Despite his rather life-changing realization, dinner passed normally and comfortably. Conversation flowed smoothly and enjoyably, and Bucky was more than happy that it ended in her leftover mussels and shrimp in his plate. Their glasses drained and bellies full, the pair extended their copious compliments and thanks to Florin, and took their leave.
Harper didn't hook their arms this time, so the duo merely walked side by side through the dark streets of Bucharest. Suddenly, Bucky couldn't ignore how very enticing he found Harper visually. Her dark hair that fell in long waves over her shoulders looked soft and vibrant under the streetlights. Framed by dark lashes were her bright, cinnamon brown eyes which saw much more of him than anyone else had since he had regained control from the Winter Soldier and which judged him for nothing. She was amply busty without being too much and there was an hourglass curve to her waist that was normally hidden beneath flowy clothes or cardigans. Her thighs, hugged in her dark jeans, were deliciously full, and were the subject of some of his lewder imaginings. Her mouth was small, but with full lips and a pronounced cupid's bow, and was normally a very nice facial feature. Tonight, though, they demanded attention painted as they were in a rich, deep purple. Part of him wanted desperately to taste them, while the other part of him was terrified at the flood gate that had burst open.
Ignorant of his problems, Harper maintained the conversation he was now distracted from until asking, "Any particular bar you like?"
"Uh… not specifically, no," he shook his head, hoping to dispel everything going on in his head.
"This one looks as good as any," Harper said, indicating a bar they were approaching.
For the first time, Bucky noticed they weren't far from his apartment. Something, he realized, that Harper wasn't even aware of. Guilty about the sheer volume of information he was still keeping from her, he mentioned, "We're actually really close to my apartment."
"Oh yeah? Not a bad walk to the docks then," she replied, not at all fazed by the belated information.
"No, not at all," he agreed. He arrived at the door to the bar first and pulled it open for her to enter.
A burst of loud pop music met them from inside. Harper was undeterred, stepping in and bee-lining for the bar. Over the din of the sound system and socializing patrons, she asked, "What do you want? I've got first round."
"Uh… gin and tonic?"
"For your sweet tooth? Okay, darlin'," she drawled with a teasing smirk. It took him a minute to work out that she was poking fun at his dry drink selection when he had clearly demonstrated a preference for confections. Little did she know how good prohibition gin had been or the fondness for the liquor he had forged. She inclined her head toward an available table in the corner of the bar, and he nodded his understanding before moving to claim it.
Harper found him a few minutes later, setting his drink in front of him. He was surprised to see the deep amber liquid in her glass. Catching a hint of the savory aroma, he guessed, "Whiskey?"
"Bourbon," she answered, lifting the glass to her lips. "Not my drink of choice, but an old favorite all the same."
He sipped at his drink before asking, "What is your drink of choice?"
"Rum and Coke, easy." At his continued surprised, Harper laughed, "Yeah, I drink like a middle aged man. I know."
"The surprises are endless," he smiled softly.
"You'd be surprised how much rum I consumed through my college career. I'm to this day caught between feeling proud and ashamed."
"Really?"
Harper nodded, swallowing another sip of amber liquid. "I was something of a partier. Especially the last half of college after the cluster headaches started. Not during a cycle, obviously, but pretty much the entire rest of the time."
"How old were you when they started?"
"I got my first one when I was nineteen. It's been pretty much like clockwork since."
Blue eyes roamed Harper's face, noting her downcast gaze. "That must've been a really hard thing to deal with. Especially so young."
"It's still hard to deal with. Learning that I would have to contend with chronic pain for my entire life was a difficult pill to swallow, but now that I've been through a number of cycles, there are times when I truly don't know how I will last another sixty years with this. I'm pretty depressed, really, just in a high-functioning way."
"Do you feel like… you won't make it another sixty years?" he asked cautiously.
Harper took a long drink from her glass, emptying it. With palpable honestly, Harper answered, "Talking about lasting the entire rest of my life, I have no idea if I'll make it. When I'm in a cycle, it's hard to imagine getting through the next five years, the next year. But when I'm not in a cycle and I'm just generally disappointed in my life, I am focused more on making sure I'm happier in five years than I am focused on not being here in five years."
"I wish I could offer some sort of help. Or that I could at least better empathize with you."
The young woman raised a brow. "What, like to actually know the level of pain I experience?"
"If that's not too offensive a notion?"
"It's not offensive, I just don't think there are any more flavors of pain you need to experience in your life."
Bucky saved himself from responding by finishing off his own drink. "Want another?"
"Sure," she nodded.
He stood to get the drinks quickly, not quite ready for another display of Harper's insightfulness. He felt selfish. She had just shared more than she ever had with him, and he ran from the opportunity to give her anything in return. As he waited to grab the attention of the bartender, he reminded himself to stay calm. Somehow, all of his insecurities were coming out to play. He wished his body didn't burn alcohol from his system, because he could sure use something to soothe his nerves and lower his inhibitions. He wished there weren't quite so many implications to being more honest with her.
He returned to their table with new drinks in hand. To his relief, Harper brought conversation back to dinner and asked after some of the other fishermen he had met since beginning to work on the docks. Time passed quickly, and it seemed like no time at all when Harper glanced at her phone and pointed out that it was already pushing 2am.
"Should we take our leave?" she asked.
"Probably," he agreed. He stood and shrugged back into his jacket. Harper stood as well, and they headed out of the bar. Stepping down the single step from the entryway to the side walk, Harper slipped, catching herself with a giggle. He reached for her, steadying her with a hand at her elbow. "You okay?"
"Yeah, sorry!" she nodded vigorously.
Bucky noted the light flush of her face and the glassy sheen to her slightly unfocused eyes. "You always surprise me when you're drunk. You're too good at holding conversation."
"All of my remaining brain power goes to talking rather than walking," she admitted. "But I've made my way home drunker and in higher heels than these, so no worries!"
"You can say 'no worries,' but I'm still worried," he replied. "We're close to my apartment. Want to just stay the night?"
Harper shook her head emphatically in the negative. "No, no, I don't want to put you out at all. Plus, Aslan has never spent the night alone."
Bucky sighed through his nose, relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of Harper seeing how he lived, but also knowing it was going to be an interesting walk back to her apartment. He asked, "You okay to walk?"
"Yeah, I'm good," she grinned widely. She hooked her arm with his right one and gently tugged him to begin the trek to her home. Stopping suddenly, she said, "Wait. If I make you walk me home, that's just as inconvenient. How 'bout we each head home and I just text you once I'm there?"
"No way," he shook his head. "I don't mind walking you home."
"Well then do you want to stay over with me? You don't even have to sleep on the couch this time. You could take Aslan's half of bed. It's a queen."
He blushed for what felt like the hundredth time that night and said, "The couch is fine, Harper."
They continued walking again, though at a slower rate than normal to allow for increased caution on Harper's part. It felt like she was walking particularly close to him, her shoulder brushing his arm every so often. He wondered what it would be like to slip his hand down her forearm, for her fingers to weave between his. He wondered if she would mind the same gesture from his cybernetic arm.
"Thanks again for inviting me out," the young social worker said quietly. "And for walking me home. Guess I can't quite handle my liquor like I could back in my party days. Though I will still maintain I could get home."
"I'm sure you're capable of getting home," he allowed. "You're a very competent drunk."
"It's just such a shitty neighborhood," Harper lamented with a sigh.
Bucky looked down at the pleasantly intoxicated brunette and decided to push his luck, ignoring his earlier guilt about lacking informational reciprocity. "How did you end up here, Harper?"
"Oof," she hissed, as if the question had been a physical blow. "That's a story. I guess that the long and the short of it is that I was only supposed to be here for a year, working through a grant while I completed an accelerated Master's program. Year one abroad, year two back home. However, once I got out here, the program ran out of grant money and their reapplication wasn't fulfilled. I had to drop out of the Master's program, so I still only have a Bachelor's. Luckily, I was able to get enough credit hours while I was in the program to apply to take the licensure test and passed that, but because I don't have the advanced degree, I'm only at the lowest level of licensure. The bigger problems were that without the grant money, I was on my own for all living expenses because my stipend was gone. And because I am only licensed at the lowest level, I get paid at the lowest level. I can't afford to move back home, and I can barely afford to live here. So I've been stuck here for almost three years."
"That's awful," he frowned. "I'm sorry, Harper."
"Definitely just another chapter in my book of bad luck," she shrugged. "I try not to dwell on it too much. That's a dark road I don't want to venture any further down."
"So you want to get back home, right?"
"I at least want the option to go home. I've enjoyed learning a new language, even if I suck at it, and living in a totally new, beautiful place. But I hate this feeling of being stuck. I can't go home, I can't get the oxygen I need for the cluster headaches, and I've had a hard time connecting with anyone on a deeper level. Aside from you, of course."
"Where else would you want to live, assuming you would have the means to get home and to get your oxygen?"
"Anywhere, honestly." She looked up at him then and asked, "What about you? Do you want to go home?"
"I'm not sure that home is still my home," he replied solemnly, looking unseeingly up the street.
"Then where do you want to go?"
Bright blue eyes roamed to the woman beside him. "I don't know where I want to end up, but for now, I'm okay here."
"That's significant," Harper nodded. "It's hard to be okay."
"It is," he agreed.
"Were you okay when you moved here, or have you arrived at a place of feeling okay?"
"It was a process."
"What about this city do you think has helped you be okay? Or was it the passage of time?"
"Time has helped," he nodded.
They had arrived at Harper's apartment building. Conversation paused as she fumbled for her key and clumsily let them into the building. Bucky led the way up the stairs, Harper following with an effortful trudge behind him. Finally, they reached her floor. The halls were still filled with the sounds of cheap passion, but Harper had no jokes this time. She pushed her key into the lock of her door, unlocking this one with a little more ease. Immediately upon opening the door, a ball of thick orange and white fur darted out between her legs.
On instinct, Bucky quickly scooped up the old cat, preventing his escape. Harper breathed a sigh of relief and reached for the animal. Bucky happily relieved himself of the creature he was still rather wary of. They entered her apartment, the young woman closing and locking the door behind her.
"Does he do that often?" Bucky asked.
"No, just when I've been gone a particularly long time. I was out running errands earlier today, plus all the time we were out to dinner and everything. He's rebelling against the neglect I have committed today."
"Ah."
"Hang on a minute; I just want to put on some comfier pants."
The former soldier watched as the dark haired woman shrugged out of her jacket, eyes tracing the hourglass curves of her waist appreciatively. He thought back to what she had confessed over dinner about her hang-ups on her body. He watched her retreat to her bedroom, closing the door partway. Bucky averted his eyes despite the temptation. His jacket was tossed over the back of the armchair before he settled in his usual perch on the couch.
"Want some water or anything?" Harper called, shuffling back out from her room. Bucky looked over his shoulder, noting her change in attire. She now wore a pair of black leggings and a loose-fitting long-sleeved t-shirt. All hints at her curvy torso were once again hidden, but he did let himself enjoy the view of her full thighs.
"Sure," he agreed absently. "Thank you."
Aslan slinked his way behind her as Harper moved into the kitchen. He heard her rummaging around, pouring a couple glasses of water and scooping some dry cat food into the old mammal's bowl. She returned to the living room and handed him a glass before settling in on the other end of the couch. Bucky was surprised when she extended her legs, resting them across his lap. He watched her raise her glass to her dark lips and had to wrench his eyes away.
"Tell me a few things about you," Harper requested, setting the glass down on the coffee table.
"What do you mean?" he asked warily.
"Doesn't have to be anything serious," she assured. "I don't want to sounds dramatic or whatever, but even though I feel like I know a lot about you, I don't know a lot about you. If that makes sense."
Begrudgingly, he admitted, "It does. I'm sorry that I'm not the most forthcoming."
"You don't have to be."
He looked up to her, surprised. His eyes locked with hers, seeing no sign of dishonesty or malicious feelings. She seemed to truly mean that he didn't need to tell her anything too serious or uncomfortable. The former assassin asked, "Doesn't it bother you?"
"Bother me?" she asked, eyes rolling up toward the ceiling in thought. "Sometimes, I suppose, it frustrates me that I don't get to see your whole picture. I'm a big picture person, because nothing happens in a vacuum. But most of the time, no, it doesn't bother me. Regardless of whatever you've done, whatever was done to you, you've been good to me. Good for me."
"What if I've done some really awful things?" he asked, chest painfully tight.
"Nothing happens in a vacuum," she repeated, letting the implication of her words sink in.
"Does the big picture excuse the focal point?"
"Depends on what the big picture is," she answered. "And I don't like thinking in terms of excusing. That implies an erasure of something, or a justification. To me, there's a middle ground between being guilty and being excused."
"What middle ground is that?"
"Being forgiven."
Bucky's hands clenched and he had to look away. His stomach was in knots, and moisture was beginning to prick at his eyes. "Well, fuck, Harper."
"Sorry, too drunk for that right now. Ask me tomorrow once I'm sober."
He choked out a laugh and turned to look at her again. He placed his hand on her shin absently, wanting to touch her in some way. Despite the very recent upheaval in his feelings towards her and the way he saw her, she was grounding for him. He had resolved many months ago to allow himself to be James, to be someone Harper could consider a friend. But perhaps in actuality, she was slowly teaching him to accept himself.
"My favorite color is blue. I've always been a dog person. I used to be a serial dater, but that doesn't appeal to me anymore. In high school, I was an athlete and a really good student, but never had a talent for art." Seeing her confused expression, Bucky explained, "You wanted me to tell you about myself?"
"Oh! Yes," she nodded excitedly.
"Almost everyone I knew from the war is dead. I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to rekindle the friendship I had with my best friend, Steve, who was really more like a brother. I loved living in New York. I'm terrified of my own mind. I'm really grateful to have met you."
"Tell me about Steve," Harper implored, leaning into the back of the couch. She had the good grace not to acknowledge the harder admissions, for which he was grateful.
With a fond smile, Bucky gave her shin a light squeeze. "What do you want to know?"
A/N: Many thanks for the continued support. I'd love to hear your thoughts on things so far. Also, is this updating schedule alright? Part of me feels three chapters a week is a lot, but then I also think about how this story is done and pretty much edited already on my end, so there isn't much of a point in stretching things out. I don't know. I suppose I'm also wondering if more time between new chapters would yield more feedback. Thoughts?