A/N: Why is Steve so willing to leave to his behind? A short inquiry into that.
Disclaimer: I own no characters or settings
I can't sleep. I wish I could, but the calm of darkness and the stillness of the night do nothing to settle my soul. Not even pure exhaustion can keep my eyes closed. I know I shouldn't, it's against every moral fiber of my being, but I can't have another night like this, not after today.
Avenger Tower is silent, the others either being on a mission or sleeping better than I can. Despite my now large frame, I move silently through the building, passing by Natasha's room and hearing the faint sounds of her and Barton speaking quietly. He can't sleep most night either, but for different reasons. I've known since New York that he slips from his room at night after he has a nightmare. I can hardly blame him.
I slip into Banner's lab and crossed the room to the cabinet on the wall. If the general public knew of even half the things he kept in here there would be mass panic knowing it sat a mere one hundred feet above the street, but I don't need anything dangerous. The bottle of morphine slips into my pocket and I grab a syringe before quickly walking back to my room.
Sitting cross legged on the bed, I wrap the belt around my bicep till the flesh bulges. The syringe barely holds the whole bottle, but there it is. Enough morphine to kill several grown adults and it will only give about an hour of euphoric high. Not for the first time, I wish I could still get drunk.
Holding my breath, the syringe slides into my vein and I slowly push the plunger down. Once it's empty I lay back, that strange warm spreading through my arm, to my heart, until I finally feel it. My eyes slide closed and the memories begin swimming through my mind.
"I thought we were going out for a drink. You started without me." Bucky has that crooked half smile that says 'I do what I want and the Devil be damned'. I've been captured by that grin since the first day I saw it over ten years ago. I shrug in answer to his statement and kick a chair out for him.
We sit in silence for a minute, Bucky waiting for me to spill the beans. "She turned me down, Buck. Just like all the others."
Bucky laughs, not mockingly, but he still laughs, "Oh well. There's more fish out there."
"Not any that want my bait," I mumble.
Bucky claps a hand on my shoulder, "Come on, let's get you sobered up."
The boardwalk is crowded as ever, something I've never enjoyed. I hate when people push past me, able to throw me out of their way like I'm only so much chaff in the wind, but tonight is different. Bucky walks with his arm over my shoulder and everyone gives us a wider berth, instinctively knowing not to get too close. Bucky chatters about something and I'm not even listening. He's good like that, filling the silence with nonsense because he knows I like to just hear his voice. We end up on the rocky shoreline under the pier and Bucky pulls a flask from his jacket.
"I thought we were going to sober me up," I say jokingly.
"This is all for me," he quips, but he takes a long drink and passes it to me anyway.
I take a sip, grimacing at the sharp sting of whiskey. I've never been fond of the taste, but it's all Bucky drinks, his Irish blood showing itself. We sit like that for a moment, just existing.
"You know what you said, about fish not wanting your bait?" he says. I nod, waiting for the rest. "Well, I for one am glad that's the way it is. I don't have to worry about you finding someone else to walk you home."
I can't help but smile silently, agreeing with him. More silence follows before he clears his throat. "I mean it, Steve. When I ship out, I want to know when I come back that nothing has changed. I don't want to hit the shore and see you there looking at someone else, holding someone's hand. I don't know that I'll make it back if I know that's what I have to look forward to."
I know what he means and it doesn't offend me, but it still bothers me. "Don't talk like that. You'll be fine."
He takes another long drink. "As long as you're here, I will be."
My body takes the morphine in stride, slowly making everything but my mind go numb, the fog a welcome respite. A thousand images flash before me, most of them involving a crooked smile and a flask of whiskey. The rest are of slotted metal crudely knit to mangled flesh in a macabre work of art.
These are the things I don't want to see, but it's all I can. The hollow, darkened eyes filled with burning, angry confusion. The slack-jawed expression that is incapable of understanding what those eyes see. His face is hard now, not strong like it used to be, just an immovable sculpture of perfection.
I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, willing the images to leave and suddenly it happens. The morphine completely takes over and I slip into a stupor of clouded fog, the room spinning around me and my skin tingling where the sheets touch it.
"Buck," I whisper to the darkness.
Something touches my shoulder. My head heavy, I turn to look and my inebriated mind can't comprehend what I see. "Bucky?"
That crooked smile, I can feel the warmth of his hand on my arm.
"Come on," he says softly, pulling me to roll over and slipping his arm around my shoulders. His shoulder is firm, my head fitting perfectly into the curve of his muscles. His fingers play with my hair, gently massaging my skin. I wrap myself around that warmth, hot tears stinging my eyes, my chest heavy.
"You said you'd be alright," I gasp, "You said if I was there, you'd be alright."
His chest rises and holds for a moment and I feel more than hear his sigh, "I know. I'm sorry." He turns his head, kissing me lightly on the forehead. He nestles against me, arms and legs tangling in knots that I never want to have untied. "I'm here for now. Get some sleep."
Sleep is impossible and I don't want to sleep, I want to be awake, here with him. Whatever miracle this is, I never want it to end. He lifts my chin up slightly, just enough for me to see those beautiful eyes. His lips are soft against mine and it's most real thing I've felt since I woke from the ice. I press myself against him and feel him sigh again, content this time and everything goes black.
A gentle bell wakes me and I open my eyes, disoriented. In my sleep I've thrown the bed clothes everywhere, a pillow firmly clutched between my legs and cradled in my arms. The bell chimes again and I hear Banner's voice, muffled through the door. I look at the pillow again and the syringe on the floor and I remember. The pillow is cold on one side, not warm like the skin I felt last night, the skin the drug made me feel. I swallow hard, fighting against tears that threaten to fall.
The bell chimes again and I force myself to get up and answer the door. Banner stands there, the ever present button down with the sleeves pushed up.
"What is it?" I ask, forcing my voice to stay even.
Banner rubs the back of his neck, acting embarrassed, "You don't happen to know if anyone went in the lab last night, do you?"
We both know that if he really wanted to know, all he would have to do is ask JARVIS to play back last night events, but I shake my head anyway. "No idea. Why?"
He shrugs, brushing the situation off. "No reason, I think I inventoried wrong." He puts a hand on my shoulder and grips it firmly for a moment. "Thanks anyway."
Without another word, he walks away and I go back into my room, closing the door and laying back down on the bed. I don't know how, or when, but I will find Bucky, even if I have to lose the others to do it.