“Buck, you can’t get sick, right?” Sam desperately tries not to sound as terrified as he feels. There’s no point in panicking now, not after Bucky has been already exposed to a biological weapon in a form of virus, not when he’s been transported to a place where he can be simultaneously monitored and kept in isolation.
Not after Sam already made the decision to leave the reconessans to Bucky, and Bucky alone.
“Sam,” Bucky says, his voice as clear as if there wasn’t a bullet proof glass between them. “I can see you feeling guilty. Stop it. Or I’ll call Sarah so she can kick your ass on my behalf.”
He’s sited on a cot in an isolation chamber in the S.W.O.R.D. 's NY headquarters - the closest and most secure place he could have been transferred to after the breach in the illegal biological weapons factory he was checking.
According to the notes he was able to secure before the breach, he might have contracted a deadly and a highly contagious virus - a mix of various viruses already existing in the world - and, according to the notes, he should be already experiencing first symptoms.
The only problem is that he’s Bucky, with his knock-out version of the supersoldier serum and his absurd ability to ignore his body until it gives up, so the only thing that can be done is to wait and see.
Sam hates it with every fiber of his body.
Bucky remains surprisingly philosophical about the whole ordeal; the only thing he insisted on was having the cot situated as close to Sam as possible.
Sam glances at the monitors showing all the basic life symptoms: body temperature, blood pressure, blood pulse - everything remains all within norms and Bucky looks perfectly healthy, if a little bored. He has his phone, since it’s already contaminated, but the room is sparsely furnished and lacks any additional equipment.
“Buck, you didn’t answer my question,” Sam insists when Bucky falls silent again.
“Sam,” Bucky’s voice is impossibly soft and he shifts to face him fully. “I don’t know. I think I remember being sick but it might have been the injuries. Or the lack of food. You know we need to wait, right?”
Of course Sam knows. Even if Bucky doesn’t show any symptoms he still might be contagious - whether the virus is detectable in blood samples remains to be seen. The notes provide not enough information to make any decisions.
Sam clutches his phone, stopping only when it gets painful. He knows that if the virus really works, Bucky is one of the few that still have a chance of survival. He knows how lucky they are that a bigger team wasn’t dispatched or that there weren’t any other people around and yet, there’s nothing he’d rather do than to enter the isolation chamber and simply put his arms around his fiance. There’s no more than half a meter between them, but Bucky has never felt so far away, his face emotionless as he sits on the cot, looking down on his own knees.
Time goes impossibly slow.
Sam calls Sarah and briefly describes their situation, promising to call if anything changes. He tries and fails to eat some chicken noodles, brought to him from the canteen by some terrified intern. Reads another completely useless article about biological weapons.
The virusologist and two doctors responsible for working on Bucky’s case come down and talk to them. Explain that while they try their best, there’s no magic cure.
Confirm that they need to wait.
Sam calls Strange then, who listens without interruptions and then kills all his hopes with a single sentence:
“Magic doesn’t work like that. I am sorry, Sam. We need to wait and see what happens.”
Sam ends the call without a word and curls on the chair, looking over Bucky’s vitals and then on the man himself, and then sighs and turns the microphone connecting him to Bucky’s room once again.
If waiting is all they can do right, he’ll wait.
***
He’s close to falling into an uneasy sleep when Bucky suddenly lurches toward the toilet and almost misses it as he starts retching.
It feels as if the string to which the sword hanging above their heads was attached, has just been cutted. Sam glances at Bucky’s vitals - his pulse and blood pressure both elevated - before he glues himself to glass separating them from each other.
“Buck,” he calls softly when the horrible noises finally subdued, leaving Bucky whiteknuckled as he leans over the toilet for a few more moments. “Please tell me you’ve eaten that 5 days old takeaway we had in our fridge.”
Bucky spits and slowly stands up, his steps unsure and a little clumsy as he moves toward the sink. He remains silent until he rinses his mouth and goes back to his cot.
“I wish I could, Sammy,” he says quietly, his voice hoarse and meets Sam’s eyes with his own, bloodshot and scared.
“We’re going to get some blood samples,” the virusologist announces through the speakers. “We have a nurse getting into the hazmat suit right now. Was there blood in your vomit?”
Bucky is silent for a moment before he nods his head.
Sam’s heart sinks to the ground.
The nurse, wearing a hazmat suit, hooks up an IV, providing Bucky with drugs for the elevated blood pressure and fever. Gives him some anti-nausea drugs, the dosage being more of an educated guess than an actual measurement.
Bucky remains silent through all of this, with no outward signs of distress.
He pukes again as soon as the nurse is gone from the chamber and then sits down on the floor, right next to the glass separating him from the rest of the world.
Sam immediately sits down on the floor, his hand touching the glass.
“Hey,” he says softly, forcing down the panic and the need to see Bucky’s vitals, to have that visual confirmation of the beating of his heart. “I could wear one of those suits, you know. Sit with you.”
Bucky shakes his head.
“I want to see you,” he murmurs. “In this suit… It doesn’t even seem human and the voice is all distorted. I want to see you, Sam.”
He reaches out with his hand, touching the glass momentarily, before it goes limp, as if he wasn’t strong enough to keep it extended.
Sam swallows; he can’t run into the isolation chamber, wouldn’t even be allowed to, neither by people around or the security systems.
“What do you want, my love?” He asks instead, trying to make his voice sound steady, even though he knows Bucky can read the fear in every line of his body.
Bucky was always fluent in Sam, even before they were a couple.
“Tell me about yourself,” Bucky requests, his voice too quiet. “Things I don’t know, things you wanted to tell me but there wasn’t time.”
For a moment, Sam’s mind is empty. Bucky coughs wetly, without changing his position and Sam’s eyes immediately go to the monitor; the pulse is slower now, but not alarmingly, the temperature climbing slightly above the norm.
There’s nothing Sam can do - so he follows Bucky’s request and starts talking.
When we moved from Harlem to Delacroix I went just a bit crazy. You know, all those open spaces! Our backyard seemed endless for me then, and I could just open the door and be right there, no shitty elevators, no delays, just three steps and I was free.
My mum had to drag me home so I’d eat, those first couple of months, I just loved it so much.
Bucky snorts and shakes his head.
“Little Sammy going wild, huh?” He comments and clears his throat, going a bit paler. Sam tries not to pay too much attention to that.
Wild doesn’t cover it! The backyard wasn’t enough for me, after a week I started sneaking out. My mum told me once that the whole town was keeping an eye on me for them, in exchange for the most delicious seafood.
The chuckle is a quiet one, ending in a wet sounding coughing fit. Sam’s eyes flicker to the monitors and then back to Bucky, who’s slumped now, but still gives him a tiny smile.
“Go on,” he requests with a hoarse voice and Sam was never good at saying “no” to him.
Then my parents sat me down one weekend and told me that I’m gonna be a big brother. I remember, I got so afraid that my mum was gonna give birth any minute now that I stopped going out under my own volition. They tried to explain to me that we have a rough estimate for the birth date but I couldn’t believe them. In my mind, it wasn’t possible to know when the baby decided to go out. Mum told me I was annoying the living shit out of her but couldn’t really stop me. Right after school I was back at home, glued to her side, poking with my fingers at her stomach until she’d shoo me away, and then I was back again.
He glances at Bucky, who’s now practically lying on the floor, his breaths a bit too forcibly calm. He blinks slowly, catching eye contact with Sam and nods his head, very slightly, as if asking him to continue.
I don’t know what exactly I expected, but definitely not a newborn. I mean, I guess our parents did tell me that for at least a year she’ll be mostly eating, sleeping and screaming but it just flew right over my head. So the first time she went into that full shrieking mode I just fled to the backyard and decided that I maybe don’t really want to be a big brother. At least I didn’t ask my mum to return her to the hospital.
Bucky makes a faint noise at that but doesn’t try to comment.
It took me some time to get used to her, but once she started smiling and I could make her laugh with silly noises, I was bought.
There’s another faint noise from Bucky but it’s not related to the story; he leans to the side and gags, until blood and bile come up, strikingly red on clinical whiteness of the floor.
"Don’t. Stop." Bucky forces out and Sam's hands are shaking but his voice keeps steady as he continues, watching a new nurse in a hazmat suit walking in, injecting something into IV and cleaning the floor. He also puts a pillow on the floor and covers Bucky with a blanket, after taking a blood sample. Bucky is pliant, not fully reacting to his presence, his pale eyes fixed on Sam.
One day my dad decided that I’m big enough to go fishing. I was so happy I almost broke my fishing rod the moment I got it.
Sam keeps their eye contact, trying no to pay attention to the fact that Bucky is hunched into himself, looking too small and vulnerable under the hospital blanket.
So, we went to Grand Isle. When we're…His voice breaks and he clears his throat, trying to cover it up.
And… anyway, we went there and I was practically jumping out of my skin because of all the excitement and then there wasn’t a single fish. Seven hours and absolutely nothing. My mum couldn’t stop laughing at us.
Sam stops and takes a sip of water, watches the faintest tremble going through Bucky’s body, and swallows his fear down. His brain is almost blank at this point. He glances at Bucky’s vitals - far from optimum but not life threatening - and jumps to the first topic that comes to his mind.
Hey, did I ever tell you how I learnt I’m not into girls? He doesn’t wait for an answer, simply goes on. So there was this really gorgeous girl in my class, that everyone was into. I swear she’s been the wake up call for at least couple of lesbians in our school. So anyway, everyone wanted to take her out for a date, so I just played along, thinking that people can’t be wrong. Turned out that I was her type, so we started "dating". You know, movie theater dates, a walk, some chocolate milkshakes after school… I liked talking with her, she liked talking with me, so it was all good. We kissed too, and that part didn’t really do anything but I wasn’t second guessing myself, not at that point. One night her parents went out for a fancy date, supposed to be back late so she invited me over and things went as they often do. The only problem? My libido felt broken the whole time, not the way it did when I was around guys. So it pretty much was it - never had a girlfriend afterwards.
Bucky coughs wetly and curls more into himself. Sam doesn’t ask if he is in pain, despite his desire to do so. Bucky asked for a distraction.
Fast forward many years, I’m chasing after this guy all over the world. Brainwashed, supposedly dangerous to others and himself, so I’m trying to keep a low profile and be prepared for anything. Turns out I was prepared for the grand tour de Europe.
The need to hold Bucky’s hand is almost a physical ache now, especially with Bucky extending his hand toward the glass, the faintest of smiles on his lips.
I think I realized somewhere around the second month of chasing you. Renting that apartament right next to Fontana di Trevi kinda sold you out. I remember being in Avignon and thinking that they might be the most epic holidays of my life, and then you went to Montenegro and holy shit, I still want to go back there for more. I was genuinely angry that you left so quickly…
Bucky sighs, the quiet sound amplified by the microphones in the room.
And then his eyes close.
"Bucky?! Darling?!" Sam knows he sounds panicked, but he doesn’t care, not when Bucky’s eyes remain stubbornly closed, no matter how loudly Sam screams. He forgets all about the vitals, practically glued to the glass as two nurses rush into the room.
“Sergeant Barnes?”One of them asks and lightly taps Bucky’s cheek.
Sam stops breathing.
Another, a bit firmer tap and Bucky’s eyes fly open, dazed and confused but alive.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, half a question, half a confirmation and then yawns.
Sam inhales deeply, his lungs already screaming for the air, and finally remembers to check Bucky’s vitals.
The pressure is a bit low, the heartbeat just a shy slower than it should be, but overall they're looking better than half an hour ago, and definitely don’t indicate any immediate danger.
Bucky has simply fallen asleep, exhausted.
Sam observes as Bucky is transferred to an actual bed, the IV exchanged, another blood sample drawn from his vein. One of the nurses looks toward Sam and raises her thumb.
“Fuck.” Sam exclaims and sits down heavily, not even sure when he stood up, his legs not able to hold him upright anymore.
***
Bucky curls in the bed, his elbow digging into Sam’s stomach, and sighs happily when Sam reaches out and entwines his fingers into Bucky’s hair, messaging his scalp gently.
“Much better,” Bucky announces, his eyes closed. He seems completely relaxed, as if he didn’t spend the last five days isolated from everyone, in a battle with a virus that came way too close to killing him. Sam tries not to tremble at the mere thought of how close he was to losing him. Or how weakened Bucky is, despite the brave face he puts on, mostly for Sam’s sake.
His digestive system is still misbehaving - a fact they both learnt the hard way after Sam prepared a “welcome home” dinner only to mop it from the floor just half an hour later, while simultaneously trying to stop Bucky from helping him out. Sarah, as the goddess she is, brought them yogurt and soup so Sam wouldn’t need to make a supply run.
“How’re you feeling?” Sam murmurs and puts his arm tighter around Bucky, grimacing slightly at the too prominent ribs that he can feel under his fingers. “Just don’t lie,” he warns immediately, before Bucky can even open his mouth.
Bucky is silent for a moment, as if thinking his answer through.
“Tired,’ he says finally. “Cold. My stomach aches, just a bit.”
He moves so he can face Sam, his eyes earnest.
“I’ll be fine, my love,” he says gently. “Everyone confirmed that, remember? Expected to make a full recovery in two to three weeks.”
“Yeah,” Sam says but his throat feels tight. “I know.”
“Sam,” Bucky twists further, his brows furrowed. ‘Hey, I’m fine, I really am.”
It’s only when he reaches and gently wipes the tear from Sam’s cheek with the tips of his fingers, Sam realizes he’s crying.
“You were dying.” The words escape his mouth before he can stop them. “You were dying and I couldn’t even hold you.”
“Oh, Sam.” Bucky entwines them together, pressing his thigh between Sam’s, embracing him tightly, so Sam’s back is pressed along his chest and stomach.
He’s silent as he holds Sam - there are no words that could make it better. They both know the risks of the jobs they’re taking, the lack of certainty that comes with them. In a way that silence is comforting; Sam always hated being lied to, and Bucky’s warm body and strong hands are a reassurance he was yearning for that last couple of days.
When his tears finally dry and his breaths become calm and slow again, Bucky moves gently, bringing his mouth closer to Sam’s ear.
“I can promise you one thing,” he whispers. “I will always do anything I can to go back to you.”
It’s not enough - it can’t be enough, not if you love somebody so much - and yet Sam cannot help but feel that it might be exactly what he needs.