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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[nerves_of_ice]

He nods to an exhibit three down from where they currently stand, a display of black-and-white landscape photography.

“Want to check out some pictures?”

[from_the_outside]

She glances in the direction he'd indicated and makes a pleased sound. "Definitely."

As they stroll, she lifts her glass for another sip. That first glass of wine is beginning to warm through her blood, and she pushes her inquisitive thoughts aside to enjoy it and the evening and his company as he walks beside her.

She hadn't lied. It really is good to see him. Good enough that she's not willing to examine it too closely.

[nerves_of_ice]

They drift through the crowd, weaving through people until they reach the exhibit. The photographer has made a study of mountain ranges against urban landscapes, contrasting light and shadow.

"Good thing you've already been to Podgorica," he quips, pointing out one image.

[from_the_outside]

Sharon comes to look at it and smiles. "Yeah," she agrees, a laugh in her voice. "Although it might be nice to go back and get a better look at it sometime."

She walks slowly around the exhibit, sipping at her wine. "Where are these others, do you know?"

He may have partially chosen this setting because he knew she'd like it... but she's willing to bet that wasn't the only reason. It's the block of gneiss all over again, this time sans coffee and scavenger hunt.

[nerves_of_ice]

"That set's in Basel," he points out. "Over here, we're looking at Tirol - the Inn valley, I think. Nice places."

She’s quick, he’s known that since the day they first met. He’d bet she’s already guessed what he’s doing.

"And here--"

He taps the base of a set of images that show a large mountain serving as the backdrop to the city below, and slants a look at her.

"Ever been to Tirana?"

[from_the_outside]

Ah, there it is. She comes to stand next him and studies the photo, wineglass held lightly in one hand.

A shake of her head, and she slants a sidelong glance back at him, eyes bright and expectant. "Can't say that I have."

[nerves_of_ice]

“It’s quite a place, I hear. Interesting people.”

He keeps his tone light and casual.

“Worth a visit, maybe.”

[from_the_outside]

"Well, then."

She swirls the wine in her glass and takes another sip, eyebrows arching at him in a pleased, here we go again kind of way.

"I guess we should check it out. You know I'm always up for a trip."

[nerves_of_ice]

He smiles back and touches his wine glass to hers before taking a sip of his own.

“Then it’s a date,” he says, wryly amused, before he moves to look at the next picture, and the next. None of the others draw the same type of observation from him, however.

[from_the_outside]

It's got to be a cover. Like the way he smiled and nodded at her in the coffee shop the day he sent her to the museum.

But if it's a cover, it's a good one. Charming and warm and it feels real in a way that's going to her head as much as the wine.

She studies the photos with interest, but none of them are to her particular taste, so after a while she finds herself watching him instead. She can pretend to herself that she's checking for any lingering stiffness or limping, but honestly?

She's just happy to see him.

[nerves_of_ice]

There don’t seem to be any lingering signs of illness. He moves with the subtle grace of a martial artist, centered in his own body.

Bucky turns back to her and finds her watching him, and blinks once before he gives her a slightly rueful smile. “Sorry. I get caught up in photos sometimes. Want to move on to the next exhibit?”

[from_the_outside]

She smiles, bright and real, at his rueful confession. "I guess you would," she says. "Considering you're sort of a photographer yourself."

She's wondered about the photos he took in Thessaloniki. It would be safer for her if he erased them... but some small part of her hopes he hasn't.

"For sure," she says to his question, and strolls to his side, careful not to let her wine spill. "Let's see this alleged blown glass. And everything else. For having been over here for a while, I haven't bought nearly enough souvenirs."

[nerves_of_ice]

“Nothing like this,” he disagrees, and touches her back very lightly to guide her toward the glass exhibit he’s had in mind for a while.

A knot tightens in the pit of his stomach at the thought of the explanation he’s been trying to find the words to give for more than a week, but all he can do is try. It wouldn’t be fair to her not to.

He'd picked this exhibit for a reason, after all. The artist in question claims inspiration from Marta Klonowska and Josepha Gasch-Muche, forming their pieces from shards of broken glass and scraps of glittering metal, shaping the result from what was once shattered into something both abstract and compellingly beautiful.

[from_the_outside]

This is the second of the two exhibits that he'd specified, and she fully expects this one to be mission-related, too. If the first was the location, then this must be...

But all thoughts of a mission to Tirana stutter to a halt as they come to the booth, because these pieces are, quite simply, stunning. "Oh, gosh," she says, softly and with absolute, whole-hearted sincerity. "These are beautiful."

Beautiful – and poetic. The kind of thing she never would have imagined the Winter Soldier enjoying, before France. Before Thessaloniki. She looks at him with a smile that lights her whole face and shines in her eyes. "They're really something."

[nerves_of_ice]

“I thought so, too,” he says, quietly, looking at the brilliance of her smile.

“You know, the Japanese have something a little like this in concept - you see it a lot in pottery art that’s been mended with gold along the cracks. It’s called ‘kintsugi.’”

His glance drifts back to the glass art, lingering on a few of the pieces in particular. Very softly, he says, “Something broken and shattered, made into something new. It has a certain appeal.”

[from_the_outside]

Her expression softens – not quite into sympathy, but something close. More like understanding, maybe.

Yes. Of course this would speak to him. "Just goes to show that just because something's broken doesn't mean you throw it away, or that it can't be made into something better," she says, just as quietly. She looks over the pieces too, savoring them, the way they gleam, the way light chases along the cracks in the glass and makes the whole of it glow.

"Something more than the sum of its parts."

[nerves_of_ice]

“It can’t be easy,” he murmurs, low enough not to draw the attention of the artist, who’s hanging back and letting them look. “To put something like this together. Some people might find it impossible. Or not worth the wait.”

[from_the_outside]

"I'm sure it helps if you have an idea in your head of what it could be. What it will be."

They're having two conversations here, and she thinks she knows what he's saying and is determined that he hear what she's been thinking ever since France. Ever since Thessaloniki.

That broken as he is, there's still something beautiful and pure and good in him. That it'll be worth it to put the pieces back together.

[nerves_of_ice]

“Maybe.” He studies one piece, metal gleaming in the glass, and then glances at her. “It could be a lot of trouble. For…others.”

[from_the_outside]

"Others?"

For no reason she can adequately describe, her pulse is slowly picking up. It's probably the wine, which is also why her cheeks are flushed pink. Lightly: "Well, maybe they're the type who like a little trouble."

[nerves_of_ice]

“Some people,” he amends. “But maybe you’re right.”

He glances at her again, and holds her gaze for a moment. “Maybe it’s worth taking a chance.”

[from_the_outside]

She's not totally sure of what's happening, but it doesn't really matter when he looks at her and holds her gaze because something is crackling along the invisible thread between them.

"It's always worthwhile to take a chance," she says, slow.

[nerves_of_ice]

“Good to know,” he murmurs, then looks over her head as behind her the artist clears their throat.

“Can I answer any questions for you?”

[from_the_outside]

She blinks back into the real world and turns to smile at the artist. "I really love your work," she says, and looks at the pieces before pointing at one that she'd noticed right as they came up. It's a palm-sized circle, clear glass and gold wire and dull gunmetal and she can't take her eyes off it.

"That one is beautiful."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Thank you," they say. "It's one of my newest pieces. I always enjoy creating something new from what others discard."

"You're very talented," Bucky tells them, with absolute sincerity. "Not many people have that kind of skill."