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“So, are you going to go back?”
“You think I should?” Bucky asked.
Sam stopped walking to look him in the face, “yeah.”
“And what happens when they figure out who I am?”
“You don’t have to tell them more than you’re comfortable with and there are strict confidentiality laws to protect you.” Sam shrugged one shoulder, “but the more honest you are the better it works. You could take Steve with you, if you don’t want to go alone.”
“I’m not bringing Steve into this; he’ll just get his hopes up.”
“I’d go with you, or I could go alone, scope it out for you.” Sam patted his shoulder in a show of support and Bucky risked a smile at him. “Whatever it takes man.”
“I’ll, thanks. Uh, I’ll let you know.”
“Right, so, how’re you feeling about BBQ?”
Sam steered him down the street to a food truck, and the conversation settled into more comfortable arguments about what qualified as BBQ and how many servings one super soldier should eat.
Sam had been to see Dr. Greg.
He reported back that the doc had a professional demeanor, and he hadn’t been given special treatment for being an Avenger or a veteran. So, Bucky let Sam make him an appointment, and almost promised to keep it.
He was regretting it now, fear and anxiety playing ping-pong in his head.
He’d put his jacket on and pulled it off again three times before Sam knocked on his door half an hour before the time in his notebook.
“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked Sam’s grinning face.
“Giving you a ride, now put on your coat.”
“I can walk.”
“And you can run too. Come on, let’s go.”
Sam wore that expression that told Bucky he wasn’t going to back down without a fight. He pulled on gloves and the jacket, secretly grateful for the support, grateful to have the decision taken out of his hands.
Sam walked him up to the door and waited on the bench outside, giving him a thumbs up through the glass as the secretary directed him down the hall to the left.
Dr. Greg welcomed him in and the door was closed behind him.
Simple questions followed by long silences.
Punctuated by short hard answers and the watchful glare of Bucky, waiting to see the man flinch, to react, to pity or fear him. But the kind face remained calmly, infuriatingly, neutral.
The clock ticked nearer to an hour, and finally, determined to shock him, Bucky had cracked.
“I am Sargent James Buchanan Barnes, I ‘died’ in 44’ and got turned into the Winter Soldier, I’ve killed more people than I know, and nothing I ever do can erase that.”
Dr. Greg didn’t blink, didn’t gasp, just took a long even breath, exhaled just as slowly and asked, “do you really believe that?”
“I-“ Bucky’s gaze flickered to the clock on the wall.
Dr. Greg picked up the phone on his desk. “Becka, I’m going to need to reschedule my meeting this afternoon.” A pause, “Thank you.”
The phone was set back on its cradle, and Dr. Greg leaned back in his chair to demonstrate his ease.
“I’ve got time, Sargent Barnes, as much time as you need.”
Sam greeted him with a smile when he walked out an hour later.
“Pizza or Thai?”
Bucky shrugged, tired of talking and grateful that Sam didn’t seem to want to quiz him on the consultation.
“Thai then. I know a great place a few blocks from your place.”