The Haircut Pt.1
"We'll miss you, White Wolf."
Ayo, although standing straight in her full red and old armour alongside her comrades in arms in a guard of honor, broke of her military attitude to smile tenderly at him. Bucky smiled back.
"I'll miss you too."
They didn't say more but their eyes spoke plenty for them. Gratitude, respect, even love - words couldn't do justice to what Bucky felt towards the warrior. Finally, Ayo shot a sideways glance to another woman. Bucky caught that and he bit his lips timidly.
"Don't worry" he told her, low enough so nobody else could hear, "you got this."
She nodded firmly and after a second they both cackled. Then Bucky turned on his heels to head towards the jet. There he found Shuri waiting next to the bridge. One last time, he thanked her and they hugged tightly before he set foot into the plane. He waved at the Wakandans as the bridge closed.
Soon, the jet was in the air and in route for DC.
*
It was the afternoon when they landed. Bucky thanked the pilot and grabbed his sport bag by its strap. As the bridge lowered, he briefly put it down to adjust his man bun. It was summer and he was only wearing a short-sleeved, black shirt. As expected, a delegation made up of diplomats, army generals and some politicians was waiting for him on the tarmac.
Fortunately, Furry had talked him through the whole process. The old spy had even flied to Wakanda while Bucky remained there after the battle against Thanos to await his official pardon (it was either that or a cell on US soil and frankly, Bucky preferred his goats to grey walls). The ex-assassin had already returned in DC a few times for his trial but he always stayed in a hotel and no more than a week. This time, he was really going home.
It felt weird. But he was hopeful. His new life was about to begin.
*
"Have you thought about making amends?"
Bucky didn't answer right away, his eyes lost in the distance. The woman cleared her throat. He shivered and his eyes flickered back to her. A strand of greasy hair escaped from behind his ears and fell down on his face but he didn't react.
"I'm sorry, who are you?"
It was two weeks since his return and he didn't feel quite right. For one thing, he was under constant surveillance - they would deny it if he asked, of course, but he knew when he was being followed and that was all the time. For another, he had no control over his life. They gave him a somewhat furnished flat, without asking where he wanted to live, some kind of pension to buy his food but he couldn't spend more than a certain amount of money in one go. He had no autorisation to go to the Avengers compound or near certain institutions and monuments, he had to ask to go visit a friend or welcome one inside his flat and now, he was having his first mandatory therapy session.
"Dr Raynor, I will be your therapist for the time-"
"I know that. What I don't get is why I need to see a shrink. I'm completely fine."
Raynor let out a light sigh.
"And it is my job to make sure you stay that way. So, I wanted to start with your actions as the Winter Soldier. Making amends could help you find peace with yourself and the world. Have you thought about it already?"
He stared at her. Mandatory session, once a week. He didn't trust her. He didn't chose her and he didn't want to do therapy altogether. Obviously, he had therapy in Wakanda - and his shrink was a lovely man, open and cheerful - but this didn't feel right at all.
"No."
*
He put the box on the ground as his phone vibrated on the table, a few feet away. Without giving it much of a thought, he ignored the box and went to pick up the device and turn it on. It was a text from Sam.
Sorry, guess it was too short of a notice
Give me news tho
He looked up at the previous texts he hadn't replied to, dating from two days ago.
I'll be in DC tomorrow for a meeting at 2pm, wanna have coffee when im done?
Gonna be a political meeting so I'll really need to release some pressure haha!
The brunet put down the phone and went back to his box. He sat in front of it but his eyes kept going back to the flip phone the gov had given him. He hadn't mind it in the beginning, especially because he had gone without one during all his time in Wakanda and thus forgot to ask Shuri for one when he left. They gave him that phone three days after his return. Some numbers had already been saved in: his lawyer's, what would turn out to be Dr Raynor's and the number of a politician he was starting to think as his handler. Then Sam, who came in DC specially to greet him back, gave him his number along with Fury's and Steve's.
Steve was gone and the flip phone phone was too bugged to use it to get to Fury. In the beginning, he had texted Sam and they even got to meet a few times but he realised that texting Sam meant Dr Raynor reading those texts later on. He didn't want to bother Sam with his problems and he absolutely didn't want Raynor reading about them out of his own texts.
He was starting to feel alone.
He put his hair back behind his ears and opened up the box. He had fought for it for a whole month but they had finally agreed to give him Steve's stuff from his old flat in Brooklyn, on account of him being Cap's childhood friend and yadda yadda.
He rummaged through the DVDs, the kitchen tools, the books, a little teddy bear with his old WWII uniform (weird), pencils, receipts and coupons and all kind of other meaningless things. At some point, he found a red notebook and opened it. It contained a list of media pieces like movies or songs. Bucky stared at it. It was Steve's handwriting, no doubt about it. Bucky always liked his neat writing. The brunet looked into the rest of the notebook but it was mainly empty. After a few seconds, he put it in his pocket.
*
"What was your last nightmare?"
"Why do you care?"
Dr Raynor looked at him for a moment before she reached for her notepad. He lowered his head and his hair fell down like a curtain before his eyes.
"Do you remember the three rules?"
"Yes."
She waited. He tried not to sigh too loudly. And he recited the three rules.
*
His new flat was even smaller than the previous one but he couldn't care less. He only bought a TV, to stay aware of the current events. Sam hadn't texted him for a week now. Maybe he had gotten tired of waiting for an answer that would never come. His sheets on which he sat (and slept) smelled bad. He glanced at his watch. Almost time. He rose, put on his jacket before tucking on the left sleeve, then slipped his hands into his black gloves - and again checked the left one went up enough on the metal arm - and put his cap way down on his face, almost covering his eyes. Then he left his flat and crossed the road to go to the restaurant, staring down, hands in his pockets, ignoring the whispers around him.
*
"How are your amends going?"
"Good."
"It's important that you fit back into society."
"Yes."