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Gemma stared at the clock- 3:18. Only 12 minutes until Mr. Barnes, Bucky, would be here. Or at least, 12 minutes until he was supposed to be here.

She had no way of knowing whether he would actually show up. If she was a betting woman, she'd put all her money on him never coming back again. After all, that's what she would do if she was in his place. It'd be easier if he didn't come today (or ever again). Easier for her to pretend that she hadn't broken every rule in the book by sleeping with a patient. Although, she smirked at the thought, technically she hadn't exactly slept with Bucky, she'd been fucked six ways to Sunday by him.

One loud tick echoed throughout the room as the minute hand moved- 11 minutes until his appointment.

She paced behind her desk, desperately trying to bring down her heart rate as she crossed her arms and hugged herself, trying to provide some sort of protection from the reality of the situation.

Not only had she thoroughly violated the ethical standards of her field (by letting herself be thoroughly violated by a patient) she'd also let the worst possible patient do the violating! She couldn't be a normal person and fuck the patient who had just split up with his wife- no, she had to go and get real cozy with a 90 year old super soldier who could break her neck with one twist of his metal arm. In fact, who was she kidding? He probably wouldn't even need the metal arm, the regular one would do the job just fine. She wasn't exactly a physical challenge to a man like James Buchanan Barnes.

She shook her head and laughed humorlessly, why had she even agreed to take Mr. Barnes on as a patient? She'd left S.H.I.E.L.D. 4 years ago- clear and free. She didn't have many personal ties back there, just some casual acquaintances and one or two friend-like people. Although they all might have died when S.H.I.E.L.D. fell- she had no way to know. Stupidly, though, as if her private practice wasn't enough, she had let herself get sucked back into the soldiers and spies that used to make up her entire life.

As much as she wanted to throw the blame into someone else's lap, she couldn't. She'd gotten herself into this whole mess- mainly because she, as an individual, was weak.

She couldn't deny a personal request from Captain America. Oh yeah. The Captain, himself, had come knocking at her door several months back- all 210 pounds of him with his perfect hair and charmingly apologetic smile. He had been her patient once upon a time, right after they'd pulled him out of the ice.

Like the people who miraculously came out of a coma after 5 or 10 years, Steve had needed help coming to terms with a changed world. Obviously to a much greater degree, considering his coma was about 7 times as longer than that of the average miracle-patient. So she, a S.H.I.E.L.D. trained therapist who mainly focused on PTSD and combat therapy, had stepped in to work with him.

He'd done well- given the circumstances. Assimilated into the modern world well (although he still hated smartphones) and understood the vernacular of this new society (still didn't care much for swearing in front of ladies). Steve had been one of her most heartbreaking patients- but his sheer determination to understand the world gave him an edge. She knew he kept a lot of hopelessness inside- it showed on his face frequently. But even the cleaned up version of his past was enough to keep her up in the middle of the night, tears streaming down her face.

So when he, with that irritatingly kind smile, had sat Gemma down and asked her to work with his friend. She couldn't say no. At first, she'd been elated that he had made friends so soon- but no- this was no new friend. This was Bucky Barnes. Steve's childhood best friend, Bucky. The guy who'd served in the army with Steve, Bucky. The guy who was supposed to be long dead, Bucky.

At first, she'd considered telling Steve that she could recommend a better therapist- but logic had prevailed. Technically, there was no better therapist in this case. She was the most qualified to work with a 90-year-old super soldier because she was the only therapist in the world who had experience with them. She'd expected her new patient to be a Captain America type- someone silent and strong but willing to accept a helping hand.

Not at all what she'd gotten.

The first time she'd met the mysterious Bucky Barnes, she had seriously considered calling Steve to tell him she wouldn't be able to help. Then one look at the Sergeant's steely, blue eyes had shut that thought up right away. There hadn't been anything in those eyes- no anger or fear. They'd been completely blank- and that terrified her. But everything else about him had sent her heart pounding so loudly she knew he could hear it. He was a super soldier, after all. And her heart was beating so loudly that a normal person would have been able to hear it from across the room.

His hair was longer than it had been in the pictures she'd seen. And his eyes were shadowed- piercing through her like ice when he looked at her. He stood tall - taking up space, but completely silent. It was unnerving, really. To sit across from a man like that for weeks on end, and act like it was completely normal. Of course, she'd had patients who didn't speak to her for weeks, but none of them had looked anything like Bucky. She hadn't been scared of any of them. Or attracted to them.

Steve had told Gemma about the arm- but she hadn't seen it at all until the third week of their silence. Up 'till then, the Sergeant always wore long sleeves, gloves, and tucked his hand into his pocket. But that day, for some strange reason, he had forgone the gloves. So, as he stood up to leave, a bright sliver of metal reflected light into her eyes. It had been the only visual confirmation she had gotten. Even last week, on her desk, she had only seen flashes of silver out of the corner of her eye. But she'd felt it- against her back, gripping her thigh, between her legs. And she wanted more. She had a twisted desire to press her lips to that cold, hard metal.

But, she rolled her eyes in disgust, everything about the situation was twisted. She, a doctor, lusting after her patent, who clearly wasn't well at all. It was all so, so wrong.

Taking a deep breath, she stood and tried to calm her nerves.

It would be fine.

If he came, which was completely unlikely, she would sit across from him as she had for the past few months and wait for him to respond to her greeting. If he spoke, which was even more unlikely, she would listen and ask him questions.

Everything was going to be completely fine.

So why did she still feel so damn nervous? Crouching down, she unlocked the lowest drawer of her cabinet, pulling out a blank leather notebook and a pen. If he didn't want to speak, it was worth a try to ask him to take the journal home- maybe write his thoughts in it. She stood, crossed the short distance to her desk and slumped into her chair, turning slowly to face the clock, dread creeping in.

3:22.

Bucky stood outside her office, staring at the doors with a blank expression. He wasn't exactly sure why he'd come today- not like he'd been planning on it. When he had left her office last week after their… appointment, it was with the intention of never seeing her face again. But at some point over the past few days, a strange urge had come over him- he wanted to see her again. He wanted to hear her say his name.

She'd been the second person to call him Bucky in God knows how many years. And more importantly, she'd been the first person he had asked to call him Bucky. Steve called him that out of habit, but Dr. Sagan, Gemma, called him that because he'd wanted her to.

And the way she said it. It was like nothing he'd ever heard before. At least, nothing he remembered.

He'd had woken up more than once in the past week, in the middle of the night, with the echo of her voice in his ears. The way she had said his name- a hot, heavy gasp against his neck as he pounded into her. Her fingers tugging at his hair, smooth legs wrapped around his hips. The very memory sent Bucky reeling- it made him hard just to think about it.

He wanted, more than anything, to hear it again.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been that close to a woman- probably sometime before HYDRA sank their claws in his brain- but he knew it felt right with Gemma. His mind still went blurry every time he tried to remember exactly what had happened. She'd been looking at him with those big, inky-dark eyes. He could hear her heart pounding fast and loud but hadn't been because she was scared of him. He couldn't name the emotion in her eyes- it wasn't fear or apprehension, so he didn't even know what it would be called.

It was something else. She was something else.

One moment he was threatening her, trying to conjure fear into her eyes because he knew how to handle fear. He had been vicious, telling her about murdering innocent people. And the next thing he remembered, he was kissing her hard. Holding her, grabbing her. Metal and flesh hands stroking over her soft, soft skin.

Some sane part of his brain had spoken up, snapping him back to reality. Yanking him away by the back of his collar. But she hadn't let him go. She'd pulled him back and kissed him, ran her hands over his body. Touched him in a way that didn't cause pain or discomfort. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched him like that. The thin, frayed threads of his control had snapped the moment she'd gasped a broken, breathy plea against his lips.

He glanced down at his watch, 3:22. He could easily turn around and go home. Never come back again. The doctor didn't know anything about him other than what could be found in that pathetic museum exhibit. She had no way to find him- and Steve couldn't force him to come back.

He could leave right now. In fact, that would probably be best for everyone involved. But for some reason, he couldn't go. He stayed planted to the sidewalk as if nails had been driven through his feet. Which, if he was being honest with himself, HYDRA had probably done that to him at some point.

He really should leave, let the good doctor get on with her life. It would be wrong to walk in there today. But he just couldn't make himself go.

As the minute hand slowly ticked to 4:03, Gemma inhaled deeply, he wasn't going to come today.

She was strangely disappointed. More than that, she was sad. She'd wanted to see him again. Not just because she was wildly attracted to him, but also because she wanted to know him. His memories, his dreams, his fears.

What had he said last week? If you knew half the things I've done- you wouldn't let me anywhere near you.

What had he done that was so unforgivable? Was that why he seemed to hate himself so much? She knew he'd killed people, good and bad ones- he had told her as much. But he was a soldier- it was part of the job.

But what else?

She needed to know more, needed to know everything. But as another minute passed without a knock at her door, she slowly exhaled. The few words he'd said to her last week would have to be enough. Well, the words, and the memory of his hands on her thighs and his mouth against her neck.

The sudden image sent her brain into a haze. When she'd woken up the morning after their last meeting, she had been in real pain. A hot shower and a few ibuprofen had helped some, but the soreness between her legs had served as a constant reminder for the next few days. Every time she stood or sat down, an unexpected twinge had sent chills up her spine. She'd been aroused the entire time.

She'd been baffled by her sudden masochistic streak. Besides the pain, there were also the marks. She'd been absolutely covered in bruises- some in the shape of handprints, where he'd circled her thighs and gripped her back, others were tiny and dark- at her throat and breasts where his sinful mouth had played over her skin.

She'd felt so wicked as she gently dabbed concealer over the bruises at her neck and wrist and tugged on a high-necked sweater to hide the marks on the delicate skin of her chest. It had been quite a task to keep everything hidden from her patients. Even now, the bite-marks on her chest hadn't faded and the handprint at her thigh was a violent shade of green.

Bucky hadn't held back with her. He'd fucked her hard and rough. The way he had needed it. And she loved every second of it.

She shook herself out of her stupor, uncomfortably wet and turned-on. It would have to wait until she got home. A nice glass of bourbon and some help from a reliable, battery-powered friend would take care of everything.

She stretched and cracked her neck. It was clear that Bucky wasn't going to show up. He'd been the last patient scheduled for the day- so Gemma stood, shoving down the disappointment, and pulled out some paperwork. Before she dropped back into her chair, she paused. She might as well tell Linda to go home, no need to man the desk when Gemma was just going to sit in her office for the rest of the evening. She dropped her papers to her desk and crossed the room, glancing down at her phone to check her messages as she pulled open her office door.

He was right there.

His icy, blank eyes bored into hers- looking vaguely surprised. She froze, staring at him as her heart rate shot through the roof.

"Dr. Sagan," Linda's eternally optimistic voice broke the awkward silence, "I was just about to let you know that Sergeant Barnes had arrived."

Gemma looked at her receptionist with what she hoped was a casual smile, "Looks like I beat you to it, Linda." She glanced at Bucky and continued, "I was just coming out here to tell you to head home." She nodded toward the window at the rapidly darkening sky, "looks like it'll be a pretty bad storm."

"You know what, Dr. Sagan- I'm going to take you up on that." Linda stood, gathering her coat and bag. "You know how I hate driving in the rain."

Gemma smiled, still very aware of the large, silent man beside her. "Get home safe, alright? And call if there's any trouble."

Linda gave them both a happy little wave as she walked backward toward the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Doctor. You take care now, Sergeant." She added, remembering the soldier at the last second.

The door slammed shut with a quiet jingle… and then there were two.

Gemma looked up at Bucky and spoke in a voice much calmer than she felt, "After you." She gestured through the doorway into her office.

As she followed after him, her mind raced with panicked thoughts.

Do I call him Bucky? No! You idiot- he told you to call him that when he was 8 inches deep.

James? Too casual- and he had preferred Bucky over it.

Definitely not Sergeant- not after last time.

"Mr. Barnes," che cringed as her voice wavered. Clearing her throat with a serene smile, she nodded at his usual seat. "Please, sit down." She lowered herself to the chair opposite him and smoothed her trousers down her thighs. "I'm glad you made it. How are you?"

Well here goes nothing, she thought as she folded her hands in her lap and smiled- waiting to see if he'd speak at all today.

Hello All!

1. What do you think?

2. Should I do occasional chapters of Bucky's journal entries?

As always, please review with any critiques, input or ideas about this story or any others!

-M-