Chapter 5. One Day

Content warning: Description of various medical procedures.

When Joyce woke up in the morning, she was happy to note that her head didn't hurt at all. The rest of her hurt a lot and she groaned as she sat up to get out of bed.

"Let me help you," said a voice, as Bucky entered the room.

"Were you waiting right outside the door?" she asked, taking his offered hand.

"Super soldier hearing," he replied. "A person's breathing changes when their body begins waking up. The groan was louder and confirmation that you're still hurting."

"So, you've been sitting out there listening to me breathe?" She looked up at him and shook her head. "Nothing creepy about that."

A smile crossed his face. "I slept on the couch, but I have the ability to be hyper aware of my surroundings," he explained. "It's a holdover from my Winter Soldier days. There were times I had to sleep but I had to be aware so I could react to the smallest sound."

"Hmm. Similar to whales." Bucky looked at her confused. "They can supposedly keep one hemisphere of their brain awake while the other hemisphere sleeps. Because they're conscious breathers they don't drown as the awake part remembers to rise to the surface to breathe. Although there have been reports of drifting boats finding themselves in the middle of a pod of sleeping whales because they weren't using their engines and that didn't alert the whales."

"How do you know these things?" he asked, grinning.

"A lifetime of looking up information," she answered as they arrived at the bathroom door. "A lot of it sticks. My mind is full of trivial facts. Now, can I go to the bathroom alone?"

He backed away, raising his hands in surrender, returning to her kitchen. Starting up the coffee machine he returned to the couch and folded up the blanket, placing it on top of the pillow. Pulling back the curtains he noted that it seemed to be clouding over and checked the forecast for the day. Rain was supposed to fall in the afternoon. There was a thump sound from the bathroom, and he went over to the door knocking on it.

"Joyce? You okay?"

There was no answer and he called to her again. Still no answer but he heard a small moan and tried the doorknob. She hadn't locked the door and he gingerly opened it, expecting to find her partially undressed. She was on the floor, and he used his right hand to check her neck pulse, relieved it was still there. Lifting her up in his arms he carried her back to her bed and laid her down.

"Joyce? Wake up sweetheart!"

He spoke loudly and shook her shoulders, but she didn't respond. Grasping her right trapezius muscle in his hand he squeezed and her eyes fluttered open. Once again, he called to her and she looked at him, blankly at first then recognition came back to her eyes, and she frowned.

"What happened?"

"You fainted in the bathroom," he replied. "I heard you fall but you didn't respond to me."

"Did I pee my pants?" she asked, suddenly embarrassed.

"No," said Bucky. "I think it was after you went. I want you to stay in bed."

"I'm fine," she answered. "Really, I feel fine."

"Fine people don't faint," he stated decisively. "I should phone for an ambulance."

"Bucky, don't, please." She sighed. "I probably have low blood sugar as a popcorn supper isn't exactly good for you. I'm sure if I have something to eat, I'll be better and feel stronger. Please."

Part of him wanted to call for an ambulance but he also knew she was likely right. Because of the mugging her whole body had been affected and it could take a day or two for her to adjust. With her promise to stay put he went back to the kitchen and poured her a glass of orange juice, bringing that to her first, then suggesting she have some scrambled eggs and toast, or oatmeal and fruit. Joyce chose the eggs and once again he made her promise to stay in bed while he made some.

"Don't make a mess in my kitchen!" she yelled from the bed.

"I won't, Mom, I promise!"

With a smirk, she sat back. She knew he was being cautious on her behalf, but she also knew the fainting episode wasn't likely due to low blood sugar. After he left, she was going to phone the cancer clinic and tell them she fainted. It was one of the symptoms they told her to watch for as she got closer to her next chemotherapy session as it could indicate she was anemic. A few minutes later he brought her scrambled eggs and toast, placing the tray with the plate on her lap. Sitting near her feet he watched as she slipped her fork under some eggs and brought them to her lips, then placing them in her mouth.

"You going to watch me eat every forkful?" she asked, chewing her eggs. "You're making me feel self-conscious."

"Sorry," he replied, sitting back, aware he had been leaning forward. "Just want to make sure you're fed."

"Why don't you make yourself something? I have lots of leftovers. Breakfast doesn't have to be breakfast type food. Any food can be breakfast if you're eating it at that time of day and you would be doing me a favour." He hesitated and Joyce rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to bury it in a plant or anything like that. Seriously, these are good. I'm going to eat the eggs, Bucky, see?"

With an exaggerated look on her face, she took another forkful of eggs and chewed them dramatically, then bit into a piece of toast and rolled her eyes. With his own roll of his eyes Bucky got up and went to the kitchen. Fortunately for Joyce he had already experienced eating leftovers for breakfast, preferring pizza and Chinese as the first meal of the day. She had some pizza, so he put the slices on a plate and ran it through the microwave until it was hot then took it to the bedroom, sitting on the end of the bed as he ate. After inhaling the first piece he looked at Joyce.

"What's really going on?"

"I don't know what you mean," replied Joyce, not making eye contact with him.

"Joyce ..."

She sighed. He was staring intently at her with a steady expression on his face and obviously knew when she was lying or trying to make light of something serious.

"I've only had the one chemotherapy session," she began. "They determined before I started that I was anemic and had to have a blood transfusion before the chemotherapy started as it could also make me anemic. After you leave I was going to call the clinic and tell them I fainted. They'll likely do a blood draw, discover I'm anemic and I'll need another blood transfusion before I can start my next round of chemotherapy."

"Why wouldn't you tell me that to begin with?" Bucky gazed gently at her. "I would understand, you know."

"Because I don't want to be a burden to anyone. Despite you being 106 years old, you still present as a young man. You're not at a point in your life where people ... your family thinks that you need to be looked after. If I can't handle this part of living with cancer on my own, they'll insist I move in with them, or worse, move into a senior's home."

Jabbing at the scrambled eggs with her fork she continued eating them, fighting the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Putting his plate down and taking her plate from her Bucky sat closer and enclosed her in his arms. With his one hand he stroked the back of her head until she rested it against his shoulder. Without saying a word he gave her permission to let everything go and she began to sob. As her clenched fists grasped his shirt her body heaved with the despair she was feeling at that moment. Still not speaking Bucky was just there for her, a grounding presence that she totally needed as all of her pent up emotions poured out of her. After however long it took for Joyce to feel like she had wrung everything out of her body she began to breathe; first in small stuttering breaths then in longer cleansing ones that helped her head clear. Only then did she unclench her fists from Bucky's now wet T-shirt and pat him on the chest, as if to say she was alright and he could release her from his embrace. A white handkerchief appeared in one of his hands that Joyce took, although his T-shirt had taken the brunt of most of her tears. Using it to dry off her face she offered it back to him but he pressed her hand over it; it was hers to use.

"When was the last time you let everything go?" he asked, his voice so low and soft that she almost didn't hear it.

"After I got home from getting my diagnosis about this cancer," she whispered. He looked at her intently. "I went through this before when Bob was still alive, breast cancer. Two months after I rang the bell at the cancer clinic Bob died, a month later the Snap happened and I was a breast cancer survivor without my husband, my rock. It's leukaemia this time around but cancer is cancer, right? I don't know if I can do this." She wiped her eyes again. "Sorry, it's not your problem. When it was Bob and me, we were a team and I thought after we fought breast cancer, we would have the rest of our lives to enjoy retirement. It took me a long time to get over his death and every time my kids suggested I move in with them it was like a part of me got so angry that they didn't believe I could handle life on my own. I'm just a stubborn old woman."

"You are stubborn," he stated, smiling a little. "I'll give you that but you're not old, not inside where it counts. I enjoy your company, Joyce. You have a lot of interests and you've already helped more than you know. But you shouldn't isolate yourself. Listen to me, the world's biggest introvert telling you not to isolate yourself." He cleared his throat. "I'll make you a deal. You're already helping me with my GED and getting used to living in this century. I'm offering to be your ... rock ... while you're dealing with the leukaemia treatment. You can lean on me whenever you need to bitch about it, or cry your heart out again, or just tell me to fuck off when you need to get angry. I've got broad shoulders and I've been through a lot in my life already."

"I couldn't ask that of you." Joyce shook her head emphatically. "Not when you're still in therapy."

"My therapist is terrible," Bucky replied. "But she's who the army wanted so I have to deal with her." He opened his mouth then closed it again as if what he wanted to say was difficult for him then he took another breath. "Just being with you, talking, comforting you, being the one you called for help ... it gets me out of my head and I need that. Last night was the first time I had no nightmares at all because I was thinking of you, making sure to wake you up and confirming you were still alive. Helping you would be helping me and that's the honest truth."

Quietly, Joyce considered his words. She was aware of the outside sounds of cars, people talking as they walked past her place, even the sounds of birds chirping in the trees that lined the streets. Bucky said nothing and didn't move, almost as if he was held in place with a spell.

"What if people say I'm your sugar mama or that you're my toy boy?" she finally asked. "They will say it."

"I'm older than you so it would be wrong just on that alone," he joked, then he saw she wasn't smiling. "I have a lot already to deal with before I'm ready to have a relationship. Knowing how much you love your husband still, I wouldn't dream of expecting this to be anything more than a friendship. If people think it's something physical that's their problem but it would make it look like you have something a much younger man is interested in, wouldn't it?"

"It's usually money," smirked Joyce. "Everything I have is tied up in the house and that's going to the kids. We could say I've hired you to be my caregiver. You make sure I get to my appointments, help me with grocery shopping, or housework. Once I start my chemotherapy I will need that support, but you'll be more than that ... you already are. Calling you my caregiver might keep the gossips quiet."

"Okay," said Bucky, nodding his head in agreement. "Caregiver, I like that." He looked at her plate of eggs. "You want me to reheat that?"

"No, I had enough, but I wouldn't mind a fresh cup of coffee," she replied. She looked at the clock. "Doctor's office opens in a few minutes. I'll call about getting the blood work done. If it shows I need a transfusion, would you come with me?"

Bucky agreed as he picked up her plate to take them all back to the kitchen. He reheated his pizza and ate it as he made her a new cup of coffee and cleaned up the kitchen. When she came out of the bedroom, he handed her the mug.

"I'm going to shower and go over to the lab," she said. "They'll fax the requisition there. They agreed I'm probably anemic again and can get me in this afternoon for the transfusion. I also phoned my bank to get the hold taken off my accounts. I should be able to use my cards today."

Raising her mug to him Joyce left to get cleaned up. When she returned in twenty minutes all dressed, he had finished putting everything away and had straightened things up in the living room, garnering a smile from Joyce when she noticed. The lab, a short walk away, had her requisition and they took the blood, saying her doctor's office would have the result in about an hour.

"Would you mind if we went to my place?" asked Bucky. "I would like to take a quick shower and change my shirt."

"Sure," replied Joyce. "Is it far?"

He shook his head and together they walked the few blocks to his building. Several times Bucky had to slow down for Joyce as he often walked briskly, with purpose, even if he was only going to the bodega. As they went up the outside stairs, he stopped in front of the door before unlocking it.

"I don't have a lot of stuff," he admitted. "A few chairs, TV, a bed, small dresser, and a bookcase."

"I won't judge," said Joyce.

When he opened the door for her she had to hide her dismay at how bare his apartment was. It wasn't even spartan as there were absolutely no comforts other than an armchair. A couple of hard backed chairs and a small coffee table were the only furniture pieces other than the TV and stand. Bucky picked up a cushion from the floor, placing it on the armchair, while rolling up the blankets that had also been on the floor in his arms and disappearing into the bedroom with them. With a sad sigh, Joyce realized he was sleeping on the bare hardwood floor with only a blanket and chair cushion. Taking a few deep breaths she sat on the armchair, gazing at the brick wall where the TV was. On the small coffee table next to the armchair she smiled slightly seeing the GED guide and sexuality books she had recommended. A small sound to her left made her turn her head to see him standing there.

"I'll be in the shower," he said, blushing a little. "It's a little bare, I know, but I can afford it. It's much more than what I had with HYDRA."

"I'll be here," she replied, sitting back to show she was comfortable, even though she felt anything but.

When she heard the sound of the shower she stood up and went to the bedroom door looking at that room. There was a bed, single sized, no sheets or pillow. She assumed it came with the apartment. A small dresser and bookcase were the only other furnishings in the small space. Returning to the living area she checked out the kitchenette that had a sink, an almost empty fridge, microwave, and small stove. That was it. Bucky lived here, considered it home.

"Who takes care of you?"

The whisper from her lips sounded like she was yelling in the silent space. How did anyone expect the man to recover from all the years of abuse in a sad, severe place like this? Didn't he deserve more enrichment than a television? Where were the comforts of life, pictures, plants, floor coverings, a goddamn fucking table with chairs?

"Joyce? Are you okay? You were yelling."

She looked to her side again where Bucky stood beside the kitchen counter, just in jeans and a towel around his shoulders. He must have been drying his hair and she must have yelled her last thoughts out loud.

"No, no, I'm not," she answered. "I'm reacting to this." She gestured to the space that was his apartment. "After all you went through as a PoW, this is all they think you need to re-adapt into society. This isn't a way to live, Bucky."

"You said you wouldn't judge."

"I'm not judging you, but this ... this won't help you get better."

She couldn't help but start to cry again and he held out his arms again offering her a hug. It was startling to feel how warm his skin was but she was upset so she went with the flow until pulling away after a brief time. Wiping her face, Joyce returned to the arm chair and gestured to one of the hardback chairs. Pulling it closer Bucky sat on it and gazed at her, as if he still couldn't quite understand what the fuss was about.

"How long have you been here? How long have you been sleeping on the floor?"

"About five months since I got out of custody," he replied. "This is a palace compared to there. I sleep on the floor because the bed is too soft. The only times I got a bed when I was the Winter Soldier it was like an army cot at best. Usually I had a cold dirty concrete floor. Not like they let me sleep much when I wasn't frozen. Being frozen was my sleep, I guess. I had a thin mattress in the place I lived in Bucharest but it wasn't much different than the floor. I keep this place clean. There are no bedbugs or roaches or rats and considering I wake up most nights with a nightmare it's not like I would do much better in the bed."

"Why no other furniture?"

"You're the first person I've ever invited over, so I haven't needed it," he said. "I don't watch much TV, just the news or the occasional movie. Usually, I keep it on at night so that I don't hear things." She looked at him for an explanation. "Sounds from my memories; gunshots, explosions, the last breaths of my victims ..."

"Oh, Bucky."

Joyce put her hand up to stop his explanation feeling like she got it. Placing her hands together so that they touched her lips she thought for a moment then looked up at him.

"Would you consider moving into my apartment?" she asked. "Take over one of the bedrooms. You don't have to live there full time, just mainly when I'm under chemo as that's when I feel the worst." His face took a dark turn. "I'm just trying to give you options here. Obviously, you think this is better than what you had and I'm sure it is but Bucky, this isn't healthy. There are no comforts here, nothing that says this is a home."

"You're right, it's not a home," he countered. "It's where I sleep at night. It's not a place of comfort which is why I'm usually out of it for most of the day. But it's what I can afford. I grew up during the Depression. We never had much and made do with what we did have. I make do."

He shrugged, as if that should explain it all to her. After waiting a few moments for an answer, he got up when Joyce sat back into the armchair, shaking her head in dismay. Looking at her before he went to his room, Bucky got the feeling she was disappointed which puzzled him. Why would she care how he lived? He wasn't sleeping on the streets. He had shelter, heat, running water, some furniture. It wasn't much but it was his place, and he had the right to live as he pleased. Joyce was standing when he came out of his bedroom, wearing clean clothes. Once he put his jacket and gloves on, he looked at her.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, I'm mad at me," she replied. "I judged you just now. When Bob and I first got married we didn't have much more than this. Our first place was basic, and we scrimped and saved for a down payment on a brownstone, planning to buy one before his dad left this to him when he died. We still bought used furniture, even taking things off the street that had been left for junk and cleaning them up. You went for so many years not having the choice to live the way you wanted. To my eyes it seemed that this is all that was made available to you, but I guess you're at the beginning stage of living your life and it's going to take you time to accumulate things that I take for granted. It was unfair of me and I'm sorry."

Without warning he reached to her and pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. There were no words spoken but Joyce eventually tapped him on the arm and Bucky released her. As she waited outside for him, he locked his door and together they went down the steps to the sidewalk. They hailed a cab and Bucky offered Joyce his hand as they stepped inside. She gave the cab driver the address but asked him to stop at the bank first so she could withdraw money. As promised her cards now worked. When they arrived at the cancer clinic, she paid the driver cash. Standing outside the clinic she looked up at the building then looked at Bucky.

"This won't take long. You don't have a fear of needles or anything like that?"

"I'm not a fan but I'll stay until you're ready to go home," he answered.

As they checked in with the receptionist Joyce introduced him as her friend who had agreed to come with her for her chemotherapy sessions. They took his name, address, and phone number, and although they noticed the gloves no one said anything. Joyce didn't offer any information either. As Bucky waited for them to get her set up in the armchair for her transfusion, he was offered a seat and sat next to her. Several other people were there getting their chemotherapy and he idly glanced at them, seeing how they had someone with them. The unit of blood was brought over and hooked up to Joyce's IV setup. The nurse confirmed that Joyce was scheduled to come in four days for her next chemotherapy treatment.

"You'll have the treatment for five days then we'll stop and give it a chance to fight the cancer," she explained. "Mr. Barnes, will you be able to attend every day with her?"

"I should be able to," replied Bucky. "I'm off work right now but I'm kind of on call, so there is a chance I may have to leave without notice."

"Alright, we'll give you a printout of things to watch for as Mrs. Franklin's body adjusts to the levels of chemotherapy she'll receive. I know that she experienced a lot of fatigue with the first round, but every round is different. Support from a friend or loved one is so important."

She was called away to help with a patient whose IV had stopped working. Joyce studied Bucky's face as he kept glancing around the clinic treatment area.

"Do you have ear pods?" asked Joyce.

"What? No, I don't."

With her free hand Joyce found her air pods case in her purse and handed it to Bucky. Then she fished around for her cell phone and opened an app. Gesturing to Bucky to open the case she took one pod and inserted it into her ear. He offered her the second one but she shook her head.

"Put it in your ear," she said, watching as he did. "I always listen to something when I get a transfusion of a treatment. It helps calm me. Maybe it will help you feel more comfortable. I can see you're nervous and don't tell me you aren't."

Choosing something on the app she made a selection and settled back, closing her eyes, as a voice began reading. She paused the playback just after the introduction and looked at Bucky.

"Sometimes I need to laugh so that I don't cry," she said. "Perhaps you have those days, too."

He squeezed her hand, and she began the playback of Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris. As it played and they listened, there was the occasional grin, then audible smirk from both of them over the different chapters that they got through during the transfusion. Soon enough the unit of blood was empty, and Joyce was disconnected from the IV. After placing a bandage on the insertion site, they were free to go, and they returned to Joyce's apartment. Once she got inside the door and hung up her jacket, she looked at Bucky with a combination of fear and hope.

"Thank you for spending today with me," she said. "It was a weird day. If it was too weird don't feel obligated to be my caregiver. I know you have your own issues to deal with and there are going to be days when this seems like nothing compared to what could happen. I'll understand if you want to step back and just keep to our arrangement with your GED."

Bucky watched as Joyce anxiously wrung her hands together and shuffled her feet a little. Taking his gloves off he stepped closer and held her hands with his own.

"I won't back out now," he said gently. "We had a few rough moments today, but it wasn't bad. I stretched my wings a little, took some constructive criticism, and helped a friend. We are friends, aren't we Joyce?" She nodded. "Alright, I'm going to leave you here as your 24-hour observation window is over. I'm a phone call away and I can run here in 5 minutes so if you ever need me you call. I'm going back to work on my GED, watch another of the movies on my to-do list and then get to sleep early. You text me what time you want me here on Monday morning. If I don't hear from you before then I'll see you Monday."

After a quick hug he was gone, and Joyce was alone in her home. Already, it seemed emptier without the big man there. It surprised her how much he seemed to easily help her. Part of her felt guilty for depending on him, knowing that she should have asked her kids first, but she truly was afraid they would make her leave her home before she was ready. So much of her life with her husband had been here and she wasn't ready to leave it behind yet, not to live somewhere else. Bucky seemed to understand that, and he also made her feel safe.

Out on the street, Bucky looked up at the immaculate home. There were moments today when he felt like leaving, but he was glad he didn't. Fear was a terrible thing and had been his constant companion for 70 years. Much of his PTSD was based on those fears he developed from his torture at the hands of his captors. Joyce's fear was different but no less damaging. She was afraid of dying but she was also afraid of losing her independence, and of being alone. He meant what he told her about how looking after her took him out of his own head. Although he had anxious moments he didn't have time to brood today and that was a good thing. He could be her friend and her caregiver until he was needed elsewhere. Hopefully, it would be long enough until Joyce was ready for the next stage of her life.