bakerstreet | Grasping futilely for the tissues

"How the hell should I know?" His voice drags on like he'd swallowed a fist full of glass. Shuri assured them both that it was probably cryo sickness, but he doesn't recall having ever been this miserable from coming out of status before. Then again, he doesn't remember much of his time as Winter Soldier, it was all too much like watching a movie of someone else's life-- there but never really being the one in control.

But right now he's miserable enough to want to go back, especially if it meant he could get some damn sleep. Every time he tries he's left tossing and turning, exhausted but aching too much to get any real rest.

He appreciates Steve's company, he really does, but his oldest friend's cheerful attitude just makes him want to punch his face off.

He'll be fine. He knows Bucky will be. But he still looks pathetic and miserable enough at the moment that Steve can't help but give a softer, more sympathetic look. "Alright, hang on--"

He holds up a hand in a pacifying gesture. He can tone it down a little bit at least.

And he can also pour a glass of water for Bucky at least, pass it over to him. Maybe it'll help with the hoarseness. "Drink this. You'll feel better. They said you haven't been able to get much sleep..."

He gives the glass of water a dubious look, mostly because thus-far drinking anything hasn't made him feel particularly better, and the pain in his throat leaves him less eager to try again. Steve's probably right though, dehydration isn't helping.

Bucky takes the glass and sits back in his bed, sinking back against the wall rather than slouching. If it had been anyone else, he probably would have obeyed wordlessly, but since it was Steve he's allowed to be prickly without much judgment passed.

"Yeah well, no one's offered to read me any bedtime stories." If they're gonna throw back to all those times Steve was a sick kid...

"What, is that what you've been waiting for?" He gives an amused look as he moves to take a seat on the edge of Bucky's bed. If Bucky feels good enough to be incredulous and complain, then he can handle Steve having a seat near him. He probably won't get kicked out at least.

"I could tell you a bedtime story, I guess. Or at least sit with you for a bit. You know, I always did appreciate it when you'd keep me company. It made it easier to sleep."

Bucky makes an effort to sip some of the water before giving up to set it off to the side, leaving it to balance precariously on the bedside table, only because it's otherwise out of reach unless he turns.

"Please, bore me to sleep with your tales of heroics." There's an amused softness to his voice, despite the grit.

"Hey, you could at least hear them first. How many of your stories did I quietly listen to for you, huh?" He arches a brow, but it should be clear by his tone that he's not really that put off.

After a pause though, he gives Bucky another look over. "How are you feeling anyway? Is there anything I can actually do?"

"Hey, a lot of those were kid stories because you were a punk." He's still rasping, but at least there's a twist of lips to it, lids lowering as he rolls his head back against the wall.

"I mean, you could probably put a pillow over my head and I wouldn't complain."

"If I was the punk, it was only because you hogged up all the stupid." For a moment, everything feels so... familiar, so much like old times, that Steve can't help but feel a little bit lighter... feel some weight off lessen off his shoulders.

It's been a long time, that's all.

"Sorry, I'm not doing that one, Buck. I'm afraid my services only go as far as company, fetching you something to drink or eat, or listening to you complain."

"You already had all the hapless, I had to keep something." He snarks back, licking his chapped lips with a chuckle. Honestly he feels a little better, if only because the familiar ease of company takes him off his guard.

"Mm... Not hungry, but you can come up here because I'm cold." And because Steve looks uncomfortable perched on the edge of the bed.

"Very funny." Well-- that's a simple request. Mostly. He's not entirely sure the bed is meant for two people or not, but he shifts up anyway, settling in beside Bucky with a sigh.

"I guess I can add heater to that list of services, sure. Come here." As natural and familiar as things feel at the moment, he can't help but be keenly aware of what Bucky's been through, that he hadn't even recognized him at one point. He's not entirely sure if his sliding an arm around his shoulders is a welcome thing, but it makes it a little bit easier to feel stable on the bed.

"This okay?"

Two normal people, probably, but under the weight of two super-soldiers, it does creak a little. He isn't worried, everything seems to be made a little sturdier in Wakanda.

He settles into the familiar yet unfamiliar weight of Steve's arm draped across his shoulders. It's been a long time, but instincts and memories win out, and little by little he relaxes.

The body heat is nice, even if he already seems a little overheated, but it's likely just a fever burning it'self out. At least he can take comfort in knowing that his body should recover quicker than most. "Yeah. So where's my story?"

He relaxes when Bucky seems to, tilting his head back. With how things have been lately, he can't say he's seen too many comfortable beds... it's nice for a change, especially with the weight of Bucky's body pressed in against his, radiating off more heat than Steve is giving out.

"You know my stories were never as entertaining as yours..." But-- "What kind do you want to hear?"

"Yeah? that's just because I made stuff up." He folds his arm around himself, closing his eyes, trying his best to relax for the moment. Honestly, he doesn't feel that awful right now, but it seems to come in waves. Until then he can blame the company.

"I don't know, tell me about all your strong, brave deeds in the modern world." It had been a while since they'd reunited, but even still there hadn't been much time to talk.

"I'm gonna let you in on a secret... I pretty much already knew that." But that didn't mean they were any less entertaining, especially when Bucky was obviously excited about them. He watches Bucky for a moment, making sure he's relaxing. Maybe he'll actually get some sleep in a moment.

"I've just been trying to do the right thing, you know." He gives a wry smile. "But alright, I'll try anyway. It feels like a lot has happened since I woke up, you know..."

"Wow, way to hurt a guy's feelings. I have a reputation you know." Or had a reputation anyway, but that was years ago in Brooklyn, and if Steve caught on to most of his elaborate tales, then he probably caught on that Bucky wasn't quite the Casanova that he'd let on.

He closes his eyes, not because he's especially tired but because it's been awhile since he's felt safe enough to do so. Wakanda is an amazing place, but it's still alien to him-- Steve's been the only damn thing that feels familiar enough to make Bucky let his guard down.

"Like what? You saved the world how many times?"

"Had, unless you've met someone you haven't mentioned yet..." If Bucky is feeling better, Steve wouldn't be surprised if he's tried, but-- there hasn't really been much time, has there?

He idly tilts his head in a little towards Loki, eyes darting around the room thoughtfully.

"Come on, Buck... you can give me a hard time all you want, but if the positions were reversed-- are you saying you wouldn't do the same thing?"

"What? Save the world?" He cracks an eye open, thinking. "I don't know, I'm not much of a hero." He snorts. "Especially now. Even in the war most of that glory came from hanging out with you guys." He means the Commandos.

Bucky stops to lick his lips again, having to sit up to get another drink of water now that all this talking was getting to him. It was worth it.

"I went to the museum, you know."

"You didn't have to stay, did you?" But he had, and even after everything, Bucky is still at his side. He gives a wry smile, watching as he moves to sit up. He sighs, letting his arm fall away, stretching it across the bed.

"You did?"

"Someone had to keep you from doing something stupid." He rasps after a hard swallow, scowling at the glass like it was the water's fault he was so miserable. "And look what happened, I was gone and right away you go and fly a plane into the damned ocean."

"Well, I guess that just means you need to stick around and make sure I don't do anything stupid again, huh?" He gives a wry smile, looking up at Bucky.

"Come on, lie back down."

He starts to refuse, just because he's tired and cranky and it means he has to be stubborn by default, but instead he just exhales a heavy sigh, shifting on the bed to scoot far enough down that he can lay back and drop his head in Steve's lap.

It's the blond's fault for taking up half of the bed anyway, what did he expect?

Hey, he's only taking up half the bed because Bucky insisted....

And the head in his lap gives him a bit of a start at first, but Steve relaxes quickly enough. Reaching down, he pushes his fingers through Bucky's hair carefully. Hopefully it's soothing.

"Ever think about a haircut or do you like it long?"

Hey, it was better than him perched awkwardly on the edge.

And it is a little soothing, enough that he doesn't think twice about it. He's sick and miserable and especially pathetic, so it's only fair that he demands a little bit of attention.

Bucky closes his eyes, he probably won't sleep but this is nice too.

"Hm?" he tips his head slightly, but doesn't look Steve's way. "I guess I don't think much about it."

"It suits you anyway." When Bucky tilts into his fingers, he keeps moving them through his hair, smoothing it back away from his face.

"You probably shouldn't think about it."

"Yeah? In a homeless vagabond sort of way?" The corner of his mouth twitches slightly, but he doesn't look, just lets himself relax little by little under the gentle stroke of fingers against his scalp. He's pretty sure no one's done this for him since he was a kid... his mother, maybe his sister. It's nice. It's been a long time since Bucky had the chance to just enjoy a pleasant sensation.

"What about you? you're looking pretty scrappy... enjoying your life as a criminal?" Which he still feels a little guilty for.

Grasping futilely for the tissues

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