Steve Rogers And Bucky Barnes Images

Heater

Winter, the worst season in New York for someone who barely has a working heating unit in your own apartment. Three hundred dollars wasted in a week and a half due to the heat busting and you almost freezing to death before calling Steve to have him fix it. He would offer you to stay with him at the tower, always using the excise 'I don't want you to get sick', but you would decline to not cause him the trouble of you being there in such a chaotic place when he has other things to worry about.

Really, he can't think about anything else than you when on missions, or even in his room at the comfy tower where the chilly weather couldn't reach him. His mind wouldn't let him focus on any task he did without going to you and your health. The temperature was constantly dropping and dropping, and the snow wasn't getting any lighter, the wind rustling and breaking tree branches along the ground as ice took over from the freezing water.

This was going to be the worst winter since the forties, and he knows it wasn't even this bad. Black ice was taking over every inche of street and surface for anyone to fall on. Cars aren't driving, and schools and shops are even having to take leave because of the rolling blackouts hitting the city.

Curled up in bed, the tv was on, playing softly as every blanket you own was over and under your body. You couldn't hear the movie you were watching due to your teeth chattering. Your body was shivering, and your hair was still wet from the shower you took. This morning.

The heater went out.

Steve had tried calling a few times and got no answer. Now, he was standing next to Tony anxiously as he checked the thermostats in your apartment building.

"Can you go any faster?" He asks with his thumb near his mouth, his temptations being held back by the sliver of hope he has that your heater is still going to keep you warm. If not, you would get hyperthermia from your wet hair. He knows, you called him to say that it wasn't dry yet, and it was hours before.

"Rogers," Tony groans lightly as he works. "I'm going as fast as I can. I'm sure she's..." He slowly trailed off as a red screen pops up to show a few of the apartments didn't have their heat on at the moment. "Which one is hers?" The question was answered the second Steve was out the door without another anxious comment.

If the heater not working wasn't any worse, the power went out. For it being almost nine at night, the sun was already set, so everything was pitch black. This part of New York was probably suffering with the blackouts, so no light outside didn't help the matter.

The phone ringing next to you made your body jump, and another shiver ran through your body as your shaky arm reached out to answer the device. "H-Hello?" Your chattering teeth made it sound like you had a vibration to your voice, and it was the instant put off to Steve as he rounded to the driver's side of Sam's car.

"I'm picking you up," He states. "And before you decline, I can hear you shivering, and you're probably on stage one of hyperthermia. Your hair is wet, you'll get sick. I'll be there in ten." The call ended before you could get a word in, and knew there was no arguing with Steve when he was determined to something.

Waiting in the dark, it seemed like it got colder. You lost feeling in your legs and arms, and you found yourself getting drowsy from the little warmth you found from the blanket beneath you. The only thing that kept you from fully going to sleep, was the front door opening and closing.

Steve pushed open your bedroom door to find a heap of blankets and throws over you. Yet, he could still see you shaking and the slight paleness in your skin. He immediately rushed over and wiped some of your hair from your eyes.

"You're freezing, love," he points out as he slowly runs his arms down the blanket to find yours. "Low fever. Any numbness?" He could see the slight nod you gave him, and took a breath as he thought of any ways to get you downstairs and in the car he left running to keep the heat circulating. "Fuck it," he mumbles and slides his arms beneath you, lifting you from the bed with a blanket he had left on your body.