Work Text:
He started the day with throwing up for fifteen minutes straight after the alarm clock had saved and ripped him from a vicious nightmare about horrors that he knew hadn't been real memories, but was still shaken up over. He knelt there in front of the toilet in the bathroom for what felt like ages until he could get his legs under himself again to stand up and rinse out his mouth at the sink.
He held himself up against the sink and waited until the wave of nausea and dizziness passed by him enough so that he could somehow find his way back to the bed. His head was loudly complaining against the bright lights, still caught in aftershocks of what those nightmares had thrown at him. Blood and screams, and just so much blood. And pain, pain in every limb, pain in every cell of his body.
He dragged himself back to bed, headache rolling over him in heavy pounding waves now, pushing the nausea to the side. He turned off the light and curled up into a tight small ball in the middle of his bed, tugging the blanket over his head to hide himself from even the smallest ray of light.
He wanted to disappear, wanted to melt into the mattress and never face anything or anyone ever again. He had laundry to do, dishes to clean and an apartment to tidy up but he just couldn't even keep open his eyes, everything hurt.
Bucky cried soundlessly until he fell back asleep.
--
His friends had an agreement, a kind of deal with him, they left him alone on his bad days when he needed space and time to get his head back on straight, as long as he answered messages or calls.
Did the number of unanswered messages or calls rise up to five, they were allowed to interfere.
Simple rule.
Bucky was grateful for it most of the time. And usually he was able to reply.
--
He woke up again to a cold cloth being pressed upon his forehead and once he managed to blink open his eyes, he found blue ones staring down at him, worried and concerned and maybe even mildly exasperated, their owner kneeling on the edge of his bed.
"I didn't answer my phone." He groaned out, his voice cracking on the second word and Steve frowned, but nodded, pressing the cloth tighter against Bucky's forehead. He was curled up tight, found himself slightly shivering under the blanket. Steve must have noticed because he grabbed another blanket from the foot of the bed and pulled it over Bucky.
"You didn't answer your phone, your pager or your doorbell. You've scared us all pretty bad." Steve whispered to him and Bucky still felt his head protest immensely at the loud noises. He whimpered, a fucking needy little noise escaping his lips that he had wanted so desperately keep hidden. He had so much to do, he had so much standing on his list, so much left to do and get and organize before T'Challa came over later.
T'Challa.
"Where is my phone?" He called out and winced over the sound of his own voice, tried to pull himself up and got so dizzy that Steve had no trouble at all to push him back down into the mattress.
"Stay down, you look like shit. I'll get you your phone. Here, hold onto that." And he brought Bucky's left hand up to keep on holding the wet cloth to his head while he got up from the bed and shuffled into the living room. Bucky strained his ear, could hear Sam's voice but wasn't able to make out any words until Steve was back, handing over Bucky's phone.
Bucky flinched away from the flash of light that came when he unlocked it, and then really grimaced at the number of unanswered calls and unseen messages that popped up. Six calls and three messages from Steve, five calls and six messages from Sam, three calls from Natasha, four messages from Clint, two of each from Stark.
And exactly five missed calls from T'Challa. And three messages.
'What's wrong? Why aren't you answering your phone?'
'Sam texted me, if you read this, they're coming over to check on you. Please open the door, Bucky.'
'I'm coming over the second this hearing is done. I promise, right to your place, no detours. Hang in there, I'll be there soon. I love you.'
It was almost noon.
That was the other thing he noticed right away as he rather hectically clicked himself through calls and messages to let those notification counter go down to zero again. That action alone though was enough to have his headache flare right up again and Steve caught the cloth before it could have fallen into the pillows when Bucky rolled his face back into the one he was lying upon, tugging the blanket over his head again.
"Do you want to drink some water?"
"I want something to make this all go the fuck away." Bucky snarled under the safety of his blankets and he felt Steve's hand on his shoulder, squeezing carefully, "I have things to do, I needed to have started hours ago." Paper rustled and then a hand lightly tugged on the edge of the blanket and Bucky felt too pathetic to really put up a fight.
Steve dangled a piece of paper into his face, a very familiar piece of paper. The list Bucky had made two days ago. The list he should have had concluded two hours ago if everything had gone as planned.
The list that was almost perfectly crossed off.
"You..."
"Sam did most of the baking, don't worry, I didn't really touch anything in the kitchen. I asked Rhodey and Tony if they can go down to the organic grocery store, They have a detailed list and Tony has very clear instructions to follow that list to the smallest detail, I'm trusting Rhodey to keep him in check." Steve told him, voice dropped into a whisper again but Bucky suddenly felt his headache easing up a little, at least enough to have it stop sending his entire body into a pain fueled overdrive, he no longer wanted to claw his skin off.
"You did this...for me?" He croaked and felt tears on his face again, and he cursed and angrily wiped them away. It had just been too much, too much stress in the last weeks, too many nights without a decent sleep, too much craziness around New York again, too much worry over his friends being out there fighting. One of his therapists, the one he had had problems with before, had taken her divorce problems out on him until his other therapist had intervened.
His medication hadn't been enough to keep the headaches down and his therapist, the one remaining now, needed some time to look into different medical approaches.
T'Challa's visit had been the only light at the end of the fucking tunnel that didn't seem to get an ending, and now that was ruined too.
It was ruined because Bucky was a mess. A stupid stupid fucking mess.
"Sam made you plum cake and then googled quirky cake receipts because he didn't know what to make of that. I hope that what he created now is good, it certainly looks funny." Steve explained quietly and Bucky looked over the list again, "Got everything cleaned up but in here, I didn't want to test your headache level with the vacuum cleaner. I fluffed the pillows until they were screaming at me, just like you keep on nagging about."
"Thank you." There really wasn't much else he could have said but Steve just smiled at him, understood perfectly well just how grateful Bucky really was. He hadn't talked about anything else but T'Challa's visit in the last days, weeks really. Had been looking so much forward to it, had spent days making sure his next week would be free, nothing sheduled in therapists appointments, no work. He had sent prayers to all higher fates to keep villains from attacking anywhere where T'Challa would be needed.
He had never for a second for he would end up being the one to ruin it all.
"You've ruined nothing." Steve's voice let him get aware that he had spoken his thoughts out loud, "Come on, Buck, get some more sleep. T'Challa will be here soon, Sam and I, we'll just wait until Rhodey and Tony get here with the groceries and then you'll have the place for yourself again."
--
Bucky slept again and the next time he woke up, it was to warmth. It was to a warm body curled around him, protective arm around his waist, his head resting on a softly rising and falling chest, gentle fingers brushing through his hair.
"Hello, my darling." The very familiar and oh so longed for voice spoke up and Bucky whimpered in relief, wrapping both arms around the body lying half under and half beside him, holding on tight. T'Challa chuckled, a pleasant beautiful sound that was music in his ears and a balm on his aching head, "Before you say even a single word. Nothing is ruined, just because you like to take care of me when I'm here, doesn't meant we can't reverse it once in a while. I'm taking care of you now, okay?"
And Bucky nodded, pressing his ear right over T'Challa's heart, smiling into his shirt when he dropped a kiss onto his head.
"How is your headache?" T'Challa wanted to know next and Bucky went into himself for a moment, pondering on his pain levels.
"Better, I no longer feel like throwing up at the smallest movement." He answered after a few seconds and T'Challa nuzzled at his temple, dropped a kiss onto his forehead.
"Good. How about a bath, I got everything ready."
--
The water was warm and felt amazing against his skin, mixed with that vanilla oil that Bucky loved so much, that he wanted to bath in pure if it wasn't so damn expensive. The candles on the edge of the tub and up on the shelves flickered with their artificial light, casting beautiful shadow games against the wall.
The ventilation system was turned down so that the only thing it achieved was to move the petals and leaves of the plants and flowers Bucky had in his bathroom. His whole apartment was a green oasis, but his bathroom was maybe even one of his favourite places. T'Challa joined him in the bathrub once the projector on the wall was throwing the ceiling and walls into the star filled beauty of a nightsky.
"Can you tell me about your conference?" Bucky asked after a moment of silence and then settled back against T'Challa's chest as he began to talk. He was floating, suspended in a happy space. Caught in a bubble where there was no pain, no headaches, no nightmares and no violent memories.
--
"Did you tell Sam what kind of cake to make?" T'Challa called over to him from the kitchen later, and Bucky tugged his blanket tighter around his shoulders and raised an eyebrow. No sweet afternoon sunshine on the balcony, his headache was gone but a single ray of direct sunshine had still made him dizzy enough to start dry heaving again, so back to the living room.
Sipping on his ginger ale for another second, he then turned to look at the half open kitchen door, shifting around a little in his blanket nest.
"No? Why?" He wanted to know, mentally trying to recall just what Steve had said about Sam and the cake on the list, something was tugging on his mind but it was too fuzzy and coded by headaches to put into words, "Did he put something on it that you don't like? Doesn't it have enough icing?"
No one had a sweet tooth like T'Challa had one.
"Haha." T'Challa deadpanned at him as he shouldered the kitchen door open and then carried the tray into the living room. Fresh tea, plum cake and...
"Are those ears?" Bucky wanted to know in utter confusion, staring at the decoration on the black and white cake that he couldn't really see until T'Challa set the tray down on the coffee table right in front of him.
And then Bucky was laughing.
He was laughing and doubling over, clutching stomach and then falling against T'Challa, when he was sitting down next to him.
And on the table the cake in form of a cat face was laughing just as loud as well.
--
They went for a walk after Bucky had found his sunglasses and the sun had start to set for the evening, a slow lazy stroll through the neighbourhood and the park around the corner. And Bucky breathed in the fresh air, let it soothe away the last remaining echos of last night's horror. T'Challa's arm around his waist and the sounds of Brooklyn in his ears.
"I got something for you." Bucky said when they took off their shoes again in the living room, and he pointed for T'Challa to sit down in the armchair by the window before grabbing the small box from the top drawer of the sideboard below the TV. "Originally, I had it all planned out differently. I wanted to give you a massage and then eat cake out on the balcony and then go down to Coney Island. I wanted to ride the Wonder Wheel with you, watch the sun go down and then give this to you." He explained and handed the box over, T'Challa took it with careful hands.
T'Challa then opened it, careful and curious, and then his eyes widened and he slapped a hand in front of his mouth. Bucky grinned, so deeply satisfied to have caught his love off guard for once, and he went down to kneel in front of him.
"I know we're not the people for rings, we're not the marrying kind. We don't need big ceremonies to know that we'll love us forever and that we'll be together forever." Bucky spoke quietly and T'Challa watched him intently, "But I still wanted you to have something of mine, something to carry with you at all times?"
And then he nervously sat back on his heels and waited.
T'Challa stared at him, then down at the content of the box again and then swallowed, heavily, twice, and Bucky felt his heart swell when he realized that T'Challa was trying to push back tears.
"I...yes...yes of course, Bucky, always." He stumbled over his words for a moment then and begged him to come closer. Bucky settled on his thighs, the box between them, "Is this really..."
"Mine?" Bucky guessed and nodded, "Yeah." He began, his fingers slowly pulling the thin black chain out of the box, sliding it over T'Challa's head until it settled around his neck, the blackened but still visibly silver dog tag sitting in the open v of his shirt collar. Bucky smoothed a finger over it and used his other hand to pull his own necklace up from under his shirt, he had put it on shortly before they had gone out for their walk.
"Romanov and Barton were investigating something in Russia last month, they weren't even there for Hydra but ended up in an old base anyway. And we're talking really really old here, world war two kind of bunker, abandoned for several decades it seemed. They found a box, sealed off, hidden away in some kind of heavily dusted closet. Some kind of trophy shrine, Barton called it when they came by." Bucky explained and then smiled when T'Challa played with the dog tag between his fingers, so very gentle.
"Thank you, this means...so much to me, Bucky." T'Challa told him quietly and Bucky smiled, leaned in for a kiss.
And then the fire alarm went off.
--
Bucky wasn't crying but it came quite close as he sat down on the sidewalk and dropped his face into his hands, not even sure what he was trying to breathe through. He couldn't even tell anymore if he was angry or sad, if this was the headache taking over again.
He was just so done with this day.
"The good news is..." T'Challa began and pushed a blanket around Bucky's shoulder, it smelled so clean it just had to have come from the fire truck, "Your apartment wasn't damaged at all. Bad news is they still are declaring the building uninhabitable until the damage is repaired." He delivered the news and Bucky groaned, tugging on his hair.
Fucking hell.
"Can they say already what caused the fire?" He wanted to know and pulled on his wet shirt, he was drained, completely drained just like T'Challa and anyone else who had been running out of the burning building onto the street when the sky had decided that there had been enough sunshine and a little thundering rain couldn't hurt anyone.
"You remember the kid living with his parents down on the second floor?" T'Chall asked him and Bucky nodded, "Was alone for the weekend, invited some friends over, wanted to cook something...and boom." Bucky groaned, snapping his head to search for the kid in the crowd out on the street now, "Hey, no murder eyes. Let's just go, the police will take care of it. They have your number, they'll call if there are any questions."
"Where are we going?" Bucky grumbled but still let himself be pulled to his feet, shrugging off the damn blanket. T'Challa grabbed his hand and they walked off, "Wait, Misses Miller has no one who..."
"I called Steve, Steve will take care of Misses Miller. You're coming with me now." T'Challa talked over him quickly and Bucky whined, "Come on, head up, no one got hurt, your building manager is a decent man, the repairs will be done quickly."
--
Bucky found himself sitting in T'Challa's rental car in no time, snuggled into the passenger seat with the heat on full blast as T'Challa drove them through the lazy New Yorker evening traffic.
"Where are we going?" He asked for the third time in less than an hour and T'Challa just smiled, turned another corner and then Bucky blinked at the signs for the international airport coming up in the distance.
"We're going to a place where no one will disturb us unless the world is actually ending."
"I love you and your plan."