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]

“Take the train,” he tells her. “I’ll meet you there, at your apartment. It’s safer for you that way.”

He squeezes her fingers, shivering a little at her touch, then lifts her hand and presses a gentle kiss to her palm.

“I’ll be there. I promise. No more than half an hour behind you.”

[from_the_outside]

She shivers at the touch of his mouth to her palm and runs her thumb lightly along his jaw.

It's not long. Just over an hour. But –

"You better," she says, a little breathless. "Or I swear to God I'll hunt you down again. Don't you dare leave me hanging, Barnes."

[nerves_of_ice]

“I promise,” he repeats, tipping his head into her touch. “I’ll come to you.”

[from_the_outside]

Her fingers curl at the angle of his jaw and she lets her other hand slide down to rest on his chest. "Okay," she murmurs. "Then I'll see you there."

He's right, of course. It's safer for them both this way. Nerves and longing and anticipation tangle up her insides as she looks up at him, before her glance drops for a long moment to his mouth. "But before we split up," she says, low, and meets his eyes again before dropping her own once more as her fingers fist in his shirt and she pushes herself up, slowly, so he can stop her if he wants to.

But she wants a kiss, before they go their separate ways. Even if it's only for a little while. It doesn't matter. She wants it anyway.

[nerves_of_ice]

He puts both arms around her and pulls her flush against him, drawing her up into him as he leans down to kiss her. It’s slow and thorough, as he lets himself drown in the taste of her mouth, the feel of her in his arms, the desperate race of his heartbeat.

[from_the_outside]

Sharon winds her arms around his neck, caught in this impossible, spun moment, drunker on the warmth and taste of his lips than she'd gotten on the wine or martini all night.

Her head's spinning by the time it breaks; she licks her bottom lip and can't pull away. "Wow," she murmurs, utterly stunned. "Okay."

[nerves_of_ice]

Bucky holds her a little closer for a moment.

“Kiss me again,” he whispers. “I have to let you go catch that train, I know that, but kiss me again first.”

Slowly, he leans down again, his gaze intent.

[from_the_outside]

Her breath catches in her throat at his low voice, the look in his eyes. "Oh, god," she breathes, and drives her fingers up into his hair, clinging to him as she presses up and kisses him back, letting a little of her desperation and desire off the leash as she does.

"Bucky," she says, helpless, as soon as she can take a breath, before she kisses him again.

[nerves_of_ice]

He groans deep in his chest and plunges one hand into her hair, angling her head as he kisses her again and again, deep and wanting and passionate, before a warning about their location and vulnerability screams in his mind and he manages to tear himself away for her sake.

“Go,” he tells her. “Before I - we - go. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

[from_the_outside]

She pulls herself back with a massive effort, her fingers gripping hard to the strap of her tote as she steps away.

"I'll see you soon," she promises. "Hurry. But be safe."

Sharon allows herself a last, heated glance, then rips herself away and turns, her strides quick and firm as she heads to the train station.

[nerves_of_ice]

He lets her get ahead of him and melts into the shadows to follow, just to make sure she reaches the station safely.

Only once she’s there does he retreat to where he’d hidden his bike and hit the road at the highest possible speed.

At least it’s late enough that he’ll be able to evade traffic.

[from_the_outside]

The train ride is both too long and too short and she spends the first part of it in a haze of longing and anticipation, before her head clears enough to let her think of logistics.

There are CCTV cameras on the street and the building, but she knows he can work his way around them easily enough; hell, he might just come through a window. No one from the Task Force lives in her area and it's already past midnight – likely no one will spot him.

It's not safe. But then, none of this is or has been, and she knows he's run the exact same risk assessment, probably more than once.

By the time she gets back to her apartment, she has to work hard to believe this hasn't all been a dream – but the postcard he'd dropped in her mail is still there on the table when she lets herself in, and the blankets and nutcrackers and the cracked glass art are still in her tote. She takes off her boots and socks and replaces them with slippers, then carefully unwraps the glass art and sets it on the counter on its little stand.

It really is beautiful.

[nerves_of_ice]

He conceals the bike several blocks away in the underbrush of one of the city’s parks and goes in the opposite direction before he scales a building. He takes the sky route to Sharon’s apartment building, dodging all the cameras he’d previously marked and keeping an eye out for new ones.

He picks the lock on the service door and descends the stairs with as much care as he can, coming to a stop to rap once on her door forty-seven minutes after her train should have reached town, just over the promised half-hour from when she should have gotten home, if all went well.

[from_the_outside]

She's washed and put away the few dishes that needed it, turned on some light music, folded and unfolded the new green throw over her couch back and then folded it again, and generally spent the last forty-five minutes growing more anxious with every minute that ticked past the half-hour. When the gentle tap comes on her door, it jolts through her like the first drop on a rollercoaster.

It's impossible to hide the relief in her eyes when she opens the door and sees him, even as her smile flickers into life. "Hi," she says, and steps back to let him in. "I'm a little surprised you didn't go for the window."

She goes to close the curtains on them now; the small window in the kitchen, the large glass door that leads to her tiny balcony, then turns to look at him, her stomach in nervous knots. "Welcome to my place."

It's small but neat, the kitchen opening into the living room, her bedroom door beyond. It had come pre-furnished, but she's added a few of her own touches here and there. Photos and invitations on the fridge, a few of the sturdier sort of houseplants, a shelf full of books. The playlist she'd put on drifts from a series of speakers placed around the apartment. "Do you..."

He's out of reach; everything in her thrums to go and put her arms around his neck and pull him into another kiss. "... want anything? Wine, coffee? Water?"

[nerves_of_ice]

“I could have, but I thought that would be rude,” he says, a little dryly - even as something in his gut turns over at the sight of her relief. Then again, why should she trust him? He’s good at disappearing.

He shakes it off and smiles, very slightly. “Sure. I’ll take some of whatever you’re having yourself.” Bucky glance around before looking back at her, his gaze drawn like a compass needle to north.

“Nice place. Really nice.”

[from_the_outside]

"Thanks."

Whatever she's having. Her thoughts go blank for a second, before she remembers a bottle of chilled white wine in the fridge. She moves to the kitchen, tipping her head for him to follow her, and reaches down two wine glasses.

Two. When was the last time she needed to take down two? She's not sure she has, here. "I found an agent to help me get it while I was still in the States. Home sweet home, for now."

She uncorks the bottle with a pop and pours out a measure into each glass, then picks them up and comes closer to him, close enough to have to look up into his face, as she offers it. "Here."

Very softly, she adds: "Thank you for coming."

[nerves_of_ice]

He drifts into the kitchen after her and leans against the counter while she pours the wine. Bucky accepts the glass she offers and lightly touches it to hers, causing a faint bell-like chime.

“Thanks for inviting me,” he murmurs. “I was careful coming in. No one saw me. You’re safe.”

[from_the_outside]

She huffs a faint laugh and sips at her wine. "Good," she says. "Although I'm more worried about your safety than mine."

To be honest, the trust he's showing in her just by showing up – when this could all have been a long con and he could have been walking into an apartment packed full of Task Force agents – leaves her almost breathless. "Oh, and – "

Sharon reaches past him to the paper bag on the counter and draws out the beautiful purple-and-smoke throw, folded nicely. She sets it down on top of the crinkling paper bag and smiles at him. "For later. Don't forget."

[nerves_of_ice]

“You shouldn’t be.” Her entire life could be destroyed if anyone found out - about any of it, he guesses, but especially this. The Winter Soldier, welcomed as a friend?

He shakes his head at the very thought and looks to the throw. Something complex and almost longing passes over his face, and he shifts the wineglass to his left hand so he can touch the fabric with his right before he looks back at her.

“Thanks.”

[from_the_outside]

"And yet I am."

She watches as he reaches to touch the soft wool, the rich colors. "You're welcome," she murmurs, and shakes her head, very slightly, and shifts a little closer as she reaches to set her hand gently at his side.

"It's the first thing I've seen you pick. I couldn't resist."

[nerves_of_ice]

“Is it?” The question is very soft, and he stays still under her hand, his eyes searching hers.

[from_the_outside]

"Yeah."

Aside from the framing of their meetings – Thessaloniki, the Spinnerei – he's had her choose almost everything else. She hadn't quite picked up on the pattern in Greece, but here, when he actually expressed an opinion, it finally clicked. "And it was a good choice, so..."

So she bought it. Because he deserves something nice. Something he likes. And like he said, he's trying to remember how to be a person again. Maybe that includes picking things out for himself.

Her thumb runs very gently over his side before she pulls her hand back again.

[nerves_of_ice]

He reaches to catch her fingers as she lifts her hand, the corner of his mouth quirking up into something wry.

“You’re pretty observant.” He sounds rueful.

[from_the_outside]

"It's part of the gig."

She curls her fingers around his, studying that wry cast to his expression. "What's wrong?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He shakes his head and takes a sip of wine.

“Nothing new,” he says, simply. “It’s all right.”