It had been more than two weeks since Bucky stopped radio transmissions. No messages of any kind were forthcoming for over a fortnight and Steve had never known him to keep radio silence for this long. The mission was a simple recognizance/assassination of a couple lead Nazi Red Skull sympathizers. Nothing they hadn't done before. Bucky was a deadly marksman, quick and efficient. So the fact that not one person on Bucky's hit team had made it to any of the last three checkpoints was disturbing.
Unfortunately this kind of thing happened, they were constantly on the move all over Europe. Things got mixed up between different splinter groups, messages got waylaid. Even if Steve did feel an extra amount of responsibility for Bucky, it shouldn't affect the rest of his work. He was Captain America, he handled more soldiers and led more strikes than anyone working in the anti-Hydra unit. There was nothing more important to Steve than getting his job done, but he couldn't stop thinking about what must have gone wrong. Where was the team? Did they trust the wrong person with too much information? Why had no one heard anything?
The thoughts had refused to be compartmentalized and that's why his left side throbbed like hell, after a slip up during his latest Hydra strike. That was the reason he was checking bolt holes in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, instead of planning his next mission.
It had been a long day and the remaining safe house was hardly worth his time. It was a last resort hole-in-the-wall, the door sticking against the frame as he forced it open. Scanning the dusty floor and deserted rooms, it hit him. Bucky never would have left him up in the air like this. Something beyond any one man's control had happened and there was no need to turn the lights on. No need to keep worrying about Bucky's MIA team because no one was coming back. In that cold empty room he had never felt so alone. It pressed in on him until it felt like he was having one of his long-gone asthma attacks.
A sharp click of a gun being cocked had Steve reflexively pivoting, finding cover and drawing his own weapon in one practiced lethal move. The silence that followed rang with tension as he found himself staring at dark eyes and the business end of a sniper rifle.
"Bucky?!" he whispered, holding his position as a low light filtered in from the street.
"Check-in code 616 william, item, nan, tare, easy, roger."
"Check code, acknowledged." he confirmed as both men stood down.
A huff of air left his lungs as a firm, warm, living body forced its way into his arms. The hug hurt on impact, his bruised side not appreciating how hard Bucky was clinging to him, but within seconds he was clutching Bucky back just as tightly. Somewhere in the back of his head Steve realized how ill-advised it was to let his guard down after a compromised mission, but Bucky was alive and safe in his hands.
"Is the building secure?" he asked running his hand over Bucky's back. Bucky nodded. "Were you followed?"
"No, we're good." Bucky sighed, letting his head fall into the cradle of Steve's neck and shoulder. "God, I hate how responsible you are."
Steve smirked as the wild burst of adrenaline-fueled energy was replacing by relief and exhaustion. They sank slowly down to the floor, supporting each other so they didn't fall. Breathing in a deep sigh of relief Steve was overwhelmed by the tang of fresh blood. Pulling back and removing his hand from where it had found its way into Bucky's hair, flakes of dried blood were stuck to his skin and clothes. Bucky was covered, drenched…. sticky with blood.
"What happened?!" Bucky's body tensed as Steve pulled away. "Are you all right?"
"Impressive, right?" Bucky said, looking at himself. "Most of it's not mine; Widdic, Bailey and Philips are all dead. I wasn't even there to help when it happened." The dried blood coating his hands cracked as his fists clenched. "I was out scouting clear sight lines when the radios went dead, by the time I got back it was all over…. but I killed the bastards that sold us out." Looking up, a feral smile flashed across his face, his white teeth contrasting starkly against the dark red, blood spatter. "Took me a week to track them down, and box them in real tight. Then I let them have it nice and personal." Bucky sounded sure of what he'd done. "I was not clean about it." But Steve could tell his bravado was forced.
Tracing a long bleeding gash that stretched from Bucky's temple down over his cheek with his eyes Steve could only imagine the carnage and devastation Bucky must have left behind with his personal vengeance. He's drenched in so much blood Steve could taste it. "You should have come in and we would have handled it."
"I know the protocol." he said, deflating. "But I should have been there for them. I needed to gut the Nazi scum myself." His eyes glittered, reliving the death and guilt while wiping at the fresh blood running down his cheek. Suddenly it didn't matter that he'd gone rouge for more than a week or how many people Bucky killed in revenge. Protocol would be overlooked and Steve would do whatever it took to make sure this was smoothed over.
"I'm just glad you made it out alive."
"You need to have more faith in me." Bucky stated, bumping against Steve. "I'm not going out that easy."
A small laugh escaped as Steve started feeling a little shaky. He needed to radio this in, get Bucky debriefed, and get a report started. He didn't have time for what felt like the beginning of shock. What was wrong with him? First that asthma incident, now this. Bucky should be shaking apart after this fiasco of a mission, not him. Just then Bucky shifted, repositioning the way he was sitting, then squirmed again, scratching at his arm.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked, trying to take inventory of Bucky under all the blood. Bucky looked down and to the side, refusing to make eye contact.
"I'm just uncomfortable," he said, picking at his bloody clothes "it itches like hell. I could go for a wash before reporting in. If that's alright?" Steve was sure the fact that some of the blood may have been his teammates was a factor as well.
"All right," Steve said, pulling himself together. "Let's get you cleaned up." His slip in control at such a time was deplorable, he had a job to do, a friend to take care of. He was up off the floor with gun in place and his Captain persona on before Bucky could make a move. They needed a plan.
It was uncomfortably cold with the heat not working for some reason. Steve knew this was not an ideal safe house by any stretch of the imagination, but it should at least have the basics. How is a safe house safe, if a person could freeze to death waiting for an extraction? At least there was a tub. He was sure Bucky wouldn't mind the rest too much as long as he could get clean.
Running the bath water filled the washroom with steam and heat. Steve rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his collar. He could hear Bucky shuffling around in the bedroom.
"Um, Steve?" Bucky called, peering into the bathroom and looking embarrassed.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he raised a questioning eyebrow.
"I'm going to need some help." he grimaced, pulling up the edge of his shirt.
Caked-on layers of blood had stiffened and saturated Bucky's clothes to the point that they were glued to his skin. After a quick inspection, Steve moved him into the steamy warmth of the bathroom; the door clicked shut with a small push. The humidity helped soften the material so that he could start peeling off layers while trying not to pull out all of Bucky's body hair in the process.
Carefully he ran his fingers under the hem of Bucky's undershirt, removing the tacky material all the way up to his chest. Bucky flinched slightly as Steve moved to peeled off his standard issue pants that had thoroughly attached themselves to his skin. Working slowly but efficiently, Steve stripped him down and uncovered a bullet graze and stab wound that Bucky had not mentioned. Free from his outfit, Bucky was clad in nothing but a pair of boxers and Steve was left with a pile of blood-stained clothes to soak.
Bucky hissed as he lowered himself into the hot water, his cold skin, lacerations and abrasions stinging at first contact with the liquid. His whole form eventually relaxed with his body fully submerged.
"God, I'm so tired." He yawned, trying to keep his eyes open. "I think I may fall asleep in here." Steve handed him a cloth and soap.
"Clean up first, Buck."
The soap was military grade and abrasive as hell, but dirt, blood or fecal matter, this soap was going to clean it. Bucky started to scrub and as the bloody layers sloughed off his skin, white bubbles morphed to rust red. The fresh, slightly chemical-smelling soap diluted the scent of blood even as the water gained a distinct pink-brown tint.
Rinsing his hair for the third time, Bucky looked up at Steve, who was leaning against the sink.
"How's that, good?" Steve shook his head.
"Still there." After multiple rounds of lather, rinse, repeat with a generic shampoo, Bucky's hair still had flecks of blood in it. Exasperated, Bucky let his hands fall back into the water.
"I give up! I can't even see what I'm doing wrong."
"Here, let me try." Steve said, kneeling down next to the tub. Grabbing another handful of shampoo, Steve threaded his fingers deep into soft, water slick hair. Getting down to its roots, he finally eliminated the last stubborn flecks. A relaxed hum came from Bucky as Steve's soapy hands moved to rinse out the suds.
As he leaned forward to turn on the faucet, Steve bumped against the bathtub's edge and gasped. Pain radiated along his side making the sharp stab of his bruised ribs more acute. Clutching the edge of tub, trying to control his breathing, he cursed his loss of focus.
The injury was unimportant and would be healed by tomorrow. When he'd found Bucky alive he had pushed it to the back of his mind. The sloshing displacement of water reminded him that Bucky was close enough to see his flash of distress, even as he tried to hiding his lapse.
"Are you hurt?" Bucky asked, concerned.
"It's nothing, I just bumped my side," Steve said, straightening up, ready to get back to business. "It's tender." Bucky wasn't fooled for a second.
"Let me see." He reached out towards Steve's side, water droplets sliding down his wet hands.
"I told you. It's fine." He muttered, moving out of Bucky's reach. A wave of water sloshed out of the bath as Bucky lunged, grabbing a fist full of his shirt to pull him back. They scuffled, water slopping everywhere as Steve tried to get away. Bucky pulled him close, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling his undershirt out of the waistband.
Steve knelt in a puddle, half undressed and wet all down his front by the time Bucky let go. His whole right side was a myriad of bruises, one on top of another, that pulsed angrily at his exertion. Looking at the mottled expanse of purple, blue and dark red splotches wrapping around his upper body, Bucky stilled. Gently he laid his hand over Steve's abused flesh, his hot skin comforting.
"This is nothing?" he accused, blue eyes flashing.
"Nothing compared to you," Steve said moving away. Throwing a towel over Bucky's head and scrubbing at his wet hair, he gestured for Bucky to stand.
"Let the water out, seeing as you got me all wet, I'll take a bath too." Steve turned, taking off his damp and disheveled shirt. Hearing the water being drained Steve looked up into the mirror above the sink. In the reflection, he could see Bucky stepping out, wrapping the towel around his waist, water dripping off his body and adding to the puddle on the floor.
"I'll grab the first aid kit quick and bandage up that graze on your leg." Steve suggested as Bucky brushed past him, air chilly against his damp skin. "We should get those cuts closed up too."
"You know what, I think I can do it myself, thanks." Bucky said. His movements were tense and jerky as he pulled out disinfectant, gauze and bandages.
Letting him be, Steve headed back over to the tub. The mission hadn't been easy on either of them and he figured Bucky had every right to be a little agitated.
Refilling the bath, he divested himself of his remaining clothes and stepped in. Dunking his head under water he could feel his muscles releasing. Bucky watched him intently as he soaped up, his frown deepened as suds run down Steve's body, ghosting over the bruises.
"Want help?" he asked, placing his last bandage.
"I'm perfectly capable, thanks." Steve said, trying not to give Bucky any more reason for concern.
At his refusal, Bucky abruptly got up and left. Steve watched him go, confused. It wasn't Bucky's job to look after him, now that the serum made healing so quick, but for some reason the bruises upset Bucky. They would be gone by morning and it wasn't as if they were Bucky's fault. But as he traced along the edge with his fingers, Steve admitted that they did look bad.
Bucky had left the door open a crack, letting in an icy draft. It cut its way in through the humid air, making Steve shiver. Guess that was the sign to get out.
Exiting the bathroom in his undershirt and boxers, Steve's eyes fell to a discarded towel crumpled in the middle of the floor. It had gotten colder while they were in the bathroom. Bucky must be freezing with all his clothes soaking in the sink. All he could see of Bucky was a lump on the rickety bed and a tuft of brown hair sticking out from under a pile of blankets.
"Sorry I can't do anything about the heat, this place really is not up to snuff." Steve picked up the towel and laid it over the back of a chair. There was no response from Bucky as Steve paused, looking down at him. "I need to write a report while things are still fresh, so I'll be over here if you need anything."
Sitting down at a desk and pulling out his field notebook, he shivered. It was uncomfortably chilly, but Bucky was using all the blankets and Steve didn't feel like asking for one. He wondered if he was going to be freezing all night. A muffled "humph" came from the lump on the bed as blue eyes poked out over the top of the blankets.
"How can you stand it?"
"What?"
"Just looking at you makes me even colder than I already am. I can't feel my toes as it is. I'm never going to be able to sleep."
"Like I said, there's not much I can do to fix that."
"You can get your ass under here and warm me up."
Surprised, Steve didn't move when Bucky flipped the edge of the blankets back. The offer was probably just about getting some shut eye. Who knows the last time Bucky was able to sleep without having to watch his own back. It was the least Steve could do to help warm him up, if that's what Bucky wanted. He had not been looking forward to staying up all night anyway.
Closing his notebook, Steve walked over and slipped under the blankets. The sheets were icy, sliding over his bare skin, making all of his hair stand on end. Bucky put his cold feet on Steve's legs the second he was close enough.
"Shesh!" Steve squeaked, shivering worse for some reason, now that he was in the bed.
"Told you I was cold."
"Okay, so now I believe you." He said, as shivers set in, so hard that his teeth chattered. Bucky cuddled in closer to his chest, pulling the blankets around them.
"So, how did you get hurt?" Bucky asked.
"I was distracted, it's not a big deal, won't let it happen again." A silence hung between them as their bodies shifted in the small bed, getting more comfortable, making more contact. Steve didn't feel like he was warming anything up as they shivered together.
"Am I not allowed to worry about you?" Bucky asked, running fingers down his arm. "Or help you when you're hurt?" Taking a deep breath, Steve tried to holding off his shaking.
"I can take care of myself now. You don't need to worry."
"Are you implying the serum made you bullet proof? Or that you become immortal without telling me?"
"No, not to my knowledge," Steve huffed, warm and indignant, "but this is just some bruising. It will be gone in no time."
"And I understand that," Bucky curled up, tucking his head under Steve's chin. "But it doesn't mean I'm going to stop caring about you, no matter how quick you can heal." Blinking slowly, Steve buried his face in Bucky's clean hair.
"I didn't know it mattered that much to you." Steve whispered.
"Well, I never thought it would be an issue with a scrawny punk like you." He murmured. Steve smiled quietly with Bucky safe and solid beside him. Legs tangled together, with the blankets pulled over them, they finally stop shivering.
"I'm sorry I let your team down. I should have known something was wrong, should have pulled you all out of there."
"S'not your fault." Bucky slurred, starting to drift off.
"Obviously I missed something important, fiascos like that shouldn't happen on my watch and I'm not about to sit on my hands while others take care of it. I could have lost you." Bucky's cold nose brushed along his neck before warm lips kissed his collarbone.
"But you didn't, I'm right here." Bucky yawned, eyes already closed.
"Yeah," Steve said. "I know. Still going to figure out how this happened."
"M'kay, but let's try getting some sleep right now."
"Yeah," Steve sighed, letting it go for now. "Go to sleep, Buck."
Waiting until Bucky's breathing was warm and even against his skin, Steve adjusted them to a more comfortable position. Bucky grumbled in his sleep, nuzzling deeper into Steve's side. Tomorrow was going to be hell, trying to explain what happened, but it didn't really matter to Steve as he fell into the first peaceful, easy sleep he had gotten in weeks.