Ch. 3

The meeting lasted for well over an hour. One by one, the men and women who had gathered there shared their stories. Some had suffered domestic abuse, still fearing their ex-partner's wrath. Most people, however, were from the military, relating stories of deployment after deployment, of losing friends in the line of fire, of returning home to broken families.

One person after another spoke of nightmares, of insomnia, of panic attacks, of flashbacks, of unexplained flashes of irrational anger triggered almost without warning. Bucky found himself nodding again and again as he saw his own experiences reflected in the people around him.

"You were awfully quiet," Bucky observed once the meeting concluded and people began to stand and fold up their chairs, dutifully lining them up against a far wall.

Darcy shrugged as she began to fold up her own chair. "You didn't say anything either."

Bucky followed her across the room to the wall, leaning his chair next to hers. "Opening up about my feelings . . . . it's not something I'm used to. Especially in a crowd of strangers." After World War 1, the idea of soldiers experiencing "shell shock" was something one would hear about from time to time, but in Bucky's experience growing up in the twenties and thirties, most people just preferred not to talk about it. And, while it may have been easier to just sweep things under the rug, Bucky knew firsthand how the horrors of war could dig into your soul and twist you into knots.

"Yeah. I get that."

The room was finally empty save them. Bucky decided to ask her the question he'd been thinking about the entire meeting. "Do you . . . do you have nightmares, too?" he asked as her looked at her bloodshot eyes. As much as he didn't want to talk about it, the raw pain on her face was impossible to ignore.

Darcy nodded, her eyes welling with tears as she wrapped her arms protectively around herself. "The worst dream is nothingness. Everything's gone. Everything's been swallowed up by the darkness. Everything's just winked out of existence. I . . . I feel like I'm drowning, but there no surface to swim towards. I feel like I can't breathe . . . like I'm choking in this airless void." She swallowed hard. "It's not like I can really share that with the group."

Bucky sighed. "Nah. I get it. It's hard when what you went through is so different from everyone else." He thought of his own time as Hydra's captive. Decades of punishment and pain. Losing his sense of himself. Being manipulated and lied to. The faces of his countless victims floating through his head.

"Do you have dreams?"

Bucky winced. "I wished they were just at night. I get flashbacks . . . my memories returning. I try to remind myself that it's all in the past, but it feels so real . . ." His voice trailed off as he looked at his hands. How many times had he washed another person's blood off of them? How many lives had he snuffed out? He knew that he might never remember them all.

Impulsively, she took his right hand and squeezed it. "You said it yourself. You're not alone."

He looked at her hand for a moment, his eyes unfocused. It had been decades since he held a woman's hand. It felt electric, like a live wire buzzing in his palm.

"Sorry," she mumbled, pulling her hand away.

He gave her a ghost of a grin. "No need to apologize."

"Um . . . . Jane's going to hound me about it, so I'll probably have to come next week, too. Are you . . . . are you coming back?" she asked softly as they both began walking towards the door.

Bucky hadn't planned on it. He was going to just tell Steve it didn't work out and stick to seeing the shrink every week. But, as he saw the glimmer of hope in Darcy's eyes, he knew his answer.

"I sure am."

Author's Notes- Thanks for all of your sweet encouragement! I'm so very glad you've enjoyed this little fic.