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11am, March 14, 1943
He stands at the front of the church in his best suit, watching her float down the aisle. A vision in silk and lace. Unbidden, his mind drifts back to the days, months, years that led to this moment, wondering how they ever got here.
Their story… It’s a love story, he knows it is. Just not the kind you read about in fairytales.
October 6, 1941
He met her on the streets of Brooklyn. Or, more correctly, a dodgy alleyway behind a diner in Brooklyn. Looking back on it now, he realizes the perfection in this unconventional meeting place: there was nowhere else their story could have begun.
They were both 23, and she was stunning. Steve acknowledges that ‘stunning’ was an objective opinion as he gaped at her in her waitress’ uniform, coffee stain down the front of her crisp white blouse and her hair in disarray. No, what made her stunning was the look on her face as she berated a man twice her size with fire in her eyes and venom in her words, seemingly unintimidated by the greasy man that just made a pass at her.
Steve had heard the lewd remark from the street, seen the man’s frame hulking over a woman in the alley, and marched over to give the brute a piece of his mind. What he didn’t count on was her ending her tirade with a firm right hook to the jaw, sending the man staggering backwards as he cursed her out and fled from the alley.
He was still gaping in her direction when she turned to him, still rubbing her fist, a bit of surprise passing over her face before she smiled shyly. “Sorry you had to see that,” she shrugged, “But I just really fuckin’ hate bullies.”
All he could do was nod, and breathily whisper “Me, too.”
January 19, 1942
Steve found himself going back to her diner often in the months since he had met her. He knew it wasn’t her diner, not really, but what else could he call it? She was the only thing that made it stand out, the only reason it was worth walking halfway across Brooklyn for a crappy cup of coffee. He’d often go and work on his sketches there when she had the late shift, and they’d sit in a booth together, talking about everything and nothing all at once until the rare customer wandered in.
He even brought Bucky to meet her, albeit grudgingly, since Bucky had the audacity to follow him to the diner that night. Bucky was naturally offended by Steve’s squawks of protest at being followed: after all, he was a grown man who could take care of himself. But Bucky was having none of it, claiming that he was concerned that Steve had gotten pulled in with the wrong sort of folks, what with how often he was out until unholy hours of the night. But the sight of her attempting to hide her giggles behind her hand as they fought at the table had Steve blushing, and Bucky turning on the Barnes charm to redeem himself in the eyes of a beautiful dame.
And although Steve wished she and Bucky hadn’t hit it off so well, with her able to turn his flirtatious words right back on him without so much as a second thought, he was grateful for it in the end. With Bucky frequenting the diner as well, the three quickly slipped from acquaintances to friends. Excursions were planned. Dinners were eaten together, followed by walks through the park. His one constant through it all was her kindness and attention: she was always there for him with a funny story or kind word, a soft touch on his shoulder or hand at just the right time. And fuck, he knew it was selfish, but he longed for more.
April 24, 1942
Steve knew deep down that something had to go south. It always did for him, in the end. He just didn’t expect it to be so soon.
She knew he’d been trying to enlist, despite her and Bucky’s best efforts to persuade him otherwise. Unlike Bucky, however, she was genuinely angry with him for his “goddamned self-sacrificing sense of duty and uppity righteousness”, and wasn’t afraid to let him hear it. It seemed that half the time she was seething mad, reminding him that there were plenty of strong, healthy young men to fight on the front lines. Men that he was definitely the opposite of.
Not for the first time, Steve began to feel like maybe he wasn’t good enough for her. That she deserved a better man, one who was strong and healthy and able to fight for her as well as for their country. And if she thought differently, well, then she didn’t know what was good for her.
When he told her as much in the crowded dance hall Bucky had dragged them to, sitting on the sidelines together because once again she “didn’t really feel like dancing”, she refused to make a scene. Her quiet fury manifested itself in the hardened look in her eyes, the clench of her jaw, the set of her shoulders as she stood, smoothed out her skirt, and simply walked away.
It wasn’t long after that he saw her dancing with another fella, light in her eyes, head thrown back in laughter and exhilaration as she was whirled across the dance floor. In that moment, he knew that he was right. He could never deserve her, and he never stood a chance.
July 23, 1942
It was a day Steve wished he could make last forever.
One of those rare days lately when she’s not mad at him, although he’s been doing plenty that would give her reason to be. Like the dimwit he is, he can’t seem to stop spouting the things he told her at the dance hall months ago. Sometimes her anger is loud and brash. Other times, it’s quiet and sad. Steve doesn’t know which is worse.
But today she seems determined to enjoy the day. A trip to Coney Island with Bucky and his sisters. A new summer dress that clings and flows in all the right places. The promise of cotton candy and hotdogs and a few Midway games putting a sparkle in here eye. She’s openly affectionate with Steve like she hasn’t been in a long time, linking their arms together as they walk up and down the boardwalk and resting her head on his shoulder as they rode the Wonder Wheel.
Steve knows he can’t let himself read into this. It’s nothing, it means nothing. She could never have feelings for him, and he could never deserve her affection. But he allows himself to pretend. There’s no harm in that.
September 2, 1942
Turns out, there is harm in pretending.
She’s going steady with a fella, Dean Fitzgerald, who she started seeing a week after Coney Island. She’s trying to control herself, to not gush to Steve about her guy despite how obviously enamored she is. But he just forces a smile and tells her to go on.
Steve’s happy for her, he supposes. Not like he had a chance, anyway.
December 18, 1942
Things had been better. Not the way they used to be, with secret smiles and casual touches between them. And Steve was managing just fine with the whole Dean situation, thank you very much.
But then pneumonia hit, and he landed in the hospital for a solid two weeks. He doesn’t remember much, just fragments that he’s pieced together in his mind. But there are two constants: Bucky, and her.
He knows there’s tears. Lots of those, from both of them. Hands holding onto his, urging him to get better. Whispered words of love, fear, and bargaining.
For once, Steve glad he can’t speak. If he could he’d tell her how much he loves her, how he doesn’t want to leave her, how he won’t let this end him because he needs to be with her. If he told her that, he’d have to face the fact that she doesn’t feel the same.
And that might just actually kill him.
10:30am, March 14, 1943
He knows he shouldn’t, knows it’s against tradition, but he has to see her before the wedding. He slips past the mothers and grandmas and bridesmaids unnoticed, slipping into the room where she’s putting the finishing touches on her makeup.
“You look beautiful” he breathes, and although she starts a bit, she doesn’t seem surprised to see him there. The same shy grin she offered him on their first meeting is directed at him once more, and Steve has to know. He has to take this chance.
Then he asks the question that, in hindsight, he wished he never asked. The sad smile on her face that he would do anything to forget, as her tears threatened to spill over.
11am, March 14, 1943
Now he stands at the front of the church, and watches her float down the aisle. A vision in silk and lace. The groom beaming at her, completely unaware that Steve’s heart is breaking in the front pew.
Looking back, it’s all so painfully clear. How she loved him, how she tried to fight for him, how he wouldn’t let her “settle” for someone like him, even though that wasn’t his choice to make.
And as the priest proclaims the woman of his dreams to be someone else’s wife, Mr. and Mrs. Dean Fitzgerald, their last conversation echos in his mind.
“I never stood a chance, did I?”, he mumbled.
“That’s the sad part,” she sighed. “You did, once.”