Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The first thing you notice is that he doesn’t see your office. Not really.

His eyes pass over the bookshelves, the diplomas, the neutral toned couch you chose specifically because it doesn’t provoke anything. No memory, no feeling, no edge to grasp onto.

He doesn’t linger on the window either, though most patients you’ve had would. They check the view, the height, the openness it gives the office.

He checks the exits. The door, the window for a slight second. The distance between them, the angle of your desk. The chair he’s about to sit in. 

All of it calculated within two seconds, and you don’t interrupt him. 

You’ve learned that silence, in these first moments, tells you more than an intake form could sometimes. It says a lot about a person.

After he finished observing the whole room, his attention finally switched to me. 

‘’Mr. Barnes,’’ you say, your tone even, not overly warm, not cold. Just neutral and professional. ‘’You can sit wherever you’re the most comfortable.’’

It was a lie technically. There’s a chair angled slightly towards yours, close enough for conversation, far enough for personal space. It’s intentional, just like everything else in this office is.

He doesn’t hesitate. He takes that chair, of course he does.

He lowers himself into it like he’s following instructions already given, not ones you actually spoke. His back is straight, rigid. His hands rest on his knees, palms down, fingers slightly curled into them.

You notice the gloves immediately. Dark leather, worn but not carelessly so. It’s over 80 degrees outside, but you don’t comment on it, not yet.

You take your seat across from him, crossing one leg over the other, your clipboard resting lightly against your thigh. Not as a barrier, but not entirely open either. There’s a balance to this, there always is.

‘’James,’’ you begin, offering him the choice without forcing it, ‘’do you prefer James or Bucky?’’

Nothing, not even a glimmer. His gaze isn’t even on you. It hovers somewhere just past your shoulder, as if looking at you would give his thoughts away or as if it would take too much.

You make a small note.

Avoidance of direct eye contact. On edge. Controlled posture

‘’Alright,’’ you say after a moment, not bothered by the silence. ‘’We’ll leave that open for now.’’

The clock on the wall ticks. It’s subtle, designed not to be intrusive but in a quiet room like this, it’s hard to ignore it. 

You let a few seconds pass, before speaking again.

‘’I understand this appointment is part of your pardon conditions,’’ you continue, your voice anchored. ‘’My role isn’t to evaluate you for punishment. I’m not here to report every word you say. This space is-’’

‘’Mandatory.’’

The word cuts through the room. It’s the first time he’s spoken. His voice is lower than what you expected. Rough. Not loud, but there’s a sternness that hides beneath it.

You don’t react beyond a small nod. ‘’Yes,’’ you agree. ‘’It is.’’

You wait a beat.

‘’But what you do with that time is still yours.’’

That gets something. Not a look, no not that, but a shift, subtle but there. His fingers press slightly harder into his knees, the leather of his gloves creasing under the tension.

A choice

A foreign concept, maybe. You don’t push it.

‘’Have you been to therapy before?’’ You ask.

You are met with silence again, this time it felt different, more deliberate.

You watch the way his jaw tightens, the muscle twitching just beneath the skin. His shoulders don’t move, but they seem to grow a bit more tense like he’s holding something back.

You’ve seen that before, people who don’t trust their own reactions. People who learned that one word alone can cost them something important.

‘’Okay,’’ you say gently, letting him off the hook without making it too obvious. ‘’We don’t have to start there.’’

You slightly shift in your chair, just enough to break some of the stillness that wove in the air without disrupting it entirely.

‘’Then maybe something simpler,’’ you offer. ‘’How are you finding it being back in-’’

A sharp exhale, not quite a laugh, not quite a scoff.

You lift your gaze to him more directly. He’s finally looking at you now, and there is absolutely nothing soft within it, nothing open.

His eyes are… empty isn’t the right word. Empty implies absence, this is something else. Something shut, locked.

‘’How am I finding it?’’ he repeats, his tone flat, almost clinical in its imitation.

You hold his gaze.

‘’Yes.’’

Another second of silence follows, longer than the others. The clock ticks, once, twice, three times. And then, nothing.

He looks away again, conversation over.

You don’t chase it, you don’t fill the silence either. You let it sit between you, heavy but not suffocating. Through experience, you learned that forcing words into spaces like this only teaches the patient that silence isn’t allowed. For some people, someone like him, silence might be the only thing that ever was, the only thing that was truly his.

Minutes pass. 

Five. Ten. Fifteen.

You ask a few more questions, simple ones, neutral. Things that don’t require vulnerability to answer.

He doesn’t respond, not verbally at least, but you watch.

The way his gaze flicks to the door every time someone passes in the hallway.

The way his right hand, the one in the glove, flexes once, twice, as if trying to forget something it doesn’t want to remember.

Or the way he never fully relaxes into the chair.

You adjust your approach, less questions, more presence.

‘’You don’t have to talk,’’ you say at one point, breaking the long silence. ‘’Not until you’re ready.’’

Yet again no response, though this time his breathing shifts, just slightly but you notice.

And then, just as the session begins to close in on its end, just as you start to consider how to warp it without pushing him. He speaks.

‘’I’ve been brainwashed,’’ he says without warning, without build up. Just dropped into the room like there is no weight behind what he said.

Your pen stills, and you don’t interrupt.

‘’Frozen,’’ he continues, his voice just as flat as before, but there is something in it, a distance.

‘’And used as a target for seventy years.’’

Seventy years. He says it like it’s just a number, like it hasn’t carved him hollow from the inside out. 

Your chest tightens at it, but you don’t show it.

When his gaze meets yours again, there is no deflection beneath it, no emptiness not entirely, but something sharper. Testing.

‘’What could you possibly say,’’ he asks, his voice quieter now, but more dangerous for it, ‘’that I haven’t heard in a basement in Siberia?’’

The question hangs there. A challenge, a warning, perhaps even a dismissal.

You take a breath, not too deep because that would be too noticeable, but just enough.

‘’I don’t know,’’ you say honestly.

That wasn’t what he expected, you can tell. Most people would rush to fill that space, offer reassurance, promise healing, say something hopeful or practical, but you don’t.

‘’But I’m not in a basement,’’ you continue, your voice steady, grounded. ‘’And I’m not here to control you.’’

His eyes narrow slightly, not in anger but in evaluation. Good.

‘’I’m here to listen,’’ you add. ‘’If you wish to speak.’’

Silence again, it feels less closed this time, a little less final.

The session ends, you don’t rush to stand, neither does he.

For a moment you both just sit there, then he finally moves.

He stands in one smooth motion, and then he’s gone.

You let out a deep breath, and for the first time since he walked in, the room feels like yours again, like your control has returned to you.

You glance down at your notes, then back at the door.

James Buchanan Barnes, extreme hypervigilance, avoidance of eye contact, on edge, defensive compliance, still fighting.

Chapter Text

The hallway outside your office was quiet, the faint hum of the lighting above and distant footsteps from other departments echoing softly through the building. You were reviewing your notes from the previous session, pen resting against your lips as you reread the last line, Still fighting.

A soft knock interrupted your thoughts, three sharp taps. You glanced at the clock, 3:57 PM. 3 minutes early.

‘’Come in.’’

The door opened slowly, he stepped inside in the same manner as a week earlier, quiet, alert and scanning.

There was less hesitation this time though, but what seemed like more calculation.

His eyes swept around the room in the same order, exits, windows, then you. You as last, like you were a part of the environment, like you weren’t a person but an object, something you cannot interact with.

He closed the door behind him, making sure it didn’t slam and then he moved toward the chair.

He sat down with the same precise control, back straight, hand on his knee again. Perfect posture.

He still wore the gloves, even though it was even warmer today.

You set your file down and gave him a small nod. ‘’Mr. Barnes.’’

‘’Doctor.’’ His voice was steady, not rough like last week.

You felt something in your chest tighten, because this wasn’t progress, this was strategy. He was adapting, adjusting, studying the situation.

‘’You’re early,’’ you said calmly.

‘’Indeed.’’

No elaboration, you waited but nothing followed. You leaned back slightly in your chair. ‘’How has your week been?’’

‘’Uneventful.’’

You nod slowly, ‘’Any nightmares?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’How often?’’

‘’Every night.’’

‘’Intensity?’’

‘’Moderate to severe.’’

‘’Sleep duration?’’

‘’Four to five hours.’’

His answers came immediately, like he was reading out a report.

You wrote it down, nightmares: nightly. Sleep: 4-5 hours.

‘’How are you managing them?’’ you asked.

"Exercise."

‘’What kind?’’

‘’Running. Strength training.’’

‘’How often?’’

‘’Daily.’’

He didn’t miss a beat, not a single pause. It felt like talking to a machine.

You set your pen down. ‘’And how do you feel when you wake up?’’ 

‘’Alert.’’

You waited, but again nothing else came. ‘’Emotionally,’’ you clarified gently.

There was a pause, though it wasn’t long. ‘’Functional,’’ He said.

Functional, not okay, not fine, just functional.

You folded your hands together on your desk. ‘’Do you feel safe in your apartment?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Do you feel safe in public?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Do you feel safe in general?’’

‘’No.’’

There it was, the first honest answer. It slipped out just before he could stop it. His jaw tightened slightly.

You didn’t react, didn’t acknowledge it. You simply nodded and wrote it down. Does not feel safe in general.

He noticed, of course he did. His eyes flicked to your pen, tracking the movement, probably going through what you chose to record.

You shifted slightly in your chair and reached for your coffee, it had gone cold but you took a small sip anyway.

You set the cup down again, his gaze remained on it for a fraction of a second, before moving it away.

‘’Are you taking your prescribed medication?’’ You asked.

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Any side effects?”’

‘’No.’’

‘’Any missed doses?’’

‘’No.’’

Every answer was perfect, too perfect. He was doing exactly what was expected of him. Answering questions, complying, providing information, but giving nothing real. He was trying to win, trying to complete therapy like a mission objective.

Complete sessions, give acceptable responses, end operation.

You picked up your pen again, then accidentally dropped it. It slipped from your fingers and rolled across the desk you were still sitting behind, hitting the floor with a harsh tap against the silence.

You blinked, a little surprised before bending down to pick it up, and that’s when you noticed, your hand was trembling. Just slightly, barely visible, but it was there.

You grabbed the pen quickly and straightened again, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

He had. His eyes were already on your hand.

You cleared your throat softly and continued. ‘’Have you been in contact with any of the Avengers this week?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Who?’’

‘’Wilson.’’

You nodded. ‘’Supportive interactions?’’

‘’Yes.’’

Your gaze drifted to the clock for a brief second. 4:22 PM. Plenty of time left.

You looked back at him, and that’s when he spoke.

‘’You’re checking the clock.’’

Your pen froze, the room was deathly silent, and you met his gaze slowly.

His expression was neutral, but his eyes were sharp. ‘’Am I boring you,’’ he continued calmly, ‘’or are you just realizing I’m a lost cause?’’

You set your pen down gently. ‘’I was checking the time,’’ you said calmly.

‘’That wasn’t my question.’’ His voice remained steady.

You tilted your head slightly. ‘’No, you’re not boring me.’’

His jaw tightened.

‘’And I don’t think you are a lost cause.’’

He leaned back in his chair ever so slightly, still remaining composed and controlled. ‘’That’s your professional obligation.’’

‘’No,’’ you replied calmly. ‘’That’s my professional opinion.’’

He studied you, long and hard, trying to find the lie.

‘’You’re analyzing me,’’ you continued gently.

‘’I’m observing.’’

‘’Yes.’’

Silence settled again, then you spoke. ‘’You noticed my hand shaking when I dropped my pen.’’

There was a small shift in his posture.

‘’You noticed I checked the clock.’’

He didn’t deny it.

‘’You’re analyzing me,’’ you stated again.

He leaned forward slightly. ‘’That’s what soldiers do.’’

‘’But this isn’t a battlefield.’’

His eyes hardened a tad. ‘’Everything is a battlefield.’’ The words came out quietly, as if they were factual.

You held his gaze. ‘’That sounds exhausting.’’

A slight pause filled the room, his breathing shifting slightly before steadying again. ‘’I’m managing.’’

‘’Yes, you are.’’ You replied softly.

He watched you carefully, studying your posture, your breathing, movements. Trying to understand you, to predict, to control the environment.

‘’You’re trying to complete therapy,’’ you said.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

‘’I’m complying with the terms of my pardon.’’

‘’That’s not what I said.’’

He didn’t respond.

‘’You’re trying to win therapy,’’ You continued. There was a slight shift in his shoulders. ‘’Answer correctly. Behave correctly. Acceptable responses, finish the sessions.’’

His jaw clenched.

‘’That’s not how this works.’’

‘’Then explain how it works.’’

The challenge was direct, you leaned back against the back of the chair. ‘’It works when you stop treating me like an objective.’’ His gaze sharpened. ‘’And start treating this like a conversation.’’

The clock ticked against the once again room filled with silence. 

He exhaled slowly. ‘’You want emotions,’’ he said.

‘’I want honesty.’’

‘’That is honesty’’

‘’No,’’ you replied softly. ‘’That’s strategy.’’

He clenched his jaw again.

‘’You’re giving my answers you think I want.’’

‘’I’m giving you answers.’’

‘’You’re giving me safe answers.’’

Darkness filled his eyes. ‘’You think you can read me.’’

‘’No,’’ you said. ‘’I think you’re protecting yourself.’’

He looked away briefly, then back at you. ‘’You’re not wrong.’’

The admission was quiet, careful, but was there.

Something in your chest softened. ‘’You don’t have to perform here,’’ You said gently.

‘’I’m not performing.’’

‘’You are.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, and adjusted the way he sat. It seemed a little more relaxed this time. 

‘’And if I stop performing?’’ He asked quietly

You met his gaze. ‘’Then we can actually start working.’’

Silence.

4:42 PM. He looked at the clock then back at you. ‘’Does it bother you that I’m watching you so closely?’’ He said suddenly.

You considered the question, and then answered honestly. ‘’No.’’

His eyebrows lifted slightly. ‘’Why not?’’

‘’Because it means you’re paying attention,’’ you said in a soft tone.

He looked at you for a long moment, then looked away again. The clock ticked. 4:45 PM. Five minutes left.

He exhaled slowly, and you realize that this is the relaxed he’s ever looked since the therapy started. He’s still guarded, still careful, but less rigid.

Like he was beginning to understand that this wasn’t a mission, or maybe beginning to understand that you weren’t the enemy.

You picked up the pen again, but this time your hand was steady. ‘’Same time next week?” You ask gently.

He gave a quick nod before standing up and moving towards the door. He opened the door and left, the hallway swallowing him again.

You exhaled slowly, and then wrote in the file: High observational awareness. Still on edge.

You paused, and then added: Beginning to engage. You close the file gently, and stared at the almost empty cup of coffee for a moment before whispering to yourself, ‘’He’s not trying to win therapy.’’ You tapped the file lightly. ‘’He’s trying to survive it.’’

Chapter Text

The third session, he arrived exactly on time. 4:00 PM.

You noticed it immediately because punctuality meant intention. Being early was control. Being late was avoidance. Being exactly on time meant calculation.

The door opened the exact same way as before, with quiet precision, then he stepped inside.

Scan, exit, window, you.

Everything was the same, but something was different. His jacket was gone.

Just a dark henley and gloves today, always the gloves.

You gestured toward the chair.

He sat in the same one again, back straight, hands resting on his knees. The routine was familiar now, like a carefully choreographed dance he hadn't agreed to but followed anyway.

You set your notebook on your desk, but didn’t flip it open yet.

‘’How has your week been?’’

‘’Uneventful.’’

Same answer, same tone.

‘’Still sleeping four to five hours?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Nightmares?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Intensity?”’

‘’Moderate.’’

You nodded. He answered the exact same way as last week, though his voice felt less sharp, less defensive.

‘’Did you run this morning?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’You always run in the morning?’’

He nodded.

‘’Same route?’’

There was a slight hesitation. ‘’Yes.’’

You nodded slowly. ‘’Routine helps.’’

‘’It creates predictability.’’

‘’That too,’’ you said softly. Once again silence settled between you. The sound of the clock filled the room again, followed by the soft hum of the AC.

You opened your notebook, but didn’t write anything down yet.

‘’You grew up in Brooklyn,’’ you said.

His posture stiffened slightly. ‘’Yes.’’

‘’Other then for our therapy sessions, do you ever go back there, check out the city?’’

‘’No.’’

The answer came fast, and sharp. You tilted your head slightly. ‘’Why not?’’

‘’It’s different.’’

You nod slowly. ‘’Yes,’’ you said gently. ‘’It is.’’

You tapped your pen lightly against the notebook. ‘’Do you remember the neighborhood?’’

His jaw clenched at the question. ‘’Yeah.’’

‘’Do you remember specific places?’’

A pause, and then another yes.

You let the silence stretch and glance at the window. The sunlight filtered through slowly, warm and golden, dust floating in the air with tiny particles.

Then you spoke again. ‘’Coney Island used to have a hot dog stand on the corner near Surf Avenue,’’ You said casually.

His eyes flicked to you, fast.

You continued, voice gentle and distant as if you were just thinking out loud. ‘’Old photos show it had a red and white striped tent. Early 1940’s.’’

The movement of his chest changed, and you noticed immediately.

‘’I read that it was one of the busiest stands in Brooklyn during the war,’’ You added.

Silence filled the room again, but it was tense and heavy this time. His fingers flexed inside his gloves slightly.

You kept your voice soft. ‘’Do you remember it?’’

For a moment you thought he wouldn’t answer, but then. ‘’Yes.’’

The word came out quietly, like it hurt.

You stayed still, trying not to push too much or rush. ‘’Was it good?’’ You ask.

He stared at the flor for a long moment, and then spoke. ‘’The hot dogs were cheap.’’ His voice sounded different, softer, human.

‘’The buns were always slightly burnt on one side,’’ he continued quietly, eyes still unfocused. ‘’Guy who ran the place didn’t care, said it added flavor.’’

Your chest tightened slightly. You didn’t interrupt his train of thought.

‘’You could smell them from half a block away.’’ 

His gaze drifted toward the window, like he wasn’t seeing the windows of your office, like he was somewhere else.

‘’Grease, onions and mustard.’’ he murmured.

A pause, then he swallowed heavily.

‘’They wrapped them in paper that always soaked through.’’

Your pen stayed on the desk.

‘’You had to eat them fast,’’ he continued. ‘’Before the bun fell apart.’’

His voice sounded distant, lost, as if he was talking to himself.

‘’Steve hated mustard,’’ he added quietly.

There he was. The boy. The friend. The life.

‘’He’d always give me his,’’ Bucky said softly. ‘’Said it was disgusting.’’ A small pause. ‘’But sometimes he still ate half of mine if I wasn’t looking.’’

You felt something warm and aching settle in your chest. His voice wasn’t cold anymore, clinical. It sounded like a memory, a good one.

‘’You liked it,’’ you said gently.

‘’Yes.’’ a small pause, then he added ‘’It tasted like summer.’’

You didn’t move, didn’t speak. You let him sit in that memory. His shoulders had relaxed slightly, like the armor slipped off of it for a moment.

Then he blinked, and the present rushed back in. His posture straightened immediately, jaw tightening again. The winter soldier mask slid back into place, and you saw it happen in real time.

‘’You’re trying to trigger memories,’’ he said.

He didn’t sound angry, just observant.

You nodded slowly. ‘’Yes’’

He exhaled slowly, and then leaned his back against the chair. ‘’Why?’’

‘’Because memories remind you that you were a person before you were a weapon,’’ You said softly.

‘’I am a person.’’

‘’You are.’’ was all you said.

He looked away, toward the window. Silence swallowing the room up for a few minutes.

Then he spoke again, quietly, like he didn’t want to say it out loud. ‘’Everything is too loud now.’’

Your heart slowed slightly, you didn’t interrupt.

‘’Too bright,’’ the same distant tone was present in his voice. ‘’Feels like.. a museum or something. Like I’m not supposed to touch anything..’’

The words hung in the air, heavy, painful, honest. This wasn’t the soldier talking, this was a man grieving his own life.

You leaned forward slightly. ‘’That sounds lonely,’’

He didn’t respond.

‘’You’re surrounded by things that should feel familiar,’’ You continued, ‘’but they don’t belong to you anymore.’’

Yet again no response.

‘’You remember how things used to be,’’ you said. ‘’But you don’t feel like you belong in the world they became.’’

His fingers flexed again, leather creaked softly. ‘’Yes.’’ He whispered. It was barely audible.

You nodded slowly. ‘’That makes sense.’’

He looked at you again, defensiveness in his gaze. ‘’You think this is normal.’’

‘’I think it’s understandable.’’ You waited a beat before continuing, ‘’You were taken out of time.’’

His eyes grew a tad darker.

‘’You were taken out of your life,’’ you continued. ‘’And dropped into a world that kept moving without you.’’ More silence. ‘’And now everything feels foreign, even things that should feel familiar.’’

He stared at you for a long time.

4:41 PM, almost time.

He exhaled slowly. ‘’The hot dog stand is gone.’’

You nodded. ‘’Yeah.’’

‘’They tore it down in the seventies.’’

You didn’t ask how he knew, you already understood. He had checked, of course he had.

‘’There’s a coffee shop there now,’’ he said. ‘’They sell drinks with names I don’t understand.’’ A small pause. ‘’And nobody remembers what was there before.’’

There was an unmistakable sadness in his voice.

You spoke gently, ‘’but you remember.’’

He nodded slightly.

‘’That matters,’’ you said softly.

He shook his head. ‘’No, it doesn’t.’’

‘’Yes,’’ you replied calmly. ‘’It does.’’

He looked at you again. Why. That was the question in his eyes.

‘’Because memory keeps people alive,’’ you said.

Silence.

‘’You remember the stand,’’ you continued. ‘’You remember Steve hating mustard. You remember the smell of onions, grease and summer.’’

His breathing slowed slightly.

‘’That means that version of you still exists somewhere,’’

He stared at you, unmoving.

‘’You’re not just the winter soldier,’’ you added.

A long silence followed, and then time was up.

He stood slowly, not with the quick haste he usually did. He walked towards the door, hand on the handle and paused. ‘’It was two for fifteen cents.’’

You blinked, he didn’t turn around.

‘’The hot dogs,’’ he clarified. ‘’They gave soldiers a discount.’’ His voice softened slightly. ‘’Sometimes they gave them to Steve for free.’’

He opened the door, stepped into the hallway. ‘’He looked like he needed it more.’’

The door closed behind him. 

You sat there for a long moment, then wrote in the file. Memory engagement successful.

You paused, then added: First emotional recall connected to brooklyn identity.

Another pause.

Voice softened during recollection.

Chapter Text

You knew something was wrong the moment he walked in. Not because he was late, because he wasn’t. Not because he skipped the scan of the exits. He didn’t, he kept the same routine. 

Something about him felt more fractured. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

The dark circles under his eyes were deep, shadows carved into skin like bruises. His posture was less perfect, strained.

He still wore his gloves, though somehow they looked more worn and wrinkled. As if he had been clenching his fists for hours.

You stood slowly as he entered. ‘’Mr. Barnes.’’

He didn’t respond, just walked to the chair and sat down. His hands on his knees again, but this time, his leg was bouncing slightly.

He stopped it immediately when he noticed, and then folded his hands tightly together, as if locking himself into place.

You sat down slowly. ‘’How has your week been?’’ Your voice gentle.

He stared at the floor, while you waited for an answer. ‘’I haven’t slept.’’ His voice was hoarse, rough.

Your chest tightened. ‘’How long?’’ You asked, your voice soft.

‘’Two days.’’

You blinked. ‘’Two days without sleep?”’

‘’Yes.’’

You didn’t lift your pen to write it down, you left it staying still on the desk. ‘’Nightmares?’’ 

A small laugh left him, but not because he found the question funny. ‘’They don’t stop.’’ His breathing was uneven. ‘’They never stop.’’

You leaned forward slightly. ‘’Do you want to tell me about them?’’

‘’No.’’ 

The answer came immediately, sharp and defensive. Though he kept talking anyway.

‘’They’re louder when it’s quiet.’’

Your stomach clenched yet it also felt like it was going weak the more he spoke.

‘’The words,’’ he continued. ‘’The programming.’’ His hands clenched tightly together, leather creaking softly. ‘’They echo.’’

Silence filled the room after he said those words. You kept your voice calm. ‘’Which words?”’

He clenched his jaw. ‘’I don’t want to say them.’’

‘’That’s okay.’’

‘’They’re still there.’’ He tapped his temple lightly with his gloved finger. ‘’Always there.’’

Your chest ached more, the words weighing heavily on it. ‘’Do they feel like memories or commands?’’ You ask gently.

‘’Commands.’’ His breathing was getting faster. ‘’They repeat.’’ A pause. ‘’Over and over.’’ He swallowed hard. ‘’Like they’re waiting for something, or someone.’’

You stayed calm, steady, suppressing the growing feeling that was gathering in your body. ‘’They can’t control you anymore,’’

His eyes snapped up to you, sharp and filled with a danger you can’t place. ‘’That’s what they said, they said I was free.’’ His breathing was shallow now. ‘’They said it was over, that the words wouldn’t work anymore.’’

You nodded slowly.

‘’But the echo. They still exist.’’ His leg started bouncing again, this time faster. ‘’They live in my head.’’

You leaned forward a little more. ‘’That doesn’t mean they have power.’’

His jaw tightened again. ‘’It feels like they do.’’

The room felt incredibly tense, tight, like something was building.

‘’What happened last night?’’ You asked gently.

He didn’t answer. His gaze drifted to the wall, unfocused and distant.

‘’James,’’ you said softly, but there was no response. If anything, his breathing sped up and his hands started trembling. ‘’James.’’

His eyes were as if he was seeing something else, as if he were somewhere far away.

‘’The chair.’’ He whispered softly, barely audible.

Your chest tightened. ‘’What about the chair?’’ You asked carefully, maybe you shouldn’t have.

‘’They strapped me down.’’ His breathing was stable at a fast pace. ‘’They always strapped me down. The metal.. it was cold, my head.. it was held in place.’’

His gaze was still locked onto the wall, unmoving.

‘’They made me listen.’’

Your heart started pounding. ‘’James, you’re here with me,’’ you said, voice gentle and soft.

It seemed like he didn’t hear you because he just continued. ‘’They said the words.’’ His breathing became more rapid. ‘’They said them again and again and again.’’

His hands clenched even tighter now. ‘’They said them until I stopped fighting.’’ The tremor in his body grew stronger.

‘’James,’’ you said firmly.

‘’They wiped me clean.’’ His voice cracked. ‘’They erased everything.’’ His eyes widened slightly.

 ‘’They took Brooklyn, they took Steve.’’ His breathing was impossibly frantic now ‘’They took me.’’ Then-

CRASH.

He was on his feet before you could react. The chair behind him slammed into the wall. 

He grabbed the desk and shoved it aside violently. Papers flew, your coffee spilled. The lamp shattered on the floor.

His breathing was incredibly panicked, uncontrolled. ‘’NO-’’ His voice echoed through the office and he grabbed his head. ‘’They’re here.’’

He stumbled backward and knocked over a bookshelf, books crashed to the floor. ‘’They’re here-’’ he repeated again.

He was looking around wildly, like the walls were closing in, like he was an animal trapped in a cage, like he was in Siberia.

Your training screamed at you.

Call security.

Call backup.

Evacuate.

Protocol.

Safety measures.

But he wasn’t attacking you, he wasn’t violent towards you. He was terrified, blindly terrified.

He stumbled backward again and hit the wall. His hands shook violently as he did. Breathing like he was on the verge of drowning, gasping for any air he could.

You lowered yourself to the floor, making yourself smaller, less threatening. ‘’James,’’ you said with a calm and steady voice.

He didn’t respond, his eyes were still wild, searching for something that wasn’t there.

He grabbed the broken chair near him and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a loud crack. How nobody had heard was beyond you, I guess that means the sound proofing of the office was doing its job.

‘’They’re coming-’’

‘’No one is coming,’’ your voice soft.

He still didn’t hear you.

‘’They’re going to trap me down again-’’

‘’No one is going to touch you.’’ you tell him.

‘’They’re going to say the words-’’

He was sliding down a wall now, hands clutching his head. 

You stayed on the floor. ‘’James.’’

Nothing. You softened your voice. ‘’James, look at me.’’

He didn’t. His eyes were still locked on the wall, frozen in fear.

You spoke again, gently but firmly. ‘’Look at me, James.’’

Still nothing. His breathing was getting worse by the second. You glanced at the clock. 4:15 PM

You focused your voice, grounding, steady and clear. ‘’Look at me, James. Not the wall, not the past.’’

His breathing stuttered. A small reaction, you continued. ‘’Look at the clock.’’

His eyes flickered slightly. 

‘’It’s 4:15 PM.’’

His breathing slowed just a tad. ‘’You are in Brooklyn.’’ The fingers he had clenched tightly loosened slightly. ‘’You are safe.’’

There was a pause, his eyes slowly shifted toward you. Finally, he looked at you, really looked.

Your voice stayed calm. ‘’You are in my office.’’ His breathing slowed ever so slightly again. ‘’You are not in Siberia.’’ His shoulders were still trembling. ‘’You are not in the chair.’’ His hands loosed completely now. ‘’No one is going to touch you, you are safe.’’

Silence filled the room, before he whispered ‘’Safe.’’

‘’Yes.’’ His breathing had almost returned to normal by now. ‘’You’re here with me.’’ His eyes softened slightly as you said that. ‘’You’re not alone’’

He exhaled slowly, like he finally regained control over his breathing, then his body collapsed forward a tad.

You stayed still and didn’t make an attempt to move toward him. You didn’t crowd him, just stayed on the floor. There and present.

Minutes passed, his breathing stabilized completely, and his hands stopped shaking.

The room was destroyed. Broken glass, papers everywhere. The furniture overturned, but he was calm again. He was here fully.

‘’I’m sorry.’’

Your chest tightened at the words. ‘’You don’t need to apologize.’’

‘’I destroyed your office.’’

‘’You had a flashback. My office can be fixed, it’s okay.’’

‘’I lost control.’’

‘’You were reliving trauma.’’ You insisted.

His hands trembled slightly again. ‘’I could’ve hurt you.

‘’But you didn’t.’’

He looked at you, guilt filled his blue gaze.

You spoke gently. ‘’You came back. You listened. You grounded yourself.’’

His hands stopped trembling. ‘’I thought I was back there.’’

‘’I know.’’

His eyes were filled with something fragile. The guilt yeah, but there was also fear, exhaustion and a lot of pain within them.

‘’They kept saying it.’’ His voice was quiet.

‘’They weren’t real.’’

‘’They felt real.’’

‘’I believe you.’’

A few beats of silence passed. 

‘’Why didn’t you call security?’’

You met his gaze again. ‘’Because you needed someone to stay.’’

Once again silence filled the destroyed room, before he whispered ‘’Thank you.’’

Your chest felt heavy. ‘’You’re welcome, James.’’

You had no idea when you switched to the first name basis this session, probably out of instinct. It didn’t feel wrong, and that in itself you knew was not a good sign.

He sat there on the floor for a long time, and for the first time since you met him, he looked completely human. Not a soldier, not a weapon, not the winter soldier.

Chapter Text

The office obviously didn’t look the same.

You noticed it the moment you stepped inside the next morning, you had forgotten the severity of it. 

The door closed behind you with a soft click, and for a second you just stood there, taking it in.

The bookshelf was still on its side.

Books scattered across the floor, some bent, some open. The lamp lay in pieces near the wall, glass pushed into a small pile that you did before leaving last night. The desk was slightly off, not where it should be.

Everything was shifted. The deliberate order of things, undone.

Your gaze lingered on the damage a second too long. Last night came back then, not the moment itself, not the chaos, but what came after. 

The quiet.

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling long after you should’ve been asleep. The room dark, your mind not. Going over it again, piece by piece. The way his voice had sounded. The way he hadn’t seen you. The way he had, eventually.

You had told yourself it was normal, that patients stay with you sometimes, that difficult sessions lingered. But this wasn’t that.

A knock at the doorframe broke the thought.

‘’Doctor?’’

You turned, expression already settling into something neutral.

One of the administrative staff stood there, clipboard under his arm. His eyes moved past you almost immediately, catching on the state of the room.

You stepped slightly to the side, just enough to block the full view.

‘’There was an issue with the shelving,’’ you said before he could ask.

His brows creased into a frown. ‘’Issue?

You nodded once. ‘’It wasn’t anchored properly. I was reorganizing some files yesterday, and when I shifted the weight, the whole thing came down.’’

The lie came easily, too easily.

His gaze moved between you and the room again, lingering just enough to make you aware of it. ‘’You weren’t hurt?’’

‘’No.’’

A pause.

‘’Alright. I’ll have maintenance take a look at it.’’

‘’Thank you.’’ You said with a polite smile.

He hesitated, then nodded and walked off. His footsteps fading down the hallway.

Silence settled again. 

You exhaled slowly, your eyes drifting back to the bookshelf.

Not anchored properly.

You repeated it in your head, testing it. It held. Clean. Logical. Safe and a big lie.

You stepped further into the room, careful around the scattered glass. A book lay open near the desk, pages creased. You bent down, smoothing it absently before placing it aside.

Your thoughts drifted again. To him.

The way he had looked when he came back. The confusion. The guilt. The way he had checked you without touching you, making sure you weren’t hurt.

You straightened slowly.

There had been other options.

Report it.

Document it.

Following the protocol.

It would have been easy, you had done it before.

Instead, you had stepped in front of the question before it was asked. Protected him.

Your jaw tightened slightly.

You didn’t know him. Not really.

You knew the patterns. The responses. The fragments of memory he allowed you to see. But that wasn’t the same thing.

And still, you would do it again.

That realization didn’t come with hesitation. It settled quietly, like it was already decided somewhere deep within the surface.

You adjusted one of the chairs, nudging it back into place, restoring what little order you could.

The line had been crossed. Not blurred. Not tested. Crossed.

What unsettled you wasn’t the lie itself. It was how natural it had felt.

Your gaze flicked briefly to the door, then back to the room.

You reached for another book, placing it neatly on the desk.

Work. That was what this was supposed to be.

You turned away from the mess, but the feeling didn’t follow.

                                  —

You didn't expect to see him outside your office.

That was the first thought that crossed your mind as you turned the corner into the cereal aisle and stopped abruptly.

Mr. Barnes was standing just three meters away from you, staring at a wall of cereal boxes with a confused expression on his face.

For a moment, you almost turned around and left. Therapy had boundaries. Professional distance mattered, a lot. Running into patients outside of sessions was always awkward, and usually the safest option was to pretend you hadn’t seen them unless they acknowledged you first.

But he looked so lost, completely and utterly lost.

He stood in the middle of the aisle, hands shoved into the pockets of dark joggers, shoulder slightly hunched, eyes scanning the shelves with intensity. His eyes scanning for the row and rows of colorful boxes stretched across the shelves. Bright reds, neon blues, cartoon mascots, bold letters screaming promises of flavor, energy and happiness.

Sugar coated loops, frosted flakes, chocolate squares, granola clusters, protein cereals, organic cereals, gluten free cereals, low sugar cereals, family sized boxes, single serving packs. Forty different choices, many more.

You noticed something else too, he hasn’t wearing his jacket. Just a dark grey t shirt and joggers.

The sleeves hugged his toned arms slightly, outline the muscle that lay beneath it. His metal arm was covered by a thin black compression sleeve, blending into the fabric of the shirt. His hair was slightly messy, as if he’d run his hand through it too many times.

He looked smaller like this, not physically, but less intimidating, less of a weapon.

Just a man standing in a grocery store, trying to buy himself breakfast.

You took a slow breath, grounding yourself and stepped forward. ‘’Mr. Barnes.’’

He turned immediately, reflex. His eyes sharpened for half a second, and then softened slightly. ‘’Doctor.’’

His eyes lingered for a second too long, letting them roam over your hands, face, everything. Then he looked away.

You offered a small, calm smile. ‘’Hi.’’

He nodded once, not uncomfortable but just acknowledging your presence.

You glanced at the wall of cereal. ‘’Big decision?’’

He looked back at the shelves, then let out an exhale. ‘’Yeah.’’

You stepped closer, keeping your movements relaxed although your heart was frantically beating against your ribs. ‘’What seems to be the problem?’’ You asked, voice light.

He kept his gaze on the cereals. ‘’There are too many.’’

You let out a small breath of amusement. ‘’Yeah, there are.’’

He shifted his weight slightly, jaw tightening for a second before relaxing again, like there was something else he wanted to say. He didn’t.

Silence settled for a moment. He shifted his feet slightly. ‘’I’ve been standing here for… ten minutes.’’ he admitted.

You tilted your head. ‘’Ten minutes??’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’And you’re still deciding?’’

He nodded this time.

You crossed your arms loosely, studying the shelves. ‘’What’s the criteria?’’

He ripped his gaze from the shelves, angling them towards you. ‘’Nutrition. Taste. Price. Shelf life. Sugar content.’’

You nod slowly, ‘’Alright, we can work with that.’’

He gestured towards the shelves slightly. ‘’There are forty two options.’’

You blinked. ‘’You counted??’’

‘’Yes.’’

Of course he did. You looked at the cereal boxes again. ‘’Do you eat cereal often?’’ perhaps it was a stupid question, because if he did would he really be standing there like that?

‘’No.’’

‘’Have you eaten cereal before?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘When?’’

He paused a beat, then answered with a quiet voice. ‘’1943.’’

Your chest tightened slightly with that. You nodded hoping to not show the shock plastered on your face too much. ‘’Do you remember what kind?’’

‘’Corn flakes.’’

You smiled softly. ‘’Simple choice.’’

You stepped closer to the shelf and grabbed a box of plain corn flakes. Nothing fancy or colorful. Just basic.

You handed it to him. ‘’Try this one.’’

He took the box slowly, and then turned it, reading the label. Nutrition facts, ingredients, expiration date. Everything and then looked at you.

His gaze returned to the cereal shelf, and his jaw tightened.

‘’I used to be a sniper,’’ he said quietly.

You blinked at the sudden statement. He returned his gaze to the cereal.

‘’Among other things.’’

A beat of silence passed.

‘’I could hit a target from a half mile in a blizzard.’’ His voice was calm, no bragging, just a matter of fact.

‘’But now I can’t even figure out with damn cereal to buy.’’ The frustration in his voice was audible.

You leaned against the shelf slightly. ‘’That makes sense.’’

He looked at you again, confused. ‘’It does?’’

‘’Yes.’’ You nodded towards the shelves. ‘’You were trained to make life or death decisions under extreme pressure. You were given clear objectives, clear targets, clear outcomes.’’

He nodded.

You gestured to the cereal wall. ‘’This, this is chaos.’’

His gaze slipped to the cereal wall and then back to you. ‘’I guess.’’

You smiled at him. ‘’Too many choices can... be overwhelming when you are used to structure’’

He considered what you said. ‘’It feel stupid.’’

‘’It’s not.’’

‘’It’s cereal.’’

You hesitated slightly before saying ‘’Its a symbol.’’

He frowned slightly, creating that wrinkle between his brows you know all too well by now.

‘’Of what?’’

You spoke gently. ‘’Of freedom.’’

He went still.

‘’You get to choose now,’’ You continued. ‘’No one is choosing for you. No one is ordering you. No one is controlling you.’’

You could see his grip on the cereal box tighten slightly.

‘’You decide what you eat. What you buy. What you do.’’ Silence. ‘’That kind of freedom can be overwhelming.’’

He stared at the cereal before whispering. ‘’I never had to choose before.’’

Your chest felt a little heavier. ‘’I know.’’

‘’They chose everything, what I ate, what I wore, what I did.’’ You nodded, trying to show understanding, when you know nothing of what it’s like.

‘’And now you’re a standing in a grocery store trying to choose what to buy.’’

He let out a quiet breath. ‘’It feels like too much.’’

You softened your voice. ‘’Then start small.’’

He looked at you again. ‘’How?’’

‘’You already did.’’

He glanced at the box in his hands. ‘’This?’’

‘’Yes.’’ Another beat of silence filled the aisle. ‘’You picked corn flakes.’’

‘’You picked them, not me.’’

‘’You could’ve said no. You didn’t.’’

He processed that for a few seconds before nodding slightly.

You stepped back slightly, giving him space again. ‘’Do you need anything else?’’

He looked down at the box, then back at the shelves, then at you. ‘’’No.’’ He hesitated a bit before adding. ‘’...Thank you.’’

You smiled at him. ‘’You’re welcome.’’

He shifted slightly, like he was unsure of what to do next. Then he asked. ‘’Do I pretend I didn’t see you here next week?’’

You let out a breath of amusement. ‘’You don’t have to. It’s up to you.’’

He nodded slowly. ‘’Okay, doctor.’’

You turned to leave, and before you could fully walk away, he spoke again.

‘’Doctor.’’

You turned back. ‘’Yes?”’

He held up the cereal box. ‘’Is this a good choice?’’

A smile returned on your cheeks again. You paused, just for a second.  ‘’Yes, James.’’ You waited a little before adding. ‘’It tastes like summer.’’

His expression softened slightly, not much but it was there. He nodded once and then turned toward the check out aisle, cereal box still in his hand.

He walked a little steadier, as if that was even possible, like choosing breakfast was a small victory, and maybe it was. 

Chapter Text

He was late, not by much, three minutes, but it was the first time he had ever been late.

4:03 PM when the door opened, and he stepped inside with a kind of restraint that made the air in the room feel tighter. He didn’t scan the room this time, not even the exits. He hadn’t even checked the room, to look for any stark ‘reminders’ he had left last time. The quiet controlled assessment you’d known so used to hadn’t come.

He shut the door harder than usual, not a slam but close, enough that the frame rattled slightly.

Your posture straightened instinctively, though your voice remained calm. ‘’Good afternoon, James.’’

The second part, leaving your mouth without much thought.

He didn’t respond right away.

He walked to the chair, but instead of sitting, he stopped beside it, standing there like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to stay or leave. His jaw was tight, shoulders tense, and his eyes seemed darker than usual. He looked like he hadn’t slept much again, but this time it wasn’t exhaustion dominating his expression.

It was anger. Cold, restrained anger.

You gestured toward the chair. ‘’You can sit.’’

He sat, but not the usual way. Instead of settling into the chair with controlled posture, he dropped into it abruptly, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together tightly. No gloves today. Metal fingers exposed, resting against his other hand. You noticed immediately. It was the first time you’d seen them in real life.

‘’How has your week been?’’ You asked.

He let out a quiet, humorless laugh. ‘’Eventful.’’

You waited for more, silence stretched.

He leaned back in the chair and looked at you directly. ‘’We need to talk about boundaries.’’

Your pen stilled on the paper. ‘’Alright,’’ you said calmly. ‘’What about them?’’

‘’The grocery store.’’

You nodded slowly. ‘’What about it?’’

‘’You shouldn’t have helped me.’’

His voice was flat, trying to sound controlled, but it was clear that underneath it was tension, tight, like a spring ready to snap.

‘’You didn’t have to talk to me,’’ he continued. ‘’You didn’t have to come over. You didn’t have to help me pick cereal.’’

You set your pen down.

‘’It was a brief interaction in a public space,’’ you said, voice calm.

‘’It was unnecessary.’’

The air in the room held its breath

‘’You crossed a line,’’ he said.

You tilted your head slightly. ‘’Did it make you uncomfortable?’’

‘’Yes.’’

The answer came fast, and razor sharp.

You nodded a tad. ‘’Okay.’’

He seemed thrown off by that, like he expected resistance or an argument.

‘’You’re getting too close,’’ he said.

Your expression remained neutral, though there was some resistance in your face. ‘’In what way?”’

‘’In every way.’’

He leaned forward again, his eyes gleamed in sharpness.

‘’You talk about Brooklyn. You talk about memories. You show up in grocery stores and help me pick food like we’re friends.’’

‘’We’re not friends,’’ you said gently.

You saw the muscle in his jaw tighten. ‘’Exactly.’’

Another beat of silence followed.

‘’You are my therapist,’’ he continued. ‘’Not my… whatever that was.’’

‘’That was me helping someone who looked overwhelmed in a cereal aisle.’’

‘’You didn’t have to.’’

You paused for a second, before answering. ‘’No, I didn’t.’’

Silence once again filled the room. 

He stared at you. Trying to read your reaction. Trying to find hesitation. Fear. Anything.

‘’You should keep your distance,’’ he said.

‘’I do.’’

‘’You don’t.’’ The silent fury in his voice was obvious. ‘’You stay calm when I lose control. You talk me down like I’m worth saving. You treat me like a person.’’

‘’You are a person.’’

His jaw clenched harder. ‘’That’s exactly the problem.’’

The room went quiet. You watched him carefully.

‘’You’re starting to like me,’’ he said.

It wasn’t an accusation, not really. It was a defensive maneuver. A push.

You remained calm even though it made you want to say something unethical. ‘’This isn’t about me.’’

‘’It is.’’

‘’’No.’’

‘’It is.’’ His voice dropped. ‘’You’re getting too close.’’ he repeated.

You met his gaze steadily.

‘’I’m doing my job.’’

‘’No, you’re doing more than that.’’

Before you could respond, he stood. Fast, sudden. The movement made the air shift.

He walked around the desk before you could react, stopping beside your chair. Close enough that you could see the tension in his jaw clearly, or the tightness of his shoulders close up, the way his metal hand flexed slightly like it was deciding something.

He leaned down in your space, close, too close. Close enough that most people would flinch. You didn’t move.

His metal hand gripped the arm of your chair. The wood groaned under the pressure, a quiet cracking sound filled the room.

He was watching you, waiting, testing. Trying to provoke fear, to make you react, to make you pull away, to make you see him as dangerous, as monstrous. If you saw him that way, it would be easier for him.

‘’You think I’m a patient?’’ He said quietly. The pressure on the chair increased, the wood creaked louder. ‘I hurt people.’’ His voice was low, cold. ‘’You should be running.’’ His eyes locked onto yours. ‘’Not taking notes.’’

His other hand suddenly grabbed your pen from the desk, and snapped it in half, plastic cracking sharply. Ink spilled all over the floor.

He dropped the broken pieces onto the desk, while he still watched you, impatiently waiting for a glimmer of panic or fear. Waiting for you to finally see him the way he sees himself.

You looked at him, as calmly as you could, even if you could feel every inside tremble slightly, and then spoke. ‘’Are you finished?”’

The question landed softly in the air. His grip on the chair faltered slightly.

You held his gaze. ‘’Because we still have over twenty minutes left.’’ Your voice stayed steady. Even as, somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered exactly how easily he could snap the chair in half, including you.

Silence.

The tension in the room shifted. He blinked. He obviously hadn’t expected that answer.

You didn’t move, but your grip tightened slightly on your thigh, just for a second before you force it to relax. You didn’t lean away, didn’t call for help. Didn’t react with visible fear. You just sat there, calm and steady, looking at him like he was still a patient.

The wood under his hand creaked again, but because the pressure loosened again.

‘’You’re not scared,’’ he said quietly.

‘’No.’’

‘Why?’’

‘’Because you’re not trying to hurt me.’’ to anyone but you, that would’ve sounded naive, but you felt it was true.

‘’You don’t know that.’’

‘’Yes, I do.’’

‘’You’re assuming.’’

‘’No, I’m observing.’’

Silence filled the air between you two.

‘’You snapped my pen,’’ you continued calmly. ‘’You damaged the chair. You leaned into my space.’’

His breathing was steady but heavy.

‘’But you didn’t touch me.’’

His grip on the chair was now almost non existent, just hovering there.

‘’You wanted me to flinch.’’

Silence.

‘’You wanted me to run’’

Silence.

‘’You wanted me to see you as dangerous.’’

His gaze bore into yours.

‘’Because if I see you as a monster,’’ you said softly, ‘’then you don’t have to worry about getting close to me.’’

The words hit. Hard. He stepped back slightly, as if something had physically pushed him.

‘’That’s not-’’

‘’It is.’’

His eyes darkened. ‘’You think you know me.’’

‘’No,’’ you said. ‘’I think you’re scared.’’

He let out a sharp breath. ‘’I am not scared.’’

‘’You are.’’

There was a beat of nothingness before you continued. ‘’You’re scared that someone might see you as human.’’

He clenched his hands into fists.

‘’I think…’’ You started, then corrected yourself, more carefully. ‘’I think this isn’t about me getting too close.’’

He looked away, jaw locked tightly.

‘’You’re scared that someone might care.’’

His breathing shifted, unsteady for just a few seconds.

‘’And that scares you more than any enemy ever has.’’

Silence filled the room, the only sound was of the soft clicking of the clock on the wall.

He looked back at you slowly. ‘’You shouldn’t care.’’ His voice was quiet.

‘’Why?’’

‘’Because I am dangerous.’’

‘’You are traumatized.’’

‘’I am both.’’

‘’Yes.’’

Silence.

‘’You think you can.. fix me.’’

‘’No.’’ 

He frowned slightly. ‘’No?’’

‘’No.’’ You folded your hands in your lap. ‘’I’m not here to fix you.’’

‘’Then what are you here for?’’ He asked, with a frown on his face.

‘’To help you live with yourself.’’

Silence again.

He looked at the broken pen on the desk, then at the cracked arm of the chair, then back at you. ‘’You should report this.’’

‘’Why?’’

‘’I damaged property.’’

You nod slightly.

‘’I intimidated you.’’

‘’You tried to, yeah.’’

‘’You should call someone.’’

You titled your hair again slightly. ‘’Do you want me to?’’

He didn’t answer, because he didn’t, of course he didn’t.

His shoulders dropped slightly, the anger was still there but the fight that came with it was fading.

He said nothing for a little bit, then sat back down in the chair. Like the storm had passed.

‘’You’re still getting too close,’’ he said, but it was barely a whisper.

You nodded, ‘’I hear you.’’

‘’And?’’

‘’And we can talk about what that means.’’

Chapter Text

It was still early. Early enough to lose yourself into your own mind for at least a few minutes. You’d glanced at the clock for what had to be the third time in under a minute, your pen hovering over a half written note that was left unfinished after the last session you had. You hadn’t realized how aware you’ve become of time until now, until him.

You told yourself it was because of the last session, because of what had happened, because of what could’ve happened. That was the logical explanation.

Your pen tapped against the paper once, then again, and again until you forced your hand to still.

You hadn’t documented everything, not fully at least. You’d written enough to make it sound contained. Manageable. Clinical. Words that flattened the reality of it into something safer, something that wouldn’t raise questions if anyone ever looked close enough.

Patient displayed heightened agitation. No direct harm to the therapist. Sessions concluded without incident.

A lie by omission. You clenched your teeth slightly.

The arm of your chair had cracked. He had leaned into your space, you had not moved.

You didn’t write that part down. You just couldn’t.

A quiet knock interrupted your thoughts. You froze for half a second.

3:49 PM. Way too early.

Your eyes flicked to the door, then back to your notes like that would somehow change the time.

Another knock came, softer this time.

You stood this time, not sure why, smoothing your hands over your pants unnecessarily before crossing the room. Your fingers hovered over the handle for just a second too long before you opened it.

He stood there. Coffee in hand.

For a moment neither of you spoke. He looked… different. Not calmer, and not better, but just contained, like everything had been pushed down and locked into place with more effort than usual.

You stepped aside. ‘’You’re early.’’

‘’Yeah.’’

He didn’t move immediately. Just stood there, like he was deciding something, you weren't sure what. Then he stepped inside.

The door closed behind him with a soft sound.

You turned back toward your desk, trying to ignore the way your awareness of him had sharpened. Every movement, every shift of weight. It was irritating. Unprofessional.

You sat down, and picked up your new pen.

‘’You can sit.’’

He was still standing near the door, holding the coffee like he’d forgotten it was there. His fingers tightened slightly around the cup.

‘’I wasn’t-’’

He stopped.

Your grip on the pen tightened just a little.

He looked down at the cup, then back at you.

A beat passed, then he stepped forward and held it out. ‘’..Here.’’

You blinked. That wasn’t what you expected. Far from it actually.

Your hand moved before you fully thought about it, reaching iut to take it. For a brief second, you hesitated. Not visibly, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that you felt it.

Then, your fingers brushed his.

It wasn’t soft or lingering. It was accidental, brief. And it felt like something had snapped tight in the air.

He froze. Completely.

Your hands stilled too.

His eyes dropped to where your fingers touched his, like he was registering it too late. Then he let go, fast, too fast.

You pulled the cup back just as quickly, placing it on your desk like it had suddenly become something fragile.

Your heartbeat had picked up, annoyingly so. You tried ignoring it.

‘’Thank you,’’ you said, voice steady.

He nodded once, already turning away slightly, like putting space between you was instinctive.

‘’You can sit.’’ You said again.

This time he did, when he did his eyes flicked over you again. You noticed the way his eyes flicked to the armrest of your new chair for a second, then away.

Guilt filled his gaze. You didn’t comment on it.

You picked up your pen again, more for something to do with your hands than anything else.

‘’How has your week been?’’

He let out a quiet breath, leaning forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs. ‘’Fine.’’

You raised an eyebrow slightly. ‘’Fine?”’

‘’Yeah.’’

A pause. You tilted your head. ‘’That’s new.’’

His jaw shifted slightly. ‘’It’s accurate.’’

You studied him for a moment. He wasn’t meeting your eyes this time. His focus was somewhere on the floor, not unfocused, just deliberate. Avoiding.

You tapped your pen lightly against the paper. ‘’And the sleep?”

‘’Better.’’

‘’How much?”

‘’Six hours.’’

You nodded slowly. ‘’That’s an improvement.’’

He didn’t respond. A long beat of silence followed.

You exhaled softly, setting your pen down. ‘’You came early.’’ You said.

‘’Yea.’’

‘’And you brought coffee.’’ 

His shoulders tensed almost immediately. ‘’I did.’’

You slightly leaned back into your chair. ‘’Do you want to talk about that?’’

His jaw clenched. ‘’No.’’

You nodded once. ‘’Okay.’’ Not willing to push him, not on this.

Another silence. You let it sit, didn’t fill it immediately. You let him choose.

His gloved hand flexed once. ‘’I shouldn’t have-’’

‘’No,’’ you cut in gently. ‘’You shouldn’t have.’’

The words landed between you, heavier than they sounded.

He stilled completely, his eyes lifted to yours now.

There was something in them, no anger this time, not the guilt you saw earlier either. 

You held his gaze, and didn’t try to soften your words, even though deep down you knew you wanted to.

‘’You tried to intimidate me,’’ you continued, voice calm. ‘’You damaged property. You crossed a line.’’

The muscle in his jaw tensed again. ‘’I know.’’

You nodded slightly. ‘’Okay.’’

He looked away first. His hands clasped together, tight. ‘’I didnt..’’ He exhaled sharply, like he was annoying himself. ‘’I wasn’t-’’ He said again, before stopping.

Your fingers tapped once against your thigh, before u made them lay still. ‘’You weren’t what?’’ You asked.

He shook his head slightly, frustrated. ‘’I wasn’t trying to hurt you.’’

‘’I know.’’

The answer came easily, naively easy. You noticed it, and so did he. 

His eyes snapped back to yours. ‘’You don’t know that.’’

You held his gaze again, but this time there was the slightest delay before you answered. ‘’I do,’’ You said. ‘’...But that doesn’t make it okay.’’

There was a small shift in the air, the tension eased, not gone but less sharp.

He leaned back into his chair, running a hand through his hair. ‘’I shouldn’t have come near you like that.’’

You nodded. ‘’No.’’

He let out a breath, slower this time. ‘’I wanted you to react.’’ He admitted.

You watched him carefully. ‘’I know.’’

‘’But you didn’t.’’

You shake your head slightly.

‘’’Why?’’

There it was, the same question he asked last session, but it was different. There was less challenge, more genuine confusion.

You hesitated. Your instinct was to answer the way you had before. Clean, certain, controlled. But something in you resisted that. 

‘’I don’t know,’’ you said.

The words surprised both of you. His brows pulled together slightly. ‘’You don’t know?’’

You shook your head once again. ‘’Not entirely.’’

Your answer felt wrong. It sat wrong in your chest, but it was honest.

‘’I knew you weren’t trying to hurt me,’’ you added after a second. ‘’But..’’

You stopped, fingers tightening against your thigh.

He leaned forward again. ‘’But what?’’

You exhaled. ‘’But I shouldn't have pushed you like that..’’

His expression shifted slightly. 

You looked away first this time, briefly glancing at the coffee on your desk before returning your gaze to him. ’’That was my responsibility,’’ you said. ‘‘Not yours.’’

His head shook immediately. ‘’No.’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’No.’’ His voice was firm now. ‘’I was the one who-’’

‘’And I was the one who stayed,’’ you cut in.

That stopped him. The words hung there. You felt them more than you expected to.

You settled into your chair more, crossing your arms loosely, a way to create space again.

‘’We both crossed lines,’’ You said, quietly.

He watched you for a long moment. ‘’So what happens now?’’

‘’Now,’’ you said, ‘’We set them again.’’

He didn’t look convinced.

‘’And this time?’’ He asked. ‘’We follow them?’’

A beat of silence filled the room again. It was too long, you felt it, he felt it.

You nodded anyway. ‘’Yes.’’

It wasn’t entirely true, and the fact that you knew that sat heavier than anything else in the room.

—

After the session, you stepped out into the hallway, needing the cool, sterile air of the corridor to steady your pulse. The session had left you feeling hollowed out. A strange jagged sort of fatigue that usually took hours to shake. You locked the door behind you, hands lingering on the handle, checking the latch.

‘’You look like you’ve been doing the heavy lifting again.’’

You didn’t jump, but you straightened, forcing your shoulders to drop from your ears and return to their normal position. Elena was leaning against the water cooler, a paper cup in her hand. She didn’t look malicious, just observant. The kind of observant that made your skin crawl.

‘’Just a long day,’’ you said, reaching for your professional mask again. You pulled it on, but you felt the edges wearing.

Elena tilted her head, her gaze shifting to the door you’d just locked. ‘’I saw him pacing the lobby before he went in. He looked like he was vibrating out of his skin. Not to overstep, but that file has been sitting on your desk for a while. People are starting to notice the intensity levels coming out of that room. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.’’

Your stomach tightened. You gave her a small, tight smile, keeping your voice level. ‘’He’s a complicated case, Elena. It’s expected.’’

‘’I just meant,’’ she started, moving toward the hallway exit, ‘’management does periodic reviews of active caseloads. If a patient is… disruptive, or if the sessions are causing you to look like this, they’ll want to intervene. They don’t like liabilities.’’

She fully walked past you now, offering a polite nod before turning the corner towards the exit.

You stood still in the quiet hallway. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until you let out a sharp, jagged exhale. ‘Liability.’ The word felt heavy, echoing against the walls. You looked at your office, then at your own reflection in the hallway window. You did look tired. You looked like someone who had been holding a secret in their teeth for too long.

Chapter Text

You don’t sleep well that night. Not because of him, or that’s at least what you tell yourself at first.

It’s the broken routine. The disruption. What Elena said. The aftermath of a difficult session. That’s all it is. You’ve endured worse before.

But your mind doesn’t let go. It loops.

The flashback. The destruction. The way you didn’t call security. The way you lied the next morning without hesitation. The grocery store. The way he said ‘You’re getting too close.’

You stare at the ceiling, eyes open in the dark. And for once, you don’t have a clean, clinical explanation for your own behavior. That’s the part that bothers you. Not him. You.

You turn onto your side, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

You’ve done this job long enough to know what this is supposed to look like.

Distance. Structure. Boundaries.

And somewhere along the way, you stepped outside of that. You didn’t just blur the line, you crossed it.

You close your eyes.

You think about protocol. About documentation. About accountability. About the fact that if anyone had walked in during that session. If anyone had seen what happened. You wouldn’t have had a justification that held.

That thought settles heavy in your chest, because you know it’s true and worse, you don’t regret it. That’s what makes it dangerous.

Your jaw tightened slightly, then you exhale slowly.

No.

You’re not doing this again, not with him, not with any patient. You don’t get to make exceptions. You don’t get to decide who deserves different rules. That’s not how this works. That’s how it falls apart.

You sit up in bed, pushing the blanket aside.

The decision comes quickly. 

You’re going to fix this.

—

The next session starts differently, not visibly, not in any way that someone would immediately clock, but it’s there. It’s in the way you’re already writing before he even fully sits down.

Your pen moves across the page in short, precise strokes. You don’t look up right away.

‘’Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes.’’

A small pause.

‘’Doctor.’’

You nod faintly, still writing god knows what.

You ask the standard questions. He answers in a brief, controlled manner.

You write more than you used to. You can feel it, the shift in yourself, but you don’t stop. Because stopping would mean acknowledging it, and you don’t want to do that. Not right now.

Silence stretches slightly longer than usual, then. ‘’You’re writing more.’’

Your pen doesn’t stop. ‘’I am.’’

Another beat of silence follows.

‘’Why?”

You underline a word, closing the sentence. Starting another. ‘’Session documentation.’’

It sounds right. It is right, but it doesn’t feel the same.

You feel his gaze on you. Steady and unmoving.

You keep writing, but then you decide to do it. Clean cut. No easing into it. No soft transition.

You look up. ‘’We’re going to keep this professional, Mr. Barnes.’’

Silence, not long, but enough.

‘’..We weren’t?’’

‘’It crossed a line.’’ Your tone is even.

‘’You didn’t seem to mind.’’

Your pen pauses. Mid word. Ink pressing slightly too hard against the paper, for too long. Then you continue writing. ‘’That’s the problem.’’ The words come out quieter than you intended, but sharper.

He watches you again, you don’t need to look up to know that. ‘’But.. what does writing have to do with this?’’

You didn’t plan for that question, you always have answers, always. But this one, this one doesn’t come as clean. You hesitate, just a tad. ‘’Because clarity matters. Documentation matters.’’

It's exactly the kind of answers you’re supposed to give, but the moment it leaves your mouth, you know it’s off. It doesn’t sit right in your chest or in the space between you.

He leans back slightly. The chair shifts quietly under him. ‘’Feels like you’re keeping score.’’

That hits harder than it should hard. You feel it under your ribs, sharp, stinging.

Your grip on the pen tightens. ‘’That’s not what this is.’’ You said it too quick, too defensive. He doesn’t miss it.

‘’...Then what is it?’’

Silence.

You don’t answer. You look down at your notes. At the words you’ve been writing. They suddenly feel excessive, overwritten.

Your pen hovers, but doesn’t move.

The clock ticks.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And that silence. That hesitation, says more than anything you could’ve said out loud.

You feel it. The shift. The thing you were trying to fix, slipping anyway.

He watches you. Not pushing. Not filling the silent space, just watching, and somehow that feels even worse.

You clear your throat softly. Trying to redirect. ‘’’Let’s continue.’’

You start with the standard questions again, some have already been asked, but you needed some structure back, needed to take control back.

‘’How has your sleep been this week?’’

A beat.

‘’Consistent.’’

Your pen moves again. ‘’Define consistent.’’

‘’About five hours.’’

‘’Interruptions?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Nightmares?’’

‘’Yes.’’

You write everything down, faster then before, with more structure. Like if you just keep the rhythm, it’ll hold.

‘’Intensity?’’

‘’Moderate.’’

‘’Frequency?’’

‘’Nightly.’’

It feels like a report again. You notice it, and you hate that you do. Because this, this is safe. This is controlled. This is what it’s supposed to look like, right?

‘’You’re doing it again.’’

You pen stills. You don’t lift your head immediately. ‘’Doing what?”’

‘’Avoiding me.’’

Your chest tightens. ‘’It’s structure.’’

‘’No, it’s distance.’’

Silence.

You feel it again, that crack, small, but there. ‘’We need distance,’’ you say. It comes out firmed this time. Like you’re convincing yourself more than him.

‘’Why?’’

You don’t answer right away, because the real answer isn’t something you can say out loud. Not without crossing another line.

‘’We’ve been over this. This is therapy.’’ You say.

‘’It was before too.’’

You look back down at your notes, and start writing again, even though you don’t need to, since there is nothing new to add. But you do anyway, just to fill the space.

‘’You don’t trust it.’’ he says.

Your pen presses hard against the paper again. ‘’Trust what?’’

‘’This,’’ he says. ‘’Whatever this is.’’

You exhale slowly. ‘’That’s not relevant.

‘’It is.’’

You shake your head slightly. ‘’No.’’

‘’It is,’’ he repeats. Quieter this time.

You don’t respond, because you don’t trust yourself to. And that silence, again, says everything.

Chapter Text

The next week arrives quietly, no coffees, no early arrivals, no knocks before the appointment. 

Just the clock ticking toward four.

You stare at the file on your desk longer than necessary. 

James Buchanan Barnes.

The folder looks exactly the same as it always had. You don’t. The realization is irritating.

You close the folder before the thought can really settle.

A sharp knock comes from the door.

‘’Come in.’’

The door opens. He steps inside. For a brief second your eyes meet, then he looks away.

Not because he’s nervous, not because he’s avoiding you, because he’s simply stopped lingering. Stopped looking.

The difference is immediate, painfully immediate. You ignore it.

‘’Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes.’’

His jaw shifts slightly. ‘’Doctor.’’

You nod once. ‘’Take a seat.’’

He does. No hesitation, no scanning the room, no sarcasm. Just nothing. Just a patient sitting in a chair, exactly what you’ve been trying to achieve. Your stomach tightens anyway.

You open your notebook. ‘’How has your week been?’’

‘’’Fine.’’

Your pen moves.

‘’Anything notable happen?’’

‘’No.’’

You write that down too.

The answer is identical to dozens he’s given before. Yet somehow, it feels different. Before there had always been resistance beneath it, something pushing back. Now there is nothing. Just a wall.

You glance up. He’s looking out the window, not at you, not at the room.

‘’How has your sleep been?”’

‘’Fine.’’

You look at him.

A beat of silence passes through the room. 

‘’Fine?’’

‘’Yeah.’’

You wait but he doesn’t elaborate. You lower your eyes to the paper. ‘’Nightmares?’’

The lie lands immediately. You know it before the word even fully leaves his mouth. Not because you’re particularly insightful or because you’re some kind of mind reader. Because three sessions ago he admitted they were nightly, because two sessions ago he admitted they were worsening, because last session he admitted they were still happening. And now suddenly they are gone? You don’t believe it, but you write it down anyway.

The room settles into silence. The clock ticks. He remains motionless. The only sound in the room is that of the scratches of your pen on paper.

Nothing else. This is exactly what professional distance is supposed to feel like. You find yourself missing the arguments. The realization comes so unexpectedly that you nearly frown.

You don’t miss the destruction nor the confrontations, you miss the honesty. The frustrating, stubborn honesty. The way he would flare at you yet tell you the truth anyway. Now he just lies, calmly, easily.

And for the first time since he became your patient, you realize silence can be far more difficult than anger. You clear your throat. ‘’Any flashbacks this week?’’

‘’No.’’

Another lie, you know it, he knows you know it. Neither of you acknowledge it. You lift your eyes from the page. He’s already looking at you. The eye contact lasts slightly too long. Not in the dramatic sense, nor romantic. Just long enough to feel noticeable. Long enough for something uncomfortable to settle in your chest.

Then he looks away first. You find yourself wishing he hadn’t. The thought irritates you immediately. You focus back on your notes.

‘’Any anxiety?’’

‘’No.’’

You stare at the words you’ve written this sessions.

No.

No.

No.

No.

The entire page becoming a list of things neither of you believe.

‘’Mr. Barnes.’’

His eyes lift. ‘’What?’’

You hesitate, just slightly. But then. ‘’Nothing.’’

His gaze lingers on you another second before dropping again.

The silence returns, somehow it feels heavier. As if something sat between you two, something neither of you were willing to touch.

Twenty more minutes pass like that. Questions. Answers. Documentation. Distance.

Everything you wanted, and it feels wrong.

—

The following week is worse. Not to the naked eye nor in a dramatic sense. Just worse in small ways, the dangerous kind.

He arrives. Sits. Answers questions. Leaves. No conflict. No vulnerability. No progress.

You find yourself noticing ridiculous things. The way he keeps looking toward the bookshelf. The way his fingers tap against his knee when he’s annoyed.

Things you shouldn’t notice. Things you’ve apparently been noticing for a while. The thought makes you uncomfortable.

Today, he looks exhausted. The dark circles beneath his eyes are impossible to miss.

You know the answer, but you ask anyway.

‘’How have u been sleeping?’’

‘’Fine.’’

There it is again, that word, you hate that word. You never hated a word that much.

You write it down. He watches you do it.

The room remains quiet, but then.

‘’Why do you keep doing that?”’

Your pen pauses, you look up. His eyes are on your notebook. ‘’What?’’

‘’Writing things you know aren’t true.’’

You stare at him. For a second neither of you move, then he looks away again, like he regrets saying it and didn’t mean to break whatever strange agreement you’ve both created.

Your chest tightens. ‘’You said you were fine.’’

His jaw clenches. ‘’Right.’’

The answer is flat, cold. You feel it sink into your stomach like an anchor. 

He’s just doing exactly what you asked. You wanted professionalism, you wanted distance, you wanted boundaries.

So he’s becoming a patient again. 

If this is what you wanted, then why does it hurt so?

—

The trigger happens almost by accident. The session is nearly over. Nothing remarkable about it, nothing unusual. Then you make a mistake, a small one, a harmless one, or at least it should’ve been harmless. ‘’Have you spoken to steve recently?’’

The moment the words leave your mouth, you know.

His body goes still. Not tense, just still.

You set your pen down. ‘’James.’’

Nothing. His eyes are fixed on the floor. Far away. The room suddenly feels smaller.

His breathing changes, just slightly but you notice. How could you not?

You lean forward a fraction. ‘’James?’’

His jaw tightens. The muscle there visibly jumps. You recognize the signs immediately. A flashback, a memory, something.

The old version of you would’ve pushed. Asked questions. Kept him grounded. Tried to help. Instead, you stay where you are. 

Professional, careful, controlled. The silence stretches. Then he stands.

Your stomach drops, not because he looks angry. He doesn’t. He just looks tired. Exhausted, done.

‘’Mr. Barnes?’’

He grabs his jacket. ‘’We’re done.’’

Your heart sinks. ‘’We still have ten minutes.’’

‘’I know.’’ His voice remains calm, that somehow makes everything worse.

You stand too, not fully but just enough. ‘’Do you want to talk about what happened?”’

‘’No.’’

The answer comes instantly, like how they had in session one. Like none of the last eight sessions had ever happened.

He moves toward the door. You watch him. 

Part of you knows you should let him leave. Part of you knows forcing him to stay would accomplish nothing. Still, you hear yourself say. ‘’James.’’

He stops, just for a second.

His back remains toward you. The room goes quiet.

You hate how much hope you suddenly have. Absolutely hate it.

Without turning around. He says, ‘’I’ll see you next week, Doctor.’’ Then he leaves. The door closes behind him, and you’re alone. Again.

The silence feels enormous.

You stare at the empty chair for a long time, longer than you should have.

Eventually you sit back down.

Open the file, pick up your pen.

Patient became emotionally distressed and left session early.

The sentence sits on the page. Accurate and necessary.

Your pen remains hovering over the paper. Seconds pass then minutes. You think about Elena, management, liability, protocol.

You think about all the reasons it should stay, every single one.

Your jaw tightens, the pen moves.

A single line. One strike through the sentence. Then another, and another. Until it’s unreadable.

You close the file and immediately hate yourself for it.

Chapter Text

The next session arrived with an uncomfortable sort of normalcy. No conversation about last week. No apology. No explanation. No mention of the fact that he walked out with ten minutes remaining.

You don’t bring it up, neither does he.

The silence around you feels deliberate, like a piece of furniture both of you keep walking around without acknowledging it's there.

The knock comes exactly at four. You look up from your desk. ‘’Come in.’’

The door opens, and he steps inside.

He looks tired, not exhausted like last week. Just tired. Like sleep had happened, but not enough of it.

His eyes meet yours. A second. Two. Then he looks away. Not cold but not warm either. Just careful.

‘’Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes.’’

‘’Doctor’’

He sits.

‘’How has your week been.’’

A slight pause, long enough to notice. ‘’Fine.’’

You nearly roll your eyes. Professionalism prevents it, barely.

Your pen moves. ‘’Sleeping?’’

‘’Could be worse.’’

The answer surprises you enough that your eyes lift. For a brief moment he seems to realise what he said.

Not ‘fine.’, not a lie. A real answer, small but real.

Something slightly shifts in the room, not a lot, but just enough. You write it down.

‘’Nightmares?”

A muscle moves in his jaw. ‘’Some.’’

Another real answer. Your chest tightens unexpectedly. The progress is microscopic. Ridiculous. Most people wouldn’t even notice it, but you do.

You force yourself to look back down at your notes. ‘’Frequency?’’

‘’Three.’’

You nod.

The conversation continues. Slowly, carefully, like walking on thin ice. Neither of you mention the crack underneath nor last week.

You ask questions. He answers. Sometimes honestly, sometimes not, but the wall feels slightly less solid. The silence doesn’t feel hostile anymore, it feels fragile, like one wrong movement could bring it back.

Halfway through the session you catch him looking at you. Not unusual, patients do that. You know that, but still this feels different. Not because he’s staring, because he’s studying. The way people study a puzzle they haven’t solved yet. The moment he notices you’ve caught him, he looks away.

You ignore it, mostly because acknowledging it would mean admitting you’ve been doing the same thing, for a while now.

The rest of the session passes quietly. No arguments, no revelations, no emotional breakthroughs. When the session ends, he stands.

You close the notebook. ‘’I’ll see you next week.’’

He nods once. ‘’You should get more sleep.’’ The words leave his mouth so casually that for a second you’re convinced you imagined them.

Did you really look that tired?

You blink.

He immediately looks annoyed with himself, like it slipped out accidentally.

Your heart does something annoying, you refuse to examine it. ‘’Thank you, Mr. Barnes.’’

His jaw tightens, then he leaves.

The room feels strangely empty afterward, you dislike that observation immediately.

—

The first time you notice the car, you don’t think much of it. Traffic exists. Car exists.

People drive the same routes everyday. You stop at a red light. The dark sedan stops behind you.

Nothing remarkable about that.

The light turns green, you continue driving.

The sedan follows, not close nor aggressively. Just there, a few cars back. You barely register it. By the time you get home you’ve forgotten about it completely.

—

The second time feels stranger. Not alarming, just strange.

You leave the office, the parking lot is mostly empty. The sedan sits three rows away. The same dark paint with tinted windows. Nothing unusual, right?

You unlock your car, get inside and drive away.

Ten minutes later, you notice the same vehicle in your mirror. A coincidence, obviously.

The city isn’t THAT large. People use the same roads, the same exists. The same intersections. You tell yourself that twice. By the time you reach home, you believe it. Mostly.

—

The third time is harder to dismiss. You’re leaving a grocery store. Arms full of bags, keys between your fingers.

The sedan sits across the parking lot with its engine running.

You glance at it once, them continue walking. Nothing happens, nobody gets out nor approaches.

You load your groceries into the trunk, then drive away. Three turns later it’s behind u again.

You stare into the rearview mirror for a second longer than necessary and then look back at the road.

The rational part of your brain immediately supplies explanations.

Coincidence.

Routine.

Nothing.

You accept the explanation, mostly because the alternative sounds ridiculous.

—

A week later you’re sitting in traffic when you see it again. Same dark paint, same shape, same distance.

Your fingers tighten slightly around the steering wheel.

The car turns when you turn. Changes lanes when you change lanes. 

The sensation crawls across the back of your neck.

Not fear, awareness.

You glance at the clock. 6:12 PM. Rush hour. Hundreds of cars around you. You’re being ridiculous, you know that. You force yourself to relax. The light changes, traffic moves. The sedan remains behind you, a few cars back. 

When you pull into your apartment complex, the car keeps going.

No hesitation or pause, it just continues down the road.

You sit in your parked car moments longer than necessary. Watching to see if anything happens, nothing does.

Eventually you grab your bag and head inside.

By the time you’re making dinner, you’ve mostly forgotten about it.

By the time you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, the image returns.

Dark sedan, tinted windows, same turns, same distance. You close your eyes.

Tell yourself you’re imagining patterns that aren’t there.

Tell yourself it’s stress.

Tell yourself it’s because you’re tired.

Eventually sleep comes, uneasy.

And somewhere across the city, entirely unknown to you, someone continues watching. Not acting, not approaching, just waiting, but for what?

Chapter Text

The session had been uneventful. Painfully so. Questions, answers, notes, silence.

The fragile balance the two of you had somehow managed to build over the last few weeks remained intact.

You weren’t close nor distant. Somewhere in between. You weren’t entirely sure what to call it. Neither did he.

The clock on the wall ticked quietly. You glanced down at your notebook, then closed it.

The movement immediately caught his attention. His eyes lifted. ‘’What?”’

You hesitated. You hadn’t planned on mentioning it. In fact, you specifically decided not to. But the words came out anyway. ‘’I think I’ve been getting followed these past weeks.’’

The change in him was instant. His entire body went still. The kind of stillness that always made the room feel smaller. ‘’...what?”’

You immediately regretted saying anything. You shrugged, trying to make it smaller, trying to take it back. ‘’It’s probably nothing.’’

His gaze didn’t move. You continued. ‘’Just the same car a few times.’’

Silence, but then. ‘’You didn’t think to tell me?”’

Your brows pulled together. ‘’It didn’t feel important.’’

His jaw tightened. ‘’That’s not your call.’’

Something in your expression shifted. The answer came faster than you intended. ‘’I’m not your responsibility.’’

His eyes narrowed. ‘’It is if it’s about you.’’

The words landed wrong, fast. You felt it immediately. The irritation, frustration, exhaustion. Weeks of tension suddenly finding somewhere to go. ‘’You don’t get to decide that.’’

His shoulders straightened. ‘’Someone has to.’’

Silence, heavy silence filled the room. You stared at him. He stared right back. The room felt smaller now. Much smaller.

You shook your head. ‘’No.’’

His expression darkened. ‘’No?”’

‘’No, you don’t get to just step in and take control every time something doesn’t go your way.’’

His jaw visibly flexed. ‘’That’s not what this is.’’

‘’It’s exactly what this is.’’

You were already standing before you realized it. The movement surprised both of you. The chair shifted slightly behind you. Neither of you looked way.

‘’You don’t trust me to handle anything on my own.’’

His eyes followed you, steady and focused. ‘’I don’t trust the situation.’’

‘’That’s not the same thing.’’

‘’It is when you’re in it.’’ He said it without thought, like there had never been another possible response.

Your frustration sharpened. ‘’You don’t get to make decisions for me.’’

‘’I’m not.’’

‘’You are.’’

‘’No.’’ His voice remained calm, which somehow made everything worse. 

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. ‘’Really?’’

‘’Yes.’’

The room felt hot, the air felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. You folded your arms as a way to create distance. ‘’I didn’t ask for this.’’

‘’No.’’ his voice dropped. ‘’You just walked into it.’’

Your eyes narrowed. ‘’Wow.’’ the words came out flat. Almost impressed, almost angry. Something shifted behind his eyes, then he stood too. Slowly. Neither of you willing to back down anymore.

The space between you suddenly felt much smaller than it had mere seconds ago.

‘’Do you have any idea what could happen to you?”’

The question came harsher than he intended. You could hear it, so could he.

Your heart was beating too fast now. ‘’And who’s fault would that be?”’

The second the words left your mouth. Regret stung sharp. Something in him went rigid. Not with anger, something worse.

His gaze locked onto yours. ‘’Watch it.’’ The warning was quiet. Low. Dangerously controlled.

You should have stopped. You knew that. Instead you took another step. ‘’No.’’

Silence.

The air between you felt electric now. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to stop talking. You ignored it.

‘’Say it.’’ his jaw tightened. ‘’Go on.’’

Nothing, not a single word. Just silence. Heavy.

‘’You aren’t just my patient.’’ The words escaped before you could stop them.

The room went completely silent. Everything froze. His expression changed. Not dramatically just enough.

‘’Then what am I?’’

Your stomach dropped. The question wasn’t angry, that would’ve been easier. It wasn’t sarcastic either. It was honest.

And for a second you couldn’t answer, because every answer was wrong, because there wasn’t a safe answer anymore. You should have stepped back, you didn’t.

Your voice came out quieter. ‘’That’s the issue.’’

A beat.

His eyes dropped. Just briefly to your mouth. Neither of you moved, neither of you looked away.

The silence stretched.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Enough time to stop. Enough time to remember the rules, the ethics, the heavy door separating this office from reality. Enough time to walk away, but neither of you did.

The distance disappeared, slowly at first, then all at once.

His hand moved before you could register it. His grip locking onto the side of your neck, his fingers pressing into yout skin with a desperate, heavy certainty. Then his mouth crashed into yours.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft, and it certainly wasn’t romantic. It was pure, unadulterated frustration. It was weeks of suffocating tension, of quiet notebooks and stolen glances, of bitter arguments and the agonizing closeness of a room that had grown too small for the both of you. It was everything neither of you had been brave enough to say, colliding in a single, breathless second.

He tasted like sharp anxiety and bitter coffee, his lips rough and demanding against yours. For a terrifying, intoxicating moment, you didn’t fight it. You leaned into it, your fingers bunching into the fabric of his shirt just to keep yourself grounded as the room spun. He let out a low, ragged sound against your mouth. Halfway between a sigh and a growl, surrendering entirely to the mistake.

The heat of him was overwhelming, threatening to completely erase the line you had spent months carefully drawing between therapist and patient.

Then, reality came crashing back like ice water.

The sheer weight of what you were doing slammed into your chest. You pulled away first, like you’d touched fire. ‘’No.’’

Your voice shook, the sound startled you. Your lips felt bruised, tingling in the sudden cold air of the office. ‘’This can’t…’’ The sentence died halfway through.

His breathing was uneven, so was yours. He stepped back quickly, distance returning between you fast. ‘’Yeah.’’ The answer was rough, barely audible.

You shook your head, already retreating. Already trying to put space back where it belonged. ‘’This shouldn’t have happened.’’

His gaze dropped briefly, then lifted again. ‘’It didn’t.’’

The lie hung there, pathetic, transparent. Neither of you believed it. Your heart was pounding, your hands felt unsteady.

You grabbed your bag with haste, almost dropped it.

The room felt unbearable, you couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t think here. Couldn’t breathe here. ‘’I need to go.’’

He didn’t stop you. Didn’t move. Didn’t say your name, that somehow hurt.

You crossed the room, opened the door and left.

The hallway felt cold. Bright. Wrong. Your footsteps echoed. You kept walking, faster.

And behind you, inside that office, James Barnes remained exactly where you’d left him, for now.

Motionless, staring at the closed door. Because both of you knew the same thing. Nothing about this could be undone. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not ever.

And for the first time since this began, neither of you had any idea what happened next.