A/N: I only own the OC.

I have wanted to write a Captain America story for a long time so here goes.


Why did I agree to do this? I thought to myself as I looked at my schedule. I was so excited my first day... I was an agent, but now... I was just an overpaid psychologist. I had taken a job with what used to be S.H.I.E.L.D right out of getting my Master's, and became a Forensic Psychologist. I worked with Nick Fury, Tony Stark, Captain America, and the other Avengers to work on tracking down the top threats. I had done well, but after HYDRA infiltrated most of the networks that were in SHIELD they shuffled us around. I had been reassigned to the New York office, and instead of finding threats to the public... I was now finding threats to the agents that came from within. I hadn't wanted to take the job, but it was put nicely that there weren't other options at the moment.

I glanced at the time and saw that my next appointment would here soon. I wasn't looking forward to this one. I had gotten used to counseling again, but working with him had been a challenge from the beginning. He didn't remember much, but the rest of us did. I had a hard time at just letting him come back into things. I knew that a few of us didn't trust him, but after Captain had begged, fought, and done other things to try to convince the majority of us that what he had done wasn't really him... most of us had just given up the fight. I pushed my feelings aside, and knew that no matter how I felt... I had a job to do. I got my notebook out as there was a knock on the door.

"Come in." I said and he appeared a few seconds later. We had already had a few sessions, and he was hard to get through too. I understood it because of his past, but it was like banging your head against a wall the last few sessions. He just stops everything, talking, interacting, and just stares. I saw that he had brought his journal again, and I was at least glad to see that. He had started to write things down, and it was helping him. He had been doing it for a few years, but stopped. I had told him to start again, and he's made some progress.

"Hello, Bucky." I said as he sat down.

"Sarah." he said and I nodded. I had told him he was welcome to call me by my name and not doctor or any other title.

"How are you today? Anything new?" I asked him and he nodded. I looked at him, and he said nothing as he looked out the window. I sighed and flipped open my notebook.

"Really, already?" he asked me and I bit back a smart ass answer.

"Well, if you aren't going to talk then I have to do something to occupy my time that you have to be here." I said and he pursed his lips.

"I wrote down more memories. They are coming back more and more." he said and I nodded.

"So, more nightmares?" I asked him and he sighed.

"I didn't have a nightmare." he said and I nodded. He was always trying to lie through this sessions. I wanted him to take them seriously, but I couldn't make him. I still had the idea that I could and should help him.

"And I don't hate the New York traffic." I shot back and I swore I saw the corner of his lips curl up slightly. He looked back outside and I got ready to write something, but he looked back at me.

"Ok, so I had a nightmare. I am just used to having them now." he said as he looked at his gloved hands. I had noticed that he would do that when he would think about something from his past.

"Do you feel that talking about them help?" I asked him and he looked from his hands to me.

"Yes, and no... I am just tired of it all. I feel like some days I am just destined to never fit in, and some days like there is more out there." he admitted and in that moment he looked more vulnerable than he ever had sitting in my office.

"Do you want there to be more?" I asked him and he let out a heartless chuckle.

"I'm 106... I don't know how much more there should be. I have missed most of it being trapped, and now that I'm free... well?" he said and I nodded.

"Have you talked to Sam?" I asked him and he looked back at the window.

"Do you still only have three numbers in your phone?" I asked him and he pursed his lips, but didn't look at me.

"Fine, James, be lonely, but at some point it stops being what's best for you, and turned into what you refuse to do that could be better for you." I said and he looked at me almost surprised.

"What am I supposed to do? I don't understand this world. I don't have my best friend anymore, and it's partially my fault. Sam doesn't understand, and trying to have a conversation with people now is... tiresome." he finally said and I nodded. He was actually showing some emotions other than annoyed and passive. The rest of the session was quiet... and he didn't talk anymore. I asked him to write more memories before he left, and he gave a small nod before slipping out of my office. He was always the last visit for the day, and usually the reason I went to drink after. I was torn helping him, and I wasn't afraid to admit it.

A little while later...

I had called in an order to my favorite Chinese restaurant, and wanted a huge glass of wine when I got back to my home. I had gotten a good one in the Bronx and it was outside the city far enough to where I felt like I didn't live right outside a huge city. I lived in a small neighborhood, and it reminded that I was far enough away from the hustle. I was waiting at the bar when my friend, Chelsea, came up to me. She worked here because her family owned the restaurant. She was also a manager at a local charity and had a heart for people.

"How are you? You look tired." she said and I chuckled.

"My last appointment takes a lot out of me." I said and she nodded. She brought me the bag and I got ready to pay, but she stopped me.

"No, some guy just took care of it." she said and I looked at her weird. She nodded towards the door and I saw a man with a black jacket, and a hood up leaving.

"Weird, but ok." I said and she chuckled.

"He's come in here a few times. He's new to the neighborhood, and has asked a few questions about things around here. He doesn't talk a lot, unless he wants to know something, and tips well. He usually talks to my dad." she said and I nodded.

"Does he have a name?" I asked her and she thought for a second before shrugging. I felt my training kicking in, and I was now treating a nice person like a suspect. I needed to not be so suspicious.

"I can ask my dad." she said, but I waved it off. I shouldn't be that concerned... they were probably just being nice.

I talked to her for another minute before leaving, going two blocks, and heading into my townhouse. I felt someone watching me, and looked around, but only saw my neighbors. I was probably being paranoid... so someone bought me my food. They were probably being nice. I walked in, and was immediately greet by Butterfinger yelling at me for food. I was glad that it was a normal night.

A/N: Please review