Chapter 5
(November 2024)
Bucky stood in front of the abandoned office tower, looking up at it with trepidation. The plan was sound. He knew this. He trusted Sam and Torres. But still, as he looked up at the glass facade, he couldn’t help but dread what he’d find inside. He was so used to loss. So used to having what he loved taken from him, and he could not help but fear it was happening again.
He breathed. In for six, hold for seven, out for eight. He made his way inside.
(August 2024)
“James? James?”
Bucky snapped his head up with a jolt, coming back into himself from wherever his mind had wandered.
“James,” Dr. Spalding said, tilting her head to the side appraisingly. “Where did you just go?” she asked.
“Uh”–he cleared his throat–“I’m not sure.”
“Hmm,” Dr. Spalding hummed and leaned back in her chair. “It looked like you were stuck in a loop.”
Bucky’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t respond.
After a stretch of silence Dr. Spalding continued, “Sometimes, when we feel overwhelmed by something, we can keep turning it over in our minds in a loop that feels impossible to get out of. It can help to externalize those thoughts through verbalisation.”
“That was quite a fancy way to say ‘talk about your feelings’ doc,” Bucky replied.
Dr. Spalding didn’t take the bait. “What has been on your mind, James?”
Bucky sighed and wiped his hands on his pants just to have something to do with them.
“I went to my family’s grave plot this weekend.” he finally admitted.
“That’s a significant step,” Dr. Spalding assessed. “Did you visit alone?”
“No,” Bucky replied gruffly, “Lena took me.”
Dr. Spalding nodded. “And how did it go?”
Bucky scoffed, “Badly.”
“Oh?” Dr. Spalding asked, “How so?”
Bucky squirmed in his chair. He hadn’t felt like this in Dr. Spalding’s office in a while, and he’d almost forgotten what it was like to be so on edge in therapy. It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t want to talk to Dr. Spalding, but that he didn’t know how to talk about this. He was embarrassed, and frustrated for being embarrassed, and angry because he didn’t know how to get over it, and–.
“James,” Dr. Spalding’s assertive voice stopped him in his tracks. “You’re in the loop again,” she explained calmly. “Let’s do some breathing.”
Bucky nodded silently and then began to shift focus to the breathing exercises they had been working on. In for six, hold for seven, out for eight. Rinse and repeat.
“Now say the first emotion-word that comes to mind,” Dr. Spalding offered.
“Angry,” Bucky gritted.
“Why?” Dr. Spalding asked.
“Because I should be able to handle this,” Bucky replied.
“Handle what?” Dr. Spalding asked, infuriatingly calm.
“Being a person.” Bucky pushed a hand through his hair. “Doing normal person things.”
“Things like going to your family’s grave plot for the first time?” Dr. Spalding raised a brow.
Bucky’s jaw clenched on a response.
“James,” Dr. Spalding broached gently, “even if you were a ‘normal person,’ which we've talked about is not a realistic metric to compare anyone to, going to your family’s grave, where everyone save yourself is buried, for the very first time, is not, I repeat not, a ‘normal person thing.’ No matter what happened, or how you reacted, I am certain it is more reasonable than you think.”
Bucky turned her words over in his head before finally admitting in a defeated voice, “I broke down.”
Dr. Spalding looked back at him sadly, waiting for him to continue.
“I just–” Bucky leaned over and raked his hands over his face and through his hair. “I was sitting there and I lost it. And in front of her too.”
“What about that sounds unreasonable James?” Dr. Spalding asked.
“You don’t get it!” Bucky snapped, “I don’t do that!”
“Do what?” Dr. Spalding asked, “Express how you feel? You’re doing it right now.”
“Not that.” Bucky shook his head.
“Cry?” Dr. Spalding pressed.
“No, no, it's not that.” Bucky sighed and bowed his head. “I lost control.”
Dr. Spalding looked at him appraisingly for a moment. “When was the last time you lost control in that way?” she asked.
Bucky wrung his wrists. “Wakanda,” he finally answered.
“And what happened in Wakanda to let you get to that breaking point?” Dr. Spalding was relentless.
Bucky breathed hard through his nose. “The words,” he exhaled slowly. “Ayo had tried the words on me, all the way through, and they didn’t work. She told me I was free.”
“And can you isolate the feeling that caused your breaking point then?”
Bucky didn’t have to think on it long. “Relief,” he decided.
“And at the cemetery with Lena, was it relief you were feeling?”
Bucky shook his head.
Dr. Spalding looked over at him as calm as ever. “What was it then?”
Bucky shook his head as tears began to well in his eyes and an overwhelming sensation swelled over him.
“Breathe,” Dr. Spalding reminded him.
In for six, hold for seven, out for eight.
“Guilt,” he practically spat out, as if trying to keep the words held back even as they passed his lips.
“Guilt over what, James?”
“I wasn’t there for them.” The tears silently spilled over his cheeks as he looked down at his feet. “I abandoned them.”
Dr. Spalding momentarily paused her unrelenting unspooling of Bucky’s feelings to allow the revelation to settle into the room.
“James,” she began softly, “when you say ‘abandon’ are you referring to the decades where you were a prisoner of war being tortured and used by HYDRA?”
“No,” Bucky huffed and rolled his eyes.
“Then when did you abandon them?” she pushed.
Bucky thought about this. “Are you a member of the tribe?”
Dr. Spalding almost smirked. “Do you mean am I Jewish?” she clarified. “Yes. On my father’s side. Why do you ask?”
“So you know what Jews say when someone dies,” Bucky pressed. “Not ‘rest in peace.’”
“But ‘may their memory be a blessing.’ Yes, I know,” Dr. Spalding replied.
Bucky looked down at his lap, and stared at his hands crossed over each other with a strange intensity—as if he was willing his fingers to unspool the complicated feelings that had begun to tangle themselves together in his mind.
“Y’know,” he said after a moment, “sometimes it feels like even the mere fact that I can’t do that, that I can’t even really remember them properly,is like I’m abandoning them. Like I’ve let them be forgotten.”
“James, we’ve discussed this and I know you know that’s not true.” Dr. Spalding’s voice was calm and steady and it only made Bucky feel worse. “You have no control over that.”
“You’re wrong!” Bucky shouted back before trying to steady his breathing. “Steve–” He cleared his throat. “Steve gave me the option to go back with him, back in time. And, I turned him down.”
Dr. Spalding considered this admission with an infuriating calm. “Do you wish you had taken him up on his offer?” she asked plainly.
“No!” Bucky snapped. “No.” He amended his tone, “I have my own life here.” He swallowed thickly. “I have Sam. I love Sam. I just”–he sighed in frustration–“I feel like maybe it was selfish to not even try.” He swallowed thickly and clenched his fist and pressed it into his thigh. “For them, if not for me.”
Dr. Spalding nodded in understanding. “And what about Steve?” she asked.
Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise. “What about Steve?” he asked incredulously.
“Do you think Steve was selfish for not trying to build a life here? For you, if not for himself?” Dr. Spalding cut to the quick.
Bucky huffed, “You’re on thin ice with this one doc.”
Dr. Spalding only stared back expectantly.
“It’s different,” Bucky replied defensively, “Steve had already given so much.”
“So have you,” Dr. Spalding offered. “More, arguably.”
Bucky scoffed. “It's different,” he insisted, “I had a family back there who needed me.”
Dr. Spalding raised a brow. “And Steve had family here who needed him,” she countered.
“Steve, Steve,” Bucky mocked, barreling suddenly toward an anger he didn’t know he’d be able to stop, didn’t know if he wanted to. The rage was seductive. “Why are we talking about Steve?” he demanded, “This has nothing to do with him!”
“I think it does,” Dr. Spalding replied, still as stone despite Bucky’s thrashing. She let her chin rest on her hand,.“Do you think you are worried your family would be upset with you for abandoning them because you feel abandoned by Steve?”
Bucky scoffed, practically a snarl, and shook his head in disbelief. “You’re going too far doc,” he warned, “I’m being serious!”
Dr. Spalding leaned back in her chair and contemplated his fury silently. Bucky breathed heavily in the gulf of her silence, and the harsh sound of his panting echoed around the room like waves crashing against each other. She let their silence stretch on for a good while, long enough for him to bring his rolling boil down to a simmer.
“Let’s take this back to safer territory then,” she suggested when he seemed ready to continue. “Let’s go back to Lena. When you say you broke down in front of her, what exactly happened?”
Bucky breathed deeply through his nose, hot shame at his outburst escaping him like steam from a pressure release. He let his head drop backwards. “She brought these stones for us to put on all of their graves,” he offered. “We got to Becca last.”
“Rebecca was Lena’s grandmother, yes?” Dr. Spalding clarified.
Even though Bucky knew she knew the answer, he nodded. “Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We got to her last and when I went to put the stone on her grave, I guess it all hit me at once.”
“The loss?” Dr. Spalding asked softly.
Bucky nodded again.
“Becca was just a kid when I left for the war. I missed so much of who she was, who she became,” he mused. “I wasn’t there for her.”
Dr. Spalding leaned forward in her chair. “James, I’m sorry.”
Bucky wiped at his eyes and the tears beginning to form there. “There’s nothing I can do about it though, can I?” he asked bitterly.
“Well, that’s not entirely true,” Dr. Spalding replied, “You can honor her memory, as you said, and the life she led.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “but I can never go back.”
That was what it always came down to at the end of the day. Steve had offered him a chance, but it was never really an option.
----
Sam waited at their usual diner for 30 minutes before he decided Bucky was not just running a little late. Aside from the occasional five-ten minutes here or there, Dr. Spalding didn’t play overtime like that. He pulled some cash out of his wallet to cover his tea and a tip, and tossed it down on the table as he left.
He tried to stave off the worry that bubbled up in his chest, and took deep breaths as he made his way to the other post-therapy location that had become part of their routine. It had been happening less and less as time went on, but sometimes, when a session really left Bucky with some fat to chew on, he wouldn’t make it to the diner, needing a place to sort his thoughts.
Usually, though, he’d send a heads up text.
Sam walked up to the little park on East Broadway and, sure enough, found Bucky sat on one of the benches. He was hunched over himself, fingers clasped together, looking at his shoes. Sam sighed as he walked over to him. Wordlessly, he sat next to the other man, making a show of groaning as he did.
They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds around them were the gleeful squeals of young children playing near the fountain, some birds and dogs making all kinds of noise.
“You didn’t text,” Sam finally said.
Bucky lifted his head and looked straight on. “Sorry,” he replied.
Sam tilted his chin. “Bad session?” he asked.
Bucky nodded in silent affirmation.
“You want to talk about it?” Sam offered.
Finally, Bucky looked over at him, worrying his cheek between his teeth. His knees were bouncing, and Sam placed a steady hand on his left thigh to still them.
“Do you think that Steve knew it was an empty gesture? Asking me to go back with him?” Bucky asked, looking down at where Sam’s hand rested on his thigh.
The question made Sam stall. He’d been less understanding than Bucky about Steve’s decision-making this whole time, but he wasn’t sure what Bucky was angling for and wanted to tread lightly. “I think Steve wanted to have his cake and eat it,” he replied, “I think he wanted to make the choice that he made, but he also wanted you to want it with him. But”–he sighed–“I think he might have known you would turn him down anyway.”
Bucky nodded. “Yeah.” He moved his metal hand to rest on top of Sam’s, still on his thigh. He turned to look up at the other man, staring deeply into his eyes for the first time since he sat down next to him. “You know that I’m happy here with you, right?” he asked.
The earnest tone pulled a soft smile on Sam’s face, and he lifted his other hand up to cup Bucky’s chin, placing a quick, gentle kiss to his lips. As he pulled away he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “I know.”
A smile crawled its way onto Bucky’s face. “Do you still want pancakes?” he asked sheepishly.
Sam smiled and squeezed Bucky’s hand. “Why don’t we just go home?”