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“Good morning.” Steve sounds chipper as Bucky enters the kitchen. Bucky grunts. Mornings are shitty no matter how long he sleeps. He always needs at least half an hour to get out of the morning fog.
Bucky can feel Steve’s smile as he sneaks his arms around Steve’s waist and rests his chin on Steve’s shoulder. Steve is standing at the counter, getting their breakfast ready. Bucky closes his eyes, listening as Steve getting two mugs and bowls out of the cupboard.
They move together as Steve retrieves the milk from the fridge. The coffee is poured into the mugs, and cereal into the bowls. One bowl is filled with Bucky’s almond milk, the other with Steve’s regular milk.
Steve chuckles as Bucky hangs onto his back while he carries the bowls to the table, followed by the mugs of coffee. Bucky doesn’t let go once, clinging on to Steve like his life depends on it.
“You’re gonna have to let go so we can eat.” Steve mumbles, but he intertwines his fingers with Bucky’s and pulls him, if possible, closer. Bucky could fall back asleep standing in this position. Steve smells like home and safety.
“We can go back to cuddling later, okay?” Steve turns around in Bucky’s arms, forcing Bucky to lift his head. Bucky squints at the bright light, feeling like he just woke up.
“Fine.” Bucky says after a moment and plops down on his chair.
They eat in silence as Bucky slowly feels more alive. He thinks about how unfair it is that Steve is wide awake the moment he opens his eyes, while Bucky both looks and feels like an old scarecrow. How is it possible to be so perfect so early in the morning?
Bucky is halfway through his mountain of cereal when he gets a spoonful of mostly milk and realizes they’ve made a mistake. The slight nutty taste of his almond milk is replaced with the sour taste of cow’s milk. Bucky hates cow’s milk with a passion.
Here’s the thing; Bucky developed lactose intolerance some time between getting the serum and coming back to Steve, but he never told Steve. He tells Steve he thinks milk is disgusting, which is true, but not the whole truth. He’s a super soldier; it’s embarrassing that a little milk can take him down.
He swallows the milk in his mouth and lowers the spoon back into the half full bowl, considering his options. If he stops eating Steve will know somethings up, but if he keeps eating, he’ll feel worse later. The damage is already done though, so he decides to keep eating, hoping it won’t make much of a difference.
He tries to get as little milk on the spoon as possible for the rest of the meal, crossing his fingers that he’ll have eaten little enough for it to be fine. He tries to manifest his body digesting the milk by repeating over and over that he’ll be fine in his head.
His backup plan is to hide it from Steve. To just push through the morning work-out and have a lazy day on the couch. But he’ll be fine, so no backup plan needed.
Bucky finishes eating a while after Steve, taking extra time to avoid getting more milk on the spoon than necessary. Steve watches him do it with a look on his face. Like Bucky is just doing one of his weird Bucky things. Steve doesn’t seem to suspect anything is up. At least he’s getting away with it.
“Ready for some fighting?” Steve asks when he’s already half-way to the door. They usually do some sort of working out in the morning to get the day going, today they’re training combat.
“Already?” Bucky asks, hoping to wait a little while to let the food settle in his stomach first. Having milk and working out just after eating is not a good combination.
“Why not?” Steve asks, oblivious. Bucky can’t reply without giving everything away, so he follows Steve out the door.
If you ask Bucky, training combat is unnecessary; with Steve’s I-can-do-this-all-day, and Bucky’s Winter Soldier skills, and their super strength and reflexes, they do okay in a fight.
Bucky starts feeling ill in the elevator. He’s not a fan of elevators anyway. They make his insides feel all twisted. He clenches his teeth and holds on for the ten seconds it takes, continuing his mental mantra of I’m fine.
He realizes that saying you’re fine is a lot easier than convincing yourself as they start fighting. The moving around in quick movements and going from upright to upside down to spinning around repeatedly is not helping his stomach. As he moves around, he can hear it gurgling and the contents sloshing around in there. Although that might just be in his head.
The first cramp hits just as Steve throws a punch at him, making it easy to disguise curling around his stomach as dodging the hit. When they train, they never hit each-other, as they both dodge every punch. Without the risk of hurting the other they are able to go all in and not hold back.
As Bucky’s stomach cramps get worse, his focus slips more and more, and each punch from Steve is a closer call. He barely dodges a kick in his side, spinning around and throwing a punch in Steve’s direction. The motion makes him dizzy, teetering on nauseous.
Lactose doesn’t usually make him nauseous, just crampy, but then again, he usually stays in bed trying not to move while he waits fort the cramps to pass.
The next punch Steve throws at him hits him in the chest. He tried dodging it but was too slow. It knocks the breath out of him, leaving him gasping and bent over.
“Shit. You okay?” Steve looks torn.
“You hit like a girl.” Bucky teases, rather than lying and saying he’s fine. He straightens up again, “Come on.” Steve doesn’t seem to think any more of it as they keep going.
Bucky curls around another cramp, pretending to dodge another fist, spins around, and is hit straight in the stomach by Steve’s foot, hard.
He doesn’t have time to think as he runs in the direction of the bathroom. Being kicked that hard in the stomach on a normal day would not be good, being kicked that hard in the stomach when your stomach is already upset is really, really not good.
As Bucky locks the door in a hurry and leans over the toilet, he prays Steve gives him space. It would give him a chance to come up with some excuse before getting back out to him.
But of course, Steve doesn’t just let him run off. He knocks on the door when Bucky starts heaving.
Bucky wants to reassure Steve that he’s fine, but he’s too busy throwing his guts up to say anything, and there’s no way Steve will let this slide.
“Are you okay?” He hears through the door. He tries to reply but is cut off by another retch.
Eventually he goes over to dry-heaving, stomach empty. Bucky’s head is aching from the strain, stomach feeling no better than before he was kicked. He holds his breath to hold in the heaves, wanting to be done.
After a while of catching his breath he braces himself for being questioned, unlocks the door, and almost walks into Steve who is standing right outside the door.
“What just happened?” Steve asks, looking confused.
“Nothing, it’s fine.” Bucky tries to brush it off.
“You don’t look fine.” Steve pushes. Bucky does still feel a bit green.
“Gimme a minute, will you? I did just puke.” Bucky keeps trying to get Steve to lay off.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?”
“Because I’m not. You kicked me in the gut.” Bucky gives it one last try.
“You didn’t dodge it though. You’ve been off this whole session, and a kick in the gut never made you puke before.” Steve won’t let it go. Bucky sighs, giving in.
“I’m not sick. I ate your cereal.” Bucky hopes he will catch on, but Steve looks confused.
“And why would that make you sick?”
“Because” He takes a deep breath, feeling embarrassed at what he’s about to say. “I’m lactose intolerant.” As the words escape his mouth, he can see the wheels turning in Steve’s head.
“So, the almond milk?” Steve asks, putting the pieces together.
“Not just a preference.”
“And you ate my cereal this morning?”
“Yes.”
Steve goes soft, wrapping Bucky in a bearhug. “You should’ve told me.”
“It’s embarrassing.” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s chest.
“It’s out of your control, Buck.” Steve comforts him.
“I know, but I’m a super-soldier for gods sake. I shouldn’t be bothered by a stomachache.” Bucky feels exposed, being so open, but he’s safe in Steve’s arms.
“And you’re human. Everyone is bothered by a stomachache. Especially when they eat something their body is incapable of digesting.” Steve has a point. Bucky is still embarrassed, but mostly he just wants to lie down until he feels better.
Steve senses how Bucky feels, “How about we get back, and make you feel better?”
Bucky just nods against Steve’s chest.
The elevator ride back up is no more pleasant than earlier, but Bucky manages.
Steve lies Bucky down on the couch, pulling a blanket over him, tucking in the edges. He goes to the kitchen and Bucky can hear him rummaging through the cabinets. When he gets back to the living room, his arms are full.
“We’ve got saltines and Pepto, and if you feel up to it later some fruit and water.” Steve puts everything down on the table, including two heating pads. “One for your stomach, one for your shoulder.” Steve answers Bucky’s unspoken question. “I know it gets stiff even though you never say anything.” Bucky’s heart melts.
Steve somehow settles in between Bucky and the back of the couch without moving Bucky too much. He wraps himself around Bucky, pulling him closer to his chest.
Bucky has a heating pad wedged between the couch cushions and his left shoulder, the other pressed against his stomach. The heat soothes his pain a little, but not enough to be comfortable. His back is flush against Steve’s chest, leaving no space between them.
“Let’s see if this will help settle your stomach.” Steve says as he hands Bucky a saltine. Bucky nibbles on it for a while, only eating the tiniest pieces to trick his stomach into thinking he’s not eating anything.
“I can’t eat this.” He mutters, giving up when he’s halfway through it. Even the thought of food is too much for his poor stomach.
“Have some Pepto.” Steve says as he holds it out for Bucky.
“No way I’m drinking that.” Bucky turns his head into the pillow, avoiding his medicine like a child. The pink stuff is gross. Even if it tasted good, it would still be gross for the simple fact that it’s medicine.
“It’ll help your stomach feel better.” Steve tries to convince him.
Bucky shakes his head into the pillow.
“Don’t make me do the helicopter.” Steve teases. Bucky is well aware he is acting like a child, sue him. “Come on, Buck. It’ll help you.”
Bucky sighs, knowing Steve is right. “Fine.” He drags out the word. He lifts his face from the pillow, accepting a mouthful of bright pink liquid, holding in in his mouth for a moment, unable to make himself swallow.
“Relax.” Steve reminds him. Bucky swallows, screwing up his face, gross. The taste lingers in his mouth for a while. He curls up even tighter, pressing the heating pad against his stomach as it cramps.
“Wanna try another saltine?” Steve suggests after a while. Bucky grunts, but decides to accept, too tired to keep up his childishness.
He nibbles his way through a few saltines, his stomach settled enough to tolerate them. The heating pad doesn’t feel like it’s helping his stomach anymore, so he removes it, dropping it to the floor.
He reaches behind him, fumbling for Steve’s hand and wordlessly places it on his own stomach. Steve catches on and starts rubbing in small circles. The heat from his big palm soothes Bucky’s pain better than the heating pad did.
He’s suddenly very tired, his eyes struggling to stay open. Being as stubborn as he is, he tries to fight it. He feels so relaxed and comfortable he wants to be awake to soak up every moment of it.
“Go to seep.” Steve tells him, somehow always knowing what Bucky needs. And who is Bucky to question Steve? He lets his eyes slip closed and drifts off within moments.