forum Marvel AU OxO?

Started November 29, 2019 by @ElderGod-Icefire

tune

Bucky took a sip of his coffee, stalking to the window on stiff legs. He pressed his lips into a thin line.

Steve rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, pulling out his phone to quickly text Natasha.
"Hello Natasha, Bucky doesn't want to go to therapy. Maybe bring it up next time you're around? S. R."
"Will do. Also, you don't need to leave your initials: I know you're texting me."
"O-kay. Thank you. Goodbye."
He put the phone away, taking another sip of coffee and wondering if Thor had left any of that Asgardian stuff. Maybe I could make it an Irish coffee.

Bucky kept looking out the window, coffee in hand. He didn't want to see a therapist, because he didn't want to confront everything that had happened. He didn't want to talk about how many people he had killed or hurt or maimed. Didn't want to talk about what HYDRA had done to him, what his handlers had been allowed to do.

Steve glanced thoughtfully at Bucky, probably going through a whirlwind of emotions and fractured memories that he couldn't even begin to comprehend. He couldn't blame him for not wanting to see a therapist, even Steve had his reservations about going. Honestly, he didn't know why he'd been so opposed to the idea when Tony had suggested it, but now that he'd seen what trauma looked like on Bucky, he wondered if the rest of the Avengers saw the same thing with him.

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, looking out the window. He sighed softly, unsure what to do.

Steve slowly moved from the kitchen to where Bucky stood, holding his mug in his hands and turning to him. "I'm sorry if I upset you. I just want to help." He said quietly, trying to properly face him.

Bucky glanced over at Steve. He shrugged. "It's fine." He replied after a moment, looking away again.

Steve nodded slowly, acknowledging the coldness that wasn't like him. Or…wasn't like the old him. "Just– think about it? Please? For your own sake."

Bucky shrugged his shoulders a little bit. "I don't want a therapist, and that isn't going to change." he said firmly, looking out the window calmly. Trying to control the impulse to shout and attack and lash out.

"But your willingness to see one, regardless, might." Steve told him, staring at some passing clouds of pale blue and muted orange, fleeing the morning sunrise. "–It changed for me." He shrugged, taking a sip of coffee.

Bucky shrugged again. "You aren't the same as me, Steve." he replied, voice a little quieter. He took a sip of his coffee, movements mechanical, carefully controlled.

"Yeah, our situations are different, but the fact that we went through some stuff hasn't changed." He sighed slowly, almost shivering at the remembrance of his served time. –All the blood, and cold. The snow sprinkled on some stiff bodies and dog tags lost in the mud.

"Yeah, maybe so." Bucky replied. He shrugged his shoulders, running a hand through his hair and trying not to think about his memories.

Steve softly bit his lip, looking down into his coffee mug like it might strain out some tea leaves for him to decipher, or– reflect his future onto the steaming surface of pale brown, just anything to help him understand where to go from here.

Bucky took a deep breath. He drank the rest of his coffee, still looking out the window, out at the skyline and not thinking about a therapist. A therapist.

"–How 'bout this," Steve said, an idea stirring in the back of his mind as he drummed his fingers around the mug, "…When I go see a shrink, you could come along. You could come for…" He hesitated, shrugging, "…support? And also to see what it's like."

Bucky looked over at Steve, studying him for a moment. Finally, he nodded a little bit. "Alright." he replied softly, running a hand through his hair.

"Really?" Steve said, a little surprised that he'd agreed so easily. "Wow. Okay, yeah. This is a good thing." He smiled, feeling like he'd made some progress here.

Bucky sighed softly, and shrugged. "I didn't agree to see the therapist for me. I'll come with you, but it isn't for me." He said.

Steve nodded, smiling and holding a hand up in defence. "Of course," He breathed, "You'll just tag along, yeah."

Bucky nodded, and looked out the window again. He sighed softly, running a hand through his hair, shaking his head a little bit.

Steve drained his mug of its final sips of coffee and gestured for Buckys. "Do you want another?" He asked, wondering if anything good was on this early.

Bucky shook his head. "No." He replied, setting the mug down. "I'm good." He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Steve nodded, taking the mugs and moving them to the sink. A wandering thought crept into his mind as he held the mugs. In a perfect world, these could have been their mugs. Maybe they were ones they'd found at a second-hand shop, or maybe an antique store, or maybe got them as a housewarming gift. They'd learn how they liked their coffee, and tiredly stumble back to bed with steaming cups of joe. But that was a pipe dream, and things were moving slowly in terms of them getting close to each other.

Bucky sighed softly, leaning his forehead on the window and looking out. He dropped his hands down to his side, closing his eyes for a moment. This doesn't make sense. I don't know what to do.