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Someone's having a yelling, drunken fight just out of earshot when Steve turns over in bed and tries out being awake and sensible for a bit. He's pale, his hair's damp and his eyes look almost bruised, but he's looked worse and Bucky can't actually hear the crackle of his breathing from sitting on the floor leaning against the wall.
"Whossat?" Steve asks, voice croaking; Bucky marks his spot in the paperback with one finger and takes a minute to listen, but still can't make out the words.
"Dunno," he says. "Might be old man Croft fighting with Jimmy again, sounds like it's coming from over there. Or just about anyone else - it's Saturday night."
" . . .really?" Steve asks, frowning, and Bucky shakes his head.
"Yeah, Sleeping Beauty," he says. "Really. If you can get up without falling over," he adds, "I'll fill up the tub, you can change clothes - you kinda stink."
"Thanks," Steve says, scowling. "This wasn't exactly my idea."
"And I'm not blaming you," Bucky retorts, "but three days in bed sweating still means you smell bad, Steve." He grabs the side of the bed and gets up off the floor, legs tingling a bit from sitting there so long. He rolls his shoulders, trying to get some of the cramp out and puts the book down on the table.
Steve pushes himself sitting with both arms and only wobbles a little while he scowls at the blanket like he blames it for everything. He actually looks a bit better, maybe, and only coughs for a bit after he gets sat up. Bucky leans over and puts the inside of his wrist against Steve's head for a second before Steve ineffectually ducks away.
"Well," Bucky says, "you've still got a fever but it's not as bad." He picks up the cup of water from behind him on the table, beside the book, and passes it over. "Here, you should drink this. Try not to throw it up."
Steve shoots him a glare but takes the cup and empties it down his throat, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and says, "Looks like I'm not dying this year either."
"Hey," Bucky says, reaching over to touch the wood of the bedside table in mostly pretend superstition, "don't tempt fate, buddy, you're not better yet."
"Oh shut up," Steve tells him sourly, and glares. "You better not've been sitting there for three days."
Bucky strangles the desire to roll his eyes. "Course not," he replies, "barely been here, even went out dancing last night." He mock-cuffs the back of Steve's head. "Jesus, why do you have to be so stubborn all the time."
"You know," Steve mutters, "some day you're gonna get a bad dose of flu, and I'm gonna be there to laugh at you."
"Better be," Bucky retorts, and catches Steve's arm to steady him when Steve swings his legs around to get out of bed and almost falls over. "With tea and soup, too." He waits until Steve's got his balance before he lets go. "C'mon, come wash and eat something, and maybe if you're lucky you won't be stuck in bed tomorrow for Sister Mary Francis to come fuss at."