[WWII AU] a brand new day

[nerves_of_ice]

Bucky wakes in the predawn darkness, long before reveille would normally be called. He spends a few minutes reviewing the mission in his head before he rolls from his cot; there's no room to think about anything else. He meets Steve and the rest of the Howling Commandos at five-fifteen. As planned, they're on the move before the hour has passed.

It's a long day, a hard day, but in the end a successful day, for the most part. The hidden facility carved into the hillside is no more when they leave, HYDRA's agents defeated, their stockpiles destroyed. But there's still no sign of Schmidt, nor of Zola, and that remains incredibly frustrating.

Still, there's reason to celebrate today's win, and the squad's more or less exuberant on their return, some fourteen or so hours later. Steve disappears into the command tent to debrief with Colonel Phillips; Bucky'll catch up with him afterward, as usual. He spends a few minutes trading quips with the others before disappearing to weapons storage to see to his own rifle - also as usual. Something about taking care of it helps him feel like he's cleaning the blood off his own hands.

After that, he finds he's too restless to settle yet, and figures it's not the best idea for him to be around others until he sorts himself out. Bucky wanders along the edge of camp in the dark, then veers from the path and off into the field where he'd spent some time watching the stars only a couple of days ago.

It should be peaceful there, more or less.

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[from_the_outside]

He means it, she can tell, and her smile grows, brilliant. "Okay," she murmurs again, and lifts her hands finally from his shoulders, stepping back.

It's too bad she'd left her phone, powered down, in her quarters. He'd probably love hearing music come out of its tiny speakers. "Let's go."

[nerves_of_ice]

Courteously, he lets go of her as soon as she moves back, then offers her his arm again.

"It really isn't far," he promises.

[from_the_outside]

She slips her hand into the crook of his arm and tips her head at the path. "Good," she says, and smiles a little.

If this is a dream, she doesn't want to wake up yet.

[nerves_of_ice]

He smiles down at her, then steps forward and leads her carefully along the trail and through the trees until they reach the edge, where everything opens up. From this angle the slope's much more gradual, more like a meadow than a steep hill.

Bucky looks up at the sky, then back at her as he offers his other hand for her to take.

[from_the_outside]

She sets her hand lightly in his and looks up at the sky, amazed all over again by the scattering of stars across its dark face.

After a second, she looks back at him, smiling. "What kind of dance were you thinking?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"I guess that depends on how good we are at remembering the music," he says. "Do you have a favorite dance?"

[from_the_outside]

"I like the foxtrot," she tells him, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Which you already know. Rumba, too."

[nerves_of_ice]

He makes a considering sound and gives her a bright, almost mischievous smile.

"Well, since we've already danced the foxtrot once... how about the rumba?"

[from_the_outside]

"Very sensible."

She steps closer and puts her free hand back on his shoulder, then looks up at him. "I guess the music will just have to be in our heads."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Well, I can't sing worth anything, but--" He hums the opening bars to 'Estrellita' as he takes one hand and rests his other at her back.

[from_the_outside]

"Neither can I."

It's not a song she knows, but the beat's familiar enough. She settles into the dance position and waits for him to lead them into the steps.

[nerves_of_ice]

He keeps humming under his breath, low but clear, as he steps forward with her into the first steps, turning with her as the dance requires, his gaze intent on hers.

[from_the_outside]

She listens to the pleasant low hum of his voice, imagining the swell of a band playing the melody. They can't glide over the grass like they could over a polished dance floor, and she's wearing slacks, not a dress with a skirt that spins, but none of it seems to matter at all.

Her eyes stay on his as she follows his lead, the slow-quick-quick of their steps beating through her blood.

[nerves_of_ice]

He's always enjoyed dancing, including the spark that comes from a connection with a skilled partner, but this is different. He could swear he hears the air crackle from the intensity between them as he twirls her around and draws her back into his arms, as he shifts around behind her with the beat and turns her again.

He can't look away, and in truth he doesn't even want to try.

[from_the_outside]

She can't tell if he's still humming the tune or not, and honestly it doesn't even matter. This dance is taking on a life of its own, as he twirls her and turns with her beneath the star-flooded sky.

It's not hard, but her pulse is racing anyway, electricity skittering over her skin every time he brings her back to him and she looks back up into his face. She can't see the blue of his eyes in the dark, but it doesn't matter; it's the expression in them that sends a shiver into the pit of her stomach.

[nerves_of_ice]

His fingers trail lightly over her ribcage as he crosses over on the turn and Bucky could swear he feels his pulse skip. He presses his palm against hers, drawing their hands up as they circle each other, looking down at her as she looks up at him. It's what the dance calls for, but it's more - he feels it, and hopes she does too.

[from_the_outside]

His palm is warm against hers and she lets her fingers slip between his, loosely enough that they part easily again. She can't take her eyes off his, except when he crosses behind her and her eyes flutter half-closed as she leans slightly back towards him.

She can't stop thinking about the lab, his skin against hers, his hand in hers. Her hand curves over his shoulder and she lets her thumb ghost over the material of his uniform as warmth pools in her chest.

[nerves_of_ice]

He turns with her, their steps matching, her touch like fire in his blood as the melody that's been ticking off the beat in his head winds down.

Slowly, Bucky brings them to a stop and just stands there with her, his gaze still fixed on hers, his breathing more rapid than it should be and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

[from_the_outside]

Her breath is coming fast and light as she stares up at him, the field around them forgotten, the portal that brought her here and the camp and her good sense, all forgotten too.

"Bucky," she whispers, utterly lost in the moment with him.

[nerves_of_ice]

The sound of his name on her lips is sweeter than it has any right to be. He lifts his right hand to brush his fingers over her cheek, the touch feather-light.

"Sharon," he murmurs.

[from_the_outside]

Her heart gives a strange thud when he calls her by her name, only for its pace to pick back up again, skipping along as he touches her cheek.

Her breath catches. She turns her head a little into his touch, lets her hand slide to the crook of his shoulder so she can run her thumb lightly over the edge of his collar, just brushing skin.

[nerves_of_ice]

He draws a soft, quick breath as she traces a light, delicate touch over him. "Sharon," he says again, and lets himself draw his fingers down through the golden waves of her hair, just once, then tucks a lock of it gently behind her ear and lets his hand rest on her shoulder.

"I should walk you back."

[from_the_outside]

She wants him so badly it hurts, like she's a teenager again, and her breath shakes as he runs his fingers through her hair. "Probably," she agrees, and takes a deep breath of the night air, trying to cool her thoughts and slow her racing heart.

"It's getting late."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Mm-hm." He should move, he knows he should, but he doesn't want to pull away from her.

He argues with himself for a second or two, then compromises by lifting his hand from her shoulder and running it lightly down her arm. Bucky laces his fingers with hers and smiles at her.

[from_the_outside]

Sharon shivers as he runs his fingers down her arm, then curls her fingers in his. "Look at you," she murmurs. "Holding my hand again."

At least this time they're fully dressed. Not that a large part of her finds that an improvement. She lifts her hand from his shoulder and carefully smooths back a lock of hair that's fallen over his forehead. "Is this more like what you were picturing?"