Back to Barnes // the winter soldier

16: stupidly

      I sat up in bed a few days later with a disgusting pressure between my eyebrows. I tried to inhale, only to realize there was absolutely no way my nose would let me. With a sigh (through my mouth) I stood up. I was supposed to be in multiple meetings today and I couldn't speak or breathe right. On top of that, my eyes kept tearing up and I had to grasp onto various pieces of furniture to keep from letting the dizziness inhabiting my head drag me to the ground.

I made it to the shower, but didn't do anything. Instead, I wrapped my arms around me, leaned against the wall and stood there with closed eyes as the hot water ran over my body. During that (not so) soothing shower, a headache formed around my cheekbones and between my eyebrows.

"Great." I sighed as I looked in the mirror. I looked ghostly pale and disgusting. I had not enough energy and too much to do with little time to get ready.

Now I wasn't exactly surprised by this. Every November, that happened. A nasty sickness (of any variety) swept the helicarrier and took home in the weak. I usually ended up getting it, even though I tried so hard to avoid it.

That being said, I had no idea how to get through the day.

I dressed in my usual pantsuit, aimed to throw my hair up (most of it ended up down, not up) and ran over my makeup routine before slipping my shoes on and walking out the door.

I was about ten yards down the hall before I realized I was not the only one in that room.

With the day's tenth sigh in thirty minutes, I turned around and went back into my room. Bucky was still dead asleep on the bed, curled into the fetal position and snoring like a banshee. I apparently tuned that out, because now I could see it vibrating the bed. With a slight smile, I walked back out and found myself in the kitchen and searching through the medicine supply. I found pain killers, cold relief, and vitamin C, then took them all dry. After a cup of coffee and a pull from the coat stash, I was on my way to the control deck.

I must have looked like an idiot at that moment. Agent Brookes, usually high and tight and strict and in-charge and . . . Well, she still had the knife clipped to her bra strap . . . . but nothing else. Yes, I was wearing my pantsuit and heels, but my hair was spilling all over my face, my makeup was sloppily done, and the coat I grabbed (which was now almost hovering around my torso) was an XXL.

Agent Damon glanced over at me. "Plague." He greeted.

"Jerk." I welcomed, walking on.

I sat down a few seats down with a trainee, helping them maneuver their panel and controls, all while I was barely able to see them or the trainee themselves. I just limped through it, promising another session . . . enter noncommittal hand wave.

After that, I went on to a meeting where I definitely wasn't the only sick one. Even the presenter was sneezing every minute or so. The next meeting was the same, except one person had to excuse themselves to throw up.

The final two meetings were called off (all but two people couldn't get out of bed) and I lazily trailed back to my room - nine hours later.

I opened the door and looked around. No noise and no sign of Bucky. I dropped my shoes. "Hey, Bucky?"

Nothing. I was about to enter the bathroom when my peripheral vision caught a closed-eyed Bucky slumped against the side of the bed. I began to worry as I crouched down beside him.

"Hey, Bucky." I held his cheeks in my hand and pursed my lips at the dried tears around his eyes. Good heavens, what happened? "Bucky," My voice lulled, my heart rate picking up seeing as he wasn't waking. "Bucky, honey, I need you to wake up."

He stirred only slightly.

I placed my freezing hand on the back of his neck and his eyes opened wide.

"What?" His voice gave it away. That nasally, raspy voice was detected as only one thing: We shared an illness.

I smiled. "What happened?"

Knowing that Bucky was sick too kind of made me forget about myself. Not that my symptoms vanished, they were just dulled now that I had something else to focus on.

He squinted, looking around as he gained his bearings. "Well," He replied. "I got up a few hours ago to use the bathroom and . . . I fell . . . and I didn't want to get up, so I went back to sleep." He explained, as if it was completely normal.

With a humored sigh, I helped him up and he went to the bathroom. I changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants, falling onto the bed and curling myself into the blankets. Bucky came back out and did the same, and, somehow, his face ended up right against mine.

I smiled. "Hi."

He smiled back. A true and genuine smile despite being as sick as he sounded. "Hi."

I ran my hand against his cheek, feeling the curve of his lips in their crescent position with my thumb. "How do you feel?"

"Head hurts, chest hurts, throat hurts, cheeks hurt, can't breath . . . but I'll live." He replied, metal hand finding the one I didn't have against his face.

"You do seem awfully happy." I speculated, my thumb against his lower lip. I enjoyed the dullness of the movement when he spoke.

"When I wake up to someone like you . . . " He gave a slight shrug.

Thank God I rarely blushed, and I didn't now.

He inched closer until we were two ill bodies with ill space between us under a pile of white sheets in a bubble of hot, ill air. It wasn't bothersome though. I didn't notice much.

Time passed and his eyes closed, and mine followed soon after. I left my right hand on his cheek and the other held his left. I was comforted by his presence in a way I'd never felt. I'd never felt comforted by anyone. I'd never smiled, laughed, giggled, or joked with anyone as much as I had with him. He made it feel like it was okay to be happy for once and that I didn't always have to be a hard agent. Bucky's vulnerability, easy attitude, creeping smile and light touches had made me feel at home since the very beginning, even when I didn't realize it.

What I felt for him wasn't brotherly, friendly, businesslike. It was something I didn't really express to many people, not even my parents. The fact that Bucky made me feel a way no one else could was a bit of a shock.

Problem was it didn't matter. I couldn't leave him with such a big statement if I would eventually leave, if he would eventually leave. And what if he didn't feel the same way? It was childish to feel such a way, really. I'm not sure why-

"I love you, Maisie." A paced voice came from in front of me.

My eyes opened and it was still Bucky. His lips were pursed and his eyebrows knit together and a pink tint rose in his cheeks.

"What did you say?" I asked quietly. No way. Absolutely not.

He groaned. "Don't make me say it again."

I nodded. "One more time."

He exhaled deeply and looked me dead in the eye. "I'm stupidly in love with you, Maisie."

I fell silent. He fell still.

"I'm stupidly in love with you too." I whispered.