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.

Comments

[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."

[from_the_outside]

The artist preens, pleased, as Sharon peers a little more closely at the piece she'd noted. The way it's put together, a beautiful confusion of glass and gray and gold, she can almost see a star in the middle.

"How much for this?" she asks, looking from the piece to the artist.

[nerves_of_ice]

The artist names a price, and on impulse, Bucky catches her wrist before she can reach for her wallet.

"Will you let me give it to you?" Soft, but clear. "If you want it, I mean."

[from_the_outside]

Her hand stills instantly as he catches her wrist, as she looks up at him, and for a wild second she wonders if he's guessed why she likes this piece, with the glinting gray metal and the surprising sparks of gold and its hidden star that reflects both his arm and Steve's shield.

"I do want it," she says, just as quiet, just as clear, and lowers her hand feeling confused but oddly pleased. "Okay. Thank you."

[nerves_of_ice]

He smiles, just a little, and lets go of her so that he can pull out a money clip and hand over the artist's fee. As they start wrapping the piece in tissue paper, he tells Sharon,

"Thank you."

[from_the_outside]

"For what?"

There's some connection here she's missing, but... maybe... maybe he's grateful she's trusted him and is willing to work with him. Maybe he's happy she sees him as a person – a partner – instead of the weapon. Or broken.

But he's like these pieces already, isn't he? Maybe there are some jagged edges still, but he's a whole person. A new person, made from the scraps of himself, as much gold as steel.

The artist hands her the piece and she smiles and thanks them, too, before slipping it into her tote.

[nerves_of_ice]

He just shakes his head and gives her a small, quick smile, not about to even attempt to explain. He's not sure he'd be able to articulate it, not yet - and certainly not here, in front of anyone else.

Instead, he asks, "Where next? Any preference?"

[from_the_outside]

"Well – "

She slips her free hand into the strap of her tote and glances around, catching a whiff of her own perfume as she points. "Over there," she decides.

"I see some nutcrackers that are about to become Christmas presents for my parents."

[nerves_of_ice]

His small smile broadens into an amused grin.

"Yes, ma'am. Nutcrackers? That the kind of thing they'll get a kick out of?"

He takes a sip of his wine before moving to her side, on her right as before.

[from_the_outside]

If this is a cover, she has to say she's thoroughly enjoying it; even if it's fake, it's the best date she's been on in...

Well, why put a number on it?

"It's that or a package of various wursts and beer steins," she admits, falling into step at his side and taking a swallow of her own wine. She hasn't eaten anything, and she can feel it beginning to pleasantly suffuse her head.

"They only said: 'something German!' when I asked what they wanted and by now they should know to give me stricter parameters."

[nerves_of_ice]

He shakes his head at that, imagining the laughter and satisfaction on her face as she teases her parents with a gift like this.

"They're getting off lucky, then."

[from_the_outside]

"Oh, I don't know about that."

He should know by now that she never ever lets someone off easy.

She slants a look at him as they stroll. He's been moving fine, easily, but – "How're the ribs?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"I heal fast," he says, succinctly. Bucky sets his left hand very lightly at the small of her back to help steer her to the side and around a small group of art students who are getting too ebullient with their very active critique of one poor exhibitor, then glances sideways at her.

"How about yours?"

[from_the_outside]

Her lips twitch, amused. "Improving all the time."

He'd touched her a lot like this in the museum – a hand on the back, an arm around the shoulders or waist – so it's not an alien sensation so much as unexpected.

But nice, even though she tells herself any small flush of warmth is from the wine. Rather than pulling away, she shifts a little closer, guided by the faint pressure on her back. "Another couple of weeks and I'll be fit as a fiddle again."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Good." She moves a little toward him, and he leaves his hand where it is until they're past the students and into the clear - then politely removes it.

"... that's a lot of nutcrackers," he adds, dryly, as they approach the display.

[from_the_outside]

"I don't know what you expected," she says, amused, and moves away to look through the various dolls and ornaments, all beautifully hand-made of turned, painted wood.

"So," she says, as she browses. "This next trip. When were you thinking?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Good point. I don't either."

He wanders along with her as she examines the crafts, with idle curiosity of his own. "Depends on when you can get the time off work. Although sooner's better," he adds. "I hear that some of the most interesting sights tend to be ... traveling displays."