dysmorphics | open post

"I have money?" Steph pulled back to look at him with a grin, getting an idea. "We should go to Coney Island." She hated that rollercoaster and wouldn't get on it ever again, not even for a million dollars, but she liked everything else. Bucky used to take her every year on her birthday, until this year, or, well, the year she came from.

She glanced around the apartment. It was too big for one person. She had a feeling Cap had intended for him to live here with her, or after her, if she'd been planning the time travel rescue for a while. "And you gotta stay. What if the stove starts talking to me?" Steph used to stubbornly refuse help, insisting she could do things just fine despite her poor health, but now she didn't mind the extra hand.

"Well, what was hers is now yours. You're the same person, after all. So, her money should be your money, and I'm pretty sure you've got a good bit of it." A lot of it, more like. "Sure, whenever you want. Just not tonight."

Bucky was watching her, staring at her almost. But at least he had a soft smile on his face as he watched her. How could he not, though? How long had it been since he had seen Steph, small and smiling at him like this? "I haven't heard it talk since I got here, at least. But your washing machine plays a stupid fucking song every time it finishes. I need to track down your manual or something so I can figure out how to cut it out."

There were still several things about their present time that Bucky would have to figure out, but at least he could look a lot of it up on the Google. Otherwise, seemed like he and Steph would just have to figure those things out together.

"What's a washing machine?" Clearly it washed something but what, exactly? A little giggle also escaped her then because he was very cute with his grumbling. Sometimes she annoyed him just to get a rise out of him; there was just something so endearing about it.

But, yeah, she didn't mean they were going out tonight or anything. Just that if she had money to burn, she would love to use it to spend time with him. Though that made her frown after a moment. "How's that gonna work? Are people gonna expect me to do the... avenging stuff?" She wasn't Captain America material. Did she have to like, undergo surgery for it? Would she have to spend the rest of her life in the shadow of her future self? That didn't sound very appealing, even if she was still the same woman who would fight bullies in an alley.

Bucky's smile widened slightly. Steph's laugh had always been like a balm to him. "It washes your clothes for you. There's also a dryer that dries them, and a dishwasher that washes most dishes. Unless they're the kind of plastic that melts easy, which most aren't." Bucky had learned that the hard way.

"Nah, I'm pretty sure they'll see you're not her on the outside," Bucky chuckled a bit then. "She didn't change much on the inside after the serum, by the way. That's why you got picked, that idiot wants-to-do-good heart of yours. But I'm pretty sure she was laying the foundation to retire anyway."

Pausing, he shrugged a bit and thought of them going out. "We'll figure out the public thing. Worst case, we'll put a ball cap on your head, and no one will notice."

She laughed again while giving him a disbelieving look. "That works?" A ball cap for a disguise was ridiculous. But maybe, like art, it was a matter of perspective.

It was weird to have to think of herself as a public figure though. She'd never had that problem before. If anything, she thought being noticed was the issue, since the love of her life didn't seem to see she was right there.

She slowly got to her feet and, without hesitation, tugged at his metal hand with a grin. "Show me the washing machine. I wanna hear it sing." She wanted to see everything now, or at least the modern marvels in their apartment. It was theirs now, right?

Bucky was a bit surprised at the ease with which Steph grabbed him by that hand, but it didn't stop him from getting to his feet and going with her. "It only does that when it finishes running," he said, holding her hand as he led her to a doorway in the short hall. Opening it up showed a small stacked washer and dryer unit, with a fold-down ironing board on the wall beside it. He gave her a quick description, as well as a promise to actually show her how it worked next time laundry needed to be done, before leading her to the kitchen so he could show her the dishwasher and microwave.

"Oh, I can actually show you this now," he said after realizing the dishes in the dishwasher were still dirty from the night before. So he did the simple thing of popping in one of the pods and hitting the button.

"I, uh, don't know what else to show you right now? You see anything?" he asked, looking around from where he stood beside the dishwasher.

Steph was like a kid who got her Christmas presents early. True, she hadn't been particularly impressed by the demonstration during the Stark Expo, but then she didn't own a car and took public transport. These devices though? They made chores easier. Things she actually did. So, yes, she fawned over the washing machine and the dishwasher and the microwave and the coffee maker and the food processor and the air fryer and the instant noodles and the variety of stuff in the refrigerator (including the ice dispenser) that was even taller than she was.

It was actually pretty nice in 2023.

They opened another round of sodas and Steph settled on one of the stools by the kitchen counter. There she noticed a sketchpad held in place by a paperweight in the shape of some kind of hammer. Curiosity winning over, she picked it up to examine, though stopped when she found a large light pink (to her blue-blind eyes, but it was actually bright yellow) folder beneath it. On the corner, in her handwriting: for Bucky, or Steph, if you find this first.

"Uh, Buck?" She waved him over, clutching the sketchpad with both hands and staring at the folder like it was a live grenade.

Bucky had been pulling a pack of cookies out of a cabinet when Steph called him over, so he brought the Oreos as he walked over. "Whatcha got?" he asked, mindlessly placing a hand on her upper back as he looked over her shoulder.

When he saw the writing on the corner of the folder, he frowned. "So this was her plan the whole time, huh?" he muttered, more to himself than to Steph. When he opened it, he saw... bank paperwork first? Confused, he read over it until he spotted something. It wasn't the amount she had that made his eyes go wide (though it probably should have), it was the fact that his name was listed on the account right beside hers.

"What the hell?"

Steph's eyes did grow wide at the amount, because holy shit, Cap had money. What were they even going to do with all that?

Rifling through the rest of the contents, she found some paperwork for the apartment's lease; Bucky's name was listed now too. There was also a small piece of paper torn off a notepad that listed a few coordinates each followed by a string of numbers — Cap's safehouses, which she'd acquired while on the run and continued to maintain just in case. Below the last one was a little note: I got some of your old gear, was gonna give it back when you were in the clear :)

Steph's confusion about 'in the clear' was answered by a printout of an email exchange titled 'Winter Soldier Trial' and a business card of a lawyer named Matt Murdock, on the back of which was a handwritten addition of You can also try Jen followed by a phone number. The initial emails said it all:

Matt,

I'm calling in that favor. They're gonna put him on trial anytime now, probably while the Blip has the world distracted. I have evidence of the Program from the Siberian facility. What else do you need?

Steph

---

Steph,

Do you have the book?

Matt

---

Matt,

It's not mine to give, not even as evidence. But he'll have it when you need it.

Steph

Steph picked up the printout and under it sat a battered red notebook with a black star.

Bucky had taken a seat on the stool beside Steph as they continued through the paperwork and the pile, but when he saw that notebook sitting there, he jerked his hand back like touching it would burn him. Eyes wide, he stared at it for a long moment. Logically, he knew that the notebook itself couldn't hurt him, and that his programming was gone, but that didn't change the fact that he hated the sight of that thing.

"Can you, uh," he started, then took a deep breath to try to steady himself, squeezing his right hand into a tight fist to try to hide the slight tremor brought on by the sudden rush of anxiety. "Can you put that notebook somewhere? I don't even care where. Just... somewhere I might not just find it on accident easily? But it sounds like I'll need it soon," he asked Steph without taking his eyes off the book in question. If he didn't think he'd need it soon, he'd just go out on the fire escape and set fire to it.

Steph had no idea why Bucky was so spooked about a notebook, but he didn't have to tell her twice. She picked it up and tucked it under her arm, then slid off the stool and headed to her bedroom. Curiosity made her scan the pages before putting it away, but everything was in a foreign language. Russian, maybe?

When she returned, she pushed her stool closer to his so when she sat back down she was closer too. Asking him if he was okay would be dumb, so she simply leaned in to kiss him on the cheek again. He hadn't told her off the last time she did it, so she figured it was alright.

The last item in the pile was a letter.

Dear Bucky,

I'm sorry I couldn't tell you about any of this, but you wouldn't have agreed to it. None of you would have.

But please understand that I owe it to you to try. You saved me long before the war, you know? I couldn't have survived all those years without you. But thanks to you, I lived, and I was happy.

I just want you to be happy, Buck. That's all I ever really wanted.

I don't wish to undo the years of our youth. It was hard, but you made it worthwhile. But the war and its aftermath we can both live without, especially you. It's selfish to sacrifice the Stephanie of that timeline, but I know she'll understand. I know she loves you just as much as I do, and she'll make you happier than I ever could.

Don't come after me. Don't let the others come after me. There's probably some cosmic consequence for using the Time Stone unsanctioned anyway, and I've already lived longer than I deserve. But if this plan works, in one timeline you will never have been captured, HYDRA will never have taken over SHIELD, and Stephanie Rogers will never have been Captain America. You'll think her dead, but you'll be alive, and you'll move on.

Yours,
Steph

Bucky couldn't believe what he was reading as he took in the letter. Yeah, it was pretty much what he'd suspected, wasn't it? But it was still stupid. It pissed him off, he wanted to throw something, or break something, or scream. But he didn't.

Instead he let his head hang down, his hands in his hair as he tried to hold back the tears. Was she really doing it for him, or was she doing it for her?

"He won't be happy," Bucky said out loud, shaking his head. "Even if she pulls this stupid shit off, he won't be happy." He turned to look at the Steph beside him then, so small and pretty and out of her time. But he still loved her, just like he'd loved the idiot who came up with the whole plan. Just like he had loved her when he was first captured, and for so many years before that. "If he thinks you're dead, he'll never be happy, and if he thinks you went missing, he'll never stop looking. Either way, he'll never move on. So he's still screwed over."

In Bucky's mind, she abandoned him for nothing.

Edited 2025-12-02 17:50 (UTC)

Bucky hadn't said she couldn't, so Steph rested her chin on his arm and quietly read the letter along with him. She felt him tense, and she'd expected him to walk off or something. Even if she understood Cap's motivations, she thought the whole thing was stupid. Maybe because, unlike Cap, she knew Bucky loved her.

But then he just... deflated, and it broke her heart more than she expected it to. Made her angry, too. They should've talked about this. Cap should've asked him if he wanted this in the first place.

"You would rather get captured and frozen and lose an arm than lose her?" Her voice was small and tight, laced with anger and heartbreak all at once. It was stupid of him to think that way. Cap was just a woman. Steph, too. They were replaceable, and there were so many other, better options.

"Of course," Bucky answered immediately, giving her a look like that was possibly one of the dumbest questions she'd ever heard in her life. And he meant that, too. He would be absolutely lost without Steph, at any age. "That means you, too, you know. It didn't just happen after she got that serum. Plus, he'll spend his whole life wondering if maybe she wouldn't have gone missing if he didn't get drafted." Sighing, he looked back at his mismatched hands, resting together on the counter by that point. "He'll also regret deciding to wait until he gets home to ask you to marry him."

Pretty much since the day they met as kids, not even in the double digits yet, Bucky knew he wanted to be beside Steph. Everyone else paled in comparison. They still paled in comparison.

"I was brainwashed for going on seventy years, and you were the only thing that ever broke through it. Ever."

Bucky's answer made Steph's expression twist into a mirroring one of incredulity and exasperation. "You really took all the stupid with you, huh," she remarked, though of course they both knew that they shared the stupid. Was this the curse of every iteration of them? God, she hoped not, but she wouldn't be surprised.

She reached for one of his hands, resting her palm over the top of his. She'd always had smaller hands but now it seemed even smaller.

"Hey, we'll get her back." If Cap could come up with a plan like that, so could she. "We'll get her friends to send me back, and you'll come with me. You lived that life, so you'll know which parts she'll try to stop or change, right?" She squeezed his hand. "But you gotta tell her, Buck. You gotta tell her how you really feel."

"Hey, she kept plenty of it for herself. Clearly," Bucky said, gesturing at the letter with his metal hand, while moving his natural one so he could link his fingers with hers.

He sighed though, most of the fight draining out of him. "She'd stop you from trying to enlist again first," he said simply. "Then she'd stop my unit from getting captured. After that, there's no telling what would change."

After watching her quietly for a moment, Bucky let go of her hand to let it rest gently against Steph's cheek instead. "Hey, don't think this means I don't want you here. Whatever happens, we'll work with it, alright? Besides, this time could be good for you. You already saw how well that inhaler worked."

And Bucky had already taken a closer look at that inhaler. It had an expiration date on it, which meant he couldn't just send her back to the past with a lifetime supply of them.

Steph lifted a hand to her cheek, over Bucky's own, and gave a gentle squeeze. "I know," she said sadly. "But I'm not her."

He could love her, that's true, but she wasn't the one he wanted. The distinction probably didn't make sense to anyone else, but it made sense to her. Strangely enough, however, she found herself drawn to him more than the Bucky of her time. Had distance dulled what they'd shared, despite the many letters they'd exchanged? Was she thrilled to discover these new, unfamiliar parts of him after years of knowing him like the back of her hand? Or did misery truly just love company?

She let go and turned away to file the papers, stacking them in the order she remembered them originally in. "Should we start making dinner?" She wasn't upset, or she didn't think she was. Actually, she didn't know what to think about the developments, but like most of her life, she just had to keep going.

Bucky sighed. It wasn't that he could love her, it was that he did. She was her. Sort of. The Steph that left him there had been through everything this Steph had been through, but also some other things on top of that. They weren't different people; they were the exact same person at two different points in her life. And Bucky had loved her at both points in life.

But he decided to take the subject change. "I thought you wanted me to order Christmas dinner for you?" he asked, schooling his expression a bit while perking one brow at her. "Roast and mashed potatoes and chocolate soufflé?" Yes, of course, he remembered the thing she'd said so much earlier in the day. "Unless you changed your mind. We can do something else if you'd rather."

"Oh! You can do that tonight?" Steph didn't actually think the food delivery would be immediate. But she supposed, after seeing all the cool gadgets in the apartment, that it would be faster too. "Yeah, if we can. We can pretend it's Christmas. Does she have a record player?"

She liked Christmas. It was one of the few times in the year that people were happy and not just surviving. She also really liked spending Christmas dinner with Bucky and his family. They were nice.

She gathered up the folder with the papers and lifted the paperweight by its handle. "I can put this away while you take care of that?"

Bucky couldn't help it, Steph's reaction brought a smile back to his face. "I think she does in the living room... somewhere. I'm not entirely sure where. But if we can't find one, there's other ways to play music now, too," he answered, watching her move around. He could swear that big hammer looked familiar, but it wasn't important.

He pulled up the delivery app on his phone and found somewhere with roast beef dinners, and placed the order before going to look around the living room. "They didn't have chocolate souffle," he called out, as he started opening cabinets to see if there was a record player (or records) hiding, and it felt a bit weird to be going through the other Steph's cabinets, almost like snooping, but... she was gone. So. "They had this chocolate lava cake thing that sounded good, though, so I got that instead."

Checking a random suitcase sitting in a corner, Bucky found what seemed to be a portable record player. Grinning, he moved it to the coffee table. "Found one."

"You like anything chocolate," Steph retorted from the bedroom with a laugh.

After a few minutes, she emerged holding a record and joined Bucky to help set things up. She was blushing when she handed him the record. It was a collection of Fred Astaire's greatest hits, the first track of which was Cheek to Cheek, one of the most popular songs of 1935 — the year she turned 17. More importantly, it was the song Bucky tried to sing (poorly) while he spun her around on the boardwalk as his apology for the disastrous rollercoaster ride. Nobody else had been around to witness their little dance, but Steph had blushed so hard anyway, even as they laughed because it was so corny.

They should have kissed. Maybe they could have avoided all this time travel insanity if they only kissed.

"It's the only one I recognize," she said, hoping he was indeed old enough to no longer remember that incident.

Bucky's smile turned slightly bashful when he took the record and saw what the first song listed was. Yes, he remembered it. Just like he remembered spinning her around to it and trying, and failing, to get up the guts to kiss her that night. But, as always, he didn't, too scared of her not feeling the same and ruining their friendship. Because Bucky would rather be stuck as her friend than lose her.

But Bucky also remembered how light he used to be. He would laugh and joke easily, and he would do anything to see his best friend's smile, like singing a song terribly while spinning her on the boardwalk. He knew he was a terrible singer, but he also knew he meant the words he sang that night.

Crouching beside the record player, Bucky carefully pulled the disc from the sleeve and placed it on the turntable. After placing the needle on the record, Bucky stood up and held a hand out to Steph. "Wanna be my first dance in seventy years?"

Steph's blush grew just a tad darker at Bucky's invitation. She reached down to smooth the folds of her skirt only to realize she was wearing a large shirt for a dress, which did not help tame her blush.

"I'm still no good at it," she mumbled, but of course she took his hand. He'd always been the better dancer. He had women asking him whenever he took her to the dancehalls, which made her huff and grumble because rude, even if he never took up any of the offers. Most days she'd thought he was just being a good friend. Most days she'd thought she was holding him back from finding the woman who would truly make him happy.

As he pulled her close, she realized her line of sight in relation to his body had shifted. Frowning slightly, she looked up at him. "Did you grow taller?"

Edited 2025-12-03 21:32 (UTC)

Bucky wasn't exactly dressed to the nines either. He thought she looked adorable in her makeshift shirt dress, while he was in some pajama pants and a Henley shirt.

"I never cared if you were good or not, did I?" he asked as he pulled her close and looked down at her. "I just wanted to dance with you was all." Especially the slow dances, the ones that made it easier to stay as close as he could to her. "Besides, I'm probably not any good anymore anyway."

But he chuckled softly when she asked if he had grown, his own cheeks going a bit red.
"Uh, yeah. The serum pushed me up to an even 6'," he answered with the shrug of one shoulder. Honestly, he'd never been around Steph when he had a serum, and she didn't, but he had already noticed just how extra small she seemed beside him.

He liked Steph small, though. He also liked her tall and curvy, but he often still found himself thinking of Steph as the tiny but fiery girl from Brooklyn who took no shit from anyone.

"I never cared if you were good or not. I just wanted to dance with you was all," Steph parrotted with a cheeky grin. Which was true. She liked the slow dances especially, because she could close her eyes and pretend they had a happy ending in their cards. At 17, she'd been convinced that Bucky had just yet to meet the love of his life, and that there were far better women outside of their high school and their little corner of New York.

At 23, she had begun to hope that she had a chance, unless her illnesses took a turn for the worse; she was not going to subject him to a lifetime of caretaking and rob him of his happiness and his dreams. But it was 1941, and in December the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. She was there when he tore open the envelope that held his draft notice. She was there when he boarded the ship that would take him to England, and then to the front lines. She realized then that they would never be together. He hadn't asked her to marry him or made any mention of having any feelings for her. But she'd promised she would be there for him, and if the end of the line was a warzone, then so be it.

Now it looked like the end of the line was the 21st century.

"Oh, good. You can get the stuff from the top shelves and cupboards for me now," she teased, only to realize a moment later that they were going to be living together. Even if it would only be temporary, it was something she'd always liked imagining.

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