This Is Stella's Reality

October 1, 2014

Bucky's fingers drummed on my knee as my car flew down a New York highway. He was humming a song that played gently over the radio, one hand on the wheel, smiling along to the lyrics. Summer had passed us by. October was beginning and orange leaves dotted the horizon.

There was a cool breeze in the air. I loved autumn, dreaded the winter that followed. We had taken a trip to Central Park, basking in the yellow leaves that fell to the ground. There was a picnic, walking around fountains, sitting under trees, it was lovely.

I turned to Bucky; he looked handsome today. He had cut his hair, tired of its length. It wasn't very short, curls still hung around his ears, but it made him look so charming. He was wearing sunglasses, the sun glaring through the windshield. My eyes were caught on his hands. The one that drummed on my knee. It was adorned with a few silver rings. I didn't know where he had gotten them, but I was mesmerized with the way they glittered in the sun. He had a black jacket, white shirt, jeans, jewelry, and I thought about his youth.

Bucky, young, attractive, funny and flirty. He sat now beside me, a bit older, traumatized, but he was still the same charming man as he had been in the 1940s.

His eyes turned to mine quickly, mouthing the lyrics to the song, and still tapping on my knee. My end and my beginning. There was a smile on his face and butterflies in my chest.

The song faded away, and Bucky turned the volume off of the radio. "What do you want to do when we get home, doll?"

I scowled, "I still have to train today." Fury was, well, furious that I had gotten injured on the last mission. Two weeks of daily mandatory training. I had almost fulfilled the requirement were left. Only today and tomorrow were left.

Bucky hummed, "Ah, I keep forgetting." He glanced at me, "Want me to join you?"

I breathed, my chest filled with electricity. We never trained when we trained. I bit my lip, looking out the window, "Sure, but only if we actually get work done."

"Oh, of course, doll," he laughed as we approached the compound. Of course.

The evening light streamed down through the training room. We were alone, our footsteps echoing on the hard floors. Bucky punched in the code to the weapons closet, disappearing inside. I was afraid he would return with knives. My body tingled again.

I paced the floors, deciding to float balls of blue magic through the air like dancing bubbles. Bucky was taking his time and as time passed, anxiety blossomed in my chest.

He eventually emerged with a few throwing knives, butterfly knives, and hand wraps. He flipped the fan blade between his fingers, letting it fall and twirl around his large hand. I was mesmerized. The rings on his fingers twinkled when the sun struck them, like silver halos around his fingers.

Bucky stalked towards me, a smirk on his face, "Let's get to work, doll."

My face burned in anticipation. He handed me a throwing knife, "May I?" He was motioning to my stance. I nodded, allowing his hands to adjust the angle of my shoulders and hips. My feet were kicked apart, chest realigned. The knife was awkward in my hand.

"Eyes on the target, doll," his voice ghosted across my cheek as he moved to stand behind me. My breaths were shallow and shaky. I aimed at the target, flicking the knife with my wrist. It stuck straight into the eye of the target.

"Good girl," Bucky's hand squeezed my hip, a proud smile on his face. There were butterflies in every inch of my body.

I had to get away from the knives, "Can we box?"

His eyebrows quirked up at me, an amused smile on his lips, "Overwhelmed already, doll?"

Shut up.