Nothing Personal - Bucky Barnes x reader

Epilogue

Chapter contents: fluff, a tiny bit of angst, language

*****

It had been a month since your's and Bucky's plan to start from scratch, and so far, it was going amazingly. Bucky had already taken you out to Coney Island in the first week and you took him to a small diner tucked away in the outskirts of New Orleans on the second week. The next two weeks, you and Bucky had alternated going to each other's apartments and watched movies while cuddled up on the couch.

You two talked constantly, either through text or over call and FaceTime, and you'd also decided to start moving back up to New York City both for convenience and because you truly missed all of your friends there.

You weren't surprised when Bucky called you that Saturday morning, but you were surprised by what he asked.

He explained that his motorcycle's engine had sputtered out on him and asked if you could drive him to therapy at 3:00 pm. After brushing off the initial shock, you told him that you could.

He'd been going to this new therapist, Dr. Samson, since about a year ago. He'd told you about her, told you how she was really helping, and you could tell by the way he spoke about therapy like it wasn't something he wasn't embarrassed about, he was doing good.

You pulled up to his apartment at 2:55 and stepped out of the car before texting him, only having to wait a minute or so before Bucky was walking down the concrete steps and up to you.

"You know how to get there, right? Should I put the address in my phone?" you asked, reaching into your back pocket to grab your phone.

"No, no, I've got it. It's just a couple blocks away," Bucky told you, opening the passenger side door to your car.

You slid into the driver's side, sitting down behind the wheel and putting your phone in your lap. "Alright, but if we get lost, it's your fault."

He playfully rolled his eyes, staring at your profile as you started the car and put on your seatbelt. "Thanks for taking me, doll."

"Of course, Buck. I needed to run errands anyway, so it's perfect timing." You placed your hand on the back of Bucky's seat as you reversed out of your parking spot. "How are you liking this new therapist?"

Bucky pulled his lip between his teeth, pulling his gaze from you for a moment to look out the window. "She's nice. A lot better than Raynor, but I think just about any therapist would be better than her."

You nodded. "God, I still don't get why you won't let me report her for the HIPAA violations. Like, forcing Sam to join in on your private therapy session? What the fuck is that about?"

He chuckled. "It's really okay, Y/N. It's in the past."

"But that doesn't mean it can't still hurt you. I mean, that's a huge betrayal of trust. Not like you had any with her in the first place."

He looked back at you to see your eyebrows knitted together, fingers tightly gripping the steering wheel. "You're cute when you're angry," he spoke, not even stopping to think of the words before they left his mouth.

You scoffed, but some of the tension left your shoulders. "You're stupid."

He reached over and took your right hand in his left hand, interlacing your fingers with his. "Only for you."

"It's not safe to drive with only one hand, Bucky," you hummed, trying to suppress the smile that was tugging at your cheeks.

"Then why do you FaceTime me when you're driving? Turn here."