The 0700 briefing is like every other briefing Bucky's been to, during his year-and-change as a soldier: longer than it needs to be, with too little actual information released, and full of aides and analysts with theoretically perfect plans who don't know shit about actual combat, and how that tends to require improvising. Luckily Stevie has already seen this phenomenon firsthand, since her only experience in the field was improvised from the get go. Somehow that fills him with more confidence that any scribbled-on map could ever manage.
Fourteen hours later, they're across the channel and parachuting into occupied France. This first mission is something of a soft lob to break them in, supposedly; while the target they're after is HYDRA, it isn't a full base like the one Stevie hit to rescue them. It's just a couple of buildings on the outskirts of a small town, probably a farm before the war. No prisoners to rescue, no intel to gather, no high-priority targets that will be well protected. Just a safe-house for extraneous equipment.
Dernier has enough explosives in his pack to blow the whole place sky-high, and that is pretty much the extent of the plan. Sneak through enemy territory, locate the target, plant the bombs, and get the hell back to the retrieval point before anybody has time to figure out they were there. They've got a three-day window before they're expected back, so their pace is almost leisurely. If it weren't for the fact that they have to keep an eye out for German patrols, it would almost be like a camping trip with new friends.
Not that Bucky's ever been camping. Before the war, he'd never been out of New York City (except for one trip to Indiana as a kid), and he has a feeling that picnics in the park here and there with Stevie don't actually count. It was part of the reason he was so startled when they put a sniper rifle in his hands during basic and he found out he had a knack for it. Most of the other guys who'd shown a proficiency had been country boys, used to hunting. Bucky had never touched a gun before.
Just a natural, I guess, the training officer had said. Lucky us.
They make camp in a patch of God-forsaken forest too far out (hopefully) to be worth patrolling. They'll cover the rest of the distance to their target tomorrow, destroy it overnight, and get back to friendly territory sometime on the third day. If everything goes according to plan, of course.
When Jones comes back from his second wide circle around their campsite, and proclaims the area completely free of Germans to cause them trouble, everybody relaxes a little. They're far enough off the main road not to be caught by anybody who isn't specifically looking, and they'll hear any trucks or tanks that get curious long before they'll be in danger. The odds of a foot patrol stumbling across them are pretty low. They're about as safe as it's possible to be in enemy-occupied lands.
Bucky sets out his bedroll and has just fished out one of his K-rations for supper when Stevie crouches down next to him (pretending to fiddle with something in her own pack) and whispers, "You ready?"
Bucky nods.
Stevie stands back up, leaving her pack on the ground by Bucky's bedroll, and announces, "I think I'll take first watch. Maybe scout around a little."
Jones gives her an odd look, because he just did that and he's a better field scout than Stevie could ever hope to be, in her patriotic outfit. "Looks clear, Cap," he says.
"I'm sure it is," Stevie says immediately. "Just need to stretch my legs a little."
She's out of sight into the trees before anybody has a chance to comment.
Bucky shakes his head and continues unpacking his meal. They shouldn't risk a fire, so it's cold biscuits and meat hash, or whatever the insides of a K-ration are supposed to be. If he's lucky, it'll have a chocolate bar; he's heard that's the most redeeming feature about K's as opposed to the more standard C's he got on the front before. Now that he's officially a Commando, he gets the short-term, lightweight, box-packaged meals instead of the heavier (but more filling) cans. He's not sure it's a good trade, but the presence of real chocolate might tip it over.
"The Captain seem a little anxious to anybody else?" Jones asks, still staring at the spot where Stevie slipped into the trees.
"First mission jitters?" Falsworth offers.
Morita makes a little huffing noise. "Did he seem nervous to you when he was busting us out of prison cells?"
Dernier says something in a stream of French.
"Yeah," Jones says. "Jacques says you've been a little more surly than usual, too, Sarge. What's going on?"
Bucky sighs and drops the half-opened K-ration in front of him. "Okay. Everybody sit down and listen up. We need to talk."
"Shit," Dugan says instantly. "What didn't they tell us about this mission? How bad is it?"
Bucky waves his hands in a pacifying gesture. "No, no. Nothing like that. Mission's fine."
He should have guessed that would be their immediate reaction. As men who had been abandoned for dead by their own officers, rescued only by the unauthorized actions of someone who was more a publicity stunt than a real soldier—and even then only by the happenstance of said publicity stunt's best friend being captured with them—they weren't entirely trusting of the military upper echelon. It would be just like the brass to throw their new signature team a curve ball first pitch, instead of the soft lob they'd promised.
Bucky gives everybody a chance to sit down in a loose, lopsided circle on their various bedrolls before he leans back a little and says, calmly, "I'm about to disclose some classified information. Just so we're clear, I haven't been ordered to, but the Captain and I would feel better if we didn't have to lie to the team."
He pauses a moment, gauging their reactions. Falsworth looks slightly interested, like this might be an entertaining diversion. Dernier looks eager. Jones looks skeptical. Morita looks bored, like he doesn't care. Dugan is stroking his ridiculous mustache, looking thoughtful.
"If anybody has a strong objection to hearing something you're not supposed to know, I suggest you join the Captain elsewhere," Bucky continues. "Staying here and listening means you agree to keep it a secret. Understood?"
"Speaking of," Morita says. "If the Captain agrees we should be told, why'd he leave in the first place?"
Bucky smirks. "The Captain signed a bunch of paperwork saying it was a crime to discuss it with anyone who didn't already know." He shrugs, a little self-deprecatingly. "Apparently the brass forgot that we grew up together. They didn't make me sign anything."
Jones raises his eyebrows slightly. "That's following the letter and ignoring the intent," he says.
Bucky rolls his eyes. "If there's one thing Stevie's good at, it's finding loopholes. Or don't you remember that our rescue wasn't authorized until after we got back?"
"It's about how strong he is," Morita says flatly. "Isn't it?"
"What?" Bucky asks, genuinely thrown.
"The way he tosses around that shield, like it weighs nothing at all," Morita continues. "If he was built like a circus strongman, maybe I'd buy it. But he isn't. He's a lot stronger than he should be."
Bucky blinks. "Wait. You guys haven't got the full story about that?"
Dugan shrugs. "I heard rumors, but nothing definitive. You saying it's true? They did something to him?"
"Yeah," Bucky says. "That's not even supposed to be a secret, I don't think. The papers back home have been running stories on it since it happened."
Jones kicks good-naturedly at his knee. "So you going to tell us, or not?"
"It was called the super-soldier serum," Bucky says, "and before you ask, that's basically all I know."
"Super soldier?" Falsworth repeats, with a wry twist to the word. (It has a distinct flavor of 'the superior man,' which even Bucky hasn't failed to notice is the primary Nazi propaganda piece.)
Bucky nods. "It was created by some doctor, and funded by the SSR. Stevie got picked to be the first trial, but the doctor got shot by HYDRA right after the procedure, and nobody can recreate his work."
"It's just the Captain, then?" Morita asks. "He's the only one?"
Bucky nods again.
"That's a shame," Jones says, frowning slightly. "A company of men like the Captain could launch an invasion all by themselves. Retake France."
Dernier mutters something to his own boots.
"What did it do to him, exactly?" Morita asks. "What did it affect?"
"I don't know specifically," Bucky admits. "You've all seen the same things I have: strength, speed, endurance. If you want scientific data, you'll have to talk to Stark; I'm told he did the post-procedure tests. But it was definitely a dramatic change."
"Yeah?" Dugan asks. "How dramatic?"
"Before?" Bucky says. "Stevie barely came up to my shoulder, and weighed about ninety pounds soaking wet. Couldn't throw a punch hard enough to leave a bruise if somebody's life depended on it. Got winded going up a couple flights of stairs. Had asthma, heart problems, and caught every single sickness that came around." His lips press into a thin, white line just remembering. "Nearly died from pneumonia or rheumatic fever or whatever else every goddamn winter."
They're all staring at him.
Bucky crosses his heart once, smiling fondly. "God's honest truth," he says. "Ask the Captain if you don't believe me. You'll get the same answer."
The makeshift camp is silent for a long moment. It occurs to Bucky that it must be just as hard for them to reconcile a small, sickly young man with the Captain Rogers they know as it was for Bucky to reconcile Captain America with the Stevie he remembered.
"Wait," Falsworth says, suddenly frowning. "If that isn't the classified secret, what else haven't we been told?"
The curiosity is so strong that it's almost a physical presence.
"First," Bucky says, "are we all agreed? This stays among us? You'll go on acting like you don't know, in front of everybody else?"
He gets a round of nodding heads.
"Okay." Bucky takes a deep breath and speaks quickly, getting the words out all at once. "The most important thing is this: everything you know about the Captain hasn't changed. She's still the person who came for us when nobody else would, braver and more stubborn than anybody on the planet, and determined to take down HYDRA. Everything you've learned about her over the last month is still true, save for the one lie the Army made her tell."
There's complete silence for a moment.
"You said 'she,'" Jones says. He glances at Dernier. "He said 'she,' right?"
"Yes," Bucky says firmly. He braces himself for their reactions. "I did."
"What the hell?" Dugan grumbles immediately. "Steve Rogers, Captain America, is a girl?"
"Stephanie Rogers, Captain America, is a woman," Bucky corrects. "Except for the doctor who cleared her to enlist, nobody in the Army found out until after she'd gotten the super-soldier serum. She earned that, on merit alone."
There's another moment of shocked silence.
"Wait," Morita says. "Is this some kind of prank you worked out between you?"
"No," Bucky says. "Why would we lie about something like this?"
"The Captain is a woman," Falsworth says, as if trying it out to see how it sounds. "Are you sure?"
Bucky rolls his eyes. "You asking me if I've seen her naked?"
"Oh, God," Jones says, eyes widening. "You're not best friends. You're together."
"What?" Bucky says.
"You do sort of stare at him—her," Morita points out. "A lot." He shrugs. "I wasn't going to say anything."
"Jesus Christ," Dugan says, like he's just figured out something important. "I thought you were just wired wrong, Barnes. I don't know if it's better or worse that the man you're in love with is actually just a girl pretending to be a man."
"Hey," Bucky snaps. "First off, none of your business. Secondly, the way I feel—"
"Buck?"
Everybody turns. Stevie is standing at the edge of their little camp, helmet in one hand and shield in the other, rifle strapped across one shoulder.
"Stevie," Bucky says, a warning in his tone. "You came back about five minutes too early. I have some misconceptions to straighten out."
"It's okay," she says. "I think I should take it from here."
Stevie walks over and takes a seat almost directly across from Bucky, splitting the team between them. (It's a good move, because if they sat on the same side, the team could avoid looking either of them in the eye. This way, unless they stare at their own feet, one of them is going to be in view.)
"No," Stevie says firmly. "My love life, or lack thereof, or the Sergeant's involvement in same, isn't any of your business." Immediately, in the same calm but serious tone, she adds, "For the record, no, we're not together. Yes, it's complicated. We care about each other too much for it not to be. No, I'm not going to explain further than that."
There's a moment of awkward, embarrassed shuffling from the five Commandos.
Stevie nods, satisfied. "Yes," she says, as if answering unspoken but clearly heard questions. "I lied on my enlistment form. Yes, the doctor who accepted me knew I was female. Yes, I'd already had practice at passing for a man, and no, I will not tell you my reasons or circumstances. That's not relevant."
"But, Captain—" Falsworth begins.
Bucky and Stevie both level glares at him, and he snaps his mouth shut mid-sentence.
"No," Stevie says flatly, "you are not to treat me any differently than any other officer you might serve with. You volunteered to follow Captain America, and that's me. Colonel Phillips knew when he approved me for command of this team, and so did the officers he reports to. SSR Command decided I was Captain America, not me. So clearly, I'm qualified. Breasts and all."
Dugan makes a choking noise. Jones starts coughing, as if he's trying to disguise the same. Morita looks shell-shocked. Falsworth is still wary from being glared at. Dernier looks mildly confused, like maybe he thinks he's following the English wrong.
"If this is going to be a problem for any of you," Stevie goes on, completely ignoring their reactions, "you may say so now, or at the end of this mission. When we return to base, I will request a transfer for anyone who wants one, in good faith. I won't have men serving with me who can't accept me, or who don't trust me in the field, for whatever reason."
Nobody says a word.
"Regardless of your intention to stay or transfer," Stevie says, "I expect you to keep my gender a secret. Not because I'm trying to hide, but because SSR Command has decided that it should be classified. I will not tolerate gossip, tale-telling, or rumors, and if I don't scare you, let me assure you that Colonel Phillips won't be amused, either."
Stevie waits for a moment, drawing out a good, long dramatic pause.
"Am I clear?" she asks, using that tone of voice that makes trained soldiers snap to attention.
"Yes, sir," Bucky says automatically.
He's only half surprised when each of the other men echo him, with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
"Good," Stevie says. Some of the harshness leaks out of her voice, and her shoulders soften from their rigid posture. "Having said that," she continues, "I don't want this to be awkward, or create friction. If you have questions or things that are bothering you, I'm willing to discuss them, so long as it's done respectfully. Does that seem fair?"
"Yes, sir," they chorus again. This time it seems less knee-jerk and more genuine.
"Sergeant Barnes," Stevie says as she gets to her feet. "I think we should give the men some time to digest this. You up for a perimeter check?"
"Sure, Cap," Bucky says. He snatches his rifle with one hand and the half-opened K-ration with the other. "After you."
They're not even ten yards into the trees when they hear the Commandos start to yell at each other. The voices are distinct—no surprise, Dugan is the loudest—but the words are just muffled enough by the distance and the ambient nighttime forest sounds that they can't be understood.
Stevie slumps against a tree. "That could have gone better," she says quietly.
"Could have gone worse," Bucky says. "Nobody up and left right away, or called you any names, or tried to throw a punch."
"I might have preferred it if they had," Stevie admits. She clenches and unclenches her fists. "If it was just a matter of beating some sense into them, earning their respect—"
"Hey," Bucky says quickly. "Don't forget. You did that part already, when you saved their lives."
"Steve Rogers did that bit," she reminds him. "I'm going to have to prove myself all over again as Stephanie. And I'll have to be twice as good to get the same credit."
Bucky sighs and leans into her just a bit from the side, forehead at her temple. "Not from me," he whispers.
They stand that way for a minute or two, listening to the dulled sounds of the men shouting in the distance.
After a while, Bucky turns his head slightly toward her ear and says, very quietly, "It's complicated?"
Stevie laughs softly. "Well, what was I supposed to say?" she asks him. "Sooner or later, one of them is going to remember Peggy. I haven't figured out how to explain that, yet."
"That will be interesting," Bucky agrees. He stands upright out of his lean and takes a bite of one of his K-ration crackers. It's dry, but no more so than usual military fare. He chases it with some water from his canteen. "How long do you think they'll be at it?"
Stevie stares back the direction they came. "Maybe an hour?"
Bucky promptly sits down to finish his meal. He slaps Stevie's hand away when she makes a grab for one of the crackers. Everybody heard Stark arguing with the quartermaster about Captain America's increased metabolism, so it's not like she doesn't have enough of her own.
He pretends not to notice when she sneaks half his chocolate bar, anyway.
/~*~/
In August of 1936, Bucky gets his first-ever promotion at work. He's nineteen years old.
It comes with a nice little boost in pay, slightly better hours, and training for some of the more skilled positions on the factory floor. That in and of itself would have been a reason to celebrate, because even though the papers are saying that the Depression is finally loosening its hold, it's still easy to get fired. Being trained, even a little, makes him harder to replace. It's a layer of security he didn't have, before.
Naturally, the bosses tell him on a Monday morning, so he has to sit on his good news all week until Friday rolls around. When he finally gets home that night after his shift, he's literally bouncing as he comes through the door, never mind the oppressive summer heat.
"Stevie?" Bucky calls out as he spins across the threshold. "Guess who's got good news?"
"Judging from the fact that you're dancing in our living room," Stevie says dryly, "I'm going to guess you."
"Gee," Bucky says, emphasizing his natural drawl. "You ought to be a detective, with that brain."
"Shut it, you," Stevie says, but she's smiling at him. "You going to tell me, or not?"
She gets up from the couch, slowly. Even with every window in their apartment open (and the sun approaching the horizon line), the heat is too thick for her to be energetic, or else she'll risk an asthma attack. This summer in particular has been brutal, with record-setting temperatures going all the way back to June; Stevie's been pale, sweaty, and tired for weeks. At least her newspaper job—which she got through sheer, bloody-minded stubbornness, applying once a day every day for over a month until they gave in—lets her work inside out of the sun, and sit still while she does it. She'd have been in serious trouble, otherwise.
"I," Bucky says, very seriously, with one hand dramatically placed on his chest, "got a promotion."
Stevie's eyes light up, and she walks forward to give him a hug. "Bucky, that's fantastic! Congratulations."
Bucky picks her up and swings her around in a little circle, ignoring her sudden yelp. "How do you feel about going out tonight to celebrate?"
"Of course," Stevie says. She only wobbles slightly when Bucky puts her down. "Let me just get cleaned up, first."
It doesn't take long for Stevie to wash the ink off her hands and change into a clean shirt. Bucky takes longer, going through the trouble of slicking his hair and putting on his best outfit. He's not sure why he bothers, except that he always likes to look nice when they go out. Now he'll just get his good things sweat-drenched, because there aren't any cool spots to be found in New York this summer.
As a treat, they head out for supper instead of cooking. It's the first time they've been to a diner in a couple months, and the fresh coffee is almost as good as the fried foods. On the way back to the apartment, they catch the Dunleavy brothers—Frank and Herbert—and Chester Miller, who live across the hall and one floor up, respectively. They invite the three of them along on their night out.
All five of them end up at a local bar, tossing back one round of good whiskey courtesy of Bucky's higher paycheck, and then nursing theoretically-cold beers at a table in the corner. The story of Bucky's promotion leads naturally into a discussion of the supposedly-recovering economy, and the fruits of Roosevelt's New Deal. That segues into election talk, although nobody really expects FDR to have any trouble at the voting halls in November. Politics leads to the rumblings coming out of Europe, and whether or not the Olympics going on in Berlin this month will calm things down.
As evening turns to night, the crowd picks up. The dance floor is cleared and a band shows up to play. Bucky is (naturally) the first one to leave their table and ask a dame for the privilege, but Frank isn't far behind him. Chester gets up to chat with a pretty gal at the bar, leaving Herbert to keep Stevie company at their table.
Bucky doesn't think anything of it; he'd long since gotten used to Stevie's tendency to sit quietly in the corner while he danced his way through the willing dames. This is the first time that he and 'Steve' have been out with other people they know, however, and it's not as simple as it used to be.
When Bucky comes back to the table for a breather, dripping sweat from just two quick dances in a row—every door and window in the place is propped open, but the night remains stubbornly hot—he finds Stevie in the middle of a discussion with both Dunleavy brothers.
"Really, it's fine," Stevie is saying as Bucky walks up and flops into an available chair. "I don't even know how to dance."
Herbert chuckles a little bit into his beer. "How the hell are you friends with fancy-feet here," he asks, flicking a thumb at Bucky, "and yet you don't know how to dance?"
Bucky smiles as he reaches for his drink, which is no longer even pretending to be cold. "Don't look at me; I've tried to teach him."
(It took a few months, but now it hardly registers as strange to talk about Stevie using male pronouns in public.)
"You don't even have to dance," Frank says. "Look at Chester over there." He points to the bar, where Chester is leaning next to a laughing dame with long black hair. "All you got to do is buy one drink and talk to her real nice."
Stevie turns an interesting shade of pink. "I, um. Don't do well. Talking, I mean. To girls."
Herbert is outright laughing now, while Frank rolls his eyes.
"James, help me out here," Frank says. "This is sad. He's your best friend, and you let him get to a state like this?"
"Hell," Bucky says. "I've known him for a decade, and I've never seen him go on a date."
"That's it," Frank says. "We are not leaving this bar tonight until we get Steve here a gal. Agreed?"
Herbert lifts his beer in a toast. Stevie turns brighter pink, almost red, and stares at her hands on the table top.
Bucky shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. Pretending to be a fella in order to get a job and live in an apartment without people asking questions is one thing, but this is a little too much. How is Stevie supposed to flirt with a gal when she secretly is one herself? What if she finds somebody who thinks she's really interested? How much is she willing to lie?
Not to mention, a roll of cloth wrapped around her chest hides her small breasts well enough, but if wandering hands end up in the wrong place, it's going to be obvious in a hurry that she's missing some vital equipment. It seems like a lot of trouble, not to mention awkward for Stevie, just to humor some friends and keep up appearances.
"Hey, come on, Frank," Bucky says, still smiling good-naturedly. "Don't bother him. If Steve wants to just sit here and relax, we ought to leave him alone."
Frank puts a finger in Bucky's face. "You're hopeless, James. Worst best friend ever." He turns to Stevie. "Don't worry, buddy. Me and Herb will get you set up."
"Um," Stevie says. She's definitely red now, and for some reason won't look Bucky in the eye. "Okay. Do you have somebody in mind?"
"Well," Frank says, sitting back in his chair. "Anybody catch your eye? What do you like in a dame?"
Stevie bites her lip. "Looks aren't so important, really," she says quietly. "But somebody my size? I'd feel a little ridiculous with a gal who's a foot taller than me."
Herbert makes a face. "That's half the dames in here disqualified already."
Frank smacks his brother on the arm. "No, it's fine. It's good. You like 'em blonde, brunette, black-haired, or ginger?"
"I don't know," Stevie says. Her voice is even quieter now. "Brown hair is nice, I guess."
"Okay," Frank says, rubbing his hands together as he scans the crowd. "One tiny, brown-haired dame for Steve, coming up."
Bucky leans back from the table, more uncomfortable by the minute as the Dunleavy brothers work their way through every gal in the joint that meets Stevie's criteria. They end up with a "short list" of three candidates, and ask Stevie which one she wants to try first.
"That one," Stevie says. The blush on her cheeks hasn't faded, but she's determined now. They've put a challenge in front of her, and that means she isn't going to quit until she's given it her best shot. "She hasn't danced once all night, so maybe she won't expect me to, either?"
Frank shakes his head. "You are strange, Rogers," he says. "But sure. So here's what you do: Walk up, and ask her politely if the seat next to her is taken, or if she's waiting for somebody."
Stevie settles her shoulders. "Buck?" she asks. "Any advice?"
"Smile," Bucky says, quiet and sincere. "And look her in the eye. Your eyes are—" He just barely stops himself from saying beautiful in front of people who would find that a strange thing for him to say to another guy. "—your best feature."
"See?" Frank says, slapping Bucky on the back. "James can be helpful, if you push him."
"Thanks," Stevie says, some of her earlier awkwardness coming back. "Wish me luck?"
"Good luck," Bucky says, unsure if he means it.
Stevie gets to her feet, tugs the cuffs of her shirt straight at her wrists, and walks over to the table where the gal she picked is sitting. Even from across the room, Bucky can see that Stevie's cheeks turn bright red before she even gets a word out, but at least the girl and her friends don't laugh at her. There's a few moments of conversation, with hand gestures indicating the empty seat at their table.
Less than a minute later, Stevie is back, hands stuffed into her pockets and head ducked.
"So?" Frank asks. "What happened?"
Stevie shrugs. "Turned me down. Said she was flattered, but not interested."
"Hey, chin up, Steve," Frank says. (He glares at his brother when Herbert snorts into his beer.) "I've had worse rejections; trust me. Right, James?"
Bucky flinches. "Oh, yeah. All the time. At least she seemed nice about it?"
"Thanks," Stevie says sarcastically. "That helps. Really."
Bucky hopes, for Stevie's sake, that that will be the end of it. He should have known better. Once Frank got an idea in his head, he was almost impossible to distract, and Stevie was the most stubborn person in the world. One little failure wasn't going to slow them down. When Chester comes back to their table a while later, he gets in on it, too.
Bucky decides he can't watch. He gets up and goes back to his usual routine of dancing his way through every available gal. (If he's avoiding the brunettes just in case, well, he tries not to think about it.) He even finds one he thinks he might like to take outside for a nice necking session, a plump blonde by the name of Darlene who has a wicked little smile that promises trouble and fun in about equal proportions.
He's just putting his finishing touches on his best move—ending a fast-paced dance with a quick kiss, and asking her if she has plans for later while she's still out of breath—when Bucky hears something crash behind him. He sighs, pushes lovely Darlene to arm's length, and says, "Excuse me for a moment."
When he turns around, sure enough, he sees Stevie struggling to stand back up from where somebody has knocked her down (probably with one punch). It looks like she actually fell back into a table hard enough to tip it off-balance. The crash he heard was the drinks sliding off to the floor.
Bucky gets there just in time to make a grab for a man's hand as he rears back to hit Stevie again. The aborted blow spins the man around, and now he's facing Bucky instead.
"Whatever he said," Bucky says quickly, hands up, "you got a good hit in, yeah? Are we square?"
The man glares at Bucky. "He thought he could just walk up and start talking to my girl."
Stevie rubs the back of her hand over her lips, checking for blood. "She's a grown woman, you know. If she didn't want to talk to me, she could have said so herself." She runs her tongue over her teeth, grimacing. "You got no right to make her decisions for her."
"That's it," the man says. "I'm going to kill you, you little—"
"Sorry about this," Bucky interrupts, and plants a solid punch on the man's jaw.
Judging from the outraged roar, several of the nearby crowd just happen to be his good friends.
"Stevie?" Bucky asks, backing up as three guys come toward them all at once. "Do you have to do this every time we go somewhere?"
"I didn't ask him to hit me," Stevie says, a little hotly. "And I didn't ask you to hit him back, either."
"Yeah, I know," Bucky says, sighing. "You never do."
The brawl lasts approximately ten seconds before the bartender and one of the band members wade in to break it up. The owner appears, yelling, "Take it outside! Outside!"
Bucky has just one chance to glance over his shoulder, wondering if the Dunleavy brothers or Chester will back them up. The answer is no, of course. (Nobody ever wants to fight with Stevie, except for him.) He happens to make brief eye contact with Darlene, flashing her a smile, only to see her roll her eyes and turn away.
"Great," Bucky says, as they stumble out into the alley. "Cost me a date, you little punk."
It takes another couple of minutes to extract Stevie from the ensuing alley fight, which involves trying to fend off half-drunk opponents while literally dragging Stevie by the arm toward the main street. They get out with minimal injuries, considering the odds against them: one split lip, one busted knee, one set of ringing ears from hitting the doorframe while being tossed out, and an assortment of bruises.
"Every goddamn time, Stevie," Bucky says, shaking his head as they walk home. (Slowly, because the effort of fighting in the thick heat has thoroughly messed up Stevie's breathing.) "I swear, I can't take you anywhere. This was about my promotion, remember?"
"This one wasn't my fault," Stevie says. She's wheezing, but she'll be all right in a little while, if Bucky can get her home in one piece and plant her on the couch. "I didn't throw the first punch. Or the second, actually. You did."
Bucky tips his head back to look at the stars. Like he could ever sit back and watch somebody beating the tar out of her without stepping in. "Hey," he says. "I tried to stop it, first."
Stevie gives him a flat look. "Good job with that one. You want a medal?"
"Punk," Bucky says.
"Jerk."
They get back to their apartment, and it's not until Bucky is leaning against the kitchen counter, letting Stevie (standing on a stool, because she's clearly never going to hit that growth spurt she was always promising) daub at the blood on his lip with a warm cloth, that they speak again.
"Why push things so far, anyway?" Bucky asks quietly.
"Hmm?" Stevie asks, distracted. She dips the cloth back into the bowl of steaming water.
"Flirting with a gal, taken or otherwise," Bucky says. He tries to meet her eyes, but she's focusing too intently on his mouth. "Seems like a lot to humor the Dunleavy brothers. I mean, what if you'd actually had a dame get interested? What would you have done then?"
Stevie's hands go still. Her voice is very quiet as she says, "What if I wasn't? Just humoring them?"
It takes Bucky a good few seconds to work out what that means. "Wait," he says. (For some reason, his heartbeat is very loud in the silence of their kitchen.) "It's not just you pretending? You actually ..." He licks his lips, because his mouth is dry. "You like girls? Like a real fella?"
Stevie flicks her eyes up to his for the barest instant, and then goes back to staring at her own feet. "I think so," she says. "I didn't mean to, but being 'Steve' sort of ... brought it out, I guess." Her hands are twisting the cloth into a tight ring.
Bucky opens his mouth once, but no words come out. He's not unfamiliar with the idea of being with somebody of the same gender—he lives in Brooklyn, after all, and everybody knows about the police raids and the 'special' bars, even if he's never been to one himself—but it's always men going with other men. Can girls be like that, too?
He clears his throat and tries again. "Not three weeks ago you told me you fancied Nathan Cunningham from the bakery," he says. "Were you lying?" A horrible thought hits him, and he demands, "Did you think you had to pretend, or I'd get mad?"
"No," Stevie says quickly. "I do fancy Nate, a little." She drops the cloth back into the bowl and steps down off her stool. "I think I like both," she murmurs, almost under her breath.
Bucky tries to make sense of that idea. "Can you do that?"
Stevie shrugs. "I think maybe it's different for everybody," she says. Her voice is still very quiet. "Or maybe it changes. I don't know."
Bucky suddenly notices Stevie's posture—caved shoulders, downcast eyes, folded hands. She's already small, but she's doing everything she can to be smaller, like she's trying to hide. Like she's afraid, or expecting a blow, and that's the worst thing Bucky's ever seen. No matter how outnumbered or beat up, Stevie Rogers never shrinks away from taking a hit. Why would she be afraid of him?
"Hey," Bucky says, leaning forward and lightly gripping her arms by the elbows. She flinches, but he ignores it and doesn't let go. "Look at me."
"Bucky ..."
"Please," Bucky says.
Stevie lifts her head, and there are actual tears in the corners of her eyes. "Are you upset?" she asks.
Bucky stares at her for a moment. "A little shocked, maybe," he admits. As much as he wants to brush this off and act like he's perfectly fine with it, that wouldn't be the truth, and he knows she'd prefer him to be honest. "I don't understand it, Stevie. I really, really don't."
She opens her mouth, like maybe she's going to argue or defend herself.
"But no," Bucky interrupts, before she can say anything. "Of course I'm not upset."
Stevie stares at him, mouth still open. "You're not?" she asks.
Bucky raises his eyebrows. "You still Stevie? Same as you've always been?"
"Yes," she says.
"Okay, then," Bucky says. "That's what's important." He leans forward just enough to bump their foreheads together, because it's comfortable and familiar and the same as always. "We'll figure it out. Together."
He wasn't lying when he said he didn't understand, but Bucky's never entirely understood why Stevie does a lot of things. He also wasn't lying when he said that Stevie being herself was the most important thing to him. If this is who she is, then Bucky is going to be her best friend the only way he knows how.
By autumn, Bucky has shifted his priorities to look for dames that have a convenient sister, or cousin, or lonely friend that might need a date. It's easy to tell them all the great things about 'Steve,' and why they ought to make their date a double. He never understands when it doesn't go well, because how could you spend even just an hour with Stevie and not fall in love with her? What is it that Bucky can see that everyone else seems to miss?
By Christmas of 1936, Bucky is putting quite a bit of effort into finding Stevie a girlfriend (and being upset when gals keep turning her down). She gets a few dates here and there, but nobody seems to want to stick around for long.
It frustrates them both, but Bucky won't let her give up.
"Somewhere out there is the right gal for you, Stevie," he says, more than once. "We'll find her. I promise."
/~*~/
Bucky settles into his sniper's perch on the ridge line a good hour before the assault is supposed to begin. Below him, he can see the main approach to the former farmhouse that's currently being used as a holding cell for HYDRA weaponry. There's a main house, two-story with curtained windows, as well as a barn, silo, and guest cottage. There's a well, in addition to a more modern water pump, with a dirt walkway linking them to the various buildings.
From his vantage point, Bucky mentally tags the approach lines for each of his team. Dugan and Stevie are slated to come right up the center toward the front door, using Stevie's shield as a cover for return fire, if necessary. (There's also a knee-high stone wall halfway to the main lane, marking the edge of the property, in a pinch.) With any luck, they'll draw initial attention away from Jones and Dernier or Morita and Falsworth, who will be coming up from the side and rear. Dernier and Morita are on explosives duty, with Jones and Falsworth to cover them.
That leaves Bucky, almost a hundred yards away, to pick off enemies that get a little too close. In a way, he likes being able to provide covering fire from a distance, because it means he can keep an eye on everyone (Stevie) without having to worry about getting distracted at a critical moment. Unless the HYDRA goons have a sharpshooter of their own who somehow spots him in the dark, Bucky probably won't be under fire at all.
On the other hand, everyone else is going to run right at the people shooting guns, while Bucky is safe on a ridge nearly three hundred feet away. He's never been very good at letting Stevie charge into fights without him, and only the knowledge that this really is the best way to protect her keeps him in his perch instead of at her side.
It's not a complicated plan, but it doesn't need to be. They've been watching the house and surrounding area for ten hours now, and there seems to be only six hostiles present. One of those appears to be a scientist or a bureaucrat, not a fighter. As far as they can tell, once the sun set five of the six settled down to sleep, leaving just one person acting as a lookout. They're deep enough into occupied territory that they clearly don't expect an attack. (There was a Luftwaffe flyover just before dusk, but the Commandos heard the engines and got under cover.)
Bucky keeps his scope sweeping across the landscape, periodically returning to the lone lookout, who is positioned on the roof. The identity of the sentry has changed twice since dusk, making this the third of the five armed hostiles that have had the duty. This one seems to have a propensity for sitting with his back against the main farmhouse chimney, smoking a cigarette and occasionally shifting positions to look in a new direction. For one stretch of about thirty minutes, he's on the side of the chimney opposite Bucky's perch, which makes Bucky anxious at not having a clear shot.
By the agreed-upon attack time, though, the sentry has obligingly returned to the side nearest Bucky. It lines him up perfectly. The tiny glowing tip of his cigarette is just barely visible at that distance through the scope, and Bucky uses it to align his shot.
He takes a deep breath, releases it, and fires.
The sharp crack of his sniper rifle echoes around the dark French countryside, and on the roof a hundred yards away, the sentry slumps over dead. The cigarette, still burning, slips out from between suddenly slack lips and goes rolling across the roof, trailing pale smoke.
Bucky pulls the lever to eject the spent casing and load the next round. By the time he is able to focus through the scope again, the team has begun their approach, using the sound of his shot as their signal. Stevie and Dugan are pelting for the farmhouse front door, although Stevie is clearly holding back to avoid outstripping him.
They've just cleared the knee-high stone wall when Bucky starts to see movement through the scattered windows. As predicted, the shot has woken the HYDRA soldiers. Bucky is too far away to hear anything, barring gunshots or extremely loud yelling, but the lights that flicker on—gas lamps, probably, this far out in the country—and the subsequent shadows in the windows give him enough information.
By the time the first HYDRA soldier yanks back the curtains and sticks his head out a window, Bucky has already sighted the shot. The man gets out maybe two or three words—Bucky can see his mouth moving as he takes his pre-firing deep breath—before Bucky's bullet shatters through his skull and drops him back inside the second-story room. He never even had a chance to point his pistol toward Stevie or Dugan.
Between the second crack of his sniper rifle and the few words the second target had managed to say, the farmhouse is now on full alert. Out front, Stevie and Dugan are maybe twenty feet from the door. To the side and rear, the rest of the team is breaking cover and streaking forward with their explosives, weapons drawn in case any of the hostiles spot them and take exception to their plan to blow all the stored equipment sky-high.
Stevie busts through the front door without breaking stride, shattering the whole frame on impact by slamming her shield into it at full speed. Dugan is right on her heels, and suddenly there's not much Bucky can do. They're inside the house, and barring a lucky hit through a window, he can't cover them.
Gritting his teeth, he turns his attention to the other two sides of the farmhouse. Dernier and Jones are closer, because the tree line gave them better cover closer to the main house than Morita and Falsworth got on their side. They'll reach the side and rear, respectively, about ten seconds apart.
Muzzle flashes explode from a side window, and Bucky is adjusting his rifle on instinct. Below, Dernier and Jones split, Dernier putting his head down and sprinting as Jones slides sideways and squeezes off a return shot. Around their feet, mud explodes upward as bullets impact the soft earth in a steady line—a submachine gun, then. A moment later, the sound reaches Bucky, a sharp rat-tat-tat of repetitive fire.
Bucky doesn't have a good angle, but he fires once anyway, just to keep the enemy's head down. He sees his bullet explode through the wood of the window frame. By the time Bucky gets his casing ejected, a round chambered, and a second shot lined up, Jones has already put a bullet through the man's torso, which is a fantastic shot on foot, on the move, at night, from a bad angle. Then again, Stevie picked these men for a reason; every one of them would be the best shot on any other team.
Bucky moves on, sweeping his scope across the field and back, trying to find a target.
By the time Dernier reaches the relative safety of the farmhouse wall, Bucky has managed to wound another man who was brave—and stupid—enough to run out the back door from the kitchen. Unfortunately, he fell to the ground and rolled under the porch, so Bucky can't be sure it was a kill shot. He's not unduly worried though; he got him in the lower chest or upper stomach, so the odds of him causing more trouble are slim. If he doesn't bleed out, the explosion will take care of him.
Bucky counts off the enemy in his head: the sentry on the roof, the first responder in the upper window, the man Jones got on his side, and the wounded man under the porch. That leaves one armed hostile and the noncombatant as the only HYDRA goons left, and presumably Stevie and Dugan are handling those indoors. The area is contained, or at least it should be.
Bucky knows better than to assume their intelligence is good, though, so even after Dernier has finished placing his charges and moved to help Morita rig up his explosives on the other side, he stays put and keeps scanning. It would be just like HYDRA to have an entire platoon stationed in a storm cellar or something, just waiting to pour out like termites.
When the front door opens again, though, it's not HYDRA reinforcements who come out, but Stevie and Dugan. Bucky doesn't see any blood on either of them, although Stevie's ridiculous outfit and the darkness make it hard to tell for sure.
Stevie has her shield clipped between her shoulders, but her sidearm is still out, aimed safely at the ground in front of her as she jogs over toward Dernier and Morita. Her other hand is gesturing widely, and Bucky can see her mouth moving in a series of quick orders, although he's much too far away to hear her. Whatever she said must have been important, though, because Dernier and Morita finish laying the explosives and rapidly move on to the barn.
Meanwhile, Falsworth and Jones abandon their initial job of covering the others and take out the last of the explosives from the pack to place around the silo. They must be in a hurry, which makes Bucky wonder what Stevie found in that farmhouse that prompted a rush. A radio, maybe? If one of the HYDRA goons managed to call in the attack, they could have a whole company here before long.
Still, Bucky waits in his perch until he sees the rest of the team get clear in the woods. He turns his eyes away at the first fireball of the explosion, not wanting to damage his night vision. Once the blasts have stopped—his ears are going to be ringing for a while, after that—he checks what's left of the farmhouse.
The main house and guest cottage are gone, nothing but kindling and burning craters. The barn fared a little better, but well over half the roof is caved in and the walls are nothing but smoldering ruins. The silo has collapsed on itself, then fallen partially sideways, burning fiercely. Whatever was stored in that must have been highly flammable.
Bucky's not sure what they were sent here to destroy—that was considered need-to-know, and he's not even sure if Stevie was told—but he's confident in saying that they were successful. There's nothing salvageable from the flaming wreckage, not even if fire crews showed up right now to try to contain the damage. Not bad, for a first mission.
Bucky packs up his equipment, slings his rifle over his shoulder, and hikes to the rendezvous point.
When he arrives, he finds the rest of the team waiting on him. They manage a veneer of professional calm as Bucky gives his report—All clear, Cap; target completely destroyed—but the moment he finishes speaking, their faces break into wide grins. Jones even lets out a little whoop of excitement.
"Is it always going to be this easy?" Morita asks. "We hardly took any fire, let alone any casualties."
"You complaining?" Dugan asks gruffly.
"I imagine this was a sort of test," Falsworth points out, still smiling. "They'll give us harder objectives, now."
Dernier shrugs and speaks French.
Jones laughs. "He says it was nice while it lasted," he translates.
Bucky hasn't taken his eyes off Stevie during the whole exchange. "You all right?" he asks quietly.
Stevie nods. She's been staring at him, too. "You're late. You okay?"
"Hey, I'm fine." Bucky smirks at her. "Nobody was shooting at me."
"It'd be just like you to find trouble anyway," Stevie says.
"Not my area," Bucky reminds her. "I spent half my childhood dragging you out of trouble, remember?"
"You still are," Stevie says quietly. "Nice shooting, by the way."
Dugan jostles Stevie's elbow, still grinning. "Hey, knock it off, Cap," he says jokingly. "No playing favorites with your boyfriend, huh?"
Bucky's first instinct is to get defensive, but he reins in his temper when he notices that Stevie jostles Dugan right back and rolls her eyes. Something has changed between them, something that's easy and friendly now where it was strained only a few hours earlier.
(Bucky later learns that while inside the main house, Dugan had gone around a corner in the hallway and walked straight into the last HYDRA soldier. The man had put a gun to Dugan's head, trying to use him as a hostage or human shield to slip past Stevie. She had put her gun down, and then when he assumed she was no longer a threat, she had thrown her shield to take him out. Dugan escaped with nothing but a bruised ego, and a sudden conviction that Captain Stephanie Rogers was a damn fine soldier and a C.O. he'd be proud to fight under, "no matter what might or mightn't be between her legs.")
"Let's go," Stevie says, businesslike. "We've got some ground to cover before the Germans come to investigate that explosion."
Just like that, the celebration stops. "Yes, sir," the men chorus, and spread out into the trees without having to speak a word to each other to coordinate.
Bucky takes his place at the rear, keeping an eye on the others, and finally lets himself smile. If he were a betting man, he'd put his money on not a single one of them asking for a transfer when they get back. For better or worse, they're a team, now. Woman or not, they're going to follow Captain America, right into the jaws of death like she promised.
Good job, Stevie, he thinks.