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Bucky pumped sanitizer into his hands and rubbed them together briskly as he looked over the patient list at the nurse’s station. He was hoping for an easy day – it was number four out of five ten-hour shifts this week. It was worth it though, to have three whole uninterrupted days off with his sister, who was home on a break from college. The beeps and buzzes of equipment was a familiar symphony throughout his corner of the hospital, the voices of patients and staff alike thrumming underneath. He liked his job.
This week, just like the last, brought its own set of challenges: a handful of geriatrics trying hard not to develop walking pneumonia, an appendectomy, an astonishingly bad asthma attack, and mono. So much mono. School had been back in session for two months now, so kids had gotten to know each other just in time to start showing symptoms – and spreading them. Bucky grimaced. They didn’t call it “the Kissing Disease” for nothing. He snorted to himself, remembering his own month-long stint with fatigue, nausea, and a throat so sore he couldn’t speak for days.
It had been horrible, but he didn’t have to worry about that anymore anyway. Not only had he been out of college for a solid five years, but he’d been having quite the dry spell. Mostly it didn’t bother him. After all he had good friends, he had a good job, he had a good—well, a decent apartment, and a great roommate. Natasha was gone all the time for work, so she never left dishes in the sink or hair in the drain or laundry in the washer. When she was in town, though, Bucky knew he could always count on her for a drink and a bad 80s action movie. Everything was fine—better than fine. So if his mom and his coworkers and his therapist could just stop fucking asking about his love life? Yeah, that’d be great.
Shaking his head free of the negativity, he turned towards his chunk of rooms and decided to work his way back-to-front. He pulled a couple of gloves free from the too-full box and knocked on the door jam. “Hola, Sra. Rodriguez, how are we feeling today?”
“James! Ya estás aquí?”
“Sí, sí, and tomorrow too. Pero después - ¡vacaciones!” He smiled at the older woman as he placed his stethoscope into his ears. “Can you sit up for me please?” With a little help she leaned forward and he pushed her gown out of the way to listen to her breathing. Still wet, but much improved over last night. “You sound great, Elena. The doctor’s going to be real happy about that. You won’t be here when I come back on Tuesday, I’ll bet ya cash.”
“No, no, aquí me quedaré,” Elena teased. “I will stay here so I can see your handsome face some more.”
Bucky laughed as he wrote his notes in her chart and took her wrist into his hand. “You flirt,” he winked, “how’s a fella supposed to keep his head on straight at work when a cute girl’s comin’ on to him like this?” He fell silent as he counted her pulse, then marked down the results.
“Ok Elena, I’ll be back in a few hours to see if you need anything. Otherwise you know how to reach me.”
She waved the bed control/pager at him with a grin, and raised the TV remote in the other hand. The screen sprang to life and a rapid stream of agitated Spanish poured out. “OK, ssh. Empieza mi telenovela.”
Bucky rolled his eyes to himself as he moved on to the next room. If only everyone were like Elena Rodriguez. But no, most people were grouchy and demanding and whiny. He couldn’t blame them, mostly. They were sick or injured and the hospital food did suck, especially for the people on restricted diets. Hospital stays weren’t fun. But then there was the family, some of whom were in rare form today.
No, Bucky didn’t know when the doctor would be back. Sure, Bucky could go get you some more pudding but it would have to be sugar-free. No, Bucky couldn’t budge on that, sorry. No, Bucky couldn’t read the x-rays, there’s a whole different degree for that. Yes, Bucky did in fact have a degree, thank you very much.
By the time he got to his last patient he was promising himself another coffee on his break. A nice big froo-froo one, with whipped cream on top and an extra shot. Even just the smell of the coffee shop would be a welcome reprieve from the Lysol-filled, HEPA-filtered air. Soon. Soon he would be free, if only for a moment. Another pump of hand sanitizer, another pair of gloves, and he rapped on the door. “Mr. Rogers?”
“Bleurgh,” protested the pile of pillows, the head of the bed raised only slightly. “Don’t call me that. I don’t wear house shoes.”
“What?” Bucky checked the room number, then pulled his gloves on and peeked at the chart on the end of the bed. “You’re Steven Rogers, though, right? This is the right chart?”
“Yeah but—“ a coughing fit interrupted the protest. “Just call me Steve. I really don’t want to be your neighbor.” A blond head of hair emerged to lean over and spit into the bed pan, then disappeared again with a groan.
“Okay pal, I gotchya.” Bucky smiled to himself and shook his head, taking in the angry wisp of a man. A purple bruise blossomed angrily under his eye, another on his collar was quickly turning yellow-brown. Wait, wasn’t this guy here for a really bad asthma attack? He looked at the chart again. Ah. Well that was one way to trigger an asthma attack for sure: get into a fist fight in the middle of Spring’s Pollen-palooza.
“Well what’s the—“ cough, cough “—What’s the hold-up?” Steve grumbled weakly, squirming around under the covers.
“Nothing, sorry,” Bucky sighed, placing the stethoscope back in his ears. Of course he couldn’t even catch a break with a guy his age after all the old fogies and teenage idiots he’d dealt with this morning. “Can you sit all the way up so I can get your BP?”
“And just after I’d made myself comfortable.”
“I’m kind of not really asking,” he answered, and reached over for the bed control to get Steve sitting up straight. He strapped the cuff around Steve’s arm, placed his stethoscope to the inside of his knobby elbow, and started to pump. They were both quiet as Bucky inflated the cuff, stopped, released the pressure. He jotted a note in Steve’s chart: 85 over 60. No wonder the guy was grouchy; he should barely be conscious. “So what happened?” he asked as conversationally as possible.
Despite the bruise Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“I dunno, I’m just askin, dude.”
“Some asshole wouldn’t leave this woman alone at the bar I was at. She must have tried to let him down a dozen times but he kept trying to push a drink on her. So, eventually I asked him.”
“To stop?”
“For a drink.” Steve raised a hand to his side as he laughed weakly, wincing. “Wanted him to know what it felt like to receive unwanted attention. He called me a faggot, one thing led to another, and here we are.”
“Wow, man, that’s… ballsy,” Bucky breathed, returning his scope around his neck. As he lowered the bed again and rearranged the pillows, Steve struggled to sit back up.
“Why, you think I’m a shrimp?” he challenged. Bucky opened his mouth to protest but got no chance. “You should see the other g— No! You fuckin f-fight me!”
Bucky shook his head, unable to keep the grin off his face this time as he pulled his gloves off and tossed them in the trash next to the bed. “Maybe later, punk.”
~*~
When it was time for Rogers’ next round of meds, Bucky had been helping Elena walk up and down the hall. Someone else had covered pill duty for him, and as a result he didn’t get to see the skinny sack of sass until dinner time. Food Services had dropped off the tray of “Salisbury Steak” some fifteen minutes ago, but Bucky always liked to poke his head into his patients’ rooms to make sure they had everything they needed. He rapped on the door and leaned inside the room. “Hey Steve, how you doin’?”
Steve had his bed completely raised up to sitting, but still had something like a million pillows all around him. The tray of food had been pushed away, half-eaten, already solidifying into a grey-brown gelatinous horror. “I’m starvin’, James,” he answered miserably. “Ma’s payin’ through the nose just for you stooges to keep me from goin’ home, and this is the best you can do for dinner?”
“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Bucky placated, clearing the leftovers away and surreptitiously checking the progress of Steve’s bruising.
“Don’t you lie to me, goddammit,” Steve complained. “Look at that! It’s like soylent green meets three-day-old oatmeal meets wet dog food.”
Bucky looked down at the tray in his hands. Why catering companies ever thought that anyone would want Salisbury steak prepared en masse was beyond him. So sure, Steve wasn’t wrong, but he needed to calm down. Seems this guy could start a fight in an empty room, and if he ever wanted to go home he couldn’t set his asthma off again. Time for the patented Bucky Barnes Charm. “All right, you got me. It’s not the best, but you gotta know they pay me to say that.”
“Not the best?!” Steve scoffed, pulling a face. “James B— gah, I can’t read your badge from here. What’s your full name? I’m about to yell at you.”
About to? “James Buchanan Barnes, sir,” he replied, picking up yet another pillow from the floor by Steve’s feet. Who kept giving him all these?
“James Buchan— Buchanan? Didn’t your mother love you?— James Buchanan Barnes, this is what’s wrong with America right here. There is such a thing as a CEO of a hospital, and he says he has to cut costs somewhere so they buy shitty food, and they don’t pay any of their people shit, and here you are. Some poor schmuck on the bottom of the ladder, having to lie to me about the whole damn thing so you don’t get fired.” Steve was on a roll, and it was only a fit of coughing that cut him off. Bucky was secretly grateful; he really needed to get on to his other patients and this would give him the chance he needed to escape the tirade and get back to the rest of his job.
Though he had to admit the idea of leaving Steve’s room was getting less and less attractive. Even full of spite this guy was magnetic, that was for sure.
“Whoa, Steve, take it easy,” he all but cooed, trying to help Steve get calm again. Poor guy, it’s amazing he wasn’t in here more often. “Fight capitalism after you get discharged, okay?”
“You know what, Barnes,” he choked out, hacking into the sheets he’d pulled up to his mouth, but he couldn’t get enough control over his breathing to finish. He wheezed, all crumpled over himself, knuckles white against the ugly turquoise blanket.
“Steve, come on now, straighten up,” Bucky sighed, placing a hand on the small of Steve’s back and pushing gently on his shoulder to get the desired result. “Well coughing like this, you’re gonna have a six-pack by the time you get discharged.”
A break in the coughing allowed Steve the breath to spit out, “God, you’re infuriating. Is there some class you go to in nursing school where they teach you not to say anything of substance to your patients?”
Bucky tried his thousand-watt smile again. “Sure. ‘Jerkwad Patients 101.’ It’s the prereq for the class where you learn how to miss the vein three times on the blood draw and make sure the sticky part of the bandage goes on the hairiest patch of skin we can find.”
“Ugh. Just fuckin’ fight m—” Another wheeze, and another round of coughing, and Steve fell back into the pillows. Defeated for now, he patted around for the bed control.”
“Hell naw. If you’re spending your time in the hospital fighting capitalism, after you were admitted for complications due to fighting the patriarchy, well. I don’t see how I’d stand a chance.” Bucky handed the control to Steve with a real smile this time. “You’d KO me in seconds.”
~*~
Bucky took Elena on her after-dinner walk, helped a grandpa wipe his ass, and ran all over the floor looking for Appendectomy Girl’s doctor because she was still running a fever and couldn’t keep anything down. He weaseled Food Services into giving his mono kids popsicles, answered a dozen phone calls which mostly boiled down to “Due to confidentiality laws I cannot answer your question,” and finally, finally took his dinner break.
Mostly. All that he actually managed to do was make it through the cafeteria line and pay for his turkey-on-rye before one of the walking pneumonia guys fell on his way back from the toilet. Maria wasn’t able to get him back into bed on her own, and everyone else was busy. Well that’s just how it went sometimes. So he stuffed his sandwich in his mouth and tried to breathe around it while he hauled Mr. Adler back into bed.
The bread was dry, and stuck in his throat, so he escaped the room as quickly as possible and let Maria handle things while he rushed back to the nurse’s station to get his water bottle. Oh, that had been horrible. Better than the Salisbury steak though; Steve would probably fight him for the privilege to complain about slightly-stale rye bread with not enough mustard.
How was that guy doing, anyway? Was he getting any sleep? Bucky strolled down towards Steve’s room and was surprised to see the door hanging open. He was sure he’d shut it when he’d left the guy last, since it was obvious he was trying to get some rest. Yes. That was why he peeked into the room, and not remotely because he was getting a soft spot for the little terrier of a man.
A woman as slight as Steve sat uncomfortably in the chair she’d pulled up close to his bed. She leaned over the arm of it to rest her weight on the bed next to him, and had fallen asleep using her arms as pillows. This was utterly preposterous, since Steve had like thirty of the damn things now propping him up. He was awake, occasionally stroking her hair, or smoothing the collar of her jacket down. The television murmured the six-o'clock news, but he was talking to her quietly.
“...And Ma, you should’a seen him. Six-foot-three, prob’ly two-twenty, you know, a real line-backer type. He kept calling her sweetheart and baby, and then when she tried to turn away he got real nasty. I don’t know where guys like that get off, ya know? Who raised these guys that they think they can have any girl they want, like they’re some kinda trophy or something?”
She didn’t stir. Bucky supposed this was a somewhat usual way for them to pass the time — his chart was huge, chock full of horrible fevers, sinus and ear infections, and rheumatoid arthritis.
“Even the ones that are into guys still do the ugly posturing,” Steve continued bitterly, “like they don’t want to be seen as too gay or something. If I had a nickel for every time I saw ‘no fems’ on some body-builder’s Grindr profile… Whatever,” he scoffed. “I don’t have time in my life for those kinda fellas, I can find a good one somewhere if I keep my eyes open.”
Bucky felt his stomach swoop. So he was actually into guys. The way Steve had told the bar story to him this morning, it didn’t sound like he thought being gay was a joke. Of course, that was never any sort of guarantee. This guy, though… Bucky felt like he could spend a nice long time getting to know him. The hair-trigger seemed to be a bit of a compensation tactic, but based on the fights he picked, it was clear there was more under the surface. The way he was treating his mom was unbearably adorable. To top it off, Steve was handsome too, in a sweet way. He was all blue eyes and beaky nose, and he had that damn furrowed brow even when he wasn’t pissed off. Not to mention those lashes!
Something clattered to the floor down the hall and Bucky startled. He really shouldn’t be eavesdropping like this. Someone was going to catch him out and then he’d get his ass reamed for sure. Even worse, Steve would know and he’d be pissed, and Bucky wouldn’t know what to do because with his luck, Steve would get another damn asthma attack and be stuck in the hospital for another week of questionable trays from Food Service.
“The day nurse I’ve got seems pretty cool, actually,” Steve went on, and all Bucky’s resolve to leave fizzled like so much alka-seltzer. “I mean, I don’t want to stereotype male nurses or anything, but you know. A guy can dream.”
The woman’s eyes blinked open and she smiled somewhat wearily. “Son, just shut up and go to sleep.”
“Fight me, ma.”
~*~
When Bucky arrived at work the next morning, the hospital was an absolute zoo. Some restaurant had a bad night last night, and there were five food poisonings. A brawl had broken out at a football game of some importance. There was an apartment fire. Bucky scanned the roster and was happy to find Elena had been discharged last night, Mr. Adler had learned his lesson and was staying in bed, and if Steve could calm down for one goddamn flippin minute, he’d be out this afternoon as well.
He could do this. The last day before a three-day weekend with his sister. Bucky was gonna nurse the shit out of these patients and no power of God or man could stop him. He pulled his hair back into a lazy sort of bun thing, washed his hands, and went on the rounds. It took forever. Lunch was already delivered by the time he got to Steve.
“Shit, Barnes, you’re still working?” Steve was optimistically dressed in his street clothes, and once again the food was half-eaten and pushed aside.
“Again working,” he replied, and pulled his stethoscope up to his ears. “Mind if I—” he gestured to Steve’s shirt with one hand, waggled the bell of the scope in the other.
“Oh yeah, sure.” Steve turned his back to him and rucked up his t-shirt.
Bucky pushed it up the rest of the way and listened to Steve take a few breaths. The night had made a big difference; each breath was so much fuller than he’d been able to take yesterday. Bucky smoothed his shirt back down and picked up the BP cuff. Just for something to do, he clucked his tongue at the tray. “The doc’s not gonna want to discharge you if I report you aren’t eating.” He placed the stethoscope over Steve’s elbow and started pumping the cuff.
“Yeah, like you’d do that,” Steve scoffed. “I know you don’t want me to stay any more than I do. I gotta get out of here, man.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have a very busy schedule.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Distressed damsels to rescue, hospital CEOs to sue, puppy mills to destroy…”
“Buddy, I just want a damn coffee,” he groaned miserably. “None of this decaf pisswater shit. A good dark-roast with a shot of vanilla and the slightest splash of half-and-half.” A wistful smile twisted up the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Now that’s the good stuff.”
“Behave yourself, and you’ll be out of here soon with coffee in hand.” Steve had just given him an idea. He jotted Steve’s vitals down and snapped the chart closed. If he was going to do this he’d have to be fast.
“Don’t be patronizing. I’m not a child.”
“I’m not,” Bucky whined. All right, maybe he’d just forget it. He didn’t need this kind of shit in his life.
“Fuckin—” Steve coughed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fuckin’ fight me.”
“Can’t, pal. Got a real busy schedule today. Rain check?”
Bucky pulled his gloves off and tossed them into the trash, then headed for the next door over. He blew through the rest of his patients completely on autopilot, unable to stop waffling back and forth between following through on his idea or just going home and telling Natasha all about it later. When he finally got a pause in the action, he had made his decision and grabbed the opportunity with both hands. The hallways were still filled with patients and family; the din of all of them trying to talk over one another was enough to give anyone a headache. Any other day, Bucky would just call it off and hide in the locker room, but today he was filled with a fiery determination he barely recognized.
He struggled through the crowd and finally got to the locker room, where he got ahold of his wallet and scurried down the back stairwell as quickly as he could without being noticed by one more needy patient. The back door opened onto an alley, opposite which was Bucky’s secret treasure: a K-12 charter school attached to a university building, which housed the most amazing coffee shop Bucky had ever found. The coffee in the hospital gift shop was decent enough, but if he was going to do this, he’d do it right and make the trip.
“Hey, Buck,” the barista said, putting her hat back on over a sleek black ponytail. “Another depth charge?”
“Hey Kate. Naw, I’m on the run for a— for a friend. I just need a dark roast, shot of vanilla, just a little room.”
“Sure thing.”
Before long the coffee was in hand and Bucky was puffing his way back up the stairs and to the nurse’s station. Slinging adult bodies around their beds all day kept his back and arms strong, but maybe he needed to get a little more cardio in after all. By the time he’d reached his floor he was downright panting for breath. The hospital air didn’t help either. It was so sterile and dry, and the coffee shop had given him enough reprieve that the odor of antiseptic and nitrile gloves was overwhelming.
The phone was ringing off the hook, and a very testy-looking family member was rapping her nails on the countertop. The only nurse at the desk was Claire, who was already on the phone with somebody and clacking away on the computer. He picked up the phone and turned his back to Auntie Manicure. “Mercy General fifth floor, please hold.” He pressed the button, replaced the receiver, and dodged two death glares from the women by crouching down with a sharpie.
“I really should have done this before she put the coffee in the cup,” he muttered to himself, trying his damnedest not to smear the ink. Before he could lose his conviction, Bucky hurried over to Steve’s room, slowing himself to a downright saunter as he entered.
“Hey there,” he said, and held up the paper cup. “Congrats on the discharge.”
“James Buchanan Barnes, you shouldn’t have.” Steve took the cup from him and sipped contentedly. “Ahh, perfection. But this is no gift shop coffee. I’m in this place like it’s my vacation home. I know gift shop coffee. Where did you find this majesty of a beverage?”
“Nope.” Bucky shook his head. “The origins of this particular libation are a closely guarded secret. Much like nursing curriculum.”
“Now don’t get sassy with me—”
Steve’s indignant reply was cut off by a snort from behind them. His mother was holding up a jacket and a paper bag stapled closed with a pharmacy slip. “Steven Grant Rogers, you are the last person to be talking about sass. Lord knows you give enough of it right back to people, and more often than not you’re the one who started it!”
Bucky just smirked and took his turn signing off on everything while Steve got his things together and put his shoes on. He still hadn’t said anything about the note on the cup. Well, he’d been in such a hurry to drink the damn thing that he didn’t really look at it first. Bucky’s heart gave a little extra thud; hopefully Steve would look at the cup before he threw the damn thing away.
“Well Mr. Rogers,” he said, grinning at the dark look Steve had shot him. He clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder and added, “I hope you enjoy your freedom. And your coffee. Try not to get put back in here too soon?” He turned to go, and heard Steve’s mom clear her throat pointedly.
“Hey, uh, thanks for the— Hold on, who the hell is Bucky?”
Bucky heaved a sigh and turned back around. Steve was reading his coffee cup now. Of course it was now. “I’m Bucky,” he answered. “You know, Buchanan? Bucky.”
“Ahh, apparently I have seduced you with my drool and terrible lungs. Is that what does it for you, Bucky Barnes?” He feigned a weak cough.
“Just finish yer coffee, ya punk. See you later, Steve.”
Bucky walked out the door and over to the dispenser of hand sanitizer, but he could still hear Steve’s mom bark a laugh. “Fight me? Steven Grant, this guy’s got you figured out.”
The rest of the day went by in a blur of wet coughs and fever reducers. Someone had called in, of course, so he stayed on another hour until someone else arrived to cover for him. When he was finally released from work fourteen hours after arriving, his brain was a complete foggy wreck. He shuffled to the parking garage, fell into the car and drove home, barely seeing the road. The only thing on his mind was a hot shower, a meal, and sleep for the next twelve hours at least. By the time he’d cleaned up though, he only had the energy to set a kettle on for tea.
Hot beverage in hand, he collapsed into the faded floral couch and turned the TV on. It was tuned into the Food Network - Natasha’s doing for sure. Was she still gone? Only then did he remember to check his phone.
“Holy shit,” he breathed. There were like a million messages.
748-551-2445: Buchanan was a shitty-ass president u kno
748-551-2445: They called him ‘doughface’. harsh.
748-551-2445: ~Confirmed bachelor~ u kno what that means ;) ;) ;)
Becky: Hey, Buck! I just got home. Brunch at Perly’s tomorrow? I’ve been craving their beef bacon and latkes something fierce! Just call/text whenever. <3 <3
748-551-2445: oh it says he was engaged but when he broke it off she killed herself wow thats fucked up
748-551-2445: He got mn into the union tho so ya know not all bad. they got lakes and fish and a giant mall. guess thats p cool
Mom: Hi Honey! It’s Mom. Rebecca just got home and I told her not to bug you tonight since I know you worked a lot this week. It’s really nice that you’re making (1/3)
Mom: e! =) OK Love you! xoxoxo (3/3)
Mom: such an effort to spend time with her while she’s here. It means a lot to both of us. I’m making meatloaf tomorrow night for dinner and you should com (2/3)
748-551-2445: he thought ppl treated their slaves kindly what a fuckhead
748-551-2445: Barnes u need to get a new name
Wow. Steve actually texted him. Tired as Bucky was, a thrill ran through him; he hadn’t had luck like this in ages. He wiped his hand down his face and let Alton Brown explain baking soda to him for a little bit. His brain needed a serious rest before he picked his phone up again. At the next commercial break he texted his mom and sister back, then brought up Wikipedia.
Hey your guy isn’t perfect either. Look up the Comstock Act (1873)
Steve R: holy shit ur right
Steve R: guess we both need new names. I fuckin love mailing pornography and contraception information. I can’t be associated with this
Steve R: my whole world upside down buck
Will they let you change your name just for the hell of it? Maybe I’ll have to keep this my dark dirty secret until I get married.
Steve R: they gotta let u man if they dont I’ll fuckin fight it I don’t care its my name it can be whatever I want it to be
I’m sensing a theme with you
Steve R: Fuck off I’ll fight u 2
Name the time & place and I’ll take you down, punk
Steve R: Dulono’s pizza, 7 pm next thur or fri. it’s like six blocks from the hospital. arcade after?
Thursday’s perfect.
Bucky grinned and picked his tea back up. It was already on the cool side, dammit, but it had been worth it. He took a sip and flipped through the channels before he found some Bruce Willis movie already halfway done. With every blast of bullets his eyelids drooped lower and lower until he finally set his mug aside and hauled himself off the couch.
He didn’t bother to turn the bathroom light on while he brushed his teeth. He was exhausted, but all in all it was a good week. As he plugged his phone in and fell into bed he still couldn’t believe his luck. He met a guy, guy was also into guys, guy had texted him same day, and he was getting Perly’s in the morning with his little sister. Everything was coming up Bucky.
The phone buzzed on the nightstand. Squinting, Bucky raised it to his face.
Steve R: wait is this a date i just want to be clear i meant to ask u on a date
It took three tries for Bucky to enter his passcode correctly.
Yeah shithead but if you keep texting me after i just worked like eighty straight hours im gonna kick your ass when i get there
Steve R: bring it on
Steve R: jk im sorry i’ll stop now. Goodnight
Well at least he’d have something new to say to Becky when she asked. That was a plus. Bucky let the phone fall back onto his nightstand and rolled over. He better not wake up to a million texts tomorrow morning, or he’d call the whole thing off, that was for damn sure. Even though Steve had said he’d stop, the past couple days had shown the promise was a weak one. Bucky rolled back over and switched his phone to silent. Then, exhausted, he finally drifted off to sleep, dreaming of blue eyes and fistfights.