dysmorphics | it's you and me up against the world, it's you and me

Bucky pulled his arm away and Steph thought, this was it, this was the part where he walked away, and she would lose not just the Bucky of her timeline but this one too. It didn't matter that he had his own version of Steph; he was still her best friend, and, in a way that was both confusing and reassuring, she still loved him.

But then he placed her arm around her shoulders and she practically melted into him. Thankfully, enough time had passed for the sun to have fully set, and as Coney Island wasn't as bright in the future, the darkness gave them enough cover on the boardwalk.

You're not unloveable. She supposed he could say that because he'd only ever known her as the sickly, scrawny kid who Definitely Did Not Start Fights she couldn't win.

So she didn't say anything to that. But also because part of her wanted to believe it, that even after everything, he could still love her.

"Lemme buy you dinner?" she said instead. "For old times' sake."

She felt so much bigger than she had the last time he sat with his arm around her, but it wasn't bad. Just different. But the way she relaxed against him wasn't all that different from how they'd sit, quietly listening to radio dramas or reading in the evenings some days.

Shit, looking back it really was no wonder why people would question if they were an item or not, was it? Not that he'd ever done anything to discourage their closeness.

Bucky honestly would have been fine to keep sitting there quietly, watching the reflection of the moon shine over the ocean with her, but she brought up food. "Sure, we can go eat," he started, but made no move to get up. "But I'm paying, especially if it's for old times' sake." He was always the one who paid growing up, after all. Not because that's just how things were (it was only partly because of that), but also because he was aware that his family was better off financially than Steph's.

Besides, outside of bills and necessities, Bucky wasn't spending much of his paychecks anyway. "What are you in the mood for?"

Steph hesitated. She should've expected Bucky would want to pay, considering the time period they were in. For a moment she'd forgotten about that.

She also just remembered she had prepared to travel to the past with some of the future's small luxuries, and of course enough cash to comfortably cover a single woman in this era. She didn't want him to pay for dinner mostly because she now ate thrice as much as she did back then, and while he had a steady paycheck, he earned at the same rate he had to spend. Her cash smuggled from the future though? Worth a fortune.

"Actually, if you're not really hungry yet... I can cook? You know, for old times' sake." She elbowed him lightly. "You pay for the ingredients, I'll make you some future-flavored dishes." He would still be paying, but much less. And she wouldn't have to worry about causing a scene by eating so much.

Did she realize the invitation meant bringing him to her apartment? Yeah, she did. But there was nothing to it. He was in love with the Steph who disappeared. She was only the shadow of her past self.

Well that was an idea. Steph had always been a good cook--or at least she'd trained his taste buds to think she was--so why would he pass that up?

With his free hand he pulled his watch out of the pocket and opened it up to check the time. "Yeah, we've got time before the shops close," he stated simply, then gave the picture a look, as always (more out of habit than anything just then), and snapped the watch closed and tucked it away again.

When they stood again, Bucky offered her his arm instead of just putting hers there like he had earlier. Once she took it he started to walk with her. "Where all do we need to stop? And you wanna do this at my place or yours?" It wasn't until just then that he didn't even know where her place was. And she'd never been to his place, either. Not his current one. Not that he was aware of.

Steph glanced at the photo on Bucky's pocketwatch, no longer surprised it was a photo of her — but by which one. She didn't remember that photo. When had he taken it? She couldn't tell without prying and really looking. That brought an unexpected pang in her chest, and she regretted having left her timeline at all.

Thankfully, they were moving before she had the chance to start spiraling again. Though it hadn't been her intention when she suggested it, cooking was hopefully going to save her from doing something stupid tonight. Like try to drown herself.

"Mine," she answered when he asked whose place, if only because she had the seasonings and the spices. There were also a few other things she'd brought with her that he might be interested in seeing; that was if the war hadn't burned the science fiction nerd out of him anyway. But there were also her sketchpads. She already had several, even if she started from scratch when she traveled back.

Probably the most surprising thing about her art would be how she had some in color, and how Bucky's eyes were the correct shade of steel blue.

She gave him the list of ingredients she still needed, as well as her address, which, while in Brooklyn, was in one of the seediest neighborhoods. "We might have to get you a hat," she said. "I know several ladies on my floor who would try to steal you away if they recognize you."

Even in her world, she and the Howlies had been popular. They were basically the Avengers of their era, with books and films and merchandise and everything. She never saw it firsthand though, as she'd gone under before the war was officially over. Seeing it now was kind of surreal, and while Peggy was popular, New York — particularly Brooklyn — was Sergeant Barnes' home turf. He was their golden boy, their claim to fame.

Bucky couldn't hide the frown at the address. He recognized the street was in one of the rougher areas of town, but if Steph was the Winter Soldier now she could handle herself.

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

Bucky laughed softly at the comment about other ladies and shook his head. "If that happens, I'll just tell them I ain't interested," he said, a tiny grin pulling at one side of his mouth. He'd never actually been interested in any of the women who tried to flirt with him before, and he was even less receptive to it at that stage of his life. Sometimes, he even forgot to be polite about it, which always somehow seemed to get back to Howard and Peggy, then he'd get an earful about the optics or some shit. It tended to go in one ear and out the other, though.

"I can pick everything up and head over if that's what you want me to do. Meet you there." Bucky didn't know if she'd need to clean up or anything. She'd always been tidy before, but she was used to him dropping by all the time before. "Or you can go with me. Either way."

"You don't sign autographs?" Steph couldn't resist teasing. "And here I was gonna ask you to sign my poster." She had, in fact, managed to procure a poster; the USO tours hadn't been the only way America raised funds for the war effort.

She shook her head at Bucky's offer to just meet at her place. "Nah, I can go with you. I can carry you and the groceries if I gotta," she teased, if only to hide her fear that he might not show up once he'd gotten time to think about this whole situation. Maybe once alone he'd realize how angry he actually was at her and just leave her to wait for nothing, and she didn't want to be alone. Not after he'd given her the comfort of his presence, of his touch.

She regretted not having Asgardian booze, because it might've been a way to make him stay the night. Then she felt guilty for wanting to manipulate him into staying with her. Maybe she really was selfish. Maybe she did come back to ease her guilt and be with a version of Bucky that she knew.

"God, no," Bucky said quickly at the suggestion of signing autographs, even pulling a horrified face at the suggestion. "Some of the guys are into all that, but I've never liked it." Sure, he was their hometown guy, but at least New York had never been known for it's overly friendly residents. Nosey, sure. Angry and loud, yeah. Known for sweetness? No.

Besides, he was doing a job, what he should be doing to help people. Didn't mean he needed to be best friends with every stranger to do it. Howard liked to call him a surly bastard and Bucky didn't exactly try to stop him.

"Hey, I may not have had what you did, but I can carry a sack of groceries," he added with an eyeroll. Yeah, he knew she was teasing, but he'd seen what Peggy could do. If Steph was the one who went through that experiment instead of Peggy, then he was aware that she could carry him around if she wanted to. And, okay, maybe that was something he wasn't going to think about too much.

"Why don't we hit the shops on this end of town, then just take a cab to your place?"

"Not even for me? I signed your poster." It was hard to tell from Steph's expression if it was true or not. And if it were, Bucky had no idea she didn't only have posters as Captain America, but also pin-ups as Lady Liberty. Peggy somehow managed to avoid being roped into the shows; Steph assumed it was because she was already an agent for an SSR, unlike Steph who Dr. Erskine had picked up like a stray.

Agreeing to the plan, they started to hit the shops, and at the first one she wondered, supressing a smile, if this was what some people felt when they hung around her. Heads turned, but this time they looked straight past her and at Bucky.

They walked away with a hefty discount on their purchases and a heartfelt, "Thank you for your service, Sergeant Barnes, sir," from the shop's owner.

"Not mine," he said with a perk of a brow. "I'd know if I had a poster of you." Of course he knew what she meant, but the point still stood. If there had been posters of Stephanie Rogers, he would have snatched them up, both to taunt her with and also to frame.

But he ignored the stares outright, instead just focusing on Steph and gathering the proper items from that shop, then tried to argue with the owner about how he didn't need a discount and he should pass that on to someone who did need it instead. But, the shopkeeper wouldn't have any of it, so Bucky had to settle for "accidentally" leaving an extra dollar on the counter as he picked up the bag and led Steph out of the store, holding the door open for her and giving the man a nod as they left.

At least he'd been nice to the owner. He wasn't rude in his argument; he just... didn't want a discount when other people were still trying to get their feet back under them.

Thankfully, the butcher shop was only a couple of storefronts away. Not thankfully, the same thing happened there, too. Right down to him leaving extra money on the counter.

"Do we need to stop anywhere else, or was that it?" he asked her as he thought back to the ingredients she had listed off earlier.

"The liquor store? We can't get drunk but wine will taste better than juice." Steph wished she could get drunk, especially tonight, with this Bucky who she thought she knew but actually didn't. This wasn't a situation she'd ever imagined either of them being, their roles almost practically reversed. Heck even their heights were the other way around, not that people seemed to notice because anywhere he walked in, he became the biggest person in the room. Was that what fame did? Was that what happened to her, in her world, too? Did that make him feel small, or cast a shadow on him when he was normally the light? It was a lot to ponder, and she didn't want to think about, but rather to enjoy this evening with him.

Nearly the same thing happened at the shop, except that the owner's daughter later came out the front to bat her eyelashes at him and try to get him to talk. Steph pretended to have seen something she was interested in, stepping away to pick up a wine bottle and read the label.

It was all Bucky could do to not openly roll his eyes at the woman. Instead, he just ignored her and followed Steph over to where she was obviously pretending to be interested in whatever kind of wine that was.

"Did you want to get that one?" he asked when he came to a stop beside her and placed his free hand on her back. He hoped that would be enough to make the woman back off, but even before the war it had been hit or miss, with women not always taking the hint when he was out with Steph.

Before the war, it could be annoying and borderline insulting, the way they would brush off Steph's existence or ignore the fact that he clearly wasn't interested. Since coming back to New York he downright hated it.

Maybe he should get a hat. Maybe even a mask or something.

Edited (wording. then more words.) 2026-01-05 08:36 (UTC)

Another thing that was different? The woman took a look at Steph, went oh and backed off. Steph had seen that reaction many times since she'd been changed by the serum, but not like this. Sure, there had been women who eyed Bucky during the war, especially when she and the Howlies would wind up in some pub after an op, but he'd been practically glued to Lady Liberty's side, and no woman had dared to compete with Lady Liberty.

Witnessing it now, in a world where she wasn't Lady Liberty, was a little surreal. She was almost, almost tempted to gloat. You can't ignore me now, the part of her that once had been small, forgettable Stephanie Rogers wanted to say, but it wasn't very nice.

So she did the next best thing: lean into Bucky when he came up behind her and rested a hand on her back. Inspired by the imported Bordeaux wine she held in her hand, she answered, "No, it's fine. This must cost a fortune," in French, which was a hell lot more fluent now than her passable high school French.

Okay, so maybe she was feeling a little spiteful and vindictive. She'll shrug it off and say it was just for laughs later.

Bucky did roll his eyes at that, but there was that slight grin on his face again at the same time. "Still can't speak French, you know," he said, shrugging one shoulder. Bucky recognized the word fortune, at least, but that was only because it was the same in both languages.

Out of the corner of his eye he did see the other woman walk off, but that didn't stop him from removing his hand from her back so he could take the bottle out of her hands. "But I'll still get it if you want it." And with that, he turned, walked to the counter, and set it down.

Steph glanced behind them in time to see the woman walk off. "Thank you, darling," she said sweetly, still in French, and loudly enough for the rest of the shop to hear. Hey, she didn't want to drop her cover until they were outside.

Once they were out the door, she grinned at Bucky. "You're welcome, dumbass. Still don't think you need a hat?" She would happily pretend to be his date or whatever, but she couldn't let him know just how much she enjoyed the idea.

"I know, I know," Bucky said, rolling his eyes as he led her to the edge of the sidewalk. With his free arm, he flagged down a cab, then held the door for her to climb in first. He even settled into the back seat with her and listed off her building's address before continuing. "I've just never really liked them much. They feel weird."

He usually only wore hats when he had to. Or when he was trying to convince himself that he wasn't scared as shit about shipping out the next day. Hell, he didn't even wear one in the war, and they spent a good bit of time running around cold ass forests and mountains.

Still, he might have to suck it up at some point. But he wasn't going to admit that defeat out loud just yet.

"I know. You won't even wear a helmet in the field." Steph knew this was true for both of them, having fought closely with her world's Bucky, and having practically stalked this one through the duration of the war. Having taken up sniping herself, she understood how headgear could get in the way, but there was the irony of being vulnerable to headshots when you were supposed to be the one taking them.

For all of New York's bustle, it was still quiet compared to the next century. It wasn't the best era to live in, but she could appreciate the good things.

In the cab, they sat in companionable silence. She kept her gaze out the window, but she was aware of their knees touching. Neither of them made any move to pull away, and she was relieved that he seemed to want her presence just as much as she did. He could be angry at her all he liked and she could take it. Pushing her away, ignoring her, giving her the cold shoulder — now those would hurt.

If the cabbie was surprised by their destination, he made no indication. But it really wasn't a good part of town, the sort where pretty women like her could get sexually assaulted in her own apartment or roped into prostitution rings or doing drugs. It was, however, also the sort of place where a capable do-gooder like her would thrive, and he was probably already coming to his own conclusions while various women greeted her as they made their way up the stairs.

"Evenin', Gracie," a bleary-eyed young woman who looked like a waif greeted as she smoked on the stairwell. She glanced at Bucky, eyes widening in recognition, but she did not leer at him as she would've any other attractive man. Instead she turned to Steph with the same expression she wore when she saw them come up the stairs: respect.

"That's gonna kill you one day, Marta," Steph greeted in turn, in a somewhat motherly tone.

"Just celebratin' my second life, is all."

Steph would later explain, once they were in her apartment and out of earshot, that Marta had run away from an abusive husband. The bastard had stalked her and had been trying to break down her door while brandishing a knife when Steph stepped in. All those ladies who greeted her when they arrived, she had saved in some fashion. She never did like bullies.

Bucky frowned up at the building Steph lived in. He couldn't help thinking it was likely worse than her old building, and that was saying something. But, he didn't mention anything about it there. Instead, he just paid the cabbie, helped her out of the car, and walked her to the building with his hand on her back again, like he was protecting her from the area.

Which was ridiculous, he knew. He'd seen flashes of her moving as the Winter Soldier, and she apparently had the same serum as Peggy, so Bucky was more than aware that she could handle herself. But that was on a logical level. On another level she was still Steph, so he couldn't help it.

He continued not to speak as they made their way to her apartment, but he did appreciate that none of the women tried to be flirty with him. And he also took special note of just how much respect they gave Steph. Bucky always thought people needed to respect her more than they did--he even used to call assholes out on it when they were particularly shitty, because nothing could get Bucky into a fight as easily as messing with Steph--and he was glad to see her getting that respect. Even when she'd been tiny, she'd been the type to stand up for people.

And because of the respect for Steph and the lack of batting eyes at him, Bucky gave each of the ladies they passed a polite nod instead of a glare or a scowl.

It wasn't until her apartment door closed behind him that he finally said anything. But even then it was just, "Gracie, huh?"

"It's an old alias," was Steph's unexpectedly guarded reply, and she quickly scooped up the pile of papers and envelopes on her small dining table before Bucky could see that her full fake name, written on some of those, was in fact Gracie Barnes. She first used the name online as her artist pseudonym, thinking it as some kind of tribute to her fallen best friend, who would have approved of her pursuing art instead of fighting. Then she traveled back to 1943 and figured there was no way he would suspect that someone with his last name was connected to the person he was looking for.

Not that she wanted him to find out. Sure, they'd pretty much admitted how they felt for each other, but it was still embarrassing.

She gestured for him to place the bags on the table or the two chairs that flanked it. It was a poor attempt at covering up her hasty stashing away of incriminating documents, but there was also nowhere else. This apartment was much smaller than her old one, designed only for a single occupant. She didn't have much by way of furniture or belongings, and it would soon be evident that the table wasn't a dining table at all but for everything else she needed it for; she ate there, prepared food there, had her coffee and sketched there. She kept her cash and weapons under the floorboards.

"Make yourself at home," she said, shrugging off her coat finally and draping it over the back of one chair, followed by her scarf and hat. The heating was abysmal, but she ran hot anyway so she was managing.

Bucky chuckled quietly as he set down the bag on a chair and began to pull the items out, setting them on the table. He still didn't know what she was going to make, but he didn't really care what it was all that much anyway. "Old alias, right," he started to tease, glancing over at her. "Because no one would think to use a nickname based on their middle name."

Hell, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes had even kept an eye out in reports and papers for someone named Grace matching Steph's previous description, not just her real name. Seemed like he'd been watching for the wrong description, not the wrong name.

Once he had the items laid out for her, he finally pulled off his own coat and laid it with hers, then placed his hands on his hips as he looked around, frowning slightly.

To put it simply, he hated it. Not because it wasn't fancy or nice, but because it was cold and run down. And yes, she could handle herself. Again, he was logically aware of that. But the area was awful, and he didn't want her to have to take care of herself. She shouldn't have to.

Steph just shrugged. "No one's gonna come looking for me anyway." She then made her way into what had to be her bedroom, which didn't even have a proper door, just a curtain she flung closed. From the shadows on the makeshift door, Bucky could tell that she was changing out of her dress into something else. "I used it in the future," she continued as she changed. "For my artist stuff."

She reappeared a few minutes later in a tank top and yoga pants, holding a battered paperback in one hand and her phone in the other. Was it too much future to spring on him at once? Maybe, but also he had to wait for her to finish cooking and needed some way to pass the time.

"This was one of my first paid projects," she said, tapping the book's cover. She visibly hesitated, then slowly, almost shyly, offered it to him. Was it a trick of the light, or was she blushing?

She'd come a long way in terms of her art, confidence included, but like with the Bucky of her timeline, a part of her feared he wouldn't think she did a good enough job. That and, well, the book itself. It was a historical romance novel... inspired by one of World War II's most popular, though unconfirmed, romances. She'd taken the job because she'd thought Bucky was dead and saw no harm in supporting a fictionalized take of their supposed relationship. Now it was just kind of awkward. (The publisher, indeed, had asked if Gracie was related to the Barnes that was the basis for the novel's hero. If they only knew.)

Bucky couldn't help rolling his eyes. "I was looking for you, Steph. Since the day I got home," he called out to her, trying not to pay attention to the shadows on her curtain.

When she came back out of her room, he turned to look at her, eyes widening and face reddening a bit when he saw her outfit, if it could even be called that. She was basically in long, extra-tight underwear and an undershirt, all her generous curves visible.

He took the book that was offered to him and examined the cover, taking the distraction so he wouldn't just... ogle her. "So you became an artist after all?" God, he was glad to hear it. He'd always thought she was an amazing artist, ever since they were kids, and he'd actively encouraged her to pursue some sort of career in art every chance he got.

But when he took a closer look at the book a couple of things struck him. First was the fact that it looked just like the two of them. Unmistakably them, in fact, to anyone who had seen them before.

But the second, and even more shocking thing, was the fact that, "It's in color?" Eyes wide, he looked back over at her. His eyes locked on hers, but he couldn't see anything even slightly different about them from before, and if anyone knew what Stephanie Rogers's eyes looked like, it was Bucky Barnes. "Did the serum even fix your colorblindness?"

"Not me," Steph had called out from behind the curtain, a deliberate echo to Bucky's earlier, "Not mine."

She probably should have realized he'd be shocked by her attire, but she had several other things on her mind, and, well, she was just that comfortable with him, even if he wasn't the Bucky of her timeline. As he looked the cover over, she started to organize the ingredients for their dinner, continuing to talk to him as she worked. "I took art commissions during my downtime, yeah. When there weren't aliens to fight or HYDRA bases to raid."

She turned away to rinse and cut up the vegetables, so she missed seeing his surprise. She did look over her shoulder back at him. "Yeah, it did." The smile that bloomed on her face was soft and a little sad. "I have a lot of misgivings about the serum, but I can at least finally see how pretty your eyes are."

There was no hiding the genuine smile on his face at that news. Bucky knew that her colorblindness was a large part of what kept Steph from really expanding on her art (that, and the cost of supplies), so the fact that she could see colors properly was amazing. But at the comment about his eyes, he shook his head. "Mine are nothin' special, Steph. Becca's got the same ones."

He'd always liked her brighter blue eyes a hell of a lot more than his gray blue, dammit. But that probably wouldn't surprise anyone.

Still smiling, he looked back down at the book in his hands. Even if he hadn't known Steph was the person who did the painting, he would think it was fantastic. "I can't believe you painted us like this. Why-" but he got his answer quick enough when he flipped over to the back of the book and Sergeant Barnes jumped out at him, along with Lady Liberty and something about one of the twentieth century's greatest love stories. "Huh. Well, that's different."

There were books about them in the future? Seriously?

Of course Bucky would insist his eyes weren't special. Or anything about him, for that matter. He really was blind, wasn't he? How could he not have seen he was everything to Steph, or that she looked at him like he hung the moon and stars?

She just continued with her preparations, leaving him with the book until he piped up again. Well, that took him a while to notice. She laughed from where she stood by the sink, but didn't turn to look at him. "Yeah, people assumed we were together from the newsreels and photos during the war, and made up all sorts of shit from that. Novels, some films. Even a TV series at one point, but they fished me out of the ice, then you were back too, and they were afraid we'd sue." Not that that stopped the shippers from doing what they wanted online. Tumblr and AO3 had LibertySarge tags and all that.

She took a moment from what she was doing to pour him a glass of water and set it down on the table in front of him.

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