A/N: Double update, so please go back if you missed Three.
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Four
Sarah is convinced this is a terrible idea.
She's spent the last three years keeping out of sight, so going to lunch with the sad library patron she likes to think of as her friend who also knows the Tony Stark is a monumentally stupid idea. Everything she's worked so hard for could come toppling down in an instant with one wrong move; one mistake and she would be at the mercy of the man once known as The Merchant of Death.
Maybe that's a little harsh. If there's anything she's learned from her neighbour's near constant rambling, it is that Tony Stark has worked hard to become a better man in recent years.
Doesn't make him any less scary though.
Sarah sighs, and kicks at the grass under her boots. She wishes she wasn't such a bleeding heart. What was she supposed to do though? Cliff sounded so pathetically lonely in his text, she just couldn't find it within her to say no.
Then he asked to bring a friend and she couldn't think of a good way to say no way in hell, Satan. She gnaws on her thumbnail, what if the friend is Tony Stark? What would she do?
Wong hadn't returned from Kamar-Taj last night - suspicious in itself - so she hasn't been able to ask him for any advice. Maybe it is better that he hasn't come back, Sarah is a grown woman, she can handle this. She just has to smile and be friendly and everything would. Be. Fine.
"Sarah!"
She turns at the sound of her name, instantly spotting Cliff trotting towards her across the park grass. A smaller figure follows behind him, and Sarah holds her breath, waiting for the infamous smirk of one Tony Stark to appear over Cliff's shoulders. Only it doesn't. A diminutive woman appears instead, with a stoic, if slightly nervous expression.
The tension leaks out of Sarah in an instant, thank god. It is a woman, a normal, if slightly wary, woman.
Cliff crosses the last few feet with a curious expression on his face, "What's up with you?"
"You brought a woman," she breathes joyously, beaming at her friend.
The woman in question blinks as Cliff nods slowly, "Uh, yes."
"Not Tony Stark!"
"Uhm, no, not Tony Stark-" his brow furrows. "Wait a minute, how do you know about Tony?"
Sarah stares up at him wide-eyed, "You call him Tony."
"Not the point."
"I saw you with him outside the library yesterday," Sarah explains. "I thought he might be the friend you were bringing today, instead you have brought this goddess."
Cliff glances between Sarah and the woman, who is now smirking, "Oh god, this was a mistake, wasn't it?"
"Hello," the woman says, holding out a delicate hand, "I'm Nat."
Sarah grasps her hand and pulls her into a quick hug, "Thank god, you're not Tony Stark."
"What have you got against Tony?"
Sarah glares at Cliff over the woman - Nat's shoulder, "He's a billionaire genius, who could probably out maths me with one word. He's intimidating."
"You're weird," Nat says from Sarah's shoulder.
"Thanks!" Sarah chirps, finally releasing her. "I'm Sarah, by the way."
"It's nice to finally meet you, Sarah," Nat smiles, and it reaches her eyes causing them to crinkle in the corners. Sarah's chest warms at the sight; she's not sure why, but for some reason she feels like this true smile of Nat's is a rare occurrence, a gift to be treasured. "Cliff talks about you all the time, almost as much as he does his wife."
Sarah beams at him, starting the man back a few paces, "You do?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Oh Cliff, I didn't know you cared so much!" She pulls him into a tight hug, squeezing him tightly.
"Yeah, yeah, gerroff," his grip is tight as he removes her but she can see the soft look on his face as he does.
"Oh don't be such a sourpuss," Sarah grins.
"I shoulda known introducing the two of you would be a bad idea," he runs a hand through his hair, before eying her. "You said something about the best coffee I've ever tasted in my life?"
"Oh! Right this way, my friends," she gestures down the park path they just crossed. Cliff falls into step beside her, Nat a half-beat behind them. Sarah eyes the new woman with open curiosity; she's beautiful there's no denying that, but there's something almost…lethal about her, like she's used to wielding that beauty as a weapon. Maybe it's the way she holds herself, like she's trying hard to make herself as small and harmless as possible.
It reminds her distantly of one of her favourite sergeants. William Howard was a beefy broad man who dominated every space he walked into, exuding raw power as naturally as some of others exuded cocky arrogance, but he'd been an absolute sweetheart and the biggest softy of them all. She loved talking with him, the man had a surprising amount of knowledge about Jane Austen, but a few of the other nurses had been scared out of their wits at the sight of him.
"So, how'd you guys meet?"
"At work," Cliff smirks down at Nat, "I guess who could say I headhunted her from her old role."
"You must be really good at IT," Sarah says.
"Something like that," Nat smiles. "How long have you been in the US for?"
"What gave me away?" She snorts, "Was it the accent?"
"You hold yourself differently."
Sarah turns to look at Nat. The other woman smiles at her, lips closed tightly over her teeth like a tiger sheathing its claws, "You smile a lot…it's nice."
"Uh," Sarah scratches the back of her head, "thanks, I guess?"
She briefly wonders if it's the decades of early 20th century etiquette her mother drilled into her or her desperation to create happiness out of every situation after years of isolation and grief. She would like to believe it was the former, but Sarah knows better than anyone what grief can do to someone.
Her gaze drifts. The sun warms her skin. She's still not quite used to baring all this skin in public, what with how strict her own mother had been, but Sarah can't deny how good it feels to have the sunlight caressing her skin. If she were to close her eyes, she could almost pretend, just for a moment, she is basking in the Italian sunshine and the tang of iron and copper hangs heavily on her tongue, the scent of gunpowder on the soft breeze, and any minute now he's going to call for her.
"Sarah."
"Sarah!"
She blinks. Cliff is standing in front of her with a cocked eyebrow, "Are you alright?"
Oh. They've stopped, the little coffee van she frequents on the occasional weekend sits a few steps away.
"I…yeah, sorry!" She laughs, her fingers brushing against the cool metal that lies against her chest. "I completely zoned out there."
The other two share a quick glance, communicating in a series of facial expressions she hasn't seen since she watched Buc-
She stops, letting out a shaky exhale and forcing a smile across her face, "Come on, you two. I have a reputation to uphold."
Nat cocks a single eyebrow, "Reputation?"
Sarah's brows jump to her hairline as she inhales freshly cut grass, wiping away the lingering taste of gunpowder and soap, "You didn't mention the reputation?"
Cliff just sighs, "Somehow, through some sort of black magic, Sarah knows all the good spots."
"It's not black magic," Sarah snorts. "It's just intuition." And a dead man's soft whispers on an Italian breeze.
"Yeah, yeah, so you say," Cliff narrows his eyes playfully. "I'm not so convinced."
"Come on," Sarah rolls her eyes. "And you better not order one of those coffee milkshake monstrosities you favour so much. This is good coffee, Cliff. It deserves to be treated as such."
"It's called a frappuccino," he retorts. "Just because you have terrible taste."
Sarah shudders at the memory of the too sweet, cream-packed drink he forced her to drink once, "I don't want to know what you think is good taste."
Cliff scowls, leading Nat on towards the coffee truck. Sarah lingers a step or so behind them, her gaze already moving to the scenic view of the Brooklyn riverfront. The sun beats down on the river, light scattering across the trembling water like a thousand shattered stars. She inhales the stillness, the scent of the river and the park around her, focuses on the warm sunlight against her skin, lingering on the sound of his laughter across the sun-dappled Italian fields.
"You know, this almost reminds me of home."
"The gunpowder, the noise or the near constant smoke in the air?"
He shakes his head, "The sunlight."
"I didn't know Bucky Barnes had it in him to be so poetic."
"That's Sergeant Bucky Barnes to you."
"Are you sure you don't need your head checked?"
"Just reminds me of this view I know. On the riverfront near the Bridge, sometimes, if you go at the right time of day, the light bounces off the river like…like stars."
"And what, this field looks similar?"
He shrugs and then his smile turns sharper, "I think it's the light. Or maybe it's you, doll."
"Charmer."
"Nah, if I was a charmer, I woulda said one day I'll take you to see that view, doll."
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Sergeant."
It took her a while to find it, the view that would show light refracting off the water the same way it bounced down on those plains all those years ago. Of course, she can't be sure, not for definite, but once she found this spot she understood what it was he was trying to say.
The first time she saw it she cried. The second time she vowed to keep moving forward, for him, for the dreams they wanted to share after the war.
"Sarah!" Cliff shouts back at her with a quick wave, pulling her attention from the water. She smiles, starts to move towards her new friends with purpose.
Sarah exhales and, for now, lets Sergeant Bucky Barnes go.