Bruce returned from his shopping session with guilt written all over his face for having used the credit card Tony has given him. Good thing was, the shared quarters were empty. Or so the doctor thought as he dropped the plastic bags on the floor, right when he'd left his duffle the day prior and staggered his way inside the kitchen. His hand missed the breakfast bar by a few centimeters, gliding against the marble countertop as his vision further blurred, the headache growing past bearable. Luckily for him, cold fingers attached to a metallic arm wrapped around his waist, hoisting him up. "What the fuck, Bruce. What have you done?" The male voice asked, helping a scientist to a seat around the dinner table.
"Nothing." Bruce replied. "I haven't eaten since yesterday. It's not a big deal." He replied. "I've went on much longer without eating. And I was planning to do so. Right now."
Bucky sighed deeply, knowing that currently getting mad wouldn't be good for anyone. Instead, he went to retrieve a banana in the kitchen. "You're an idiot." He grumbled, offering it to the scientist who silently took it, a tinge of red on his cheeks. "Don't go shy on me Banner. You've seen me at my worse, you know I can't judge you."
"I know that, Buck. ky. Bucky. Barnes." Bruce sighed, reaching for the fruit with trembling hands. It was funny, how he could still the tremors with ease when it came to save someone's life but couldn't even do it for the life of him. Bucky didn't say a word. Didn't try to help. "Thanks." Bruce said softly, before biting into the fruit.
The supersoldier watched the other eat the banana with difficulty, bringing him a glass of water. "To keep it down." He grunted out, looking away as Bruce's eyes widened with gratefulness. God he looked desperate. He looked desperate. And lost. In a very wild, very familiar manner. Someone desperate to return to the port but still searching for the lighthouse in the dark. Bucky couldn't be a lighthouse. Not a good one. Not when he was searching for the way too. Definitely not when his lighthouse seemed more lost than him.
Bruce slowly stood up. Bucky frowned, instinctively standing in the way. "Where you going, Banner?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
"My bathroom." Bruce bluntly replied, enjoying the slight twitch in the male's body language. "I need to shave the dead possum off."
And yeah, Bucky definitely couldn't argue with that. Except he glanced at Bruce's hands, the hands the scientist was currently wringing to keep a semblance of control over them. Bucky swallowed thickly. Maybe he couldn't be a lighthouse. But he'd be damned if he couldn't at least lead Bruce to his own. "I'll come with." He said, watching as the scientist's eyes widened in incredulousness again. But he just nodded, taking careful but sloppy steps toward the elevator, forgotten the thrift shops bags. Bucky informed Friday not to let Tony wash those or touch them before stepping into the elevator and following Bruce to his quarters.
"Looks dead in here." Bucky deadpanned, stepping in. It felt cold. Hollow. Now Bruce had always kept his space rather clean and sparsely decored. But this felt wrong somehow. And judging by the scientist's chuckle, he agreed with that.
With little care, Bruce shed the shirt he'd been wearing and kicked off his shoes, moving towards the bathroom. He paused in front of the mirror, drinking his foreign self in for a few seconds before heaving a long sigh. He opened the cabinet got some shaving cream, abundantly applying it until the top of his beard was completely white. He then carefully reached out for his trustee shaving knife, trying his hardest to ignore Bucky's eyes on him as his hands trembled. After a couple of seconds where Bruce tried to find the best way to go at his beard, Bucky cut in. He marched toward the scientist and sat him on the edge of his tub. "Knife." He said, holding out a hand. Bruce obeyed, letting it fall into the other's palm. Carefully, Bucky cradled Bruce's face in his free hand, the contact making the both of them swallow thickly.
"So you went for Steve, huh? What happened to your infatuation with Tony?" Bruce asked, moving the lips he'd noticed the other has focused on.
Bucky's eyes trailed away, moving from the good doctor's lips to his eyes. He sighed softly. "It's not that simple." The sergeant replied.
"Nothing that matters ever is." Bruce replied.
Being with Steve is... "Kissing you, was." Bucky replied, threading carefully as the blade ran along Bruce's skin.
"Just like I said." Bruce replied, not bothering to fight the gloss in his eyes, because he knew no tear would spill. He'd none left. None he should be crying on a love that was never truly his, but misplaced and bestowed upon him, eager recipient of affection. Bucky remained silent, doing a rather fine job at shaving away months of absence of self-care. Not a drop of blood spilled. "Thanks." Bruce said, study the soldier's face as he carefully cleaned the remmenants of shaving cream with a towel. As if Bruce was something fragile, worth caring for, worth fearing to break.
Bucky silently nodded, stood up and left. He turned away before he could truly consider becoming his lighthouse's lighthouse. Kissing Bruce had been one of the scariest decision of his life, jumping together had been exhilarating in ways few things were. In ways a seriously great orgasm was not. In ways kissing Steve couldn't rivalise with.
He couldn't think about any of that for too long.
Wouldn't.
Shouldn't.
Was already.
When he turned back, as the door of the elevator closed, he caught a glimpse of a heaving Bruce, letting himself fall into his bed. The room felt a lot less lifeless than when he'd arrived, Bucky noticed. Bruce had an odd way to occupy space. Discreet but determinant. There was nobody he could tell about it. His confident was in dire need of one.