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The first sign that should have told her things were far from normal was that Bucky was late.
Usually, by the time Ava gets to the Watchtower hangar, he’s already there, checking the Quinjet systems, weaponry, or supplies that they’d be needing that day. Basically making sure that everything was set and prepared before they even took off - stuff that she, Yelena, or John wouldn’t even think of doing themselves.
Today, though, she arrives to find John and Yelena already lounging near the Quinjet opening, bickering about God knows what, but no sign of Bucky yet.
She doesn’t point out his absence, though, lest Yelena make a big deal out of her doing so.
Second sign? Was when he did come in, his movements were all stiff and sluggish. Like every step was a struggle against his body. Ava should know; she’s had days before when she acted like that herself.
Third sign? The sheen of sweat currently beading on his hairline.
And the fact that he looks absurdly pink. Like a lobster that’s been gently simmered all night.
She opens her mouth to say something, except John beats her to it. “Wow, man. You do not look good.”
Bucky stiffens immediately, shoulders straightening. “I’m fine.”
Yelena pushes herself off the wall to approach him. “Sure you are. After all, you always look like boiled shrimp before every dangerous mission.”
He shakes his head slightly. “It’s just– the hangar’s warm.”
“No, it isn’t,” Ava says without thinking, finally earning a glance from him. Emboldened, she adds, “And even if it is, you shouldn’t be sweating through your shirt like that. Or looking like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m not, Ava,” he replies. “I said I’m fine. Can we just–”
“Shh.”
Then Yelena lays a palm on his forehead before putting her other hand over her own. After a few seconds, she says, “Nope. You’re sick.” Then she pauses and looks over at John. “Can super soldiers get sick?”
Even Ava finds herself curious to hear the answer.
John shrugs. “Well, our immune system is enhanced, and not like I’ve gotten sick in the past few months, but, yeah. I don’t think it’s unheard of. I mean, our baseline might be higher than yours, but it’s not like we’re made of bricks, so.”
“That’s funny. I’ve always thought your brain is, at the very least,” Yelena shoots back.
John makes a face at her. “Oh yeah, that’s real mature. Can we focus on the fact that Barnes actually looks like he’s being boiled alive in his gear?”
Bucky swats Yelena’s hand away from his face. “I can still go,” he insists.
Ava feels something twist inside her chest at his determination. She chalks it up to irritation, maybe.
And something dangerously close to affection.
“Or you can stay behind and rest, and let us handle it,” she says, feet automatically coming closer to him. “You can barely stand straight, Buck.”
“And yet I am, anyway,” he replies, bristling now. Bucky turns to Yelena again. “I’m telling you, I’m not sitting this one out.”
“You’re not,” Yelena agrees easily, earning surprised looks from both Ava and John.
“Yelena–”
“Because you’d actually be lying down on it,” she finishes. “Except not on the Quinjet with us. You’ll stay here, in the Watchtower, until you’re no longer looking like cooked seafood.”
And Ava exhales quietly, relieved.
Bucky’s shaking his head. “No. No. You need help with this. I–”
“Nah, we’d be fine.” John crosses his arms in front of him. “It’s just a simple extraction anyway. If we need an extra set of hands, we’ll just pull out Alexei from that PR interview he’s doing.”
Yelena nods. “Exactly. And meantime, just to make sure you’ll be doing actual resting–”
Ava’s heart basically stops when Yelena’s gaze slides over to her.
“--Ava’ll watch over you.”
“What?” she says, unable to help herself.
“What?” Bucky echoes, glancing at her before looking at Yelena again. “She doesn’t need to–”
“Oh yes, she does,” Yelena tells them, already moving to the Quinjet door. “She’s the only one of us you’ll listen to, anyway, don’t bother even denying it. And she’ll make sure you don’t do anything stupid like fly after us in your condition.” She pauses and glances over her shoulder at Ava. “Won’t you?”
Bucky opens his mouth to argue more.
Except Ava’s already placed a hand on his arm, which, somehow, effectively silences him.
“You heard the tiny and annoying Russian,” she tells him quietly. “Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”
Yelena grins at them both. “Perfect arrangement.”
Of course, Ava should have known that getting Bucky back to bed was easier said than done. Guiding him down the hall back to his room - because apparently going to the medbay was out of the question - was probably what herding a tall, very grumpy, very sick cat would have felt like.
“I can walk on my own,” he mumbles at her. For the third time in a row.
“Sure you can,” she says.
Bucky looks down at her hand on his elbow. “You don’t need to hold my arm like that.”
“I know,” she agrees. “But I also want to make sure you’re not about to faceplant anytime soon.”
“I’m not going to–”
And then he sways.
And Ava’s hand on his elbow? Was what did prevent him from faceplanting on the floor just then.
“...not a single word,” he mutters, glancing at her feet, not at her face.
She holds back a smile anyway and says, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Sergeant.”
And then Ava opens the door to his room.
It was… surprisingly bare. She hasn’t been in here before - no reason to be, after all - but one glance around and she decides that, somehow, it suits him. How everything he owned was folded with almost military precision. No clutter. Nothing out of place. Just a few picture frames here and there - small artifacts that barely whispered to the world: ‘Bucky Barnes lives here.’
Easily removable if ever he needed to.
Both the bed and couch were kept so tidy that they both looked unused. She guides him towards the edge of the bed anyway, and basically pushes him down until he’s horizontal before he can argue.
The fact that he lets her is definite proof that he was not feeling 100% his best self.
“Okay, so. Meds, water, maybe extra blankets, too.”
Bucky huffs at her, “I don’t need–”
She plants her hands on her hips. “Yeah, well, unfortunately for you, I’m focusing on what you do need right now, so. Shut it.”
And Ava phases out of his room before he could tell her another thing he doesn’t need at the moment.
The trips to the medbay, kitchen, and her own room - just to nab the extra blanket and some fever-reducing packs - took her less than ten minutes to complete. When she returns to Bucky’s room, she finds him lying on his side, knees folded halfway, like he’s attempting to curl into himself before stopping midway.
The sight he presents made her chest ache. She’s used to a Bucky that’s strong. Commanding. Sure of himself. This Bucky? Shivering, weakened, giving off heat like a super-serumed radiator? Was something she didn’t even think existed. One that she’d hoped never to see again in the near future.
“I’m back,” she announces softly, depositing the extra blanket and fever-reducing packs near his feet before approaching him with water and meds. She sits on the side of the bed near him. “Buck. I need you to sit up for a minute and drink this for me, okay?”
He exhales loudly through clenched teeth, then pushes himself up and takes them without protest. He hands the glass back to her with shaking hands, and she places it on the bedside table before turning back to him.
Bucky lies down on the bed, and Ava takes the opportunity to drape his blanket over him with brisk efficiency.
“Don’t fuss,” he tells her, his eyes hooded. “Just… need to sleep this off.”
“You couldn’t have thought of that before gearing up and stepping into the hangar earlier?” she snipes. Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she pushes some damp hair off his forehead, just so she could see his face better.
“Have a mission,” he says, words ending in a sigh. “Didn’t want to miss it.” And then, before she could even answer that, he adds, “You shouldn’t have stayed here. With me.”
“And miss seeing you like this? All needy and weepy?”
Bucky’s expression darkens. “I’m not–”
“Yelena was right, you know. Someone needs to make sure you’ll actually rest this time.” Ava smoothens the blanket over his shoulders. “Super soldier or not, your body demands it. Maybe that fever’s reminding you of that basic truth.”
He exhales again. “I am resting. Right now.”
“No. You’re still fighting it. Don't think I can't tell.”
Bucky glances at her and says, simply, “Sorry. Habit.”
And she couldn’t even fault him for it. When one’s used to being a weapon as they are, even simple things like being sick or sleeping felt like needing permission for. And any sign of weakness? Was never allowed.
Here, now, however–
“Sleep, Bucky,” she tells him. She pats his arm and adds, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
He stares at her for a long, long while before his eyes close of their own accord - however unwillingly.
Not an hour later and from her place on the couch, Ava notices him shivering. It isn’t dramatic by any means, but visible enough that the mattress actually started faintly trembling under his body.
…Shit.
Whatever this was, it meant that the meds weren’t doing their job, or were taking longer to work for some fucking reason.
She layers her blanket over the first one, then grabs the fever-reducing pack, opens it, and places the product over his forehead. They were her backup plans, ones she’d hoped she wouldn’t have to use today, and yet, here they were. Then Ava sits beside Bucky on the bed again, her fingers drifting down to cup his cheek, then to the side of his neck.
He was burning up. There was just no other word for it.
“Goddamnit,” she says under her breath. Ava knew she should have brought him straight to the medbay earlier, but Bucky had been very adamant about not wanting to go there. And, idiot that she was, she let herself be swayed. She thought then, at least in this room, he’d be more comfortable. He’d be able to sleep better knowing he’s in a safe place - one of his own choosing.
Ava knew how important that was for recovery.
Still, given his condition now, she starts weighing her options of forcibly getting him to the medbay. Ava doubts she could lift him on her own, but she could always–
Suddenly, his hand shoots out, grabs her wrist, and presses her palm to his jaw, very near the side of his mouth.
Ava freezes.
“Cold,” he mutters under his breath. Like that’s an explanation for his actions right now.
…okay.
Okay, so.
He’s very clearly not conscious or thinking; otherwise, he wouldn’t have grabbed her hand like that. Or even hold it to his face.
Like that.
Still, she calls out to him, “Bucky?”
In response, he tugs her even closer, flesh arm curling over hers, pulling until half of her’s draped over his chest.
“Stay,” he whispers against her skin. “Ava. Please.”
And, well, really, she didn’t have to if she didn’t want to. Ava knows she could phase away from this position at any moment. Shove a pillow that he could then bodily cuddle instead of… well, her.
And yet–
Sharing body heat made sense. It was practical. Efficient, even. His thermal regulation was currently shot to hell, and any form of external warmth, no matter what the source, could help stabilize him. Just enough until the effects of the meds and fever-reducing pack finally kick in and he stops shivering like mad.
At this point, Ava knows she has the means to help him feel better. Denying it from him feels… counterintuitive. Cruel, even. Besides, what’s the worst thing that could happen, anyway? They get embarrassed over it? Please. At least by then he’d be well enough to actually be embarrassed, so.
Steeling herself, Ava lifts the edges of the two blankets and crawls under them. Immediately, Bucky curls himself around her side, a heavy arm slinging around her waist and pulling her even closer, forehead pressing against the slope of her neck. His shivers persisted; his breath felt extremely hot against her shoulder, even through the thick fabric of her clothes.
All the while, Ava’s heart is hammering wildly. She stares at the wall on the other side, staying utterly still, reminding herself that she could leave any time she starts to feel uncomfortable. Despite that self-assurance, she can’t deny that a part of her is already regretting her bold decision, now that she’s actually in this situation.
The bigger parts, however, curiously aren’t.
“Okay, Barnes,” she whispers, looking down at him - though from her perspective, she could only see the back of his head. “I really hope this is helping you. Otherwise, we both would just be embarrassing ourselves for nothing.”
In response, Bucky hooks his thigh in between hers, pulls, and breathes her in.
Oh, god.
He's actually--
Okay. Okay.
This was... okay. This was fine. She could do this. Just until the meds kick in and he lets up. Shouldn't be too long now.
Breathe. Breathe.
Might as well get comfortable as best as she can while she’s stuck in this very curious circumstance she's willingly placed herself in.
Bucky comes to very, very slowly. Like he’d been underwater this whole time and had just broken the surface.
The first thing he noticed? Was the warmth. Not the heavy, uncomfortable one he’d been fighting all day, but something layered and steady. Also? Something small and cool covering his forehead. The blankets draped over his body.
Then there’s the weight. Something soft and solid tucked between his neck and shoulder.
And the third? The most obvious thing?
Was that he was curled around a warm, solid, breathing body, his leg thrown between theirs like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He freezes.
Because that was also the time his memories chose to come flooding in. The scene at the hangar. The guiding through the halls. The meds. The shivering. The cold. His hand reaching out towards–
Oh god.
Towards Ava.
Who’s now on his bed.
In his arms.
And, judging by the quiet tension in the way she held herself, was very much awake.
For one long, mortifying second, he considered pretending to be asleep again. Considered whether he could will himself into a convenient medical emergency just to avoid acknowledging–
“Hey,” she says. Softly. Carefully. “You feeling better?”
--this.
Goddamnit.
Of course she’d noticed that he was awake, the same way he’d noticed she was, earlier.
He really should move. That would be the decent thing to do. The respectful thing. Anything to make this less… loaded.
And yet, he simply… doesn’t. Like every part of him in direct contact with her absolutely refuses to move.
Later, he would absolutely chalk that up to the sickness. Which, to be fair to him, he’s still very much in the midst of.
“I’m–” He licks his lips, finds them to be extremely dry. “...yeah. I think.”
“Good,” she replies. Ava then turns her hand slightly so she can feel the temperature in his neck. “You’re not as hot as before, and you’ve stopped shivering an hour ago. Guess this means your fever’s finally broken.”
The way she’s talking - like they’re just sort of hanging around and not at all tangled in bed together - is doing something catastrophic to his ability to actually think.
It’s so bad that the only thing he could think of to say to her was, “Guess it does.”
Silence.
He begins running through a dozen apologies in his head - for grabbing her, for pulling her close, for still not letting go now.
What came out instead was, “You could have left.” You still could.
She sighs. “Yeah. I know I could’ve. Except–”
–his arm automatically tightened around her waist before he could even stop it.
“--you kept doing that, so. Figured you really didn’t want me to.”
Shit.
He was just.
So.
Thoroughly.
Fucked.
Bucky loosens his grip on her at the same time he says, “Sorry. About this. About… everything.”
He can feel her shrug. “It’s fine. I did say I’ve got you earlier, didn’t I? Besides, you needed the warmth, and I was here, so. It was the most practical thing I could think of to help you.”
She pauses. “But, if you’re uncomfortable in any way–”
Bucky looks up at her. “I’m not,” he replies. Too quickly. Embarrassingly so.
She laughs. “Okay, then. That’s good to hear, because, honestly? Neither am I.”
Then Ava pats the arm that’s currently on her waist as she adds, “Rest up. Then we’ll talk later about how we’re going to gaslight ourselves into thinking this never happened.”
Bucky exhales, long and slow, forehead dropping to her shoulder again once he realizes she’s willingly not going anywhere.
“Thank you,” he tells her, voice low. “For staying. And… taking care of me.”
Her hand cups his jaw, thumb drawing circles on the skin near his mouth. “You’re welcome.”