nerves_of_ice | Leipzig AU: the choices we make

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Lost in her own thoughts, she startles very slightly. "Traffic?" she asks, when she replays what he'd said. "Yeah."

She studies him, her fingers curled around her coffee mug. "Thinking you'll head out then?"

"It'd be a good time," he murmurs, watching her.

He's right, of course; it's the time she'd pick, herself. She nods, then levers herself up off the table to come over to him, holding out one hand.

"Come hang out with me until then?" she asks, gently coaxing. "My couch is pretty comfy."

So is her bed, if that's how the morning goes.

He takes her hand - then sets aside the coffee mug and takes her in his arms, holding her close.

"I'll stay in touch. I won't disappear on you again like before," he murmurs.

She puts her own coffee down and puts her arms around him in return, letting her eyes close. "Good," she says, quietly.

"I'll get a safe phone. Today or tomorrow. And text the number I have, so you know where to contact me."

"Okay." He runs one hand up and down her back, slow and soothing. "I'll wait to hear from you."

He turns his face into her hair. "Do you want to plan for Tirana now, or later?"

"Uh-oh," she murmurs, amused. "I guess we can't avoid mixing business and pleasure."

She lifts her head to look up at him. "May as well get started now. Less of a trail that way if our messages do somehow get intercepted."

"We sort of already did. At the start," he points out. "Anyway, there's not too much we need to plan now. I need to send you the intel on the target, let you review it first... I could come back to discuss it."

He knows it's not the most logical approach, and that drives him to add,

"Or we could meet there early. Like we did before."

"That would be safer," she admits, but it's slow and reluctant.

Much safer. Far safer than him risking himself to come back and see her. Which doesn't mean her fingers don't tighten very slightly in his shirt. "I like it less, but it's a lot safer for you than coming here."

"It's only a couple of weeks." It sounds like he's trying to convince himself as well as her. "And then ... we can figure out other times and places. To meet."

"Two weeks is nothing," she agrees, her own tone ringing falsely brisk.

"And it gives us more time to plan. And find places."

Safe places to meet. Not just for a mission.

"Exactly."

Even as he says it, he's leaning down to kiss her.

She kisses him back, letting it linger, then kisses him once more when it breaks.

"God, I'll miss you, though," she murmurs.

"I'll miss you too." A hint of mischief enters his expression, and he bends down to scoop her into his arms again, then carries her over to the couch.

She laughs and settles into his arms, putting her arms around his neck and leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"Just imagine," she teases. "For two whole weeks I'll have to walk around my apartment. With my feet! Isn't that awful?"

"Might be time to start growing wings," he returns, deadpan, but he cradles her gently as he sits on the couch and settles her on his lap.

"Think of what I could do with wings," she laughs, leaning into the curve of his arm.

"But I think I like this better."

"Fly?" he offers, cuddling her close.

"I'd be the terror of the skies," she teases, curling into him, her arms warm and loose around his neck.

"I doubt that," he teases her. "You're not that scary."

"I know some criminals who would beg to differ," she says, arch and amused, and reaches to run her spread fingers through his hair from the forehead to crown.

"You'd get a good vantage point from up there, too."

"Hmm," he muses, tipping his head into her touch. "Okay, fair point. Both of those."

Bucky smiles at her. "I guess you're just not that scary to me."

"Good."

Sharon leans to kiss him gently. "That would be almost the last thing I'd want you to think of me."

He kisses her back, just as gentle and lingering, then raises his head to give her a curious look.

"Oh? What's the last thing?"

She traces her fingertips lightly over his cheek and thinks about how he's trusted her; how he came here, how he shared his secrets.

How both of them know what she could do with that information if that were the sort of person she was.

How she's been that sort of person before.

Her smile flickers, wry. "It doesn't matter," she murmurs. "I'm just glad you don't think it."

(no subject)

nerves_of_ice - 2022-02-01 01:25 (UTC) - Expand

from_the_outside - 2022-02-01 01:27 (UTC) - Expand

nerves_of_ice - 2022-02-01 01:32 (UTC) - Expand

from_the_outside - 2022-02-01 02:09 (UTC) - Expand