Chapter 13

Bucky detached a helmet from the side of the motorcycle and went to hand it to Ella.

"Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?"

Ella pulled a face as she reluctantly took the helmet from him.

"I have ridden on motorcycles more than a few times. Never driven one. I am way more familiar with dirt bikes, though. My aunt owns a ranch outside of Tucson where I spent most of my summers growing up. The only way around in most areas on her land around was by dirt bike or horseback. So, you could say that I have experience enough for this."

Ella stood back and put on the helmet while waiting for Bucky to mount the motorcycle first so she could hop on the back behind him.

After Bucky was in position Ella swiftly and lithely swung her leg up and over the rear of the motorcycle, wrapping her arms around Bucky's middle. Effectively catching his jab about a real cowgirl lifestyle in his throat.

As he fired up and revved the engine, he heard her say something.

"But I must say, most of the time I do prefer a good steel horse over either of those any day."

Bucky grinned and responded.

"You and me both, sweetheart."

Bucky kicked off from the sidewalk and headed towards the quiet little Italian bistro that was about a 10-minute ride from Ella's apartment.

They seemed to have arrived in no time, easily finding a spot on the street to park. Bucky thought that maybe because he was so used to running through these streets on foot, that maybe that had something to do with the ride being so short. Rather than the alternative of having Ella's arms wrapped around him; being distracted in a whole different way.

All too soon those same arms were gone from his waist as she dismounted the motorcycle first so Bucky could kick out the kickstand. As he himself got off he watched Ella shake out her hair as she handed him the helmet. The same look of disgust on her face.

"I hate helmet hair. With a fiery passion." She said through gritted teeth. Then her tone changed.

"She runs amazingly well. Not to mention that super smooth ride. You really should be proud of your work."

She headed for the door of the bistro.

"You really must be good with your hands." She continued without turning around.

The last comment took Bucky by surprise. After a second's pause and recovery, he easily caught up to hold the door open for her.

They were immediately seated by a woman in her early twenties with short, black hair in a server's uniform. She seemed to only have eyes for Bucky as she handed them both menus and told them the specials. Bucky didn't seem to notice as he only had eyes for Ella.

Ella didn't even look at her menu as she set it to the side at the edge of the table. She was too busy studying Bucky. Staring right back at him with great intensity and intrigue in her eyes. Bucky started to feel hot under the collar and wished he could roll up his sleeves and take his gloves off.

Her stare did not feel uncomfortable nor unwelcome. Bucky was actually relishing in it, which amazed him immeasurably.

Bucky realized that he hadn't even looked at the menu yet. He picked his up, opened it, and unwillingly broke eye contact with her to scan the pages.

"Aren't you going to get something to eat?"

"Of course I am. I just know what I want already. I have gotten take out from here a few times. Their spaghetti in butter sauce is to die for."

Bucky set down his menu just as the waitress came back and asked for their drink and food order. Once again, giving Bucky her full attention and ignoring Ella entirely. Once more, Bucky didn't take his eyes off Ella the whole time they were ordering.

Ella asked for water and so did Bucky. When it came to the food order, he ordered for both of them. Spaghetti with butter sauce.

The waitress seemed to finally catch on that Bucky wasn't even looking at her. When their orders had been taken, she stomped off in a huff.

"Well, aren't you the take control type. Too bad for that waitress, she seems to want you to take control of her."

"Sometimes… and lucky for me I don't see any other woman in this joint I'd rather pay attention to than the one sitting in front of me."

"Have you even looked around, Sailor? There's one smoking hot lady back there in the corner with what looks like her beau. Both of whom look harmoniously appealing to the eye."

Ella smirked at him as the waitress came back and quickly set down their waters and left.

"I don't have to look to know what I say is true." Bucky said confidently.

"Aren't you the suave one? So, Bucky huh? I'm guessing that's a nickname and not your real name."

Looks like he didn't have to instigate this particular conversation like he had planned.

"Bucky. Short for Buchanan. Family name. My first name is James. Is your real name Ella? Or is that short for something too?"

"It's short for Eleonore, my first name. The German version, not the American one. Everyone calls me Ella, El, or E. Even my family calls me Nore."

"What's the difference between the German version and the American one?"

Ella took out her phone and opened a new blank text message and typed. She held it up for Bucky to see. On the screen were two names. The first one was what Bucky knew, 'Eleanor'. And the other was one he didn't know. 'Eleonore'.

"How do you say that in German?"

Bucky knew full well how to say it, after all, he knew over a few dozen languages, but he wasn't about to let Ella figure that out quite yet.

"You pronounce every letter. So instead of Eleanor, it's Eleonore."

She pronounced it perfectly. Ell-ee-oh-nor-eh. It was her name after all. It was definitely strange hearing her speak perfect German. Even though he knew she was an immigrant and that it must be her first language. She had absolutely no detectable accent. Bucky would have to get her to speak more in the future. It was kind of sexy.

"Speaking of your family, I thought you said that your family had a bakery in Phoenix. Who has the ranch in Tucson?"

Bucky was brimming with questions. He was determined to get some serious answers tonight. But for now, he was going to start off slow.

"My mom's family owns both. The bakery is owned by my mom, who runs it with my aunt. My uncle bakes and my other uncle is his assistant. My grandmother and grandfather started the bakery back in Germany. We continued it here. They have another sister, the oldest of the siblings. The black sheep of the family. She is the one who owns the ranch."

"If that is just your mother's side of the family, I would hate to hear how complicated your dad's side is. So, a real-life ranch, huh? I've only ever been a city slicker myself."

There was a flash of something across Ella's face, but she masked it before Bucky could get a read on it.

"You have no idea how complicated that side is. Even more so than my mother's side. My aunt owns more than a few dozen acres at the base of the Catalina Mountains outside of Tucson. She broke and trained horses. Mostly for law enforcement. At least she used to, I've heard she's been selling off land to developers as the city is expanding. We build out not up, out west."

"What about the dirt bikes and horses? What was it like growing up on a ranch like that?"

"It was like the quintessential Wild West. Cowboy boots, cowboy hats, and all. Back when I was a kid it was like being in the middle of nowhere. Hell, we were out in the middle of nowhere back then. The wildlife was insane. Snakes, scorpions, tarantulas, coyotes, javelinas, bobcats, and even the occasional mountain lion. The sky went on forever at night, you could see the stars so clearly it was almost like you could reach out and touch the Milky Way."

Bucky was utterly fascinated. He had seen his fair share of Western movies, but this was the real deal.

"My cousin Leroy and I would do our daily chores first thing in the morning, take care of the animals and such, and then we would have the rest of the day to ourselves. We wouldn't come home until it was almost impossible to see anymore. We would rip around the property on old dirt bikes we had fixed up. Or on horseback. We usually spent our time on target practice with my uncle's literal arsenal of guns. That was our favorite pastime. I similarly loved to help train the horses. You haven't lived until you've been thrown from a horse 17 hands high."

"17 hands? What the hell does that mean?"

"It's how you measure horses. Basically, from the ground to its shoulders, or withers. 17 hands is roughly 6 and a half feet. That particular horse was one of the biggest we had at the time. I really shouldn't have been riding him."

Bucky looked at Ella with an expression mix of awe and horror on his face.

"How the hell did you even get onto a horse that tall?"

"I just got on?"

Ella looked confused and amused at Bucky's reaction. Then she smiled and sighed, looking off over Bucky's shoulder. That sad look he had seen back at the coffee shop slipping back into her eyes.

He had to stop it.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really. A lot of fond memories. Those were the best times of my life. Before everything got so damn complicated. Before everything changed." Ella replied in a quiet voice.

Bucky wanted desperately to ask her what she meant, but there was something final about her tone. It was obvious, to him at least, that she did not want to talk about that any further.

Before he would have had a chance to inquire more, she started asking questions of her own.

"So, tell me about Brooklyn. I may have grown up in a city, but it is nothing compared to New York. I am just as far of a cry from a Big City Girl as you are from being a Cowboy."

Bucky considered her question for a moment. He never talked about his past. Any part of it. Even though he had regained most, if not all, of his memories, he still felt uncomfortable talking about any of it. Even the memories from before the war.

He did not know why, but he started telling Ella about his old neighborhood. Leaving out any information that would suggest that the times he was referring to occurred almost a century before.

Bucky told her about growing up on the low end of the socioeconomic scale. The small apartment he grew up in. His mother, father, and even his younger sisters.

He talked about how everything you could ever want or need was within a few blocks of the apartment building he grew up in. This part amazed Ella the most. It was the fact that everyone walked everywhere.

"A car is mandatory in Phoenix. The public transit system sucks. And forget about walking anywhere in the middle of summer when it's 115 degrees outside and the asphalt is literally melting."

Bucky even told her about his best friend. Steve. Before he became the famed and fabled Captain America. He told her stories about a few of their escapades and adventures through the Brooklyn streets and back alleys.

Before he knew it the food arrived. Bucky was shocked with himself at how carried away he had gotten telling Ella about his own childhood. His past, particularly these parts, were something that he avoided talking about. At all costs. Even with his doctors. It was a very sensitive subject. But he found it increasingly easy, and enjoyable, to tell this woman things he had never verbalized to anyone else.

As they both dug into their food Bucky wondered to himself why this was. He considered why he was so open and willing to talk. The answer escaped him. He likewise took into account how damn good the pasta was. Ella had been right, it was phenomenal.

"So, how's the pasta? Was I right or what I right?" Ella asked, biting her lip trying to contain a smile.

"Goddamn, you were so right. I really don't think you could get any better outside of Italy." Bucky exclaimed enthusiastically.

They slipped into a relaxed and contented silence as they ate. Occasionally catching each other's eye. Exchanging small smiles instead of words. After a few coy glances and smiles around spaghetti noodles, Bucky realized something.

Ella was not trying to fill the silence between them with unnecessary conversation. She seemed perfectly content, as did Bucky, with the quiet. This was entirely contrary to most of the people he knew and interacted with.

Everyone nowadays seemed to have some aversion to silence and lack of conversation. No matter how trivial, there was always a need for noise.

When they were both finished with their meals, Ella was the one to break the silence that had fallen over their table.

"What do you miss most about Brooklyn?"

Bucky had to seriously consider this question. With all the time that had passed, he needed a moment to recall specific memories. His first thought was Steve. It would always be Steve. He took a few more minutes to think over his answer before he gave it.

"I miss the baseball games we used to play in the empty lot down the street when we were kids. The corner deli that made the best pastrami sandwiches in Brooklyn. The malt shop a few blocks over that probably isn't there anymore. Best milkshakes I have ever had in my life. Seriously, no one has ever come close, I've tried looking. The sense of community within the neighborhoods. It was like having one big family. Everyone looking out for each other."

The next thought gave Bucky pause. It was heart-wrenching, but when he looked up into Ella's inquiring eyes, the pain subsided.

"And I miss my best friend. I miss pulling him out of trouble and/or the fistfights that ensued. I took so many punches for that kid."

There was a lapse in conversation as a busboy cleared their empty plates. Bucky just looked at Ella who thanked the young man and turned her attention back to Bucky, her eyes soft.

"So, basically you miss the nostalgia and the simplicity of the life you had."

Bucky was not expecting a comment like that.

"I guess you can simplify and deduce that fact. If I am not mistaken, the same can be said about what you miss about Arizona."

Now it was Bucky's turn to wag his finger at Ella.

"Now don't go psychoanalyzing me."

There was another flash in Ella's green eyes that Bucky caught. But, again, it was gone before he could comprehend it.

"Speaking of psychoanalyzing, how is that research paper coming along for you?"

Ella seemed relieved when she answered.

"Oh, I finished that last night and submitted it for review this morning."

"Have you written articles for other publications before?"

"Yeah. I have."

Bucky cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah? How many?"

Bucky saw a tiny bit of red touch Ella's cheeks as she moved her hands from her lap to the table. She looked down at her hands. Her eyes stayed on her hands as she spoke.

"Between half a dozen to a dozen. I don't really keep track."

"That's impressive. How did you get into that kind of work anyway? It seems like one hell of a subject to tackle."

Ella finally looked up at Bucky and met his eyes. Any traces of red in her cheeks was now gone, replaced by a slightly cold determination. She was all business now. Bucky wondered what exactly he was in for and why the sudden change in demeanor.

"I have a lot of experience with it. Both professionally and personally. PTSD is something I am more than familiar with. And that was a major portion of this study. That and I like putting my degrees to good use. I spent enough time and energy on them."

Bucky floundered and almost stuttered, mouth slightly agape.

"Degrees? As in more than one?"

Ella made a slightly pained face. As if talking about it physically hurt.

"Yes. I have two . in psychology. Among other degrees that I am working towards ."

Bucky could only stare at Ella. He didn't know how to respond to something like that. Sam had mentioned higher education, but this was more than that.

Ella looked slightly uncomfortable with his awkward silence.

"I guess now would be the appropriate time to tell you the story about how I joined the Army."