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

[from_the_outside]

She selects a pair of nutcracker ornaments and one full-sized monstrosity with a horrifying grin that her parents will love, and hands them to the artisan to be wrapped up as she mulls what he says over in her mind.

"Two weeks too long? I'll be all healed up by then and I can take a long weekend. Anything before that will be a little dicey, since I just took some time off to go home."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Two weeks should be fine. Longer, if you need."

His gaze flicks around the festival, absently assessing and checking for risks or trouble, before it rests on her once more.

"Maybe not over another month, if we can avoid it."

[from_the_outside]

"Thanks," she tells the artisan as he hands her back the wrapped package, and turns to face Bucky as she's putting both presents and wallet back in her tote. "Two weeks is plenty."

Everything squared away, she tips the last swallow of wine into her mouth and puts the empty glass on a tray covered with others just like it nearby. "Your turn to pick. Make it a good one or I'm ditching you for those Swedish tourists."

She grins in the direction of a large, polite mass of rumpled blonde hair and blue eyes. "They look like fun."

[nerves_of_ice]

He chuckles at that and offers her his glass, which is still half full, as he says,

Why don't we check out that one?"

He nods toward a display of woven crafts.

[from_the_outside]

She takes the glass and gives him a pert look.

"Okay. And after that, we should probably get some food, unless you want to carry me home. Alcohol works just the way it's supposed to on some of us."

It already is working: her thoughts are slightly fuzzy and her cheeks are pink and flushed.

[nerves_of_ice]

"I'm not trying to get you drunk," he protests, immediately reaching to take the glass back. "But I'll take you to dinner either way, if you'll let me."

[from_the_outside]

"Um! Rude," she says, going for affronted but grinning hugely as she teasingly pulls the glass back to her own shoulder and away from him.

Primly: "Excuse me, this is mine now."

Oh, yeah. It's definitely working. Why else would she feel a little warm and light-headed and in such a good mood?

[nerves_of_ice]

He huffs out a small amused breath and raises both hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay. Don't know what I was thinking."

He hadn't clocked Sharon for a lightweight, but he'll remember - and it doesn't matter anyway, since he'd already intended to look out for her this evening. Bucky gestures politely for her to proceed him to the next exhibit.

[from_the_outside]

The wine is good and so is the company, and she's just starting to edge over into "tipsy" from "faintly buzzed," but she's not drunk.

And that's good because she'd rather not trip all over herself or say something she really shouldn't and will regret in the morning. She's not weaving or stumbling, she's just... having a nice time. Kind of like she had a nice time with him the last time they went out and got dinner, which is something for her to chew on.

In the meantime, the wine is just giving a warm glow to everything and everyone around her, including herself. It's just enough to soften some of her edges, allow her to let her guard down a little. Be just Sharon, instead of Sharon Carter, or Agent 13.

Which she can do, because if she's not safe walking around with the Winter Soldier, she's not safe anywhere. Plus, the artisans appreciate it, because she enthuses over their work, like this newest exhibit full of exquisite woven goods. "Nice choice," she compliments Bucky, who is standing just behind her like a bodyguard.

She almost lets herself lean back towards him. But shakes the impulse from her head just in time.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Thanks."

She's relaxed, and happy, and smiling and entertained, and it's just her and not a role, he's pretty sure.

He knows he's going to remember this night, the same way he remembers sitting with her in a little room in Polygyros, the way he remembers her telling him to breathe into her hand in Thessaloniki. Even if she tells him to go to hell later, even if he never sees her again after tonight, he'll remember.

"I like that one," he adds, picking almost at random - and then realizing he does, actually, appreciate the wool throw in question. It's maroon and purple and smoke-colors, all the way from palest gray to deepest charcoal.

[from_the_outside]

"It's beautiful," she agrees, reaching out to run her fingers over the pattern. It's very soft. She can't imagine being able to create anything that lovely and practical at the same time.

If she wants to make sure she keeps enjoying herself, if she wants to maintain this perfect level of slight buzz and relaxation where she can almost forget that this is really just an excuse to plan a mission, she'd better slow down. She leaves his glass of wine still mostly untouched in her hand.

Glancing up, her smile flashes as her gaze lands on another blanket. "I like that green one over there, too."

[nerves_of_ice]

"One for each of you," the artist says, helpfully. "I'll make you a deal if you take both."

"We're just looking," Bucky tells her, before realizing that he hasn't actually asked Sharon if she wants one. He looks at her, a question in his eyes.

[from_the_outside]

"Hey," she laughs, holding up her free hand. "I'm here to enjoy myself and spend my money. And it's my turn to treat."

She lifts a corner of the purple-and-smoke throw and gives him an assessing look. "Besides, the gray is nice with your eyes."

And depending on where he's sleeping these days, he might be able to make use of a nice wool blanket. She turns back to the artist. "How much for both?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Now wait a second, that's not why I --"

The artist cuts in with a finely-honed sense for making a sale and quotes Sharon a price that's close to a sixty-percent discount for both together, versus one alone.

[from_the_outside]

"So? Maybe I want to get you something anyway."

To the artist, she says: "That's a very generous offer. I'll take it."

Turning to Bucky as the woman runs her card and starts packing up the throws, she looks up at him with that probably-now-all-too familiar expression of: I dare you to argue with me. "Besides, it would be very rude of you not to accept a gift," she says, sweet. "Wouldn't it?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He's silent for several seconds, studying her expression almost as though he's never seen her before, almost as if he's trying to memorize her face.

"How can I possibly be rude to you," he says, at last. It doesn't sound like a question.

[from_the_outside]

Every teasing word that comes to the tip of her tongue falters when she looks up and sees the intent way he's studying her. There's no joke in his tone, and she has the distinct feeling she's missed making an important connection somewhere down the line.

"I'm sure you could manage," she attempts. "I've been pretty rude to you."

It lacks conviction, though; she's too busy studying the way he's studying her to really put her heart into it, and in fact she's so focused on him that she almost jumps when the artist returns, offering out a paper bag holding the blankets and her receipt.

"Thanks," she says, and accepts both before looking back at Bucky, trying to pick up the thread of her thoughts. "So, what next?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"That depends." He puts his hand at the small of her back again, leading her away from the woven art exhibit with a nod to the artist - his right hand, this time. "I have an idea or two, but I have to ask you something before I share them."

Bucky lets a hint of teasing enter his voice as he guides her through a swirl in the crowd, heading for a quieter spot at the far side of the street. "Think you're clear-headed enough to answer, or do you want to get something to eat first?"

[from_the_outside]

"My mental faculties are working perfectly well," she says, a little suspicious even as she allows him to guide her across the street. "But you might want to ask before this second glass of wine really hits."

What could be on his mind, she has no idea. This whole evening is all the stranger for how normal it seems – there's no reason for him to hang out with her here when they could have hammered out their plans for Tirana twenty minutes ago. "Is everything okay?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"As far as I'm concerned, it is," he tells her, keeping his tone mild. They move out of the crowd into an open space on the sidewalk, heading toward the corner at the end of the block. "But that's the thing."

Bucky glances at her, taking in the play of light on her hair before he crosses the point where there's no going back, and then asks, very simply,

"You know this - tonight - isn't just about the mission, right?"

[from_the_outside]

The effect those words have on her is really something, though it's probably not visible: a cool rush floods through her, followed instantly by a flood of warmth that feels like she'd downed the last half-glass of his wine all at once. "No?"

It makes sense, in a completely nonsensical way. He hadn't had to pull together this evening, he hadn't had to buy her a drink or a gift, he hadn't had to walk around with her, looking at exhibits. It honestly feels more like a –

"Wait," she says, her thoughts scrambling to keep up. They don't quite manage to get together enough to keep her from blurting it out, but that's par for the course, isn't it? "Is this a date? Are we on a date?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"If you want it to be." His tone is low enough that his words are for her ears alone, and gentle, and matter-of-fact.

"I thought you might want to get to know me better. More than just the Winter Soldier, if there's -- if there's anything left, of who I used to be. Who I'm trying to be. And I could get to know you. If you wanted. If that's okay with you."

He glances over at her, slowing his steps. "And if it's not okay, just say so. I won't bring it up again."

[from_the_outside]

"Oh, shit," she says, softly. "I am so stupid. Wait. Wait, wait."

She comes to a stop and reaches for his hand to draw him a to a halt, too. "I can't walk and think about this at the same time."

Maybe the wine is hitting her harder than she thought, because how could she have not noticed this was a date. She really, truly, thought cover before she thought date, and this is probably why nobody's wanted to date her in... well, ever.

[nerves_of_ice]

"No, you're not. Here." There's a stone staircase at the side of the building just ahead of them, one that leads down from the sidewalk into a basement - and which has just enough of a high railing for them to stand by the side of the building itself and be a little sheltered from passers-by. He scans for security cameras and finds none, and coaxes her to take the few steps more to get them out of the path of traffic.

"Now," he tells her, firmly. "You're not stupid. Don't say that."

[from_the_outside]

"Let's agree to disagree."

She leans back against the building just to feel the stone, real and cool and rough against her back. "I mean, I thought – no, never mind."

She forcibly reels her thoughts back to the topic at hand, which is: does she want to be on a date with Bucky Barnes? Because that's what he asked and the guy deserves an answer, not to wait while her brain goes through a hard reboot. And the thing is –

As soon as she decides to really focus on the question, the answer spools out in front of her, because there's nothing to think about. She likes him. If she's being honest, she likes him. There's no other explanation for the number of times she's thought about his warm weight on the other side of the bed, chatting with him over dinner in Polygyros, him sitting on that stool in the little kitchen in Thessaloniki. "Yes," she says, as soon as the word hits her brain, and stumbles a little over herself because she can't say it quickly enough to make up for the last minute.

"Yes. It's okay. It's more than okay. I'd like that. I want that. That's my answer. Yes."