Chapter 84: Lists

Bucky woke up with a gasp, his heart hammering against his sternum and his eyes taking a second to focus in the dark. His new dog tags, so kindly bestowed upon him the day of his pardoning, seemed to bounce on his chest to the beat of his heart. He didn't like it, but he couldn't bring himself to take them off. Something about their weight felt familiar on a visceral level.

He still had nightmares regularly - that came with the territory of living in torture for decades - but they hadn't been this strong in a long time. He carefully uncurled his fingers from the sheets; the comforter had survived, but there was a large gash in the sheet along the side of the bed where his metal arm gripped.

Dammit.

Dr. Raynor had warned him that things might get worse before they got better, that they were going to deal with a lot of trauma that he'd pushed down for a long time. But this was ridiculous. Next to him, Mika snoozed away, curled up on her side and facing him like she wasn't afraid at all. For the first time in a long time, he had to worry that he might hurt her. And that was more terrifying than any nightmare.

He slowly crawled out of bed, though his wife didn't move and her breathing didn't change. He was glad she was a deep sleeper, and wouldn't be disturbed by his stupid brain doing stupid things in his dreams. Luna popped her head up but stayed where she was, watching as he got up and went into the living room, closing the door almost all the way behind him.

There wasn't much on the television at three in the morning, so instead he switched it over to Netflix and put on The Fellowship of the Ring. He hadn't had time to even buy the books yet, let alone read them, which was upsetting. Perhaps it could be his victory purchase whenever he finished this probationary period.

He shifted on the couch every few minutes, unable to find a comfortable position in the squishy cushions and soft pillows. By the time Sam and Frodo met Aragorn, he gave up, instead sliding down onto the floor. The laminate floor wasn't exactly comfortable, but something about it's hard surface felt better than the clouds on the couch. The bedroom door opened slightly and he prepared himself to apologize to Mika, but it was only Luna, her claws clicking on the floor as she joined him. Her eyes were half closed as she meandered to the couch, using the last of her energy to jump up and flop down behind him, her chin resting on his shoulder.

"I'm glad you like it." he murmured, earning a heavy sigh from the dog. He couldn't help but grin, kissing her nose before turning back to the movie. His appointment that day wasn't until ten o'clock, which meant he might have time to watch The Two Towers as well. Just the thought of the appointment annoyed him, but he tried to let the feeling wash over him. Apparently squashing your feelings was not the healthy way to deal with them, and actually feeling the negative feelings is what got them to go away.

Dr. Raynor had figured out very quickly that Bucky liked lists. It was annoying, really. Before, he made lists of his memories, or lists of his groceries, or lists of the skills that he wanted to teach Mika. In Wakanda, he made lists of chores, or the times Mika was off, or what he needed from the market. These were good lists, lists that helped, lists that were positive.

Therapy lists were not.

"So, did you finish the list of reparations like I asked?" she said later that morning, crossing one leg over the other. Most of the time, her direct nature and brusque responses were kind of nice; he never did like people tip toeing around him, or trying to cover things up. But today it just felt caustic, and he wanted to get this session over with. He was tired.

"Yes." he said, pulling the notebook from his back pocket and tossing it over to her. Normally he would at least have the decency to turn to the right page, but he decided to let her have that privilege. "Mika was even able to find them all. The ones that are still alive, at least."

Dr. Raynor looked over the rim of her glasses, then turned back to the list. "Were you this codependent before the whole Hydra situation?"

"I wouldn't consider myself codependent." he bristled.

"You had your wife find everyone on your reparations list."

"I asked my wife for help because she has a lot more technological knowledge than me." he said, neglecting the fact that Mika's methods were, at times, a little less than legal. "You might have forgotten, but I wasn't exactly present for all the advances the past, oh, eighty years."

"You spent two years in Wakanda and you expect me to think you never learned how to work a computer?"

"I ran a farm." he said, crossing his arms over his chest and uncrossing them when he realized she would take that as a sign of closing himself off. Too late, she saw it.

"A little codependence isn't bad, I'm just still establishing a baseline." she said. She put the notebook back down, sliding it across the table to him. "I assume you want to return to baseline, yea?"

"Baseline?" he asked, raising his brows. "Like, how I used to be before all the Hydra shit?"

"Yes."

"In 1945?"

"More or less."

"No, I don't want to go back to baseline." he said. "That man…I'm not him anymore. And I'm not going to try to be."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Why should I?" he countered. "I was twenty-six when my number got pulled. I feel like very few people want the same things at twenty-six and one hundred and six."

"If we include the time in the ice-"

"Yea, yea, yea, I'm somewhere in the thirty-five to thirty-seven range." he parroted before she could say it. Apparently in therapy he wasn't allowed to use his centenarian status as a crutch. "Fact remains, I'm not that guy." That guy was not the one Mika fell in love with, and that guy had never had to kill anyone.

"No, you're not." she agreed. "But if you keep pushing that part of you away, then you'll be in for a world of hurt one day."

Bucky was silent. He didn't understand what she meant, and he didn't want to ask for clarification. After three weeks of mandated therapy he thought he would feel better, but instead he felt worse.

"What are you thinking, James?" she asked quietly. He saw through that gentle facade right away. Can't bullshit a bullshitter.

"I'm thinking that I'm glad Mika called a different therapist." he replied, looking up at her. He knew he was being a dick, but he couldn't help but think she needed to realize the right way to push people. Dr. Raynor let out a heavy sigh.

"You don't have to let me in to whatever's going on in there," she said, gesturing vaguely at his head and chest. "But you're going to have to start letting other people in. So I'm gonna give you a homework assignment."

"Of course you are."

She glared, but continued. "I want you to go to a bar. Tonight. And make a friend."

"Back in my day, Doc, you only made certain kinds of friends at bars." he quipped, giving her the most sincere smile that he could muster, which was none. This time when she sighed, she pinched the bridge of her nose. Good, he was winning against his therapist, which was a perfectly good and normal thing to strive for in the course of recovery.

"I want you to just go talk to someone. Someone you haven't met before. Someone who isn't your wife, or your sister in law, or Steve. Hell, at this point, I'd be happy if you even just texted Sam back."

Oops, he had texted a few days prior, hadn't he? Bucky would deal with that later. "Mika can't even go." he tried. "She's still on house arrest for another nine weeks."

"That's literally the point." Dr. Raynor said. She took her glasses off, putting them on the table next to her. "James, I can't help you if you don't want to help yourself."

"I was doing pretty good. You act like I'm a lost cause." he said. There were scars in his brain that would never heal, and he'd come to terms with them, learned to live around them. It would be easier if Dr. Raynor could see that.

"I'm just trying to help." she said. "How are your nightmares?"

"Worse, thanks for asking." he snapped. She opened her mouth to respond, but he didn't let her. "You gave me my homework. I've turned in my previous assignment. Can I go now?" He knew he sounded like a child. He didn't care. Dr. Raynor clamped her mouth shut, her jaw working for a moment before she finally answered.

"Fine, go ahead. I'll see you on Monday." she said. Bucky got up and snatched his notebook off the table, stuffing it in his back pocket as he strode out of the room. He didn't say goodbye or thank her, which would have his mother rolling in her grave. Manners are important, James, she used to say. But she wasn't here and Dr. Raynor was being unbearable. Most of the time he kept himself quiet around people, but she knew how to get under his skin so he was talking more than he had in ages. He hated it.

He made sure his gloves were on right and put on his sunglasses, stepping out into the afternoon sun and the busy sidewalk. New York never gave a fuck what anyone was feeling, and at that moment, he was glad for it. Their apartment was a few good train stops away but he chose to walk, the exercise and the bustle helping to drown out the beehive in his mind. His thoughts ranged from how dare she to maybe she's right to we should've stayed in Wakanda, accompanied by steps for all these plans. And he was supposed to go to a bar? Good luck with that.

The elevator in the building was entirely too slow, so he chose to take the stairs up to their floor. He unlocked the door and found Mika on her yoga mat, holding a bridge while Luna slept on the couch. The lazy dog thumped her tail when he entered, but didn't deem him important enough to get up from her comfortable position this time. He came and scratched her ears anyway before taking off his jacket and laying it over the arm of the couch.

"How was it?" Mika asked, dropping the bridge and sitting up. He let out a sigh, his anger boiling up again. Dr. Raynor told him once that anger was a secondary emotion, that it covered for other things he was feeling. He decided that he was, in fact, feeling angry. "That shitty, huh?"

"Yea." he said. He went to sit in front of her, but changed his mind, instead pushing her onto her back and settling with his head on her chest. She was a little sweaty, but he didn't care. He wanted to be codependent for a second. She ran her fingers through his short hair, the movements soothing.

"Wanna talk about it?" she asked softly. He took in a breath, ready to spill it all, but ended up letting it out in a groan.

"I have homework." he said in Romanian. When he spoke the other language, he got to pretend that everything was alright, that they were back in Wakanda or Bucharest and living their life before the Blip, or Zemo, or any of that nonsense.

"Fun homework?" she asked, wiggling her hips underneath him and making him laugh.

"No, stupid homework." he said. He paused, coming up just enough to look at her. "Did your therapist give you that type of homework?"

"No, I was told we have a very healthy relationship." she said with a smile. He scoffed at that.

"Really? Cause I got called codependent today." he said, unable to keep bitterness from slipping into his voice.

"Oh, yes, because you couldn't survive without me." she said sarcastically. "A thousand years of terror, but you need me to keep going. Definitely."

"I don't wanna think about life without you." he murmured, gripping her tighter. Most of his nightmares involved an unseen force ripping her away from him, but he chose to keep that to himself. She hugged his head to her, her heartbeat thumping away under his ear.

"I don't want to either." she said. "But, if you had to, or if I had to, it could be done. Technically. It would just suck."

"And that's why it's never going to happen." he said. "If that makes us codependent, so be it."

"So be it!" she agreed, shifting so she could kiss the top of his head. "I love you, darling, you're perfect just the way you are."

"I love you too." he said, kissing the skin just below her sports bra. Her ribs still stuck out a little too much, but they were working on it.

"What's your real homework?" she asked.

"Apparently, I have to go to a bar tonight and make a friend." he said, sitting back up with a groan. He pulled off his gloves and untied his shoes, discarding both in the general direction of the door. Tidy was usually his middle name, but right now he felt like being rebellious.

"Oh, a friend?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Are you going to bring this friend home? For both of us?"

"Absolutely not." he said, wiggling out of his jeans and setting up his own yoga mat. It was a lot easier to do yoga again now that he had the second arm, and it was so beautifully reminiscent of the beginning of their relationship.

"What, would you get jealous?" she asked, looking entirely too delighted at the thought. Something little and green stirred in his chest, but he shoved it down and smirked instead.

"Not at all. I just know I wouldn't be as efficient with another woman as I am with you." he said. He stretched his arms over his head, his old joints clicking and popping as he did. She poked him in the side.

"Don't sell yourself short, you're very talented." she said. She rolled back onto her back, returning to the bridge she was holding before. He joined her. "It may not be a bad idea though."

"A threesome?" he asked, dropping out of the bridge and sitting up to look at her with a slack jaw. She busted into laughter, completely losing her focus. "Just to be very clear, I have no interest in a threesome."

"I don't either!" she said through her giggles. "I meant you going and talking to people. Oh my God, the look on your face." She wiped tears from her cheeks, still laughing. "A threesome?!" she mimicked to herself, dissolving again.

"To be fair, that's what we were last talking about." he said, shoving her hip. She rolled back, clutching her stomach as the muscles cramped. "You are so full of shit."

"Ah, but you married me!" she said. She shook her head, trying her best to calm herself down. "Oh God. Wow."

"Need a cigarette?" he deadpanned.

"Maybe later." she said, barely containing more laughter. "After our threesome."

"I hate you."

"Love you too, darling." she said. She stretched out on her mat, completely forgetting her workout now. "But seriously, it's not her worst idea. You had friends in Bucharest, and in Wakanda too."

"So did you." he pointed out, laying down next to her.

"Well, I'm on house arrest, so I have to live vicariously through you." she said. "Plus, then we'll have ready made friends whenever I'm free, and we won't have to go through the awkward vetting process. It's a win-win."

"Won't be as fun without you." he said.

"Well of course not. And my night won't be as fun without you, either." she said, scooting closer so they were nearly nose to nose. Bucky let out a long breath.

"I hate this therapy crap."

"Switch to my therapist, she's wonderful." Mika said.

"I don't know if the courts would allow that, since Dr. Raynor vouched for me and all." Again, he didn't mean to sound bitter, but it certainly came out that way. She screwed her mouth to the side.

"You're probably right. Dammit." she said. "But we have nine weeks left, we can do this."

"Yea, just gotta play the game so we can get back to our real life." he said, pulling her in for a kiss. She smiled into it, kissing him back. He kissed her a little deeper, fully intent on taking advantage of their limited clothing, but he was interrupted by a deep growl from her stomach.

"Shh, ignore it, it'll go away." she whispered when he pulled away. He laughed shaking his head.

"You need to eat, you're still healing." he said, trying to roll back. She caught him by the dog tags, sneaking in one more kiss. Maybe that's why he kept them on all the time. "There'll be plenty of time for that later."

"Ah, right, how could I forget about tonight." she said, laying as much implication into that one word as possible. He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about not having a fucking threesome before getting up, leaving her to laugh all over again as he went to cook her lunch.

He didn't want to go out that night. Hell, he never wanted to go out any night, but particularly not that one. But when they'd pardoned him and gave him back his rank, he'd promised to be a good sport. Well, technically he promised to abide by the rules set before him, and one of those was listening to Dr. Raynor. So he had to be a good sport.

"You'll be fine." Mika said, straightening the shoulders of his jacket. It occurred to him that he couldn't remember the last time he went out without her. Huh. Maybe he was a little codependent.

"Yea, I just don't wanna. There's a new episode of Top Chef." he said. Mika gave him a look.

"How about this, you give it one hour, and if after one hour everything is terrible, then come home and we'll watch Top Chef, and you can try again another night." she said, giving him a warm smile.

He nodded. "Perfect plan. You want me to bring you Milk Bar?"

"Oh my God, yes please." she said, leaning up to pepper his face with kisses. "I love you I love you I love you-"

"I love you too." he said, desperately tempted to stay. Mika smiled and gave him one last, lingering kiss before guiding him out the door.

"Go get it, lion." she said, smacking him on the rear.

"It's tiger." he replied, smiling at the annoyed face she made as he walked out the door.

The hallway was painfully quiet, and even the elevator was empty as he went down to the ground level. Once again he found the bustling sidewalk soothing, the crowd and the sounds helping to calm his thoughts. He just had to go out and talk to one person, then he could stop and buy Mika a slice of crack pie and cuddle up at home where he belonged.

He had no bar in mind, and instead wandered slowly to find a place that didn't make him want to pull his hair out. The clubs were too packed, the bars were too dark, and every other space had some other flaw that he could use as an excuse not to go in the door. He was just walking by a sushi place (too many tables) when he heard a crash and a curse from the alley. He stopped, slowly back peddling to the mouth of the alley.

An older gentleman cursed in Japanese, opening the trash cans and cursing more when he found them full. He had two bags down at his feet, and the dumpsters themselves were nearly as tall as he was.

"Can I help you, sir?" Bucky asked in Japanese, trying to remember how to be respectful. When they taught him Japanese, they weren't exactly focusing on manners. The man turned, unable to hide his surprise.

"Uh, yes please." he said. Bucky gave a smile and a nod, hoping he didn't come off as intimidating since he was currently cornering the man in the alley. He lifted the lid of one of the dumpsters, using the strength of his metal arm to push the already present bags down, making enough room for one of the man's bags. He repeated the process on the next one over, though this one was a little more difficult. "These stupid neighbors, they always put their trash in my bin, and then I can't get mine in."

"Disrespectful." Bucky commented, closing the bins again.

"That's what I said!" he said. "Kids these days."

"There you go." he said.

"Thank you." the man said, nodding. "Do you often speak Japanese?"

"Not often." Bucky said, not wanting to explain further. The man nodded again, putting a hand on Bucky's back and turning him towards the front of the alley.

"Come, I'll buy you a drink as a thank you." he said.

"Oh, no, you don't have to-"

"Of course I do. Come, come." he said, pushing him towards the sushi place. Bucky let the man shepherd him in, watching as he greeted the wait staff like old friends. He led him to a barstool. "Here, you sit here. I very rarely buy, you should feel honored."

Bucky did as he was told, parking his butt on the stool. The old man climbed onto the stool next to him, waving to the pretty girl behind the bar and ordering sake for the both of them. Bucky didn't bother telling him that he couldn't get drunk, instead just accepting the free drink with a smile.

"What's your name?" the man asked, taking a sip of the warm rice wine. This was better than the sake he'd had before; granted, that was back in 1982, and it was probably poisoned.

"Uh, James." he said. It felt weird, and he didn't really like it, but he was still used to being in the real world and telling people outside the Avengers circle his name, especially since his pardon was public record.

"James? I'm Yori. Yori Nakajima." He said the order in the American way, and Bucky rolled with it. Until the name sank in.

"Nakajima?" he asked, his mouth going dry. He took another gulp of sake before he could choke on the words. He could clearly see the name on the list in his pocket, his blocky handwriting staring back at him.

"Yes. Don't call me Nakashima, that's different. And wrong." he said.

"Nakajima, got it." he said correctly. He searched for something, anything, to ask the man. "Have you lived in New York long?"

"About forty years now, it's my home. Came here for my son." he said. This time it was his turn to drink away feelings, Bucky could tell that much. And he deserved to.

Somewhere, in his head, he knew that this wasn't a good idea. But he gestured for another round of drinks.

"What is your son's name?" he asked, as if he didn't already know, and know that his son had passed years before.

"He insisted we call him RJ. Took me and his mother ages to settle on a name, and he went for the initials." he said. He spoke in Japanese again, either not trusting his English when mixed with the alcohol or just happy to talk to someone in the language. Bucky at least could sympathize with that. "He, um, passed some time ago."

"I'm sorry for your loss." he said. One day, he might tell Yori exactly how sorry. But not this time. He could still picture RJ too, the look of fear as he struggled with the key in the door. Collateral damage, the report had said. The words made Bucky want to scream.

"Thank you." he said. He held up a hand at the second round. "It's too late for more. I need to get home."

"I'll walk you home." Bucky offered, because he couldn't just leave enough alone, he had to prolong the torture. But Yori held up a hand again.

"I live just around the corner, I'll be alright." he said, pulling a few bills from his wallet with a shaking hand and leaving them on the bar top. "Your Japanese is rusty."

"Yea, I haven't gotten to use it in a while." Bucky admitted.

"You need more practice." Yori said, carefully walking out the door. Bucky took a deep breath.

"How about Wednesday? To practice." he said, gesturing towards the window. A poster displayed the Wednesday Sushi Special. "I could use it."

Yori blinked, taking his time with his answer. Bucky didn't know whether he was a little suspicious, or a little drunk, or both. But then he smiled.

"Wednesday. Eleven o'clock." he said. Bucky smiled.

"Eleven o'clock it is." he said. When they parted, Bucky was hoping he would feel better. But he didn't. In fact, he felt worse. Just his luck, to run into the grieving father of one of his victims on his first night out on the town.

As he stopped at the local Milk Bar to get Mika her treat, he couldn't help but think he should've just stayed home.

Okay so technically I didn't lie when I said that we were getting into F&WS this chapter...it just wasn't completely true. Y'all know I can't do anything without making it a ten-step process. Oops.

Not gonna lie, updating two stories a week is kind of kicking my butt, so i may have to go to an every-other-week update schedule. i'm gonna keep it up as long as i can, but i wanted to warn y'all in case i fail and it happens next weekend lol

In the meantime, please please please let me know your thoughts on this story! I'm still so deeply in love with Mika and Bucky, and I love hearing your thoughts/theories/opinions.

Have a wonderful week! Thank you for reading!

-XM