Ecstasy

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"You know anything about plants?" Bucky asked as they walked, pulling his long brown hair into a half bun. His cream henley shirt, rolled up at the elbows, revealed scarred forearms and hands caked in soil. His pants, deep green as the reeds underfoot, sported a permanent grass stain on both knees. His boots, once sturdy and rigid leather, were made soft and pliable from years in rain and sodden rows of crops. He was a farmer, through and through.

"Kate does," Yelena replied, proud grin on her face.

Kate flushed, stammering, "Well, I, not really-"

"Good," Bucky cut in, house within view now. "You can help me in the garden."

"I-I can?"

"You two are staying for dinner, no?" He asked, and both women stayed uncertainly silent. "Then you gotta work for it."

Kate thought this was fair enough, but Yelena grimaced at the thought of manual labor. With the Widows, she was a scavenger, not a farmer. She had no luck with living things, plant or people or otherwise. Kate, though, was ecstatic at the thought of getting to work in these vast fields, in the apple orchard and lemon grove.

As the trio reached the house, there was a steady chopping noise, the beat of an axe hitting wood over and over. Bucky shook his head as if he was expecting it, beckoning the women to the back yard.

Walking alongside the farmhouse, Kate could not help but appreciate its charms, its almost gothic beauty. It was a dilapidated little building with missing, cracked shingles and
faded yellow paint wilting like a sunflower left out in the summer heat. But, it was also well loved, as evidenced by the mural on the back wall and the hand made wind chimes dangling from the porch.

"You've brought me home some strays?" Said a man, tall and blonde and strong as an ox as he hauled logs to a stump set up for splitting. "Honey, I thought we talked about that."

"Strays?" Bucky replied, Kate and Yelena lingering sheepishly behind him. "No, Steve, these are my prisoners. They were trespassing in our blueberry grove."

Steve studied Kate, chuckling at the blue ring around her lips. "Yeah, caught 'em blue handed. And what do you sentence them to, Justice Barnes?"

"An afternoon of manual labor and a warm meal." Bucky, hands still on his hips, sized up his husband, frowning. "And can you stop chopping wood? Your back doesn't need that, dear."

Steve sighed, setting down his axe. "My back is fine, but alright."

Satisfied, Bucky turned on his heels, motioning to Kate. "Come on, kid. Let's see what we can get into." He stared at Yelena. "Don't let him pick up that axe again."

Kate looked to Yelena before leaving, eyes saying, is this okay?

"I'm fine," Yelena said, kissing her on the cheek. "Go on. I know you're excited to see the farm."

Kate beamed, running off to join Bucky and leaving Yelena with a bemused Steve.

"May I?" Yelena asked, reaching for the axe.

Steve handed it over, taking a seat on a log he had not yet chopped. "What's your name, stranger?"

"Yelena."

"I'm-"

"Yeah, you're Steve."

"I am." Steve chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow. His blue athletic shirt was soaked in it, gray pants covered in sawdust. "I take it you're not much of a talker."

Setting up for her first swing, Yelena considered this. "Correct."

The man watched her as she took a deep breath, exhaled, and swung. It was a perfect strike, a deadly arc into the heart of the log. It split in half and Steve's eyebrows shot up, impressed. He watched her repeat this, a practiced, calculated ritual. Her ministrations in something so mundane were not borne of nothing, no, this was taught. Studying more closely, Steve noticed her jacket, the patches that lined each arm. Badges of honor.

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