17

(so I had to rewrite this chapter. Please pardon the time it took. If you're reading this, I promise you wait the least amount of time for updates in comparison to someone who reads any of my other stories)

(Steve POV)

"I have prescribed James a particularly heavy pain medicine," the doctor informs me and Natasha. I realize I haven't looked at his nametag and I don't know his name. "That, paired with the shattered leg bone and missing arm, will make it somewhat difficult for him to live on his own, so it would be best if someone stayed with him for a while. I would also recommend setting up an appointment with a psychiatrist. He... well, let's just say there's a lot there." 

I squint at his name tag. 'Dr. Whitmore.' Fancy. 

"Well, Steve's practically his husband, so he can do that," Natasha volunteers for me while I'm preoccupied. 

"Yeah, I've got plenty of room in my house," I agree, choosing to ignore her husband comment. I'm not Bucky's husband, obviously, but that's not really Dr. Whitmore's business. And I'm used to it by now, Natasha keeps implying that she thinks I'm gay. Not that I'm NOT gay. Well, I'm not gay because I like ladies. But I like men, too, so there's just a little bit of gay. 

"His therapist is here in DC," Nat disputes, "and he'll probably be seeing her more often now. And, oh no, Bucky's apartment only has one bedroom so I guess you'll be sharing a bed. You're his husband; you don't mind." 

"I can sleep on the couch-" 

"No you can't. There isn't one." 

She's trying to do something. I don't know what it is, but I can sense it. 

"You're married... but you live in two different states?" Dr. Whitmore tries to connect the dots. "No, it's none of my business. Here is the prescription," he hands me a paper with nonsense on it, "and he is healing at an exceptional rate, so we should be able to discharge him tomorrow or the next day at the very latest." 

I stare at the paper, dumbfounded. What the actual hell does this say? Is this some kind of code that only doctors and pharmacists can read? 

------------- 

"I picked up your prescription yesterday," I tell Bucky, who is seated in the passenger seat of the car I borrowed from Nat. "It says to take one every day, so I suppose you should take one now." 

"Nah, I'll take one in the morning so it makes sense and fits into my daily routine better."

I give him a quick glance, somewhat weirded out but understanding. 

"Dr. Raynor thinks I need to be reminded to take care of myself, so we set up a strict routine for me to follow," he explains. "The medicine will have to fit into the routine or I might forget it." 

That makes sense. I recall Bucky often forgetting to eat or go to sleep while we were living together; I'd often have to bring it up for him to even consider it.

"I mean, I could remind you to take them, but if you prefer your schedule, that's good too. I told you that I'm moving you in with me for a little bit, right?"

"Yeah. And I told you I don't want to live in New York. Sam and Dr. Raynor are in D.C."

"I bought a house in D.C. Right near Sam, because I have to watch him too. Nat wants you to text her a list of things she should grab from your place." 

I very carelessly take my hands off the wheel to fish my phone out of my pocket and hand it to Bucky. 

We pull up to the new house- which I closed on rather quickly with Tony's help. He's been surprisingly non-intrusive throughout this, so I suppose he's got his own thing going on. He'd be all over this otherwise. 

I get out of the car and circle around to the back-right door, behind which is Bucky's folded up wheelchair, and pull the door open. I grab the chair and unfold it, placing it next to the passenger side, where the passenger himself clearly intends on getting out of the car by himself.

"Let me help you with that," I say, holding out my hand for him to take. He does so, using me to hold himself up on his undamaged leg and get safely into the chair. I kick the car door shut and start wheeling him toward the house.

"When does Sam come home?" He looks up at me expectantly as we cross the threshold.

"Uhhhh." I completely blank on the answer. Did I ever know the answer to this one? I don't think I asked Dr. Whitmore. "Good question." 

"He won't be cleared for another couple of days." A third person joins our party. 

Instincts on edge, we both snap our heads in the direction of the voice. Natasha, who amazingly got here before us, has already made herself at home. She's sitting on a nearby counter, drinking straight out of a gallon of milk. She nods toward a box that sits next to her. 

"Got your stuff." 

I grab the box and direct Bucky to his room so I can talk to Natasha alone.

"So, yesterday," I start when we're alone, "what was up with all the talk of me being Bucky's husband?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about." She caps the milk jug and puts it back in the fridge, where I assume she got it. I never put anything in that fridge. I moved here 8 hours ago. "I stocked your fridge." 

"Thank yo- Don't change the subject!" 

"C'mon, you're soulmates. It makes sense for you to be his husband." 

"Platonic soulmates," I argue, but who am I kidding? We've been wavering between 'best friends' and 'more than friends' for decades. Unfortunately, I think I got demoted to just friends after the whole Jennifer thing.

I'd like to blame that whole thing on her, but it's entirely unfair for me to deny any wrongs I've done. 

I didn't even apologize properly to Bucky. That'll be first order of business.