The Hurt And The Healing: Bucky X OC

Chapter Forty Seven: Doctor Anderson and Ms. Mara

Mara prided herself on three things in this life. One: she had put herself through college and med school. Two: she had managed to keep herself and Nonna alive despite the world going to shit repeatedly. And three: she almost never lost control of her emotions.

The "almost" part of point three was an addendum, a bit of leeway that she gave herself roughly six months ago when a certain hundred-and-six-year-old came into her life and made her feel things. At first it was mostly anger and fear and skepticism, but still. Feelings. She had tried so hard to hate him for putting her through those again. But damn him, Bucky had a way of making her laugh and cry and lose her shit all in the span of a single night and she had grown to appreciate that about him. The more time they spent together the more she felt, until a new emotion reared its ugly head and bit her in the ass.

Love. She had been convinced that all of her love had died with Alex, that she could never feel that way again. But then Bucky kept being, well, Bucky, and she fell in love once more. Need to hold his hand, share a bed because you can't bear to be apart, kiss him on the cheek, beg him to take care of himself, and die a little inside every time he cries love. It had been terrifying to fall again, and it hurt like hell to realize it when he was gone, but a small voice in her heart had convinced Mara that this time would be different. That he would come home and they would continue their life together and all would be well.

Now Mara remembered why she had stopped feeling all those years ago at Alex's funeral. Because when Bucky rapped the table twice her knees buckled, and when he looked into her eyes and she knew that he had forgotten her she wanted nothing more than to scream. It had been a sunny day that August when her love was buried in the ground. And it was a sunny day in the forest when it died a second time.

Mara felt that managing to not cry until she was in the shower and away from Bucky counted as not losing control. She sobbed as the scorching water ran down her back, biting on her fist to keep from being too loud. If Sam and Nonna knew how close she was to losing it in front of people they would be distracted. They all needed to focus on Bucky right now, not her emotions.

Bucky didn't need Mara or her emotions right now. He needed Dr. Anderson, the cold pragmatist who could goad the most stubborn jarhead into doing his PT and treated dozens of patients a day without a flicker of emotions breaking through. The battlefield-promoted physical therapist who set foot in her first ER since clinicals during the closest thing to an apocalypse and took charge. The doctor who never cried in front of anyone, especially her patients.

He needed that woman, not Mara who was currently sobbing in the shower while soundly cursing herself and her feelings.

Mara gasped for air as she exited the shower, glaring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looked like shit. Eyes red and puffy, contrasting the gouged out purple bags beneath them. Complexion sallow and blotchy. Hair knotted and untamed. Snot dripping down her nose to her chapped lips. God, she looked almost as bad as she felt.

"Get a grip," she hissed, staring herself down. "You stopped feeling for the better part of a decade, and all it takes is one fucking patient to make you lose it?"

He had to be a patient. If he was anything more she'd be useless, too paralyzed by feelings to do anything.

Feelings. That was all she had had for the past two months. Anger. Fear. Desperation. Love. It was like her heart was making up for lost time. Now she had to force them back into the little box that she buried beneath the floorboards of her mind. If she truly loved him, she would be able to do it. It was for his sake that she had to go back to how she used to be. Cold and caring in the most uncaring way.

"Just another patient," she reminded herself. "You've had thousands. What's one more?"

Mara dressed herself quickly, making a point of not trying to look pretty. Doctors didn't have to look pretty for their patients.