Nessie

My first day off coincided with Della's first day of work as a seamstress at a place a couple block over. It was now about two weeks since our first dinner with the boys, and there had been more meals together since. Della's bandages were finally off and she was ready to face New York, and I was settled into my new job and, at least today, responsible for the grocery shopping.

The last dinner we'd made had been a roast to feed all four of us and it had wiped out the last of our meat and vegetables. I strode down the street with three large brown paper bags in my arms. I could smell coffee coming from the can that was right under my nose and felt my stomach rumble. Della's job started early and I hadn't made breakfast that morning. It was getting closer to noon now and I was starting to feel it.

I kept walking, heading for the apartment. I'd heat up the last of the vegetables from last night and have that before I got to work on sewing the curtains that I'd picked up fabric for the day before.

I was mentally planning out the rest of the day when I stopped outside an alleyway. There was the sound of fists on flesh and someone gave a wheezing cough. I frowned and turned to peer down the alleyway. It was dark, but I could vaguely make out three shapes. Two big whaling on one small. The small one had blonde hair and was wearing a very familiar canvas jacket.

"Steve?" I called uncertainly, and the two larger men froze and whipped around to look at me. I frowned at them and strode down the alleyway. The smaller figure was slumped on the ground, an arm around their middle, and when I got closer I saw that sure enough, it was Steve. His face was bruised and bloody and he would have a shiner before the day was out. His nose was crooked, definitely broken, and his lip was split. Judging by the way he was holding his stomach, he probably had a decent amount of bruising under his shirt too.

"Oh honey…" I breathed, and felt rage rise up in me. My skin started to heat and I knew that I was about to burst into flame. I had to take a deep breath as the paper under my hands began to smoke. Quickly I set down the bags, hoping to hide the fact that I'd just made them smoke, and instead put my hands on my hips, facing down the two larger men.

"Now just what in god's name is going on here?" I demanded of them. They were both dark-haired and muscular, with a couple inches and a few dozen pounds each on Steve.

"Nessie," Steve wheezed from the ground. "This isn't your fight…"

"Oh yes it is!" I insisted as images flashed before my mind of Della turning up on my porch, her face or body bruised up and a burning rage in her eyes. I couldn't help her then – she wouldn't let me – but I could help Steve now, and I was gonna do it.

"What do you two think you're doing, going after Steve like that?" I demanded of them angrily. "You just take swings at anybody you meet on the street?"

One of them sneered down at me. "The twig was running his mouth, so me and Jason decided to shut it for him. It ain't your problem, candy gams."

"Candy gams!" I exploded. "That ain't my name and I can see why Steve lit into you if you were talking like that. You kiss your mothers with those mouths? I've half a mind to wash your mouths out with the soap I just bought!" I pushed between them and crouched down by Steve, looking him over in concern. "Are you alright, Steve honey?"

Steve looked deeply ashamed. I didn't think it was because of his actions, though. He was the sort to fight for what he believed in and that was nothing to be ashamed of. He was embarrassed that he was losing as bad as he was and that I had seen him like this. His blue eyes wouldn't come up from the concrete and look at me.

"I'm fine," he muttered, but it was undermined by the blood that sprayed from his lips when he spoke.

"No, you ain't," I said firmly, and stood back up, placing my hands on my hips and facing the two big fellows again, scowling thunderously. They were looking between Steve and me in shock.

"How'd a twig like him get a firecracker like you?" demanded the one who hadn't opened his mouth yet. And sadly, that was what he chose to open his mouth to say.

"That's none of your business!" I snapped at him. "Now I think you've both done enough here today." They looked at me in bemusement. "Go on, get!" I flapped my skirt at them and stomped my foot like I was herding chickens and they exchanged amused looks. I knew I wasn't as threatening as some people could be, but at least I got them to walk away. They headed right out of the alley mouth and I turned around to look at Steve, who had dragged himself into a sitting position against the wall and was scrubbing at his split lip with the back of his hand and wincing.

"Oh, not with your hand, you'll stain your sleeves!" I huffed, and knelt beside him again, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. "Use that."

"It'll stain-" Steve protested, and tried to hand it back, but I rolled my eyes.

"Steve, I've gotten blood out of that hankie before and, considering who I'm spending time with, I'll probably have to do it again," I huffed. "Now mop yourself up and let's get you home, alright?"

Steve winced as he pressed the handkerchief to his mouth and nose and began to carefully try and mop up the blood without touching the injuries. It was a lost cause though. I pulled his free hand over my shoulder and got him to his feet.

"Are you good to walk on your own?" I asked him worriedly, and Steve nodded. I hurried over and picked up my bags of groceries. "Then let's get you home and get you patched up."

"You don't have to-" I gave Steve a look that cut him off sharply. "At least let me help with your groceries?" he offered, and I shook my head.

"Ain't happening. Now march."

Steve smiled faintly as we stepped out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk and headed for the apartments. "You're bossy when you've got someone to nurse."

I smiled proudly. "Thanks, that's sweet."

We kept walking and I kept a weather eye on Steve, making sure he wasn't about to pass out or was having trouble walking. His legs seemed fine though, it was from the waist up that he seemed to have been laid into, which was a mercy in a way. At least we didn't have any problems walking home, aside from the several startled looks were go from the bruises on Steve's face and bloody handkerchief in his hand.

"Did you mean me?" Steve asked suddenly, and I blinked.

"Mean you what?"

"You said 'considering the people you spend time with.' Did you mean me? Because I honestly don't get into all that many fights, Buck just likes to exaggerate and give me a hard time."

I winced, realizing how that must have sounded, like I was already blaming Steve for potentially soiling my handkerchief in potential future situations.

"I was thinking about Della, actually," I admitted, and Steve looked surprised. "She used to get hurt a lot," I replied and hoped my tone was casual enough to keep Steve from pressing.

"She doesn't seem that clumsy," Steve said, frowning slightly, but he didn't press.

We mounted the stairs that led up to our apartments and I gave Steve a stern look.

"I'm gonna go set down groceries, and then I'll be over to patch you up." Once again, Steve opened his mouth to protest, but I shook my head. "Nope! I have experience in this Steve." I looked at him hopefully. I felt like I was begging, but there had been so many times I hadn't been able to help Della put herself back together. I wanted to make up for lost opportunities to care. "Please, let me?"

Steve relented, nodding. He blushed a little at the attention and quickly pressed the handkerchief to his nose again, trying to hide it. I smothered a smile and scuttled to our door, sliding the key in and opening the door. I set the bags down on the counter and quickly put what needed to be in the refrigerator away. The rest of it could wait a while.

Steve had left his apartment door open, so I walked right in and shut the door behind me. I heard grunting from the kitchen and walked in cautiously to see Steve on his tip toes, straining to reach a large white box on one of the shelves in the cabinet. It was awful of me, but I had to suppress a laugh at the sight. He was so small… Even I had a few inches on him, and I was no giant.

"Let me," I said, and hurried to the counter, reaching up and stretching. I managed to hook my fingers through the handle and drag it down. On the box was a big red cross. I looked from the large first aid kit to Steve knowingly.

"Bucky put it up last," Steve mumbled, now red down his neck and hiding behind the handkerchief again. "He's a little over-prepared…"

"I'm sure," I said soothingly, and grabbed his free hand, dragging him into the living room. Steve sat down on the couch and I plopped myself next to him. The springs creaked when we sat, that and the grubby print making me confident that this thing was at least third-hand. I set the first aid kit on the coffee table and flipped the latches, opening it with a squeak. Inside was an arsenal of tongue depressors, band-aids, gauze, cotton balls, bandages, an inhaler, and even a little bottle of morphine and a syringe. I gave that and the inhaler a wide berth and instead got up and headed for the bathroom, dampening a wash rag and bringing it back out, a few drips running down my fingers.

"Wash your face off," I said gently, passing the rag to Steve. He took it and began dutifully and carefully scrubbing at the blood until I could get a better idea of what I was working with. Namely a split lip, broken nose, black eye, and a cut on his cheek under his eye. One of those big lugs must have been wearing a ring. I scowled.

"Well, luckily I don't see anything deep enough to need stitches," I announced. "Let's see to that nose first, huh?" Steve nodded and I reached forwards, bracing my hand on his forehead. I gently pinched his nose between the knuckles of my pointer and middle finger.

"On three?" I explained. "One…" I yanked. Steve cursed and I whipped my hands back. His hands jumped to his nose as his eyes watered from the pain.

"Oh, I… sorry…" he mumbled. "Just… what happened to two and three?"

I smiled. "Trust me, there's no word you can say I haven't heard before, honey. And I'm just doing it how I was taught."

"Who taught you?" Steve grumbled as he carefully prodded his nose and winced a little when he hit the actual break.

"Della," I replied absently and reached up to dab at a little trickle of blood running from the cut on his cheek. "That should stop bleeding soon enough, but if you'd like I can dab some flour on it."

"Flour?"

"Yep. It absorbs moisture, clots little cuts right up." I nodded to his shirt. "Now, take that off and I'll have a look at your ribs."

Steve turned brilliantly red, which was sort of expected, and also a little bit adorable. He crossed his arms protectively over his chest, like he thought I might try and rip his shirt off of him if he didn't ward me off. He made a face as he did it though, so those guys had definitely gotten him good in the ribs and stomach.

"I'd rather not-" he said uncertainly, but I just gave him a firm look.

"Come on, Steve, please? I want to make sure they didn't crack a rib."

"They didn't," Steve said quickly.

"How do you know?" I stressed. "If they did, then you'll want to take it easy for a couple weeks so that one good knock doesn't break something all the way."

Steve shifted and scowled, but finally relented. He shucked off his jacket, wincing as he did, and pushed the suspenders down off his shoulders. Finally, his hands went to the buttons on his shirt and he began to slowly undo them one at a time, like he was reconvincing himself to go through with this with every one.

It took me a moment to realize why – he was embarrassed. Steve was skinny as a rail, not exactly the idealized strapping young man. I looked at him in sympathy. I knew what it was like to be uncomfortable with your body. I'd always wanted to have curves like Della, with her hourglass shape and large chest, no matter how much she assured me it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I certainly didn't like stripping down for people, even for a physical, and that was with a female doctor and everything.

"Ooh." I hissed in sympathy when I saw the big red splotches starting to darken into purple on Steve's stomach and side. A couple looked like they might have been kicks instead of punches. Carefully, I reached out and began to press gently along Steve's ribs, feeling for any hint of inflammation. It was easy to find and follow his ribs. Lord but he was skinny, his chest bone nearly concave and his ribs clearly visible through his skin.

"Sorry," Steve muttered, his face still bright red. I blinked up at him.

"For?"

"I, uh…" Steve awkwardly glanced down at his chest and then looked away. "Nothing."

I softened. "Oh Steve…" I chuckled and shook my head. "For all I care you could have warts and a leer. You've got a good heart, I figured that out in just a couple days of knowing you. What it's inside doesn't particularly matter."

I was really starting to worry about him. It could be good for you to be that red for that long, but Steve seemed to be trying to set a new record for longest flush.

"Thanks. For that and for this." Steve reached up and prodded his nose again. I swatted his hand lightly.

"Don't keep poking at it, silly!" I scolded. "I think you're fine," I added, pulling my hands away from his ribs. "Maybe sit down with an ice pack for a while, but that's the extent of my medical advice."

"You ever considered being a nurse?" Steve asked with a wry smile as he pulled his shirt back on. "You'd be pretty good at it."

I laughed. "A nurse, me? No." I shook my head. "I get squeamish around blood. Not little cuts, but a lot of blood. I tried to help Della deliver a calf once and I threw up when all of the afterbirth came out." I blushed and winced as I recalled how Della had teased me for it for weeks afterwards. "And then I did it again when the dog started eating it."

Steve looked appropriately disgusted. "It what?"

"It's very rich in nutrients," I recited, trying to sound as blasé and knowledgeable about it as Della had when I'd asked her why in the world the dog thought it looked like a good snack.

"I think I'd lose my lunch too," Steve admitted sheepishly. "That's pretty gross."

"Imagine me in an emergency room. I'd be passing out every ten minutes!"

He laughed along with me, wincing as he did so and wrapping one arm around his waist. "Don't make me laugh, it hurts," he moaned, and I raised a hand to my mouth, trying to smother my laughter.

"Sorry, sorry."


Della

"Adelaide!"

I knew the voice, but I kept walking, adjusting the strap on my purse so that it sat more securely on my shoulder. There were footsteps behind me, man's footsteps trailing me down the sidewalk, but I wasn't even remotely concerned.

"Adele!"

I rolled my eyes at that one and shook my head.

"Adeline?"

"You gonna just run through names until I tell you to stop?" I called over my shoulder. Bucky chuckled as he ran the few feet between us, catching up to walk by my side. I glanced sideways at him. He had a lazy grin on his face and his hands stuck in his pocket. The top couple of buttons on his shirt were open, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and there was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Rough day at the office?" I asked, arching an eyebrow. He reached up and swiped at his face with his arm, wincing a little bit.

"I had to unload a new delivery right before I got off work," he explained. He winked and shook a finger in my direction. I stared at the wagging finger in bemusement. "Don't think you'll change the subject that easily… Delaney?"

"Even if you did guess, I wouldn't tell you," I informed him. "Only a handful of people know my real name and I'd prefer it if that number was lower, actually."

"Come on, it can't be as bad as Buchanan." Bucky made a face.

"Oh, it can," I replied darkly, scowling at the thought.

"There's a guy two floors up from us named Dudley Smythe. Is it worse than that?" Bucky challenged, and I scoffed.

"Yes, it is."

"So I'm gonna have to trick it out of you?" Bucky wheedled, bobbing his eyebrows at me teasingly. "I bet I could do it."

"I really don't think you can," I said smugly. "It's a secret I'll take to my grave, and that's not changing because of you."

"Delois?"

"Stop," I said, trying for firm but it came out exasperated. Bucky held up his hands in surrender. He took a couple quick steps and started walking backwards in front of me down the sidewalk. I watched him nervously.

"You're gonna run into someone, James."

"No. I'm not," Bucky said confidently. "So, when am I teaching you how to make pizza, huh? I'd hate to think of poor Nessie starving because you can't cook properly." I narrowed my eyes at him and Bucky shuddered dramatically. "Does it suddenly seem cold to you?"

"It'd be a shame if I had to cut Steve off from my pancakes just because you couldn't watch your mouth," I said warningly. "He could use some meat on his bones. How about this Saturday?" I added. "I don't have to work and we'll have some free time."

"Sounds good," Bucky agreed cheerfully. "I'll have the ingredients ready and waiting."

A passerby on the sidewalk had to quickly step out of the way of Bucky as he continued to walk backwards. He gave Bucky a dirty look and muttered something about 'kids these days.' I reached out and grabbed Bucky's arm, yanking so that he was walking next to me again.

"You're gonna hurt yourself or somebody else," I scolded.

"Aw, you care." Bucky winked. "I knew you were warming up to me."

I smirked faintly. "You're not completely intolerable."

"Would it make you like me more if I invited you over for a drink?"

My smile fell slightly. "I don't drink much," I said quietly.

I didn't like drinking for pleasure. I'd make a toast if necessary, have a shot of whiskey to help sleep or fight off a cold, but going out for the express purpose of drinking, or buying a bottle to take home for myself, it had never sat well with me. I knew what too much did to people, and logically I knew it was fine to have a few drinks every now and then. But then I'd wonder if that was how my dad started out. A few drinks now and then, and then a few more, and a few more.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a teetotaler."

I huffed. "I'm not a teetotaler. I just don't drink recreationally. Nessie doesn't drink much either," I said defensively, before admitting, "Then again she is a lightweight."

We had reached the empty lot behind out apartment building and Bucky stepped aside to let me go up the stairs first. I nodded to him thankfully as I walked up to the landing.

"I'll see you around, Delancey," Bucky said, looking at me hopefully, and I shook my head as I inserted the key into the lock on my door.

"Not even close," I informed him as he swung open the door to his apartment. I started to step into ours, when his stopped me with a confused, "Nessie?"

Curious, I shut our door back and stepped to look over Bucky's shoulder. Nessie was sitting on the couch next to Steve with a first aid kit open on the coffee table and a bloody rag slowly leaking onto the wood. Nessie had a smile on her face and so did Steve, although he didn't look like he had much reason to be smiling. He had a black eye, busted lip, and a cut on his cheek. He looked from Nessie to Bucky, seeming almost guilty.

Bucky huffed and crossed his hands over his chest. He sounded like a concerned mother as he asked in exasperation, "What did you do now, punk?"

"Jerk," Steve mumbled.

"Some men on the street were saying lewd things to a lady and Steve took them to task for it," Nessie said, looking at Steve proudly. Then she winced and said, "They didn't appreciate it."

"Let me guess, they had a good few inches and a couple dozen pounds on him?" Bucky asked knowingly, and Nessie nodded, looking at Steve like she wasn't sure if she should be admitting this or not. Bucky shook his head. "Steve, if you're gonna pick fights, why can't you pick fights with smaller guys? Granted, that pretty much limits you to little kids…"

"Now you leave him alone!" Nessie said firmly, and Bucky blinked, surprised by her vehemence. His arms loosened from across his chest. "There is nothing wrong with him defending a lady's honor!"

"I didn't say there was!" Bucky said hastily. "But he can't fight back."

"Teach him."

All eyes turned to me as I spoke up for the first time. I nodded from Bucky to Steve. "Teach him how to throw a punch. You want him to stay safer, do something about it, don't just give him down the road for getting beat on. It ain't is fault he doesn't automatically now how to take a swing at someone."

Bucky winced. "That's… a fair point," he relented, and looked Steve up and down speculatively before announcing, "Stevie, from now on you and I are going to hit up that boxing gym three blocks over two or three times a week."

"Boxing." Steve looked uncertain. "I don't know if I'm really a boxing kind of guy."

"You'll never know unless you try," Nessie pointed out. "Please, Steve, give it a try?" she asked hopefully. "It'd really make me worry less if I didn't have to think about you being down an alley with a couple of thugs getting hit on."

Steve had his head down, but Nessie seemed to have gotten through to him. "I'll give it a try," Steve agreed reluctantly. "But I really don't know that I should be getting in the ring with people if you're worried about me getting hurt in fights."

"Who said anything about getting in a ring?" Bucky demanded, looking deeply disturbed at the idea. "I've seen the kind of guys who go in and out of there. You'd be a toothpick to them. No, I'll just teach you how to throw a punch, dodge a little, see how it goes. Try and get some actual muscle on those chicken bones you call arms," Bucky ribbed.

"And maybe you won't have to play doctor again," I added to Nessie. "After all, I know how you get around blood," I added with a grin.

Nessie groaned and covered her face in my hands. "I'd never seen that before, alright?" Apparently she'd shared that story with Steve, because he started laughing, clutching his injured torso as he did. Bucky stood in the middle of it all, looking horribly confused.

"What? What's funny?"

"Don't you tell him!" Nessie protested, and I shook my head.

"Oh don't worry, he's already proved that he can't worm anything out of me," I said smugly.

"Deloris?"

"Oh hush James."