After She Left

pick up

"You made your bed

Now just sleep in it

Dreams will cut the words out

I grind my teeth"

-Amateur Blonde's "No Worries"

Now that Dr. Raynor knew about Ophelia on some level, he couldn't get the thought out of his head. The thought that he would eventually have to discuss her, pull her apart. But when she died in Wakanda, the second time, Bucky had peace with it. To pull her apart meant to dismantle that. When he returned from therapy that day, he made it clear in his mind that he was not going to allow Dr. Raynor discuss O. That was off limits – and if anyone would understand boundaries, it would be a qualified therapist.

But his particular therapist was a bit of a pain in the ass.

Ophelia's ghost haunted him when he least expected it. In the basement of his apartment building, where the laundry was located, Bucky was sitting in one of the plastic chairs, reading his list of amends, circling the one he was working on now.

Yori Nakajima.

His pencil tapped against the little booklet. With things like Marvin Gaye and Nirvana written next to the names of people that Bucky had hurt. The good of the century versus the evil. Sitting atop a dryer, was Ophelia's ghost, smiling at him. She was wearing loose fitting jeans that were rolled up at the ankle, since she' bought them second-hand and they were a bit too long for her. In a simple tank top that made her perfectly muscular arms pop, she was the definition of gorgeous.

"This is why I didn't want her to know about you," he said. "The minute she brought you up, here you are..."

He imagined her response would be something along the lines of, "As if you don't want me here."

And she would be right. Bucky offered her ghost a smile and looked back at his list. The steady thunk of laundry in a dryer droned on in the background. He eyed her over the paper, and shook his head. "It's a slippery slope."

He thought sourly of Thanos and what he did to him. Was that why he could visualize Ophelia so clearly here? Even though he was well aware that she wasn't here, and he knew it was his mind making these images of her up, part of him struggled with what was real and what wasn't.

"Sorry, did you say something?" A friendly feminine voice said, and when Bucky looked up he saw that it was Lillian. At her jutted-out hip was a laundry basket, full of clothes and he noted a bra hanging out of the edge.

"Just talking to," he paused for a split second, "myself."

She nodded, then grinned. Her lips were painted red, except where that little silver barbell popped out. Tossing her stuff into a washing machine, she reached in her pocket and found a handful of change, thrusting it into the machine and tossing a laundry pod in. It was when she turned that she saw the semi-horrified look Bucky was giving her.

"What?"

"You didn't separate your lights and darks," he said, a little surprise.

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "I'm lucky if I manage to do my laundry, let alone do multiple loads based on colour."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Don't they get wrecked?"