Who Am I? » [Stucky]

26. Apologies and Resentments

Bucky lay wide awake, flat on his aching back glaring at the boring whitewashed ceiling, unable to shut his burning heavy eyes, fearing what violent and haunting images that his subconscious might conjure to torture him, to flagellate his already low self-confidence, to rub salt into his exposed war wounds. Although his eyes stung and watered he didn't let himself sleep. He couldn't. He didn't want to.

He listened to the flat as the seconds, minutes and hours ticked by, time going slower the more he tried to wish it away. Once he was immersed in his senses and had learned an affinity for the environment he could hear every last tiny noise, every last slosh of the rusting water pipes running beneath the floor like the complex circuitry national grid, the rhythmic continuous plinking patter of the tap dripping like the ping of a triangle, the creak of the floorboards as they heated and cooled like straining wood and the sound of footsteps in the stairwell beyond the door. He became attuned with his surroundings and lay listening to the building.

Slowly the sun rose over the city, the golden orb ascending high into the sky, a shaft of light shot through the curtain, the long thin beam hitting the wall opposite him and slowly scaling the wall as the rising sun moved into place. Birds chirped their early morning song, heralding the upcoming day like the fanfare of trumpets announcing the arrival of a king.

It wasn't long before he heard the sound of shuffling and broad and noisy yawning from Steve's bedroom, followed by the sound of heavy plodding footsteps stumbling over towards the door. There was a struggled rattling as he fumbled with door handle in his sleep-ridden state. The door was flung open, unintentionally wide, and hit the wall with a sickening crack. Steve was unaware of his strength that time in the morning.

Steve rubbed at his eyes and wiped at his face with his hands as he staggered into the room and away into the kitchen. He peered at Bucky on his way past.

"Morning, Bucky..." Steve smiled softly, his eyes shut with glowing post-sleep drowsiness, euphoric after his good rest. He had gone a whole night without a nightmare or waking up - it was the first decent sleep he had had in at least three months and he felt on top of the world.

"Morning..." Bucky hoarsely replied, his throat dry and sore, not having had a drink for about 12 hours had his throat as dry as Death Valley.

"Did you sleep well, buddy?" Steve grinned over his shoulder, charged up with energy for the new day.

His normally well done hair that was moussed across in a slender and controlled wave of a small gradient was tousled and roughed up, small blond strands standing up and others swept in the wrong direction. He was wearing nothing but the loosest top he had and a pair of pants, both of which clung to his frame like Natasha's cat suit.

That was a thought... Natasha.

"Fantastically..." Bucky lied through his teeth, making a very convincing liar; he had been doing it an awful long time now and had become something of an expert. "How about you?" He gruffly asked, clearing his throat with a loud chortling cough like a car engine refusing to start.

"Perfectly... I haven't had a sleep that great since I can remember..." He grinned at Bucky, his teeth still perfectly white and his smile just as pleasant and full bodied at the early hour of the morning. "Coffee?" Steve offered, holding up the empty clear glass jug.

"You betcha..." Bucky forced a struggled smile, his tiredness swallowing him whole. He felt more inclined to shut his eyes now that Steve was there with him. Nothing could get to him whilst Steve was there. He was protected.

"What'd you dream about?" Steve tried to make conversation whilst he rustled up a caffeinated morning brew for the pair of them.

"Not much. Nothing interesting. How about you?" Bucky grumbled reluctantly, losing the ability to talk.