fantaisie.

      “No…no! Why would I do that, that’s so weird. And illegal. You’re not even my type, even if we weren’t cousins! Not that I wish we weren’t cousins. Um? I’m just saying think outside the…it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Why are you getting revenge again?”

“Well. If it falls off I’ve got no one to blame but you. I was 11. I don’t even know how you swung that, it’s not even legal to do cosmetic surgery on a kid under 17 unless it’s reconstructive. But, I figure you’ve been getting illegal prescriptions and write offs from court ordered rehab for years, so. Is it really even a question at this point?”

       “Oh god, Michelle. You really are the straight man in this family.” His sister’s idea of what constituted ‘humor’ was really, really sad. No showmanship, no pizzazz. He wished his friends were funnier, but seeing as he didn’t really have any, Michelle would have to do, even if she was and always had been the drab one. You’d think the one that first revealed herself to be a woman and then as a lesbo would be more fun like flamers. “Magic. It’s a T, not a torso, Michelle. It doesn’t take an illusion to plant a letter somewhere.”

       “Um. What I meant was! That I think your plan is kind of lame! Not that you’re la- I mean you can do better? Uh, it’s always good to challenge yourself, right? Always improving, moving up… that goes for scamming and revenge too, right? Malcolm Gladwell’s 10,000 hour rule right? Keep moving up. Bigger and better! The Cornballer is just too small. Kissing your cousin was thinking big, where did that Maeby go!” (Cue nervous laughter.)

       “Look at this, Michelle. It’s a T. I found it in the attic. Lindsay said it was ‘across,’ but she didn’t say from where. She wouldn’t say from where. More importantly, she wouldn’t say what it meant. She knows something, Michelle. And I think you do too. You guys are identical now that you’re a chick, and you’ve had enough time to forge that twin psycho connection. It’s probably weaker than most identical twins but whatever. Who planted it here. Where did it come from, Michelle.”

         “Well, summer must be hell for you, then, mother. And fall. And winter. Spring too, I’d guess. You really can’t hide all of your facelifts. Those little nips and tucks really start to add up you know, and unless you’re trying to start a new trend of year round balaclavas, I don’t think you’re going to get away with hiding that face any time soon.”

          “Maeby, I don’t think this is such a good idea. First you say hey, let’s break out the Cornballer. Which was kind of crazy anyways because that thing is really dangerous. It’s banned in Mexico, you know, it’s not a toy. And now we’re not even making cornballs? It’s a recipe for disaster on its own, even if you weren’t saying we should use it for revenge or whatever. Couldn’t we just make really bad cornballs and that could be our revenge? We could use stale flour? Or like, not fry it all the way so the batter is all goopy in the middle?”

“You thinking? Shit, whatever it is, must be good.” He turned around, imitating Steve’s ridiculous posture. It never ceased to amaze him how different he looked. It amazed him every day back in Germany (which, for reference, mentally, is approximately a week before he got his sheep in Wakanda), and it amazed him every day now. 

But even still, he did everything the same. This was the exact pose he’d strike way back when, when he was little as could be, when he was about to say something like, “You know, Buck…” and then take 3 hours to get to the actual point. He’d say, “You know, Buck…” and then he’d chew him out for shutting the windows at night even though it was summer and if he kept at it, they’d be living in a boiler room, and Bucky would just shrug, because he knew what Steve would say if he brought up drafts and pneumonia and hospitals. 

(He also did this every night about the pull out couch. He’d come out of his room at approximately 12:35am every night, cross his arms, and lean on the doorframe, and ask, “You want to switch tonight? You might sleep better in a real bed.” And then every night at approximately 12:36am, Bucky would just shrug, because they both knew that he wouldn’t sleep well anywhere except a cryo-freezer.)

“Well, what is it? And you guys better not be plotting to get me to cut my hair. I know she thinks it’s gross. I told her it’s not the length that she doesn’t like though, and that it’s that I don’t wash it. She wouldn’t listen though.”

That got a little chuckle out of him. “Maybe you should wash it, Buck.” He didn’t know if Bucky just didn’t like the shower or what, but the guy was more content to stuff his greasy mop under a beanie than to actually wash it more than once or twice a week. Still, it wasn’t that bad, and Steve figured he ought to take it slow if he wanted to re-adjust to modern life. Bucky was keen on taking what Sam would jokingly call a ‘drunk girl shower’, which involved spritzing cologne on himself and leaving the house. 

But it was quickly back to Serious Business for Steve Rogers, who pressed his lips together and said, “No, nothing like that. It’s just... I mean, you’ve probably heard the way she jokes about you and I. All that, well, insinuating we’re a couple sort of stuff. And you know, I don’t think she means anything by it, but it got me thinking, I guess.” Still, he’s hesitant to come out and just say it. 

It gets him thinking about all of the times the two of them fell asleep on the couch of their place next to one another, during and before the war, Steve’s skinny little frame practically enveloped by Bucky’s muscular one, and Bucky’s arm curled around his shoulder, holding him close. It didn’t occur to him back then that there was anything odd in the way they were, and he wasn’t sure if it was something Bucky had been aware of back then. Homosexuality wasn’t something anyone really talked about, at least not openly, not even in Brooklyn. Steve didn’t know if he was just reading into their interactions-- He didn’t even know if Bucky swung that way. He’d certainly taken enough girls on dates back then.

“I’m never going to get over that. Like, okay, when I booked the Mean Girls gig they were like oh yeah, and you’re the female swing, which if you don’t know means that in addition to dancing ensemble in every show, I have to learn every female part just in case someone has to miss a show. So one night I get this text and they’re like, oh yeah, Taylor Louderman is barfing her brains out, you need to go on for Regina tonight, and no joke I screamed out loud! It was so surreal, dude, like I barely believed it even when they were putting the blonde wig on me. 

“Gods have to have meetings, you understand. We rule the planet-- It’s only natural that we understand one another. I get together with the other ocean gods ( but Poseidon is a prick, so he almost never shows up, too busy banging dolphins or something I guess ), Thor hangs with the Thunder gods, Loki and Anansi fuck in a broom closet, whatever. 

“I got a little ahead of myself, but to be fair, I was trying to conquer a planet and I was coping. And Earth’s gay population is notoriously slutty. I really do fit right in. You’d be a little much for most of them though, I think. The satin slippers and all.”

“I have a way with them, though I cannot say what brings them to me. It is like how flame draws a moth.” He nodded. “I think you could be a dykon if you wanted to be. You’re much more charming than I am. It’s a lot of responsibility, though, I must say. You can’t let them down.”

Bucky had moved in with Steve after living as a shepherd in the Wakandan countryside for about a year and a half. There, he had cared for a flock of sheep and focused on “finding himself.” That’s what everyone called it, which sort of made him sick, to be honest. He’d never lost himself, he’d been himself this whole time. Had he always been Bucky? Not really, but he had never stopped inhabiting this body, nor had he been in a different place all those times he (allegedly) had been sent off to (allegedly) off somebody. And besides, it wasn’t like that wasn’t the exact thing he did back in the forties. The simple fact was that those were the ones he chose to do. 

Well, the point here is, sheep apparently helped him “find himself” enough that he came back to the US and was now living in Brooklyn once again. With Steve, once again.

And it was nice. Just like old times, but with less yellow fever. He wasn’t sure really how it happened. Maybe it was one of those “stayed there a week, but never left” things. But probably not because there was never really any doubt that this was his home too. Just like old times - Sarah had died and then Steve was just there. Maybe it was just the way the world worked. Bees buzz, fish swim, and Steve and Bucky remain inseparable.

He looked up from the groceries he was putting away (he was a regular at the farmer’s market. They knew him as Randy, the greasy faggot from down the street who mixed milk with his corn. What they didn’t know is that it was called Milkorno, and that it was a superfood and that they would know that if they were alive in the Great Depression.)

“Are you planning on evicting me? I can’t get a place of my own, man. I don’t get government pensions like you do you know. I’m what’s called a ‘war criminal’ and ‘legally dead.’ I don’t have a social security number.” 

“I’m not kicking you out, Bucky.” Steve rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door frame. Bucky had probably stopped by the Whole Foods and freaked the employees out with Milkorno. Old habits, as Steve well knew, died hard, and stocking up on calories because you didn’t know when you’d be having your next well-rounded meal was one that he still found hard to break sometimes.

Still, he wasn’t here to talk about organic milk and corn combos. It was strange to think he was going to be having this conversation with anyone, much less his best friend. Despite having been re-adjusted to society, Bucky still sort of dressed like he was on the run from the law. As far as Steve knew, he had no plans on cutting his hair anytime soon. 

Steve also knew Bucky didn’t sleep very well. And it had nothing to do with the fact that he was sleeping on a pull-out couch (which Steve apologized profusely for every night, and every night offered to trade beds with him, knowing Bucky would be more comfortable in the master bedroom. But Bucky would never bite. And Steve would have to get used to that).