Jazz and Blues
When the bench remained unoccupied the next day, he was relieved, it was still his spot. He’d have thought he’d imagined the entire interaction it if wasn’t for the note he’d made, and the watercolour he’d tacked carefully to the wall.
More than a month passed and he’d stopped expecting to see her as he approached the last corner on the neglected path.
And there she was, sitting just where she’d been before. A steaming travel mug joining the assortment of things on the seat beside her.
He’d just walk past, no need to make a scene just because someone else was using his bench.
“You can sit, I don’t mind.”
“Oh, uh. Thanks.”
He sat as far from her as he could without falling off the bench, his fists clenching inside the leather gloves. Breathe.
She had started on one pad with a decent rendition of the scenery around them. She looked down at it and huffing, dropped it on the bench and pulled another paper block and more pencils from the bag at her side. Her sketching grew more erratic. The music playing in her single earbud seemed more familiar this time.
Bucky made a note, careful to shield his new notepad from her view.
December 20th
Painting woman at the park again,
Jazz and blues.
Marvin Gaye?
Call Steve
The discarded sketch depicted the scene around them with just a touch of whimsy, the trees draped in clouds, the greens and reds of distant Christmas decor popping out. Unfinished and still picturesque.
The brush strokes slowed and then stopped, and he risked a glance at the new image.
The sketch was something else entirely. Bare limbs of trees reached for the viewer, shadows hiding indistinct and menacing shapes. Grey and smoky blue washed the picture, reminding Bucky of black and white photos. The woman’s shoulders hunched in on herself, and she blew on her hands to warm them. There was something awfully fragile about her today, something at odds with her confidence the first time they’d met.
“Are you… Are you ok?” Bucky found the words leaving his tongue before he could swallow them back down.
“What? Oh, yeah. Just a little cold.” She smiled tentatively, looking at the painting in her lap. “It helps to paint. Though usually it turns out more… hopeful.” she motioned to the first picture as though that explained everything.
“Helps with what?” that wasn’t exactly what he wanted to know, but no other question suggested itself to him.
“Helps not to keep all my hopes and… fears trapped in my mind.” She sat still for a long moment before beginning to pack her things. “Thanks for sitting with me, it was nice, not to be alone.”
Bucky released the breath he’d been holding, shocked that she’d found any kind of comfort in his company when he was so dangerously on edge himself.
Bucky called Steve that night when he got home, and allowed himself to be convinced to leave the safety of his apartment to hang out at the compound.
The greeting he received was so enthusiastic he considered just turning around and walking out.
“Sargent Mr. Barnes, you came! We’re ordering pizza, and I picked out some movies just in case, or board games if you like those better?”
“Peter, let the man breathe, will you?” Nat wrapped an arm around the excited teen, steering him toward the lounge. “Nice to see you Bucky.” She smiled over her shoulder and he let go of the breath he’d been holding.
“Barnes.” Tony nodded a stiff acknowledgement at him, and he returned it.
“Bucky.” Steve smiled wide as he approached.
“Steve.” Bucky greeted him with relief and was pulled into a hug.
“Come on in.” Steve led him down the hall to his suite.
An armchair and a sofa faced each other over a low coffee table, a wall of shelves blocked a direct view of the bed.
“Want anything to drink?” Steve opened a cabinet door to reveal a well-stocked mini fridge.
“Is that ginger beer?”
“Yeah, its not Nans, but its not half bad.” Steve handed him a brown glass bottle. “How’ve you been?”
“Fine.”
“You always were a terrible liar Bucky.”