So this is my contribution to the Congressman Bucky fic trope. Kinda same, kinda different, as I wanted to focus on his campaign, or rather, all that comes before he is elected.
My train of thought was simple.
How did he get there? Did he have a whole campaign behind him? Who were these people, and how can I write it as a fanfic?
Basically, I wanted to imagine this whole scenario.
Also, yes, Nobody's Soldier and Church are still ongoing, just my brain decided to focus on this one now (ADHD at its best)
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As always, this is cross-posted to Ao3 and Wattpad
CW: Anger, anger issues, arguments, fighting, smoking, curse words, Bucky Barnes is a warning himself, enemies to lovers trope, angst with happy ending, female reader, politics, congress run, lots of talking and thinking, no major warning in this one apart from arguments and curse words.
(chapter is 2k long, wanted to keep it short)
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Chapter - 01
It was right in the middle of the election season for Congress that Bucky came up with the idea, or rather, was pressured into running for the position.
It wasn't exactly a safe scenario for him, as it could either go terribly wrong or, on the contrary, spectacularly right.
He wasn't known to be a very positive person per se, so in the run for the seat he was in dire need of help.
A lot of it. He wouldn't let this go, he had made a promise after all. A promise to himself, first and foremost, a promise to do it right with what he had at hand.
That's where he decided, with the connections he already had, to hire a whole team. It should have been an easy task, right? It was indeed not.
It was actually the worst thing he had ever done in his life, and he had done a lot of things, very bad things.
On top of that, he had a reputation, something that didn't help with what he was trying to achieve.
That's when you came in, a field expert, someone who had already managed multiple campaigns and won quite a few.
You had been assigned to him, he didn't choose you directly, and it was obvious he didn't want you there, barely speaking to you even though he was required to do so.
It was the worst part of it all, even if his anger issues were doing much better than in the past, he despised you there. Your confidence, the way you ordered him around and telling him what to do, it was triggering to him in a way, bringing back memories he wanted to put behind him. And he hated every second of it.
And yet that's where you were now, on the building floor you had rented to use as headquarters for the duration of the campaign, in his office, while trying to reason with him yet again.
"Mr. Barnes, we need more interns to hand out flyers, then there's another meeting this week, even though you repeatedly stated that you didn't want to attend any" you said, your tone firmer now with a slight authoritative edge to it, as you read out of the list in your hand.
But as you were about to add more, you heard him mumbling under his breath, causing you to glance up at him with an exasperated look.
He was sitting behind his desk, a few books and files around him, clearly annoyed. His fingers massaging his temple as if he would rather be anywhere else but here.
“Can you stop talking for a moment?” he said, his blue eyes fixed on you with a slightly irritated expression.
'‘There's no need for more for this goddam campaign,’ he then stated with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest as he now leaned back in his chair, avoiding your gaze.
At that, you sighed, rolling your eyes in annoyance as you tried not to start another argument. Not right now, at least.
"Trust me, I'd prefer to be anywhere else than here.." you replied, your tone dry as you now straightened your back, your own arms crossing over your chest as you held your clipboard tighter.
"But I can't just stop asking, believe it or not, your approval is needed with every move I make.." you bit back.
"You told me to help you, and that's what I'm doing, James. It’s your campaign, after all, " You added, calling him by his name. It wasn't the first time, you were the only one allowed to do so, or at least the only one he seemed to accept it from.
When he looked back at you, a slightly intimidating gaze crossed his eyes as you continued your bickering. He was tired, annoyed and slightly in need of nicotine, even if he wasn't allowed to, as you told him it would be bad for his public image and his health.
It was clear in every small detail, from his slightly furrowed brows to the hint of tension on his entire face, that he was tense, irritated even.
"Then help me the way I want " he snapped back at you, his tone harsh as he leaned a bit forward.
"I could have gotten any other person on board, there’s plenty out there, “ he added, his tone slightly mocking, “but no, I’ve been told you were the best, that you knew what you were doing,” he added almost sarcastically. But his tone and mannerism were far from being amused as he nervously looked around, then down at the folders on his desk, before his eyes were back on you.
“But all I hear are complaints and useless requests, do your fucking job...” he grumbled as he ran a hand through his hair “...do what I’m paying you for”
"In case you didn't notice, that's exactly what I'm doing since this nightmare of a campaign started" you reacted, both your arms now along your sides, as your voice raised a bit while your hands clenched tight, still holding that damn clipboard.
"Have you ever wondered why you never had to give an interview or why journalists avoided you? No? That's because I took care of it," you added, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down as you closed your eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of your nose in the process.
You waited a few moments more after that, just to be sure to set your mind straight and not overreact, not this time.
It was an everyday occurrence by now, whenever you had to refer to him, for anything really, you both ended up in a fight.
But especially today, you already had enough as there was still so much to do and you didn’t want to spend another minute being made fun of.
"Alright, alright... never mind…I'll do it myself then.." you then stated, opening your eyes and glancing up at him before exiting his office.
"But start answering your phone, I won't accept another missed call from you"
With that, you closed the door behind you, slamming it hard, walking back to your own office to make some more calls as sponsors waited for no one.
He didn't move from where he was, his gaze fixed on the door to his office now closed, his jaw slowly relaxing as he slowly let out a breath.
He knew he was being difficult, making your and everyone else's job hell, harder than it needed to be.
He also knew you were trying your damn best to maintain the campaign afloat while dealing with his stubborn ass. He knew that if it wasn't for you, everything would have collapsed around him sooner rather than later.
But he couldn’t help himself sometimes, he trusted very few people, despite everything, and right now he didn’t trust you.
"Shit..." he muttered, his fingers running through his hair again, tugging at it in his frustration.
He knew that he couldn't just snap back at you as much as he wanted, not after you did so much already.
The last thing he needed was you walking out on him, he had made that mistake before, you already quit once when he started questioning your work, at the very start of this whole shitshow and he wasn't going to repeat that.
He stayed like that for a few more minutes, until he decided that he needed some fresh air.
Slowly, he got himself to stand up from his chair and exited the room, walking over to where he knew was the way outside.
On the other hand, when you were once safe in your own office, you let out a loud sigh, stopping for a moment against the door before walking over to your desk, not really looking at the chaos that you left on it between documents and half-written statements that you needed to finish..
You were angry, mad, even as this man was probably the most annoying and stubborn you had ever met in your whole career.
To be fair you met a lot of different and weird people, from serial cheaters to straight-up assholes. You've met almost anything that existed on the face of the earth..
In comparison, he was a really good person, and apart from his past, which he was pardoned for, he had an impeccable life.
A lonely one that is, but still, he literally had no dirty secrets that you didn't know of.
And you always knew everything about the people you worked with and for.
Even when you sat down, you kept rethinking about the whole argument while you started busying yourself again, a stack of documents still needing signing, and there was already a list of people you had to call before the day was over.
You sighed at that, looking around for a moment, figuring it out what to do first before starting with the long list of calls.
But then when you looked up, after a minute or so after the first two calls, you noticed him walking down the corridor and out of the building, but you didn't think much of it, as it was a regular occurrence when he was nervous.
Bucky inhaled deeply, the cool air filling his lungs as he took a look around.
He wasn't a fan of city life, he couldn't say that New York was his favorite place, or even one that he appreciated. It used to be his home once, but now he felt trapped, to the point he couldn’t breathe sometimes, reminding him of the time he lost in captivity.
Still, it was good to get some air, to try and clear his mind, even if he knew that his thoughts would stay occupied by the same thing that was bothering him.
Bucky leaned against the wall next to the entrance and pulled out a folded cigarette from the pockets of his jacket.
And while he was lost in his own thoughts he lit the cigarette, taking a slow drag as he looked up towards the evening sky.
He had to deal with the campaign - that was something he promised and he was going to do it, but the part he was loathing was you.
You were a constant on and off thing, either he wanted you around or he didn't want to see you anywhere near him. It was honestly frustrating.
Everything really was right now. He couldn’t choose, he couldn’t run away or hide, and he couldn’t fight it. He just had to learn to deal with it, and he didn’t know where to start.
Bucky took another drag from the cigarette, keeping the smoke in his lungs for a few moments before letting it out, his gaze dropping to the ground as he closed his eyes.
He was frustrated as hell, and even the cigarette alone couldn't relax him.
He was getting himself worked out over this whole thing, over you, and that made him even more tired.
He wasn't used to being the one who snapped and couldn't get things done, but here he was, in a damn campaign that he initiated for a promise he made long ago.
Meanwhile, as you were still in your office, you started to feel the heavy weight of the day on your shoulders, your eyes started to hurt the more you looked between the file you were reading and your computer.
You didn't want to go home yet, even if you knew almost too well you had an early rise the next morning, mostly to contact the major news channels.
Then you had a fundraiser to program, and new interns to hire.
This was getting even more complicated than usual, your actual boss not helping you in any way, as he was mostly uninterested in the whole thing and the ex-assassin allegations you had to fight off in order to make it look good in front of the people.
There was a lot in your head, too much to spend another night here.
So you just decided to go home, taking a few documents with you.
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Hello again <3 If you're reading this, thank you.
Kept this one short as i wanted to test it out if people like it or not. so if you like it, feel free to comment or give any advice.
fanfics are one of the best things that humanity has come up with. i fucking love reading stories about my favorite characters from people who have the same brainrot as me
So here we are, finally the first part of this story. The prompt was simple paired in a therapy program and the first that came to my mind was Bucky (since the hyperfixation came back) and yes the title is an Hozier song.
Hope you like it <3 (thanks to the awesome beta @green-binder as well )
This fic is also on Ao3 and Wattpad
Nobody's Soldier playlist
CW: talking about trauma, PTSD, nightmares, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning himself), trauma, trauma bonding, unexpected feelings, slight obsession, anxiety, denial, manipulation, reader has female pronous.
(Not much major warnings in this, next one will be a bit heavier)
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Ch. 1 - Paralyzed
"A what now?" Bucky asked his therapist with furrowed brows, visibly in confusion.
"It's a therapy companion program. I think it would be good for you.." Doctor Raynor said bluntly, leaning back in her chair but looking at him with a stern expression. ”…You need to talk to people."
Bucky glares quietly at her then, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He didn't need this.
"Who… the hell anyway...?" he started but suddenly stopped when he heard another voice coming from the doorway.
"Hello Doctor..." you said, standing in the doorway with a bright smile on your face, arriving early as you always did.
You did this before, this program, you were involved from the very beginning and you had already been paired with four people already. Three of them were living their best lives, with little to no problems, but one was still in the program yet away from you, as he had accidentally developed feelings. Safe to say, that time didn't end well.
You hoped this one would be, at least, nice.
As soon as the doctor invited you in, you moved closer, greeting them politely again as soon as you sat down, but he didn't take your hand in return.
You shrugged a little at that, you knew that people could come off as rude with new people around, especially in places like these, and there was nothing wrong with that.
Right after you greeted him, to no answer, Bucky glanced at you the moment you looked away as you listened to whatever the doctor was saying, looking you up and down once, while having mixed feelings about the whole ordeal.
It wasn’t as if he disliked you immediately, he didn't even know you. But the thought of being paired with someone he'd never met made his blood boil with annoyance before even starting.
The sole idea of talking to a stranger, of opening up to them… He was uncomfortable enough with his therapist, how bad would it be with you?
On the other hand, you completely missed the look of annoyance he had on his face, looking at you uncertainly while you listened to the doctor.
You had and still have your fair share of traumas, but as some kind of coping mechanism, you hid it fairly well, something your own doctor was still trying to fix. As a result, you were exceptionally good with others, listening to them and even helping them to start believing in themselves. All the things you didn’t have, not from the people you wanted to.
Then Bucky let out a silent sigh, turning to look out the window completely uninterested in the whole situation as he focused on the cars driving past the building instead.
He didn't have to talk about anything he didn't want to, he thought, scoffing slightly in his mind.
Although, with the therapist watching, he knew he'd have to be civil. He glances back at you before looking back out the window.
"You don't need to be here," he says bluntly then, keeping his eyes focused outside.
"Excuse me?" both you and the doctor turned to him, and you frowned while the therapist explained to him for the nth time why he needed to do this.
You weren't hurt by his words, per se, it was the reaction everyone had, especially with a program like this one, so you were used to it. You shrugged and looked away while he argued with his doctor.
It’s true, you didn’t need to be there, you were well aware of that. Your gaze focused on your lap, and you started fidgeting nervously with your sleeve, pulling at an invisible thread on your sweater.
"I don't need a damn babysitter…" he scoffed, leaning back in his seat before his eyes darted over to you, looking you up and down as his eyes narrowed in silent disapproval.
“James, don’t start… I already explained why…” Doctor Raynor repeated, visibly annoyed as the frown on her face deepened.
At that he sighed in annoyance, the idea of this program pissed him off. Being seen as weak and in need of someone to watch over him was enough to drive him up the wall.
He didn't need anyone to take care of him. He was a former trained assassin for God's sake.
At that, you looked back with the most unreadable expression on your face and just gently smiled. Then with one last look at the doctor, you spoke up again.
"I'm well aware and I don't pretend to know anything you're going through..." you said, your tone calm yet firm, standing up right after.
"Look… Bucky? Bucky, right…?" you quickly asked before continuing…”.. we've all been there more or less so I'm not forcing you to do anything, really.”
But before leaving, you pulled something from your pocket, giving it to him.
"This is my number if you ever need anything or someone to stay silent with…up to you," you added, in a much more gentle tone.
After that you walked away but not before saying goodbye to the doctor with a smile back on your face.
Bucky didn't like the way you smiled at him. It was like you saw something he couldn’t and he didn't like not knowing things.
His brows furrowed as he watched you get up. He sat there in slight shock as you spoke.
Why were you being this damn civil with him? Didn't you want to know more? Demand answers? Knowing who he really was? All that and more pissed him off and yet intrigued him at the same time, a million thoughts starting to run around his head.
His frown deepened as you suddenly handed him a small piece of paper. He stared at it a moment before looking up and seeing you walk away. He had no intention of using that damn thing.
One week later, to the day, your phone rang.
After the little misunderstanding both of you had in the therapist's office, your life kept on going like it always did, waking up, going to work, eating… when you remembered to… having a breakdown or two, and trying to manage your anxiety. Normal stuff, just everyday things.
Not that you expected anyone to actually call you but, as you always did, when your phone rang even in the middle of the night, you answered.
This time when you picked up, it was only one sentence.
"I had a nightmare..."
Bucky's voice was quiet over the phone. He was sitting on the floor, covered only by a thin blanket, breathing heavily as he tried to compose himself.
Every nightmare always felt so real, so damn vivid. He could still taste the blood in his mouth. Still feel the ghosts of hands, tearing him apart.
How long had it been since a nightmare hadn't woken him up screaming? He should be used to this by now.
"What do you need me to do?" was the only thing you said to him after that, voice gentle and quiet, partly from sleep.
And then you waited in silence. For him to just calm down over the phone or start talking, whatever he needed from you or didn't, you would help him, no matter how bad your first impression was.
Bucky stayed silent for a moment longer as he tried to catch his breath, his eyes closed tight as he focused on the sound of your voice.
Calm down. Just. Calm. Down. He kept repeating this in his mind. He didn't want to feel like this. He hated feeling like this. Anxious, terrified. Weak.
"Just..." his voice was quiet, wavering slightly. "Don't hang up.”
"I won't..." you promptly replied, your voice still soft as you sat up on the bed, hearing him trying to control his breath.
It wasn't the first time this happened with a therapy companion, it was honestly quite common, you had been there before.
So you stayed, silence falling over you both as he calmed down, occasionally with your reassurance that everything was alright, spoken gently.
After that night, you didn’t hear from him until a month later, except for a few texts he sent went he felt like he was slipping out again, but no nightmares, or at least that's what he told you.
The more you talked, the more you felt like he was starting to open up.
The next time he did call you again, he was a complete mess.
Bucky was breathing heavily once again, sweating profusely, his eyes wide and unfocused as he stared at nothing. He knew where he was. He knew the past was just in his head. But God did it feel so real.
"I-I can't... I can't breathe." He muttered, tears of frustration welling up in his eyes as his shoulders began to shake.
"Bucky..." you started quietly as you sat on your couch, listening as he almost choked on his own breath.
But he wasn't listening, his breath was heavy, as if he was about to pass out. You knew too well what it was and how disruptive it could be. Still, it was all in his head.
"James..." you tried again, more assertive but still calm "..what can I do for you?"
Sometimes saying out their full name during a panic attack would shock them out of it, sometimes not. But you had to try, hoping this time it would work.
Bucky froze for a moment as if hearing his name was enough of a shock to freeze him in his tracks. He was breathing fast, almost panting, he was struggling to speak, to process his thoughts. It was minutes until his eyes finally refocused, looking around frantically as he realised where he was.
He was in his apartment. In his bed. Safe.
The realization was enough to make his breath hitch, a choked sob escaping his lips. It took him a couple of moments to respond, his voice sounding shaky and pained.
"I-I-" He tried, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.
"It's fine..." you whispered, heart still clenching at hearing his soft sobs and how he was still struggling to speak.
You weren't a therapist, you couldn't be that distant with the people you were paired with, so the pang in your stomach was real.
Was it empathy? Or did you just know what it feels like? Either way, you gave all of yourself to help when needed.
"I can be on the phone all night if that’s what you need..." you added, a tinge of a smile on your lips.
You wanted him to know you were there for him.
Bucky closed his eyes tightly as he tried to stop the tears from falling.
He felt humiliated. Weak. For calling you when he should have been able to handle this on his own. It was just a nightmare.
He was a grown man, he fought in a war, he wasn’t some pathetic child who couldn't handle a nightmare.
But your voice was so damn calm and gentle. Telling him everything would be ok. That you'd stay. It calmed him slightly, but the shame was still there.
"You… don't have to… stay up for me." He muttered quietly, voice choking up still.
"You're not alone in this..." you replied, reassuring him once more.
These same words were the same your therapist told you the first session you had and they stuck in your head since then, helping and easing the process.
"No one should be alone in this, Bucky..." you added, your tone gentle and light as you stood up and headed to the kitchen.
"It hurts, I can tell you this much, it's not going to be easy… but it will get better" you went on, while you prepared yourself for bed.
You didn't know how long you'll be on the phone so you prepared yourself for a long night.
Bucky listened quietly, to the sound of you moving around on the other end, to your words.
He didn't understand how you stayed so calm. How even after his rude comment that first time, you still spoke to him so kindly.
"How… how do you not get angry...?" He asks suddenly, his voice hoarse. "How do you stay so damn calm?”
You laughed quietly at his question, as you pulled a book from your stash on the bedside table.
"Who said I don't?" you replied still amused by his assumption.”…I do get angry, very much so..." you added.
"With time and age, I just learned to let go of many things, it still hurts sometimes, but there's nothing I can do.”
Bucky was a little surprised when you let out a small laugh. It wasn't what he expected from you. He was actually expecting some kind of lecture, something about meditation or some other crap like that. He was so used to the lectures from his therapist and doctors.
But you were honest. You got angry. You let go of things.
Then he was silent for a moment, your blunt honesty taking him off guard.
"Doesn't it get tiring? Being so… calm all the time?” He asked, genuinely curious as he felt himself breathing regularly now, his body slightly relaxing.
At that you sighed. Still, the smile never left your lips.
"Very much so… but..." you replied after a moment, trying to find the best way to explain this.
"It gets more tiring to be mad all the time..." you said honestly as you now lay on the bed, on one side.
"I still cry, I get panic attacks… and I zone out a lot…" you stated, recalling all the times you still found yourself alone with your breath caught in your throat, legs pulled against your chest.
"Like I said, it gets better, not perfect…”
Bucky was a little startled by your honesty. How bluntly you spoke about your own struggles just to help him out. He knew very well how difficult it was. How frustrating it was to struggle with his past. How much it hurt.
But hearing you talk so casually about your panic attacks and crying was… odd, in a way.
He was used to hiding his struggles and pretending everything was fine, he thought it was normal.
Then he let out a huffed sigh.
"How long does it take, usually?” he asked, deep down already knowing the answer.
"For things to get better?" you asked honestly, a little surprised by that kind of question from him. Of course, it was a rhetorical question, getting better didn’t have a set date, everyone and everything was different when it came to mental health.
"A long time." you then replied, not wanting to sugarcoat anything for him right now.
That's what you did usually, tell them how it was and how you got there. People in the same situation as yourself were mostly tired of unnecessary bits of advice that led to nothing.
"A lot of time and therapy sessions..." you added almost laughing like it was something funny. "... your brain won't be the same though, the trauma is stuck in your head”
Bucky huffed quietly, laying back against his pillows while he listened to you.
He expected some type of halfhearted reassurance. Some shallow statement about how he'll heal and move past everything.
But you didn't do that. You kept your statements blunt and straight to the point. You spoke about your own experiences easily.
You weren't like his therapist. And this was far off a therapy session.
"So… my brain will never go back to normal…" He mutters quietly, not like a question but like a realization.
You lightly chuckled on the other end.
You expected this kind of reaction, usually that's what happened. You did it too the first time you were told about this. But you eventually accepted it, on most days.
"Your brain is normal, Bucky..." you spoke again, softly this time." ...you still think, talk, laugh and cry… that's normal."
That's what you think about yourself too, when your intrusive thoughts weren’t winning the battle. You were still functional, but living in a world that hadn't been kind to you at all.
"Just with a little spice…” you added playfully.
Bucky listened quietly, his eyes closed as he tried to keep his breathing even still.
He still didn't understand how you could speak so nonchalantly.
Just a little spice? He repeated your last sentence in his head, trying to convince himself.
He thought about it for a moment longer. His mind was still messed up but he was still capable of all those things. It was a simple concept but it eased his mind a little, at least for now.
"Are you just gonna keep talking until I fall asleep?" He huffed then, trying to keep his voice distant now that he had recovered.
"If you want me to..." you only replied, maybe a little more sweetly than you intended to.
But you felt responsible somehow, few times had you seen someone so broken yet so stubborn with himself and others that you genuinely wanted to help.
"I could read to you, It doesn't bother me at all..." you suggested, fully expecting him to scoff at that as he was still trying to push you away.
Bucky stayed quiet for a moment. He didn't want to admit but the sound of your voice was soothing somehow.
Normally, he would try to keep himself awake. Stare up at the ceiling until he was so tired, he passed out from exhaustion.
But now, laying in his bed listening to the sound of your voice, he found that he was tired. Not in a tired-from-exhaustion kind of way, but tired in an I-could-fall-asleep kind of way.
"Fine.” he only answered.
"Alright..." you only said, almost smiling at his reaction.
You could see all the signs, the reluctance, the way he avoided showing himself truly or how he still bit back. He didn't trust you and it was fine, you were still a stranger.
You ended up reading him a novel, one that told about a knight in shining armour, until he fell asleep.
The next morning you found yourself with your phone next to you, your reading glasses still on and the call ended a long time ago.
Bucky woke up in the morning slightly confused.
Looking around his darkened room, it took him a good minute or two to finally remember last night. He must have passed out during your call as he found his phone still in his hand, a glance at the time telling him it was nearly noon.
Maybe you hung up as soon as you realised he had fallen asleep.
He wondered if the previous night had all been some kind of very weird fever dream. But his phone still showed the call log. It had actually happened.
After waking up rather late you decided to work from home, luckily for you, it was possible with what you did, being between jobs had some benefits after all.
You felt very sleepy still since you spent most of the night reading until you heard the call ending itself, so your day was slow and rather calm.
While, for once, thinking about yourself, your mind kept replaying what happened last night. How you heard Bucky cry, how his words stuttered and, after he calmed down, the questions that followed.
Then the reticence.
Later that day, right in the afternoon, you shoot him a message anyway.
-to Bucky: you ok?
You didn't expect a reply, you were well aware of how he still tried to be distant.
And like he said the first time, you weren't his babysitter and he was a full-grown man, so it was up to him if he still wanted help.
On the other end, Bucky nearly dropped his phone when the screen lit up with your message.
He was still very much surprised that you were checking up on him.
Why?
He stared at the message for a good few minutes, debating on what he should say or not.
No, he wasn't ok. He was still shaken up from the nightmare he had. He was still frustrated with himself for not handling it alone.
But he wouldn't exactly tell you any of that so he tried to come up with a reply, but it took him about an hour.
-From Bucky: I'm fine.
When the actual reply arrived, you couldn't hold back a laugh.
He was still so stubborn even after you heard him almost crying that his coldness now felt...different.
-to Bucky: I don't believe that, but alright :)
You went up with your usual day after that, busy with some more work while planning your next therapy session that was coming soon.
Bucky huffed quietly after receiving your reply, his eye twitching slightly. He was surprised that you didn't believe him that he was fine.
But then again, you had heard what happened last night. You had heard him struggling to breathe. You had heard him nearly cry over the phone.
How stupid he was to think he could convince you he was fine.
He tried to put the phone down, but he found himself picking it up again and staring at the screen.
You just... Didn’t give up, did you? he thought, asking himself something he couldn’t reply to.
How expected, Bucky didn't reply further and that was fine with you. But deep down, to be completely honest, you started to kind of worry about him, to kind of care...
After a week, when you hadn't heard from him and had yet another session that felt hard, everything came crashing down.
At first, you were your usual happy self, telling your doctor about this therapy companion thing and what happened, minus the details.
But once you got home, you felt it, sneaky as it always was, another panic attack that slowly started to build up.
You spent months without one this strong but with the news in your life and the progress you made with therapy, it was strange that it didn't show up sooner.
Now flashbacks of past memories and people playing in front of you, still sitting on the bathroom floor with your legs tight against your chest and your phone next to you… on silent.
When Bucky called this time, you didn’t answer.
Bucky had been ignoring the constant feeling of guilt deep in his stomach. You had helped him, saved him from that nightmare and the panic attack that followed, and his way of repaying you for that kindness was acting cold and distant?
He couldn’t tell if you were worried about him or just nice but you were still trying to help him somehow.
But he was too stubborn to admit he needed someone right now, to admit he needed you.
So it was only right that he couldn't reach you when he finally picked up that damn phone.
Sitting in his living room, now staring down at his phone, Bucky tried to call you again and again, but like the other calls he already made, he was sent to voicemail. Not even an answer in text.
Dread started to fill him, his mind immediately going to the worst-case scenario.
Did something happen? Why aren't you picking up? Did you put your phone on silent? Why?
You pulled through yet again, not without your fair share of tears and so much pain, but you did. Still, your body felt numb and sore, sitting in the same position for hours, your mouth dry and your eyes burning.
You were a complete mess, but your breathing was now finally steady.
Still, you haven't checked your phone and honestly, it was one of your last thoughts as of now.
You didn't know the time either, as your brain was still scattered and clouded even after the shower you took just to feel something.
So when you finally picked it up, your eyes went wide and you almost cried again.
4 missed calls from Bucky
1 text from Bucky
Guilt and fear started silently spreading inside you all over again. You couldn't do this now, it felt like betrayal but you couldn't.
Bucky sat in his living room, his body stiff and filled with fear.
He had called you about 4 times now. Each time, he was met with a voice-mail.
What the hell was going on?
He was tempted to do something, maybe find out where you lived and go check on you. But he forced himself to calm down, trying to convince himself to not overreact.
You probably had your phone on silent. You probably didn't hear it. You probably were fine.
When you were about to lay in bed and have some sleep, you received another call and for a moment you were tempted to answer, but you didn’t. Instead, you placed your phone on the bedside table and got under the covers.
But when you were about to drift off, your eyes about to close you picked up your phone again and decided to, at least, read the message.
-from Bucky: what happened?
If you weren't so tired you would have laughed about it, about the worry that seeped from a single message, but even your face felt heavy.
So you just typed a quick answer.
-to Bucky: wasn't feeling myself, I'm sorry...we can chat tomorrow.
And with that, you fell asleep, exhausted and aching with your phone still in your hand.
Bucky read your message over and over again while he lay in his bed. He was still worried but the knot in his stomach started to lessen slightly. He felt like a fool for being so dramatic.
Of course, you were just having an off day. Off days happened, especially for people like the two of you. He was just overreacting.
He decided to send you one last text, unable to help himself.
-From Bucky: call me if you need me.
With that, he sat his phone on his bedside table and closed his eyes.
The answer to Bucky's text only arrived at the end of the next day since sleeping past your alarm had made you arrive late for a work appointment.
In other words, your day was a bit hectic.
Then you helped your neighbour on your way back home.
And when finally you were sitting on the couch, in your comfortable clothes, the tv didn't turn on. So you had to call the landlord then.
You were tired, frustrated even and not really in your best behaviour. Still, you owed Bucky an answer.
-to Bucky: did you sleep last night? Saw you were a bit worried. Anyway not my best day but I'm better. Ps: do you happen to know how to fix a tv?
Bucky read over your message, his lips twitching into an involuntary small smile.
Not your best day.
He could tell from the way you wrote the message that you were a little bit frustrated with how your day had gone but still tried to stay positive. It was… cute.
He quickly typed out a response, ignoring the strange feeling inside his chest as he sent it.
-From Bucky: I slept alright. And how do you manage to screw up a damn tv?
-to Bucky: how dare you! I was out all day and it was already like this, called the landlord but he said there's nothing he could do :(
You typed out almost too quickly, but then you were distracted, only to finish your text minutes later.
-to Bucky: sorry my neighbour needed something… anyways I’m happy to hear you slept some, at least.
You were so focused on the broken tv, and your neighbour moving out that you didn’t tell him about the episode that happened last night. That made you feel rather guilty, you were paired for that specific reason and while you were all about helping him, you just refused to let others help you when the same thing happened.
Bucky was beginning to pick up on your behaviour, about you only talking about your struggles when you wanted to be helpful but not when you needed it. You had talked him through a panic attack but never said anything about why you were still in therapy.
At that, a feeling of determination welled up inside of him as he read over your message.
He was going to find out what was going on with you, one way or another. Shocking even himself with that very thought. e quickly typed out a reply.
-From Bucky: Your landlord sounds like a douche. Maybe I could take a look at it for you.
His next message made you stop in your tracks as you crossed the room and went to the kitchen.
The other times you were paired up, it was always by calls and texts as the other were too scared to even go out, so this was kind of unexpected. With the way he had acted when you both first met and how he still tried to, this was kind of a shock.
But then, when you didn’t answer right away, another text arrived, pulling a slight smile out of you, now that he was acting worried.
-from Bucky: so?
-to Bucky: won't hurt, can send u my address, warn me when you do though.
Bucky tried to keep his heart from beating so damn fast. It was a dumb offer, a stupid thought he had, but you had accepted nonetheless. So he wasn’t sure why he felt… nervous?
He told himself it was because he was worried about you, worried that you might have been struggling like he was. But a small part of him couldn't help but wonder if maybe it was because he…
No!... not going there.
He stopped himself from thinking more about it, quickly replying to you.
-From Bucky: Yeah, send me the address. I’ll be there in thirty.
I'll be there in thirty. Well that was quick, you told yourself as you read his last message, totally not expecting this sudden change of heart as a strange feeling of happiness started brewing inside you but, at the same time, you were scared.
Not because Bucky was a bad person, you were sure he had too much good in him, but for the fact that someone would actually want to come over.
This was new.
And while you were overthinking this, trying to tidy up your messy apartment as best as you could, minutes passed and suddenly someone had knocked at your door.
Bucky stood in front of your apartment, his hand raised to knock. He was starting to feel a bit dumb.
It was a stupid idea. Why did he offer to come over? Stupid, stupid, stupid!
But his mind was filled with worry, his heart racing as he continued to stand in front of your door like some kind of idiot.
He finally forced himself to knock, even if the knocking came off a bit too loudly because of his nervousness.
As soon as you opened the door your breath hitched a little. He was standing there, wearing just a pair of black jeans, a leather jacket with a dark blue jersey underneath, and…gloves?
When did he get so tall and… no, not the right time, as you took in the unreadable expression he had on his face.
But then you quickly reminded yourself that the only time you both saw each other was in his doctor's office.
"Hi stranger..." you said, after a few seconds of internal battle within your brain.."...were you worried about me perhaps?" you joked, awkwardly and only to hide your embarrassment.
But as he looked down at you, you realized you were still in his way and stepped aside enough to let him pass.
The first impression he had of you was bad, and the second? Well, maybe now he considered you an idiot.
Bucky stood stiffly in front of you, almost towering over you as he looked down to meet your gaze.
Damn, you were tiny. He hadn’t noticed that before, just now realizing just how much smaller you were than him.
As he stepped in, he tried to keep the cold look on his face, but it was hard to keep his eyes from roaming over you, taking in your messy sweatpants and oversized shirt. Cute, he caught himself thinking.
"Maybe a little bit..." he muttered grudgingly, walking inside your apartment.
“Oh…” you said quietly as he walked in, surprised by his answer.
Then you saw him looking around as if he was searching for something, making you even more confused.
Then it hit you… his doctor told you he was a former military.
"It's just… just an old tv..." you tried, not really knowing why you stuttered at first as you followed him into your living room.
Bucky kept his hands shoved into his pockets as he walked around your living room, eyes roaming over every corner in search of any potential threats. An old habit of his from his time on the front lines.
When he spotted the television, his eyes narrowed slightly, only shedding off his jacket and remaining with just a long-sleeved shirt on.
A damn old tv, maybe older than him.
"How old is it?" he asked while he kneeled down in front of it, his fingers already picking at the back of the machine.
It took a little to answer his question, still stunned by the fact that he was really in your apartment.
The same guy that couldn't stand you the first time he saw you.
"Very… I mean..." you replied, then quickly correcting yourself."...I don't know really, bought it used."
You confessed, cheeks slightly flushing as if you were ashamed by that. You didn't have much on your own and therapy was damn expensive, after all.
As he worked, you tried not to bother him much, staying away as much as possible and sitting quietly on the couch.
Bucky hummed quietly while you spoke, his mind racing with questions.
How old could this tv be? And just how much did it cost you?
But he held his tongue, not wanting to risk upsetting you with his questions.
As he continued to inspect the old device, still he noticed how he could practically sense you trying to distance yourself from him and not bothering him much.
So he held back the urge to look at you, trying to focus on the old machine instead.
Why were you being too damn polite? Why were you so damn far away?
As you tried to focus, still not very much into yourself after a whole day of unexpected setbacks, the bell rang making you jump a little, startling Bucky as well.
But before he could say anything, you went to check, only to realize it was just your neighbour again as soon as you opened the door.
And while you talked, you didn’t notice that her voice was so loud that it could be heard even inside your apartment, as you both were at the door and away from the living room, so much that made Bucky curious about what was happening.
Bucky paused in his work on the tv as he heard the bell ring, his head turning to look towards you as you walked out of the room.
He kept working, the sound of your voices filtering faintly into the living room.
He wasn't trying to listen in your conversation but the more you and your neighbour talked, the more Bucky found himself subconsciously trying to make out what was being said.
He started to feel like a creep, listening to your private conversation like this. But he couldn't help it, the curiosity was eating away at him and...
The more he listened, the more he realised that something was off.
He slowly rose up from his kneeled position and turned to face the entrance as the voices got slightly louder.
When you finally closed the door with a loud sigh and turned to come back to the other room, you almost jumped as you found him there, standing near the entrance, with a deep frown on his face.
"Jesus..." you gasped, a hand on your chest.”...scared the hell out of me."
"You good? ...did something happen?" you then added as he kept looking between you and the front door.
Bucky kept his face stoic, his mind racing as his eyes roamed over you.
He was about to ask you about the neighbour, about your conversation. It was none of his business but… he just couldn’t stop himself.
"What the hell was that about?" he asked, gesturing toward the door.
It was your turn to frown, as soon as the words left Bucky's mouth you got confused.
How the hell did he...? you thought, crossing both your arms over your chest.
You were tired, still bothered by the remnants of your previous episode and on the verge of a breakdown. You couldn't handle this now.
"Listen, I'm going to be as polite as I can right now..." you started, your tone calm but with a slight edge.
"That's none of your fucking business."
And as soon as you said that, not giving him time to reply or do anything, you stormed off and locked yourself in the bathroom, sitting on the floor as soon as you were in.
Bucky was stunned for a moment, completely taken aback by your reaction. He had been rude, pushing a personal question out of the blue.
He hadn't really meant it, he was just worried about you. But now he realized he had gone too far, overstepping a boundary.
God damn it, he was a moron.
He felt panic well up inside him as you stormed off into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you, the sound of the lock flicking in place echoing in the apartment.
Bucky stood frozen still, the silence from the other side of the door deafening.
Was he supposed to wait there? Should he knock? Leave? He didn't know what to do.
He ran his hand through his hair, feeling completely lost.
He couldn’t bring himself to leave you alone, not while you were clearly upset, so after a few moments standing there awkwardly, he gently knocked on the door.
You missed the first knock, too lost in your mind yet again, trying to calm your breathing the way your therapist told you many times.
Everything seemed to shatter into tiny pieces, even the smallest things now becoming bigger problems.
You just couldn't, while you kept repeating, more like murmuring to yourself...
I'm sorry...
can't do this anymore...
please shut up
Your brain felt like it was on fire, hurting you more than you could imagine.
Bucky's worry grew as he heard your voice quietly talking to yourself through the door.
He felt like an idiot for overstepping, causing you to feel like this. And now you were locked away from him, alone and struggling.
With a knot in his stomach, he once again knocked on the door. He hated asking but…
"Can I come in?..." he called quietly, placing his forehead against the door.
You were on the verge of crying, but for a moment your brain refocused and you heard knocking as well as Bucky's voice.
He was still here? Why?
Deep down you knew this time you couldn't do it alone, that you had to talk this out but it was like your body was trapped on the spot.
When Bucky started to beg, behind the still-closed door, you felt a heavy sense of guilt washing over you, standing up right after but barely balancing on your feet.
Then you unlocked the door before you hunched over the sink, hands gripping the surface while your breath felt ragged.
Bucky was almost surprised you opened up the door, his heart clenching at the sight of you. He had never expected to see you this vulnerable.
He really was an idiot for causing you this much anguish.
He slowly stepped into the bathroom, gently closing the door behind himself.
"Hey..." he started, not really knowing what to say.
He stepped closer behind you, not daring to touch you, his heart aching again as he saw you hunched over the sink.
When you heard the faint footsteps and Bucky's voice so gentle, you raised your head slightly, the first tears were already running down your face and you only wanted to scream, but you swallowed it.
Instead, it happened in a blur, you turned around and hugged him tight, burying your face into his shirt and leaving him stunned.
You were weak, felt worse than ever and clearly in need of help.
Bucky’s heart stopped as you suddenly turned around and hugged him.
He had barely been able to register what was happening, but now he froze when he felt you against him.
His arms hovered in the air at first, not knowing what to do, but the sound of muffled sobs coming from you snapped him back into reality as if suddenly his brain and body started moving again.
So he quickly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him as he leaned down and gently rested his chin on the top of your head.
You didn't know how much time had passed, hell you didn’t know what time it was as it felt like everything stopped when panic started gnawing at you again.
Your head was still spinning as your fingers dug tighter into the fabric of Bucky's shirt.
And while your breath was uneven and it seemed like you couldn't hold back the tears, you felt guilt.
Guilt of putting him into this situation. Guilt of embarrassing him so much.
"Not… not your fault.." you tried, as soon as you felt his hands on your back."...I'm sorry, I was already a mess..." your voice was muffled and broken, your brain still struggling to form a coherent thought on its own.
Bucky felt his heart twist in his chest as he listened to your broken voice.
He kept his chin on your head, listening to you speak.
"What are you apologizing for?" he asked gently, rubbing his palm up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you.
"I’m at fault here, it's my fault you’re upset," he said quietly, silently scolding himself for being so damn nosy and rude.
"I was..." you croaked out then.."I had… an episode last night..." forcing your words out to explain yourself.
You were aware he probably sensed something was off when you didn’t return his calls and now you were facing the consequences of your actions.
He was your therapy companion, for God's sake you mentally scolded yourself seconds after, your brain still feeling heavy.
"I thought I was getting better..."
Bucky was slowly piecing everything together, the picture becoming clearer as you continued. He felt another wave of guilt crash over him, a cold feeling forming in his stomach.
That's why you didn’t pick up last night, that’s why you’ve been so distant.
And he had come over, intruding on your life like an idiot, making it all worse. He held you a little tighter, gently pulling you closer against his chest.
"You are getting better..." he mumbled against your hair.
You actually sob at his words and the way he was now holding you. It felt good, safe and everything you hadn't felt in ages. And that scared you shitless.
"Stealing my words here..." you said, even if your voice was broken, trying to joke as your brain started refocusing itself slowly.
You wouldn't admit it to him or anyone except your therapist, but funnily enough the proximity and the contact helped ground you and not let your intrusive thoughts win.
Even if your major trauma stemmed from touch itself.
And he was indeed helping you now.
Bucky let out a small huff; somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. Maybe stealing your words wasn't that bad, you sounded better after all.
He felt the tension that had been present in your body slowly drain away as he continued to hold you, his hand rubbing small circles on your back.
It shouldn’t feel this good to hold you, and even less feel this protective over you.
He ignored the thought for now, gently pulling you closer to his chest.
"Do you want to talk about it…?" he mumbled quietly.
A soft broken sigh left your lips right after his question, relief quickly washing over your body as Bucky kept on silently comforting you.
You're safe. It's ok, were the thoughts that now replaced the pain in your brain, keeping you sane.
At his question, you just nodded yes, still you didn’t move an inch from where you were, body still aching, too convinced that if you let go you'd fall to the floor.
Bucky felt some of the tension drain from his own shoulders as well as you settled against his chest, the sight of you relaxing against him making his heart feel warmer.
He continued to hold you against him for a few more moments, his hand still rubbing at your back in calming circles.
But then, he did something he shouldn’t have.
He gently placed a light kiss on the top of your head, an intimate gesture of comfort.
You felt good, calmer even but when you felt the press of lips on top of your head and his breath ghosting in your hair you froze.
This wasn't right, this shouldn’t be happening… this...
You thought, as your breath hitched slightly while you pulled away, still very much shocked as you looked up at him.
"What..? Did you..?”
Bucky’s heart jumped into his throat when you suddenly pulled away, immediately missing the warmth of your body against his. And when you looked up at him, a mixture of shock and confusion in your eyes, his heart sank.
It was then that he realized what he had just done.
His heart still hammering against his chest as he opened his mouth to speak, stuttering out the first words he could think of.
"I don’t-... I don’t know what came over me-... I'm sorry-” he tried.
You took another step back, your eyes never leaving Bucky's face, watching him as he just realized what he had done.
You didn't want to be mean, to mock him or anything but this wasn't right.
"... I... listen..." you started, voice wavering a little…" we're just…in a program together… there's… there's nothing-"
Then you stumbled a little, both your hand went to grip the sink behind you to keep you upright. Still, you felt confused, mind clouded as a strange feeling grew inside you.
Bucky felt his heart ache at your words. He knew you were right, of course, you were right.
But in that moment, the realization dawned on him, the realization that he liked you. He wanted you and the thought scared the hell out of him.
He quickly reached out and gently grabbed your elbow to help keep you steady when you stumbled.
He didn’t speak for a moment, a lump in his throat as he cursed himself silently, the fear of losing whatever you both had taking over him.
You flinched out of instinct when you felt his hand touching you again.
This wasn't on purpose, you weren't scared of him but… What if he wanted more? What if he took advantage of your weak state?
That's why you were fine to keep all therapy partners distant, communicating only when needed and not meeting with any of them.
This was wrong, this shouldn’t have happened, you needed to heal not get worse.
"I… I think you should go..." you said after a few minutes, looking away."... I... I'll still help you if you… need me to.”
Bucky felt as if he had been punched in the gut as you flinched away from his touch.
The thought of you fearing him broke his heart even more, confirming every thought his traitorous brain was throwing at him. It was all his fault.
He had pushed, he had been rude and he had to go and act on the feelings he wasn’t supposed to have.
So when you mumbled the next words, he quickly nodded, letting go of your elbow.
"Yeah... yeah alright… whatever you want,” he replied as he took a step back and quickly left the bathroom.
You stood still, looking away until you heard the front door open and close, then you collapsed, knees hitting the floor.
You were trembling, you felt confused as stray tears now streamed down your face again but you also felt at a loss, like someone had stolen your breath.
The next morning you didn’t even remember how you got to bed but you had no intention of leaving it any time soon.
You had nothing much to do and with Bucky probably out of the picture, it was you, alone, all over again.
Still, out of habit in the hours that followed, you checked your phone all the same, finding nothing, as you had expected.
Bucky, on the other hand, was pissed. At himself, that was.
He kept replaying what had happened in his head, the look on your face, the way you had flinched away from him...
All because he had been too nosy, pushing you into an episode, and then on top of that, he had gone and acted on his stupid feelings.
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If you got this far, thank you...more is coming as I already have 40k words about this. <3
