There’s a fever burning under Steve’s skin that should have him laid up resting, but here Bucky is chasing him round the kitchen, at a speed he can barely manage when he’s well — as well as Steve ever is, at least. Delirium has him behaving like a child, and if Bucky had thought he was stubborn before, this is really hammering it home.
The table is between them. Steve is sweating, shaking with the effort just of holding his own weight, yet his face is as fierce as Bucky has ever seen him.
“Get away from me with that, Barnes.”
“Steve. Please.” For the hundredth time Bucky rubs the heel of his hand against his temple. “You gotta take it.”
“No. It tastes like shit.”
“You don’t — Steve, it ain’t like you gotta chew it, just swallow the damn thing.”
“I gotta put it in my mouth, though.”
“I’ll fuckin’ put it somewhere else if you don’t get over here, Rogers, I swear to God.”
“Screw you,” Steve says, slurring like he’s drunk, and bolts for the door with all the steadiness of a newborn colt. Bucky rolls his eyes to Heaven, prays to God to give him strength, and makes chase.
He corners him in the living room, manages to get an arm around his skinny waist — Steve squirms, wheezing with exertion. Bucky traps him against his chest best he can. He doesn’t want to hurt him, but he’s wriggling like a damn cat. “Jesus, Steve, would you stop being such a baby—”
With great effort, he drags Steve to the couch, pins him against the cushions. Steve glares up at him as though Bucky is committing some vast offence. His face is flushed red, damp with sweat, and his eyes a little unfocused. Bucky decides he’ll forgive him. “You gotta take it,” he says. “You’re sick. Now open up.”
In truth, he doesn’t expect it to work, but Steve’s intellectual faculties aren’t exactly firing on all cylinders, so it does. He opens his mouth to say no, and when he does, Bucky shoves the pill past his pale lips and clamps his jaw shut, wincing at the clack of his teeth and hoping quietly it didn’t hurt.
Steve’s eyes bug — he writhes indignantly, making fists in Bucky’s shirt.
Bucky kisses quickly him on the mouth. He swallows out of shock, eyes even wider. Grinning triumphantly, Bucky sits back onto his knees.
“The hell was that?” Steve rasps, when he’s got his breath back.
“Well.” Bucky’s face flushes despite himself. He straightens his shirt where Steve’s grip has made wrinkles. “It worked, didn’t it?”
Steve lifts his head, stares at him, incredulous. “Are you gonna do that every time?”
“Are you going to make me?”
Steve keeps on staring for a long time. Feverish, half-delirious, and his eyes on Bucky’s mouth. “Yeah. I think I might.”