In honor of Captain America: Civil War coming out to DVD, here is a new chapter! Dedicated to the wonderful Gamerchic for her sweet comments that make my day. :)

Chapter 7

"Dang." I say. All the empathy I posses goes out to Bucky.

"Yeah, I don't think I'll ever get them back," Bucky responds.

"Can't you call Stark?" I question.

Bucky lets out a scoff. "I doubt he would come all the way to Wakanda to return a few notebooks. But they were all I had, really." Bucky looks out the window. Rain is pouring down in sheets, and from time to time, the sky lights up with lightning. But it gives the room a cozy atmosphere for Bucky and I's first (not really, but the last one doesn't count) session together.

I let out a sigh. His notebooks containing a conglomeration of memories from the past would have been extremely helpful to have. But when the government got Bucky, they got them too. And Steve has no possible way to retrieve them. Although it's good knowing this, because that means part of this process is already underway. Normally, when treating PTSD, the person is supposed to write down their traumatic experiences. In this case, Bucky mainly wrote of memories from his past, not his worst ones. But it's something, at least. And it could help with any remaining memory loss.

I get up and walk to my desk. I open the lacquered drawer, and pull out a red hardcover notebook. Inside, the pages are clean and crisp, just waiting to be written on. "Here," I say, handing it to Bucky. He fingers it in his palm, and turns over some of it's pages. "Write in this if you remember anything new. Or if it's something old, too."

Bucky nods his head. There is no point in continue a conversation that would only make Bucky dejected. I decide to continue with our earlier conversation. "So. What is your favorite childhood memory?"

Bucky ponders that for a moment, and I can see his eyes glaze over. "It's kind of jumbled," He says quietly. After a minute or two, he inhales deeply. Bucky says, "When Steve and I were twelve- no." Bucky rubs his forehead with his fingers. "We were, we were.." He bounces his leg up in down in frustration, trying to sort the memory out. I just sit patiently. "Sixteen!" He says, with a little bit of enthusiasm. "Yeah, we were sixteen. And we were getting ice cream at Martha's Diner, which was by our apartment building. I was talking to some girls in the booth across from us, but Steve was just eating. Suddenly, a man burst through the door with a gun, and wanted the cashiers money. Steve, the idiot," Bucky says, shaking his head with fondness, "Hopped up from his seat, and raced towards the man from behind." A small smile forms on Bucky's lips. "Apparently, he had had a 'suspicion' that the gun wasn't loaded. But he was right, thank goodness, and Steve smacked that gun right out of that man hand! And then punched him. But Steve's fists were so small, I don't think it even left a bruise." Finally, Bucky lets out a small chuckle, and his eyes focus on me again.

Such pride can be seen in Bucky's expression. "I guess it's my favorite memory because Steve was the hero. And without the serum. Everybody clapped, and he even got his picture on the wall. But everyone finally saw Steve as more than a wimpy kid."

"And the heart of gold." He says quietly. I smile and say jokingly, "And I bet you threw yourself over the girls. For their safety, of course," I add with a laugh.

Bucky says, "Probably not. I was to distracted by Steve throwing himself at a gun."

And again I'm overwhelmed by the friendship Steve and Bucky share. It is obvious they share a brotherly bond; a tie that can't be broken by time or wear. Yet, Bucky had to live with Steve being thrown in front of a gun for months during the war. Surely Steve didn't mind; it probably gave him a sense of duty. But Bucky had to watch as his friend was put in danger dozens of time, and by people who only really respected Steve because of his costume.

"Makes sense," I agree thoughtfully.

The positive response Bucky has had to talking about his memories (despite the difficulties of remembering). And I really love listening to him speak of his childhood.

"When you were in Romania, did you remember all of this?" I ask.

"No. It was all- um- disordered. That's why I wrote the notebooks," Bucky mumbles.

"When did you remember?" I'm pretty sure I already know the answer, but it's important for Bucky to clear it himself.

"When Steve.. Um, got me. After Zemo," Bucky doesn't finish his sentence. Zemo. The fake psychologist/ usurper of the Avengers. I realize his hesitance to elaborate. I wasn't told everything that happened during their sort of civil war. But I can assume it wasn't pleasant.

"After that, it has slowly become more clear," Bucky concludes. I can tell the more we speak of recent events the more uncomfortable he becomes. So I steer the conversations from risky waters. I want him to have a favorable attitude towards our future discussions.

"Have you remembered any of your earliest memories? How did you and Steve meet?"

"Yeah," Bucky responds, nodding his head. "We lived in the same apartment building. When His family moved in, my mom brought them a cake to welcome them. I was so young, though. I don't really remember it. But from that moment on, I came to see Steve everyday."

Bucky's eyes hold a sad and thoughtful gaze, and a small frown forms on his mouth. "I remember his mother, Sarah, and my mother, Willa, were close. Since my momma would bring me to Steve's apartment when we were young, she talked with Sarah a lot. It was devastating to use all when she died."

"How did Steve take it?" I ask. Despite this session being about Bucky, his and Steve lives and emotions are so intertwined that one affects the other. If I'm to know how Bucky is feeling, it's imperative to know how Steve was feeling. Which, thankfully, makes my job easier. Bucky can translate his emotions through Steve's. It is easier for Bucky to talk about his emotions that way.

"Holed himself up in his room a few days, but I forced him out. We help each other out." I noticed he used the present tense. Steve is playing a big part in Bucky's recovery. Hopefully he knows that.

Bucky shifts in his chair, beginning to become more relaxed. He slouches slightly as the session wears on. We talk more about his childhood, and early teens. From high school drama and first dates, to snowball fights and swimming at his grandmother's lake house, his best moments come out like a ray of sunshine. Bucky laughs and I join in as I hear more about the blind dates Bucky set Steve up with. Apparently one of the girls was a friend of a friend, who happened to be a midget with a foot fetish. "That one was hilarious," Bucky laughed out.

And so I keep it light. Thus, when I end the session, Bucky seems to have a positive outlook on future sessions. Only my homework seems to bother him.

"I want you to write your worst childhood memory," I say, watching his face. He just nods sullenly. "You don't have to be very descriptive, just write out. The best you can about how you felt."

I gently wrap my hand around his, and chills go up my spine as his warm skin touches mine. Looking into his crystal blue eyes, I say softly, "Thank you for giving me another chance."

"Thank you for helping me." And Bucky cracks out an adorable grin and says, "It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

/

"Oh gosh, no," I say demurely.

"Come on, you know you want it," Sam smiles mischievously. "It's the most delicious thing you will ever taste." Sam looks behind him to the dining room, where Steve and Wanda sit, watching us amusedly. "Steve, back me up here! What doesn't sound delicious about hamburger meat and cheese on a donut and then fried to perfection? Answer: nothing!"

I make an exaggerated gagging noise. "Thanks, but I don't really want to get diabetes in one night. How about…" I make a small humming noise. "Breakfast for dinner!"

Sam snorts, and mumbles something like, "that's the stupidest thing I have ever heard". But Scott walks in, with his amazing hair, at that moment. He exclaims, "Brilliant! I'm actually an expert pancake maker."

Clint is following him and exclaims, "Dude. I'd make better waffles than your pancakes any day."

"It's on." Scott declares, immediately grabbing a bowl next to Sam. Clint scuffles off to the other side of the kitchen, scrambling to find his own supplies. While they begin making some of the food, I glance around the room. Everyone is here but Bucky.

I actually set up tonight's entertainment (or call it what you will). We are going to eat, play some games, then watch a movie. And it's all for Bucky. But I'm pretty sure everyone here needs it. One of the best thing you can do when you have a patient with PTSD is fun things. When your life is consumed by terrors and thoughts of the past, it seems nonsensical to actually enjoy life. But truly overcome your post traumatic stress, you have to do normal things. It is extremely important that Bucky be here.

"Hey, has anyone seen Bucky?" I ask.

I turn around to Steve, who helped plan this evening. He answers, "I think he's coming. He was listening to some of that music you gave him." I laugh lightly, trusting Steve is right. I then turn back to Sam. Fake agitation covers his face, and I say with in a mocking tone, "Aww, sorry you didn't get the chance to kill us today. But hey, you still might have a chance with this bacon." I grab the package of bacon and get off my stool. There is a frying pan in the cabinet. As soon as I pull it out, I smile and say, "Frying pans! Who knew right?"

There is never a bad time to quote Disney.

I burst into hysteric giggles at my own joke right as Bucky enters the room. "That'd probably be my weapon if I was a superhero: a frying pan." I laugh some more, and Bucky raises his eyebrows. Nobody else is laughing, except I think I heard Clint chuckle. "Seriously?" I say, waving the pan in an exasperating way. "None of you have watched Tangled?" My statement is met with blank stares.

"Whats a Tangled?" Bucky asks, looking around him.

"Only one of the most amazing Disney princess movies of all time. And the movie we are going to watch tonight," I affirm.

"Nuh uh," Declares Sam. I begin laying down the pieces of bacon on the sizzling pan. "I'm not watching a princess movie. Let's watch American Sniper."

For a moment I contemplate the idea, but then a little panic attack zings through my body as I think of Bucky. He was a sniper too. I catch Sam's eye, trying to give him a nonverbal clue. When understanding dawns, he glances at the floor and then Bucky's face. I can tell Bucky is trying to seem oblivious to the unspoken words, but the room has grown quiet and it's hard to ignore the silence. It's weird that something so simple as mentioning a sniper in Bucky's presence can have such an impact. They still treat him as delicate.

This might not be a bad thing. And the more I think it, the more I realize what they all went through to get Bucky for Steve. To protect him. If I fail in helping Bucky, then all they did was for naught. So it's no wonder they treat him like he's fragile; they don't want to ruin everything they've worked for. Not only that, but for Steve. And Bucky; affection is also growing for the Winter Soldier. The impact of what I do keeps on hitting me like I load of bricks. I hold these people's lives in my hands. Bucky shifts uncomfortably, and Scott thankfully breaks the soundless space.

With flour on his shirt, and a whisk in hand, he says, "No, we have to watch Robocop! Wait, or Transformers. No! Fast and Furious 3!" Scott stands there, whisking like a madman, and contemplating his selection of horrible movie choices.

Sam looks at him indignantly. "Tasteless," He mutters, shaking his head imperiously.

Steve and Wanda have stayed silent the entire time, as well as Bucky. They all just look amused. "What do you think Wanda?" I ask.

She folds her hands beneath her chin and considers the question. "Pride and Prejudice," Wanda says dreamily. And immediately I'm in the mood for a romance.

In unison, Sam, Clint, and Scott yell, "No!" I let out a groan. Bickering breaks out among the hero's. And while it seems to be a heated argument, I can tell they are all incredibly grateful to be arguing about something so normal. Something controllable. Nobody really cares; they just want to feel like they can make an everyday choice. A decision that will not affect the outcome of lives, or even, the world. Maybe.

After the Socovain Accords and the dissembling of the Avengers, I'm sure picking a movie feels like the silliest thing in the world. But nobody acts like it is.

"OK. How about this: We let Steve and Bucky decide," I say. Everybody quiets down and looks expectantly at the two.

"I haven't watched many movies," Bucky says. Steve adds, "Me neither, but you know," He stands up and walks out of the dining room to sit at the island by Bucky, "There was this really great movie I saw the other day. Max." His face is so innocent and sincere.

Sam bursts into hysterical laughter. Clint looks confused and asks, "What is that?" Scott is staring at Steve with a questioning look as he grabs the griddle.

Sam gasps out between laughs, "It's a dog movie I tricked him into watching." He bursts out in laughter again. Steve looks offended. "You didn't trick me. Buck, it has this dog who was in war, and then helped these kids stop these bad guys." I can't help the giggle that escapes my lips, and Wanda also has a sly grin on her face. Scott and Clint look dubious.

"Please tell me we are not watching that, Bucky," Scott pleads. Bucky seems intrigued by Steve's notion of 'Max', but before he complies with Steve's wishes, I exclaim, "How about Frozen?!"

"Noooo!" Clint shouts.

Bucky and Steve look interested, but Clint clears up, "And no, you two, it's not about frozen soldiers." Steve is clearly disappointed. I elaborate, "Ok, but it has great music!"

Clint comes and takes me by the arms, whispering ominously, "If I have to listen to 'Let it Go' on more time, I'll go all Merida on you." I look right at him with a smile, and say, my mouth pointed towards the Avengers. "It's settled then. We are watching Frozen."

Clint backs away. He mumbles under his breath, "Just be glad that I can't turn you into a bear." Oh goodness.

As I continue to watch the bacon cook, and Clint finishes his waffle batter, Bucky comes and leans on the counter near me. He watches the sizzling fat, and mumbles, "My mom used to make the best bacon." Everybody else is still talking about stuff behind us, but I glance around and see Steve staring at the two of us.

I'm not sure quite how to respond. "It's hard to beat the old fashion cooks. Here," I grab a finished piece off the plate and give it to Bucky. It's still warm. "Try this and see if I came anywhere close." He takes a bite, and closes his eyes, savoring the flavor. Bucky turns around to Steve, "Ella might have even beat your mom!" I laugh at his compliment, saying it's mainly the nice meat. Bucky shakes his head. "You're just a brilliant cook."

I can feel a blush rising in my cheeks, and quickly look away. I put the rest of the bacon on the plate and put the pan in the sink. Bucky is still munching on the bacon, now discussing favorite foods with Steve. Relief flushes over me. I don't want him to see my rose red cheeks.

Scott is almost done with his pancakes, and Clint with his waffles. I grab some orange juice out of the fridge and carry the prepared food to the table. Soon everyone is sitting around steaming pancakes and waffles now drowned in syrup.

Before we dig in, I stop them. "Let's say grace." Scott looks up from where he has a pancake shoved in his mouth, and quickly chews. I ask Steve, "Will you pray for us?" He solemnly nods his head and closes his eyes. Everybody else does the same. Steve's strong voice fills the room.

"Dear Lord." He sighs. I can only guess how long it's been since he's prayed. And after everything he's been through, I'm not surprised if it's hard to force the words. But Steve continues, nonetheless. "We have all been through so much, but it has always turned out ok. It could be much worse. But instead we all sit here together about to eat pancakes and waffles. So, thank you," Steve mumbles. "Uh, amen."

Everybody quietly says amen. I look up at Steve and give him a small smile. Religion has been such an important part of my life, and praying is a necessity. I know the Avengers probably haven't thought about religion in a while, and I certainly don't want to push it. A sort of solemness fills the room, as if now this food is sacred. It is that unexplainable draw that a supernatural being can hold. To think that someone is watching over you can be an electrifying but also fearful experience. I can still see Wanda's hands folded tightly.

After staring at our plates for several moments, Scott begins slowly shoving his food into his mouth. It prompts everyone to do the same. Clint exclaims, "Wait! What's better: the pancakes or my waffles?"

Everyone laughs, and exclaims, "The pancakes!" Clint moans and shoves another of his waffles in his mouth. Scott's pancakes really are delicious: light, fluffy, and golden brown; they seem to melt on my tongue.

Hearty conversation ensues, and we all dump our plates in the sink. We leave the mess for later, everybody to happy to worry about washing dishes. Scott starts discussing games. Of course, another argument is brought up, until I quiet Sam's talk of Monopoly with, "Apples to Apples." Clint does a sarcastic laugh, and says, "Oh, this is going to be good."

Everybody mumbles their assent and Bucky looks confused. "Don't worry buddy," Says Steve, slapping Bucky on the back, "You'll find out soon enough." We all settle around the large coffee table in the dimly lit living room. The rain is still pouring heavily outside, and thunder is randomly spread through our talking. Two lamps are turned on and cast shadows and a yellow glow around the room. It feels incredibly cozy. Sam sits on the floor with Wanda. Bucky, Steve, and I sit on one couch, with Clint and Scott on another.

"Ok," I say, taking the box of cards in front of me and dispersing seven red cards to each player. "Does everyone know how to play?"

Most nod, but Bucky and Wanda shake their heads. "So, I'm going to place a green card down." I place a green card on the table to show them. Bucky and Wanda lean forward to read it. "Happy," I say. "Then you pick one of your red cards that correspondes this one." I tap my finger on the green card. "It can either make sense or be funny. And each person gets to be the Judge. They pick which red card they like the best. Got it?" Bucky and Wanda nod their heads.

Everybody sweeps up their cards, glancing at them. Scott chuckles ominously. Sam grimaces and exclaims, "Why do I always get only food cards?!" Everybody bursts out laughing, and so the game begins.

Steve's turn to judge is first, and he turns over a green card that says, "Harry". I glance at my cards. Aliens, a bad haircut, casinos, fuzz, Jennifer Lopez, love letters, and midlife crises. Interesting. None of these look very appealing for 'Harry'. I end up picking fuzz, just because it makes sense.

When six cards lay on the middle of the table, Steve scoops them up. He goes over them, looking bemused. When he looks up, he asks, "Whats Harry Potter?" Me, Sam, Clint, and Scott burst into laughter, and I can literally feel my six pack coming in. "Harry- and Harry Potter," I gasp out. "Thats genius."

"Thank you, thank you," Clint says, standing up and waving his hand like a queen. Steve still looks confused, and so does Bucky. "Nice, Clint," I congratulate. Steve just picks it at our insistence.

Next is my turn, and Bucky has a small grin on his face. Whenever Bucky smiles it's like pure magic. Butterfly's circle in my stomach as I watch him pick his card. His smiles are so rare, but so incredible.

When Bucky looks up at me, I realize I've been staring. He's still grinning slightly. A blush leaps onto my cheeks, and I quickly gather up the cards on the table. The word is "Stupid". I scan the cards, trying to seem occupied. I immediately say, "Oh no." Bucky is smirking at Sam, and I can see trouble brewing. "Read them out loud," He insists. And I can't refuse. "Canada." A few snickers go around the room. Then I read out, "Birds," and the whole room goes off.

Sam stands up and says, "OH NO YOU DIDN'T. WHO DID IT, WHO DID IT?!" When Clint sees Bucky's grin, he goes after Bucky in a playfully agitated tackle. Sam shouts as they fall to the ground, Bucky at a disadvantage because of his arm, "Birds are amazing! And not only did you offend me, you offended Redwing!" Sam yells. When Bucky finally manages to throw Clint off of him, everyone is laughing.

Bucky is chuckling slightly and has a big and flustered smile on his square face. A warm glow fills me as I realize my plan is working. He is actually enjoying himself. And not only that, but everyone else is, too. Once as the laughter dies down, with everyone occasionally letting out a sporadic chuckle, I finish reading the rest of the cards.

The last one is, "Insects". Immediately Scott jumps up and says, "Who said that!" I think he expected a more enthusiastic response. Instead, Steve raises his hand slowly. With a look of indignation, Scott plops onto his seat. "And to think I once admired you," He quietly mumbles.

The game is now in full swing, and Clint ends up winning. Thanks to his sarcasm skills, I suppose. Now we are all starving, thanks to all that laughing. I get up to make some popcorn. Wanda finds the movie, and presses play once as I've sat down. As I try to find a seat on one of the two couches, Bucky smiles at me and pats the leather next to him. A small grin creeps onto my face as I sit next to the Winter Soldier.

It makes me happy to see that Bucky is warming up to me. I'm not sure if he is just trying to be polite, but I get the sense that he genuinely likes me. Honestly, everybody here has been so welcoming. I know I've never been through what they have, and hopefully never will, but there is a sense of connection despite it. I thought I would be an outsider. Normally, whenever social situation occur, I'm worried to be out of place; that I'm intruding on the set social order. But these broken heroes have a allowed a broken mender to come into their compound.

So as Frozen starts, I'm not ashamed to sing loudly. I let my joy of relief wash over me, as well as a sense of happiness. And Clint hesitantly joins in. After much prodding from me, of course.

But I'm also sorely aware of the enormous weight on my shoulders. I want Bucky to be better. Not just because he's my patient. But because I see a little part of myself in him. An outsider. Someone who is broken. And there is something inside me that needs to know he can be helped.

/