They took a train from the front lines into London. It arrived specifically for the SSR and carried only soldiers and related personnel and supplies back. There were no private compartments but it was still nicer than anything Stephanie had ever been on. The benches were in sets of two facing one another with tables placed between them to allow for books or other things. Everything was paneled in wood, the floors were carpeted and the dining car had amazing food, made even better after having been confined to rations since coming over.
The view outside the window was peaceful, for the most part. There were fields that had been destroyed by armies marching over them, the grass broken and torn with deep ruts from tanks and vehicles. Other areas showed signs of hasty retreat with bandages and spent ammunition littering the landscape. Stephanie knew the signs of war would be even worse once they reached London, which was nowhere near recovered from the destruction visited upon it by German bombing raids.
Still, it wasn't all death and destruction. There were areas with quiet farms yet untouched by war, calm rivers running off into the distance and even the occasional far off sight of a fox or other animal darting off as the train rattled past.
It was beautiful and, in all fairness, Stephanie should have spent her entire trip simply looking out the window. She'd even gotten her sketch pad and pencils out and spread them on the worn table in the hopes of sketching some of the landscapes as they passed.
She'd ended up barely setting pencil to page, however, before she'd found her attention drawn away from the window where it was quickly caught, and held, by the dedicated study of one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.
He was currently seated at the other end of the car, engaged in a card game with some of the other men. His back was to her and Stephanie found herself studying the way his hair just touched his collar, how the breadth of his shoulders stretched the material of his jacket and how every time he turned his head to talk to someone, giving her the barest hint of his profile; her heart jolted inside her. She kept finding herself wishing he'd turn around and notice her, which was ridiculous as he knew full well where she was. He'd been sitting with her, casting wistful looks toward the card game until she'd rolled her eyes and told him to go play already. He'd nearly fallen out of his seat making it over and she'd smiled in affection, watching as he reached the table and joined in...and then she'd kept watching. Eventually she gave in and began to sketch him instead of the view out the window, the pencil quickly giving shape to the man on the page before her.
"I can't decide if you're trying to communicate with him using telepathy," a familiar, accented voice said as a body dropped onto the bench across from her, "or if you're trying to kill him with your mind."
Stephanie jerked her eyes away from Bucky and slammed the sketchpad closed, her face heating in embarrassment. "I was not staring."
Peggy gave her a disbelieving look, one eyebrow carefully arched. She folded her arms on the table, her hands clasped together in front of her. "You two aren't fighting are you?"
"What?" Stephanie asked in surprise. "No, of course not."
"Then, if I might ask," Peggy said, "why are you trying to bore a hole through Sergeant Barnes' skull?"
"Tony says Bucky's in love with me," Stephanie blurted and then immediately felt her eyes widen in horror. She cast a look around quickly, terrified someone might have overheard only to see everyone going about their business as usual. The car was filled with soldiers excited to be leaving the front lines so it wasn't exactly quiet. It was a wonder she and Peggy could hear one another and they were only a foot or so apart.
"Did he also mention we're at war with Germany or that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west?" Peggy asked dryly.
Stephanie gave the other woman an exasperated look that was returned calmly. Peggy was wearing her dress uniform, which looked much like the male version except some genius had decided women should always be wearing a skirt, heels and hose even in a wartime situation.
The army still refused to acknowledge Stephanie's enlistment so she wouldn't be getting one of her own, the only bright spot in that whole thing as far as she was concerned. She was still wearing her civilian clothing which consisted of trousers and sensible shoes, societal expectations be damned; or at least roundly ignored for the time being.
According to what Phillips had reported to her, the powers that be were insisting that Lady Liberty inspired the soldiers, she did not become a soldier. They wanted her to stay set apart in some form or fashion, keeping the mystique and mystery around her. If she became just one of the guys she'd quickly lose her symbolic status and just be another solider.
Stephanie had no idea what that meant for her long term but really hoped it didn't mean donning another idiotic costume at some point and having to parade about for the camera reels pretending to fight. She wanted to actually fight and if they denied her again she was sorely tempted to simply strike out on her own and get it done. If they wanted to keep on insisting she didn't belong to the military they couldn't be upset when she refused to obey them, right?
"Bucky isn't in love with me," she said now, refocusing on the topic at hand. She leaned forward and lowered her voice as much as possible. "He isn't treating me any different than he's done before."
Peggy leaned forward as well with a frown. "You're assuming he's only been in love with you since you became Liberty? Rather a shallow view to take of him, don't you think? Perhaps you can see no difference because he's simply been in love with you a very long time."
Stephanie shook her head. "That can't be right. I was nowhere near his type before the serum and he dated other girls." She scowled, remembering the night before Bucky had shipped out. "Hell, he even set me up on dates. That doesn't exactly broadcast being in love does it?"
"I can think of several reasons for why he might have done that," Peggy said, "a few of them quite obvious." At Stephanie's blank look the other woman sighed and said, "you clearly weren't in love with him until recently. Perhaps he was trying to move on. Perhaps he wanted to see you happy even if it wasn't with him or he hoped you settling down could enable him to move on. It could be any number of reasons."
"Or it could be none of the above and you're all seeing something that isn't there," Stephanie muttered. Then the rest of Peggy's words registered and she said, "wait, I wasn't what until recently?"
Peggy looked exasperated. "Forget not knowing him. You don't even know yourself, do you?"
Stephanie bristled, annoyed at the suggestion she didn't know Bucky or the implication that Peggy somehow knew him better. "It isn't as if I've had a lot of experience in the romance department," she grumbled, "I wasn't exactly popular back home."
"You're making it harder than it is," Peggy said. "It's not that big a mystery. Do you find yourself always thinking about him?" She gave a wry grin as Stephanie flushed again, "or, in this case, trying to bore a hole in his head?" Stephanie rolled her eyes and the other woman smirked. "Do you find yourself wishing he'd pay as much attention to you as you do to him? Do you find your heart jumping when he's near? Do you want to see him happy?" She gave Stephanie a telling look. "Does he make you happy?"
"I just want you to be happy. That's all, Buck, just happy."
"That's enough," Stephanie muttered, the words she'd spoken to Bucky after rescuing him still running through her head. She had her hands resting on the table and was tapping them spastically, the beat becoming harder the more Peggy spoke. Her eyes went to the back of James' head and then darted away again.
"Can you imagine your life without him?"
Stephanie looked up sharply, just as the man in question slid into the seat beside her. She felt his thigh press up against hers and then his hand was slipping under her hand where it lay on the table, interlacing their fingers in a tight grip.
Stephanie looked at him and found Bucky grinning broadly, a wild light in his eyes that he got whenever he was particularly excited about something.
"There," he said, dropping a small pile of cash and coins on the table, the sound loud in the small space. "That's what I call luck. Can you believe it?"
Stephanie studied him, the mere presence of him nearly as tangible as his physical leg where it rested against hers and his hand in hers.
A presence so real that when he wasn't with her she could feel that too, a hollowness at her side, a void of silence so thick it sometimes hurt to breathe if she focused on it for too long.
"No," Stephanie said slowly, her eyes darting away so she was looking at Peggy instead of him. "I can't."
Peggy smiled brightly.
Stephanie felt sick, her nerves going crazy inside her.
She was quite possibly in love.
With her best friend.
With James.
A love that could ruin everything if it turned out he didn't love her back. A love that, if he didn't return was going to eat at her soul.
Stephanie smothered a strangled laugh and turned to look out the window, resting her head on a shaking hand.
In love with James?
Was she?
It would be something she would do, she conceded privately. If anyone could end up in love with their best friend at the worst possible time, it would be her. They were at war, both of their futures completely up in the air. She had no idea where either of them was going to end up, what they were going to end up doing. Hell, she didn't know if they'd both still be alive by the war's end, if it ended at all.
What was she supposed to do? Tell him? She didn't even know how for heaven's sake. She didn't know how to flirt or be coy or any of the other things she'd seen girls do, often seemingly effortlessly. The producers of the show had tried to teach her, as had the other showgirls, and she'd always failed miserably. And even if she did manage to figure it out enough to tell him, what then?
What if he didn't return her feelings?
What if he did?
What if he did and then she found out her feelings weren't love after all? At least not the love some seemed to think it was.
Then what?
"Hey," Bucky let go of her hand and went to wrap an arm around her. Stephanie automatically moved forward to let him fit his arm between the back of the bench and her body, and then leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as his hand hooked around her waist. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she lied. "I just have a headache is all."
"Go head and relax then," he said. "I'll make sure you don't do anything stupid like fall over into the aisle."
Stephanie snorted. "Like I would. I'm not you."
Her eyes went across to where Peggy was studying her with concern and Stephanie felt her gut clench with anxiety.
Why did this have to happen now? Or at all?
Everything had been so simple before.
She loved Bucky.
He loved her.
She went out and did reckless things, usually with him backing her up, or on her own and then she would come back so he could yell at her for doing whatever it was without him.
She was just getting it together, she thought plaintively, finally.
Her future was just starting to possibly look bright instead of short, or locked into whatever mold society saw fit to force her into, full of possibilities instead of empty.
She'd finally started to feel like she was finding out where she fit and where her life might be heading. She was getting things on track, and now it was all completely off the rails again.
A genuine headache began to form in her temples and Stephanie closed her eyes, settling into Bucky's side. It was easier to separate him, she thought absently. Bucky, her best friend; and James the man she might possibly be in love with assuming she understood what she was feeling. It would be the only way she could ever face him again without her face catching on fire. It wasn't optimal but it was the best she could do at the moment as she tried to sort herself out.
Not so very long ago she'd been so sure of life and her place in it.
Now, she was sure of only one thing.
This was all Tony's fault.
And Peggy's.
But mostly Tony's. If he had just never said anything, never put the idea in her head, never led to her talking to Peggy...things could have just...gone on, the same as they always had and she wouldn't be sitting here having to do mental gymnastics to split her best friend into two people, worrying over if what she felt for him was platonic love or something far greater, wondering what he may or may not feel for her and, in general, having no idea what the hell she was going to do about any of it.
Damn it all, Tony.
Why did he have to say anything?
When they arrived in London she was writing him a strongly worded letter, she decided.
A very strongly worded letter.