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 smiles, just a little, but it’s warm and real. “Can’t wait.”

[from_the_outside]

"This time I'm reasonably sure I'll recognize a date when I'm on it," she says, trying to tease even as her heart turns over in her chest.

The thing she doesn't get is: why? Why her? They worked well and easily together but she's also been an enormous pain in his ass – the Sharon Carter special.

But maybe she's not the only one who keeps running over and over those last moments in Thessaloniki.

[nerves_of_ice]

“I’ll try to make it clearer next time,” he says. “Maybe by bringing flowers.”

[from_the_outside]

She has to smile at that. "I do like flowers," she agrees, and gently laces her fingers with his.

"What about you? I guess you're not catching a train."

[nerves_of_ice]

“Hadn’t planned to,” he agrees. “But don’t worry. I’ve got ways to get around, and somewhere to stay when I need.”

[from_the_outside]

She narrows her eyes at him. "You're not sleeping on a roof somewhere, are you?"

[nerves_of_ice]

“Some roofs are very comfortable, I’ll have you know.” But he squeezes her hand, gently, and says, “But no. Not usually, anyway.”

[from_the_outside]

She makes a face at him that says you're kidding, right?

"What about tonight?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He just gives her a bland look in response.

“Hadn’t planned to,” he says again.

It’s even true. The motorcycle he’s using is parked a distance away, and there are many places he’s located outside the city where he can set up an impromptu camp. He’s been moving between them for a week.

[from_the_outside]

Ah, there it is, that bland, practiced I'm not giving away shit look of his she remembers so well from their time in Greece. She gives him a skeptical glance, but nods.

"Okay. Good."

[nerves_of_ice]

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he says, gently. “I’m doing okay, Sharon. I promise.”

[from_the_outside]

"Disagree," she says, with spirit. "I'm pretty sure I do need to worry about you, and even if I don't need to, I will anyway."

There's one swallow left of her martini and she tips it into her mouth, giving him an arch look. "And anyway, if you've got your own transportation, maybe I should just get a ride back to Berlin with you."

[nerves_of_ice]

He stares at her blankly for a moment.

“…it’s a motorcycle,” he says, finally.

[from_the_outside]

"I could hang on," she says, amused, half teasing and half not.

Although, honestly, if he doesn't want her doing aerials with mending ribs, he probably won't be so keen on her riding a motorcycle without a helmet.

[nerves_of_ice]

“You could,” he says, slowly - then gives her a quick, teasing smile. “Nice to know you’ve got a backup option, right?”

[from_the_outside]

"I always like a plan B," she agrees, grinning right back at him.

Does she always have one? No. But they're a nice-to-have.

[nerves_of_ice]

The jazz trio begins to file back in from their break and starts setting back up as Bucky tells her, “I hear they can be useful.”

[from_the_outside]

"Rumor has it."

She tips her head towards the band, her smile crooking. "What do you think? Got a few more left in you? Or did you have some other plan for these last forty-five minutes or so?"

[nerves_of_ice]

“I didn’t,” he admits, honestly. “Unless you’d rather walk around for a bit. It’s a nice night.”

[from_the_outside]

"It is," she agrees, and watches him for a moment before coming to a decision. "One more. And then you can walk me to the train station, the long way around. How about that?"

[nerves_of_ice]

“Deal,” he says, smiling. Bucky squeezes her hand and draws her from her seat and back to the dance floor, ready to see what the band comes up with.

[from_the_outside]

The band, refreshed from their break, starts off with an uptempo number that has them swirling around the floor, Sharon pink-cheeked and laughing.

Even without the aerials, she's having the time of her life.

[nerves_of_ice]

He’s adamant about not overstraining her ribs, but that still leaves a lot of room to move - literally - and Sharon’s well able to keep up with faster and fancier footwork. Bucky tosses his hair out of his face and spins her out and back again into the curve of his arm, almost unable to believe this is real.

[from_the_outside]

She makes a mental note to leave the band a significant tip when they leave, because they've been amazing, and this number's no different. She's laughing up into Bucky's face, feeling like she's floating on air as they spin their way around the dancefloor, lithely dodging the one or two other brave couples who have decided to come out.

[nerves_of_ice]

He can tell when the band starts winding up toward the end of the song, and puts a spin on it himself, leading Sharon into a fast set of steps and a spiral that whirls her back to him at the end, ready to pull away with a smile—

—only for the trio to switch it up on him with a transition right into a soft, jazzy tune that’s slow and perfect, and he takes her in his arms instead and moves back into a slower, closer dance.

“One more,” he murmurs. “Just one. Dance one more with me.”