"What exactly do you do here?" Bucky asked, crossing his arms and appraising the grey-haired man in the green sweater behind the desk.
"We are dedicated to helping our clients, I specialize in a variety of treatments to aid in the management of everything from milder forms of depression to extreme trauma." Dr. Kilne leaned forward, his hands splayed wide in welcome, and his eyes arrested Bucky. "But you can read all of that in the brochure. What I do here, is try to help."
"You know who I am- what I am. Do you really think you can help me?"
The doctor looked up at him, a serious and solemn expression pulling on accustomed wrinkles on his forehead. "If there's any chance that I could, don't you think it would be worth trying?" He didn't back down from Bucky's piercing stare.
"You said manage." Bucky answered, sitting on the armchair with its back to the windowless corner. "Everybody has been trying to fix me, like there's a magical cure for anything they did to my brain."
"And that bothers you?"
"I'm not a broken radio that you can put back together, I'm… I'm a dead man walking, a ghost that just wouldn't- couldn't quit."
"I've read the files you sent over Sargent Barnes, to have endured so much, you may not want to hear it, but it is a remarkable thing."
"There's nothing remarkable about what they did!" Bucky growled, his fists curling into the armrests.
"No, that is not what I meant. What was done to you is unconscionable. What is incredible, is that you are here. You came here of your own volition, you've already done an exceptionally difficult thing. Sargent I can't imagine the strength it takes to walk into my office and ask for help, and I just want you to know I see that."
Bucky stared at his hands for a minute, focusing on taking deep breaths and the speck of dirt under his thumbnail. "Name's Bucky."
"Thank you, Bucky. You can call me Rob." Dr. Kilne cleared his throat and said, "Can I get you anything? I was about to make myself a pot of coffee."
"Coffee's fine."
"Great, why don't you tell me what you want to talk about while I get it started."
The doctor rose and walked smoothly to a small cart against the wall, positioning himself so Bucky could see him measure out the grounds and add the water.
Perhaps the Doctor read more in that file than Bucky had, or maybe as Mack indicated- he'd been around enough paranoid people to anticipate it. Either way, he offered Bucky a selection of mugs, poured and drank from his own cup before filling Bucky's and never once opened a notebook, choosing instead to write short notes on a flat pad of paper on his desk.
Kilne spoke in a calm clear voice, emotionless and unbothered by the horror Bucky threw at him in this first meeting; as though he knew it was a test. And when he offered to shake Bucky's hand at the end, he smiled as though he already knew the result.
"I'll see you again next week?"
Bucky stalled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't, I don't know what my…"
"Marge," the doctor called into the waiting area, "mark him down for next Tuesday, 9am." Turning back to Bucky, he grinned, "show up on time and I'll let you use the nerf gun."
So he had caught Bucky looking at it, displayed at eye level on the bookshelf in his office next to a rubber band ball and a rubber chicken.
His head ached and his eyes stung, but Bucky felt somehow lighter. The heaviness of words he'd spoken, some for the first time, had lifted from him. Drained, like an abscess he thought; like an infection it would need to be done again, and again until the wound was finally clean.
Healing. Pain. Rebreaking and setting bones and cleansing the open lesions of his soul.
"How'd it go?" Steve asked hesitantly, the point between his eyebrows compressed into two tight lines of worry.
Bucky shrugged, tired of talking. "next one's Tuesday morning."
"You made another appointment?" Steve started, his expression opening like the clouds to reveal a smile like sunshine. "You're planning to come back?"
"Doc said I could play with a nerf gun. And the coffee ain't half bad."
Steve's smile brightened another degree and he wrapped an arm around Bucky's shoulders as they walked back to their parked bikes. "Proud of you Buck."
"Yeah, yeah, shut-up." Bucky answered with a tired huff, punching Steve lightly in the shoulder and pulling the helmet over his head. "Race you back?"
The gates of the compound opened for them and Bucky considered driving past them, driving up to the gym in the bold light of day.
What? Just to tell Stone that he'd done it? Like it was something to be proud of? But she was the reason, she had dared, challenged him to go first, he just wanted to tell her he'd done his part. He didn't want to find her in the dark and bleeding again. She needed help, Mack had said so.
Hey Stone, I went to therapy, your turn, don't want you to die.
How would he even begin that conversation. No, he'd go tonight, leave a note, keep it simple.
Just notes on the fridge at midnight, no drunken admissions, no daylight confessions, strangers still and so it should stay.
I went –JBB
Good? Bad? –SM
Helps – JBB
No booze though, and I don't like white-coats – SM
Nerf gun is pretty good, Doc wears sweaters – JBB
Kinda curious about the nerf gun, I have to admit. –SM
Nonlethal, good for stress relief, - JBB
Bucky was going every night now, checking the office for Stone and the fridge for a new note before making his way to the punching bags. The replacement heavy bag he'd requested now hung in pride of place, waiting for him.
Every now and then, he found evidence she was still coming in at night.
The stool just a little out of place, rusty patches on knuckle wraps in the trash. But there wasn't a bit of rope to be found, so either she'd gotten better at hiding it, or she was using something else.
Bucky leapt to grasp the rafter with both hands, pulling himself up onto the beam and balancing at a crouch as he walked along. There, a section of dark wood smoother than the rest, splinters worn away by the calloused fingers he'd inspected. Testing. Losing, that's what she had said.
Too many holes in the story, but Bucky supplied enough to make sense of the rest.
"remember the cyclone on Coney island?" Bucky asked, looking down at the train tracks more than a hundred yards below him.
"Yeah, I threw up."
"This isn't payback is it?"
A routine mission, zipline to the train, infiltrate, capture Zola, extraction.
Gunfire, those blasted blue charges, alone, he was alone in the compartment with an enemy, click, the clip was empty, and he was reloading but the other guy was faster, then Cap was there, tossing him a backup- a distraction and the guy was down.
Bucky always had been a good shot.
Blue light, bursting the train car away on one side, knocking him and Cap down. He took the shield, for a millisecond time slowed as he registered the way it felt on his arm, yes, he could do this, he would do it for Steve, to protect him as he had a thousand times before. But he'd been wrong. He wasn't strong enough, wasn't ready when the double-barreled blue blasted against him, knocking the shield from his arm and flinging him from the train. Time slowed again, showed him Steve's face, Steve's fear as he shouted his name. "Hang on- grab my hand."
But Bucky was on the beam, balanced and looking down not up, and it was Stone hanging from it, pleading in her eyes, trembling as her fingers sought futile purchase on the smooth wood.
He was alone again.
James Bucky Barnes; in Stone's Gym; on a Monday night.
His vibranium fingers clutching an imaginary hand.