He got there just after two.
Jeanie was at the counter.
Over the years, they’d developed a system. If it was serious, she’d telephone the foreman’s office and leave a message for him. She only ever called if she thought it was serious. After all, there were only so many times he could duck out halfway through a shift.
Jeanie looked up, relieved.
‘He’s in the back.’
He nodded his thanks and ducked past her, behind the counter, through the narrow doorway and down the corridor that led to the storeroom—locked—and the small office Jeanie’s father used to take calls and square up the accounts.
The office door was pulled to, but Bucky could smell it already: the sour, sputtering scent that Steve’s body put out when his heat came on.
The wooden floor creaked underfoot as he pushed at the door.
The room was dim - someone had pulled the drapes across the back window, stifling the bright light outside.
Steve was slumped on a wooden chair in the corner, head tipped back against the wall.
He didn’t move as Bucky pulled up a chair and sat down.
‘Steve.’
Steve’s nose flared as he came round.
Bucky wanted badly to touch him, kiss his ears, rub his nose against the nape of Steve’s neck. Instead, he dug his hands deep into his pockets: Steve rarely stood for being coddled.
‘She give you something for it?’
Steve made a quiet, affirmative noise but otherwise didn’t move. He looked ill, sweating so bad it was running down his face.
Bucky watched him, frowning.
There were other places Steve could go - the Omega Mission for one. But the omegas who went there were mostly pregnant or destitute or both. And the place itself had a strict no alphas policy.
Bucky fished a cigarette and box of matches from his pocket, desperate for something to do with his hands.
Steve had closed his eyes again. He opened them to watch Bucky light up.
‘They give you the afternoon off?’
Bucky shook his head.
‘I gotta go back. Finish the shift.’
Steve nodded. He sat forward stiffly and took the cigarette Buck was holding out to him. He scrubbed the same hand through his hair, then took a smoke.
Bucky watched him, let himself look. Steve had loosened his collar, undone the top couple of buttons.
Bucky could already feel his body reacting, skin tingling, senses sharpening. He'd long since stopped caring that they hardly ever fucked, but hell, as sick as Steve was, he could still drag Bucky headlong into rut.
Steve held out the cigarette. Bucky took it back.
‘Stay here. Let Jeanie walk you home.’
Steve frowned but didn’t argue, which was testament enough to how bad he was feeling.
Bucky finished the cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the broad, leather-topped desk.
Steve was watching him intently, arms crossed over his narrow chest.