Bucky's POV
That belief that Steve had in me, that blind trust that I was good or well intentioned or redeemable—he wasn't the only one who had it anymore. Grace had it too. Steve's was based on an old bond, on history. I wasn't sure where the fuck Grace had picked it up. But that was how I knew that she'd still be my girl if I asked her. Or, at least, I was pretty sure.
Lately, Dr. Raynor seemed like she hated me more than usual, which was probably well earned.
"Are we ever going to talk about Grace again?" she asked at least once a session.
"Is that what the government's concerned about you fixing? Not the violent flashbacks I've been having all week?" I said this time.
"Okay, tell me about the flashbacks."
"Let's talk about Grace," I countered.
"Okay, let's talk about her," she said like it was a challenge. "Is she still talking to you this time? I can't keep track."
"Isn't that your job? Aren't you supposed to keep track of what I tell you?"
"Well, since you don't like it when I use the notebook, I can't write everything down."
"Just remember it. In your head."
"Don't tell me how to do my job, James."
"Grace keeps flirting with me."
"You're saying that like it's a bad thing because...?"
"I hate it."
"Have you told her that?"
"No, I just encourage her. I start it half the time."
"Why?"
"You tell me."
Heavy sigh. "What makes you hate it?"
"It's hard. Knowing I can't have her."
"Have her how? What does that mean?"
"I can't ask her to be my girl."
"But you want to."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"What do you mean 'why?'"
"It's a simple question. Why do you want to be with her?"
"Anybody would."
"No, they wouldn't. I'm sure some people don't even like her—I'm sure she's lovely, James. But it'd be a little exhausting for her if everyone felt the way you do about her," she said dryly, anticipating my argument when I opened my mouth. "So tell me what it is that you're feeling that makes you, specifically, want to be with her."
"I...have feelings. For her."
"Feelings," she repeated.
"Feelings," I confirmed.
"Be more specific."
"Romantic feelings."
"Love?"
"Does it matter what I call it? Feelings."
"It matters."
"Why are we getting so soft right now? You're never like this," I said.
"Soft? I'm your therapist. I'm trying to help you learn how to label your emotions."
"I can already do that. Cold. Annoyed. Hungry?"
"You know I didn't mean how you're feeling right at this moment. And it's very concerning that two of the three things you listed are not emotions."
"Which two?"
"How about defensive? Do you think you're feeling a little defensive right now?"
"I thought I was doing the labeling."
She changed tactics. "Describe the feelings for Grace that you're talking about. Don't label them. Describe them."
"I don't know. She does things to me. What do you mean? Sometimes she makes my heart rate pick up like it used to when someone was trying to kill me."
"She makes you feel like someone is trying to kill you," she repeated slowly.
"Yeah, like how it did before I got used to people trying to kill me."
She couldn't resist making a note of that. "I don't mean physically. I'm talking about emotions. Think for a second."
I paused. "It's like when I was a kid. Really little. I'm talking before the stock market crashed. I can't remember another time when anything felt, I don't know. Good. But in a way that's simple. I feel like that around her until I remember I shouldn't."
"Okay," she said. It was the first time she'd ever sounded satisfied with an answer I'd given her. I didn't like it. I wished I could take it back and say something stupid instead. She scribbled something else down.
"What's stopping you from being with her?" she asked.
"What do you think? Close your eyes and point in your notebook, and you'll land on a reason I'd be a terrible boyfriend."
"Maybe! Maybe you would be. But we don't know, because you won't let yourself try. Why not try?"
"Why try?"
"Because it could make you happy?"
"Happy, yeah. That's the thing. I felt like that as a kid. Then the economy tanked. Then the world went to war. Then the rest happened."
"You're afraid something bad will happen if you let yourself be happy," she surmised. "But you can see that that isn't a rational fear, right?"
"I changed my mind. Let's talk about the flashbacks."
;
Grace beamed when she saw me come into the top floor lounge for the dinner she was dragging me to. She hurried around the long table that someone must've set up just for this dinner, and she got to me even before Steve could. The way she was smiling at me made me glad I had agreed to this.
"You came!" she said, and hugged me. I responded automatically, pulling her tighter into me. Over her head, I saw Steve divert his path, deciding not to interrupt.
"You look nice," I told her when she let go. She looked better than nice, in a green dress that scooped down to show her perfect skin, long healed from me. I wondered if anyone else had trailed marks there in the month since I had.
"Thanks. You do too," she said. I wasn't sure what semi formal meant, but Steve had said dress pants and a button down were fine.
It wasn't long before everyone else was trying to talk to me. Wanda and Vision had picked a date for their wedding. Barton and his wife (I forgot her name) had another baby coming (I didn't know they already had any in the first place). Maria Hill had taken up Pilates. I now knew way more about these people than I'd ever wanted.
I kept watching Grace move around the room. At the moment, she was laughing with Bruce Banner. It was the most animated I'd ever seen him, and I'd never considered that fact that I wasn't the only killer she'd accepted with open arms. I wondered who else she made feel a little less like a monster. Romanoff? Stark?
Steve came up next to me and clapped a hand on my shoulder. I watched him follow my eyeline. "You love her," he said. It was a statement, but he still seemed to be waiting for an answer.
I thought he'd finally dropped this when she'd found someone else. He must've heard from Grace that she broke it off with the new guy.
"I'm not what she needs, Steve."
"That's not an answer."
"You didn't ask it like a question."
"She loves you," Steve said, shooting another glance in her direction.
"She tell you that?"
"No. Everyone can see it."
"She needs to get over it."
"You know she could be the best thing to ever happen to you if you let her be?"
I snorted. "Yeah, well, the bar's set pretty low for the best thing to ever happen to me."
"You're lucky with this. Grace has the biggest heart of anybody I know."
"That's why she'll be fine. She'll find somebody else. It's easy for her."
"You think? That's good to hear, see, 'cause I was thinking about asking her out—"
"Don't joke about that."
He laughed. "But you're not in love with her or anything."
"I didn't say I'm not in love with her."
"I guess that's as good a confession as I'll get out of you," he said. "Now go tell her you're not not in love with her."
When the dinner started, Grace slipped into the seat next to me, and I saw her subtly motion for Steve to sit on my other side. She was trying to make sure I had a good time and felt comfortable. She didn't have to do that. I knew that I would hate it, but I came anyway because she'd asked me to.
I'd probably do anything she asked me to. God, I felt stupid. She needed to get over me, and she would. Grace would be fine. But I knew deep down that I was past the point of ever being able to get over her. I still wasn't sure why everyone seemed to think it mattered what I called it.
A/N: bucky :(