from_the_outside | [ WWII AU ] what a night to go dreaming

There's no doubt that things have shifted, a little, since the day they spent tangled up together in that sun-dappled cottage, tucked away in the trees behind the nearby town. The other Howling Commandos have, seemingly by silent agreement, stopped flirting so outrageously with her, though she's caught Jim and Gabe giving Bucky more than one fondly exasperated glance. She still dances with all of them, and enjoys their company, but they yield the floor to Bucky at the end of the night, and he's the one who, as she said she wanted, walks her back to her tent.

And then there are their rendezvous' out in the field, where she still checks, each night, for a portal opening in the air. It never comes, but she spends hours there with him, walking and laughing and dancing under the starlight, stealing every moment they can together.

Aunt Peggy says nothing, but Sharon knows she can tell things have changed. There's a worried frown that lives between her brows, but she doesn't forbid her niece to see Steve's best friend, knowing it would only backfire.

Other things change not at all... like the morning tests Howard still makes them do. They're nearing the end of the sequence today, and she lets go of Bucky when Howard tells her to, careful not to linger. It's difficult to say what Stark thinks of his findings; he mutters to himself and snaps at his assistants, but all she can glean from it is that the resonance is still fading at a regular rate from her cells.

But none of them know why.

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"I'm okay, too," Bucky assures him - or tries, anyway. He's pretty sure Steve can read him like a book. "Guilty. Relieved. And Howard's trick didn't zap me, really, so that's good, I guess."

"It's something," Steve agrees. He's reasonably sure Howard knows Steve would never forgive him if he hurt Bucky in any way.

But he frowns, slightly. "Why guilty?"

Bucky looks up at him, a tired, rueful look in his eyes.

"I shouldn't be glad it failed. You know it, I know it. So, guilty."

Steve watches him, aching at the expression in his best friend's eyes. "I don't think it's that simple, Buck," he says, gently.

"You've done everything you can to try and get her home, regardless of your own feelings. And I bet part of her is glad, too."

"I know. And I'll keep trying. But..." He shrugs, casting about for a way to shift the subject without it being blatant, and comes up with something.

"Did you know she's got a magic camera in her stuff? It's about the size of my hand, and flat. The photos it takes are in the brightest color I've ever seen in a picture. It's amazing."

Steve can't help his concern, but he bites back his worry and tries for a smile, allowing Bucky to change to subject.

"I think I saw something about that in the initial report," he says. "She showed it to you?"

"She did," he confirms, with an amused smile. "She wanted a picture to remember me by."

Steve chuckles a little at that, wry and warm. "I believe it. And now she's got one, huh?"

"She sure does." Bucky shakes his head, marveling at the memory. "She just sort of held it up in the air, pushed something, and poof! The photo appeared right on the device. No film, no need to develop or anything."

Steve's eyebrows push up and his mouth drops slightly open in surprise. "No film? It just... appeared? How the heck – "

He shakes his head, astonished. "Better keep Stark away from that thing, or he'll try inventing it a few decades too early."

"Full color, too," Bucky tells him, grinning bright and real at Steve's amazement. "Better than any Kodachrome I've ever seen, and I mean ever."

He shakes his head. "You're not kidding. He'd have it taken apart before anyone could say 'boo.'"

"Better than Kodachrome?"

He can't hide his amazement or his skepticism. "Heck, I'd like to see that, myself."

"I'm sure she'd be willing to show you. She's got pictures of Peggy on there, too," Bucky observes. "That's part of why Peggy believed her so fast."

"Not sure I could resist the temptation to ask if she's got any of the rest of us," Steve says, rueful, after a moment's wistful thinking.

He'd give a lot to see what Peggy looks like as she grows older, but – when he lets himself think about it – he hopes he'll be able to see it for himself. "I'm glad she's got one of you from now in there, though, pal."

He thinks of the photo tucked into his compass. "I bet it'll help, one day, when she does manage to get back."

"Good point," he admits. "Now that you mention it. Glad I didn't think of it at the time - I'd have had to ask, too."

His expression turns a little rueful, a little wistful. "I bet you're right. I hope so, anyway. With it, she'll always be able to look back and remember, if she wants."

Steve's brows pull together at the way Bucky's tone goes rueful. "Something wrong?"

"Not really. Nothing that can be changed, anyway. It's not like she can sail back and forth between here and the future like on a ship, you know?"

Bucky shrugs.

Steve glances down, at the book in his hands, then looks back up with a nod. "That would be a pretty tough life, even if she could," he observes. "Eventually she'd have to pick a time to stay in."

"I guess so. Not like it's possible anyway." Bucky leaves it at that and nods to Steve's book.

"What're you reading this time?"

Steve unfolds his hands and shows Bucky the cover of his sketchbook. "Not reading," he explains.

"Just doodling." Something to do with his hands, with his worried thoughts, while he waited.

Bucky laughs. "As many times as I've seen you with one of those you'd think I'd recognize it even from the side by now."

Steve smiles and glances down, then back up at his best friend. "You're a little preoccupied tonight," he points out. "It's understandable."

He studies Bucky, still smiling, though it's quieter now. "Want some company tonight?"

He starts to decline, and just as swiftly changes his mind. Steve's guess is right: Bucky doesn't really want to be alone with his thoughts, not tonight.

"Yeah, I would," he admits. "If you're sure you don't mind."

Steve shakes his head. "How many times have you been there for me?" he asks, and sets aside his sketchbook and pencil. "Toss me the bedroll, will you?"

"About as many as you've been there for me," Bucky counters, even as he reaches for the bedroll in question. He tosses it over and grins at his best friend. "Who keeps count?"

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