Two Sugars

Chapter Six

Your eyelids peeled open. You were home.

If it hadn't been for the throbbing pain that started radiating from your neck the moment you became conscious, you might've fooled yourself into thinking that the incident outside the bar had been a dream, that there was no way you'd ever actually be stupid enough to try something like that for real. You attempted to swallow but it felt like there was a dry golf ball blocking the back of your throat.

Closing your eyes again, you held your breath and listened intently, trying to tune out the sounds of the road outside. You were desperate to know if he was still here. There was no way in hell you'd have ended up back in your apartment unless he'd brought you, any random bystander would have either packed you into an ambulance or left you unconscious in the gutter. You wouldn't have blamed him for doing either.

Easing yourself into a sitting position, you reached for the glass of water on your nightstand and took a couple of tiny sips, wincing as the muscles in your throat contracted. Fuck, did it hurt. Given the choice you might even have considered taking another alien gunshot to the stomach over this.

You swallowed your last sip, looked up and saw Bucky standing in the doorway. He must've heard you stirring. He looked pissed.

"Hey." You jolted at the sound of your own voice, it sounded like glass crunching underneath a heavy boot.

"How's the pain?"

"Bad. Do you have anything I could take for it?"

"You really think you could swallow painkillers right now?"

Your head collapsed forwards and you rubbed your eyes harshly, the agony causing a thick cloud of fog to start forming in your mind. You had no idea what you were going to do. Bucky briefly disappeared from the doorway, returning after a second and moving over to the bed with something cupped in his palm. He took your glass of water and emptied his hand into it. Crushed up pills.

He held it out to you. "Drink."

"Thanks." You started taking tiny, rapid sips again but paused when he stood up and began heading for the door. "Wait, can we talk?"

"You need to rest."

"I need to explain."

"We'll talk later," he nodded towards the glass, "after they've kicked in."

You just nodded and let him go. You weren't willing to push him any further, not while he was being this stern. You didn't want to risk pushing him away again.

It took you a good ten minutes to finish off the glass, but the throbbing didn't begin to subside until about half an hour after that. As soon as you could think straight, however, you were on your feet. You figured Bucky had probably intended for you to rest a little longer than that but you were absolutely bursting for a wee, so you pulled on a sweater and shuffled through to the front room.

He was sitting on the couch in silence. He didn't look over as you walked into the bathroom, his fingers tapping against the upholstered arm, a brooding expression on his face.

He still hadn't moved when you came back out.

"Can we talk now?" The tapping stopped abruptly but he stayed silent. "Please, Buck."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"Anything. Jesus, scream at me if you want to. Tell me I'm an idiot, call me an asshole, just give me any hint of what you're thinking."

You noticed his eye twitch slightly every time your voice broke or faltered, his gaze staying fixed to the floor. He flexed his jaw as he considered his next words. They came out barely louder than a whisper.