked car.  “We have no record of your residence.  This way please.”

Adaline is forced into the car with a huff, and watches as the door is closed on her with a slam.

As the car begins to move, Adaline cries quietly in the back seat, her gaze travelling from the two agents in the front to the street behind in the rear window.  One agent sees her tears and attempts to comfort her.

“Nothing to worry about, Miss Bowman.  We're just going to run a few tests on you.”

This does not help calm Adaline’s state of mind.

A while later the car slows to a stop, pulling up near a plane just as its engines are started.  This is when Adaline truly begins to panic.  Her fight or flight reactions are kicked into high gear as she watches the two original agents exit the car and jog over to at least four others stood beside the plane.  She has to get away.

Her instincts lead her to reach for a door handle on her left, but there is none.  She quickly turns to the other door only to find the same empty space as she shoves at it, hoping to suddenly come across something, anything, that can get her out.  She’s willing to push herself out the damn window if she has to.

Her terrified gaze flicks back to the crowd of agents as she begins to hyperventilate.  They aren’t paying her any attention.  For now.

Spinning around in place she begins to yank at the back of the seat, grunting quietly as she uses all of her strength.  She pulls off her coat before giving the back of the seat one more good pull, and it finally gives.

Another quick glance at the agents confirms that they are still paying her no mind. 

Adaline manages to climb through the gap and into the boot of the car, her shoes slipping off as she does so, and the trunk door opens when she gives it a firm shove.  Her stocking-covered right foot hits the rain-drenched floor first, followed by her right hand as she steadies herself and the rest of her body follows.

The instant she’s free from the car, Adaline runs.  She runs like she’s never run before.  Not when she was a child and her mother would chase her around the garden.  Not when she was late to school as a teenager.  Not when she ran to the construction site her husband was working on when she’d heard there was an accident.  Not even when she’d crashed her car into a lake and had to get to a busy road before the cold killed her like the lake hadn’t managed to.  She runs through the pouring rain, crying as she goes, her jaw length hair sticking to her face as she begins to plan.

She could no longer live her life as Adaline Marie Bowman.

Adaline manages to reach her house and, surprisingly, it isn’t swamped in jack-booted thug FBI agents masquerading as ‘the good guys’, like she’d imagined.

Aware that she’s on limited time, Adaline runs in and gets changed faster than she’s ever done before in her life.  She’s still soaked, but at least her clothes aren’t.

Rushing around the house, Adaline grabs two suitcases and fills them with essentials, picking up a framed photograph of her and Flemming.  It was taken not two months earlier, and showed them both laughing and happy, Flemming’s arms wrapped around her mother’s middle.

For the first time since escaping the car, Adaline pauses.  She looks at the picture, suddenly wondering what this means for Flemming.  If she could no longer be Adaline…  Then what happens to her daughter?  She couldn’t force her to run with her – she would never put that strain on her shoulders – but she could no sooner leave her daughter behind without a second glance.

Adaline is pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of a vehicle approaching the house.  She has no time to think now; this would have to be something she’d contemplate later.

Rushing once more, Adaline places the picture inside a suitcase before closing it, the other already full and waiting.

Adaline’s next stop is Flemming.  She’s the only person left in the world that Adaline loves, and she needs to know what has happened and what that means for their future.

The pair are sat in Adaline’s car as she goes over the plan she devised on the drive over.

 “If anyone contacts you, tell them that I went to Europe on vacation, that I never came back.”  Her voice is hoarse from the crying, but she’d managed to pull herself together for her daughter’s case.  Flemming, however, seems to have no qualms about letting out her emotions as tears fill her eyes and quickly spill over.  “The next time we see each other, I'll have a new identity.”  Flemming’s face scrunches up as she prepares to sob, and Adaline reaches out to stroke her cheek in comfort.  “I'll always be your mother, you'll just have to introduce me as your friend.”

“Mama, no.”  Flemming’s voice is soft, but full of emotion.

No longer able to look at the heart-breaking expression on her daughter’s face, Adaline looks down and slips off her ring.  It’s the one her mother gave to her when she got ill and knew that she wouldn’t make it to see her daughter give birth.

“It has to be this way...”  She reaches over, sliding the ring onto Flemming’s finger.  “Here.”

Wrapping her arms around her, Adaline gently guides Flemming’s head to her chest as both mother and daughter begin to sob.  Adaline rests her chin on her daughter’s head and tries not to wish that things were different.  She’s learnt by now that wishes don’t bring anything but false hope, followed by misery.

To ensure the freedom and safety of herself and her daughter Adaline vowed to keep moving; changing her name, residence, and appearance every decade, and never to speak a word of her fate to another living soul.

In seven weeks, when Jennifer Larson disappears forever, and Susan Fleisher takes up residence in a remote farmhouse in Ashton, Oregon, Adaline Bowman, aside from one moment of weakness, will have kept her vow for the past 88 years.

Chapter Text

Late January 1939

The first time James Barnes met Adaline Bowman she introduced herself as Della Browne.  It had been a whole decade since she’d had to up and leave her life, and Adaline was only just starting to feel like she was no longer in immediate danger.

During the ten years between the close call with the FBI and now, she’d been Emily Buckett – a shop assistant at Roy’s Second Hand Books in Denver who moved away after just over four years in order to care for her sick aunt – and Joanne Spade – a sales assistant in a small, family-owned clothes shop in Detroit who left exactly five years after she’d turned up to assist her younger sister with her new business in Atlanta.

Adaline had then moved to Brooklyn and taken on the name Della (a nickname her father used to call her by) Browne and had just started working at the café ’round the corner from one James Buchanan Barnes’ workplace when she met him and, true to his nature, he’d begun flirting almost instantly. 

When subtlety didn’t seem to be working in his favour, Bucky decided to switch over to classic one-liners.  They go down about as well as his flirty winks and compliments did.

“If you think you’re the first man to say that to me then you must greatly underestimate the amount of men who know that line.”

Though her words are sharp there’s a gentle sparkle to her eyes that takes away the sting, so Bucky’s smile stays firmly intact.  He’s been coming around after work and in between shifts around once a fortnight since meeting her two months ago and, sure, maybe she’s grown a little fond of the charmer with the quick wit and cheeky grin.

“Already used, huh?”  Raising his eyebrows, James lowers his sandwich back to its plate and leans over the counter slightly, laughing as Della flicks him back over to his side with her dishtowel.  “Alright; how ’bout this one?”

With the object of his affection’s withering glare glued to him, Bucky repeats as many one-liners as he can remember, grinning as Della is given away by her twitching lips.

From that day on every time she saw James – “Bucky, please,” – he had at least two new pick-up lines to send her way – and since he’d begun stopping by even more (once or twice a week at this point) there were a lot.  They ranged from hilariously bad (“Are you a magician?  Because whenever I look at you everyone else disappears.”) to almost useable (“Did the sun come out or did you just smile at me?”) to ridiculously cheesy (“I’m lost.  Can you give me directions to your heart?”).  And she loved it.  Not that she’d ever tell him – his ego didn’t need the boost.

Although she tried to remain impartial to him – she was, and seemingly always would be, on the run, after all – Adaline found herself charmed by the cheeky grins he’d send her way when he’d walk in, and the considerate nature she’d catch glimpses of when he’d leave her a tip that he couldn’t really afford or would save half of his lunch for his best friend.  In the end she even revealed to him that her full name was Adaline, and invited him to call her that instead of the pseudonym she was currently living under.

So instead of actually managing to not care, she simply kept his at arm’s length; politely rejecting his offers to meet up (date or otherwise), join him for lunch or let him buy her a coffee.  All that work, however, was blown out of the window when, after semi-regular visits for over three months, Bucky turned up with a black eye.

The second she sees the black-purple bruise standing out around his left eye her mouth drops open and her own eyes widen.  Her instinct is to step towards him, but then she remembers that she’s midway through serving a table and she still has their order waiting on her tray.

Bucky waves her off, letting her know that he can wait while she finishes up – which she does (as quickly as possible), before doing a quick check that all her other customers are fine.  It’s mid-afternoon on a weekday, so she’s not exactly busy, and the other waitress agrees to take over her tables while she takes a fifteen-minute break.  As soon as she has that confirmation, Adaline hightails it over to her injured friend.

“Bucky, what--?”  Her hand comes up to his face, fingers brushing lightly against the skin just below the bruise.

“Ah, I’m fine, doll.  Nothing to worry about.”  His tone is flippant as he shrugs, but rather than pulling away from her hand he leans into it.  Only then does Adaline seem to realise what she’s doing, and she snatches her hand away, bringing it to the back of her head to twist in her ponytail before gesturing to the back door behind the bar.

“Come on.  I’ll get you some ice.”

She lifts up the door section of the counter and steps through, Bucky following close behind.

He doesn’t really need the ice – sure, it hurts, but he got this bruise yesterday and he’d iced it then (along with Steve’s many, many others), so the swelling had mostly gone down and it just needed time to heal.  But he certainly wasn’t going to turn down some alone time with Adaline – he got so little of it as it was.

“Here.  Sit here.”  She taps a low, metal table off to the right of the room before heading over to the freezer, picking up a clean dishtowel on the way.  Like an obedient (lovesick) puppy, he sits on the table and waits.

Bucky watches her long, blonde ponytail swish from side to side, before eventually falling to rest over her right shoulder as she wraps up a handful of ice in the dishtowel.  Adaline glances at him over that same shoulder, her hair falling down her back once again.

“You’re staring,” she notes, a small smile playing at her lips.

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky answers in the same soft tone, causing her smile to grow for just a second, before she breaks his gaze and drops her eyes to the icy cloth in her hands.  Clearing her throat, Adaline twists the dishtowel around her right hand before she turns and makes her way over to him.

“You’re injured.  And an idiot.”  She lifts the homemade ice pack up to his face, paying no mind to the way he hisses when she presses it lightly against his bruised skin.  “Mauviette,” she mutters under her breath with an eye roll before speaking up a little.  “How did this happen anyway?  Hm?  You said the boxing was a thing of the past.”

He narrows his eyes at her but has long since learned not to question her knowledge of languages.  He’s also figured out that she usually only speaks in French (or Russian and sometimes Spanish) when she’s saying something others aren’t supposed to hear, most often if she drops or breaks something, and he assumes that she’s swearing.  She was probably insulting him, but he knows you can’t fake the fondness present in her eyes as she said it, so he remains unoffended.

“Yeah, well, it is in an official capacity.  But when you’re pals with one Steven Grant Rogers…  You end up havin’ to pull him outta a lot of fights that he has no chance of winnin’ alone.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing and Adaline can’t help the warm smile that grows on her face as she looks up at him, eyes filled with that fondness once again.  She’s stood in between his knees, her face just inches from his, and for once, just for once, Adaline wants to do something that’ll make her happy and screw the consequences.

So she kisses him.

The hand holding the ever-melting iced dishtowel drops down to hold it by her side as the other one comes up to cup his right cheek.  Though he’s shocked, Bucky kisses her back immediately, very tentatively placing his left hand on her neck, right where it meets her shoulder.

It doesn’t last long, and it certainly wasn’t particularly erotic, but it’s set Bucky’s heart racing, and he thinks it may very well be the best kiss of his life.  He can no longer hide it from himself that over the last three months, he’s been falling in love with this enchanting yet distant woman.

Slower than she’s ever moved in her life Adaline pulls her head away, their lips coming apart gradually.  There’s a second where they remain still, simply sharing air, as Adaline’s eyelids flutter open.  She only takes a moment to admire his face – eyes closed, pouting lips and flushed cheeks – before taking a step back and shaking her head in an attempt to clear it.  She can’t do this.

The second he feels her movement Bucky’s eyes fly open – he knows how flighty she is and had purposefully been trying not to push her too far for fear of losing her completely.  But she had kissed him.

“James…”  His name is almost a whisper on her lips and she swallows, a frown marring her forehead as she avoids his gaze.

“I should--” Adaline falters, gesturing in the direction of the café with the hand still holding the dishtowel full of ice.  “Probably get back out there.  Here.  Keep this on for at least another five minutes, okay?”  She presses the ice-filled towel against his eye once more, ensuring that he’d grasped it properly before letting go and stepping back again.

Despite this, Adaline lingers for a moment longer, words she so desperately wants to say fighting to spill forth, but instead all she does is take in a deep breath, bite her lip and turn to the door.

“Dels?”  Bucky’s voice is soft and so very unsure.  She hates that she does this to him.

“Mm?”  Adaline doesn’t turn, simply stops with her hand on the doorknob, breath bated.

“We’re good…  Right?”  The uncertainty of his question forces her to look at him properly for the first time in five minutes as she glances over her shoulder.

“Yes, Bucky.  Always.”

And with that promise, she leaves.

Chapter Text

Exactly five months after first meeting Bucky, Adaline meets Steve Rogers. He’s small in stature (she’d expected as much based on Bucky’s description) and has some of the longest eyelashes Adaline’s ever seen. His smile is shy but warm as Bucky introduces them.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Browne.”

“Oh, no, first names only - I insist. I’ve heard too many stories about you to even contemplate anything else.” At Steve’s bright smile and shy nod of acquiescence Adaline continues. “It really is nice to meet you. You must have the patience of a saint.” Adaline smiles wryly as she makes the dig, gesturing to Bucky. “I can’t imagine having to put up with that every day. I only see him once a week and it’s exhausting.”

Steve lets out a huff of a laugh as Bucky pretends to be offended. The grin on his face, however, gives him away.

“Well, maybe you just haven’t thought of the other option, ma’am.” Steve slides onto the stool across the bar from Adaline, a mischievous smile on his face despite his polite tone.

“Oh?” Adaline tilts her head, smiling in anticipation. “And what’s that?”

“He’s just as big a nuisance as I am.”

Bucky hops onto the stool next to his friend, a shit-eating grin wide on his face. Glancing between the two of them, Adaline drops her face into her hands.

“Oh good god.” There’s two of them. “I think I need to sit down.” Her voice is muffled but the two men still hear her and chuckle among themselves.

“Sorry, doll. I figured you knew what you were getting into when I told you I was inviting him.”

She raises her head to see two identical grins staring back at her.

Oh boy, was she in trouble.

Adaline warms to Steve as quickly as she did Bucky. His charm is less obvious, but there. She sees it in his shy smiles and unwavering righteousness. His dry humour and passionate determination to do the right thing as often as possible.

He joins Bucky on almost all of his weekly visits, and because of this the two have to share a meal each time - they certainly can’t afford to pay for two. Perhaps it’s the outrageously large tip they always leave her for one sandwich, or maybe just her fondness for the pair, but she finds herself “accidentally” putting together the wrong desserts for her other tables when they’re around. And no one can fault her for giving away what can now be considered leftovers, right?

They’ve tried telling her not to do it - “what if it got you fired, Dels? We’d feel like right crumbs” - but the contented grins on their faces as they sat back to rub their full stomachs afterwards was something she never missed, and refused to take away for the sake of a job she’d be leaving in a couple of years anyways.

She tries not to think about it too much - her inevitable leaving - and certainly not for too long, because when she does she gets dingy ideas like sticking around and that’s just not something she can afford to do. No matter how much she wants to. Besides, she’s only known Bucky for seven months and Steve for two; she’s been running for more than fifteen times that. She’ll move on just fine. She has to.

She doesn’t regret the decision straight away; not with their happy grins and bright eyes pointed in her direction, but it doesn’t take long after they leave for the doubt to kick in. Adaline knew she was getting in too deep the day she kissed Bucky in the back kitchen, but she’d always managed to stick firmly with her refusal to see him outside of working hours.

They hadn’t exactly tricked her into it, and certainly not on purpose, she was sure, but she’d mentioned offhandedly that she was planning to see the new Judy Garland film at the pictures sometime and the next day they’d turned up with tickets for that weekend.

At first she’d resisted, insisted they use them for a date instead, but Bucky had grinned triumphantly as he stated they’d only bought the three which would leave an odd man out if one of them was to bring a girl.

She couldn’t argue that she was busy - she’d already told them her weekend was going to consist solely of devouring the most recent F Scott Fitzgerald novel that she’d never gotten around to reading.

She was left only to feebly take back her earlier words and say that she wasn’t actually that interested in seeing the film (lie) and that actually she’d just heard a bad review from one of her co-workers (lie) so she’ll give it a miss. But as strong as her will was, theirs was stronger. Or perhaps it was simply that hers got weaker when they turned the power of their combined gaze on her.

“Damn you,” she’d relented, pointing at Bucky accusingly before turning to Steve, “and damn your eyelashes.” Adaline tried to tell herself she isn't charmed by the flush that immediately came over Steve's cheeks.

Their proud grins boasted their success as they settled on a time to meet that Saturday. As they’d walked out Bucky threw an arm over Steve’s shoulders as he let out a chuckle at their victory.

Now that she thought about it, it was definitely on purpose.

Chapter Text

What does one wear on a not-date with two attractive men that they are actively trying to not be attracted to (despite the fact that it’s far too late for that)?  Adaline certainly doesn’t know.  On the bright side her anxiety has led to her apartment being cleaned all over and her wardrobe being rearranged by colour - it looks very pretty but doesn’t help her dilemma very much.

Adaline takes another minute (one of many) to curse herself for agreeing to this before turning back to her options.  She wants to look nice, but then she realises that she shouldn’t want that and tries to think of her least flattering outfits, before hating herself because she definitely didn’t want to look unattractive in front of them.  And then the cycle starts over once again, leaving Adaline with a headache and a craving for a drink.  A strong one.

Five minutes later she’s back in front of her neatly hung clothing with what has to be at least a quadruple helping of whiskey.  She takes a fortifying gulp, wincing a little at the burn, and reaches for her nicest day-dress.  She wants to look nice, but not overdressed for a movie.  Turning away from her closet quickly so she can’t change her mind (again), Adaline sits at her vanity and starts her makeup, and if she uses her favourite dark pink lipstick that she saves for special occasions who’s going to know?

Steve’s the first to see her as they stand outside the small theatre with their hands in their pockets to fight the chill creeping in now that it’s September.  He can’t take his eyes off her as she approaches; she has to be the prettiest woman in all of Brooklyn - the whole world, maybe, so he clues Bucky in by reaching back and elbowing him gently in the stomach.

Bucky lets out an irritated huff before turning to see Steve transfixed by something in the distance.  He turns to look the same way and his mouth drops open slightly and a breathy “woah” falls from his lips.  All Steve can do is nod in agreement.

Adaline’s wearing a knee-length sky blue dress decorated with white flowers and green leaves.  The dress buttons from bottom to top and the sleeves stop at her elbows.  Her hair is down and curled, and her lips are an eye-drawing pink that split to show a white smile as she reaches the men.

“Hi,” she starts, feeling a little strange seeing the two outside of work.  “Sorry I’m late, I…” almost didn’t come “got a call from an old friend; we got to talking and all of a sudden it was almost 6 and I wasn’t here.”  She smiles apologetically and Bucky jumps into action - offering her his arm as an escort and smiling brightly.

“No worries, doll, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

Adaline lets out a huff of a laugh at the unintended irony before offering her other arm to Steve, noticing that he’d dropped behind them and kept quiet.  “You okay?”  She queries gently, watching his shoulders drop a little when she loops her hand through his elbow.

“Yeah, Del; just fine.  You look stunning, by the way.”

Steve’s proud of the way she flushes at his compliment, despite still feeling a little empty at the reminder that his best friend was in love with her and she was as unattainable as every other girl he’d ever been sweet on.

“Absolutely beautiful, Dels,” Bucky throws his two cents in with a wide grin at her flustered state.

“Alright, alright, thank you both.”  Adaline rolls her eyes and picks up her pace in the hopes the conversation will move on just as fast.

The film was amazing - as she’d known it would be - and being seated between Bucky and Steve was exactly the kind of blissful torture she’d expected of it.  Especially when they would lean together in front of her so all three of them could whisper among themselves.  In all honesty it was probably the best first date she’d ever had (including the one with her long-since late husband) and it wasn’t even a real date; not only was she actively making sure of that but also there were three of them.

It was definitely complicated.

The walk back to her place was filled with discussion of the film and the possibility of seeing another soon - which she purposefully didn’t agree nor disagree with.  She’d had a really good time, and, despite her reasonable hesitance, she really wanted to do it again.

It wasn’t until they reached her building that the weirdness of a three-person not-quite-date kicked in.

It felt, very awkwardly, like she should kiss at least one of them - which was crazy, she reminded herself, because this wasn’t a date and all they were doing was grinning at her, the years shared between them evident in the very similar way their mouths were quirked.  It was, frustratingly enough, both adorable and intriguing at the same time.

“So…” Adaline started, hating the way her awkward tone made their shoulders tense; as if she was a nervous doe about to bolt and they couldn’t do a thing about it but watch in trepidation.  Which, she supposed, is exactly how this will end one day.  The thought closes her throat up and she does her best to sound unaffected as she continues.  “I’ll see you at the cafe?”

Steve nods immediately as Bucky glances at him.

“Yeah, we, uh, we were thinking maybe Wednesday?  I’ve got a long shift Tuesday and the punk has an ad to draw before the week’s out.”

“Sounds perfect,” she answers softly and, before she can think too hard and talk herself out of it (which she seems to be doing less and less of around these two), Adaline presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek and then Bucky’s.  The tension that had grown in their shoulders drops immediately and they both adopt those matching grins again as she bids them a goodnight and lets herself into her building.

As much as she tries to force herself to regret it, Adaline can only smile when she thinks of her lips pressed against their cheeks, and quick flashes of the feel of Bucky’s lips pressed against hers three months prior break into her daydreams as she walks up the stairs and desperately tries not to wonder about how Steve’s would feel too.

It doesn’t work.