Harper: Not feeling well and heading home early. Sorry I won't make it for coffee.

James: No need to apologize. I hope you feel better.

Harper: Thanks

Bucky frowned. Harper must really not be feeling well; she was usually a pretty cheerful texter. Since his afternoon was now unfortunately free, the former soldier decided he would try heading to the market at a busier time of day in his bid to handle crowds better.

James: Are you feeling up to continuing the marathon? I read the fourth and fifth books this week and can at least watch that far.

Harper: Sorry, but I'm not feeling up to company.

James: Sorry to hear you're still not feeling well. Is there anything you need?

Harper: No, but thank you for the offer!

That, at least, was a tad more like the usual Harper. Bucky wondered what was ailing the young woman. He also wondered if he should ask. But it was winter, and he reasoned that it was probably just a cold. She'd hopefully be back on her feet by the time their next coffee date rolled around.

Harper: Hey, I have to bail again today.

James: Still not feeling well?

Harper: Decidedly not. I'll let you know when I'm better.

James: Let me know if you need anything, okay?

Harper: Thanks.

Now Bucky was getting a bit more worried. A full week had passed and Harper was still out of commission. He wondered what was going on, and how she was faring on her own. He didn't like the idea of her managing things by herself when she was so sick.

James: Feeling any better?

Harper: Not really.

James: Are you okay?

Harper: Yeah, don't worry.

James: Are you certain there isn't anything you need?

Harper: Are you certain you really wouldn't mind doing me a favor?

James: Of course.

Harper: I really, really hate to ask this of you. Could you maybe pick up some cat litter? I'm really low and I don't think I currently have the strength to lug a bag from the store up to my apartment.

James: Don't worry about it. I can be over in an hour.

Harper: Whenever is convenient for you. I'll leave a key under the number placard on the door so you can let yourself in. You can just leave the litter in the entryway, and please forgive the mess.

James: Is there anything else I can bring you?

Harper: No, but thank you so much for doing this.

James: It's not a problem at all.

True to his word, Bucky arrived at Harper's apartment about an hour later. True to her word, Harper had indeed left a key for him to use. Bucky let himself in, carrying a large bag of cat litter. He knew that she said to just leave the bag by the door, but he couldn't quite bear the thought of a sick, fatigued Harper trying to lug the bag to where the litterbox was in the bathroom. With footsteps silent from decades of covert operations, Bucky made his way to his new destination.

Turning the corner into the bathroom, he was taken aback by what he saw. Harper was seated on the floor in front of the vanity, knees drawn up to her chest, rocking back and forth. Her left arm was wrapped around her shins while her right held a wrapped up syringe. Her right eye was streaming tears and appeared red and puffy. As he stared, trying to put together what was going on, her forehead dropped to her knees and her grip on the syringe tightened.

"Harper?" Bucky asked gently, aware that he was going to startle her.

Sure enough, the young woman jumped, relaxing slightly when she saw that it was him. In a strained voice, she said, "Hi, James. Thanks for picking up the cat litter."

He silently placed the cat litter down and squatted at her side. Leveling her with a serious look, he asked, "What's going on, Harper?"

The young woman glanced at the syringe in her hand and sighed. Offering it to him, she asked, "Put this on the counter?"

He did as she requested, noting that Harper had continued the rocking motion of her body. With her right hand free, she curled her fingers into a fist and pressed it firmly against her right temple. Worry growing, Bucky pressed, "Harper?"

"I get cluster headaches," she said. "I can only use that injection twice per 24 hours so I was trying to decide if I should take it now or when it comes back tonight after I go to bed."

"I don't understand," he admitted, bright blue eyes watching tears continue to fall from only her right eye.

She winced and said, "Can we talk later?"

"I don't know what's going on, but I don't feel like I can leave you like this," he frowned.

"Then hang out here for an hour while this passes," she snapped, eyes closing tightly in evident pain. She stood suddenly. "I'll be in my room."

The young woman pushed her way past him and disappeared into her bedroom next door. Bucky stood there for another moment before heading back out to the living room. He took a seat on her couch and pulled out his phone. He had begun using it to access the internet and was getting quite a bit better at it. He opened up Google and typed in "cluster headache." Navigating to a webpage, he began to read.

"Suicide headaches?" he muttered, surprised. From Harper's room he heard a choked sob, urging him to continue reading.

The next half hour was spent educating himself about the uncommon condition Harper reported having, his stomach churning all the while. He read about the excruciating, unilateral pain of cluster headaches. About how women reported the pain as being worse than childbirth. About how they were colloquially called "suicide headaches" because the pain was so bad that some people reported suicidal thoughts during a cluster cycle and because chronic sufferers sometimes saw no other way to escape the pain. He read about how the headaches came at regular intervals, sometimes several times a day, for weeks or months at a time. He read about the exhaustion that would hit after each one.

About an hour and ten minutes passed before Bucky heard the door to Harper's bedroom creak open. He shot to his feet, ready to rush to her aid. She looked alright, all things considered, as she made her way into the living room with Aslan following dutifully at her heels. He watched uncertainly as the young woman lowered herself onto the other side of the couch and pulled a throw blanket over herself. Her pallor was pale and her hairline was still damp with sweat. Her right eye looked better now, though both showed evidence of crying. She arranged herself so that she was facing him, leaning her side heavily against the back of the couch.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked gently.

"Water?" she requested, clearly having accepted the notion of accepting a little of his help.

He disappeared to the kitchen, quickly returning with a tall glass of water. He handed it to her, noticing Harper's hand shaking as she lifted it to her lips. Once she had drained a fair amount from the glass and placed it on the coffee table, Bucky sat as well. He wasn't sure how to broach the topic, and settled for, "I'm sorry you have to live with this, Harper."

"Me too," she agreed, and he could see from the wariness and pain in her eyes how earnest she was. "Do you have any questions?"

"How often do you go through cluster cycles?"

"Depends. Usually every four months or so."

"How long do they usually last?"

"Three to four weeks."

"With how many headaches each day?"

"Two to three. This time three. Which is why I've been missing work. I'm so fucking tired, I can't…" Harper broke off, her hands flying up to cover her face as a sob escaped her lips.

Bucky's frown deepened; he couldn't fathom having to live life knowing that any moment he could, or would, be hit with excruciating pain that would then strike every day for weeks on end. He stood and hurriedly grabbed a box of tissues from the bathroom, returning to offer it to her. She accepted them with a wet sniffle.

"I read that breathing pure oxygen can be even more effective at relieving pain than the injections."

"I used it back home, but it's been nearly impossible for me to get it here because of my insurance. The injections can be mailed; an oxygen tank can't be," she explained.

"Gosh, I'm really sorry, Harper. I know that's a totally inadequate, obnoxious thing to say, but I really can't even imagine."

"It's not your fault," she managed, rubbing at her eyes. "This is just my life."

"I know; it just feels wrong. For someone so kind, you've really been dealt a bad hand."

"Thanks. You know a little something about that, too, so I suppose I'm in good company."

"Me?"

"Obviously."

"Not at all."

"Sure," she drawled sarcastically. "You're lucky I'm so damn tired."

Refocusing on her, Bucky asked, "So you're a week and a half into this cycle?"

"Yup. Should be maybe halfway there. Maybe a little less. It's hard to say."

"You've done a lot for me since we met; is there anything at all I can do to help?" Harper stared at him for several long moments. He grew uncomfortable and added, "I mean, I know there's nothing I can do about the pain, but…"

"I'm debating what I hate more: someone seeing me during a cluster or being alone during one," she explained. "It's embarrassing, but also scary and isolating. And I don't much care to receive help."

Bucky chuckled lightly. "I've noticed. Odd, given your life revolves around providing help."

"Don't analyze me right now," she sighed, eyes falling closed. "I'm too tired for that. Makes me uncomfortable."

The former soldier didn't ask what she meant. He could see that she lacked the energy to put forth any of her usual front. She wasn't the cheerful professional or the young intellectual she always portrayed herself as. Those veneers were removed, allowing him a look at the version of herself Bucky had only glimpsed until then. He had already developed the suspicion that she was more troubled and unhappier than she let on, and he was seeing it now. If their positions were swapped, he would hate for her to see the darker sides of him.

"What if," he suggested gently, "I stay tonight, and you can decide tomorrow whether or not there's a way I can help?"

"You gonna be okay sleeping on the couch?" she asked. "My room is way too messy to offer up."

Bucky gave her a small smile. "It will be far from the least comfortable place I've slept."

"Okay," she agreed, eyes still closed. With a sigh, she asked, "You still not into physical contact?"

"I've never said I dislike physical contact," he replied evasively.

Harper huffed and said, "Avoiding an admission of what we both know to be true isn't cute. If you expect me to let you into this part of my life, you can at least be straight with me."

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a stretch as Bucky contemplated her words. He understood her point entirely, and honestly agreed. The problem was within him, as it had been since meeting her. How much of himself could he safely share with someone else? How much of himself did he deserve to burden this wonderful young woman with? He had decided to be James, and maybe this was the time to commit to that.

"Honestly, I really have no idea," he admitted. "I don't remember the last time I experienced purposeful physical contact outside of… combat."

Bright cinnamon colored eyes were revealed to him briefly before her eyes fell shut again. A small smile twitched at her lips. "Well, I am tired and freezing."

"Oh," he replied uncertainly.

Harper extended her hand toward him, letting it hang in the space between them while he struggled to figure out what she expected of him. Finally, he took her hand and gently pulled her up into a sitting position. The dark haired woman groaned and scooted closer to him, crossing over fully to his end of the couch. His body froze and tensed, but he didn't stop her as she shifted and curled up against him. The contact was different. It wasn't threatening or painful, like any of the contact he experienced as the Winter Soldier. It wasn't brotherly, like he had experienced in his army days. And it wasn't sexual, like he had experienced with the dames back in 1930s Brooklyn.

"Acceptable?" she asked.

He took a slow breath before replying, "Yeah, I think so."

"Good, because you are as warm as I expected," Harper replied, letting her head drop to his shoulder. "Apologies for being a wreck with unwashed hair."

"You're not a wreck," he disagreed.

"You're too kind," she scoffed. "Want some of this blanket?"

Bucky declined, "No, I'm fine."

"Okay. Netflix?"

The next several hours were spent watching random movies. At some point, Bucky realized that Harper had fallen asleep, still leaning into him. He thought little of it, and selected another movie he had been meaning to watch.

As the credits began to roll, a high-pitched whine sounded from the woman on his shoulder. Harper sat up, roused from sleep. She pressed the heel of her hand to her right eye. Bucky placed a gentle hand on her back, hoping to provide even a little bit of comfort.

"Oh god," she sobbed, burying her face in her hands and beginning to rock back and forth in place. "James, the medication?"

He stood immediately, hastening to the bathroom to retrieve the syringe she had left on the vanity earlier in the day. Returning to the couch, he offered it to her. Harper took it and ripped the protective packaging off in a rush, the cap to the syringe closely following. She threw the blanket off of her, tugged up her t-shirt, and pressed the tip of the unit to her stomach. Her thumb clicked the unit to administer the medication. Bucky watched her place the cap back on the unit, sliding it back into the plastic. She turned to look at him, her eye puffy and streaming tears.

"I have a sharps bin in the cabinet in the bathroom," she said, offering him the wrapped up syringe.

He took it, again moving to the bathroom to dispose of the item. He opened the cabinet below the vanity, seeing the pedal wastebasket with a bright green biohazard bag tucked over the rim. He stepped on the pedal, lifting the lid. The evidence of the pain Harper had been experiencing in the past week and a half met his eyes. A bin half full of emptied syringes.

Bucky returned to the living room, looking on with a painful tightness in his chest as Harper still sat on the couch rocking forward and back. A tissue was tucked beneath her nose, stemming the flow of mucus running in conjunction with the tears from her right eye. Harper let out a heartbreaking groan of pain. The former soldier sat beside her again, hesitating for a moment before wrapping an arm around her.

For a while, Harper gave no indication that she was aware of the gesture. Eventually, she slowly began to stop rocking and turned to press the left side of her face into his shoulder. She kept the right side of her face hidden behind a wad of tissues.

"The sumatriptan is starting to work," she muttered. "The pain is manageable enough that I feel like I can be more still."

Bucky ran his hand slowly up and down her arm, surprised at how comfortable he was touching her like this. Maybe the fact that he could do something positive for another person was a big part of the surprise he was feeling. Or maybe it was the fact that Harper was trusting him to touch her, to comfort her, as a friend.

Another hour passed before the tension left Harper's body and she could vocalize any kind of relief. With a grumbled explanation that she was going to bed, the young woman forced herself to her feet. With her large cat following behind her, she disappeared into her bedroom. Bucky shifted to lie down on the couch, mind whirring after the day he'd had.

A/N: Thank you for the reviews, favorites, follows, and views. I'm really excited that there is interest in this story so quickly. I would truly appreciate continued feedback. Also, it is worth mentioning that I am not a cluster headache sufferer myself and everything I have written about in this story has come from a lot of online research and reading about people's experiences on message boards, forums, etc. If there are any details I got glaringly wrong, I do sincerely apologize and can try to make adjustments as much as possible or otherwise note my error. Thank you again for the continued support.