Who Am I? » [Stucky]

123. Read All About It

"Thank you, Tony, for keeping me company," Bucky inclined his head in a fashion the declared gratitude and admiration before wrapping Stark into a brotherly hug, slapping the tin plating of his metal suit.

"Any time, Bucky..." Tony replied, copying the gesture and then setting him free from the mess of sprawled arms.

"Shall we?" The Doctor offered, tipping his head curiously and staring on through at Bucky.

"Right away, Doc," Bucky murmured feebly, the essence of a smile stirring his lips into a poorly sloped curve.

The Doctor lead him along meandering corridors which wound like the amazon river, but in more geometric jutting straight lines, zig-zagging this way and that. Still the harsh generic smell of scrubbed floors and bleached sterile rooms lingered in the air. Bucky was escorted to a private ICU room which was reminiscent of the cell he was incarcerated in: with its blank colourless walls and its cold shiny tiled floors. There was a square porthole which allowed one to peep into the squashy room, with its bed, machines and chair. It was cramped, but facilitated privacy.

"This is the place," the doctor confirmed, gesticulating towards the door. "You have until eight o'clock. That's when visiting hours end." With that, he spun speedily around and strode away in his flapping green overalls.

Bucky peeped in cautiously: Steve was reclined at a gradient not far off one hundred and eighty degrees, and he seemed to have a tangled nest of loose dangling wires and clear tubes sprouting out of his fragile form. A condensation clouded cannula was plugged into his flaring nostrils, intravenous drips inserted into his floppy arms which bound him to small satchels of essential treatments, and his finger was pegged to track his pulse, clipping him to a heart rate monitor.

He could hear the sound of the oxygen being pumped into his damaged strained lungs and the - thankfully - steady rhythmic bleep of the heart rate monitor, pinging at an even interval. He was stripped down until his chest was bare and ravelled in bandages like a cotton reel, the bottom segment of his body blanketed by light covers.

He committed himself to confronting the results of his mistakes and entered the room. The prolonged creak and click of the door heralded his arrival. Steve's blue eyes stretched open and the first thing he did was smiled: beaming at Bucky like he was the best thing in the world. And to Steve. Bucky was the best thing in the whole damn world.

"You look like shit..." Steve giggled lightly and then spluttered slightly. But all the while, his smile was as bright as sun and his eyes gleamed as clear as day.

Bucky rolled his eyes at the temerity of his bed-bound boyfriend. Even after a near death experience, he was as audacious and resilient as ever. "You're a punk..." He scoffed, tongue gliding across his lower lip.

"Jerk," Steve spat back with feigned bitterness, scrunching his nose at Bucky.

The two broke out into light-hearted mellifluous laughter, both grinning like a couple of school kids who had been up to mischief. It felt good to laugh and Bucky felt a weight drop from his shoulders and lift from his chest.

Bucky's laughter was the first to die down until it was only a simmering hum, buzzing on his lips. "I'm sorry..." The sinful words finally slipped his lips and escaped into the air like an evaporating cloud of mist.

"You've nothing to be sorry for..." Steve promised him. His hand flailed like a flipper as he reached for the remote to position himself at a more comfortable angle in his bed.

Seeing the disdain for his tangled paralysis and difficulty displayed on Steve's face, Bucky swooped in and handed it to him. He knew that Steve would feel like he let himself down if he didn't at least manage to press the button himself. "There you go, buddy. You've got this..." He whispered. Their hands brushed and Bucky cracked a smile as he heard the heart rate monitor flutter and Steve's heart began pulsing faster.