Brooklyn Butterflies

In reality, Howard and Maria never met

But...

**May 17, 1947, St. Ann's Church, Brooklyn, New York**

The air was fresh; the sky was cloudless blue; the scent of wild apple blossoms wafted from the churchyard in the back. The red-white-and-blue flags still hung from the war two years ago, but today they fluttered only because of the love of two people.

**Sarah Smith**, Captain America, stood in the small preparation room of the church. Her wedding dress was not pure white, but **pearl cream**; French satin that Juliette Lorraine had sent her from liberated Paris. Her long skirt reached the floor, but her back was open; the line of her muscular spine stood out beneath the delicate Belgian lace, like a statue of strength and grace. A small crown of wild jasmine sparkled on her blond hair, styled in a 1940s wavy style.

In the mirror, her eyes still had that Brooklyn innocence, but now with the pride of a woman who had saved the world.

“Captain, are you ready?” **Peggy Carter**, Captain Brittain, entered in a navy stewardess uniform. She put her hand on Sarah’s shoulder.

Sarah smiled. “I’ve been ready since I hugged Steve in Brooklyn.”

Howard Stark was waiting at the altar, wearing his black Italian coat, a white rose in his breast pocket, his hair slicked back with glossy gel. His eyes were filled with the sparkle of a genius who, for the first time in his life, could not make something with a formula: love.

The church door opened. The old organ played the “Ave Maria.” **Seven captains of the Amazons**, each in their national costume, sat in the front row:

**Wanda Grachev** with the Soviet Red Star,

**Sarah Smith** (the bride),

**Juliette Laurent** with a French silk shawl,

**Femke de Witte** with an orange tulip,

**Deider Ducasse** with a small Belgian flag,

**Julia Benigni** with an Italian lily,

and **Peggy Carter** clutching her silk handkerchief.

Sarah took a step forward, her silver heels echoing on the church pavement.

When Sarah reached the altar, Howard took her hand. His fingers were shaking.

“Sarah Marie Smith, will you take this man to be your wife?”

Sarah looked into Howard’s eyes. “Yes. With all my supersoldier heart.”

“And you, Howard Maria Stark…”

Howard laughed excitedly. “Yes, even if I have to build her an entire planet.”

Rings were exchanged; Sarah’s ring was made of the melted gold and platinum of her own shield, and Howard’s was a small blue diamond he had created in his own lab.

The bride and groom kissed under the church’s stained glass, Sarah’s lips on Howard’s, brimming with promise.

Outside, the spring snow of New York was falling like white butterflies. The **Seven Captains** threw white roses into the sky. Steve gave Sarah a small bouquet of jasmine and whispered, “Happy birthday, Captain.”

Howard hugged Sarah and led her into his silver Rolls-Royce. The small American flag fluttered on the hood.

The world was past war.

Now, the only thing left was love.