chrysalism. n.
the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension...
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New York, New York. June 7th, 2017. 3:20 PM.
Malone winced as Bucky carefully slipped his arm around her shoulders to help her out of the elevator, walking was painful with 3 stitches in her calf. He walked slowly to his door, every fiber of his being begging not to hurt her more. He helped her inside and towards the couch when she stopped, he looked at her quizzically.
"Don't hate me," she grinned sheepishly, "but I think I've earned a cig." He rolled his eyes as he leaned down to grab Malone's bag, standing again to help her get outside. Bucky knew smoking was bad for her health, but he also knew that she needed something familiar to help her through all the major life changes she was going through, he had been there. And if that familiarity was a mouthful of pungent smoke, he couldn't stop her. She limped to her spot and hissed as she sat. She lit a cigarette and took a puff, catching Bucky staring from the corner of her eye. "Take a picture, Barnes. It'll last longer," she chuckled, rolling her her head back to look at him. He looked down and smiled, trying to hide his embarrassment.
"Would - uh, would you mind?" He mumbled, pulling his phone from his front pocket. She laughed before raising both her middle fingers, covering her face except for one eye smiling wide.
"I hope you got the bandages in there," she mused before taking another drag. "Not that this is something I want to remember," she whispered, "I gotta get outta here."
"You can't just leave, Malone," Bucky said. "If you do that, you're no better than Cole." Malone looked up at him from under her eyelashes, bringing the cigarette to her mouth silently. They sat in silence for a long moment, staring at the stars like they both so enjoyed.
"Are you sure you don't want to go back? I can't help but think that staying here another night wouldn't help you reconcile with your brother, after fighting about you staying here."
"Oh, my god, Buck," Malone sat up and set her hand on his knee, "please know I am not lying when I tell you that whatever problem my brother has, it isn't with you. Cole's more sensitive than he seems, this isn't the first time he's gone AWOL. Kenny, well, he's got his own problems. They're my brothers, Buck," she assured him with a gentle pat, "I will handle them," she paused, "eventually."
"I'm sorry I hit Kenny," he whispered after a long silence. He took her hand from his knee and into his hand, grasping it tightly. "I am so, sorry."
"Trust me, that's not the first time he's been hit. It won't be the last," she chuckled. "Buck?"
He hummed and lifted his head.
"Can we dance again?"
"I don't think that's the best idea, with your leg," he shook his head.
"Please?" He took a deep breath and relented, helping Malone up by the hand. He knew she couldn't move around, as they had danced the other night, so he had to improvise. Her hand fell into place on his shoulder, the other resting lightly in his extended arm. Carefully, he placed his left hand on the small of her back. He tried to catch her eye for assurance that she was okay, and not in pain, but her head was already resting on his chest. He sighed, his heart rate slowing for the first time since meeting her. He didn't dare take a step, terrified to break their closeness. They swayed slowly in silence, the only accompaniment being the chorus of crickets. She closed her eyes as she rested her cheek on his chest, drinking in the minty, woodsy, sometimes smoky aroma that lingered on everything he owned, followed him everywhere he went. She heard his heart beating quietly and steadily, making her smile. She slowly raised her hand, looking up as she rested it on the side of his face. He smiled, her thumb tracing the crinkled lines around his eyes. A feeling from deep down suddenly rushed to the forefront of his mind. He had a brief flashback to his life before the war, skirt-chasing at a USO party after Basic Training. He had a formula for reeling a girl in back then, catching her eye from across the room before making his way over, a smirk plastered on his face. He'd ask her name, compliment her dress, and ask her to dance, usually a fast song to keep things lighthearted. They would dance through maybe two songs before the band played something slow, and his date would do just as Malone had, carefully tracing up his arm and resting her hand at his shoulder. He'd give her his winning smile, quickly looking at her lips as he mode his winning move.
