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

"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.

"Jesus, that's nuts." Bucky said, then thanked her for his water before taking a drink of it. Hell, even the general public could see what they couldn't, apparently. He thought he hid the way he looked at her well, but apparently not.

Shaking his head, he flipped the book back to it's cover. She really was talented, but he'd always known that. But to see her be able to work with colors--and be so damn good at it--was amazing. "Even if it was just on the side, I'm glad you did something with your art," he started, setting the book aside so he could watch her. He tried (and mostly succeeded) to focus on her back, head, and arms, and not look at her ass. "I always thought you were too good to just hide your drawings in your sketchbooks."

"Some of our letters ended up in the museum." Steph picked up her phone then and scrolled through her photos, stopping to show Bucky one of her letters that had been on display at the exhibit in the Smithsonian. She taught him to swipe left or right to view the next ones; she'd taken a lot of photos of the exhibit after the Winter Soldier disappeared on her, in case showing him the photos one day might jog his memory. "Can't blame them for assuming stuff from those. I did write you love letters, just without saying the love part out loud."

How had it been so hard to tell Bucky how she felt when it spilled so easily out of her now?

She returned to her cooking, leaving her phone with him. If he accidentally scrolled further back or forward, or figured how to navigate the screen, he would also see pictures of the photos she had on display in her apartment, pages from her sketchpads, renders of her digital art, Bucky in Wakanda, and the Avengers. She had a chronicle of her life right there after she woke up in the future, mostly missing one thing: her face. She never liked sketching or taking photos of herself, even moreso after the whole world glorified her as Lady Liberty. The only ones that included her where the old photos she'd recovered from Becca or downloaded from history websites, and some unavoidable group shots with the Avengers.

"The future had more opportunities for women artists than just war propaganda materials," she said as she cooked. "I also needed money. It's expensive in the future, and I didn't want to rely on my government paycheck because I hoped to get out of being their toy soldier." She did, or at least when SHIELD fell and the Avengers pretty much went private, but it was still a life of fighting. "There was always something to fight though. Even after I had to give up the shield."

"Holy cow," Bucky whispered to himself as he ran his finger back and forth across the small screen in his hand, momentarily distracted from what Steph wanted to show him. He couldn't help it, even after all the shit he'd been through and all he'd seen, he was still a nerd who got excited over technological advances deep down. And the thing in his hands was highly advanced. "What is this thing?" he asked idly.

But eventually he began actually paying attention to the contents of the photos themselves. It was absolutely insane that anything of his would be worth anything to a museum, especially his clothes and love letters. Cause that's what his had been, too.

Once the museum exhibits stopped, Bucky kept going, taking in the people he didn't know (even though one man reminded him of someone, but he couldn't place who) and the places, some of which were clearly in New York. The clothes were so different, the cars in the background were different, everything. He was paying attention to more than just the focus of each picture, but the whole thing. Including the things in the backgrounds that other people would likely have ignored entirely.

And there was art that didn't quite look like photographs of art, more like prints, almost? But he would recognize Steph's style anywhere, and they were stunning.

The picture that made him stop, however, was a lot simpler. It was out in a field instead of a city, and it looked like some long-haired guy in a robe or something fussing at a goat. Bucky almost went past it since there was nothing futuristic to look at, but then he noticed the guy had only one arm, and then he took a closer look at the man's face. He was scruffy, but he could see himself in it. "Is this him?" Bucky asked, looking up at Steph again as he turned the box to face her.

Steph loved Bucky's excitement over her phone. She'd figured he would be thrilled, which was part of why she decided to show it to him. "We call it a smartphone, or just a phone. You can use it for calls, texts — they're like instant letters or telegrams. Pictures, videos. All sorts of things, really." She didn't have a network connection here in the past though, so it was mostly a keepsake now.

He got so engrossed with the pictures that she managed to progress with her cooking mostly uninterrupted. Until he showed her one particular photo anyway, and the pang in her chest returned. She stirred what she was cooking then placed the lid on and left it to simmer, moving to stand next to him. "Yeah, that's him. From about five years ago. That's Wakanda, in Africa. He was being rehabilitated there."

"This is a phone? You're kidding, right?" It was nothing like the heavy things they had. One good smack with the headset from one of the phones from the 1940s could take someone out, even if you were swinging it without superstrength. "And you can just take it with you?"

He turned the phone back around to take another look at the picture. "Why Wakanda?" he asked. As far as he knew, it was a rural country without anything special. Just... small villages scattered about. He was pretty sure they had some sort of royal family, but that was pretty much all he knew about it. "And is that a goat that he's chewing out?"

Bucky's surprise wasn't unfamiliar. "Yeah, I was amazed too," Steph admitted with a laugh. "Some of the slightly older models were even smaller, but the screens weren't in color or touch-responsive yet." Then she sighed softly. "No flying cars though. Howard got too busy with SHIELD to make 'em, I guess."

She left his side to stir the stew. "Well, because Wakanda—" She trailed off abruptly, frowning, and considered whether or not she could tell him.

It took two seconds for her to decide. "Don't tell anyone, okay?" What? He was her best friend. She told him everything — except how she felt about him. "But Wakanda, they're actually really technologically advanced. Just hid what they got from the Nazis and anyone who might wanna take advantage."

She peered closer at the picture. "Ah, yeah, Rogers, the small fighty one." She snorted. "Should I have taken that as a hint? Actually Steph I like you, here's a goat I named after you."

"Yeah, I thought the cars looked awfully grounded in the background of a lot of those pictures," Bucky said with a grin. "Guess I'll have to start bugging him every so often. Bet if I start telling him he'll never get one that works without crashing he'll do it."

"Secret's safe with me." He'd kept other secrets for her in the past, but they'd never been ones that could potentially change how the world saw a whole country before. Still, he'd keep it quiet. Wouldn't even tell the others at the office. "Can't say I blame them though, considering I never even told the others that HYDRA managed to do something to me."

He looked back at the picture, amused by the image of this long haired version of himself fussing at a goat. Rogers, huh? If it was small and fighty then yeah, he woulda named a goat after her. "Probably should have taken most things I did as a sign I liked you."

Steph laughed. "Maybe he just needs you to pester him until it happens. While you're at it, when he finally has a kid, can you tell him to stop being such a workaholic and spend some time at home?" Okay, so they'd already established that messing with other people's lives was a bad idea, but maybe Tony wouldn't have had all those issues had Howard just paid him some attention? She was only going for a little nudge.

She washed her hands, brought a loaf of bread to the table, sliced it up and started snacking on it. "Sorry, the serum makes me really hungry," she said as she invited Bucky to help himself to some. "I've got more so take as much as you like." It wasn't 2020s bread, unfortunately — cooking and baking were apparently two different disciplines, and she didn't have the aptitude for the latter — but it was at least nutritious and filling.

"You can't tell anyone about me either," she reminded, steering them back to their earlier conversation. He probably knew that, but she had to say it.

Grabbing another slice of bread, she went back to her cooking. "Buck, you dated other women but never even asked me. How was I supposed to take that other than 'not interested' or 'saw me only as a sister'?" He'd already explained why he did that, but still. "If you were trying to make me jealous though, it fucking worked."

"Howard's gonna have a kid? He's gonna actually find a woman to settle his ass down?" That in itself sounded like one of the more surprising things he'd heard since he got to her apartment. Bucky almost pointed out to Steph that he could tell him that herself, but then he remembered she'd been... insinuating she wouldn't be sticking around. "But yeah. I'll tell him. Can't have too many workaholics hanging around the office all the time." Because he was well aware that if he ended up alone, that's where he'd be.

He shrugged at the bread, though. "It's fine. She plays Miss Proper a lot, but Peggy couldn't hide how much she can eat during the war."

"I won't tell them. Don't worry." Bucky frowned a little as he took a piece of bread and picked at it, and tore it into little pieces more than he ate it. "Steph, I already told you. It was either girls that I was set up with, girls that wouldn't let up, or ones I was helping. And I would have turned down every single one of them if I thought you even might have been interested in me. But I didn't think you were and I didn't wanna risk our friendship by saying something and... I don't know. Making things awkward."

"I know, right? I was surprised too." Despite her words, Steph's tone held fondness for Howard.

She asked permission to take the phone back, but kept it lying on the table as she scrolled for a photo. She found one of them in the Avengers Tower the night the Ultron fiasco started, just before they'd had a go at trying to lift Mjolnir. Tony was up front, taking the shot with his phone's front camera. Steph was at the back, by the pool table, with Sam.

"That's him," she pointed. "Tony Stark. Tech wiz like his father. Also had his drinking and womanizing habits, but he sobered up eventually." They didn't always see eye to eye, but Tony had been her friend and among the first ones after she woke up in the future.

The rest of their conversation happened as she finished preparing their meal. "Not talking to you after your dates wasn't hint enough?" They really were idiots. She didn't hold that against Bucky though, since it went both ways. "But, yeah, I get it. I hadn't wanted to risk it either. Would've kissed you on that boardwalk if I'd been braver. Maybe even before that."

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