Frankie walked up the stairs, contemplating whether or not she wanted to have dinner alone. She was in a crummy mood, having found the whole work day incredibly boring. She met with each of the Avengers to talk about what was working, what wasn't working, and find out any special requests. All in all, no one needed anything, everything was great. Well, except the earpiece and communication devices Tony had designed. They were the one thing everyone complained about.

Of course Tony skimped on the easiest thing.

She ended the day with a small argument with Tony when he brought up the mandated therapy she needed to start. Tony gave her a folder with a picture and description of each of the therapists she had to choose from. They all seemed like they sucked.

Frankie knocked on Bucky's door instead of going straight into her own apartment. She wasn't even sure if he was home, but he'd been one of the first she'd spoken to this morning and she hadn't seen him anywhere the rest of the day.

Bucky opened his door and his eyebrows raised nominally. "Surprised to see you."

"Do you wanna have dinner together? Or a beer or something?"

"Sure," Bucky agreed. "Let's make it a beer. I'm supposed to have dinner with Steve and Sam tonight. You're welcome to join us."

"No thanks," Frankie shook her head. "Today has been… overwhelming enough. I don't want to interact with more than one person at a time. Overwhelming isn't even the right word."

"What's the right word?" Bucky asked, closing his door. "Do you want to go out or to one of our apartments?"

"Do you know of any weird dive bars?"

Bucky grinned. "Yeah, I know just the place. There's a pool table and people still smoke inside. It's kind of a grungy punk biker bar, but it's my favorite place for when I both do or don't want social interaction."

"Wonderful," Frankie said, clapping her hands together. "Boring is the right word. The first thing I need to do is easy and boring. Should I change? Is this acceptable biker-diver bar attire?"

He laughed and nodded. "Jeans and a tank top, seems right. Unless you have a leather jacket, in which case definitely bring that with you."

"Dang, I don't. Maybe I should get a faux leather jacket. Think they would know?"

"Nah, they'd never have any idea."

The streets were full of people when they walked out of their building, but the crowd tapered off as Bucky led them through side streets to a part of Brooklyn she was unfamiliar with but had a normal amount of people on the streets and not a New York amount of people on the streets. Frankie was happy about how close the bar was. If she liked it, it would only be ten minutes from their building.

"Wanna grab us a table and I'll grab drinks?"

"Sure," Frankie agreed. "PBR please."

Bucky's eyes danced with amusement. "PBR? You could definitely wear a faux leather jacket and no one would question you." Frankie laughed and made her way to an empty corner booth. They had a good view of the pool games but were out of the path of foot traffic.

She looked around and took in her surroundings and immediately felt at home in the bar. They reminded her of the places she went as a kid with her parents. Dark walls, dim lights, except over the pool tables. A slight haze from the people smoking cigarettes. A jukebox that seemed to always play the right song.

"PBR for the lady," Bucky said, sitting down across from Frankie. He had a PBR of his own.

"Thanks. I like this place. It reminds me of being a kid."

Bucky laughed. "A kid? Were you bar hopping as a child?"

"Nah," Frankie shook her head, taking a sip of beer. "Not bar hopping but I definitely spent a lot of time in bars as a kid. My parents drank, sometimes way too much, sometimes a normal amount. But they'd take me with 'em when they went out. I loved it. I didn't know that wasn't normal until I got older."

"Your name is Franklin. You weren't meant to have a normal life."

"Franklin Bird at that," Frankie laughed. "Franklin after my grandad. Bird because my mom likes birds."

"Did you always go by Frankie?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Long as I can remember that's what my family called me. Franklin was always reserved for when I was in trouble. Frankie Bird sometimes by my mom and grandma. You always go by Bucky?"

"Yeah. James was a popular name and there were too many. Dad started calling me Bucky, Buchanan is my middle name. Ma hated it. She only called me James. Or James Buchanan Barnes when I was in trouble."

"Was that, like, all the time?"

Bucky leaned forward. "Are you saying you think I'm a troublemaker?"

"No," Frankie answered laughing. "But I think you have a problem with authority."

Bucky grinned. "I don't know if that was as true pre-HYDRA. But it's definitely true now. Growing up most of my trouble came from Steve running his mouth and me saving his ass."

"I've definitely thought about kicking his ass," Frankie said.

"Steve… can bring that out in people. You have a best friend that makes people wanna beat their ass?"

Frankie smiled wryly. "I don't have a best friend at all. The person I thought was my best friend betrayed me." Bucky frowned but didn't ask anymore questions when Frankie didn't offer any more information. They sat in a comfortable silence, watching everyone around them.

Frankie enjoyed the two older gentlemen in leather vests who played an animated game of pool. They did as much congratulating on great shots as they did shit talking and it was clear that they'd known each other a long time.

"Tony gave me a file that has different therapists in it. I have to pick one to talk to," Frankie said, rolling her eyes.

Bucky groaned. "I'm part of the mandated therapy group. I've gone through a lot of them. Wonder if he gave us the same choices."

"You wanna look later and tell me if any of them suck balls?"

"Interesting word choice… They all suck. But it's probably because we don't have a choice in whether or not we do it."

"Mmm. You're smart."

"I think I picked some things up from talking to my therapist," Bucky grinned. Frankie laughed loudly and shook her head. "Don't tell anyone I said that. I'll deny it."

"Your secret's safe."

"Tony tell you that you have to?"

"Sorta. Tony told me but I think S.H.I.E.L.D. told him. He won't confirm that though," Frankie said, rolling her eyes.

"The U.S. government told me I had to," Bucky offered.

"Fuck them" Frankie answered. The pair drained the last of their beers.

"I need to go and meet Steve and Sam. I can walk you home. You're also welcome to come."

"I can get home on my own too," Frankie said.

"I don't doubt that. We took a winding path here so I wasn't sure if you would know your way back."

"I have a smartphone."

"Oh. Right. I forget those exist still," Bucky said sheepishly. "So you won't come to dinner with me and the guys?"

"Maybe next time," Frankie answered. "Go and have fun. I think I'm going to stay for one more beer then head home."

"Let's exchange numbers. You'll let me know when you get home?"

Frankie laughed and took Bucky's phone, adding in her number and then calling her own phone and saving his number. "Yes. You're ridiculously old fashioned."

Bucky shrugged. "I'm a hundred years old, what can I say?"

"Have fun," Frankie waved. When he was out the door she went to the bar and ordered another beer. When she got back to the booth she pulled a book from her purse and settled in.

Not a bad way to spend the evening, Frankie thought. Not too bad at all.

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'Wondering if you made it home or are dead on a corner…'

'It would kind of suck if you were dead on a corner because you don't suck balls.'

'I'll deny it if you tell anyone I said that.'

Frankie laughed. "This guy said I don't suck balls. I think we might be friends." She shoved her phone in the bartender's face.

"That seems like friend enough to come pick you up." The bartender took her phone, pressed a button, and put the phone to her ear. Frankie watched without a care, maybe instead of taking her home Bucky would come and they could grab another beer and shoot a game of pool.

"Your friend will be here in ten minutes," she said, handing Frankie's phone back.

"Can I have another beer?"

"Do you work tomorrow?"

"I want to lie to you because I think if I say yes you're not gonna let me pay you for another beer, but I like you and I like this bar. So I won't lie. I do work tomorrow."

"What time?"

"I should be there at nine. But I work for someone that's practically family so I can kinda do whatever I want."

"That sounds like a great job."

"Tomorrow will be my fourth day. I haven't totally figured out if it was an awful decision or not."

"Another drink might tilt the table towards awful," the bartender said, laughing.

"I mean you're probably right," Frankie said dramatically. "I'm pretty sure I could get out of going in tomorrow though."

"No need for all that, Birdie. C'mon, let's get home." Bucky walked up behind her, his voice making her tilt to look and make sure he was there.

"Fineeeee," Frankie said, throwing herself off the stool. Bucky caught her and stood her upright, raising his eyebrows.

"You're something." He shook his head and chuckled.

"How was dinner?" Frankie asked, linking arms with Bucky. She felt him tense up and knew if she was more sober she would care but at the moment didn't much care about his comfort.

"Good," he answered, relaxing. They walked out of the bar and Bucky began leading them through the same winding side streets they'd taken earlier. "It was nice to catch up with Sam. I've seen Steve a lot lately. Sam is a shit, but… I like him. I would never tell anyone else that. I think I'm only telling you because you're drunk."

"Not drunk," Frankie corrected. "Just veryyyy tipsy."

"You had dinner?"

"I had bar snacks."

"Not dinner," Bucky said. "Do you have food at home? We can stop at a bodega? Or we can sit down somewhere?"

"Didn't you just have dinner?"

"I could get dessert."

"I have stuff at home. I can eat like a sandwich and go to bed. That sounds kinda nice. I'm sleeeeepy."

"Do I need to come in and make the sandwich?"

"No, I am an excellent sandwich maker."

"What I'm doubting is you actually making the sandwich and not just passing out." Bucky opened the building door and gently pushed Frankie inside. They walked up the stairs and stopped in between their two apartments.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm not that tipsy. I'll go in and eat something before I go to sleep."

"Alright," Bucky said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye Bucky." Frankie unlocked her door and waved.

"G'night Birdie."

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"What am I supposed to do now?"

"Have you always been this whiny? Lacked creativity?"

"The communications piece took me twenty minutes and it's astronomically better than what you designed. You can't even disagree with that."

"I'm not. I've always thought you're brilliant and almost as smart as me," Tony said.

"I'm just bored. I thought there would be more challenging things. Until I have a better understanding of missions and more feedback then 'I can't communicate with my teammates for shit' I don't even know what's needed. I mean, I'm happy to start designing weapons but someone will only allow me to design them on paper."

"Just start therapy and then you can design them in real life too," Tony exclaimed. "This conversation is starting to frustrate me. Is it a woman thing? Should Pepper be the one talking to you about this?"

"I don't want to talk to anyone-"

"Clearly. But you don't have a choice and you knew that when you took this job. You were held hostage and tortured. Then your-"

"Stop talking," Frankie said. Her voice was so venomous that Tony took a small step back. Her fists clenched and Frankie tried to focus on the feeling of her nails digging into her palms as she counted backwards from a hundred. "I'm taking off for the day. I might not come in tomorrow. I'll have a therapist picked out by tomorrow."

Tony sighed. "Alright. Call if you need anything. If I don't hear from you at some point tomorrow I'm going to come over and check on you."

"Heard." Frankie grabbed her bag and left the lab. She decided to take the stairs instead of waiting on the elevator, eager to get home, turn on her television, and be alone.

And pick a damn therapist.