Chapter 12
Bucky awoke the next morning with one goal for the day: stay busy.
He had already spent most of the night thinking about things to ask, topics to talk about, basically what he had done before. He did that all night rather than sleeping. He had decided it would be best to just go about his day as if nothing of importance were happening.
Or going to happen.
He and Sam had a vigorous training session that morning. Mostly due to Bucky's intense pushing. He was determined to teach Sam as many more hand-to-hand combat moves as he could. After all, Sam couldn't just fly away from the fight every time or use his wings.
They practiced each set of moves over and over. In every way, Bucky could possibly come up with. He was pushing Sam so hard that Sam kept up and made major headway in his training that day. He was also incapable of asking him questions or poking fun at him about what was to come tonight.
The lack of questions and taunts was just an added bonus.
Their session lasted almost double what it usually had. The workout following wasn't as long. Nor nearly as quiet on Sam's end.
Bucky tried to concentrate on his routine, but Sam's voice just kept buzzing in his ear, interrupting his thoughts. Everything from what Bucky was planning on wearing, to where Ella lived, to whether or not he would be smart enough to get her real name this time were some of the inquiries on Sam's mind.
Bucky kept his silence and just focused his energy on going harder and faster at whatever particular stage of the workout he was in. It was getting more and more difficult to concentrate and his anger levels were rising again.
When Bucky moved to the punching bag Sam finally asked a question that ground Bucky's gears in a way he had yet to experience.
In a playful and completely non-serious tone, Sam asked what would be his last question.
"When do you plan on making a move on her, Buck? Are you going to move fast on this one or take it slow? We both know you need more action than what SHIELD can give you. Think she will be enough for you? That she will be able to handle everything you have to offer?"
The punching bag that Bucky was working with went flying. Hitting the opposite wall with a thud that damn near shook the room. Bucky was taken aback by what he had done, slightly. He was used to holding back when it came to certain training exercises and gym equipment due to his enhanced abilities.
What Sam had said bypassed all of that holding back. He let out all the pent-up anger he had been feeling over the last couple of days. Let it all go. In one punch. And the victim was now leaking its filling all over the floor on the other side of the room.
Bucky's breath heaved as he looked back over at Sam. A look of shock and horror on his face matched the look of pure anger on Bucky's. Bucky stalked over to Sam where he was standing at one of the free weight stations and looked him straight in the eye.
"Don't you dare talk about her like that again. How disrespectful can you be? Do you think that's some kind of a joke? Do you think that's funny? It's not. Don't even think about something so incredibly vile. Say anything remotely like that again about her and you'll be in that punching bag's place.
"And don't call me Buck."
Still fuming, Bucky headed to the changing room. He needed a cold shower to cool himself down. Both mentally and physically. He wasn't used to getting emotional like that. He wasn't used to popping off like that. He usually wasn't fazed by anything. But Sam had struck a nerve that he did not know existed.
Of all the things to get under his skin and make him react that way. To lash out. To lose control like that. To feel so extremely. He had not thought that it would be a person. The feeling, the want, the need to protect her was stronger than his need to protect himself against Sam's abhorrent verbal assault.
It wasn't what Sam had said about him that had bothered him so much. It was how he had spoken so casually and crassly about Ella. Even thinking about it made his skin hot with rage. He did feel bad for threatening Sam like that. But he wouldn't ever take it back.
He had meant every word. And still did.
When he exited the showers sometime later and entered the changing rooms Sam was waiting for him on the bench. He made it quick. Sam knew when to leave Bucky be, but also when he was wrong.
"I apologize for what I said. It was extremely disrespectful and entirely inappropriate. I was just trying to make a joke, but that ain't no joke to make. Not at anyone's expense. Your response was justified. I should be apologizing to her, really. I respect you and your reaction. I needed to be put in my place. I see that now. Bucky, I am sorry."
The look of genuine concern and guilt on Sam's face was more than evident. Bucky knew he had meant every word. He still was not going to take back anything he had said, there was no need. It still applied.
Bucky looked at Sam and nodded once. Acknowledging Sam's apology and accepting it at the same time. At this, Sam got up, grabbed his bag, and headed out of the changing rooms. Probably heading back to the apartment. Leaving Bucky to change, alone.
Bucky was grateful that Sam knew when to leave him unaccompanied. Or that when he couldn't, he said or did what he needed to in the least amount of time, before leaving Bucky to his thoughts.
He needed time to cool off. He needed time away from Sam and his questions. Questions that Bucky seriously doubted would start up any time soon after what had just occurred.
After he got changed back into his street clothes, Bucky's cellphone rang. It was Agent Tyler Cooper, their handler of sorts. He needed Bucky to report to HQ to go over a few things from their last mission.
Bucky looked at his watch and cursed to himself. This had better be quick. He had a date.
Since Bucky was already at SHIELD HQ, just in one of the basement gyms, he was in the debriefing room within five minutes of receiving the phone call.
Agent Cooper, however, took more than 20 minutes to report to the same room. Testing Bucky's patience even further for the day.
Tyler could tell immediately that it was not a good day to cross Bucky, so he made everything quick and to the point.
"I need you to go over these documents and your statements from your last mission and confirm that they are all correct. Specifically, the documents and files. Apparently, there is some kind of inconsistency. What that inconsistency is, they wouldn't tell me." Tyler huffed.
Bucky took the paperwork and files that Tyler was handing to him and began going over everything.
A few hours later and Bucky was done. It was tedious work, but he found the discrepancies. His statements, of course, were all correct and he stood by the testimony that he had provided the first time.
It was the other files where things got a little confusing. Most of them revolved around people from his past at HYDRA and some of the missions they had sent him on.
For the life of him, he couldn't piece together what they were working on or why they had needed him to clarify a few mistakes in those files.
Their only connection between them was the fact that some of the people or missions had something to do with the serum that made him, well, him. Even then most of the people had nothing to do with it and some of the missions were also entirely separate.
At the end of it, all Bucky looked at his watch. He still had a few hours left before he had to be at Ella's place.
It looked as if his undertaking of staying busy for the day had been a success.
Cooper thanked him as he gathered the files and they went their separate ways.
Back at the apartment, Sam was nowhere to be seen. Bucky was thankful for that as he was still pretty miffed about what he had said earlier. Despite his sincere apology.
Bucky decided now was as good of a time as any to start getting ready.
He found himself falling into a strangely familiar, yet foreign custom that he had not remembered in decades. This particular practice was his old way of getting ready for what he hoped would be an incredible night out on the town with an even more amazing date.
It was an odd feeling, but it was comforting nonetheless.
Before long he had showered, shaved, and styled his hair. He picked out black jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, his favorite leather jacket, and riding boots.
Bucky was being overly meticulous. Redoing his hair twice and switching out his shirt three times. He never put this much effort into his appearance anymore. He used to. 70 years ago. Finally, he looked in the mirror and thought to himself that he looked damn good. A thought that had not crossed his mind in as many years.
With butterflies flitting around in his stomach, Bucky went to the kitchen. Where he was met by Sam and various approving comments.
Not a question or insinuation among them.
When it was time to leave, Bucky put his gloves on and grabbed a set of keys from the key rack by the door. Sam made a few comments in the hopes of lightening Bucky's mood. Particularly towards him, but also just in general.
"You kids have fun and stay safe now? Don't stay out too late and make sure you wear your helmet." Sam said, sounding motherly.
"Son, don't call me kid. I'm old enough to be your grandpa. At the very least."
Bucky smirked. No matter how many times he did it he always liked pulling that card.
Sam gave Bucky a knowing smile.
"Hers, too."
Bucky pulled a face and just flipped him off without a word as he reached for the door. He was still pissed at Sam, but he was right. He just hated admitting it.
"Does she know about your ride?"
This was one question that Bucky had no problem answering with a smile on his face.
"Nope."
Then he shut the door behind him.
Bucky knew exactly where to go.
When he pulled up to the address Ella had given him, he realized that he had no idea how to get to the apartment on the second floor from ground level. At first glance, it looked like every other art gallery and studio on that block.
He pulled out his phone to call her to tell her that he was waiting outside. Then he noticed a metal fire escape-like staircase between the building and the one next to it where the driveway to the little back parking lot was. Bucky decided to wait at the base of it, guessing that was how you accessed the second-floor apartment.
A few minutes later he heard a door open and close overhead. He heard keys in a door, then the distinct sound of boots on the metal. Bucky turned around and looked up just as she rounded the landing to head down the stairs.
Bucky couldn't help himself. He drank in her appearance as she concentrated on the steps below her feet.
She was dressed not unlike himself. Black, fitted jeans that showed off her rather curvy shape. A black tank top that revealed her modest bust and small waist in contrast with her wide hips and thighs. Her leather jacket was open revealing a necklace made of a chain with a padlock-like closure at the front. Her brown and coppery red hair was loose and flying in the breeze. It bounced with every step down the stairs.
She was indeed rather shapely and Bucky was certainly enjoying the view that was usually obstructed by larger clothes. She looked full-figured and healthy. Bucky didn't think he had ever seen another woman like her. Not even close.
Most women now starved themselves and looked like they had been with him as a POW, or were completely plastic. All to keep up with an ideal body standard that was not achievable without some kind of surgery. It just was not natural. Not Ella, she was all-natural. If Bucky had a type, this creature walking toward him would be it.
As she reached the final steps of her descent, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket and looked up at him with those iridescent green eyes. She offered him a warm smile before glancing over his shoulder. Her eyes widened and her smile faded.
Bucky's stomach dropped. They hadn't even spoken a word to each other yet and already he had fucked up.
"Is that a Harley Davidson Knucklehead?!"
She asked breathlessly as she passed him, quite unceremoniously, to get a closer look.
He turned around to watch her with a small smile on his face as he confirmed. She suddenly looked up at him, her eyes narrowed.
"This has to be an early 1940s model. They didn't make them with Bitch Seats. You've added a repro seat. Why?"
Bucky flinched at the power in her gaze, but hid it and shrugged.
"More comfortable. And more room. Unless you wanted to sit on the fender."
Ella wagged a finger at him.
"You raise good points, but still not good enough to mar this work of art. You can see it a mile away. I'll let it slide. I myself do not want to be sliding off of any fenders."
She went back to closely inspecting his motorcycle. It was indeed a Harley Davidson Knucklehead. She was also right about the year. This one was from 1941. Bucky was completely taken aback by her knowledge.
"You don't see many of these anymore. And she's in incredible condition. Did you fix her up yourself?"
Ella asked as she made her way around the motorcycle. Eying every inch.
Bucky stuck his hands in his jacket pockets as he watched and beamed with pride.
"Yeah. I did. Mostly with original parts. I had to have some machined because I couldn't get my hands on any."
Without looking up from the engine Ella carried on the conversation.
"I have a thing for the old-fashioned. They certainly do not make anything like they used to."
Bucky chuckled, if only she knew.
"How long did this project take you"
"About three years. I only recently got her up and running."
Ella let out a slow whistle.
"We, you did a hell of a good job…. Minus the 'improvement'."
"What can I say, I am a god with my hands."
A wolfish smirk accompanied his little cocky outburst. He just couldn't seem to help himself. Not around her.
She looked up through her eyelashes and barked out a laugh.
"Don't try that shit with me, Sailor. I promise you; it doesn't work."
She followed up her comment with a playful smirk of her own that knocked the wind from his lungs.
Bucky pretended to be offended.
"I am not a sailor! I am a soldier, and you know it!"
"Which makes it that much more of an insult." Ella winked roguishly at him.
Bucky had to pick his jaw up off the ground. If this was how the night was going to go, they were fit to have one hell of a good time.
He scoffed lightheartedly.
"Are you going to ogle her all night or are we going to go to dinner? Or would you prefer me to leave you two alone?"
"Don't tempt me. She is a fine specimen if I do say so myself. And I am very picky with my women."
Bucky just looked up to the heavens at this comment and prayed to whatever god was listening that he would make it out of this alive. That she would not end up killing him with her wit, charm, and sex appeal.
He also prayed that it was not Loki who was listening.