Chapter 16

The sun slowly begins to cream into the sky. The dye of reds and oranges are smeared, soon becoming one color, but never fully mixed in.

I sip my juice. The wine glass it's in makes me feel so luxurious, although Bucky is the only one drinking wine.

"I've always wanted to go to Paris," I sigh.

Bucky looks over at me, his eyes dazzling. "You'll love it."

We look back at the sun.

"What's your favorite color?" He asks suddenly, his voice searching for something urgently.

"Uh, blue, why?" With the sunrise slowly dominating the waters it seems like such a small question.

Bucky reaches over and takes my hand. His eyes probe mine, trying to push his soul into my skull, invade and touch everything with his scent. "I don't know enough about you, Ella. I feel like I've known you all my life, but I don't even know what your favorite color is."

"You know the important stuff, though."

"Maybe, but I want to know more."

I settle into my seat, feeling a blush rise into my cheeks. I look out over the sun, trying to find a color that must match the shade of my face, as a distraction. "Well, what do you want to know? I love talking about myself, so fire away."

I'm nothing if not honest.

"What's your favorite childhood memory?"

Flashes of vibrant greens fill my mind, a dull red, and fading grey. I sigh. "Our playhouse on a spring day. The neighbors would come, and my sister and I would play with them, pretending to have a restaurant. We would cook 'chicken', tree bark, and 'jam', poisonous to eat red berries mashed up."

"Just my childhood in general was incredible. I was blessed with a great family." I grin over at Bucky. He is one of the only things that make me as happy as the memories of my childhood.

He smiles right back. "Ah, I see. Some of your best memories are with food. Why am I not surprised?"

Bucky winks, his cheeks becoming round when his lips turn into a grin. I immediately want to kiss him, but he's too far away. I climb out of my seat, and go to his, sitting on his lap.

"If they did, then I might not be able to sit in your lap like this."

We both laugh. "I'm glad they don't all involve food then, because it would be terrible to miss this."

Slowly, barely a whisper, his fingers gently trace my mouth. His pupils are dark pits; his lips just barely skim mine. Quickly, we are caught up together. I feel two hands press against my back, but think nothing of it, to consumed in the tender embrace. Until a hard hand is digging into my skin, and it's like i can feel the slow breaking of bone.

"Oh!" I cry out, clutching at my back, and putting one hand over my mouth.

"What, what happened?!" Bucky shouts urgently, much louder than necessary. His hair is ruffled.

"Nothing," I say swiftly. "I think your metal just made a bruise on my back."

"Let me see."

"No, it's fine." And I mean it. It hurt, but Bucky doesn't have as much control over his new arm.

"Turn around Ella," Bucky demands darkly.

It shocks me, and I unthinkingly twist my torso so that the small area between my shoulder blades is visible.

Bucky's rough, but warm, fingers trace slowly down my spine. "D*mn it," He mutters.

I honestly don't care but Bucky's eyes are soaking with pain. I don't want him to be triggered, especially not by me. Galaxy's of regret lie deep in his brain. I want to form a black hole, and churn that guilt into myself, grabbing particles of hurting space until there are no more. But now I have become the meteor.

"Why did you wear the arm, Bucky?" I whisper. I know saying I'm fine! I'm not hurt, I promise!, will not do the trick.

"I thought… I thought that it…" Bucky can't tear his eyes from my back, where he is tracing his human fingers over the sour bruise that now barely peeking through the membrane of my skin.

My head is now leaning on his chest, my legs thrown behind the chair around his waist, and my back exposed to the sun. The sea breeze drifts by. Comatose creeps into my nose, through my veins to be pumped around my body. But instead of sleep being pumped into my blood, red and bursting and oxygenated cells of love float through.

"I wanted to be normal for you," He whispers.

"Everyone wants be normal, but everyone wants to be different. Bucky," I stand up, pulling him by the hand to the railing of the veranda, "I don't care if you're missing an arm. The same as I don't care if the ocean dried up, or the sun stopped rising, because I know that something better is beneath all of this. Beneath your skin, is someone who has more depth and hardships then so many, but beats themselves up because the couldn't control them."

"The sun can't control it's beauty; how people perceive it. You can't control what I see in you, and that's all I see: beauty," I finish.

I look away, our hands still locked. The ocean simmers, the sun boils within it, and it's beams are thrown around.

My view is suddenly cut off by a warm palm. The sun still seeps through the flesh, turning it ablaze in red. I look up and Bucky's eyebrows are pulled together, his lips near mine.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

The ocean can dry up, the clouds can forever cover the sun. Bucky can stop loving me, and I can stop loving him. Everyone falls out of love, at least for a while. But there is a commitment that all things hold; we can't simply abandon what we were made to do. The sun will rise again. The ocean will keep beating against the shore. Bucky and I will forever fall back into each other's arms, the love that we were made to give, forever being received by the other.

/

Step after step after step. Person after person after person. Hat, flip-flop, camera, flash, laugh.

Life weaves between us. Wanda walks behind me again, Bucky by my side. The concret folds, and refolds again into more steps, until it looks like they are constantly revolving like an escalator. Tourist pass, cut by the metal structure of the Eiffel Tower into tiny fragments of flesh; souls torn by their appearance, and who they really are.

We finally make it to the second landing. Paris is a painting before us, spilled out onto neverending blue. Bucky pushes by all the people, and then there it is. Just a block of concrete. Just a piece of history carved and recarved by feet. Until, a metal memorial was stamped into it.

In loving memory of Francis Smith (1980-2005). "When a great man dies, for years the light he leaves behind him, lies on the path of men."

"Twenty five," Wanda whispers.

Bucky doesn't respond. He looks up to the next landings. That must have been where he... Did it.

White shakes near me, and I realize I've been clenching the flowers in a shaking hand. The ends are brown now. I pass them to Bucky without a word, although he catches my eyes. His face is tender.

It disarms me. I was supposed to be comforting him.

Bucky gently lays the flowers on the spirit marker. He gently presses a hand onto it, looks around again, then stands. When Bucky turns back, the glass has been flipped; Bucky immediately hugs me, while I stand there shaking. My reflection is clear in his gaze.

We leave. Before I can process anything, I'm seated behind a table, a napkin on my lap, and the scene ever changing before me as the sun sets once more. This time a city encloses us, traps us in the traffic of reality that is dressed like a dream. I look down only when the smell something sweet. Dessert. Dessert already.

I look at Bucky questionably. He is staring right back at me, his eyebrows raised. Suddenly I realize what I'm eating, and the sweet shocks me, twisting my taste buds around. I begin gulfing it down.

Wanda looks up from where she is eating her's delicately, and shares a look with Bucky. I pretend I don't see it.

The waiter comes up, and he asks in French, "Avez-vous terminé vos repas?"

"Oui merci," Bucky responds. I snort under my breath.

Of course he knows French. Then another wave of shakes overcome me and I can't lift my fork. There is a reason why he had to learn this language.

Bucky pulls out my chair for me, and we go down the poignant elevator in silence. I'm almost surprised when a rush of air does not flow out when the door opens; a release of pressure from all the tension.

Bumps raise on my arm, and it's only then that I realize it's cold. Bucky drapes his blazer over me, leaving on his fancy shirt. Wanda looks back, and then she nods at Bucky, who also must have nodded.

"Where is she going?" I ask.

"There's a bookstore near here she wants to look in. She'll be fine."

The pavement is like a puzzle before us. A warm light draws us near a small band playing music. Bucky loops an arm around my waist delicately, and pulls me in with the other couples dancing.

The music chills in the air, and condenses, falling around us. I fold my head onto Bucky's chest. His heart pulses steadily.

"What is it, Ella?" Bucky asks softly.

I sigh into his chest. This is so ridiculous. "I'm sorry, it's-"

"Don't apologize. You don't need to do that for me."

I look up. "I just feel like there is more we need to do, more we can give." Bucky understands who I'm talking about. Francis Smith. "And.. I mean this is just an awful thought…"

"Just say it," Bucky says softly into my ear. My stomach hovers, dissolving into butterflies whose flaps dance and tickle like feathers.

"I feel like I'm being selfish," My breath hushes the music, it boils, evaporating again so that I can't hear it. "Like, I'm taking all your energy and time, your… your… Healing that should come from this! You didn't look sad up there, and I'm not saying you should, but," My voice is becoming rushed, the music scatterers more. Bits of it must have scattered to the plaza at this point.

"You think I'm not healing the right way?" It's not an accusation. Just a question.

"I've never been in love with the patient before," I say awkwardly.

We both chuckle.

"I'm glad," Bucky adds, still smiling.

"Love from the family, from victims, from bullies, whatever the case, is really instrumental in someone's healing. And it's becoming more real now, this relationship," I suck in a breath, "And I'm not sure if that's what is best for you. I don't want to be a… a distraction."

"Ella, I don't have any real family left. Steve is the closest thing I got. Besides you." He smiles.

"I don't really think love is a distraction," Bucky says thoughtfully, looking past me to the other couples. "I think it's getting rid of my demons. I think you are helping with that. Obviously, not all of it, but more than I could ever thank you for."

Slowly, we stop dancing and stand there. The music starts falling again, until it's beating down in a crescendo inside my ears. Bucky leans down and suddenly all I can hear is my heart bouncing around the song; the song low and mellow, my heart on fire with sporadic energy. His lips melt onto mine.

Then suddenly we are dancing again, but I can't feel my feet moving. The nighttime is soft around us. Bucky is the only thing I can see, though. The only thing I ever want to see. The couples, the Eiffel Tower, not anything in the world can compare to this soul that moves next to mine.

/

"This one looks interesting. I can imagine. I can't read French."

Wanda laughs and reaches out to take the book from my hands.

"It's Shakespeare: Romeo and Juliet."

I see the longing look in her eyes. I look around the small and cozy book store and see nobody near us. Bucky went back to the hotel to go to bed. He has to wake up early so he can meet Tadike, who is dropping off more money: carrying a large amount would be too suspicious for us, and we can't use cards.

"Do you think you have found your Romeo?" I ask, casually scanning the bookshelves, even though I have no idea what I'm looking at.

Wanda looks disconcerted for a moment, but hastily recovers and laughs softly, "Well, when you put it that way…"

"I regretted my phrasing as soon as it left I mouth," I say dryly. "But still! Did nobody at the compound catch your eye?" I wink at her.

"Uh, not really…" Wanda drifts off. Her words are absorbed by the books. Candle's are sprinkled around the shop. The shadows cut her face into planes, each flashing a different, specific emotion that I can't piece into a whole.

"Not really?"

"Well," She sighs sharply, hopelessly giving up her privacy to me, "I don't know how I feel." Her heavy Sokovian accent marks the words strangely, but I sense frustration.

"Steve is such a kind man to me, but I don't know if it is love, or just brotherly affection. I think of him as a brother… Not that anyone could replace Pietro, but Steve does a good job anyway." Wanda smiles faintly, her straight teeth peeking white in the low light.

"Ah, I thought it may be true."

"You did?"

"Well, I mean, y'all seemed pretty close, and Steve's a great guy-"

"Yes, he is!" She cuts me off. "But like I said, my emotions have been so disoriented that I just don't know. I don't feel I need to rush though."

"The perfect guy will come one day," I agree.

"My Bucky will come one day," She jokes, her smile consuming more of her face.

I laugh, but then something catches my eye. A bright flash of light, so quick, but blinding. Wanda is back to browsing the romance section. But my mind stutters.

A camera flash. A camera. Taking pictures. Of us.

"I, um, I need to check something," I say to Wanda, running into the corner of the a bookshelf as I fumble to the door.

"Is everything alright?" Wanda asks, eyebrows creased in concern.

"Yeah, yeah," I casually run into the door with a loud thud, even loud enough for the owner to look up annoyed from his seat, "I'm fine, just need some air. I think the pasta messed with my stomach."

The ethereal night engulfs me, and I immediately look around frantically. Nobody is in sight. There is a small alley to the side of the shop, completely dark. The only light comes from a lamppost about a hundred feet away.

I walk into the alley, but I don't see anyone. A dumpster with cardboard boxes laying on their side are the only inhabitants of the space. Through the light night, I see a street on the other side.

Abruptly, my wrists are grasped tightly, and pinned against the brick wall of the store. A scream frantically tries to run out of my mouth, but is stopped by the stomp of a hand over my lips. A man with pale blue eyes looks over me crazily, ravishing my body, while his gloved and grimy hands pin me down. Red hair peeks from under his black, hole filled hat.

"Ah, what are you doing out here so late at night, girly?" His accent is Irish.

My heart is pounding, and I can't breath. But I weeze a scream as hard as I can. It only comes out through it's muffler as pant, though. I'm trapped. I'm trapped.

The man puts my wrists into one hand, and I try to push away so hard I almost disjoint my shoulders. He grabs me back, and slams me hard. A whimper escapes my lips that are briefly left untouched.

"Scream and you will regret it," He says harshly.

With a hand holding me down, his body crushing me against the wall, the other hand slowly trailed up my thigh, around my hips.

BUCKY! My mind screeches. But my lips won't move. They are paralysed like the rest of my body. HELP ME!

As both of our breaths begin running faster for very different reasons, a red wisp flows around the man's head. We both stare at it, mesmerized, until it flows down to his hand, which was curled around my pants' waist.

The man's hand is jerked into the air, and his body flows with it.

"AY, HELP ME!" His eyes are like large bowls of punch: red and milky with terror.

Wanda's arms contort and twist. The man shoots all the way across the alley, cradled in flowing red. The other street lights up with a thud, a white light flashes, and before I have time to register anything else, I being pulled away from the scene full of the nightmare colors of night.

/