Notes:
TW: mentions of past: injuries, IEDs, explosions, loss of life.
also warning for angst, the kindling is beginning to smoke.
"Miss Sarah, your usual table I presume—" A middle aged man began what seemed a familiar greeting but stopped short when Bucky appeared in the doorway directly behind Stone.
"Yes, thank you," Stone answered lightly and waved for Bucky to follow her.
She led the way to a small circular table in the dimly lit corner, the booth seats were set at a 90 degree angle from each other and gave a view of the diners and the windows to the parking lot outside, two round backed chairs offered seating for additional guests. Stone sat on a booth seat and Bucky paused, his hand on a chair back. It would be odd to sit adjacent and not across, but either of the chairs put his back to the door. She seemed to understand his dilemma and patted the cushioned vinyl of the second bench welcomingly.
A place was nearly empty, the supper rush having long passed and the only other diners were a family with several young children who made a great deal of relatively joyful noise and a young couple who sat in near perfect silence except to giggle and blush at one another over their menus. Bucky felt as though he understood the boy, uncertain how to speak, desperately afraid of the silence growing more awkward as the time passed.
Stone leaned toward him and quietly asked, "are you, okay?"
"Yeah. No, I'm, fine its good," He answered, holding his gloved vibranium fist under the table out of sight.
"It's usually pretty quiet and the food is really good."
"It's fine. Not too loud—" the crash of a plate hitting the floor jolted him into raising his fists against an unexpected enemy and he could see the shift in Stone's expression from apologetic to ice in the instant before they both turned to assess the scene.
The smallest child was crying his apologies to his mother while she wiped the sauce from his chubby arms. The mess was cleaned up and the child soothed in time, but Bucky and Stone still sat somewhat frozen until the waiter approached their table with menus.
"I am very sorry for the delay; can I bring you something to drink?"
Stone accepted the menus and when Bucky failed to answer the waiter's question, she ordered water for both of them. The water arrived before either of them found words to say to break the silence.
"You need more time to decide?" The waiter asked politely, Stone nodded and he retreated to the counter.
"We don't have to stay, if you're uncomfortable," Stone said softly, rubbing the sleeve over her forearm unconsciously.
"I'm not."
"You're not taking off the jacket or gloves, so no, you are not comfortable." She said it mildly, without condescension or condemnation.
Bucky opened his mouth to argue his point but closed it when he looked at her, her left arm was now tucked tight against her belly and she was looking at the table, through it really, and he knew that she knew.
"I'm not a big fan of unfamiliar places. Since I come here often, I thought it'd be alright but I'm guessing you don't get out much either." she looked at him and behind the blank expression her eyes seemed to read his.
"I'm… I'm working on it, Doc says its about small exposures over time, that it'll get easier." Bucky sighed and settled back against the booths thin cushions to look over the menu feeling like a weight had shifted. He'd managed to actually say what he'd been thinking, the room was quieting as the family with children paid their bill and he was actually able to see the menu in front of him.
Stone seemed to be considering him, his words, but he felt the intensity of her eyes landing on his gloved hands. "Coming this far counts as a small exposure, don't you think?" she said after some time and waved the waiter over greeting him by name, "can we order to go?"
"Of course, Miss Sarah, will you be having the lamb vindaloo tonight?" he smiled when she nodded and jotted on his pad, "extra spicy with extra sauce of course, and for your friend, what will you have Sir?"
Bucky resolved to make one more effort, the Doc would tell him to end on a good note if at all possible, so it wouldn't reinforce the anxiety. "What would you recommend?"
The waiter brightened instantly and Bucky nodded along as he was walked through several items on the menu.
Food secured in the storage compartment of the bike, Bucky asked to confirm their destination, "back to the gym?"
Stone considered it for a second, tilting her head and then answered, "I've got a better idea." She showed him a map on her phone, their current location marked in blue, the streets back to the gym and just past it a red marker. The ride was easy with minimal traffic and Bucky, instead of thinking about bike safety and the strangeness of having Stone at his back, spent the ride wondering where they were going. Her place? That made the most sense but it also brought with it a new source of worry. He hated small, enclosed spaces, hated feeling like he was too big to be allowed in, like a bull in a China-shop afraid to turn and send a thousand fragile things falling to shatter on the ground, hated feeling like there wasn't enough air to breathe.
He pulled in and parked next to the familiar jeep.
The building was three stories, a laundromat and a bakery occupied the main level, the second floor boasted several doors with business names engraved on small plaques, an accounting office, a family lawyer, and another he couldn't guess the function of. The doors on the third level had numbers just below the peepholes, but Stone didn't stop at any of those doors either, leading the way around the last corner of the covered exterior hallway to find another set of stairs, but these ones were steel and much steeper than the previous. The top step led to another door with a sign that read 'authorized access only', Stone opened it with a key and Bucky followed her through to the rooftop.
"It's not much but, there are no eyes up here." Stone said, setting the takeout bags beside a low table.
The space was set up like an oversized balcony, spanning a third of the rooftop where it met another raised level accessed by a ladder for maintenance. The perimeter secured by a half wall, stuccoed and stained by rainfall, blocking the view of the other lower buildings in the vicinity. Sheltered in one corner by the half wall and the 10 foot wall was the table, and side by side, an outdoor lounge chair that had seen better days, and a seat that looked like it came from a semi; this last had a plastic cover on it and water lay still beaded up in the creases from last night's rain.
Stone pulled a towel out from beneath the seat and dried it off, gesturing for him to sit while she cleared the remaining space for herself, settling cross legged on the ground and leaning against the edge of the lounge chair near him. She passed him his food in silence and after closing her eyes for several long moments, pulled her dish to the edge of the table nearest her and rolled up her sleeves before tearing off a piece of naan and scooping a generous portion into her mouth.
"Thanks." Bucky said slowly, shrugging out of his jacket and copying her technique. It wasn't his first experience with Indian food of course, but it was somehow more freeing here. No judgement and all the time and space in the world to accommodate himself to the method. It was more freeing and less messy too, something he hadn't expected to be true.
"How is it?" She asked after some time had passed.
"It's great, spicy, but very good," Bucky managed after swallowing a little too rapidly, he hadn't expected a question and the food was still steaming, warming down his throat as he gulped air.
"Didn't expect you to have a low spice tolerance," she laughed, then suddenly rising, she faced him, "drinks, water, beer? I don't have soda but there's a convenience store down the block…"
"Water or beer is fine," Bucky said trying for a smile and finding it less stiff and awkward than before.
She swiveled on her heels and jogged for the exit, returning a minute later with a box, there were 4 cans left in it but she'd stuffed two 'Stone's gym' branded water bottles in the top. "It's filtered, I didn't have any sealed bottles." She shrugged apologetically, "I can't help but hate the way distilled water tastes."
This time Bucky smiled and it wasn't an effort, "I know what you mean. Granted the water we drank in the 40s wasn't much better."
"Lead?" Stone asked. Bucky shrugged and went back to chewing as she talked about how her Nan's house that had been built in 1923 and how she'd replaced all her pipes once she saw an article in the newspaper about the effects of lead poisoning in young children, "she knocked on all the neighbor's doors for weeks until everyone agreed to get the work done, she said she couldn't sleep thinking about all those kids getting sick. Cost a pretty penny, but they got a deal if the whole street went in on it together."
Bucky made a noise of assent and cleaned the last of the sauce from his bowl with the remaining bit of naan. It was as delicious as the waiter had promised and he drained his water bottle to take the edge off the fire in his mouth, grateful to find it cool and sweet and clean to taste. The portions were large and Stone was slowing down about half way through her mountain of rice, taking her time chewing and seeming to fully enjoy every bite, swaying from side to side slightly as though she couldn't possibly stay still. She hummed softly.
It was as unguarded as he'd seen her, except for those moments when alcohol or exhaustion had lowered her inhibitions, but this was her alive, alight. She closed the container carefully and cracked open a can, holding it out to him with her left hand. She hesitated as his fingers grasped it, squinting at him before letting go and retrieving a second for herself.
"Your prosthetic. Forgive me, I didn't realize you wouldn't be comfortable with it out in public." She let the words hang in the air, leaning against the edge of the lounge chair beside him, both of them facing the same way. In his periphery he could see her running her fingers absently over her scars. The sun had set and what light remained was the warm yellow of the street lights and a set of solar powered lanterns that illuminated the corners of the roof. The moon crept out from the behind the cloud that had obscured it and reflected blue against the black of her hair. "You never hid it from me, so it didn't cross my mind, but then, when you and Sam took me to the diner… you wore gloves then too, didn't you?"
Bucky nodded, then realizing she wouldn't see it, murmured a soft "yeah."
"I forgot." Her clothes rustled softly as she uncrossed her legs and shifted to lean on the softer foot of the lounge chair mere inches from where he sat. "Do you ever go out without it, or do you always wear the glove?"
"I, haven't," Bucky paused, thinking it over, "I could, but the bike is more comfortable with both arms, and… I think I'd prefer wearing gloves."
"Less conspicuous." Her tone was cool but interested, and then it shifted when she raised her arm toward him so the moonlight illuminated the ridges of twisted silver flesh, "you never asked… I thought you would."
"You keep it covered," Bucky stated simply.
"You've seen it a few times now, more than most." She let it rest on her knee, tracing the shapes with the tips of her fingers. "I don't like the way people look at me when they see it. Like I'm broken."
Bucky flexed his vibranium fingers and huffed at that.
"You don't though," she turned to look at him, "you don't look at me like I'm something to be pitied."
"You don't need my pity and I'm in no position to offer any." Bucky heard the words trip off his tongue before he'd fully vetted them, but there was no lie in it and he nodded to further affirm the sentiment. She nodded too and as they faced the moon together, he found breathing came easier, and so did words, honest and blunt flowed like a river released into its natural course. "The history books are kinder than the truth. Just a few simple lines to tell how my sister received the news that I was MIA, presumed dead and the lengths Steve went to to stop hydra before he went into the ice.
"The distance I fell, shouldn't have been survivable, but hydra had already pumped me full of the first stages of their version of the serum, so my senses were heightened and healing factors were active but nothing I could have named when I woke in the snow." Stone had gone still and he could feel the warmth of her shoulder an inch from his knee, but now that he'd begun, it wasn't so easy to stop. "It was so cold, everything so cold and numb I couldn't move, when the hydra soldiers found me, I couldn't resist. They dragged me back, and that's when I realized my left arm felt different, I was burning with cold but everything from the shoulder down was hot, I thought it was on fire until... When I woke up the second time I was on the table and they'd cut and stitched it together but I could still feel my fingers burning.
"The cold kept me alive, and that's why they decided on cryofreezing to 'keep' me. Even after they attached the arm, my fingers were still burning, it's the last thing I would feel before I went under, and the first sensation that returned when they thawed me out again."
Stone had tilted her head to look at his vibranium hand and he flexed the fingers instinctually, to feel the movement of air over the sensory membrane. "Does it still burn?"
"Not often. This one senses temperature." He had asked Shuri for that feature specifically but hadn't explained his reasoning. The moment the new arm had connected with his nervous system the burning changed, not gone completely, but when he could feel cool air on the 'skin' it stopped. Wearing the gloves brought the burning back but he chose to suffer that heat rather than feel the condemnation of stranger's eyes recognizing the Winter Soldier.
Her interest was calm but evident, she even leaned forward and seemed about to reach out and touch the gleaming knuckles but stopped herself. "Full sensory input? So, you can scratch the phantom itches?"
He almost spat out a mouthful of beer, "Yeah, you know about those?"
"I had- have a few friends who've lost limbs. Phantom pain is cruel but I've heard the itches you can't possibly scratch can drive people mad."
"That was why Hydra went to the trouble of making the Winter Soldier arm from vibranium. Every earlier prototype was damaged, as hard as they tried, the instinct to scratch couldn't be overwritten."
Stars shone dimly behind the brilliant light of the moon and the glow of streetlights below and like the night, silence fell. Slow and comfortable, breathing in the crisp clean air. Bucky could feel his heart beat settling, calm- like a blanket laid across his chest, stomach satiated and a sense of rising courage to speak again if the opportunity arose. Stone swayed from side to side again, as though it was necessary to process both food and thoughts with motion, and he waited for her and held his breath each time her shoulder nearly brushed his knee.
She stopped moving and raised her arm momentarily, "it didn't hurt at first, I didn't even realize I was injured until the adrenaline wore off."
She had spoken quietly but clearly and Bucky risked asking, "what happened?" grateful when she resumed.
"We were on a mission; our target was ambushed at the top of a four story building. Was supposed to be a simple recovery, waited 36 hours for the area to be reconned, it seemed to be clear and we couldn't afford to wait longer so they gave us a couple extra guys and we went in…" she cleared her throat and it took a minute for her to continue, this time sounding less like she was giving a briefing, "they were supposed to watch our backs but… well, our first extraction point was too risky once we'd secured the body, dust storm was kicking up and obscuring our view, plan b was the second stairwell, Buddy and I were descending, we had the rest of our guys split covering the front and back door and two watching our six, and then we tripped over the IED.
"whether it had been left for us or not, well, didn't really matter when the stairs blew out from under our feet three floors up. Buddy was at the bottom of the stretcher when he hit the trip wire so he got the worst of it but he was still… still hanging on to the thing, but it was too heavy, I couldn't hold both of them." Stone stopped speaking, her breaths coming fast and ragged.
The sound brought a lump to Bucky's own throat and he wished words existed that could comfort such a pain, knowing it was futile. Still, when she shifted her position again he took the chance to bump his knee against her shoulder, surprised but not displeased when she stilled and leaned into it. Usually, the feeling of physical touch made his skin crawl, the want eating itself in his gut while the terrible itch of discomfort and guilt screamed under his skin, but it didn't hurt when he felt the warm pressure of it this time. Maybe it was the darkness, the smallness of it, the layers of clothing, or perhaps the way her breathing evened, maybe it was all of that, but it seemed enough. Enough to feel that he gave comfort, even as his own body ached to receive it. Perhaps she was the same, feeling that anything more than that single point of contact would overwhelm all rational thought and destroy sanity but that anything less would leave him untethered drifting through space isolated and doomed. Perhaps, he was not so alone.
The wind shifted, blowing cold in their faces and he suppressed a shiver at the sudden chill, unwilling to move lest she revoke that warm shoulder. She sighed and pressed her lips together and he understood that was all she had left in her to say, and so he stayed, frozen in the moment, the touch. That one anchor of warmth tethering himself to her. It was not enough and altogether too much and as long as it lasted it ached in his chest. It ached still more when she finally moved away, rising to her feet in a single smooth motion and gathering what remained of their meal.
"It's getting cold," Stone said. She once again led the way down the stairs, stopping in front of the door with a number plate reading 3B, opening her mouth, closing it again.
It was awkward enough with all of Tony's talk on 'date' etiquette repeating in Bucky's head, and her additional hesitation made his decision. "I should be going."
"Alright… well then, Bucky," she smiled, "thank you for tonight."
"Maybe…" he was the one to hesitate this time, "maybe we can try eating out again sometime?"
"I would like that," she answers, putting a key in the lock.
"Uh, Stone-" he began, cutting himself off at the strange way it sounded out loud. It had always seemed much more natural inside his head.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks," he blurted too quickly. He wanted to say more. Thanks for dinner, for telling him her story, for treating him like a human being, and more; thank you for being alive, thank you for not giving up. But it lodged in his throat and all he could manage was repetition, "thank you."
"You are very welcome." Stone was standing half inside her door now and he backed away until the exterior railing stopped him, the ache rising again and the urge to reach out and feel the warmth of her shoulder again itching at his palms. "And Bucky?" He looked back at her and she smiled warmly, "you can call me Sarah."
The door closed and he was left to recount every moment of the evening on his ride home. Every misstep, every failure to speak and uncomfortable uncertainty was crushed under the weight of that smile and the warmth of a single touch.
It was enough.
And though the boys would no doubt tease him to kingdom come,
he was glad he'd gone.
Notes:
Please, I'm dying to hear your thoughts on this progress!
