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Bucky lowered the volume on the TV, trying to eavesdrop on the cell phone conversation Steve was having in the kitchen, but even with his enhanced hearing, he couldn’t quite make it out. They’d been sharing an apartment in Stark Towers for about six months, once the doctors finally released him from inpatient care. Bucky had struggled through endless rounds of psychotherapy, physical therapy and counseling to find his way back to the person he used to be before Hydra stripped everything away. In some ways, he’d been successful; in others, not so much. But the one memory that had never left him was Steve Rogers. He knew the man on the bridge before he even knew himself.
When Steve offered his spare bedroom to Bucky, he jumped at the chance. It would be like old times, he thought, like when they were kids having sleep overs, roommates before the war, bunkmates during the war. Except that it wasn’t. Not even a little bit. Whatever benign and innocent affection he’d felt for Steve before the fall had morphed into something else entirely, simmering just beneath the surface, threatening at any moment to boil over. Forget friendship. Bucky had fallen completely and stupidly in love with Steve Rogers. Steve, of course, was oblivious to it all.
Rooming with Steve brought some serious challenges to Bucky’s sanity, not the least of which was Steve’s infuriating habit of roaming the apartment in nothing but those damned skin-tight cotton shorts he liked to call boxer briefs. Apparently Macy’s sold temptation in a three-pack. Bucky tried not to stare, he really did, but the first time he’d caught Steve wearing them in the kitchen while frying eggs, he momentarily lost his ability to breathe. He must have covered his brain melt pretty well, because after that, Steve trotted around in them with alarming regularity.
And then there was the touching. Steve had always been tactile, quick to give a hug or a squeeze to a shoulder or a pat on the back, but now it seemed like Steve couldn’t leave him alone and it was slowly driving Bucky to the brink of implosion. Every little brush of Steve’s hand to his shoulder sent a flicker of desire skidding along Bucky’s skin. Every playful tug of Bucky’s long hair tingled along his scalp, down his spine, settling into a warm pool of longing in his tummy. It was sublime torture.
Rooming with Steve also meant being pulled into whatever SHIELD drama reared its ugly head. From the sound of Steve’s huffs and sighs and pacing on the kitchen tile, Bucky gathered that either Clint had pissed off Natasha bad enough to need a new place to stay or Nick Fury needed Cap to save the world. Again.
“Sorry,” said Steve as he ambled back into the den, thankfully wearing more than boxer briefs. “That was Fury.” He tossed the phone onto the sofa then dropped down next to it. “You’re not going to believe this one.”
“Really? Because I think I might. Let’s review my reality for the past six months: a vortex to nowhere that Hank Pym tore open over mainland China, twelve foot tall spiders with maws the size of Volkswagens in Atlanta, a hoard of flying Hydra drones in Chicago, and an enormous weasel that tried to mate with the Space Needle,” replied Bucky, ticking them off on his fingers. “Unless Stark has somehow opened a portal to hell, nothing will surprise me.”
Steve cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
“After the dry-humping weasel, yeah. Pretty sure.” That image, unfortunately, was permanently seared into Bucky’s brain.
“Zombies.”
Okay, that had his attention. Bucky sat up straight in the recliner and put the TV on mute. “Seriously? The ‘Night of the Living Dead’ shuffling kind or the ‘World War Z’ sprinting kind?”
“No idea. Fury said zombies were in Washington, D.C., and ground zero appears to be a hospital near Bethesda, MD. Bruce has set himself up in the hospital lab and is working on a vaccine. Tony, Clint and Sam are already there, shoring up the perimeter of the city to keep the zombies corralled. Fury wants me to help Bruce get things under control before any more outbreaks occur.” Steve looked tired. He scrubbed his hand down his face and over the side of his neck. “I’m leaving tonight.”
“No, we’re leaving tonight. You go, I go.” If Fury wanted Cap, he got The Winter Soldier as a non-negotiable part of the deal, and The Winter Soldier’s only mission was to keep Steve Rogers safe. Plus, Steve looked amazing in the suit, with the way it hugged his slim waist and cupped his ass and...Bucky inwardly groaned. He was already going to hell for a thousand other transgressions, but perving on the uniformed ass of an American icon all but guaranteed him a seat directly in the middle of the flames. He could practically hear Satan cackling behind him.
Steve looked over at Bucky with a resigned sigh. When Bucky first vowed he was going along with Steve on SHIELD missions, Steve objected and tried to insist he stay behind, only to find him already suited up, fully armed and on-site by the time he arrived. He’d learned quickly that Bucky was coming along whether he approved or not, so he might as well get used to it. “Whatever you say, Buck.”
“Zombies on Capitol Hill.” Bucky shook his head. “They’ll starve to death before they find any brains worth eating.”
That pulled a wry grin out of Steve. “Oh, the irony.”
~*~
Three hours later they stood in the back of a helicopter that hovered over their intended drop-zone on the rooftop of the hospital, which, as it happened, was completely overrun with zombies. The sprinting kind, Bucky noted, because that seemed to be the way his luck ran lately. He flicked his eyes over to Steve who stared out into the night sky, jaw clenched. Stark called it the Clench of Justice, but Steve had been setting his jaw in fierce determination since he was a scrawny kid looking for a fight he never could win.
“Hey. We’re almost there. You ready?” Bucky gave Steve’s shoulder a hard grip and those blue eyes looked over at him, and damn. It’s not like he didn’t know those eyes better than the back of his own hand, but the pure, undiluted sense of purpose, the single-minded iron will that shone in them caused a familiar yearning to thrum in Bucky’s chest. He mentally punched it into submission. Thinking about kissing Steve Rogers senseless just before a rooftop zombie fight was a really bad idea. Yep. Definitely going to hell.
Steve nodded and pulled on his helmet. “Ready as I’ll ever be for a zombie apocalypse.”
“Don’t think anyone’s ever ready for that.” Bucky joined him next to the door, two soldiers In SHIELD-issued navy combat suits, ready for war, Steve’s white star shining on his chest like a beacon, Bucky’s emblazoning his left arm.
The plan was for them to drop from the helicopter onto the roof of the hospital and run toward the entrance guarded by National Guard soldiers already up there, keeping the upper floors of the building secure. They’d already conceded the emergency room and most of the first floor, but the soldiers had been able to keep the zombies off the upper floors with some success. Nobody was quite sure how they’d managed to climb their way onto the rooftop, but there they were, crouching and skittering and moving about remarkably well for reanimated corpses.
Bucky took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly out his nose, before strapping a black mask over the lower half of his face. Closing his eyes, he focused on lowering his heart rate, calming his pulse, and letting his mind go blank. It was a familiar ritual, the peeling back of layers of therapy and counseling to access a very specific headspace. Again he inhaled, ears focusing on the rattle of breath against the grate of his mask. In. Out. In. Out. Step out into the abyss and drop. Bucky Barnes fell away. The Asset was ready. “Give me my mission.”
Steve’s face pinched into an expression of dismay and heartbreak. He loathed both the mask and Bucky’s insistence on regressing back to the Winter Soldier during SHIELD missions, but he’d force himself to stomach them both because Bucky asked it of him. “Drop onto the roof,” he commanded. “Avoid being bitten. Ensure both of us enter the building unscathed. Keyword: ‘safe’.”
Focusing on Steve’s unwavering voice, the Asset nodded in acknowledgement. He stepped over the edge of the copter into a controlled fall, feet first, knees bent, ready for the inevitable impact. His boots hit the concrete with a heavy thump, and he crouched in a fighting stance. The closest zombie wheeled around and growled just as the Asset’s fist connected with its jaw. The rest of the zombies, though, patently ignored him.
Chopper blades roared above him. The Asset squinted up into the helicopter’s lights and searched the dark sky for Captain America. Steve had waited a second too long to jump and was dropping at an angle that meant he could miss the roof entirely. The Asset sprinted to the fence that surrounded the rooftop, arriving just as Steve fell. He reached out with his metal arm and locked onto Steve’s bicep. Steve’s hand clamped down on his forearm and the Asset yanked him up and over the fence. That’s when all hell broke loose.
Every zombie on the rooftop turned in unison toward Steve and let loose a cacophony of unearthly, bloodcurdling screeches. The Asset whipped his head back around to assess the situation. Captain America had landed securely on the roof. No apparent injuries. Shield unbroken. Safety confirmed. Finish the mission. Keep Captain America safe. He pulled a gun from the holster on his hip, a knife from a sheath on his thigh and began plowing his way through the gnashing sea of zombies between them and the doorway. The gun in his hand was less effective than he’d thought it would be. A shot to the chest of a zombie did nothing other than cause a brief stumble. A shot to the head slowed them down considerably. A shot directly between the eyes dropped them to the concrete. His mind fed that information to the rest of him, and he picked the zombies off one-by-one with the cool precision of a highly trained assassin. From out of nowhere, a female zombie sprinted toward them, eyes trained on Steve. The Asset threw his metal arm up to deflect her, and she sank her teeth into steel plates, wailing when two of her front teeth tore out in the process. He turned and dropped her with a killshot to the head.
“Hurry! This way!” called an armed National Guard soldier manning the entrance. They sprinted for it, The Asset leading the way. The soldier ushered both of them through the door, locking it behind them and sliding the steel deadbolt in place.
The Asset swung around and trained his gun right on the soldier’s forehead.
“Not a zombie! I swear it,” he cried, his hands up in the air.
Steve stepped squarely between the guard and the gun and looked the Asset right in the eye. “Stand down, Bucky. Mission completed. We’re safe.”
The world rushed back in to fill the dark void in Bucky’s mind with a swirl of color and lights. “Safe,” he echoed. His arm went slack and dropped to his side. He knew where he was, who he was. Sergeant James Barnes. Rooftop. Zombies. Steve Rogers. Steve! “You weren’t bitten, were you?” He gripped Steve’s shoulder. “Tell me you weren’t bitten.”
“I’m fine.” Steve covered the hand on his shoulder with his own and searched Bucky’s eyes for any lingering traces of the Winter Soldier, smiling when he found none. “We’re both fine.”
“Come on, this way,” said one of the guards. He gestured for them to follow him down a long hallway. He pushed a door open with the butt of his rifle and flipped on the light. Nothing scurried across the floor, so Bucky assumed it was okay. Or as okay as a zombie-infested hospital could be. The guard turned and kept walking. “Dr. Banner requested that you come directly to the lab as soon as you arrived, so I’ll take you there.”
They pushed through another set of double doors, passed a security checkpoint and entered Dr. Banner’s secure lab. Florescent lights threw a hard glare on every reflective surface in the room, from the stainless steel tables to the linoleum flooring.
The lab. Memories blindsided Bucky. A steel table with leather straps. Bright lights. The clank of metal against glass. Icy panic began a slow crawl up his spine, shivering, clenching, freezing him in place. He blinked back the darkness that edged at the corners of his vision. He could slip back into nothing. He was in the abyss only a few minutes before. It would be so easy. Give into the vertigo. Dive into the icy waters and let go. Let the Asset take over again. He wouldn’t feel a thing, wouldn’t be afraid. The precipice was right there, a breath away. Just fall.
Steve turned when he didn’t hear the thump of Bucky’s boots behind him and saw the situation for what it was. He rushed back to Bucky’s side. “I’ve got you,” he said calmly, taking his hand. “You’re safe.”
A warm hand, a strong voice, kind blue eyes. He stepped back from the cliff, face toward the light that was Steve and let it wash over him. Safe. With Steve. Bucky nodded and sucked in a sharp breath. “Right.”
If any of the guards thought their twined fingers looked odd, they had the grace not to say it aloud. Bruce Banner, who’d been hunched over a microscope in the far corner of the room, stood up when he heard their voices and waved in greeting. “Cap! Bucky! I’m glad you’re here.”
Bucky knew him. Bruce Banner. They were friends. With every step forward, the precipice grew farther away, less enticing, and he grew stronger. He disentangled his hand from Steve’s and offered it to Bruce. “Hey, Doc. I’d ask what’s up but I kind of already know.”
“Nothing like a zombie apocalypse to reunite old friends,” replied Bruce with a sardonic smile. He gave Steve a hearty pat on the back and ushered them both over to a long stainless steel table, littered with petri dishes and test tubes. “Okay. How about a little zombie 101? Patient Zero is a scientist who inhaled some spores when he split open a meteor rock. We’ve found and destroyed the spores, but not before the scientist bit a few of his co-workers who wound up at this hospital. The infection is spread via a bite. The zombie’s saliva is toxic, and once a person is bitten, basic human function ceases within a matter of minutes. After death, well, that’s when the fun starts.” Bruce stepped back while they each had a look at the wriggling cells on the slide. “What we’ve got here is a virus looking for a host. A viable host, at that, so only people strong enough to act as a host can be infected. That rules out children who haven’t gone through puberty, anyone elderly, injured or frail, and anyone already infected with another virus. Somehow, they can smell if a person is a good candidate for hosting the virus.”
Steve scratched his chin. “So, if you’re already sick, they won’t bite you?”
“Right. If you’ve got the flu, you may feel like death, but the zombies won’t kill you,” answered Bruce.
“That doesn’t explain on the roof, though. When I landed, maybe one or two zombies turned toward me.” Bucky aimed a thumb at Steve. “But when he landed, all of them went nuts. It’s like he was prime rib and I was yesterday’s meatloaf.”
“Because he’s physically perfect. No blemishes, no genetic imperfections. If the virus could create the perfect host, it would be Steve Rogers. Why bite you when they could have him?”
“Lucky me,” quipped Steve. “But why is the virus looking for good hosts if it ends up destroying them in the end?”
“That’s just it,” Bruce replied. “It’s not truly destroying their bodies. It’s changing them. The human flesh falls off to reveal a whole new being. Let me show you.”
Bruce walked the over to an examination table a few feet away. On it lay a body draped with a white sheet. “This is the end result,” he said, pulling back the top half of the sheet to reveal a form that was uniquely alien, with silvery gray skin, large black eyes, an expanded chest cavity and a narrower abdomen than that of a typical human. “Not death, transformation.”
“Holy shit,” breathed Bucky as he bent over to examine the body more closely. “They want to turn us all into aliens.”
“I’m not sure why, but it looks that way,” said Bruce. “They’re bipedal, breathe oxygen, convert plant matter into energy, have a working central nervous system. They’re essentially a more efficient version of humans. Only a few of the zombies have reached this stage of transformation, so we still have time.”
“That explains why I got a weak reception. Nobody wants a one-armed alien,” Bucky remarked as he wiggled his metal fingers.
“Okay. Aliens.” Steve rested his hands on his hips. “How do we stop them?”
“Short answer? Inject everyone in the tri-county area with a mild form of a virus to keep them safe until we can get the zombie population under control. The ‘how’ is gonna be a little bit tricky, and you’ll have some anti-vaxxers who’ll resist, but it’s the best option we have right now. As far as the ones who are already zombies,” Bruce shrugged, “it’s too late. I mean, technically they’re already dead. We’ll have to re-kill them.”
“I have no problem with that,” stated Bucky for the record. “A shot to the head works pretty well, by the way.”
“Good to know,” smiled Bruce. “The immediate problem, though, is a group of congressmen and their staff who ignored the mandatory evacuation orders and are now holed up in the Capitol complex. You guys need to get in there, vaccinate them and get them out.” He pulled up a map on his laptop and scrolled down. “They’re in the Russell Senate Building, top floor. Called 911 two days ago but nobody’s been able to get close enough for a rescue attempt.”
“I’ll call Fury and get a larger helicopter down here to fly them out once we have them inoculated,” said Steve, reaching up to touch the communicator in his ear.
“You’re staying here,” Bucky said. “You saw how the zombies reacted when they smelled you. They literally cheered.”
“Like hell I am,” challenged Steve, eyes blazing.
“Relax,” Bruce interjected, holding up a syringe. “I’ll inject you with a weak version of the flu virus. Your body will metabolize it fairly rapidly, though, so you need to be in and out quickly.”
Bucky watched, eyes narrowed, as Steve pushed up his sleeve. “You’re sure this is gonna work?”
Bruce finished the injection and covered the site with a Band-Aid. “Both the guards who volunteered to test the theory outside came back unbitten. So, yes, it’ll work until Steve’s hyperactive immune system fights off the infection. Maybe an hour.”
One of the National Guardsmen poked his head in through the door. “SHIELD chopper just landed on the roof.”
“That’s our ride,” said Steve. He took the pack containing the vaccine dosages, gave Bruce a thumb’s up, then sprinted toward the door.
Before Bucky could follow, Bruce pulled him back with a hand to his elbow and held out a single syringe. “If it wears off too quickly, give him a second, stronger dose. It’ll make him sick, but it beats being a zombie.”
Bucky nodded and stuck it into a pocket on his utility belt. “I’m on it.”
~*~
The ride from the hospital to Capitol Hill took only a few minutes. Most of the city had been successfully evacuated, the empty buildings standing dark and forlorn in the dead of night. Bucky could make out a few packs of zombies huddled together here and there on the streets below as the helicopter zoomed through the sky.
“We’re going to drop at the corner of Constitution and Delaware, and return with the evacuees to the same location,” said Steve, adjusting his grip on the shield.
Bucky nodded and began strapping on his black mask, when Steve stopped him with a hand to his wrist.
“Don’t.” Steve’s eyes pleaded with him, wide and earnest and that impossible shade of blue that made Bucky weak in the knees. “The Asset pointed a gun at the forehead of a National Guardsman back there, and I can’t risk that happening with civilians. I need you to be Bucky this time.”
Apprehension churned through Bucky. “No, I have to be the Asset. I make mistakes. The Asset doesn’t. He’s the perfect soldier.”
Steve’s nostrils flared and he tightened his grip on Bucky’s wrist. “You are and always have been a damn fine soldier, an even better man and the best friend a fella can have. I need you, Buck, not The Asset.”
Bucky’s counter-argument died on his lips. “I’ll try,” he said after a long pause, because he never could deny Steve anything. “But I’ll probably fuck everything up because that’s what I do best.”
“You won’t.” Steve’s look of ultimate confidence twisted in Bucky’s chest and he fervently hoped Steve was right.
A few minutes later, the helicopter touched down on Constitution Ave. Steve’s face looked flushed and sweaty.
“How ya feeling?” Bucky pressed the back of his hand to Steve’s pink cheek.
“Feverish, achy. Pretty awful, to be honest,” admitted Steve. He stepped to the edge of the door. “But I’ll be fine.”
They jumped out of the copter and sprinted full on toward the entrance of the Russell Senate Building. Zombies scrabbled and scratched and clawed at the door, trying to gain entrance. The stench of rotting flesh was overwhelming. Bucky dropped two of them with one carefully aimed bullet. Much to his surprise, the vaccine seemed to be working. Not one of them howled or lunged at Steve when he ran up behind the writhing mass of bodies.
Steve’s shield proved especially effective when thrown at a high velocity right at head-level. As it turned out, decapitation stopped zombies pretty damned well, though it wasn’t the neatest of methods. Bucky felt sure he’d be cleaning splattered zombie guts out of his hair for weeks.
Once they cleared the initial throng of zombies away from the door, Steve called out, “This is Captain Steve Rogers and Sergeant James Barnes! We’re here to get you out!”
The deadbolt unlocked with a metallic grind and the door opened just a crack. “Hurry up!” A frazzled young intern in an ill-fitting suit held the door open, then slammed it shut and locked it once they were inside. “I’ve never been so happy to see someone in my entire life.”
“We need to get everyone inoculated and out of here as fast as possible,” said Steve, pushing past him. “Where’s everyone else?”
“This way,” said the intern. “We’re all on the top floor in Senator Bynes’ office. “
“Any zombies on the inside?” said Steve as he took the stairs two at a time.
“No, sir, but it’s only a matter of time and we’re running out of food.”
Eight Senators, six staff members and two interns anxiously awaited them in Senator Bynes’ office. Most of them looked like they hadn’t slept at all.
Steve dropped the pack of vaccines on a low coffee table and took out a syringe. “Everyone here gets a low level dose of influenza. You’ll probably feel like rip for a few days, but the zombies won’t bite anyone who is sick. You can inject yourself or I’ll do it for you, but nobody leaves here without getting a shot.”
Thankfully nobody argued. Senator Bynes rolled up his shirt sleeve and offered his arm first. “I’ve been known to faint at the sight of needles.”
Sixteen injections later, and the group was ready to leave. Bucky touched the communicator in his ear and called for the pilot. “We’re ready. What’s your ETA?”
“Two minutes,” said a voice in his ear. “We’re circling the block. Same rendezvous point as before.”
“Roger that. Two minutes.” Bucky waved his hand at the group. “Downstairs and out the door. The helicopter will be there waiting. Steve and I will help you on board one at a time.”
Zombies growled and snapped the moment the door opened. Bucky artfully took out three of them within seconds. Something was wrong. According to Bruce, they shouldn’t be so aggressive, not after everyone had been infected with the flu virus.
Steve dashed out to the helicopter, leapt on board and held his hand out for the first Senator to climb on board. Bucky scowled. An especially decomposed zombie sprinted past him, eyes locked on Steve. A bullet to the back of his head dropped him in his tracks, but Bucky suspected more would be coming, and fast. A strangled shriek echoed from a couple of streets over, and immediately he knew. Steve’s vaccine had worn off. It hadn’t even been thirty minutes. “Hurry,” cried Bucky, manhandling a startled staffer and shoving her toward the helicopter. “We’ve got to leave! Now!”
A swarm of howling decay surged around the corner like a deathly tidal wave, and Bucky hopped aboard just as the helicopter tried to lift off. “It’s no good!” yelled the pilot over the roar of the propellers. “We’re too heavy to get airborne!”
“Come back for me!” Bucky shouted. He jumped out just as the surge of zombies reached him. Quickly, he unsheathed his weapons and began hacking away with one hand and firing shots with the other. From out of nowhere, a flash of metal ripped through the teeming mass, slicing the heads clean off five charging zombies.
Bucky stabbed through the chest of a particular feisty zombie, then turned his head to see Steve sprinting to retrieve his shield, a string of zombies trailing in his wake. “Dammit, Steve! You should have stayed on the copter!”
“You go, I go!” Steve flung an arm out to block a snapping zombie, but Bucky shot it in the temple before its teeth could clamp down. “We need to get back inside!”
The door stood wide open and several zombies now prowled the hallway, but Steve managed to beat most of the stampede inside. Bucky forced the door shut behind them and locked it, but he knew it wouldn’t hold them long. A bloodcurdling scream bounced off the narrow corridor. “Duck!” Steve dropped to a crouch while Bucky picked off the stragglers one by one. They each hit the floor in a slimy, wet pile of limbs.
“I think that’s all.” Steve stopped to look around, but Bucky grabbed his elbow and yanked him to the stairwell.
Once they reached Senator Bynes’ office on the top floor, Bucky locked them in and dragged a heavy credenza in front of the wooden door. “You must be feeling better,” panted Bucky, hands on his knees, “because suddenly, you’re lunch.”
Steve dropped his shield and sank to the floor, back resting against an upholstered sofa. “We knew it wouldn’t last long.”
“Yeah, but this will.” Bucky flipped open the pouch on his utility belt and dug out the syringe Bruce had given him. “It’ll probably make you sick, but I don’t think we have a choice.” A loud crash sounded, followed by the shatter of glass. “Pretty sure that was the front door. Roll up your sleeve.”
Bucky carefully sank the needle into Steve’s arm, then flopped down next to him on the floor. They sat together in nervous silence for a few minutes, listening to the wails and screeches waft up from the floors below them. A violent crash made them both flinch.
“How long do you think will it take?” asked Steve, rubbing his arm fretfully.
“No clue. How long did it take before?”
“It seemed like just a minute or two and…oh, God.” Steve’s face paled and he scrambled over to a nearby garbage can and emptied the contents of his stomach into the metal bin.
“That was fast,” noted Bucky. He patted the seat on the floor that Steve had just vacated. “C’mere.”
Steve crawled back over to where Bucky sat and curled up in a fetal position with his head on Bucky’s lap. “Ugh. This had better work because I already feel like death.”
Bucky cocked his head and listened. The howls and cries still rang out from below, but no zombie had found their hiding spot yet. “I think it is.” He ran his hand through Steve’s short blond hair, nails gently scratching over his scalp.
Steve shivered and pressed himself closer. “That’s nice. You used to rub my head and back when I was sick all the time.”
“Yep, but there was a whole lot less of you to rub.” Bucky’s hand drifted down along Steve’s spine and began to trace small circles on his upper back. It seemed wrong to admit that he’d actually enjoyed sick Steve curling up against him. Some of his favorite childhood moments were of reading comic books aloud with Steve’s head in his lap.
“I miss it.”
“You miss being sick?”
“No, you jerk. I miss you touching me like this. You never do it anymore.”
Bucky blinked. “You’re never sick anymore. But, you know, if you ever want a back rub, we can probably work something out.”
“M’kay.” Steve shivered again, harder, teeth chattering. “You hardly ever look at me, either. You’re always so careful not to stare unless I’m wearing boxer briefs.”
Well. Somebody’s internal filter had just gone completely down. “So you’re admitting you wear those fucking things on purpose to drive me crazy.”
“Yeah. When you stare, your eyes turn really dark blue,” Steve prattled, his words tumbling out in a jumbled slur. “I like your hair long, too. Don’t cut it. And you have a nice lap. Did I ever tell you that before? Your lap is a perfect pillow for napping. But you’re best at rubbing my back. You should always do that.”
All these revelations were making Bucky’s head spin. He pressed his palm to Steve’s cheek. It was burning up. “You’re delirious.”
“Am not,” huffed Steve against Bucky’s lap.
“You so, so are.” Bucky leaned his head back against the sofa and tried to process Steve’s sudden burst of honesty. “You’re not going to remember a word of this when we get home, you know.”
“Don’t care. I feel like crap. Rub my back.” Steve snuffled and curled up into a little ball of pain.
“Yeah, okay.” Things were starting to get out of hand. Bucky drug one hand up and down Steve’s back as he touched his communicator with the other one. “Where the hell is the chopper?”
Static crackled in his ear. “Coming back around to you. Be there in less than five.”
Thank God, because Bucky couldn’t handle any more feverish admissions. He gently patted Steve’s flaming cheek. “Come on, dollface. Grab your shield. Our ride’s nearly here. Think you can walk or should I carry you out, princess style?”
Steve pushed himself up on his hands and knees and gave Bucky a look of undiluted irritation. “Nobody is carrying me anywhere. I can walk.” He struggled to his feet but swayed like the rotation of the Earth was about to sling him into orbit. “Sort of.”
“Steady, there. Hang onto me.” Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve tightly and helped him down the stairs.
By the time they were strapped into the helicopter, Steve was out like a light.
~*~
The next morning, Bucky shifted his back against the wooden headboard and turned the page of the spy novel he’d been reading for the past two hours. Steve lay dead to the world in the bed next to him, curled against his side. Absently, Bucky dropped his hand back down to rub Steve’s back like he’d been doing on and off for most of the night. Steve had stopped shivering, and his color looked better, so Bucky reckoned the worst was over.
“Mmff,” grunted Steve against Bucky’s ribcage. He rolled over onto his back and blinked up at the ceiling. “Where am I?”
“In my bed.” Bucky marked his place in the book and tossed it onto the nightstand.
Steve struggled to sit up, but gave up and flopped weakly back down onto the pillow. “Your bed? How? Why?”
“You climbed in right when we got home and told me to rub your back. Which I did. All night.” Bucky flung Steve an amused grin. “I forgot what a demanding little shit you are when you’re sick.”
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, geez, Buck. I am so sorry.”
“For what? It’s not exactly a hardship on my part because, well, you’re you.” Bucky’s smile spread wider. “Besides, you told me you like it when I touch you.”
“I said that??” Steve rolled over on his side to stare up at him, wide-eyed.
“Yep,” Bucky replied with a cheeky emphasis on the P. “When we were holed up in Senator Bynes office. I told you that you wouldn’t remember a word of what you said last night, and whaddaya know? You don’t. You also admitted you wear those damned boxer briefs because you know they make me stare.”
Steve looked absolutely scandalized. “I did not say that…did I?”
“Yep.” Again he popped the P, just because he could. Bucky couldn’t help himself. He was loving every second of this conversation. “And you know what else you said?”
“No.” Steve practically radiated embarrassment. “And I’m not sure I want to.”
Bucky knew a golden opportunity when it presented itself, and this one had been dipped in pure 24 carat. If Steve couldn’t remember a thing, why not take a chance? Play a hunch? If he was wrong, he’d deal with it later. “You told me that you wondered what it would be like to kiss me,” he lied.
Steve’s reaction told the tale. He blushed hard and deep from his collarbone to the tips of his ears.
The gamble paid off in spades, the truth written all over Steve’s face, and Bucky gave himself a mental high-five. He wanted to tease and gloat and revel in the fact he’d been right, but Steve looked so flustered and cute in his stammering awkwardness that Bucky couldn’t do it. “Just kidding,” he laughed. “You didn’t really say that.”
Steve rolled his eyes up at him. “I hate you so much right now.”
“No, you don’t. You wanna kiss me.” Bucky’s eyes twinkled.
Steve harrumphed. “I thought I was going to have to light myself on fire to get you to make a move.”
“Really? Because I thought I was going to have to chain myself to the recliner to keep from jumping you.” Bucky grinned and shook his head. “You should have just said something.”
“I didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t ready for,” Steve said quietly. “I thought if I gave you enough hints, you’d figure it out and make a move on your own.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes, I’m as sharp as a cotton ball. And it’s not like I could just say something like, ‘hey, I know I tried to kill you a few months ago, but wanna make out?’” Bucky’s eyes drifted down to Steve’s lips. “But I’m totally down for it right now.”
Steve rolled over and rested his head on Bucky’s lap. “I’m still sick. Smell like sweat and vomit and zombie guts and you do not want to catch what I have.”
“So, stick with a back rub?” asked Bucky as he traced little circles with his fingers between Steve’s shoulder blades.
“Yeah,” yawned Steve, snuggling up closer.
~*~
It turned out that Steve slept most of the day and half of the night in Bucky’s bed, but when Bucky woke up the following morning, it was to the glorious smell of freshly brewed coffee and a Steve-free bed. He peeled himself from between the nasty sheets that probably needed burning and shuffled to the shower. After a rigorous scrubbing and three shampoos to get rid of the zombie stench, he threw on jeans and a tee shirt and padded barefoot into the kitchen.
Steve was at the counter, damp from the shower in old sweats, carefully measuring scoops of cereal into a ceramic bowl, which was the complete opposite of Bucky’s method of turning the box upside down and dumping half the contents out into whatever clean dish he could find.
The mere sight of Steve, frumpled clothes and mussed hair and all, kicked hard in Bucky’s chest. No boxer briefs or perfect smile needed, just Steve. Take a step. Swallow down the fear and leap. You know he wants you just as much as you want him. Step over the edge and fall. He’ll be there.
Bucky closed the distance between them in three quick steps, turned Steve around with a hand to his shoulder and stared into those questioning blue eyes. Let go and drop. Bucky cupped his cheek, leaned in quickly and surprised him with a kiss. A sweet, tender kiss that built and deepened and swirled through Bucky so hard he felt it in his knees.
“Wow,” gasped Steve as he struggled to catch his breath. “Why didn’t we do that sooner?”
“Because we’re both fucking idiots,” Bucky grinned. “And also because of drones and weasels and zombies.”
“Speaking of zombies, Fury called.” Steve glanced over Bucky’s shoulder at the phone on the kitchen table. “I told him I was still sick, but…”
Bucky tucked his fingers under Steve’s chin and turned his face back toward him. “I think the rest of the Avengers can keep the world safe without us for a couple of days.”
Steve’s eyes shined warm and bright. “Maybe for a day or two.”
The second kiss was even better than the first.