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]

There's plenty of room – they're still the only ones dancing – and she's never been the type to pass up a challenge of any kind, especially not one that's got him looking mischievous and pleased.

She pushes herself towards him as he pulls her in and use the leverage of her arm and his to go up and over –

And lands like a cat, grinning and pleased with herself, breathless half from the flip and half from a shock of pain from the still-mending ribs she'd nearly forgotten about. One hand lets go of his to press against her side, instinctive, before she reaches back again. "Good one," she compliments, delighted.

[nerves_of_ice]

She presses her hand against her side, and the realization cuts through him like a knife. "Mostly healed, huh?" he asks, dryly, as he shifts into the next step sequence with her - a simpler one, deliberately so.

[from_the_outside]

"Well, they are," she protests. "Mostly."

So maybe it hasn't been the full six weeks the doctor recommended. He shifts them into an easier sequence and she makes a face at him. "They're not going to break again from one dance, you know."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Not if I have anything to say about it, they won't," he agrees, mildly, and spins her out and back again.

"I'm trusting you to tell me if you need to stop. But that doesn't mean I'm going to do something I know will hurt you."

[from_the_outside]

"It's worth it for the fun," she argues, but he's implacable and she may finally have come up against someone as stubborn as she is.

She sighs as she spins out, looking disgruntled as he pulls her back in. "Fine. But I definitely don't need to stop."

[nerves_of_ice]

She looks as annoyed and as cute as a fluffed-up feline, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"Thank you," he says, instead.

[from_the_outside]

There's laughter in his eyes and she strongly suspects it's aimed at her, but his voice is mild and wholly innocent. It's intensely annoying.

"Save them for next time," she says, and doesn't give a shit if a 'next time' might be all but impossible, because she already knows she'll hate saying goodbye at the end of the night.

For now, she grips his hands loosely and falls back into the steps and the swing of the music, unable to stay annoyed. It's too nice a night.

[nerves_of_ice]

"I will," he murmurs, and squeezes her fingers for an instant before they shift into the next set of steps.

The band's clearly enjoying having someone dancing to their music, but they also recognize that no one can run forever, so after a few more songs they switch to something softer, with a more relaxed tempo. Bucky twirls Sharon around and draws her into a slow foxtrot this time, bringing her a little closer than before.

[from_the_outside]

After getting loosened up by the lindy, her dance frame is a lot less precise than it was earlier. And since her side is a little sore, her left arm is more relaxed, curling around his shoulder instead of keeping her elbow up, allowing her to shift a little closer to him as the band transitions into a rumba beat.

[nerves_of_ice]

His heart skips, then kicks over in a far more rapid pulse as he turns her, then turns with her, enthralled.

"Sharon," he murmurs, barely aware that he's doing it.

[from_the_outside]

Just like in the kitchen in Thessaloniki, her name on his lips makes her heart contract in a painful squeeze as her stomach flips. She looks up at him, her throat working, then slips her left hand back to curl her fingers over his shoulder, coming close enough to feel the warmth of his cheek against hers, his breath on the bare skin of her throat.

[nerves_of_ice]

He's following the rhythm of the music by instinct now, lost in her eyes, in the feel of her so close, the shape of her against his arm. His glance drops to her mouth for a long second before he meets her eyes again.

[from_the_outside]

She feels a jolt as his glance drops and another when he looks back up, and at the intent expression in those gorgeous slate blue eyes any thought of the other people in this place evaporates right out of her head.

Her breath comes shallow and rapid as she tucks herself against him, but there's no refuge to be found when she rests her temple against his cheek as they move, slow and close. His warmth and his scent and his solidity against her is more intoxicating than the martini she hadn't even finished.

[nerves_of_ice]

A thrill goes through him like lightning as she shifts closer, until they're dancing cheek to cheek and she's in his arms. It's not a strict dance frame any longer and he couldn't care less.

"I argued with myself for weeks," he confesses, softly. "I was doing recon, yes, but... also trying to convince myself that I shouldn't try. But I couldn't stay away."

[from_the_outside]

She shivers, as much from his words as from the puff of warm breath against the curve of her neck. "I'm glad you lost that argument," she murmurs.

"You don't know how often I thought about you over this last month. About the last time I saw you."

She huffs a soft breath of laughter. "Every time I made you laugh."

[nerves_of_ice]

"More than I've laughed in years," he confirms. He tips his head against hers for a moment before he pulls back enough to look at her, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

"I still can't believe you drew me a bath, though."

[from_the_outside]

"Oh, come on," she complains. "So I was trying to take care of you, sue me."

It's hard to be petulant when he looks so amused, his eyes light and laughing, but she does her best and frowns hard against the amusement that's trying to tug the corner of her mouth back up. "See if I do anything nice for you again."

[nerves_of_ice]

Bucky smiles.

"You already have. You're here, aren't you?"

[from_the_outside]

"That's me doing something nice for me," she says, pert, but she can't stop the smile anymore, has to let it flash into life.

[nerves_of_ice]

He holds her a little closer as the music shifts into the next song. It's clear by now that the jazz trio's improvising transitions from one slow piece to another, and he can't say that he doesn't appreciate it.

"Something nice for us both, then."

[from_the_outside]

He guides her gently a little closer and she goes – what choice does she have? He's a whole gravitational force of his own and if this is him out of practice she thinks she might not survive him at the top of his game.

"You planned it," she murmurs. "Not me."

[nerves_of_ice]

"But you came," he points out, smiling.

[from_the_outside]

"I can see you're going to insist this is a thing I did instead of a thing you did, so I may as well take the credit," she says, amused.

"Even though there's no good reason I wouldn't have come."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Oh, I can think of a few," he says, lightly. "But I'm still glad you did."

[from_the_outside]

She hums an amused sound. "Maybe I only came for the souvenirs," she teases, as the band shifts into another slow number: this one a waltz.

She's starting to think they're doing it on purpose.