The doctor looks at Bucky in that infuriating, compassionate way she has.
He hates psychotherapy. It’s probably his least favorite of the endless roster of appointments he has to go to.
Steve is always telling him that he doesn’t actually have to go, that he can opt out and refuse anything he doesn’t want, but it’s pretty obvious that would be, well, not what Steve wants.
He knows he doesn’t have to do what Steve wants all the time. He’s even pretty sure Steve won’t hurt him if Bucky does something he doesn’t like. But he likes it when Steve smiles at him, and Steve won’t give him any orders so Bucky has to try and figure out what Steve likes best for himself. (He catches that thought, stops it in its tracks. He doesn’t have to wait for orders, and he doesn’t have to obey. That’s over now, and he’s free and safe). Nonetheless, it’s clear that Steve wants Bucky to go to therapy, so twice a week, for fifty minutes, Bucky sits on this tan couch and talks to a thin woman in a sharp suit who stares at him with infinite kindness like she somehow understands.
“So you’ve been having sexual thoughts about Steve?” she asks.
“No!” he exclaims, frustrated. “Not sexual. Bad.” He’d described to her, in the interests of being honest, and maybe a little bit because he’d hoped that she’d condemn him the way he deserved, the dream he’d had last night. “It—it wasn’t even now. It was before I was even the Soldier, when I was supposed to be a person, when I wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone, and I was still—“ On top of Steve, his tiny, helpless body, wrenching his arms behind his back, in him…
“Did you and Steve ever have a romantic relationship?”
Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t remember.”
“Could this have been a memory, bubbling up?”
He stands at that, furious suddenly. She shrinks back in her chair, minutely—she tries not to ever show Bucky that she’s afraid of him, of anything he says, but it gives him a sick thrill to watch her flinch, to know that he’s still powerful in some way. “I never did that to Steve!”
“I’m not suggesting you harmed him. But the two of you were very close.”
“No!” Bucky says, shaking his head, and now the memories are bubbling up again. The nightmares. He’s not sure which. He’s not sure if it was just a dream, just his fragile mind again inventing new horrors out of the shadowy ghosts of the real ones, or a memory of something he’d actually done. He remembers Steve’s small and fragile body, underneath him, below him, and he tries to press down the rest.
It’s still there, though, the thoughts. The horrible knowledge that he might have done that to Steve. When he was small and vulnerable and couldn’t protect himself. It doesn’t seem right, as much as he fears it may be. He doesn’t know a lot, but he knows he loves Steve. He knows he wouldn’t hurt Steve. Bucky never hurt anyone willingly, only when he was forced to. That doesn’t make him a good man, it doesn’t excuse what he did, but it’s something. He doesn’t have much, but he has that.
“I’m sensing a lot of resistance to this idea. I think we should have a conversation about sexuality and how yours has been affected by your time in captivity.”
Something happens in Bucky’s body. Up until now the panic has been in his head, in his thoughts, but now it travels into his throat, his stomach, bracing him with a quantity of adrenaline that feels like he’s preparing for a battle. His instincts say fight. His well-trained mind tells him that there is danger, and that he needs to defend himself against it, to the death if necessary.
“James, I see that this is upsetting for you. Can you sit down and take a deep breath for me?”
He tries, but his legs are locked up and his lungs are filled with panic. His whole body is screaming at him to subdue the threat, to take her down so that she’ll stop saying those terrible, perilous words, those orders that he cannot follow.
So that he doesn’t hurt her, he runs for the door. He hears his name, distantly, but he doesn’t respond. He just keeps running.
He returns to where he’s safe, where he knows he can be without harm or danger.
He returns to Steve.
The AI is saying something to him as he returns to Avengers Tower, but he can’t hear it over the roar of panic in his ears. He rushes upstairs, without stopping or hesitating, and straight into the suite that he shares with Steve. He’s running, tripping over his feet. He needs to get back to Steve, needs to see with his own eyes that Steve is safe, needs to hear from him the reassurance that Bucky has never hurt him, just as he knows in his heart that he never will.
He tries the door to Steve’s room. It’s locked, but this is an emergency. He calls Steve’s name, but no one answers. With the panic he’s already feeling, he begins to worry that something else has happened, that someone else is hurting Steve. It’s as if his mind can no longer remember that the vulnerable little boy he remembers is decades gone. He reaches out with his metal arm and rips the door from its hinges.
places [2/4]
He hates psychotherapy. It’s probably his least favorite of the endless roster of appointments he has to go to.
Steve is always telling him that he doesn’t actually have to go, that he can opt out and refuse anything he doesn’t want, but it’s pretty obvious that would be, well, not what Steve wants.
He knows he doesn’t have to do what Steve wants all the time. He’s even pretty sure Steve won’t hurt him if Bucky does something he doesn’t like. But he likes it when Steve smiles at him, and Steve won’t give him any orders so Bucky has to try and figure out what Steve likes best for himself. (He catches that thought, stops it in its tracks. He doesn’t have to wait for orders, and he doesn’t have to obey. That’s over now, and he’s free and safe). Nonetheless, it’s clear that Steve wants Bucky to go to therapy, so twice a week, for fifty minutes, Bucky sits on this tan couch and talks to a thin woman in a sharp suit who stares at him with infinite kindness like she somehow understands.
“So you’ve been having sexual thoughts about Steve?” she asks.
“No!” he exclaims, frustrated. “Not sexual. Bad.” He’d described to her, in the interests of being honest, and maybe a little bit because he’d hoped that she’d condemn him the way he deserved, the dream he’d had last night. “It—it wasn’t even now. It was before I was even the Soldier, when I was supposed to be a person, when I wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone, and I was still—“ On top of Steve, his tiny, helpless body, wrenching his arms behind his back, in him…
“Did you and Steve ever have a romantic relationship?”
Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t remember.”
“Could this have been a memory, bubbling up?”
He stands at that, furious suddenly. She shrinks back in her chair, minutely—she tries not to ever show Bucky that she’s afraid of him, of anything he says, but it gives him a sick thrill to watch her flinch, to know that he’s still powerful in some way. “I never did that to Steve!”
“I’m not suggesting you harmed him. But the two of you were very close.”
“No!” Bucky says, shaking his head, and now the memories are bubbling up again. The nightmares. He’s not sure which. He’s not sure if it was just a dream, just his fragile mind again inventing new horrors out of the shadowy ghosts of the real ones, or a memory of something he’d actually done. He remembers Steve’s small and fragile body, underneath him, below him, and he tries to press down the rest.
It’s still there, though, the thoughts. The horrible knowledge that he might have done that to Steve. When he was small and vulnerable and couldn’t protect himself. It doesn’t seem right, as much as he fears it may be. He doesn’t know a lot, but he knows he loves Steve. He knows he wouldn’t hurt Steve. Bucky never hurt anyone willingly, only when he was forced to. That doesn’t make him a good man, it doesn’t excuse what he did, but it’s something. He doesn’t have much, but he has that.
“I’m sensing a lot of resistance to this idea. I think we should have a conversation about sexuality and how yours has been affected by your time in captivity.”
Something happens in Bucky’s body. Up until now the panic has been in his head, in his thoughts, but now it travels into his throat, his stomach, bracing him with a quantity of adrenaline that feels like he’s preparing for a battle. His instincts say fight. His well-trained mind tells him that there is danger, and that he needs to defend himself against it, to the death if necessary.
“James, I see that this is upsetting for you. Can you sit down and take a deep breath for me?”
He tries, but his legs are locked up and his lungs are filled with panic. His whole body is screaming at him to subdue the threat, to take her down so that she’ll stop saying those terrible, perilous words, those orders that he cannot follow.
So that he doesn’t hurt her, he runs for the door. He hears his name, distantly, but he doesn’t respond. He just keeps running.
He returns to where he’s safe, where he knows he can be without harm or danger.
He returns to Steve.
The AI is saying something to him as he returns to Avengers Tower, but he can’t hear it over the roar of panic in his ears. He rushes upstairs, without stopping or hesitating, and straight into the suite that he shares with Steve. He’s running, tripping over his feet. He needs to get back to Steve, needs to see with his own eyes that Steve is safe, needs to hear from him the reassurance that Bucky has never hurt him, just as he knows in his heart that he never will.
He tries the door to Steve’s room. It’s locked, but this is an emergency. He calls Steve’s name, but no one answers. With the panic he’s already feeling, he begins to worry that something else has happened, that someone else is hurting Steve. It’s as if his mind can no longer remember that the vulnerable little boy he remembers is decades gone. He reaches out with his metal arm and rips the door from its hinges.