Chapter Thirty-Five

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Sweat beaded on Sam's forehead, his breath restricted as he did his best not to wake Bucky.

He lowered himself in a push-up, before lifting himself again. He had already been for a run, made his water, hit the gym. He had been awake since midnight, though they gotten back to the hotel around nine p.m..

"Sam?" Bucky's groggy voice made Sam freeze mid push-up, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Uh, couldn't sleep," Sam lied, his stomach's growling becoming more prominent to him as he lost focus. It was only seven in the morning, so Bucky shouldn't have been awake yet, at least not based upon what Sam had seen over time. Nonetheless, he continued his workout, "Thought I'd tire myself out."

"Oh," Bucky stirred, stretching himself out fully with a yawn, "I couldn't sleep well either."

"Nightmares?" Sam breathed, oblivious to Bucky's dislike of his forwardness.

"Yeah," Bucky lowered his voice so that Sam couldn't hear, but Sam didn't need a response to know he was right. Bucky's silence was enough.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Bucky frowned, putting his feet on the ground to observe Sam, "No, I want you to stop doing push-ups while you talk to me though."

"Why?" Sam furrowed his eyebrows in both concentration and confusion, a small grunt escaping his lips. He did every workout until failure, and then he got up and continued until he hit his goal. With his new diet however, his splits were becoming shorter and shorter— he was just too tired.

Bucky shrugged awkwardly, avoiding looking at Sam even though the man couldn't see him, "It's fucking weird."

Sam's breath escaped him for a brief moment as he stifled a laugh, his arms beginning to shake, "Well you're not...exactly normal...either."

"Whatever," Bucky rolled his eyes, before falling quiet as he watched Sam. He studied how Sam was deliberate with each breath, how Sam fought his wet long sleeved shirt from his sweat, how despite how miserable he looked, Sam didn't take a layer off or give himself a break.

"Geez, how many are you going to do?" Bucky made his way to the corner Sam was in, watching his excruciatingly slow push-ups that didn't seem to end.

"I dunno," Sam grunted, not lifting his head as he approached failure.

"Bullshit. Give yourself a break."

Sam shook with fatigue, the strain obvious in his voice, "No."

Bucky continued to stand over Sam, before bending over to his level when he didn't stop, "Seriously, stop it. I heard you leave in the middle of the night and go to the gym. You've done enough."

Bucky was cut off by Sam's forearms and knees finally hitting the ground, a groan of disapproval erupting from his figure. Bucky stared at him, "Finally. You-,"

"Dammit!" Sam cut him off, pushing his upper body up and against the edge of his bed as he shifted himself to a seated position. His head dropped back frustratedly, before he covered his face in anger.

Bucky didn't say anything, observing Sam's embarrassment, but unsure as to why. He squatted down, waiting for his friend to explain. He knew Sam wasn't upset with him, and that he would also elaborate with time.

Sure enough, once Sam's breathing evened out, he grabbed his head and kept his gaze down, "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Bucky sat down, carefully choosing his next question,

"How many were you trying to do?" Bucky asked, noting Sam's frustration.

"It doesn't matter if I couldn't fucking do it, does it?" Sam snapped, before recoiling when he saw Bucky's reaction. He dropped his voice to a mumble, "Sorry."

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