[ She's not sure if it's his strength that surprises her, or that he's said that she shouldn't apologize for hers, or the fact that, instead of stopping, he's pinned her against the tree. Whatever it is, for a moment all she can do is stare back at him, before slowly trailing her fingertips down his cheek. ]
Good.
[ She fists the front of his shirt and tugs him closer to her. She doesn't care where they are, she doesn't care that he probably would never have kissed her if she hadn't taken the serum and become this, she doesn't care if they die tomorrow. He is here, with her, alive and real, and tonight, that's all that matters.
As tempting as it is to get right back to kissing though — and perhaps do a little more than just kissing — she has to ask: ] Did you ever find my letter?
[ She's sent him many others since, but he's never once mentioned the one she'd slipped into his jacket before he left. It hadn't really mattered until now. ]
[Bucky rests his forehead against hers for a moment. That wouldn’t have been possible, before, not without leaning down a whole lot more. Her hands on his face still feel the same. She’s patched him up after enough boxing bouts for him to remember.
She said the serum effects seem permanent so far, and he doesn’t quite know how he feels about it yet. Her question makes him open his eyes.]
Yeah I did. Kept it with me till they took all our stuff. [He’d folded and unfolded it so often the paper had started to wear out. Nearly decked Dugan once when the man had tried to get a better look at ‘Sarge’s girl’. ]
Don’t have to fight God about it, sweetheart. I’m right here.
[The endearment slips out before he can really think about it. It probably wouldn’t matter anyway. He couldn’t disguise the fondness in his voice even if he tried.]
[ And he kept it with him? She'd assumed he'd either lost it before he could read it, or he'd thrown it away. What use did he have, after all, of a dying girl's stupid pining? The women back home had been gossiping and speculating about their husbands' wartime dalliances, and though they weren't even married, she had spent many sleepless nights imagining him dying alone in a ditch and having jealous fits over the thought of him stumbling into the arms of some pretty foreign nurse.
She searches his face, not sure if she wants to find a lie or the truth, but she gets distracted by the realization that his eyes were a different shade than she'd thought they were. She cups his cheek and peers closer, mesmerized, committing the detail to memory.
Then he calls her sweetheart and a mix of emotions quickly flicker across her face. Squeezing her eyes shut, she rests her forehead against his in turn, her fingers pressing more firmly into his cheek. She wants this, wants him, so badly, and, thinking back to her letter — if there is a way I can keep you here — she decides that she is past wondering, that she is going to be selfish just this once. She might never get the chance again. ]
[He frowns at her surprise. Why wouldn't he keep it? Sure, there were letters since then, but that one felt like the last piece of her he might ever have. So you don't forget me. As if he ever could.
He thinks the pet name was a mistake, too much too soon, but then she's pulling him closer and he goes easily, drawn into her orbit as always. She echoes his promise back at him and he has to swallow the lump in his throat. God, he's an idiot to think he could ever get over this woman. Worse that it took him nearly dying to do anything about it.]
Damn right.
[He's leaning in to kiss her again when there's a sudden roar of laughter from the direction of the tents. It makes him tense up and move instinctively to shield Steph with his body before he realizes there's no threat. At least not the kind he's expecting, although being discovered like this could be nearly as bad, especially for her.]
[ She tenses, too. Before having made it to the front, it would simply have been from the fear of being discovered; now it's in response to all manner of perceived threats. She's not sure how she can stand more of this, if she's being honest with herself. Still, her first thought is to grab him so she could turn them around and shield him. Her body can survive being shot. Probably. His, she's not willing to gamble.
He beats her to it, though, and for a second, bile rises in her throat. Then it's over. There's no threat. They're not being ambushed by their enemies in the night. He's still here, with her, and not on that cold metal table being put through God knows what or bleeding out against her with a hole in his chest.
It takes a moment for her to find her voice. She peers into his eyes, to anchor herself in them, but finds traces of her own fear reflected back at her instead. She swallows. Then she decides to quip, in an attempt at levity: ] Yeah, we should. You haven't thanked me properly for rescuing you, Sarge.
[ He checks on her and it hits him like a punch that Steph understands now, at least a little, the reality of being a soldier. The things she had done just to get to Austria would sound crazy to anyone who didn't know the kind of will she possessed. Seeing the fear and wariness of a new recruit in her makes him feel awful. She shouldn't have done it, but she had, and now they'll both just have to deal with it.
Her sass makes him snort. ] Show me where they're hosting Lady Liberty and I will.
[ It'll be more private than where he's been bunking, at any rate. Especially if all the girls are still at the party. ]
[ So she does. All the girls were either still at the party, or, like them, had snuck off with someone someplace for some privacy. Perhaps the women's barracks had been too obvious of a non-option that, ironically, nobody else bothered.
She's not a weightless twig anymore, but he still cradles her above him afterward, their legs tangled beneath the thin, Army-issue blanket. For the first time since she'd gotten the serum she has to actually catch her breath, and it's a small miracle that her bed hasn't collapsed on them. Whenever she'd dreamed about this moment, it was always in her small, rickety bed in her cramped, rundown apartment. Though fleeting, she's glad for the familiarity.
What does one say after sharing something so special, so profound? It had been nothing like she'd fantasized, and she had a vivid imagination. It had been intense and desperate and real, enough to make her forget, even for a while, the terrors she'd witnessed and whatever else awaited them, or the fact that they were not exactly the same people anymore.
She props herself up a little to peer at his face, blonde hair falling loosely like a curtain. Did he like it? Did he regret it? ]
[ He lies quietly afterward, content to hold her and just not think for a few more minutes. If he can hold on to this feeling, he might even be able to catch more than a few hours of sleep tonight. Not here though, they can't risk it, so he pulls her a little closer while he still can.
When Steph looks at him, he tucks some of that fine golden hair behind her ear. It feels less like a dream, now that Bucky knows what she looks like flushed and desperate and euphoric. How she feels, what she tastes like. He watches her right back for a moment, wondering if there's a right thing to say in this situation.
Then he remembers an old point of contention after his supposed 'tomcatting around'. Some of the girls he took out hadn't been shy about sharing the details, and word had come back to Steph eventually. The corner of his mouth lifts into a sly smile. ]
[ She hadn't been expecting him to say anything eloquent or meaningful, but she also didn't expect him to remind her so quickly that he only noticed her, wanted her, because she's now Lady goddamned Liberty. Her smile falters, and she settles back down so he doesn't see the hot, angry tears threatening to burst out of her eyes.
She pretends to laugh, but the sound — and the quip that follows — comes out in a huff. ]
You're so full of shit. You weren't even that good.
[ Not that she would have any point of comparison. Unlike him. Which doesn't help her insecurity and jealousy any. ]
[ He knows he fucked up even before she hides her face. They can’t rely on the things that made their relationship work before, not when so much changed.
She doesn’t get up and leave though, and he’s pathetically grateful for that. He’s not sure he can let her go just yet. Sighing, he wraps his arms around her again. ]
Could be better, if you let me. Only been dreaming about it for half my life.
[ He’d started dating around after she turned him down a couple of years ago, determined to get over it now that he finally had an answer. But wartime has changed the question altogether, shifting everything into sharper focus. He can’t afford to be flippant about it now, whether she believes him or not. ]
Yeah? [ She sniffs, but she doesn't fight his embrace, just snuggles and curls up into him as if she can make herself fit like she used to. ] That why you dated all the women back home except me?
[ The past is a moot point when the war has the future dying in its chokehold, but the serum hadn't healed her bruised heart and now past hurts were slipping through. The women he'd dated didn't like her, and they'd made sure she knew and heard all the stories about his 'exploits'. She only didn't fight them because she didn't want him to hate her. What right did she have anyway? She was just his friend.
But her outburst is fleeting. Those memories pale against the one of him lying half-dead on that operating table, and she places a hand on his chest, over his heart, to feel it beat beneath her fingers. He's here now. Alive, real. That's all that matters.
She peers up at him. ] I love you too. I always have. You just never noticed. I know I'm not... wasn't... pretty like the others, or anything special. Guess I have Lady Liberty to thank for fixing that.
Edited (added words for clarity) 2025-06-16 09:10 (UTC)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dysmorphics) wrote2025-05-07 07:46 am
no subject
Good.
[ She fists the front of his shirt and tugs him closer to her. She doesn't care where they are, she doesn't care that he probably would never have kissed her if she hadn't taken the serum and become this, she doesn't care if they die tomorrow. He is here, with her, alive and real, and tonight, that's all that matters.
As tempting as it is to get right back to kissing though — and perhaps do a little more than just kissing — she has to ask: ] Did you ever find my letter?
[ She's sent him many others since, but he's never once mentioned the one she'd slipped into his jacket before he left. It hadn't really mattered until now. ]
no subject
She said the serum effects seem permanent so far, and he doesn’t quite know how he feels about it yet. Her question makes him open his eyes.]
Yeah I did. Kept it with me till they took all our stuff. [He’d folded and unfolded it so often the paper had started to wear out. Nearly decked Dugan once when the man had tried to get a better look at ‘Sarge’s girl’. ]
Don’t have to fight God about it, sweetheart. I’m right here.
[The endearment slips out before he can really think about it. It probably wouldn’t matter anyway. He couldn’t disguise the fondness in his voice even if he tried.]
no subject
[ And he kept it with him? She'd assumed he'd either lost it before he could read it, or he'd thrown it away. What use did he have, after all, of a dying girl's stupid pining? The women back home had been gossiping and speculating about their husbands' wartime dalliances, and though they weren't even married, she had spent many sleepless nights imagining him dying alone in a ditch and having jealous fits over the thought of him stumbling into the arms of some pretty foreign nurse.
She searches his face, not sure if she wants to find a lie or the truth, but she gets distracted by the realization that his eyes were a different shade than she'd thought they were. She cups his cheek and peers closer, mesmerized, committing the detail to memory.
Then he calls her sweetheart and a mix of emotions quickly flicker across her face. Squeezing her eyes shut, she rests her forehead against his in turn, her fingers pressing more firmly into his cheek. She wants this, wants him, so badly, and, thinking back to her letter — if there is a way I can keep you here — she decides that she is past wondering, that she is going to be selfish just this once. She might never get the chance again. ]
To the end of the line, darling.
no subject
He thinks the pet name was a mistake, too much too soon, but then she's pulling him closer and he goes easily, drawn into her orbit as always. She echoes his promise back at him and he has to swallow the lump in his throat. God, he's an idiot to think he could ever get over this woman. Worse that it took him nearly dying to do anything about it.]
Damn right.
[He's leaning in to kiss her again when there's a sudden roar of laughter from the direction of the tents. It makes him tense up and move instinctively to shield Steph with his body before he realizes there's no threat. At least not the kind he's expecting, although being discovered like this could be nearly as bad, especially for her.]
Maybe we should go somewhere else.
no subject
He beats her to it, though, and for a second, bile rises in her throat. Then it's over. There's no threat. They're not being ambushed by their enemies in the night. He's still here, with her, and not on that cold metal table being put through God knows what or bleeding out against her with a hole in his chest.
It takes a moment for her to find her voice. She peers into his eyes, to anchor herself in them, but finds traces of her own fear reflected back at her instead. She swallows. Then she decides to quip, in an attempt at levity: ] Yeah, we should. You haven't thanked me properly for rescuing you, Sarge.
no subject
Her sass makes him snort. ] Show me where they're hosting Lady Liberty and I will.
[ It'll be more private than where he's been bunking, at any rate. Especially if all the girls are still at the party. ]
no subject
She's not a weightless twig anymore, but he still cradles her above him afterward, their legs tangled beneath the thin, Army-issue blanket. For the first time since she'd gotten the serum she has to actually catch her breath, and it's a small miracle that her bed hasn't collapsed on them. Whenever she'd dreamed about this moment, it was always in her small, rickety bed in her cramped, rundown apartment. Though fleeting, she's glad for the familiarity.
What does one say after sharing something so special, so profound? It had been nothing like she'd fantasized, and she had a vivid imagination. It had been intense and desperate and real, enough to make her forget, even for a while, the terrors she'd witnessed and whatever else awaited them, or the fact that they were not exactly the same people anymore.
She props herself up a little to peer at his face, blonde hair falling loosely like a curtain. Did he like it? Did he regret it? ]
no subject
When Steph looks at him, he tucks some of that fine golden hair behind her ear. It feels less like a dream, now that Bucky knows what she looks like flushed and desperate and euphoric. How she feels, what she tastes like. He watches her right back for a moment, wondering if there's a right thing to say in this situation.
Then he remembers an old point of contention after his supposed 'tomcatting around'. Some of the girls he took out hadn't been shy about sharing the details, and word had come back to Steph eventually. The corner of his mouth lifts into a sly smile. ]
Still think they were makin' up stories?
no subject
She pretends to laugh, but the sound — and the quip that follows — comes out in a huff. ]
You're so full of shit. You weren't even that good.
[ Not that she would have any point of comparison. Unlike him. Which doesn't help her insecurity and jealousy any. ]
no subject
She doesn’t get up and leave though, and he’s pathetically grateful for that. He’s not sure he can let her go just yet. Sighing, he wraps his arms around her again. ]
Could be better, if you let me. Only been dreaming about it for half my life.
[ He’d started dating around after she turned him down a couple of years ago, determined to get over it now that he finally had an answer. But wartime has changed the question altogether, shifting everything into sharper focus. He can’t afford to be flippant about it now, whether she believes him or not. ]
I love you. That hasn’t changed.
[ Even if they both have. ]
no subject
[ The past is a moot point when the war has the future dying in its chokehold, but the serum hadn't healed her bruised heart and now past hurts were slipping through. The women he'd dated didn't like her, and they'd made sure she knew and heard all the stories about his 'exploits'. She only didn't fight them because she didn't want him to hate her. What right did she have anyway? She was just his friend.
But her outburst is fleeting. Those memories pale against the one of him lying half-dead on that operating table, and she places a hand on his chest, over his heart, to feel it beat beneath her fingers. He's here now. Alive, real. That's all that matters.
She peers up at him. ] I love you too. I always have. You just never noticed. I know I'm not... wasn't... pretty like the others, or anything special. Guess I have Lady Liberty to thank for fixing that.