Chapter 11

Bucky took his sweet time getting back to the apartment. He knew what was waiting for him there and he did not much care for dealing with it right now. He had too much on his mind.

He went over the whole date with Ella in his head. Over and over. He analyzed every movement and everything that she had said, determined to leave no stone unturned. For such an informative and thought-provoking conversation, not much was actually revealed for either party.

In essence, Bucky still knew next to nothing about her.

As he was mentally kicking himself, he made it back to the apartment. And what awaited him on the other side of the door was exactly what he had been expecting.

Sam was on the couch watching TV. He was watching a soccer game. Sam never watched soccer. Bucky knew that he had not been paying attention by the way Sam's neck snapped around to look at him. Bucky even heard vertebrae crack.

Immediately Sam launched himself off the couch and started berating Bucky with questions.

What's her full name? Where does she work? How old is she? Is she from here? Is there a second date yet or did you screw it up already? Did you make her uncomfortable with your staring problem? Did you talk at all? What did you say? What did you talk to her about? How does she take her coffee?

Bucky's head was spinning out of control. He didn't answer any of Sam's questions because, one, they were all ridiculous. Two, because he didn't particularly want to. Three, because he was now wanting to throw himself off the balcony because he just realized he hadn't even gotten her real name. And four, because he really just wanted to irritate Sam.

And he was starting to feel protective of Ella, and whatever this was with her. He wasn't about to air it out to Sam in its entirety when there wasn't a lot to go on yet. This was personal and private. Bucky wanted to keep it that way.

So, instead, Bucky dodged and weaved between Sam's onslaught of verbal abuse. Answering as vaguely as he could when Sam just wouldn't let a question go. It was only when Sam wanted to look her up on social media did things go south.

"I just want to see if she's online anywhere. Almost everyone has some kind of presence online. Now, what's her real name. I know it's not just 'Ella'." Sam asked as he went to grab his laptop.

Bucky remained silent as Sam booted up his computer.

"Come on man, just give me her name. That's all I'm asking for. Anything I will find will be stuff that she wants to be seen. That's what social media is all about. Presenting the best of yourself and hiding the rest."

Sam looked at Bucky expectantly for a few moments before his face suddenly fell. The look Sam was giving him made Bucky feel like even more of a dunce. He couldn't bring himself to say it. But Sam sure could.

"You didn't even get her real name. Did you?"

The look of disappointment on Sam's face almost made Bucky feel like a child. He hated himself for even considering this response, as well as the fact that Sam was right; he hadn't. Bucky sighed and finally answered one of the many questions Sam had thrown at him in the last 25 minutes.

"No. I didn't."

Sam sighed so dramatically Bucky almost rolled his eyes right out the back of his head. Sam leaned back in his chair as he shut his laptop. Then he ran a hand over his face and leveled Bucky with another Look.

"You are a fucking idiot. You know that right, Barnes?"

Bucky didn't much like the insult, but he had heard and dealt with much worse. He just leveled Sam with a blank stare. Sam continued to give it right back to him.

During their staring match, Sam asked one more question.

"Is there a second date, or not?"

Bucky didn't see the harm in answering this one question.

"Yes."

"So, you are not a complete fucking idiot after all."

"Nope. I guess not. That, and I really don't feel like answering your questions right now. Or ever."

"Did you get anything about her or did you two just talk about the weather for a few hours?"

Bucky contemplated if he should tell Sam anything, but a small part of him wanted to gloat a little bit. To show off the fact that he thought he had caught himself quite the catch. Even if it didn't last.

After another staring contest, Bucky buckled.

"We talked about an article she's writing for a scientific journal." was all Bucky cared to say.

Sam suddenly looked confused and thoroughly off-balance.

"Which one? Did she say?" The tone of Sam's voice surprised Bucky a little bit.

Bucky thought back.

"The Journal of Clinical Psychiatry"

Sam's eyes widened. A thoroughly impressed, albeit slightly disbelieving, expression crossed his features.

"You're shitting me. You have to be shitting me. Well, I guess that would explain all the books, notebooks, and paperwork she's always working on in the park. I never would have guessed."

Sam looked pensive and Bucky narrowed his eyes at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that in order to contribute to a publication like that you have to have some serious merit. College degrees, and high-level ones at that. A lot of experience in that field of study. I mean, most of those kinds of publications usually only deal with professors with decades of experience and multiple scientific studies under their belts. And she didn't strike me as being that old."

Bucky had not considered this and tried not to act too surprised.

"So, it's not like you submit your pieces and you might get published if you're lucky kind of thing?"

Bucky tried to sound as off-handed as possible. Sam didn't seem to notice, he appeared to be lost in thought.

"No. With these kinds of things they usually seek you out. You can submit your work for possible consideration for publication, but the chances are slim to none if you're not a notable name in the community. You'd have to be one lucky son of a bitch to have your work published that way. I have had a few friends try, and fail, in the past."

Bucky now knew one of the things he was going to ask Ella the following night. How did she get to getting published in such a periodical? What were her qualifications? Although not as direct as that.

Sam opened his laptop again and the screen came to life. Bucky looked at him with a furrowed brow.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to The Journal of Clinical Psychiatry's website and see if I can find any article written by our dear Ella. What was the topic she was writing about?"

Bucky was fuming at Sam's use of 'our dear Ella' and missed the question entirely.

"Yo, I'm on their site. Did she tell you what she was writing about?"

Bucky sneered and turned away towards the window, not really understanding why his anger was starting to boil over. He didn't even want to look at Sam right now.

"She was writing about memory and trauma. How they correlate and how other mental disorders affect memory and how memory affects the mental disorders."

Bucky heard Sam typing behind him. He still didn't turn around. He stood that way for quite some time as Sam typed and clicked away.

He heard Sam sigh. It didn't sound triumphant in any way.

"I can't find her. She's not listed in the section dedicated to frequent contributors, nor is she anywhere in the table of contents for the last three issues or the next one."

Bucky was glad he hadn't found anything. Though, he couldn't put his finger on why. Whatever it was quelled the anger he had been feeling. He turned back around to face Sam before he spoke.

"Maybe she isn't a frequent contributor. If she's still working on the article, it wouldn't be in any table of contents for any issue for the conceivable future. She said her deadline was coming up, she didn't say when. But I can imagine that it would still be some time after that that the issue with her article would be published."

"That is very true. I just wish we could find something on her."

Sam shut his laptop and placed it on the breakfast counter.

"Maybe she had a pen name." He suggests.

Bucky just shrugged as he made his leave. If anyone was going to find anything on her, it would be him. Not Sam.

A little more than a few hours go by. The time slowing down to make up for it speeding up earlier that morning. It was late afternoon when Bucky thought it was safe to call the number that was written on the piece of paper that was currently taunting him from his bedside table.

He felt like he had waited long enough to be both appropriate, but also to not appear too eager. Which he was desperately trying to hide the fact that he was indeed more than enthusiastic.

With shaking hands Bucky input the number into his phone and hits the green button, holding it up to his ear. For a moment he thought to himself that she had purposefully given him the wrong number.

Then the phone connected. On the fourth ring, she picked up.

"Let me guess, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding?"

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle. Is that what she thought of him? He'd take it.

"The one and only. How did everything go with the print shuffle? Didn't ruin anything did you?"

"No, thank the gods. I nearly tripped over my cat once. That would have been a disaster in more ways than one."

Bucky tried to imagine Ella juggling framed prints with a frisky feline between her feet. The thought made him smile. He liked cats.

"What part of town do you live in? I can pick a place depending on your area."

It turned out Ella lived in one of the neighborhoods he and Sam frequented on their runs. The one filled with art galleries and almost no residential buildings. He wondered which gallery was hers. He could picture the neighborhood perfectly. All he needed was an address.

"I know that neighborhood rather well. Sam I, my coworker and roommate, have run through there many, many times over the last few years. There's a small Italian place I've never been to but always wanted to try. How does that sound?"

Bucky could hear the smile in Ella's voice.

"Oh, right. The asshole. Hmm… I think I know of the one you are talking about. Sounds perfect."

"I'll pick you up at 7 pm. Also, wear jeans and dress casually." He couldn't help the smirk on his face or in his voice.

He heard her amused huff.

"Now why is there a dress code?"

"You'll see, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow at 7 pm. Sharp."

"I'll be waiting. I'll text you my address now."

They exchanged goodbyes and hung up. He thought about saving it to his contacts but then thought better of it. Maybe a few, probably just one, more date before he made that decision.

Bucky could not contain nor help the smile that broke across his face as he looked at his phone. Which vibrated and lit up in his hand with a text message from the number he had just called.

One thing was certain, he was uncharacteristically exhilarated.

Now that Bucky had an address, he looked up the gallery on his phone. Their website was extremely ambiguous. Just a vague description of the gallery itself, a small write-up of the current showing, and another small list of future shows. But only their titles.

In that list, the next one that was scheduled, at the same time when Ella had said her show was, was a show titled Viewer Discretion Advised.

There was no artist name or description.

Bucky's insatiable appetite for information about Ella was growing and, so far, was completely and entirely unsatisfied.