Tripod

Sam and Steve always run together on Saturday mornings, like a standing date. Sam tries to run more often during the week, but work sometimes makes crossing paths impractical. They also have movie night which is usually preceded by a fancy dinner, alternating who is cooking and who does the dishes. It feels domestic in a way that Sam wasn’t aware he needed until the empty side of his bed feels cold and he dreams of Steve warming it up.

Still, it takes a while for Sam to get his nerve up to say something. He doesn’t want his invitation to cross any lines they can’t come back from. But when he wakes up to a fourth coughed up hairball on what should be Steve’s side of his bed, now is the time.

“He doesn’t puke on your bed,” Sam complains.

“So shut your door?” Steve suggests, not only unhelpful but also oblivious.

Sam rolls his eyes and goes with a different tactic. “I bought this house so I could have a guest bedroom.”

Steve slumps just a little before recovering. “Okay, I’ll start looking for a place to move out.”

Sam smiles. “How about my bedroom?”

Steve looks confused for a moment before the suggestion catches up with him. Then he blushes and stammers out an affirmative. Sam wraps his arm around Steve’s shoulders and shakes him close a few times before planting a kiss on his cheek. Steve blushes harder as Sam says, “Oh come on, like I’d kick you out over a few hairballs.”

Steve moves his clothes into the other half of Sam’s closet and buys hairball cream and a brush.

“Can you scoop the litter box before you leave?” Sam calls across the hall.

“Sure,” Steve says, pulling his running shirt over his head.

“Thanks, I’ll make spaghetti for dinner,” Sam says. “See you tonight.” And then he’s out the garage and off to the VA.

Steve adjusts the string on his shorts and ties his shoes before leaving out the front door. He returns home, dripping sweat while he rehydrates with four glasses of water. He sets the empty cup on the counter with a heavy sigh before jumping in the shower. After putting on a fresh set of clothes, he’s out the door to go visit his best girl.

“We had a three legged dog once,” she tells him. “We named him Tripper,” she laughs. The wrinkles around her eyes crease deeply and Steve smiles too, big and bright. She turns to him seriously and says, “Make sure you watch what he eats.”

“The vet gave us a tips sheet,” he nods.

Steve leaves the nursing home in the early afternoon with a heavy heart. Peggy had forgotten him when he’d returned from the restroom. He couldn’t leave her so soon after she thought he’d arrived. He circled back through the easy topics, new information so he wouldn’t have to suffer through things she could no longer remember. She told him for a second time about Tripper, and gave him the same warning. He listened with the same interest the second time around.

Upon returning home, Steve takes the tiny trash can from the garage and goes around to the three litter boxes they have scattered through the house. Only one of them is dirty and he returns the trash can back to the garage.

Sam makes spaghetti for dinner, and they talk about their days. Steve doesn’t tell Sam that Peggy’s forgetting a little more. Sam’s really good about leaving his counselor mode at work, but it still seeps in sometimes and Steve isn’t in the mood to deal with the other emotions associated with losing Peggy before he’s ready. Sam tells Steve that it was someone’s birthday so everyone got bagels.

Steve takes care of packing away the leftovers and puts the dishes in the sink to deal with in the morning before meeting Sam in the living room for a movie. Sam is slowly making Steve watch through his Greatest Hits. Sam has also revised his Greatest Hits to not include some of the movies after he shows Steve. “Okay, plot aside, those dinosaurs look real,” Sam defends Jurassic Park.

“I guess if I saw one I’d probably scream,” Steve shrugs as he powers down the entertainment system and sits up from where he’d been using Sam like a pillow.

“Probably, huh?” Sam asks skeptically.

“Probably.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a little shit?”

Steve leaves for his run really early and Sam is gone to work by the time he gets home. After a shower, he makes his way to the kitchen to start breakfast, noticing that the dinner dishes from the night before are settled into the drying rack next to the sink. Steve smiles, feeling just a little sheepish for having shirked his duties off on Sam. It wasn’t intentional; he’ll make it up to him.

He stops by the fancy cupcake store to pick Sam up the beautiful looking Strawberries & Cream one he gushes over secretly when he thinks Steve isn’t watching. He also picks himself up a slice of turtle cheesecake.

When he returns home, he sequesters himself in the living room with Bucky’s file. Sam arrives home and smiles fondly at the cupcake waiting for him on the kitchen table. Then he fusses over Steve, physically plucking the file out of his hands when he sees the tear tracks down his face.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” Sam asks.

Steve doesn’t know.

Sam sighs and waves Steve to move his legs so he can sit on the couch next to him. Steve resettles his legs over Sam’s lap. There’s a tense moment of silence and attempted comfort while Sam gathers his thoughts, trying to keep that counselor voice out of this exchange. “Is this. I mean, we’ve talked about this. If you want to go after him, you have my support.”

Steve sniffles and rubs the snot from under his nose. “I know,” he says. “And I appreciate it. But I don’t want to hunt Bucky down, he’s not an animal.”

Sam rubs Steve’s calf with empathy. Tripod jumps on Steve’s chest and cat loafs, bleating rumbly purrs and random chirps when Steve scratches him under his chin.