Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This was Bucky’s first appointment with his new therapist. Sam graciously allowed him to borrow his truck to make the commute. His old therapist was a mere 20 minute walk from his apartment– but that was New York. This is Louisiana. And the nearest suitable doctor was an hour and 20 minute drive from Sam’s door to the doctor’s office in Baton Rouge. It was a long way to go every Monday and Thursday, but Sam assured him this doctor would be worth the drive. 

She originally specialized in helping victims of sexual assault or abuse, and more recently trained to treat PTSD from violent traumas. She ticked most of Bucky’s boxes, so she was the best choice despite the distance.

 Bucky parked the truck neatly between the lines, careful not to get too close to the curb. He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the handle– and he froze. Anxious thoughts flooded his mind. 

He’d never met this person before and he was meant to walk in there and spill his heart and soul to her. 

She wasn’t military, like Raynor. If Bucky lost his mind and went all assassin, she wouldn’t have a chance against him. Surely he should not be trusted alone with her. 

What in the world would she think of him, anyway? By now, she’s seen his file and been briefed by the other officials in charge of Bucky’s case. She had to be wondering why in the world he’d seek her out specifically. His file does not mention many details of Bucky’s abuse. Just his crimes as the Soldier, really. He had never talked much with Raynor about the abuse. He hadn’t really talked much with Raynor, period. 

Sam advised him to start fresh with this new doctor. When he started seeing Raynor, he wasn’t in a place where he was ready to open up. That was how his sessions became so focused on the winter soldier’s crimes, rather than on his own suffering. He hadn’t given Raynor any information, so she went off of what was written in the file. With this new therapist, it was an opportunity to be open and honest right from the start about what he needed. 

Bucky inhaled a shaky breath, and opened the door. He hopped out the driver's seat and shut the door behind him with a slam. Bucky found his feet to be glued to the concrete where he stood. Not literally of course, but his brain couldn’t seem to make him move.

Bucky groaned in frustration and got back in the vehicle. He didn’t hesitate to start the truck and drive away. 

These moments of anxiety are what make Bucky question if he could ever feel like himself again. Before shipping out to fight in the war, Bucky had never felt this debilitating anxiety. He’d walked the streets of New York with an air of confidence not many people could relate to. He’d been a people person . He was a leader . He looked out for Steve, for his sisters, and any other folks in need of a hand in the neighborhood and he never needed anything in return. So why now, does Bucky feel so helpless, so lost? He is free again. He can be that old Bucky again– but yet, he can’t.  

It’s maddening to feel so far away from the version of yourself you knew was happy. 

During his time with Hydra, he’d become familiar with the feeling of wanting something you know is not an option. Especially in the early years there, when he could sometimes still reach Bucky deep under the surface of the Winter Soldier. Before he’d completely lost himself. He wanted to fight back, or even beg them to stop. He wanted to let bystanders go free. He wanted to run away, to escape. But something Hydra put in his head stopped him from doing any of those things. 

That halting feeling was scarily comparable to the feeling he had whilst parked outside of the doctor’s office. 

Bucky knows that he should have walked in, and attended his scheduled and mandatory appointment. He knows that. But there was something stopping him. Some part of his brain telling him no. 

Bucky knew, logically, that the feeling was anxiety– but the lack of control felt so similar to Hydra’s brainwashing that it was frightening. 

After a few minutes on the road, the weight of what he’d done had begun to settle on him. Bucky pushed his head back against the headrest, his muscles were tense and he was grinding his teeth. 

He pushed his flesh hand against his forehead, and proceeded to run it through his hair. 

“Fuck.” he muttered. 

He exhaled heavily through his nose. “FUCK!” he screamed, furious with his own cowardice. 

He swung his right hand back down and slammed it against the steering wheel. 

Quickly, he checked to confirm he hadn’t damaged the mechanism. 

Relieved to find that he had not, Bucky took some slow breaths in and out to calm himself. 

It would be fine, he reasoned. When he got back to the house he could explain to Sam what happened, and Sam could make some calls and talk the government out of arresting his sorry ass. 

He’d just tell Sam. That’s all he had to do. Tell Sam. 

He did not tell Sam. 

.

When Bucky arrived back at the house, all other household members were present. 

He pulled in the driveway to the sight of Sam in a baseball glove, tossing around a ball with AJ and Cass. The boys had clearly just gotten home from school, evident by the two backpacks strewn on the grass.

Bucky felt the anxiety creep up in him again as Sam waved to him with his free hand. Bucky waved back, forcing a half smile onto his face. 

“Hey Bucky!” “Hi Bucky!” Both boys called to him once he stepped out of the vehicle. 

“Hey guys!” Bucky called back, heading toward the front steps and working hard to keep his voice and body language neutral. 

“Go ahead without me for a minute, you guys.” Sam told the boys before jogging to meet Bucky. 

Once caught up and standing shoulder to shoulder, Sam nudged him. “Everything went okay?” Sam questioned. 

Bucky turned to his head toward him. Now was his chance. ‘ Tell him! ’ a voice screamed. 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “What? Oh. Uh, yeah. Went fine. All fine.” He uttered, nodding. I’ll tell him later. At a better time.  

“Just fine ?” Sam inquired further. 

Bucky scratched his head. “ Good . It was good.” he corrected.

“Alright, man. That’s great. See, I told you she was good.” Sam said, clapping Bucky on the back. “You want to take over here,” he held up his baseball glove and gestured to the boys with a nod, “Or help Sarah with dinner?” Sam offered. 

“I’m always up for some catch.” Bucky declared. “I don’t need that, though.” he pointed to the glove, and smirked at Sam. 

Sam eyed him up and down. “Alright, cyborg. I’ll go help Sarah.” Sam said after what felt to Bucky like a painfully long pause. Sam started heading for the steps and Bucky turned to join the boys in the yard. 

Bucky may have been avoiding Sarah just a little bit, ever since their kissing session turned into a terrifying flashback that resulted in Bucky yanking her off of him by her arm and leaving his metal hand’s grip bruised darkly into her bicep. 

He’d apologized profusely, and she’d forgiven him before he’d even done so. She was not mad at him or scared of him, (so she claimed), and the bruise and tenderness had gone away after just a couple days, (so she claimed). Regardless, Bucky felt ashamed and embarrassed. Therefore, he’d completely avoided being alone with her all week since the incident. 

Bucky joined up with AJ and Cass and fell into a steady rhythm of catching and tossing. As he repeated the motion over and over, his mind wandered. 

How long would he be able to stay with the Wilson’s if he was avoiding Sarah, and apparently, lying to Sam? 

Catch. Toss.

Today was Monday, he had another appointment on Thursday.

Catch. Toss.

 If he could make it without anyone coming looking for him until then, and just showed up on Thursday– 

Catch. Toss.

Maybe everyone would just forget about him missing today’s appointment. 

Catch. Toss.

But what if cops showed up to arrest him before then? 

Catch. Toss.

Bucky didn’t know much, but he knew police weren’t exactly a welcome presence in this community. 

Catch. Toss.

Bucky was a guest in this town and he’d be damned if he was the one to betray them like that. 

Catch. Toss.

He had to tell Sam what he did. Sam could fix this.

Catch. Toss.

Sam would give him that look. 

Catch. Toss.

That ‘You’re broken and I feel sorry for you’ look.

Catch. Toss.

Bucky hated that look.

Catch. Toss.

He hated that he needed Sam’s help.

Catch. Toss.

He hated that he needed a therapist's help.

Catch. Toss.

Even though he hated that he needed other people’s help,

Catch. Toss.

the thought of being on his own again was terrifying.

Catch. Toss.

Sam wants to help him. Bucky, though he hated to admit it, needed the help. 

Catch. Toss.

It was maddening, this helplessness.

Catch. Toss.

Humiliating. Infuriating!

Catch. Toss.

But he had to let Sam help.

Catch. 

He had to tell him.

Toss.

 He had to–

“Ahh!” AJ cried out.

Bucky snapped out of his trance, and ran to AJ’s side. He’d tossed the ball too high and too hard and it hit AJ in the face. 

Bucky’s hands hovered in front of the boy, trembling. “AJ, I’m so sorry! I was distracted, I– God. I’m so sorry!” Bucky pleaded. 

“It hurts!” AJ cried. 

“Woah, AJ, your nose is bleeding a lot!” Cass exclaimed, frightened and concerned as he too ran to AJ’s side. 

One of Bucky’s hovering hands finally found a place on AJ’s shoulder. “C-come on. Let’s get you inside.” Bucky said quietly, the guilt settling over him like a wet blanket. 

Bucky felt his footsteps vibrate through him as he entered the house with an injured AJ, not ready to face Sarah and Sam. 

Cass helped him out. “Mommy! Uncle Sam! AJ’s nose is bleeding! He got hit in the face with the baseball and his nose is all bloody!” Cass’s little voice called out. 

Bucky stood in the doorway of the kitchen, behind AJ, as Sarah and Sam hurried toward him, looking concerned. 

Bucky felt light headed. His ears were ringing so loudly all of the sudden.

He flinched when Cass ran past him with a box of tissue. 

Words were flying around the room, and Bucky had trouble comprehending them through the fog that filled his head.

“You boys are going to be the death of me.” a woman’s voice lamented. 

‘Sarah’ Bucky thought.

“I think it’s broken, buddy.” he heard Sam’s voice say.

Bucky felt nauseous.

“Cass, baby, get your brother an ice pack. Guys, can you stay here with Cass? I’ve gotta take AJ to the hospital.” 

Bucky’s head was spinning. 

“No, Sarah, I’m coming with you. Buck, can you watch Cass?” 

He hurt AJ. He broke his nose. Oh god. 

“Bucky?”

AJ was bleeding. It was his fault. Oh god. Oh god!

“Buck?” 

What?  

“Bucky, are you good?” 

Sam was right in front of him.

Bucky. I’m Bucky. He’s talking to me. 

“Wh–what?” Bucky muttered, confused. 

Sam sighed. “Okay. It’s alright.” Sam said. Bucky wasn’t sure if he was still talking to him or not. 

“Sarah, go. We’ll watch Cass.” Sam settled. He wrapped Sarah into a hug once she finished putting her shoes on. 

“Keep me updated.” he called as she ushered AJ out the door, box of tissues in hand. 

When the door slammed behind them Sam and Cass moved to the window to watch as Sarah piled AJ and herself into her car. They kept watching as the car turned around and drove out the long driveway. 

Sam exhaled when the car was out of sight. He had worry plastered on his face. 

Cass tapped his uncle's elbow, brows furrowed together and nervous tears pooling in his big brown doe eyes.

 “Uncle Sam… Is AJ gonna be okay? Mommy seemed really really worried…” the little boy trembled. 

Sam kneeled down to meet him at his eye level. “Cass, AJ is gonna be just fine, don’t you worry. Do you know how many times your Uncle Sam got whacked in the nose like that?”

A tiny smile appeared on Cass’s face. “How many times?” he asked. 

Sam puffed his chest. “A lot!” he bragged, before tickling his nephew around the middle. 

Cass laughed and batted at Sam’s tickling fingers. Sam laughed and pulled Cass into a hug. “Alright, why don’t you get going on your homework.” Sam said, standing up and patting Cass on the top of the head. 

“Okay. My backpack is still outside.” Cass responded. 

“Oh yeah, go get it. Bring AJ’s in too.” Sam instructed him. 

Cass nodded and ran out the door. 

Sam turned around to face Bucky, who stared blankly into the thin air. 

“Buck, what's going on?” Sam asked, taking a cautious step toward him.

Bucky’s eyes moved in reaction, but they seem to skip right over Sam, before flitting back to him. “What?” he questioned, looking dazed. 

Sam rubbed his brow. “Maybe you should sit down, man.” Sam concurred, reaching to pull out a chair. 

Bucky slowly understood what Sam was asking of him, and nodded before lowering himself into the chair. 

Sam sat down next to him, looking at him expectantly. 

The blur of sounds, thoughts and colours in Bucky’s over stimulated mind seems to settle a bit and reality trickled back in. 

Bucky’s breath hitched, and his eyebrows knit together. “Oh god…” he said under his breath.

“What is it, Bucky?” Sam prompted calmly. 

Bucky turned to Sam. He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again, then he shook his head, the anxiety becoming a roadblock once again.

“I know it was your toss that hit AJ.  It couldn’t have been Cass. It was an accident, man. It could have been me just as easily. He doesn’t blame you, and neither do I or Sarah.” Sam began. 

Bucky hated that Sam was always reassuring him. 

When Bucky just shook his head shamefully, Sam went on. “Listen, when AJ was two, I tossed him up the air and he hit the ceiling. Kid screamed bloody murder and had an egg sized lump on his head. I felt like the devil himself. Shit happens, Buck, especially with two roughhousing little boys.” 

Bucky nodded. He wasn’t fully convinced, but Sam’s reassurance, though he resented it, put him at ease just a fraction. 

Both men looked over when they heard the door creak opened again. 

Cass stepped inside, no backpacks on his person and a nervous look on his face once again. 

“Uncle Sam… There’s a police car coming in the driveway…” Cass said, fidgeting with the zipper of his sweater. 

Bucky felt his mouth go dry and Sam’s eyes widened.

Sam looked quickly at Bucky, who was up out of his seat and peering out the kitchen window in an instant. 

“Cass, it’s alright bud. Go upstairs. Stay in your room until I come get you.” Sam ordered gently, pointing toward the stairs. 

Cass swallowed fearfully and hurried to do as he was told. 

Bucky watched from the window as two white men in police officers uniforms made their way up the Wilson’s walk. 

Bucky groaned. Already? He thought. It hasn’t even been a day!

Well… It was now or never. “Sam…” Bucky began, ready to confess that he’d skipped his appointment. 

The knock on the door cut him off. 

Sam, being closer, answered. Bucky stood out of sight of the door. He felt so very very stupid. 

“Mr. Wilson. Hi! It’s– it’s an honour to meet you.” came an unfamiliar voice. 

“Hi. What’s this about?” Sam interrogated bluntly. 

The officers looked at one another, then back to Sam. “Uh, we’re here about James Barnes. He didn’t show up for his court ordered therapy today. Is he here?” the other officer said. 

Before Sam could answer, Bucky stepped up behind him. 

“Yeah… I’m here.” he said somberly. 

“Mr. Barnes, I’m sorry but we need you to come with us.” the first officer insisted regrettably. 

Bucky stole a glance at Sam, who was looking at him, mouth agape. Bucky nodded and tried to step past Sam to hand himself over. 

Sam snapped his arm out, stopping Bucky from going any further. 

Bucky sighed, wishing Sam wouldn’t make this harder. “Sam, it’s alright–” 

“Just hold on.” Sam told Bucky, then turned to the cops on his porch. “Listen, guys, Bucky is here and clearly not out there killing anyone.” He leaned closer to the officers. “The guy is in therapy for a reason– he’s going to screw up once in a while! Just– you don’t have to arrest him. I’ll vouch for him. He’s got another appointment on Thursday and I will make sure he gets there. I’ll walk him right into the doc’s office myself, if that’s what it takes.” Sam pleaded. 

Bucky leaned against the wall, awaiting his fate and feeling like a little kid.

The cops exchanged glances again. “We’ll… We’ll make some calls, Mr. Wilson. We’ll see what we can do.” one of them accepted. 

“Alright, see ya when you figure it out.” Sam said, shutting the door in their faces. 

Bucky ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the wall as Sam spun to him. 

“Bucky, why didn’t you tell me?” Sam asked tiredly.

Bucky was surprised that Sam didn’t ask him why he skipped therapy in the first place. 

“I was going to. I was. But then,” He shrugged, shook his head in shame. “I didn’t know what to say, and, well I didn’t think they’d show up so fast– I thought I’d have a minute to… to sort it out…I’m sorry they showed up here, really.” Bucky confessed. 

Sam nodded. “Alright. It’s okay.” Sam confirmed. 

Bucky looked at him incredulously, then his gaze turned down to his hands. “It doesn’t have to be.” He said quietly.

Sam crossed his arms. “What’s that mean?” Sam questioned.

Bucky shrugged, keeping his gaze pointed down. “I keep messing up. I’m making things harder on you guys. You should just let them arrest me.” Bucky admitted, choking up. 

Sam swayed. What would it take to convince Bucky that his existence wasn’t an inconvenience? “Dude, just because you’re annoying hell doesn’t mean I want you to go to jail.”

Bucky swallowed. “I’m serious, Sam. Are you sure I’m worth all this? You don’t have to… to fix me. I– I don’t think I can be fixed, at this point… so… so you should just give up on me. Don’t waste your time.” 

Sam opened his mouth, probably to dispute Bucky, but another light knock on the door stopped him. Sam reached for the door, but paused before opening it, turning to Bucky. “This conversation is not over.” he said, pointing a finger. 

Sam opened up the door and came face to face with the pair of officers again. 

When Sam offered them no greeting after a moment of awkward silence, the ‘guests’ took that as their que to speak up. 

“Um. So, it’s your lucky day, Mr. Barnes. Since Mr. Wilson is willing to vouch for you, as long as you show up to your appointment on Thursday we can mark today as extenuating circumstances.” the officer granted. 

Sam and Bucky both exhaled breaths they hadn’t realized they’d been holding and muttered a thanks. 

“Just, understand that you won’t get another chance like this.” one of the cops provided sternly. 

Sam glanced at Bucky, who nodded. “It won’t happen again.” Bucky swore. 

“Have a good evening, fellas.” The officer bid, before finally heading back to their cruiser. 

Sam took a breath of relief. “I’ve got to get Cass. Once they’re off the property, can you grab the backpacks off the lawn?” Sam requested calmly, and headed for the stairs without waiting for response. 

Bucky looked out the nearest window and watched as the police turned around in the driveway and drove off. Bucky retrieved the two backpacks, as well as the ball and gloves that had been abandoned.

When he came back inside he could hear Sam talking quietly to Cass in the living room. Bucky dropped the backpacks against the wall in the entryway and took a seat at the kitchen table. 

Moments later, Sam plopped down in the chair beside him. 

Sam sighed. “Cass is fine. He’s on the couch with the ipad and headphones. I told him to pick something on Netflix.” 

Bucky just nodded. 

The pair sat in silence for a moment, each waiting for the other to say something. 

Sam must have become tired of waiting, because he broke the silence first. 

“So, did you drive to Baton Rouge?” Sam posed.

Bucky nodded, looking at his hands clasped in front of him. “Yeah. Drove there, parked, got out of the truck, and then…” Bucky stopped, thoughtfully considering what happened next. 

Sam filled in the blanks. “Then you couldn’t do it?” Sam offered gently. 

Bucky shrugged. “I guess so. I’m sorry.” He shook his head shamefully.

Sam sighed. “It’s alright, man. It happens. I’ll go with you on Thursday, yeah?” 

Bucky gave a subtle nod. “Yeah, sure.” he muttered. 

“Buck, you don’t need to be ‘fixed’. You aren’t broken. You’re just having a hard time, and if there’s anything I can do to help you through that, I want to do it.” 

Bucky said nothing. He didn’t really know what to say. “Mhm.” He hummed.

Sam placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky took quiet comfort in the gesture. 

Sam’s phone beeped and he pulled it from his pocket. He chuckled. “It’s Sarah. AJ’s fine. It’s a clean fracture so it doesn’t need to be set or anything. They’re gonna clean him up, give him some painkillers and they’ll be home within the hour.” Sam explained.

Bucky felt the weight on his shoulders lighten a little bit. He sighed and looked at Sam. “Good.” he said with sincerity. 

“And she sent a photo.” Sam continued, turning the screen to Bucky with a smile. 

Bucky smiled too. The photo was of AJ, sitting atop an exam table with a swollen nose, puckered duck lips and a peace sign. 

Sam shook his head, smirking. “What a kid.”

Bucky chuckled.

Chapter Text

Sam shifted the truck into park outside of Bucky’s new therapist's office. Sam looked over at Bucky who stared straight ahead wringing his hands and bouncing his leg. 

“You good?” Sam asked.

Bucky looked at Sam. “hm?”

“I said: Are you good?” Sam repeated.

“Mmhm.” Bucky hummed in confirmation. 

Sam saw through whatever facade Bucky was going for, but ready or not, Bucky’s appointment time was five minutes away. They had to go in. 

“Alright man. Let’s go in then.” Sam declared, unbuckling his seatbelt and hopping out of the vehicle. 

Bucky took a breath and unbuckled his own seatbelt. He reached for the truck’s handle, and once again–  he froze. 

Sam waited patiently at the hood of the truck with his hands stuffed in his pockets, feeling sympathetic to what Bucky was going through. He watched Bucky through the windshield as he remained seated in the passenger seat and fought an internal battle.

Sam’s heart was breaking for his friend, he could see how quick his chest rose and fell, even with the windshield in between them. Sam walked up to Bucky’s door and opened it for him. 

Still staring straight ahead, Bucky mumbled “I’m coming.”

Sam just nodded and stepped back, giving Bucky space to exit on his own. Bucky didn’t need to be babied, just supported. 

Bucky licked his lips, nodded sternly to himself, and forced himself from the car. 

Sam closed the door and locked the truck while Bucky beelined to the door. Sam hurried to catch up just in time to walk in right after Bucky. 

Bucky surveyed the small waiting room. It was painted a zen green colour, but the bright fluorescent lights ruined any zeness the paint may have provided, at least it did for Bucky. Minimalist paintings were hung on each wall. Said walls were all lined with chairs, and all said chairs were void of any other people. The end tables were stacked with metal health magazines and pamphlets. 

Seated behind the reception desk was a young man with light brown hair, falling a little shaggy atop his head. He wearing a button up shirt and thick glasses. A young man who Bucky knew would never have been working a receptionist job back in the 1940’s. Furthermore, he likely would have been living in some sort of care home back in the 1940’s. Bucky couldn’t recall the modern name of what he recognized this to be. He knew what the man would have been called in the 1940’s, and he knew that it was not acceptable to say that word anymore. Maybe he’d ask Sam later… Oh! He remembered. Down’s Syndrome, he was fairly sure it was called now. 

“Hello.” said the young man at reception. 

“Uh, hello.” Bucky responded. 

“Hi.” greeted Sam. 

“Name?” the receptionist asked. 

“Um. James Barnes.” Bucky provided, his heart beating ever faster. 

The young man flipped a book open and dragged his finger along the page until he apparently found what he was looking for. 

“Okay, please have a seat.” he politely gestured with his arms to the chairs along the wall. 

Bucky and Sam both seated themselves. When Bucky sat, he immediately resumed bouncing his leg up and down. 

The man at reception walked to a closed door near the desk and knocked twice. 

“Grace, your 1 o’clock is here.” he said, before returning to his seat behind the desk.

“Thanks Henry!” a female voice came from behind the door. Bucky’s heart thudded, knowing that was likely the shrink he’d be seeing. 

His theory was proven correct when the door opened and a woman walked out. She stopped by the desk to exchange a few quiet words about paperwork with the receptionist, Henry, before making her way toward Bucky and Sam with a white-toothed smile. 

Bucky took a quick glance at Sam– he wasn’t sure why– reassurance, maybe? Sam was moving to stand up, so Bucky did too. 

The doctor stopped just before them. 

The first thing Bucky noticed was how he towered over her in height. It worried him, but it did not seem to phase her in the slightest. 

She had her hair tied off to the side, dark brown spirals of curls cascading down her shoulder. She wore a dark blue dress with a neat collar at her throat. Her features were soft and kind and her skin tone glowed a medium brown shade. 

“You must be James?” she guessed, facing Bucky. 

Bucky accidentally looked at Sam again. He’d spent much of his life having other people speak for him. It was daunting to be expected to speak for himself. “Yeah. Hi.” Bucky confirmed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and feeling ridiculously anxious. 

“Hi. I’m Dr. Grace Taylor.” she introduced with a warm smile and extended her hand to him. 

Bucky shook her hand with a gentleness that was almost comical, as if he was terrified she would break. 

Her gaze shifted to Sam, who stood just behind Bucky. 

“And you’re Sam, yes?” she wondered.

Sam nodded and stepped a fraction closer to shake her hand. “Yeah, good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” he greeted politely. 

She nodded, “And I, you, Mr. Wilson.” Doctor Taylor said, before turning her attention back to Bucky. “Shall we head into my office, Mr. Barnes?” she suggested. 

Bucky felt his stomach flip and swirl with dread, but he pushed it down. “Mhm.” he hummed. 

Grace smiled and turned back toward her office. 

Bucky looked at Sam again, and Sam gave him a look of certainty that made Bucky feel just a little less uncertain. 

“See ya’ in an hour and 15 minutes.” Sam promised, sitting back down in the waiting room chair. 

Bucky gave him a curt nod, shoved his gloved hands into his pockets, and followed the doctor into the office. 

The office was small, and reminiscent of a cozy home-study. A book shelf lined the far wall and the lighting was far softer and much less harsh than the brightness in the waiting area. It was almost dim enough to make Bucky feel like he wasn’t on display here. 

There was an upholstered brown loveseat adjacent to a chair that matched, and when Bucky stepped in the room, Grace gestured to the loveseat. 

“Would you like to sit?” she offered. 

Bucky nodded and did so. 

Grace shut the door with a soft click before seating herself in the adjacent chair. 

Bucky swallowed and gathered his hand together in front of him, twiddling his thumbs. “I just wanted to, uh, apologize for not showing up on Monday. I know that I wasted your time, and, uh, sorry.” he apologized, just as he’d been rehearsing in his head. 

“Oh, no worries at all. You might be surprised by how often it happens. Though I do appreciate the apology.” She responded. “I apologize for tattling on you. This is my first time dealing with the government in this way.” she went on. 

Bucky brushed it off. “You had to.” he shrugged.

Grace just smiled, and folded her hands in front of her. “So, the first thing I always ask new patients is your preferred name and pronouns?” she said, cutting to the chase. 

Bucky hesitated. Name, he knew… but… “Um. I’m not– what are– Uh…” he started, unsure even of what he was unsure of. 

“That's okay. Preferred name just means the name you would most like for me to call you, for instance, you’re free to call me Grace or Dr. Taylor , or any combination of those you’d like. And pronouns are words you use when you refer to someone without their name. For instance, mine are she/her. Other common ones are he/him or they/them, and any combination of those.” Grace explained helpfully. 

Bucky nodded. Raynor had never asked him these things. “Okay, um. You can call me Bucky if you want. Or James. Whichever is fine. And, um, the pronouns I use are he/him.” Bucky provided. 

Grace nodded. “Okay, Bucky. Thank you. Now, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to go over the details of this arrangement in regards to the conditions of your pardon.” she said.

Once again, Bucky just nodded. 

Grace took that as her cue to go ahead, so she produced a document from the end table one her right. 

“As a condition of a full legal pardon, James Buchanun Barnes is required to fulfill a weekly minimum of 120 minutes of session time with a licensed psychiatric clinician. ” Grace read out. 

Bucky had heard and read this so many times he could go on in his mind. “Psychiatric clinician can be hired independently, but must be approved by case workers. If Mr. Barnes does not seek out a psychiatric clinician, he will be assigned one. ” he filled to himself. 

Grace, however, skipped to the next relevant section. “The Psychiatric clinician must submit progress reports after each session– see report form on page 2. If Mr. Barnes does not report to scheduled sessions, the psychiatric clinician is required to alert a case worker. (Contact information on page 3.) In extenuating circumstances, Mr. Barnes can cancel a scheduled session. Psychiatric clinician must be notified a minimum of 24 hours prior to appointment time and the cancelation must be approved before the session can be missed. Canceled sessions must be made up for within 72 hours of a canceled appointment. Failure to meet any of the above expectations will warrant arrest. If Mr. Barnes’ behaviour suggests risk to self or others, local authorities and case workers should be contacted immediately.” She read from the document. 

“As for the report form,” she flipped the page and showed him. “I have to report any confessions of recent criminal or harmful activity, rank from 1-4 how engaged you were during the session and how actively you participated in treatment for that week, and make a recommendation of whether or not I think treatment should continue. ”

Bucky responded with a tiny nod. He knew he should just be grateful to have been pardoned at all, but all of these strict rules and conditions felt… distrustful? Worst of all, though, it reminded him that he was not really free. He probably never would be. 

Grace could tell by Bucky expression that what she’d gone over had saddened the man. “Bucky, I understand all of this legal stuff can feel dehumanizing.” she said.

Yes . Bucky thought. That too. 

“But I can assure you, you and your wellbeing will be the focus of our meetings. I want you to participate and be engaged to the best of your ability, and I am not going to rat you out to the government if some weeks you don’t feel like talking. That’s what you’re here to work on. It’s not easy to just jump head first into these things, I understand that.” Grace offered.

Bucky felt the hurt in his chest soften. It was as if she had read his mind. He gave just a tiny nod of recognition. 

She offered him a tiny smile. “I noticed you decided to break up your 2 hours a week over two separate days? Why is that?” she wondered aloud. 

Bucky shifted in his seat. “Um. Your appointment slots… on the form Sam had on his computer…” (Bucky found computers and email all very confusing.) “They were either an hour and 15 minutes or two hours. Sam said it might be better… you know, for me … to, uh, spread it out. Do shorter sessions a couple times a week, you know?” Bucky stammered out. 

Grace nodded. “I figured as much. That sounds like a good idea– I’m glad you’re doing what’s best for you.” 

Bucky drew his lips into a tight line in an awkward smile. 

“Next, I would like to go over my confidentiality agreement. This is something all of my patients sign, and I will sign it too. It’s mostly for you, so you can feel comfortable in knowing that what you say is safe with me. In your case, I’ve had to tweak it a bit for the pardon conditions, but after some back and forth, your case workers have signed off on it too.” She told him, producing yet another document from the end table. 

She cleared her throat. “It states that any details you tell me in our sessions will remain confidential. The only expectations are the weekly reports, in which I will never include examples or details. The only thing they need to know is whether or not you’re doing well. That’s all I will provide them with. The other expectation is if I have reason to believe you’re at risk to hurt yourself or others– but that’s a given. The next part is the one I had to fight for. For other patients, if they confess to a crime I am required to report that. For you, given your history, I am required to report it only if you confess to a crime committed since the blip. Your previous doctor’s rule was that she was to report it if you confessed to a crime that they didn’t already know about. Anything not yet deemed to have been committed by the winter soldier, anything under investigation, you get the idea. So, I am letting you know that now you are free to talk about any events you played a role in as the winter soldier without worry over the status of your pardon. Alright? It stays between you and I.” she finished. 

Bucky heard her, but hearing reference to his crimes, or the winter soldier’s crimes made his muscles go tense. 

She waited quietly for a response. 

“Okay.” Bucky uttered at last. 

“Great. This one is my copy, Henry has yours at the desk– you can take this home with you when you leave, read it over as much as you like, sign it when you’re satisfied and bring it with you to our next meeting.” She informed, neatly stacking all of the papers back on the end table, before turning to give Bucky her full attention once again. 

“So Bucky, I’ve made some plans about how’d I’d like to approach your treatment. I’d like to go over it with you. Would that be alright?” she asked. 

Bucky nodded, hoping for the best. 

Grace nodded back and adjusted her posture before beginning. “A common treatment for complex PTSD is one part talk therapy and one part exposure therapy. With talk therapy, what we’d do is work on compiling a chronological timeline of your traumas. This is something that most patients with multiple trauma’s find very helpful–” 

Bucky’s face twisted a little at the idea and she paused. Bucky soon understood that she paused so he could say what was on his mind.

 “It’s just… my memories are really, uh, messy. Like, spotty, you know?” he admitted.

 Grace nodded. “Trauma memories can be very confusing and spotty for anyone and I understand that yours are even more so, due to circumstances unique to your situation. But working to create this timeline could help remind you of other events, and organize the memories that you do have, to help it feel less chaotic and messy. Would you be willing to try? I promise we can take it completely at your pace.” she explained further.

Bucky considered it. He’d done some of this work here and there with Raynor, so it might be okay to try it. He shrugged. “I could try.” he acquiesced.

Grace nodded again. “Okay, good. I promise you don’t have to do anything until you’re comfortable. One step at a time.” she assured one more time before going on. “The step after we make the timeline, is to talk through the events, in order, again and again.” She revealed. 

Bucky swallowed. “Won’t that just… make me think about it, like, again and again.”

Grace shrugged, sympathy showing in her expression. “I know that might sound unpleasant– and I’m not saying it won’t be– but it’s a proven fact that once we talk about something over and over, it eventually stops having an emotional charge.” she began. 

Grace searched for a thought, then continued. “For an example, let’s say I have trauma from being bitten by a dog. The first few times I relay the story of when I was bitten, I may flashback to the event– feel like it’s happening all over again. Or maybe, I start to feel the same feelings I did that day, and I panic. Yet, every time I relay the story and nothing bad happens, I’m training my brain to feel safe from the memory. Eventually, I will be able to tell people about the time I was bitten by a dog, and I will understand that it’s a true fact that I had been bitten by a dog, and I will understand that it was scary and painful in the moment, but I won’t feel fear or pain attached to the memory anymore. I can talk about it without it affecting me emotionally. Does that make sense?” she offered.

Bucky thought about it for a moment. He thought of how when he told AJ and Cass the story of how he lost his arm, he felt on the brink of it overwhelming him. How he remembered the way his heart felt like it dropped to his stomach when he fell from the train. He felt the reminiscence of pain from the saw that severed his damaged arm. He felt the panic of waking up to realize that he had been rescued, but not by allys. Bucky thought about the prospect of recognising and accepting all of the things he’d gone through, without risk of the memories eating him alive. He decided then that he would try. 

Buckky nodded. “I think that sounds good. I think, if that works, that… that it would help.” Bucky supplied, trying to push himself to talk more, rather than just nodding and agreeing. 

Grace smiled. “That’s excellent. I think so too.” she said moving on to explain the next step of her plan. 

“As for exposure therapy– when it comes to PTSD, we find ourselves avoiding things that remind us of the trauma. When there are so many things that we avoid, our world becomes smaller and smaller. In exposure therapy, we’ll pinpoint what some of these triggers are for you, and introduce them, one-by-one, in a safe environment. By doing this, we can learn how to calm ourselves and cope when we’re triggered.” Grace described. 

Bucky swallowed. He did not even know what his ‘triggers’ were. As frustrating and terrifying as it is, he felt he often became triggered out of seemingly nowhere. 

Grace looked upward in thought, before she went on to further explain the treatment. “Using the same example again, say that since I was bitten by the dog, dogs have been a trigger for me. I used to go for walks everyday, but I’ve stopped because I’m scared I’ll see someone walking a dog. We don’t want our triggers to get in the way of us living our lives. For this kind of exposure therapy, I’d probably start by having a trained therapy dog visit the patient during their session a few times. Then, maybe they and I would take a walk past a dog park, and maybe eventually we would visit an animal shelter. Eventually, the patient can feel safe enough to go on walks again.” she explained. 

All of the sudden Bucky remembered Raynor telling him about this tactic. Admittedly, he zoned out quite a lot during those appointments. It seemed some of the information got through anyway.

 Dr. Raynor had started exposure therapy with him. Bucky decided to tell Grace as much. “I, uh, was working on a bit of that with my last therapist.” he related.

Grace raised her eyebrows. “You were? That’s good. You’ll already be familiar. Could you tell me what you were working on?” 

Bucky adjusted in his seat. “Uh, yeah. Well, we found that when she took notes, it made me think of, um, when Hydra would use a notebook… They’d… I… Um...” Bucky faltered.

Grace cut in, “It’s okay, you don’t need to tell me why.” she promised. “So her notebook was a trigger for you. How did you address it?” Grace prompted. 

Bucky took a steadying breath before continuing. “She started holding the notebook more, and if I wasn’t talking she’d take it out until I started talking.” he described. 

Grace kept her reaction to herself, but a therapist using a patient’s trigger to coax them into talking when they don’t feel comfortable to do so? That went against so many of Grace’s personal rules. Saying any of this to Bucky would be counterproductive of course, so she withheld the doubt she felt about this doctor’s method. 

“I see,” she said, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “Exposure therapy is really meant to broaden our world and make our life more livable, by crossing things off our ‘avoid’ lists. These things that happened to you have already taken too much of your life and your freedom from you. They don’t deserve to keep on taking.” She emphasized, hoping to relay to Bucky that she would not whip out his triggers unexpectedly to push him; that he could feel safe here. 

Bucky rubbed the nape of his neck, looking away from Grace while he processed her words.

 Swallowing, Bucky spoke. 

“I get the idea… but, I just, I don’t know. I don’t think it helped, really... when Raynor did it.” he admitted. 

Grace nodded. “Okay, that’s okay. I don’t think we should scrap the idea altogether just yet, though. Exposure therapy wouldn’t come until quite a bit later anyway, and certainly not before you’re ready. We can set it aside until then.” she clarified. 

Bucky nodded, refusing to meet her eyes, as he knew his would look glassy at the moment. 

“So, your last Doctor was located in New York, yes?” Grace quired. 

Bucky confirmed with a clear nod. Then, for further clarification, “I moved.” 

Grace nodded along, perhaps trying to prompt Bucky to keep talking on his own, but he did not. “What’s your current living situation like?” she asked, rather than waiting.

Bucky rubbed his gloved palms on the knees of his jeans. “I’m staying with Sam. He lives with his sister and her kids. It’s– it’s not permanent. They’re trying to help.” he explained, looking between her and his shoes. 

Grace furrowed her brow, showing her interest. “Help with what?”

Bucky exhaled. “Uh, I guess just help me figure out how to...you know, be a person again.” he ventured with a shrug. 

This is the point in which Raynor would say “You are a person, James.” and then he’d think to himself that she just doesn’t understand. 

Grace, however, did not say that. “And do you think they’re helping?” 

Bucky considered it. “I…” he paused, taking a breath as he considered further. “I guess? It feels like a home… because it is. Well– it’s somebody's home. Not my home… It’s not permanent.” he repeated with some fluster at his inability to make his words come out clearly. 

Grace waited.

“It reminds me of home, is what I mean…” he completed.

Grace nodded. “And how does that make you feel?”

Bucky resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That was one of Raynor’s go-to lines. 

Bucky just shrugged. 

Grace shifted in her seat, thinking. “Is it painful? Being reminded?”

Bucky shrugged again. “Sometimes.” he said, looking down at his hands.

Grace nodded. “And the rest of the time?” she prompted. 

Bucky raised his gaze up to meet hers for just a beat. “The rest of the time, it feels really good.” he answered as his gaze shifted downward again.