Hello, wonderful readers! I can't believe how long it's been since I was on this site! Gosh, I've missed it :) I could go on for pages about the reasons for my unintended hiatus but no one wants to read that so I'll sum it up in less than five words-broken laptop, family, work.
So I need to apologize to everyone who sent me requests-ErinKenobi2893, poetrygirl22, Niom Lamboise, amy. .9, Ecri and all of the guest reviewers. I still have the requests (thank goodness) but unfortunately, I have to start over on all of them since I lost all my work :,( I am very sorry but the wait will be even longer now. (Please don't hate me, I'm still reeling from the loss of my precious word documents)
However, with the approach of Civil War, I couldn't keep silent anymore and I managed to get this little one shot up. (I am so psyched for CA: CW!)
"How is she?" Steve questioned breathlessly, before he'd even shut the back door behind him.
A swirl of dust, carried in the wake of his hasty entrance, flashed through the air, settling in his hair and highlighting the dark circles beneath his eyes. Clutching the glass bottle of medication in one thin fist, Steve struggled out of his cumbersome jacket, carelessly letting it fall to the floor.
Bucky blew out a breath and rubbed his chin with his hand. "She, ah, she's sleeping now."
All motion in the cramped kitchen ceased as Steve froze. "Just sleeping? Not...?" he inquired, tension and fear seeping into his tone where his unspoken words hung heavy.
"Yeah, I checked," Bucky reassured him.
With a glance that revealed his trepidation, Steve hurried to the sink, snatching a cup from the cupboard on the way. The rush of water tumbling from the faucet stuffed up the room with noise. Bucky leaned tiredly against the door frame, watching Steve's nimble fingers uncap the medicine and measure out the correct amount with one hand, while filling the glass with the other.
"Did she say anything before she drifted off?" Steve's voice was calm.
Bucky knew better. Steve was scared. It was there in the forward arch of his shoulders, the trembling in his arms, the curve of his spine.
"Um…" Bucky swallowed.
After grabbing a dishcloth and wetting it with a few sparse drops of cool water, Steve brushed past Bucky, out into the passage that connected the kitchen with the rest of the house. A door separated him from the front room and the staircase to the second floor. He juggled the items in his hands while attempting to open it.
"Well?" he pressed, teeth grit in concentration.
Bucky shook himself and reached around Steve's slim body to twist the knob. Pushing through, Steve mounted the creaky steps with his shabby shoes. He stopped at the top, feet on the fraying rug, shuttered eyes locked on his friend, who propped himself tiredly against the banister at the bottom of the stairwell.
"Coming?" Steve tersely queried.
Reluctantly, Bucky pulled himself up the many stairs, rubbing at the back of his neck. Steve made as if to open the bedroom door when Bucky's words stopped him.
"She did say something."
"What was it?" Steve questioned, not turning to face him.
"Uh…she, ah…she wanted to know if, um, if I-I thought you would…um…" A lump in his throat made speaking difficult for Bucky.
"Just spit it out," Steve advised wearily.
"She asked me if I thought you would…have a great future, or something," Bucky rushed through his message, giving a helpless shrug at the end of it.
"What?" Steve set down his burdens, placing them on the wooden floor planks, his face creased in confusion. "What does that mean?"
"I dunno," Bucky shrugged again, feeling useless and uncomfortable. "She said something about 'doing big things'."
"What'd you say?" Steve inquired cautiously.
"I told her yes," Bucky confessed.
"What?!" Steve exclaimed. "Why would you do that? Why would you say that?"
"What did you want me to tell her?" Bucky defensively protested.
"How about the truth?" Steve stepped abruptly toward Bucky, causing him to back up a few inches.
"You don't know-" Bucky started, attempting to placate his friend.
"Don't know what?" Steve argued heatedly. "Look, Buck, we both know that I have no future." Sticking up a bony hand, he halted Bucky's immediate protest. "I'm too small and sick to do anything more than I already am and we're barely scraping by as it is. You had no right to tell her any different." He glared angrily.
"No right?" Bucky regained his lost ground, drawing himself up to tower over Steve, throwing out an arm to gesture at the closed bedroom door. "I've been sitting in that tiny little room for hours, watching her cough up her lungs right in front of me, while you run around town getting medicine that won't do her any good. It's too late for-"
"I know that!" Steve snapped, eyes haunted. "But I have to try."
"Steve?" A cough accompanied the weak call.
Steve jerked and looked toward the door.
Dragging a hand down his cheek, Bucky fixed him with a hard stare. "Don't deny a dying woman her only comfort," he advised before leaving, footfalls echoing in the stairwell.
Anxiety gnawed at Bucky as he sat waiting on the faded sofa cushions for his friend to descend the staircase. While the pendulum counted out a heartbeat in the glass case of the grandfather clock in the corner, the sun lowered itself through the clouds, disappearing behind the western horizon. October gloom crept on ancient limbs through the heavy curtains which framed the slim window pane glass and Bucky alternated his glance between the staircase and the shadows lengthening on the walls.
Eventually, the noise of the bedroom door opening and closing echoed in the hallway above him and Bucky stood, expecting Steve to ticking clock in the corner almost masked the sniffles at the top of the stairs. Almost. Bucky waited until the ever present noise of the clock's cogs and gears was the only thing he could hear before he mounted the steps. Steve was seated at the top, a picture of defeat-skinny elbows propped on knobby knees, thin cheeks resting on bony knuckles. His red rimmed eyes stayed in their downward position, not once flicking over to Bucky, even as the other man wordlessly sank to sit beside him. For a time, they simply existed in the quiet twilight, neither speaking nor moving. When a horrible coughing fit behind the bedroom door broke the spell, Bucky lifted his hand and settled it along the sharp edge of Steve's shoulder blade.
"Would you like me to get the doctor?" he inquired, voice low.
Steve shook his head slowly, strands of hair sliding across his forehead. "I...I can't afford it." He glanced away, cheeks burning in shame.
Bucky opened his mouth to offer to pay the bill, but Steve interrupted him. "It wouldn't help anyway," he cleared his throat, jutting his chin out defiantly, shoving down his embarrassment and replacing it with a justification. "The last time he was here, he said," Steve licked his lips, already losing his temporary bravado, "He said there wasn't much he could do for her. And that was weeks ago." He bowed his head, lacing his fingers together and cupping the back of his skull with his linked hands. When he next spoke, his voice was a muffled whisper.
"What kind of a person does it make me to wish that it was all over for her already?" He raised tortured eyes at Bucky, the weight of his confession evident in his pained expression.
"The kind who can't bear to watch someone they love suffer," Bucky returned firmly.
Steve's gaze sharpened, scrutinizing Bucky's face, searching for the truth of his assessment. Bucky stared back unflinchingly. Finally, Steve's eyes softened as if he had found what he was looking for and the relief overwhelmed him. The corner of his mouth curling upward, Bucky tightened his grip on Steve's shoulder.