[ Slipped into Bucky's jacket pocket, which he doesn't find until he's out at sea. It's hastily scribbled, and there are smudges on the paper; she'd been crying. ]
June 15, 1943
You're sound asleep with your head on my lap and I wonder, selfishly, if there is a way I can keep you here, but I guess I've lost my chance a long time ago. So don't die, Buck. Get your dumb ass back here to me and live out your dreams and buy one of those flying cars and walk Becca down the aisle when she marries that punk from the other side of town. (You know she loves you, right? You're lucky to have a sister. I wish I did.)
I don't really believe in God anymore but I will pray for your safe return every day anyway. Maybe I'll have to go fight him so he listens just this once.
I lo
Yours, Stephanie
[ On the empty part of the paper, near her name, is an equally hastily sketched self-portrait, which is the only time she's ever drawn herself. Still, it's beautifully rendered. Below it, a footnote reads: So you don't forget me. ]
[There's a party that night with what the camp can scrape together for a celebration. Once upon a time, Bucky would have been in the thick of it, probably would have asked the entire USO kickline for a dance. Instead, he shows his face long enough for people to remember he was there, then slips out to find a quiet spot and a smoke. The only USO girl he wants to dance with is being showered with attention and all he really wants is a moment to think.
He's been checked out in the medical tent, where they had been surprised at the lack of infection. He doesn't know what to make of how fast his bruises faded and skin knit back together during the long trek back to camp. Zola had given him something for the illness before the torture began, and his memories of everything after that are patchy.
His hands don't shake as he lights up. They haven't since he watched the rat bastard scurry off after Schmitt. The last time they so much as trembled feels like when Stephanie's strange new face appeared through the dark and she dragged him to his feet. He winces at the memory of what he'd done before realizing she was, in fact, very real, and he wasn't dead after all.
Bucky exhales slowly, a thin plume of smoke into the cold night air. Maybe she'll forgive him. They've gotten past worse, sort of.]
[ Over four months as a USO girl and Steph still gets skittish from the attention. The children and women are fine; she rather likes feeling useful, that she's making a difference instead of just wasting away in a lab or, worse, a hospital bed.
It's the men that give her a headache. Back in Brooklyn she'd never had to deal with being stared at, catcalled, or propositioned; whenever it happened it was usually just to get back at Bucky for something, or to make some girlfriend jealous that they could be replaced by someone as plain and unremarkable as Stephanie Rogers. It's been markedly worse during the tours. One time she'd punched a soldier who'd cornered her and tried to get up close and personal with Lady Liberty's celebrated gams. He'd been lucky she had better control of her strength by then, but he still wound up in the infirmary.
Tonight she has most of the 107th lining up to ask her for a dance. Once upon a time, long before Lady Liberty, she'd have delighted in getting some attention for a change, to be noticed, to be seen. But the only soldier she wants to dance with has been avoiding her all night.
It's the intervention of Corporal Dugan that chases the men off. So she dances with him. She asks about his family back home. He asks if she has anyone special — "Your man, is he Army?" — and she blushes all the way to her hairline. Then he points out that Sergeant Barnes has already slipped out and he'll cover her if she wants to go, too.
She doesn't need to be told twice. She doesn't even make some smartass quip about the knowing look he gives her, intent on making it back to the women's barracks as soon as possible and spending the rest of the night sketching. As luck would have it, however, the path she takes, believing it to be a shortcut, leads her right into Bucky's hiding spot. She tries to backpedal, but her boots crunch against the dead leaves on the ground, and he turns to look right at her. ]
Hey. [ She can't read the expression on his face, and it scares her. Is he mad that she's here, or about what she'd done? Worse, has this war turned him into a stranger? Unable to look at him in the eyes, she drops her gaze to the cigarette in his hand. ] Can I try?
[The sound of someone approaching has him reaching for the knife tucked in his boot. It's a shame they confiscated the Hydra gun he'd carried for further study. Whatever it shoots leaves no traces of the target, and he can think of a couple of Nazis who deserve to be obliterated.
For the second time, Steph's face appears out of the gloom and Bucky forces himself to relax. He had spend a lot of the march back watching her, but so had everyone else. The Americans had to explain to the rest of the troops that their favorite pin-up had somehow swooped in for the rescue. They didn't have much of a chance to talk, he and Steph, but he knows the basics. He also knows that come sunrise, Colonel Philips is going to grill him about the Hydra base, and God knows what's going to happen to Steph.
He can't believe she's here, or what they've done to her. It terrifies him.
But six foot stunner or no, she's still Stephanie Grace Rogers, and has the audacity to ask for his cigarette. And because he's never been very effective at telling her no, he hands it to her with a dubious look.]
I can smoke now. [ Which she tries to demonstrate by taking a drag from the cigarette — and erupting into a hacking cough reminiscent of her former hacking coughs. She holds out the offending item back to him, laughing once she's able to breathe again. ] Okay, so can still die by asphyxia...
[ Her unintended mention of death quickly sobers her up, and she glances at him with worry. ]
Medical cleared you?
[ She'd looked him over on the way back to camp and had been most concerned about the onset of infection. Yet he seems to be fine. The bruises that she can see have faded, the wounds healing. She doesn't like it. She doesn't like what it might mean, what the enemy could've done to him on that table. ]
[Her coughing makes him move subconsciously, reaching to rub her back, but she stops faster than she ever has. Bucky takes the cigarette back, torn between grateful and tense at her joke about dying.
He thinks about a conversation he had with Sarah Rogers once, when Steph was sleeping off an especially nasty fever. He’d cried and she had comforted him, reminding him there were some things they couldn’t protect Steph from. Bucky had sworn then, in a voice just starting to crack, that he would, from everything they could.
Now he’s seen her bend metal bars and haul men twice her size. She’s laughing off what would have once been an asthma attack. Still, a well-placed bullet can take out anyone. He knows that better than most, and isn’t keen on testing if her magic serum can do anything about it.]
Yeah. They had bigger fish to fry.
[He takes another drag of the cigarette and leans back against a tree.]
You’re not allowed to complain about me takin’ all the stupid any more.
[ She regrets saying that almost immediately, but the words aree out before she can even think to stop herself. Her thoughts return to that room and finding him on that table, and how relieved and horrified she'd been at the same time. She's still feeling both, especially in the light of how most of his injuries had just healed themselves so quickly, but now she's mad too. Colonel Phillips was just going to leave him there. She'd taken matters into her own hands, and he won't even look at her. ]
You don't want me here.
[ It comes out more wounded than angry, though. It's not that she hadn't expected this reaction from him. She'd been unable to really tell him anything after the SSR had brought her on board, so her letters only gave him the broad strokes, otherwise they'd never have let her send him any. New job, helping with the war effort, that sort of thing. But it doesn't mean she has to like it. ]
[Bucky's jaw clenches. He wrestles down the spark of real anger, even when he knows it's just Steph running her mouth.]
No, I don't.
[For a multitude of reasons, among them the disgustingly covetous look he had seen in Zola's eyes when Steph bent that railing. A successful experiment. A woman. Bucky remembers just enough of the lunatic's rambling to know that he would do anything to replicate whatever the Allies were rumored to be working on. Which was, evidently, Lady goddamned Liberty.]
If it's all as hush hush as you say, you really think they'll let you go now?
[Even if she doesn't sign over her soul to kill people for the greater good, Steph had pulled off something utterly impossible, the kind of miracle they desperately needed. A lot of men had seen her as some sort of avenging angel. Bucky knows how the brass thinks; they'll be a hell of a lot more interested in the avenging part. And once Steph really sees what they've been fighting, the worst of it sanitized for the press, then she won't want to go home either. Not when there's the slightest chance she can do something about it.
He thinks about her letter, the one he carried for months and months before Zola found it when he- no. No. Don't think about it. Fuck, does Zola know who she is? Had he recognized her?]
Steph. [His hands are steady but his voice fails him, quiet and shaky.] I was supposed to come home to you.
[ Steph had started to mull over the probable consequences she'd have to face on their way back to camp, then promptly realized it doesn't matter. Bucky's alive, and safe, and if she has to sign away her soul to send him back home then she will. He'll be mad at her, maybe forever, but it'll be worth it.
So she just shrugs, like it's not a big deal. As if she hadn't practically confessed in that letter she'd slipped him that she'd try to move heaven and earth for him. He hasn't brought the letter up, just like he hasn't brought up their kiss back at the lab, so she's concluded that he doesn't feel the same way. It's fine. She hadn't come hoping to change his mind, and it would only hurt more if he was suddenly interested in her because of her new body. ]
I was always gonna die anyway. But you...
[ She swallows, fighting back the words and the tears threatening to spill out of her. When that doesn't work, she closes the distance between them and grabs him in a tight, desperate hug, not giving him the chance to protest. ]
We don't always get what we want, Buck.
[ She'd apologize, but she's not sorry. For taking the serum. For coming here. For kissing him.
It's weird, how she doesn't quite fit into him anymore. She used to only come up to his chest, practically disappearing when he wraps his arms around her. Now her face is buried against the crook of his neck, her long legs a messy tangle she doesn't know where to place, and her stupid breasts are in the way. ]
[There was never a chance of protest; Bucky drops the cigarette and hugs her back just as tightly. He can't tuck her neatly in his arms anymore but it doesn't matter. For all the height and curves and legs he's seen kick in multiple doors by now, it's still Steph. He pulls her close, warm and real, and holds her for a long moment before mumbling against her hair.]
Wanted to see you before the end. Got that, at least.
[It's no less morbid than what she's saying, really. He pulls back a little but doesn't let go, just cups her face with one hand.]
Kept telling myself if I got my dumb ass back to you, there's one thing I'd do.
[His gaze flickers to her lips before meeting her eyes. They had kissed, and she'd even kissed back before the entire factory threatened to come down on their heads from the explosions being set off. Maybe her letter is still there, burnt to ash. He has it memorized.]
[ She can joke about her mortality just fine. But when he quips about his, she sees him on that table again, and she squeezes her eyes shut with a strangled sob. Her mind has already conjured many images of his death, spliced from the horrors she's seen on the news and at the hospital, but even that couldn't prepare her for the close call with the real thing. ]
You can't go back out there. You gotta go home. They gotta send you home, Buck. You've already done enough.
[ It's pleading, desperate, probably even a little hysterical. Maybe because, deep down, she already knows that neither of them are making it back. Not with how fast he's recovered, how good he is with that rifle, what he's discovered about HYDRA and their plans; he's too important an asset to just send home now, and that fucking scares her.
She only calms down when he cups her face. She sniffs, then her eyes follow the trajectory of his gaze with a longing glance at his lips before flickering back to his eyes. ]
[Even if they did want to send him home, he isn't going unless she is, and there's absolutely no chance of that. He keeps the thought to himself. There's no sense in upsetting her more, though Steph's sharp enough to figure it out. They can pretend for a little longer.
Well, about some things.
Of the many dreams Bucky's had of kissing Steph, she's never been sad. Incredulous perhaps, or laughing at him, or best of all, absolutely delighted. The one at the factory had been one for the movies, passionate and desperate and perfect in spite of the blood and grime he'd been covered in at the time. Now, he strokes a thumb over her cheek and kisses her again, hardly chaste, but a lot more gentle.]
[ She's not gentle, and it has nothing to do with her newfound strength. What if he changes his mind? What if he realizes he doesn't really want this, doesn't really want her, in this body or otherwise? She's wanted him for so, so long that she'll take even the desperate desires of a doomed man. She'll have time to wallow in self-pity later; right now, she can pretend.
She's sketched him so many times that, although she hasn't touched him in this way before, she can tell how much he's changed since that last night they'd been together, and that terrifies her, too. Will it be gunfire that catches him in the end, or will the war take him away, little by little, piece by piece, bullet by bullet, until there's none of him left? So she kisses him, touches him — eager, needy, desperate.
It's not until she realizes that she's backed him up against the tree that she stops. For a second she looks mortified, then it softens into embarrassment, accompanied by a quiet laugh. ]
[Bucky's always enjoyed watching Steph at her most, whether that's standing up to bullies or throwing a perfect right hook. At least right up until the point he has to intervene, anyway. Winifred Barnes raised a gentleman for most of the part, but he's always liked girls who just go for it.
It shouldn't surprise him that Steph goes above and beyond. Turns out at the factory was only a preview. Opening night is barely being able to keep up with her until the bone-jarring thud of his back hitting the tree as she backs him into it. He stares at her, dazed and impressed, until she apologizes. Then a slow smiles spreads across his face.]
Good. Don't be.
[This isn't how he imagined it would go but he's damned if he lets that stop him. Scooping her off her feet, Bucky turns them around in one smooth movement so she's pressed up against the tree instead.] I'm not.
[ 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.
[ It annoys him because 1) it’s none of their fucking business what Rogers and Barnes were to each other, and 2) that would explain a lot and he doesn’t know how to feel about it. ]
[ She might never truly comprehend what HYDRA had put him through, but she knows what it's like to grapple with your identity. The serum had changed her body and thus changed her; the woman he'd been with during the war hadn't been Stephanie Grace Rogers, not really. And then that woman — she jokingly calls her Libby in her head sometimes, like Howard did — went under the ice. She's still not entirely sure who came out of it. ]
[ It’s a relief to hear. He’s watched enough footage of them to see the naked devotion on Barnes’—his—face around Rogers. Seeing her now, even through his scope, makes him feel too much. ]
[ That will never change, no matter who they become.
He probably doesn't need the update (or care), but she desperately needs to change the subject. She's not about to cry while she's stuck in the Quinjet with the other Avengers, though she's already made the excuse of prepping her bike in the cargo hold. ]
[ He barely has time to feel touched before the second message comes in, and then he’s cursing and scrambling to his feet.
The Avengers and their fucking souped-up quinjet. He has to get moving now to have any hope of reaching Strucker’s base before they arrive and start wrecking havoc. He sends the first thing that comes to mind before shoving the phone into his backpack. ]
[ She busies herself with checking her bike, then her suit and shield and weapons. She sets the shield face down on the floor and kicks it up; the metal attaches itself to her forearm without needing to be strapped on thanks to the electromagnets Tony had installed. She finds herself smiling, suddenly reminded of the look on Bucky's face during the Expo, when Howard had demonstrated his flying car. It's a bittersweet memory. Everything from Before is.
Including the message she receives from him. She feels something in her chest constrict at the familiar words, which she reads over and over for about a full minute because she can't believe he's saying them at all.
So she can't help responding: ] How can I? You took all the stupid with you.
[ 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)
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dysmorphics) wrote2025-05-07 07:46 am
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[ On the empty part of the paper, near her name, is an equally hastily sketched self-portrait, which is the only time she's ever drawn herself. Still, it's beautifully rendered. Below it, a footnote reads: So you don't forget me. ]
no subject
He's been checked out in the medical tent, where they had been surprised at the lack of infection. He doesn't know what to make of how fast his bruises faded and skin knit back together during the long trek back to camp. Zola had given him something for the illness before the torture began, and his memories of everything after that are patchy.
His hands don't shake as he lights up. They haven't since he watched the rat bastard scurry off after Schmitt. The last time they so much as trembled feels like when Stephanie's strange new face appeared through the dark and she dragged him to his feet. He winces at the memory of what he'd done before realizing she was, in fact, very real, and he wasn't dead after all.
Bucky exhales slowly, a thin plume of smoke into the cold night air. Maybe she'll forgive him. They've gotten past worse, sort of.]
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It's the men that give her a headache. Back in Brooklyn she'd never had to deal with being stared at, catcalled, or propositioned; whenever it happened it was usually just to get back at Bucky for something, or to make some girlfriend jealous that they could be replaced by someone as plain and unremarkable as Stephanie Rogers. It's been markedly worse during the tours. One time she'd punched a soldier who'd cornered her and tried to get up close and personal with Lady Liberty's celebrated gams. He'd been lucky she had better control of her strength by then, but he still wound up in the infirmary.
Tonight she has most of the 107th lining up to ask her for a dance. Once upon a time, long before Lady Liberty, she'd have delighted in getting some attention for a change, to be noticed, to be seen. But the only soldier she wants to dance with has been avoiding her all night.
It's the intervention of Corporal Dugan that chases the men off. So she dances with him. She asks about his family back home. He asks if she has anyone special — "Your man, is he Army?" — and she blushes all the way to her hairline. Then he points out that Sergeant Barnes has already slipped out and he'll cover her if she wants to go, too.
She doesn't need to be told twice. She doesn't even make some smartass quip about the knowing look he gives her, intent on making it back to the women's barracks as soon as possible and spending the rest of the night sketching. As luck would have it, however, the path she takes, believing it to be a shortcut, leads her right into Bucky's hiding spot. She tries to backpedal, but her boots crunch against the dead leaves on the ground, and he turns to look right at her. ]
Hey. [ She can't read the expression on his face, and it scares her. Is he mad that she's here, or about what she'd done? Worse, has this war turned him into a stranger? Unable to look at him in the eyes, she drops her gaze to the cigarette in his hand. ] Can I try?
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For the second time, Steph's face appears out of the gloom and Bucky forces himself to relax. He had spend a lot of the march back watching her, but so had everyone else. The Americans had to explain to the rest of the troops that their favorite pin-up had somehow swooped in for the rescue. They didn't have much of a chance to talk, he and Steph, but he knows the basics. He also knows that come sunrise, Colonel Philips is going to grill him about the Hydra base, and God knows what's going to happen to Steph.
He can't believe she's here, or what they've done to her. It terrifies him.
But six foot stunner or no, she's still Stephanie Grace Rogers, and has the audacity to ask for his cigarette. And because he's never been very effective at telling her no, he hands it to her with a dubious look.]
You smoke now?
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[ Her unintended mention of death quickly sobers her up, and she glances at him with worry. ]
Medical cleared you?
[ She'd looked him over on the way back to camp and had been most concerned about the onset of infection. Yet he seems to be fine. The bruises that she can see have faded, the wounds healing. She doesn't like it. She doesn't like what it might mean, what the enemy could've done to him on that table. ]
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He thinks about a conversation he had with Sarah Rogers once, when Steph was sleeping off an especially nasty fever. He’d cried and she had comforted him, reminding him there were some things they couldn’t protect Steph from. Bucky had sworn then, in a voice just starting to crack, that he would, from everything they could.
Now he’s seen her bend metal bars and haul men twice her size. She’s laughing off what would have once been an asthma attack. Still, a well-placed bullet can take out anyone. He knows that better than most, and isn’t keen on testing if her magic serum can do anything about it.]
Yeah. They had bigger fish to fry.
[He takes another drag of the cigarette and leans back against a tree.]
You’re not allowed to complain about me takin’ all the stupid any more.
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[ She regrets saying that almost immediately, but the words aree out before she can even think to stop herself. Her thoughts return to that room and finding him on that table, and how relieved and horrified she'd been at the same time. She's still feeling both, especially in the light of how most of his injuries had just healed themselves so quickly, but now she's mad too. Colonel Phillips was just going to leave him there. She'd taken matters into her own hands, and he won't even look at her. ]
You don't want me here.
[ It comes out more wounded than angry, though. It's not that she hadn't expected this reaction from him. She'd been unable to really tell him anything after the SSR had brought her on board, so her letters only gave him the broad strokes, otherwise they'd never have let her send him any. New job, helping with the war effort, that sort of thing. But it doesn't mean she has to like it. ]
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No, I don't.
[For a multitude of reasons, among them the disgustingly covetous look he had seen in Zola's eyes when Steph bent that railing. A successful experiment. A woman. Bucky remembers just enough of the lunatic's rambling to know that he would do anything to replicate whatever the Allies were rumored to be working on. Which was, evidently, Lady goddamned Liberty.]
If it's all as hush hush as you say, you really think they'll let you go now?
[Even if she doesn't sign over her soul to kill people for the greater good, Steph had pulled off something utterly impossible, the kind of miracle they desperately needed. A lot of men had seen her as some sort of avenging angel. Bucky knows how the brass thinks; they'll be a hell of a lot more interested in the avenging part. And once Steph really sees what they've been fighting, the worst of it sanitized for the press, then she won't want to go home either. Not when there's the slightest chance she can do something about it.
He thinks about her letter, the one he carried for months and months before Zola found it when he- no. No. Don't think about it. Fuck, does Zola know who she is? Had he recognized her?]
Steph. [His hands are steady but his voice fails him, quiet and shaky.] I was supposed to come home to you.
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So she just shrugs, like it's not a big deal. As if she hadn't practically confessed in that letter she'd slipped him that she'd try to move heaven and earth for him. He hasn't brought the letter up, just like he hasn't brought up their kiss back at the lab, so she's concluded that he doesn't feel the same way. It's fine. She hadn't come hoping to change his mind, and it would only hurt more if he was suddenly interested in her because of her new body. ]
I was always gonna die anyway. But you...
[ She swallows, fighting back the words and the tears threatening to spill out of her. When that doesn't work, she closes the distance between them and grabs him in a tight, desperate hug, not giving him the chance to protest. ]
We don't always get what we want, Buck.
[ She'd apologize, but she's not sorry. For taking the serum. For coming here. For kissing him.
It's weird, how she doesn't quite fit into him anymore. She used to only come up to his chest, practically disappearing when he wraps his arms around her. Now her face is buried against the crook of his neck, her long legs a messy tangle she doesn't know where to place, and her stupid breasts are in the way. ]
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Wanted to see you before the end. Got that, at least.
[It's no less morbid than what she's saying, really. He pulls back a little but doesn't let go, just cups her face with one hand.]
Kept telling myself if I got my dumb ass back to you, there's one thing I'd do.
[His gaze flickers to her lips before meeting her eyes. They had kissed, and she'd even kissed back before the entire factory threatened to come down on their heads from the explosions being set off. Maybe her letter is still there, burnt to ash. He has it memorized.]
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You can't go back out there. You gotta go home. They gotta send you home, Buck. You've already done enough.
[ It's pleading, desperate, probably even a little hysterical. Maybe because, deep down, she already knows that neither of them are making it back. Not with how fast he's recovered, how good he is with that rifle, what he's discovered about HYDRA and their plans; he's too important an asset to just send home now, and that fucking scares her.
She only calms down when he cups her face. She sniffs, then her eyes follow the trajectory of his gaze with a longing glance at his lips before flickering back to his eyes. ]
Oh yeah?
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Well, about some things.
Of the many dreams Bucky's had of kissing Steph, she's never been sad. Incredulous perhaps, or laughing at him, or best of all, absolutely delighted. The one at the factory had been one for the movies, passionate and desperate and perfect in spite of the blood and grime he'd been covered in at the time. Now, he strokes a thumb over her cheek and kisses her again, hardly chaste, but a lot more gentle.]
Yeah.
[If he has to die, it won't be regretting this.]
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She's sketched him so many times that, although she hasn't touched him in this way before, she can tell how much he's changed since that last night they'd been together, and that terrifies her, too. Will it be gunfire that catches him in the end, or will the war take him away, little by little, piece by piece, bullet by bullet, until there's none of him left? So she kisses him, touches him — eager, needy, desperate.
It's not until she realizes that she's backed him up against the tree that she stops. For a second she looks mortified, then it softens into embarrassment, accompanied by a quiet laugh. ]
Sorry.
For pushing you. Not... you know.
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It shouldn't surprise him that Steph goes above and beyond. Turns out at the factory was only a preview. Opening night is barely being able to keep up with her until the bone-jarring thud of his back hitting the tree as she backs him into it. He stares at her, dazed and impressed, until she apologizes. Then a slow smiles spreads across his face.]
Good. Don't be.
[This isn't how he imagined it would go but he's damned if he lets that stop him. Scooping her off her feet, Bucky turns them around in one smooth movement so she's pressed up against the tree instead.] I'm not.
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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. ]
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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.]
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[ 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.
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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.
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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.
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That is an exaggeration.
[ Oh come on. ]
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[ With titles like 10 minutes of Steph ‘Walk It Off’ Rogers. ]
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[ The team likes showing them to her. Guess it's the modern day equivalent of telling embarrassing stories about your friends. ]
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[ For research purposes, obviously. ]
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[ You know, the WW2 ones. About her, about the Howling Commandos. About them. ]
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[ It annoys him because 1) it’s none of their fucking business what Rogers and Barnes were to each other, and 2) that would explain a lot and he doesn’t know how to feel about it. ]
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[ Well— ]
But if, you know.
You ever wanna know.
You can ask.
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Do you want me to be him?
[ Objectively he knows he was James Buchanan Barnes. He’s just not sure if he can go back to being that guy. ]
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[ She might never truly comprehend what HYDRA had put him through, but she knows what it's like to grapple with your identity. The serum had changed her body and thus changed her; the woman he'd been with during the war hadn't been Stephanie Grace Rogers, not really. And then that woman — she jokingly calls her Libby in her head sometimes, like Howard did — went under the ice. She's still not entirely sure who came out of it. ]
I'm not her anymore, either.
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You’re still important.
[ To him. And unfortunately, to HYDRA. ]
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[ That will never change, no matter who they become.
He probably doesn't need the update (or care), but she desperately needs to change the subject. She's not about to cry while she's stuck in the Quinjet with the other Avengers, though she's already made the excuse of prepping her bike in the cargo hold. ]
We're en route to Sokovia.
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The Avengers and their fucking souped-up quinjet. He has to get moving now to have any hope of reaching Strucker’s base before they arrive and start wrecking havoc. He sends the first thing that comes to mind before shoving the phone into his backpack. ]
Keep both eyes open, don’t do anything stupid.
[ At least until he gets there. ]
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Including the message she receives from him. She feels something in her chest constrict at the familiar words, which she reads over and over for about a full minute because she can't believe he's saying them at all.
So she can't help responding: ] How can I? You took all the stupid with you.
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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. ]
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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? ]
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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?
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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. ]
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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. ]
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[ 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.