Leipzig AU: the choices we make

[nerves_of_ice]

It's a month after Thessaloniki when he slips the unmarked, unstamped postcard in the mail at Sharon Carter's apartment.

(It had taken him the entire month to decide to reach out. He'd spent most of the time burying himself in his self-imposed work and not allowing himself to think about anything other than the mission. Eventually, he'd realized that it wasn't working, and that there was only one way to find out what he now needs to know, even if he can't admit even to himself exactly why he does.)

Of course there's always the chance she'll think it's just an advertisement and ignore it. If she does, he'll try again with something a little more obvious before deciding she's not interested in reconnecting. Still, he thinks she's clever enough to catch it, and to decode the message, which isn't that subtle when it comes down to it: time, place, location.

It takes far less than a minute to pick the lock on the mailbox security panel - two seconds, maybe three, and he's able to pull it open, drop the card on top of her mail, and secure it once more.

Bucky makes his way from her apartment back down the Berlin street quickly and quietly, cap pulled down to hide his face, and disappears into the crowd.

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[from_the_outside]

Two weeks after her trip home to Virginia by way of New York City, Sharon Carter lets herself into her apartment and collects her mail, shuffling through it as she pours herself a glass of wine. When she comes across a postcard without a message or address, she tosses it into the recycling bin along with some old take-out menus.

It's not until her second glass of wine that she pauses, thinks, and fishes it back out again.

A month. A month! This fucking guy. Not a word for a month, and now this blank postcard, because why communicate like a human being when you can act like a character from an Agatha Christie novel?

And yet a few days later, on Friday evening after work, here she is in Leipzig wandering through the stalls of the vendors that have set up outside the Spinnerei. It helps that everyone around her is having a marvelous time.

It also helps that there's a wine bar. She makes a beeline for it and doesn't bother looking around too closely as she does – if he wants her to see him, she will. And if he doesn't...

Well, at least there's wine.

[nerves_of_ice]

There are fourteen galleries and exhibition spaces at the old cotton mill that comprises the Spinnerei. Add to that the sidewalk stalls for the street vendors hawking food and drink and souvenirs, plus the pop-up wine bar, and everything's filled with music and light and people all interested in celebration and fun.

It also makes it very easy to move through the crowd unnoticed, just by following the natural flow of people. He ducks around a group that's standing and chattering to each other over wine, and there she is.

Bucky gives himself a moment to breathe, just a moment, and then --

"Buy a lady a drink?"

[from_the_outside]

She's as annoyed by the little thrill that shoots down into her stomach as she is by the rest of this stupid situation. "Depends who's asking," she says, light, and turns in the direction the voice came from.

This fucking guy. Idly, she flips through the mental deck of index cards that list all the things she's wanted to yell at him for the last month.

[nerves_of_ice]

He steps out into the open, slipping through the crowd with ease until he's standing only a meter away.

"Me."

One corner of his mouth quirks up in the smallest of wry smiles, and he waits for her decision.

[from_the_outside]

In retrospect, maybe a month wasn't long enough at all, because that wry smile feels like a key turning in a complicated lock.

"Sure."

She sips at the glass she has already and keeps her tone light. He looks perfectly fine, and something in her head relaxes right before it coils itself up once more. "But fair warning – I have expensive tastes."

[nerves_of_ice]

His smile brightens, just a bit, and real humor flashes in his glance.

"Consider me warned. I'll risk it if you will."

[from_the_outside]

Forget his arm; that smile should be considered a deadly weapon. She finds herself smiling back before she remembers she's still mad at him, tipping her head and sliding a glance to the open spot next to her and back to him again.

"Well, come on, then."

[nerves_of_ice]

He doesn't hesitate before taking the place beside her and signaling the somewhat-harried bartender, who jerks his head in a nod to acknowledge that they'll be served in a moment.

"I thought you might like this better than another museum," Bucky tells her.

[from_the_outside]

"I like museums," she informs him, arch. "It's rocks I find boring."

Her pertly raised eyebrows mellow into a real smile as she looks around at the lights, the people, the art, the whole joyful chaos of it. It's nice to think that maybe he picked this at least partially because she'd enjoy it for real... nice enough that she doesn't let herself think about it for long.

She finishes her wine and sets the empty cup down, noticing as she does the half-circle of lipstick she'd left on the plastic. She reaches into her tote bag and pulls out a tube of lipstick to refresh it as she watches the crowd – she's dressed tonight much like she had been the night they went to dinner in Thessaloniki, with a draping, silky top and a little more care paid to her hair and makeup.

"But you were right. I do like it."

[nerves_of_ice]

"I'll remember. And I'm glad."

He watches her watch the crowd for a moment, not letting himself think too much about how nice she looks tonight, before he glances around as well himself, casually checking security camera angles to ensure they're still not in the sight lines.

"A couple of the exhibitors are pretty impressive," he observes, deliberately light.

[from_the_outside]

"Oh yeah?"

The bartender has noticed her empty glass; he comes towards them as she slides the tube back into her tote. "I glanced through the list online but I wasn't looking closely. Any favorites?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"A couple," he says, and leaves it at that as the bartender reaches them.

"Lady's choice," he says, easily. "Whatever she wants, I'll have the same."

[from_the_outside]

"Pinot gris," Sharon requests, and casts a slightly sharp glance at Bucky as the bartender nods and turns to pour their drinks.

"Huh," she says, light and just a little crisp. "So you've decided to trust my judgment now?"

...Okay. Maybe she's still a little annoyed. And maybe she's thought a little too much about how often he pushed back against her risk assessment. And she's definitely still pissed about that month of radio silence.

[nerves_of_ice]

He sets down enough for their drinks and a decent tip, then pushes the first glass to her before picking up the second.

"Sure." His glance is a little wary, a little searching. "Why wouldn't I?"

[from_the_outside]

"I don't know. My track record with you is pretty good so far."

Or, arguably, it's terrible. Depending on what side of the is it a good idea to be swanning about with the Winter Soldier? line one might fall on. She breathes in through her nose and is distantly pleased that her ribs have healed enough that it almost doesn't hurt anymore, then lifts her glass to him in a toast. "Let's see how it turned out this time."

[nerves_of_ice]

He lifts his glass in turn and waits for her to take the first sip before he does the same.

"Nice."

[from_the_outside]

She smiles slightly, and takes another sip, washing back the annoyance at the month of silence and her own assumptions.

Maybe he had a good reason for it. "Score one for me," she says. "So what was it you were saying about the exhibitions?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"That there are a lot of good exhibits," he responds, although there's still something a little searching about his glance.

Is she reconsidering her decision to come her? Her involvement with the Winter Soldier? He wouldn't blame her in the slightest - she's putting herself at a lot of risk by even speaking with him, much less anything else. But then, that wouldn't explain why she's suggesting he's not trusting her judgment. Is she upset for some reason?

"A couple in particular are pretty spectacular. One's blown glass, another's photography."

[from_the_outside]

She meets that searching gaze with her own bland one. Now, with wine in her hand and him right there in front of her, isn't really the time to get into it.

Unlike, say... any time in the previous month.

She picks up her glass and tips her head at the crowd. "Show me?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"It's this way. Other end of the walk," he says, keeping his own glass in his right hand.

He's careful not to touch her as they start through the crowd.

Very quietly:

"Should I ask what's wrong?"

[from_the_outside]

"I'm mad at you," she says, admitting it freely, though mad doesn't feel like quite the right word for this complex knot that's living beneath her breastbone. She's relieved, after a month of worry, and that's annoying. "But don't worry. It'll pass."

She sips at her wine, casts a sidelong glance at him with the beginnings of a smile, and lets her shoulder nudge his.

"Probably."

That is just straight up teasing.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Uh-huh. Well, you've probably got good reason to be."

He casually blocks an enthusiastic, overly exuberant knot of people from bumping into them with a twist of his body, and nods toward an exhibit several further down.

"Do I get to know what it is?"

[from_the_outside]

"Sure," she says, all peaches and cream.





"I'll tell you in a month."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Uh-huh," he says again, in an entirely different tone, and lapses into silence.

For fifteen steps.

"Did something happen?"

This time, he sounds worried - tautly controlled, but clear all the same. A litany of possibilities cascades through his mind. Did she have trouble with passing along the data? Is her injury not healing? Did the JTTF hit her with difficult questions? Is she under suspicion?

Did she need his help, and he wasn't there?

[from_the_outside]

That isn't the reaction she expected – no teasing her back, no tit for tat – and it throws her off. "No."

He sounds genuinely worried. She can't look at him too closely while they're moving, so she snatches glances here and there, brow beginning to furrow. "Nothing happened."

Maybe she pushed too far? He'd taken her edged humor with rolling eyes and dry amusement back in Greece, but this one seemed to actually hit. After a second, she offers an olive branch. "I passed your message along."