After the departure of Jackie's agitated visitor, she let out a resigned sigh. Resting her head on the table and running her fingers through her bob of dark curls. She got up to make herself a mug of chamomile tea with honey. As she waited for the water to boil for her tea, she opened the jar on her desk and absentmindedly reached for the chocolate chip biscuit inside.
It had all started with a phone call from an old colleague. One who Jackie had never thought she would hear from again.
In the end, whichever way she looked back on it – she had been to blame for taking up the job in the first place. A volunteer therapist at the Department of Veteran Affairs. To be fair, Jackie had just begun practice and needed any experience she could get her hands on. The work itself was slow-paced and fulfilling. She was making progress with her patients and grew to like them. Well, most of them. There had been that incident with the man who flew into a rage and overturned her desk. Prior to that, he had sometimes shared fantasies about committing hostile acts; Jackie had reported it, but there had been no concern from her superiors. After that, it grew tremendously difficult for her to justify the patriotism that clouded the vision of all her patients – as well as the employees.
Everyone who worked in the department shared a passion for their country, which, to her – felt dangerous and unhealthy. It was no longer patriotism – it was jingoism. She could see the pain in her patients' faces as they struggled to fit back into society. Some on the brink of poverty, seeking ways to comprehend the betrayal they felt by their beloved country. She could imagine it in the faces of those who they had killed. How do you console someone who'd committed such terrible atrocities? Someone who she was both afraid of, and afraid for. The naivety which had convinced them to defend the country, had been manipulated and corrupted. Their nightmares soon became hers and she could no longer look them in the eye. Jackie's role was to offer her patients a safe space, to talk and to heal. Yet, it was her foolishness for never having imagined that it would mean hearing of horrific war crimes committed. Whether through sobs, smiles, or sniffles. In both boastful exclaims or soft mumbles.
There were good people too; Sam Wilson had reminded her of it in moments when she felt overwhelmed. He believed that people were hurting and just wanted a better life. Jackie could no longer stand to bear how disturbingly wrong it all was. The institution. The values ingrained in everyone around her. The fascination with war. The department and its policies. Even the media and how it glorified war – as a noble cause, one worth losing everything for. Because the media never shed light on those who truly had lost everything. And not just here, at home. The ones abroad; those left in the rubble.
Sam had been Jackie's only work-friend then. She respected his values and admired the charisma and bravery with which he was able to inspire hope and provide comfort to people. But Sam had been a part of the institution that she had grown to despise, even if he was the only goodness that remained. She also knew she could never comprehend the trauma he had lived through, nor would she ever wish to. Nevertheless, he had respected Jackie's decision to leave, and they parted on kind terms.
Of course, Jackie was taken aback by his call. She hadn't spoken to him since she'd left the job years ago. Since then, she had come far in establishing her own name as a therapist. It hadn't been easy, but it had been worth it. He asked her about therapy, politics, and her professional practice finally taking off. She had darkly joked how "the snap was pretty good for business" but to no amusement from Sam's end. She asked him about his heroism and newfound fame.
At the end of their half hour conversation, he pronounced: "I'm looking for a therapist, on behalf of a friend. His last one wasn't a good fit."
"Why are you asking me?"
Sam hesitated before replying: "You're both not like me at all. I think you would get along,"
That certainly wasn't a standard to go by, but it wasn't worthwhile to get into that. "He's free to book an appointment with me, Sam."
There was silence from the other end of the line. Sam was thinking about his next words carefully, as if he were treading a thin line. Jackie could sense Sam keeping something from her that he wanted to share, but what could possibly be so perturbing that he had to share with her – his old co-worker?
"He's … complicated. But I think I can convince him to give therapy another shot. I just need to know you're on board, before I do that. I don't want you to be caught off-guard, and for him to give up – again."
"Sam, it sounds like you're conspiring to get your friend into therapy," Jackie had altogether, too much experience in well-meaning friends and family members who pressured their loved ones into therapy.
"Yeah, well if you met him – you'd agree that conspiring against him is in his best interest," Sam chuckled.
"Sounds like you two have a history, with a complicated relationship,"
"See? You've begun questioning already, and I'm not even a patient,"
Jackie grinned on the other line, vaguely aware that she had just been interviewed for a job, she hadn't even applied for. And might just get it.
"Alright Sam, who is this mysterious friend?"
There was a pregnant pause and the caller's light tone shifted to wary expectation as he replied: "James Bucky Barnes."
The conversation with her visitor, played back in her head, and Jackie pondered if she were to blame for how it had turned out. Yet, she also knew she had no business getting involved. Yet, perhaps she could've handled the situation with more empathy. Focused towards deescalating the issue, if not resolving it. She closed her eyes and focused on the welcoming sound of the whistling kettle, as it came to a boil.
This was his second visit. He had visited her a week ago, for his trial session, which was one of the most uncomfortable ones Jackie ever taken, and Bucky Barnes could clearly see that.
She had tried all kinds of approaches to get him talking, but his replies remained restricted to a few words at most. It became apparent that Bucky had only come as a favour to Sam, or maybe to get him off his back. He was edging to leave and that too – without letting his guard down. Why he stayed for as long as he did – Bucky wouldn't say. By the end of the session, Jackie's failed attempts at striking conversation had left her feeling awkward, and Bucky seemed bored from just witnessing it all.
He didn't meet her eyes when he finally stood up, mumbled an uneasy "Thank you. Sorry it won't work out," and was out the door in a second. A pathetic wave of relief had passed through Jackie. So, she had failed, but it was Bucky's choice if he wanted to attend therapy or not. And that too, from her or not. She respected his decision and was secretly glad the discomfort was over.
Strangely enough, he was back again the week after their disastrous trial session. This time, he simply barged in with a: "Have you heard the news?"
It had seemed more like a demand than a question.
Jackie had had a long day. The apprehension she had felt upon seeing Bucky for the first time, in the flesh and in her office to for a therapy session – was unexpectedly gone. Prior to meeting him, Jackie hadn't given his existence much thought in the past, nor had she followed his history closely. All she knew was that he was a weapon used by a fascist organisation, to commit horrendous crimes against the world. Simply put, the man was a survivor of their crimes, not a perpetrator. However, when suddenly faced with him alone, Jackie's reaction had been embarrassingly unpredictable. Her legs were shaking as she had extended her hand out to him, and she was quite sure her palms were wet from sweat.
That couldn't have been the best start to establish trust. What had followed had been even worse, but Jackie had moved on from that day, and now all she wanted that evening, was an ice-cold coffee. Not to deal with Bucky Barnes in her office. Again.
"Hello again, yes, I watch it every day. Although, that's probably not healthy considering all that's happening in the world,"
"Have you heard about Sam being appointed Assistant Director of S.H.I. .?" There was an accusatory tone in Bucky's voice, but not towards Jackie. His eyes were fixed at her desk and his hands clenched. Everything in his body language said that the man in front of Jackie was aggravated and on the verge of an outburst. That couldn't possibly be a good sign.
"Yes, I sent him a congratulatory message. Figured he'd be too busy to attend calls," Jackie was genuinely delighted for Sam. If anyone deserved the position, it was him.
"Do you know what he's getting himself into?"
She was taken aback by Bucky's resentment over his friend's accomplishment, but she remained calm. He had also clearly mistaken her relationship with Sam, as something more than an acquaintanceship. Jackie had no clue what Sam was getting into, how could she? Bucky picked up on that as he recollected himself, trying to be more rational this time.
"Those people are not to be trusted. They will" – he made squeezing gesture with his hands – "they'll corrupt S.H.E.I.L.D. from the inside and destroy it – who's to say they haven't already? And just, use him as a cover up. They'll crush him, I know they will."
Jackie felt a flash of goosebumps from the unstable monologue by the man in front of her. His eyes were almost gleaming with an emotion Jackie couldn't place. Perhaps it bitterness, or maybe it was concern. She doubted that he could tell either. She leaned back into her chair with a deep breath. Bucky moved away from the desk as he slowly subsided.
"What would have me do?" Jackie inquired. Even if Bucky's dark judgement was accurate, why had he come to her?
"You have to tell him he's making a mistake. They'll just use him, it's what they always do. Treat people like pawns. Good people."
"Do you think Sam will let himself be used?" Jackie stared at the man standing in front of her, who was still too furious to take a seat.
There was a pause. "If he doesn't, they'll just bulldoze right over him. I've tried everything, but he won't listen to me. I even went to Rhodey… Look, you're friends with him, you have to tell him."
"I'm not friends with Sam," she sighed.
Sighing, the man put his hands on his hips but didn't respond.
"Listen, I can't mediate between you two. And I don't know either of you well enough, to do that," she emphasized gently.
"I don't want mediation; I need to stop him before it's too late. So, point me in the direction of whoever can."
There was a restless tension in his wavering voice and the air was thick with uncertainty. Bucky was exasperated and desperate. It was almost pathetic. One hand on his hip, the other ran through his short, dark hair. It was gloved and that hand. With a shiver, Jackie reminded again that this man was not harmless. There was nothing she could say to reassure him.
For a brief second, Bucky's piercing eyes met hers. They were full of fury, fear, and anguish. They were asking for help but for all the wrong things and in all the wrong places. Everything was upside down in the world. Their world, especially. It was a lonesome world, where the things you wanted to convey, couldn't be spoken aloud. All that he spoken had come out wrong and broken. It was a futile attempt. Bucky knew that now. He knew that before he even walked into the office. The same office he'd visited a week ago because the man he was now afraid for, had badgered him into giving therapy another shot. In all fairness – Bucky had. And now he was done trying.
"Alright." He acknowledged the silence for what it was – that he was once more alone in his fight. Just like that, Bucky left the room.
After a few seconds, Jackie opened her eyes again rummaged through her desk drawer until she found the notebook. It was the notebook she had intended to use during her first session with Bucky, but it was empty except for four words: "Unresponsive. Reserved. Emotional distress?" So much for that. Jackie slid the book across the smooth surface of the desk. She had no place in this mess between two people she hardly knew. She had fifteen minutes to prepare for her next appointment.
Jackie's phone lit up with a text. It was a message from Sam, a mass text by the looks of it.
He was having a party.
Why was she even invited? Yet, there Jackie stood – in a skyscraper's elevator, on her way to a penthouse party, hosted by an old co-worker. Why had she come? Tugging the sleeves of her white, wrapped, V-neck blouse, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. It was a Friday and she'd had a late appointment, after which she'd gone straight to the venue of Sam's party, before she could second-guess her decision. He'd invited her, so she should attend the celebration, right? She would just drop in, congratulate Sam, and head out. Or maybe if the dinner looked appetizing, then she'd eat before her exit, since she had unfortunately missed lunch. The brown bag that held an expensive bottle of wine, shifted from one hand to another.
To describe the glass penthouse as lavish – was an understatement. The floor to ceiling windows displayed a dazzling view of New York at night. The lights of the city shimmered all around her as Jackie walked through the enormous entrance. A black, marble staircase led to another open floor above. Approaching the windows, Jackie realised the ceiling above her was also made of glass, and at least ten feet above her with hanging chandeliers. The magnificent lounge had a modernistic setting, a few dark leather sofas with a stone coffee table in between. Guests were scatted across the spacious room, and a few stood chatting in the open kitchenette – which seemed as though it was only made for decoration. The black cabinets and stone kitchen island complimented the dark luxury-minimalist interior of the penthouse. However, there was no sign of dinner.
There must have been at least forty or fifty people on the ground floor of the penthouse, and Jackie could see people upstairs as well. No one seemed to have notice her. Entranced by the illuminated skyline ahead, she made her way outside – which was remarkably, even larger than the house itself.
As soon as Jackie stepped onto the rooftop, there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere. The lighting was dimmer and warmer, and it was much quieter here. Although there were far more guests outside than inside, Jackie felt less exposed and crowded. The wide, open space made the ambiance much more intimate and warmer – despite the chilly weather. She walked aimlessly, subconsciously scanning the crowd for a familiar face. There were dozens of people outside, and she couldn't recognise a single face. Why would she, she reminded herself. Jackie wondered if these people were all from S.H.I.E.L.D., and a fleeting thought of Bucky's warning came to mind. It was gone when she spotted Sam in a distance.
He wore a handsome suit and was surrounded by three people who burst into laughter at something he'd just said. Even from far away, Jackie could read him well-enough to see that Sam's laughter was genuine. A warm joy surged through her body and was gone before she knew it. However, Sam caught her staring (probably with a foolish look on her face), and his grin disappeared. Jackie suddenly felt out of place and obvious, but Sam was already walking towards her, so she couldn't do anything besides nervously wrap her arms around herself. August hadn't even ended yet, and the weather had turned crisp.
"Jackie, I'm so glad you made it," Sam beamed as he extended his hand to shake hers. The warmth from Sam enveloped her hand, and Jackie was reminded once again, why he'd been such a good counsellor. She shook it and the rush of uncertainty slowly washed away.
"Congratulations Sam. I'm really happy for you," Jackie meant it. She wanted to say more, but she was scared it would seem ingenuine, since she didn't know him well enough to go on about it. But the glint in Sam's eyes told her that he understood, and it was enough.
"Thank you, Jackie. I really appreciate it."
There was a shift in tone as Jackie casually continued: "You've got one hell of a home,"
Sam chuckled heartily as he pushed his hands into his coat pockets for warmth. "Oh, this place isn't mine. It belongs to a friend of a friend. In fact, the whole party isn't mine."
Jackie grinned for the first time in what felt like ages. It certainly felt good to let herself relax after a long day; at a party she didn't belong. Her nerves were finally settling down.
Sam's tone suddenly shifted as he looked at her apologetically. "Listen… about Bucky – he wouldn't tell me anything, but I know it didn't work out. I'm sorry for getting you involved in the first place,"
"You didn't involve me in anything," Jackie recalled her last meeting with Barnes and looked down at her boots to avoid Sam's earnest eyes. "I really hope he feels better soon."
He gazed at her fondly and nodded. "So do I."
In this distance, a few people gestured his way, and she knew their time was unfortunately up. Sam graciously accepted the wine bottle Jackie presented him and softly touched her arm as he left. "Keep in touch, alright?"
Alone once more, Jackie debated whether she should wait for dinner (on the off chance it would actually be served) or simply call it a night. She had a tv show and a tabby cat waiting for her at home – which were very compelling reasons to leave.
She pulled her grey, plaid coat across her chest, as her exhales condensed into clouds. Jackie gazed out at the vast metropolis around her one last time. Suddenly, she was met with a familiar face at the far edge of the roof.
Bucky Barnes.
He stood on the edge of the roof, with no one around him. Obscured from the spotlights and almost entirely in the shadows. But he had seen her, nevertheless. And she had seen him.
Perhaps it was a result of meeting Sam, that had made her feel more at ease, but Jackie slowly walked towards Bucky, with no real reason or purpose. To her surprise, he approached her too.
"Enjoying the party?" She'd met him halfway from his spot, and although they were still at a fair distance from both the crowd and the lights, she could finally see his face. He looked tired, was all.
"No." Bucky's voice was coarse, as if he hadn't spoken in a while. "Listen, I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have said those things. Or tried to get you involved. I was out of line."
His tone was flat, but Jackie could tell the apology was genuine. His gaze remained averted from her as he stared at the lit-up penthouse.
"Thank you for saying that. I'm sorry, you felt alone in all of it."
Silence ensued for the next few seconds as Jackie looked down at her own burgundy pants, and then finally added: "I didn't think I'd find you here,"
Bucky took another sip from the beer bottle he held. Jackie hadn't seen anyone else drinking beer at the party, so it seemed he brought it himself. "I came so I could see them for myself…" he hesitated and shifted uncomfortably, as if he was forced to reveal his secret plan. "So at least I know what we're dealing with."
We're dealing with. Was Bucky adding himself to the picture when it came to Sam's position in S.H.I.E.L.D.? Jackie fought the urge to ask who 'we' were. It would only add discomfort to an already-uneasy situation.
"So, you're looking out for Sam by attending the party?"
Bucky replied by taking another drink of beer and continuing to stare straight ahead. Jackie didn't mind the silence, however awkward it was to stand in the cold, shadows with a strange man who up until now, intimidated her a great deal. In a way, this was her very own exercise in dealing with a subconscious fear. A way to perhaps erase the discomfort of their last meeting. Just parting on polite terms could be a fulfilling closure.
"Do you know anyone here?" she tried again, for whatever strange reason that was keeping her standing here.
"No, except Rhodey. But I've seen a few people around,"
Jackie could tell he didn't want to get into it, so she didn't probe further, but Bucky continued after a pause.
"Sarah – Sam's sister – arranged this whole thing. She came to visit Sam, but then something came up back home, so she left this morning. She wanted to meet the people Sam was working with. In fact, she kind of forced me to come," he gave a small sigh.
Sarah seemed like somebody who got the job done, Jackie admired her already.
"Did you tell her about…"
"No," he interjected. "I couldn't involve her into this. She's already suspicious enough… for good reason."
Jackie nodded. It must've taken a lot of will, not to tell Sarah. Bucky made it sound like it was never up for discussion but knowing Sarah could be the only person who shared his views and was the closest person to Sam… that could have changed things. For better or for worse, Jackie couldn't say.
They stood in silence once more. The traffic of the city was muffled out by the time it reached the roof. A cool breeze swept through Jackie's hair and she shivered with goosebumps. Strangely enough, she felt more awake than she had the entire day. Or perhaps the whole week. There was something electrifying about being so high above the monotony of everyday routine. Jackie wondered if this was a sign she should really socialise more.
Bucky stood with one hand in his black jacket and the other loosely gripping the beer bottle. How was it not finished yet? He wore a thin knit, dark green sweater, and black pants. His mind was elsewhere, as he stared ahead in the direction of the penthouse. The lights lit up his eyes every now and then, but he remained detached and lost in his own thoughts. His face was unreadable to Jackie.
She caught another glimpse of Sam – inside the house this time, as he poured someone around him a drink. She couldn't make out much of the scene from so far away, but Jackie could tell he was smiling.
"You know, this isn't my place to say – but I think Sam's going to be alright."
She glanced at Bucky who scoffed lightly in disagreement and averted his eyes. He took another swig of his beer. Resisting all the hints to stop – both internal and external – Jackie added:
"Sometimes the people we care about, make different choices from us. And all we can do is just see them through it."
As soon as she said it, she regretted it. Was she was doing it again? Bringing therapy into her personal interactions? It was a subconscious habit of hers when she was too inside her own head, or if a friend approached her for help and she would automatically fall back into her usual form. Jackie silently cursed herself for offering input when it wasn't wanted or needed.
As usual, Bucky didn't reply. At least not for a long moment. When he finally did, his voice was grave.
"I can't just stand by and watch it unfold." He didn't exactly clarify what 'it' was, but it couldn't be good. "When I was with… I placed some people in S.H.I.E.L.D. A few got caught, but some of them are still out there. Steve didn't trust S.H.I. . and neither do I." The last sentence was barely audible.
"But he trusted Sam, right?"
A quiet fell between them once more. Maybe she had crossed boundaries and invaded Bucky's privacy. Possibly his space, too. It was neither friendly, nor professional. She wasn't sure which category her interactions with Bucky would fit into anyway. It didn't seem like either. Nevertheless, he was still here. She couldn't figure out why, but then again – she hadn't expected to stay as long as she did, either.
In the distance, the party guests began huddling together and going inside the penthouse. Jackie squinted until she could finally see inside the house, and at the dining table laden with food. She gasped.
"Wow, dinner is actually served. I thought this was just a fancy, wine party. Do you want me to get you a plate?" she inquired.
Bucky's gaze remained stoically fixed ahead as he reluctantly shook his head. "No, I'm fine,"
"Are you sure?" Jackie's stomach was already growling with anticipation. She'd be glad even if they only served olives and cheese.
Bucky shrugged unassumingly. "Alright, fine."
"You're not doing me a favour, you know?" she countered, teasingly.
"Thank you."
The food was delicious. There was a lobster dish, smoked ribs, lasagne, salad, and a cheese platter. Jackie added a bit of everything to two plates and went back to Bucky. He had moved much further back and stood leaning on the ledge of the roof now – where Jackie had seen him first. She carefully stepped into the dark. Upon reaching him, Bucky thanked her and took his plate. The edge was actually not as dark as the walk towards it, had been. The illuminated buildings nearby and the bustling traffic lights below, made it easy to see around. The breeze was cooler here in the openness, so Jackie eagerly took a bite of her food. Warmth instantly surged from her stomach, into every limb of her body.
The two of them ate in peace on the rooftop ledge. Bucky offered her an unopened beer bottle from what appeared to be out of the blue. Did he have a secret stash hidden on someone's penthouse roof? Jackie supposed stranger things have happened. Especially when it came to Bucky's life.
Ten minutes passed with the only sound in between them being that of chewing. In the distance, even the party had grown quieter during dinner. Being so close to the bright, open sky, Jackie felt a tranquillity in the air. She was almost done with her food when Bucky cleared his throat over his empty plate.
"How do you know Sam?"
He didn't look up. She swallowed the last of her bite.
"I worked with him years ago, at Veteran Affairs. I was a volunteer therapist,"
"Why'd you stop?"
Leaning his back against the ledge, Bucky remained nonchalant, as he poked his fork into another smoked rib. He still didn't look up from his plate. Something told Jackie that he wouldn't care if she answered or not. Bucky didn't talk much. But when he did, his words were precise and had a purpose. Even if they came out wrong. No matter how badly they could be perceived, Bucky meant whatever little he said. And the reaction it had in return, didn't seem to affect him.
Jackie certainly hadn't planned on getting into this conversation tonight, and especially with James Bucky Barnes. It wasn't that it was a sensitive topic for her; just one that she had moved on from so long ago. She didn't visit her memories from the Department, very often. Perhaps it was because she was a different person back then – so much younger and inexperienced. Stubborn and scared. The present-Jackie wasn't proud of how her past-self had handled certain things back then. Nevertheless, she was still grateful to have left that job and ended up where she was now.
She pondered briefly if the subject was suitable to dive into – given her present company. But she figured there was nothing to be too bothered about. Anyway, the likelihood of her ever-meeting Bucky again, was resting peacefully on zero chances. She really had nothing to lose. Worst-case scenario, of the conversation went south – she had already finished eating and could just go home.
"Politics, I suppose – would be the simple answer. I don't support the military. I also don't support how the state discards the soldiers once they've done its bidding. I guess I don't support anyone."
Once she said it, a weight was lifted off her shoulders. Another weight took its place. Had she been with a friend, this conversation could still have gotten heated with time. Jackie was not with a friend. She was with Captain America's best friend. A man who had sacrificed his life working in the military. A supersoldier. She raised her beer bottle to take another drink but was stunned to find it was finished.
To Jackie's astonishment, Bucky actually grinned. The sight was so rare to see that the bottle remained at her mouth while she stared at him incredulously. The corners of his eyes crinkled and when he finally looked at her, there was a shimmer in his eyes, left behind as a remnant of a knowing smirk.
"There's always people like you," was all Bucky said, shaking his head. He took another swig of his endless-beer.
Jackie wasn't sure how to respond to that statement. Should she counter with a cliché: 'there's no one like me'? Thankfully, Bucky decided to elaborate:
"Back in the day, it was my sister and her student group. They were always protesting, and she and I were always fighting. But the last time I was gone; there were moments when I almost understood… what she meant and where she was coming from."
He finally turned around to face the city lights. The glow of the night sky reflected in his eyes, as he looked below. His countenance was pensive, but Jackie could not read any emotion on him. After all her blunders, she felt it was safer to not probe further.
A few feet away, she hoisted herself onto the ledge safely and joined Bucky's gaze in down at the traffic below them. Her now full-stomach – knotted immediately, so she regretfully stared back up. With her left foot beneath as her thigh, and her right leg hanging loosely over the edge, she sat comfortably. In this moment, Jackie was grateful to not have a fear of heights, as she enjoyed the view.
Minutes passed in blissful silence until Bucky spoke again. His voice was sombre, and Jackie could barely make out his words in the breeze that swept by them. Almost as if he were speaking to himself.
"During the war, the worst thing that you could imagine happening to you, was death. Now it's all upside down."
Shadows danced and flickered across his face as he exhaled sharply. Even in the shadows, Jackie could see the tiredness in Bucky's eyes. His brows furrowed as he looked away, obscuring his face from the lights.
"I think we honour the dead more than the living. Sometimes I wonder if it's harder staying alive, than giving up your life,"
"Depends on what you're giving up,"
The corners of Jackie's mouth twitched upward, just the slightest. She hesitated before responding. "We're fed the notion that the brave die young. When isn't persistence more valuable?"
"Self-sacrifice isn't the same thing as quitting. Giving up your life – when you don't want to – for a cause bigger than yourself, that's bravery."
"So, would you say it's more honourable to die as a martyr, than to live an empty life – or even a cowardly one?"
Bucky glanced towards her; his brows furrowed. "What would be the honour in living as a coward?"
Staring at her lap, Jackie smiled softly. "I'm not trying to negate the nobility of martyrdom, but death is an escape. It's quick. I think there's bravery in living, despite the pain and whatever consequences there may be. Don't you think that takes more courage? To withstand all that, and live on?"
A tentative wonder passed over Bucky's countenance, as he sighed. "I guess that also depends on how you live the rest of your life,"
A grin stretched across Jackie's face. "Congratulations. That's the right answer."
"I thought there were no wrong answers in therapy. And what, you're testing me now?" His gaze leapt over the city, still unfazed.
"Um, excuse me Mr. Barnes, take a look around. We are not in therapy. I think you remember how that went," Jackie exclaimed teasingly.
She was vaguely aware of being too emphatic, but she had the strangest sensation that Bucky could perceive her words and tone, as they were intended – which was light and amiable. Everything she shared were her own personal feelings, and none of it was intended to be right or wrong. In a way, this was the opposite of her therapy sessions, because she wasn't trying to understand Bucky or get a glimpse into his mind. Or even to help him, really. They were just two people talking. About things Jackie hadn't even begin to comprehend properly. In a sense, nothing said between them was set in stone. It simply passed through the breeze; acknowledged but unconstrained.
It was unlikely that Bucky would feel the same way, but Jackie left that up to him.
To her relief, Bucky chuckled lightly, running his gloved hand through his hair. Clouds of his breath formed in the air.
"Like I said, I'm sorry about that. And please don't call me 'Mr. Barnes'. I'm already old enough, without the title."
It was Jackie's turn to laugh, and it felt good. The amusement gave her insides a warmth – which she welcomed, against the cold night air. "First names are a privilege I grant only to those who introduce themselves."
"And I haven't introduced myself yet?"
Jackie shook her head and Bucky sighed as he pondered over her request. She could read amusement on his face, but there was also something else. A hint of agitation. Where to start and where to end. He ended up choosing to keep it light.
"My name is James Bucky Barnes. I'd prefer it if you'd call me Bucky. James is… okay. 'Barnes' is for official purposes. And 'Buck' is off the table, so don't ask."
Jackie scoffed, teasingly. "Wow, that's what we call a 'therapeutic breakthrough', in my profession."
"Are you serious?" Bucky frowned curiously.
"No, I'm kidding,"
Jackie's phone vibrated with a missed call, and she took it out of her pocket to realise it had gotten late. If she delayed her return anymore, her cat would probably tear through her sofa in vengeance.
"I better head home now," she slid of the ledge cautiously and wiped the dust off her coat. Bucky merely nodded.
"You have my phone number, let me know if you ever want to hang out,"
"Not in therapy," he replied dryly.
Jackie turned to him inquisitively, relaxing again when Bucky gave the smallest smirk and turned away.
"I think we can both agree on that," she declared, extending a hand towards him. He shook it and Jackie was grateful to not have sweaty palms this time around. His gloved hand was strangely warm, while Jackie's was freezing.
After shoving her hand into her pocket to check if she had everything she'd need (she'd only brought her keys and her phone), she began walking away.
"I'll walk you out,"
Jackie glanced over her shoulder in Bucky's direction.
"Are you just saying that to get out of the party?"
"Perhaps."
I merged two parts together so this is a really big (first) chapter for me! I loved writing this and I hope you enjoy it too!