“Bucky. He’s back.”
Bucky looks up from the chart he’s been skimming as Sam drops into a chair next to him, rolling across the floor and reclining to get a better view of the lobby. As Urgent Care rotations go, this one has been almost weirdly quiet, with him and Sam taking turns refilling the coffee pot and catching up on paperwork, waiting for the telltale hiss of the hydraulic doors sliding open and closed. So far it’s just been a couple of kids with fevers - something’s going around - who went right up to Pediatrics, and an old lady whose ulcer was acting up.
The clock on the wall clicks over to 2AM. Bucky takes a sip of his coffee - which has gone cold - and asks, as nonchalantly as possible, “Who’s back?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Sam says, and pushes with one foot off a file cabinet, his chair sliding neatly across the nurse’s station back over to Bucky’s desk. “It’s your Tall, Blonde, and Impossibly Clumsy.”
“He’s not clumsy, he helps people,” Bucky hisses, stuffing papers back into place and dropping the chart back into its folder - details on an older man’s gastric distress, no thank you - then tugs the front of his scrubs straight, and runs a hand through his hair while Sam does a poor job of pretending not to laugh.
“Whatever, go save Captain America then,” Sam chuckles.
“Shut up,” Bucky says, and pushes past him through the doors to intake and reception.
Ten minutes later, Bucky is removing a blood pressure cuff from the biggest bicep he’s ever seen. The exam room is typically sterile and cold, but it feels a little warmer with Please, Call Me Steve in it. His shoulders take up the whole goddamned wall. Someday, Bucky would really like to give him a physical. A thorough one, on the off chance that Steve will ever stop coming in with broken bones.
“So what was it this time?” Bucky asks conversationally. Steve’s collarbone is busted, no doubt about that, and he sits patiently on the exam table and watches Bucky with curious eyes while he types his notes into the module computer on the counter. “Rescue a small child from a burning building? Fight off an invading force of aliens and save New York from sure destruction?”
Bucky flushes. “Sorry - my coworker - nevermind. Anyway, you’ve done a little more damage this time than a broken nose,” he says, and waves a pen at the faint smudges of the bruises which are still fading on Steve’s cheekbones. Pretty cheekbones. They are nice cheekbones, Bucky muses, before catching himself and forcing his attention back to the computer.
“I was helping my friend get her cat out of a tree,” Steve says, and ducks his head with a sheepish grin. “The uh, the branch I was standing on couldn’t hold me.”
Bucky glances again at the stats on Steve’s chart (height, weight, and an impressive list of minor and not-so-minor injuries incurred over the last six months) then back at the vaguely embarrassed looking man on his exam table. Steve shifts, and the sanitary sheet crinkles loudly.
“Trust me buddy, I believe you,” Bucky deadpans, and is delighted when Steve begins to laugh.