wintersoldierfell:
It’s hot on the bus, and Bucky’s trying hard to keep away from the people next to him. People are full of strange smells and textures, perfumed with chemicals he doesn’t recognize. They smell like sweat and food, and none of it is like he remembers. He pulls his hat down and watches people board.
A girl gets on the bus and pauses at the front to rummage in her purse for a token. She’s got brightly colored clips in her hair, a denim vest studded with shining buttons, and short shorts that reveal a muscular brown thigh and calf. But that’s not why Bucky suddenly finds himself staring.
He’s looking at the other leg.
The bottom section looks like a piston, one thin metal bar sliding into a mechanism whose workings seem to be mostly hidden where the prosthetic disappears into the girl’s boot. The top is larger, and above the knee joint, there’s a large cylindrical casing almost the volume of the girl’s other thigh. The casing is painted, covered entirely with an astonishingly vivid range of blues, violets, turquoises, sea-greens, creams, and golds. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his memory spits out the name Claude Monet, and water lilies, and an image of a blond-haired boy standing beside him, mouth open in wonder.
Bucky’s heart thumps hard in his chest, and when the girl sits down across from him and pulls out a book, all he can do is stare, because abruptly she’s the most amazing thing in the world: a person who’s made herself whole.
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