Chapter Text
"So.. would you like to talk about it?"
The question hung in the air in a mixture of forced awkwardness and an overall lack of enthusiasm as it always did. A question that Bucky chose to answer in the same defiant way, with silence.
He wasn’t stupid, he knew that there was a very high chance his therapist didn’t really care about him or the nightmares that kept him up at night.
Why would she?
He was just another case number to her, a means to an end that resulted in a more than compensating paycheck for her troubles.
That’s all this was.
An exchange of give and take, with Bucky’s mental state and wellbeing being at the center of it all.
Well, if he was such an important player in this little game, he wanted absolutely no part in it.
It didn’t surprise him that his stubborn silence caused her to pick up her pen, the sound of the ballpoint scribbling across her notebook causing him to let out a groan.
Again with the stupid clipboard.
Her wide rimmed glasses slid down the bridge of her nose as she wrote, her eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of concentration and frustration. Bucky did not envy the position he chose to constantly put her in, the mere thought of being forced to work with such a difficult person would have driven the average person to insanity.
However, the more time he spent wasting away on an uncomfortable couch, the more he began to discover that his therapist was far from the average person. She had a sort of drive to her, a determination that surpassed the infuriating silence he pulled her into time and time again.
Bucky tried often to make her life more difficult, his reluctant words and half assed responses aimed to piss her off to the point where she wanted to quit. He wanted to prove to the voices in his head that they were right. That he was nothing more than a lost cause, a project that wasn’t worth finishing. Maybe then the government would finally leave him alone.
Bucky was exhausted in every definition of the word. He was pulled away from his old life by Hydra and forced to figure out life in the 21st century alone, his best friend left him to be with a woman he had only known for a few months, and now a red, white, and blue shield was the closest thing he had left to family. Yet the world was not done with him.
Everyone seemed to want a piece of one of the last known super soldiers. The man that stood toe to toe with the great Steve Rogers numerous times and lived to tell the tale, nevermind the fact that he was his best friend.
That was what the purpose of his therapy was. They wanted to see if he had the potential to be the weapon he once was, but with a different symbol painted onto his metal arm.
Still, try as he might, his refusal to work with her in the ways she wanted could not get her to throw her hands up in defeat. No, she was strong willed and probably just as stubborn as he was. A fact that both intrigued and infuriated him to his very core.
"James, I cannot help you if you do not at least try to meet me halfway here. Have you still been having nightmares?"
The intruding question brought an unamused scoff to the tip of his tongue, the sarcastic smirk forming on the corner of his pursed lips to express the remnants of the noise that died within his throat.
As if she needed to ask him that question.
It was not like the screams of pain and anguish that danced around his vulnerable mind ever truly went away. Just like the blood on his hands, the memories remained ingrained into his skin, seeping into his bones and sculpting him into the broken man that sat before her today on the god awful taupe colored couch.
If Bucky was expected to waste an hour or so of his day in this room, the least they could've done was make it interesting to look at. The decor was an absolute eye sore, the soft blue walls clashing terribly with the assortment of forest trees that sat framed behind him. He had to assume that the move from his previous cream colored hell to this shit show was his fault.
He had mentioned his disdain for the lack of color one time under his breath, and the next thing he knew he received an email that their meeting place had been switched indefinitely. She was a crafty one to say the least, a therapist that genuinely seemed to care about his well-being from beyond the comforts of a more than compensating paycheck.
Doctor Amara Akande, a world renowned therapist known for excelling specifically in cases that had to do with veterans who struggled to remember where the world began and ended after experiencing the horrors of war. It was no wonder that the United States government had selected her to be his new babysitter in his so-called "road to redemption" or whatever cheesy name they gave their bullshit ideas that a man like him could be rehabilitated.
Bucky watched as Amara tilted her head with silent expectation, her hazel eyes narrowing as she placed what Bucky assumed to be her "what makes Bucky tick" list on her lap. His gaze drifts away from hers and focuses on the wall behind her, looking for a means of escape from the demanding look in her eyes. With a deep and shuddering breath, he decided his torment had gone long enough.
"You know I do Doc. Why are you asking me questions you already know the answer to."
"He speaks it's a miracle!" She shouts as she claps her hands together, her sarcasm a breath of fresh air opposed to the many therapists before her who treated him like a brainless child. "Just think of these questions as icebreakers. They're my own little unique way to get a peek into that brain of yours."
Bucky laughed bitterly, a harsh, grating sound as his eyes flickered back to Amara's, a wry smile twisting his lips. "You could've just asked, you know. No promises that I would've answered, but at least it would be more productive than your little "ice breaker" he taunted and flashed her a smile that was far more sarcastic than friendly, his jaw tightening in mild annoyance.
A slightly amused chuckle leaves her lips as she bows her head to hide her smile, and then....nothing. The room was once again filled with an echoing silence but this time, it wasn't instigated by Bucky. His eyebrows narrowed in confusion, his eyes studying every crease and dip in her expression like it was a puzzle he couldn't quite make out.
Her tendency to wear her emotions on her sleeve was a flaw that he greatly appreciated. He never had to wonder what she was feeling, and there was never any worry that the kindness in her voice was simply a passive aggressive attempt to get him to open up to her. Now, her sudden silence was beginning to prove otherwise.
He couldn't understand what could've gone wrong to make her suddenly go quiet. Had he crossed the line? He prayed to the Gods there hadn't been anything he could've said that would have him be dragged back to the box the government had once placed him in, his arms and legs bound to the confines of the suffocating holding cell like a mentally unstable Ken doll.
"This isn't working." she whispered, finally breaking the suffocating silence.
And, there they were, the three little words he dreaded to hear yet expected them nonetheless. Even the infamous Dr. Akande seemed to deem him a hopeless cause, her statement predictable yet more painful than he had expected. He wasn’t willing to admit that the cause of his pain was most likely because a part of him had taken a liking to her. She had been different from the others, her tone soft spoken and caring as if she saw him as the man he once was before he was drafted that fateful day rather than the monster the world saw him to be.
But now it seemed even she had lost faith in him.
"I understand" Bucky mumbles, his gaze locked on the carpeted floor as he leaned forward with his arms resting on his knees, a flicker of frustration sparking in his eyes as he took in Amara's words. "Send my regards to the next sucker they bring in here to babysit-"
"Hush."
The urgency in Amara's voice makes his blood run cold as the hairs on the back of his neck stand on alert, his eyes frantically searching the room for any signs of potential danger while taking heed to where the closest exits to the building were in exact proximity to where he was standing. Old habits die hard.
Amara's eyes flicker to the right corner of the ceiling, then towards the vase of plastic flowers in the far left side of the room, and finally to the double doors before making their way back to Bucky, her gaze hardening for a moment in hopes that the retired super soldier would receive the silent message she was trying to give him.
Cameras. Specifically three of them.
"I mean this will not work if you continue to keep things from me." she all but shouted, the inflection in her voice theatrical as her eyebrows rose and fell. It was a good thing being discrete was not in her job description, otherwise her honorable reputation would be almost comical.
Bucky's eyes narrowed as he followed her line of sight, understanding dawning in his expression. Whatever it was she wanted to tell him, it wasn't meant for anyone else to possibly hear but him. Interesting.
Alright Doctor. You have my attention
He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he weighed his options. Bucky wasn’t the type to willingly indulge people in conversation, not if he could help it anyways. Mankind wasn’t the same as they were 70 years ago, they were manipulative, cruel, and could lie as well as they could breathe.
It would be easy to tell her no. To tell her to spill her secrets into that clipboard she loved so much and shove them both where the sun refused to shine. Whatever it was she was trying to hide from the pairs of eyes behind every camera it was obvious was sticking her neck out for him, and after putting up with his shit for so many months the least he could do was hear her out.
He could give her that.
Finally, he gave a slight nod, a gesture so small that it was almost imperceptible.
A small smile forms on Amara’s lips, her eyes brightening in mild excitement for a moment before she clears her throat, her eyes returning to its dull state filled with false disappointment as she spoke.
“I think you might need a new therapist.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow with a frown. She wasn’t sticking her neck out for him, she was trying to get rid of his ass. Serves him right for getting his hopes up.
Amara sat back in her chair, a business card in hand, and frantically scribbled across the back of the paper.
“It seems I cannot get through to you, which means there is no point in continuing today's session. I am sorry Mr. Barnes..but I can’t help you…However, Miss Smith is familiar with cases such as yours.”
Bucky took the business card from Amara, his brows furrowing slightly as he read the name 'Miss Smith' and the address scrawled on the back. He knew the name, and he knew her type. She was fresh out of college in her late twenties, and the way she made the heads of the male doctors turn was evidence enough as to how she excelled so quickly at such a young age. It paid to be young and pretty, and sometimes all an office needed to run smoothly was some motivational eye candy.
He could sense the deception in Amara’s tone, the way she had deliberately spoken loudly to ensure that the camera picked up her words. It was a clever move, one that showed a level of intuition and quick thinking that he had to admire.
He glanced up at Amara, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She was playing a dangerous game, recommending a “new therapist” and slipping him her personal number under the guise of ending the session. It was a line she shouldn't be crossing, a boundary that most therapists would never dream of breaching. But Bucky could see the determination in her eyes, the glimmer of hope that she was trying to offer him.
He tucked the card into his pocket, a silent acknowledgment of her gesture. "Miss Smith" would be someone he would have to look into, not for genuine interest but simply for the sake of the ruse.
He liked the therapist he had now, but she wouldn’t do him any good behind bars for being caught in a lie. And the number scrawled on the back... that was a lifeline thrown to him in the darkness of his past, a chance to connect with someone who understood the complexities of his situation.
Bucky stood up, straightening his jacket and shoving his hands inside the pockets. He gave Amara a nod of gratitude, a silent thank you for her help. "I appreciate your honesty, Dr. Akande," he said, his voice loud enough for the camera to pick up. "I'll consider your recommendation and look into this Miss Smith. Until next time."
With that, he turned and walked towards the door, the card a weight in his pocket. He knew the risks involved in pursuing this lead, the potential consequences of their actions if he decided to pursue them. But he also knew that staying on this path was leading him nowhere. And maybe, just maybe, Amara was the key to finding a new way forward. A way to finally heal and move on from the pain of his past.