Is that why you said no every time I tried to set you up with one of my friends?
( of course she would have had a thing for him back then. that bucky was all charm and innocent youth. the grim truth clicks into place, and he can't fault the logic. who would fall for the wreckage of the winter soldier over the man he used to be? he's built from scars now, inside and out. beneath the practiced smiles and forced easygoing nature, he's just a collection of old wounds—a ghost trying to remember how to be flesh and blood. )
I wish I had known how you felt back then. ( the words are out, sincere and aching for a lost moment that never happened—could've, would've, should've—and they leave a colder question lingering in their wake: what if he's not that guy anymore? what if the man she wants is just another casualty he left behind in the past? )
[ She liked that part of him that hadn't been trying to impress anyone. The little nerd who read Tolkien and was delighted by (barely) flying cars. The way he looked after his family and doted on his sister. How he believed in Steph when she couldn't believe in herself, even helping her get into art school. Was it any surprise she'd followed him into the war? ]
It wouldn't have changed anything. At least now you get the new me. [ Still broken, just in a different way. But maybe in a way he understands. ] You don't gotta worry about me dying anymore. And I'm really pretty now.
Yeah. Heard you were ranked 'Sexiest Woman Alive' five times in a row, was it? I'm surprised you can still fit your head through the door.
( he always thought she was pretty—devastatingly so, even back then in brooklyn when she'd swear he was lying through his teeth. he remembers dragging her out to all the funfairs and the small parties in town, telling her she looked fine, and getting that famous rogers stink-eye in return. she was never convinced. but he never stopped trying; he couldn't stand the thought of her cooping herself up, especially after her ma passed. )
( if they were talking in person, her 'ass' comment would have earned an innocent shrug and a claim of ignorance—a lie so transparent it wouldn't have fooled a child, let alone steph. )
What are they saying?
( he doesn't read those magazines or the tabloids. he did go to the museum though. once. but after steph's supposed death, he'd avoided the place like the plague. the thought of hearing strangers talk about his best friend—his gone best friend—seems like it'd be too much. )
Many historians believed you were the real Captain America, and I was just propaganda to distract everyone else. Some of them also thought we were having an affair since you apparently had someone waiting for you back in Brooklyn. The romance writers certainly liked that.
[ There were many other takes, but those were some of the most annoying and amusing. The other Avengers had been happy to provide her the cliff notes of everything they'd read and learned, including the memes. ]
You've seen the musical? They gave us a whole love song and everything.
( note to self: don't look into the weird art stuff. )
6? 8?
( too early? too late? why is he unsure? why is this so difficult? usually, he'd just show up at whatever ungodly hour with a bag of takeout and that's that. but this... this is different. they're crossing a line. this is a date. a real first date. is everything about to change? or... everything already has. )
6? Start early, get home early, avoid the crowds? We can even do brunch instead, we're not drinking anyway.
[ She'd suggest that he just come over at whatever hour with takeout, but it feels weird now that they're talking about a date and not just platonically hanging out. She doesn't want him to think she's propositioning him or anything. ]
( if this is a date—and it damn well is—he wants to do it right. they'd missed too many chances for a normal beginning. someday, he wants them to look back and say they'd at least tried to do it the right way. )
I'll pick you up at six. ( a statement of fact this time. no room for argument. ) Put on a dress. I'll take you somewhere nice.
( he already has the beginnings of a plan formulating in his mind. a favor he can call in from a guy who knows a guy—some exclusive place in the city that requires reservations months in advance. getting a table last-minute is a power move he rarely bothers with. but for her? hell, why not go all out. )
[ She has a nice dress in the fashion of their time that's been collecting dust in her closet as she'd been saving it for a special occasion. Guess this calls for it. And though she hasn't done so in a while, she decides to style her hair too. It's nothing like the curls she used to favor before the serum — as did all the ladies back then — but it's enough of an effort for a date.
They really are going on a date. She still can't quite believe it.
She has a hearty snack before pick up time though; the last thing she wants to do is stuff her face while they're "somewhere nice", both because that'll be such a turn off, and because she doesn't want him to spend more than he has to, with how ridiculously expensive New York restaurants are these days. Damn supersoldier metabolism.
And while there shouldn't be any danger... she slips a handgun into a thigh holster anyway, as well as a knife disguised as a tube of mascara into her handbag. She doesn't trust their luck, not with the way their lives have gone. ]
( bucky had opted for his standard uniform: black jeans, black tee. but he'd shrugged on a blazer and spent a stupid amount of time polishing his boots. maybe he should've added some color. too late now. black is safe. it helps him blend into the shadows, a habit too ingrained to break, even for a date.
he is ten minutes early. his boots are quiet on the apartment stairs. normally, he'd just knock, but tonight has rules. he forces himself to slow down, pausing on the landing to draw a steadying breath. the nervous flutter in his gut is ridiculous. it's just steph. you've known her your whole life. what are you so afraid of?
screwing it all up. the thought is a cold splash of water. oh, no. no. he shoves it down hard. no second-guessing. he is here. she is in there. they are doing this.
he clears his throat, his gaze dropping to the small bouquet in his hand. sunflowers. he'd even asked the florist for the water-in-a-cotton-swab trick so they'd survive if she decides to just chuck them on the table. no pressure.
a practiced, easy smile settles on his face. he knocks. and waits. )
[ He doesn't see her practically jump to her feet at the sound of his knock. She'd been ready for at least an hour, equal parts excited and anxious about screwing things up, and has been stress sketching to pass the time. She hasn't been on a date in ages. And never with him. ]
Hey— oh, wow.
[ She's no longer clad in her attention-grabbing blue suit with a giant star, but there's no way she's not standing out in contrast to his tactical blacks. Her blonde hair is a bright halo around her face, her red dress a warning sign. It's better this way though; since the serum their roles had been reversed, as she'd been shoved into the spotlight while he disappeared into the shadows. Sometimes she wonders if he ever resented her for it.
Right now, though, she's smiling, a little dumbstruck by how nice he looks. Then she smoothens her skirt self-consciously. ]
Need to come in for anything before we go? Water? Bathroom break?
[ That's probably not date etiquette, but he's still her best friend first of all. She wants him to enjoy this even if things don't work out. ]
( the air leaves his lungs in a quiet rush. he's seen her a thousand times, but never like this. not really. his gaze holds for a beat too long, committing this new version of her to a memory that feels centuries old, before he remembers himself and offers a slow, genuine smile. )
Hi. ( his voice is softer than he'd intended. the habit is too strong to break; bucky steps forward and draws her into their usual hug. but the familiarity ends there. the scent of her perfume is new, intoxicating, and the solid beat of his heart kicks up a notch against his ribs. he holds her for a second longer than usual before leaning back, the bouquet appearing in his hand as if from nowhere. )
For you. ( he offers the flowers, his eyes never leaving hers. ) You look... incredible. ( a faint, self-deprecating smirk touches his lips as he glances down at his own outfit. ) Might have to up my game next time. ( but he catches himself, his tone shifting back to earnest reassurance. ) Not that I'm saying you're not perfectly dressed for where we're going. You are. ( he gives a slight, almost imperceptible shake of his head then, a silent command to stop talking before he says too much. )
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So tasty.
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Naturally, she doesn't back down. ]
🍈🍈 too. 🤤
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[ Oh hey maybe her sexy lingerie will finally see some action. Or not. If he literally just wants to have melons for dessert. ]
You picking me up or are we meeting somewhere?
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Don't make it too easy for me, Rogers.
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( he's always been on time. he's disciplined like that. )
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[ She just had to. Might as well capitalize on the embarrassment of her confession. ]
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( of course she would have had a thing for him back then. that bucky was all charm and innocent youth. the grim truth clicks into place, and he can't fault the logic. who would fall for the wreckage of the winter soldier over the man he used to be? he's built from scars now, inside and out. beneath the practiced smiles and forced easygoing nature, he's just a collection of old wounds—a ghost trying to remember how to be flesh and blood. )
I wish I had known how you felt back then. ( the words are out, sincere and aching for a lost moment that never happened—could've, would've, should've—and they leave a colder question lingering in their wake: what if he's not that guy anymore? what if the man she wants is just another casualty he left behind in the past? )
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[ She liked that part of him that hadn't been trying to impress anyone. The little nerd who read Tolkien and was delighted by (barely) flying cars. The way he looked after his family and doted on his sister. How he believed in Steph when she couldn't believe in herself, even helping her get into art school. Was it any surprise she'd followed him into the war? ]
It wouldn't have changed anything. At least now you get the new me. [ Still broken, just in a different way. But maybe in a way he understands. ] You don't gotta worry about me dying anymore. And I'm really pretty now.
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I'm surprised you can still fit your head through the door.
( he always thought she was pretty—devastatingly so, even back then in brooklyn when she'd swear he was lying through his teeth. he remembers dragging her out to all the funfairs and the small parties in town, telling her she looked fine, and getting that famous rogers stink-eye in return. she was never convinced. but he never stopped trying; he couldn't stand the thought of her cooping herself up, especially after her ma passed. )
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It's really weird how they got all kinda stuff about us. They make the history books look tame in comparison.
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What are they saying?
( he doesn't read those magazines or the tabloids. he did go to the museum though. once. but after steph's supposed death, he'd avoided the place like the plague. the thought of hearing strangers talk about his best friend—his gone best friend—seems like it'd be too much. )
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[ There were many other takes, but those were some of the most annoying and amusing. The other Avengers had been happy to provide her the cliff notes of everything they'd read and learned, including the memes. ]
You've seen the musical? They gave us a whole love song and everything.
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( only thing he's been catching up on is the news. )
Sam did show me some fan art though. Back when he was trying to explain to me what a ship meant.
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Don't look into the fanart, you're gonna regret it.
[ There are NSFW ones, and kinky NSFW ones, and also Steph shipped with practically all of the Avengers because some people are weird like that. ]
What time tomorrow?
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6? 8?
( too early? too late? why is he unsure? why is this so difficult? usually, he'd just show up at whatever ungodly hour with a bag of takeout and that's that. but this... this is different. they're crossing a line. this is a date. a real first date. is everything about to change? or... everything already has. )
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[ She'd suggest that he just come over at whatever hour with takeout, but it feels weird now that they're talking about a date and not just platonically hanging out. She doesn't want him to think she's propositioning him or anything. ]
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( if this is a date—and it damn well is—he wants to do it right. they'd missed too many chances for a normal beginning. someday, he wants them to look back and say they'd at least tried to do it the right way. )
I'll pick you up at six. ( a statement of fact this time. no room for argument. ) Put on a dress. I'll take you somewhere nice.
( he already has the beginnings of a plan formulating in his mind. a favor he can call in from a guy who knows a guy—some exclusive place in the city that requires reservations months in advance. getting a table last-minute is a power move he rarely bothers with. but for her? hell, why not go all out. )
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[ She has a nice dress in the fashion of their time that's been collecting dust in her closet as she'd been saving it for a special occasion. Guess this calls for it. And though she hasn't done so in a while, she decides to style her hair too. It's nothing like the curls she used to favor before the serum — as did all the ladies back then — but it's enough of an effort for a date.
They really are going on a date. She still can't quite believe it.
She has a hearty snack before pick up time though; the last thing she wants to do is stuff her face while they're "somewhere nice", both because that'll be such a turn off, and because she doesn't want him to spend more than he has to, with how ridiculously expensive New York restaurants are these days. Damn supersoldier metabolism.
And while there shouldn't be any danger... she slips a handgun into a thigh holster anyway, as well as a knife disguised as a tube of mascara into her handbag. She doesn't trust their luck, not with the way their lives have gone. ]
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he is ten minutes early. his boots are quiet on the apartment stairs. normally, he'd just knock, but tonight has rules. he forces himself to slow down, pausing on the landing to draw a steadying breath. the nervous flutter in his gut is ridiculous. it's just steph. you've known her your whole life. what are you so afraid of?
screwing it all up. the thought is a cold splash of water. oh, no. no. he shoves it down hard. no second-guessing. he is here. she is in there. they are doing this.
he clears his throat, his gaze dropping to the small bouquet in his hand. sunflowers. he'd even asked the florist for the water-in-a-cotton-swab trick so they'd survive if she decides to just chuck them on the table. no pressure.
a practiced, easy smile settles on his face. he knocks. and waits. )
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Hey— oh, wow.
[ She's no longer clad in her attention-grabbing blue suit with a giant star, but there's no way she's not standing out in contrast to his tactical blacks. Her blonde hair is a bright halo around her face, her red dress a warning sign. It's better this way though; since the serum their roles had been reversed, as she'd been shoved into the spotlight while he disappeared into the shadows. Sometimes she wonders if he ever resented her for it.
Right now, though, she's smiling, a little dumbstruck by how nice he looks. Then she smoothens her skirt self-consciously. ]
Need to come in for anything before we go? Water? Bathroom break?
[ That's probably not date etiquette, but he's still her best friend first of all. She wants him to enjoy this even if things don't work out. ]
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Hi. ( his voice is softer than he'd intended. the habit is too strong to break; bucky steps forward and draws her into their usual hug. but the familiarity ends there. the scent of her perfume is new, intoxicating, and the solid beat of his heart kicks up a notch against his ribs. he holds her for a second longer than usual before leaning back, the bouquet appearing in his hand as if from nowhere. )
For you. ( he offers the flowers, his eyes never leaving hers. ) You look... incredible. ( a faint, self-deprecating smirk touches his lips as he glances down at his own outfit. ) Might have to up my game next time. ( but he catches himself, his tone shifting back to earnest reassurance. ) Not that I'm saying you're not perfectly dressed for where we're going. You are. ( he gives a slight, almost imperceptible shake of his head then, a silent command to stop talking before he says too much. )
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