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Sniffles

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It’d been a long week. Bucky and Nat left on a “simple job” that turned into a complete shit show. They completed the mission, but all those explosions and gunshots meant a lot of paperwork. By the time they finished debrief they were more than ready to head home to Darcy.

Nat led the way into their apartment and tossed her keys onto the side table with practiced ease. Bucky stomped in behind her and shouldered the door shut. He kicked off his heavy boots and nudged them in the general direction of the shoe rack. Nat would nag him later about having things ready for an emergency, but he was too tired to care.

He watched Nat weave around the kitchen island into the living area and stop dead in her tracks. She motioned for him to be quiet, her expression soft as she looked down at the couch. At first Bucky didn’t know what he was looking at, but then he noticed the avalanche of tissues coming from under the old knit blanket Darcy perpetually kept on the couch. And the Darcy-sized lump hidden completely under the blanket.

“She texted,” Nat whispered, kicking some of the mess into a pile. “She said it was just sniffles.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, well. I s’pose she didn’t want to worry us.”

Nat shook her head, trying to be irritated but betrayed by her fond smirk. “Think we should move her or just let her sleep?”

“Judging from the cough syrup bottle,” he nodded toward the mostly-empty container on the coffee table, “she’s probably out cold. Let’s get our girl to bed.”

“I’ll bring in some water if you’ve got her?” Nat was already halfway into the kitchen so he dropped to one knee and gently pushed his arms under Darcy’s softly snoring form.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I’ve got her.”