Chapter Text
Words on a page shouldn’t feel so cold.
Bipolar II.
“Revenge of the bipolar?” Bucky jokes, weakly.
The good psychologist stares at him blankly, and Bucky sighs. He’ll tell Steve later. Steve will think it’s funny. (Hopefully. Steve hasn’t found that kind of stuff so funny recently.)
Even though it’s not a surprise, it’s still a shock. Phil had brought up the possibility of being bipolar ages ago, when Zoloft fucked him up so bad. But it’s different hearing it from Phil as a hypothetical — he doesn’t have the credentials to diagnose — and to see “Bipolar II” printed on white computer paper along with a list of symptoms and “helpful hints.”
“Since you said the Lamictal lost its effectiveness and you stopped taking it four months ago, I’m prescribing Seroquel XR. It’s a newer drug, made for bipolar II and will help with your depression and mood swings. Take it once daily in the evening without food. Swallow it, don’t chew. That’s important.” He looks at Bucky over his glasses and Bucky nods, feeling kind of meek. "I’m starting you on a lower dose, which you’ll take for three weeks. Then come back and we can see how you’re doing before increasing it. You may feel dizzy for the first few days, that’s normal. If you have other side effects, call or email me, and we can talk about whether you need to come in. You’re still scheduling appointments with Nick Fury?”
Bucky nods. He’s been seeing a guy Phil recommended for a few weeks now and likes him a lot. He doesn’t take a lot of lot, which Bucky appreciates.
“Make sure that you’re talking about how you’re progressing with him. I’ve known Nick for a while now. He’s a true professional.”
“Alright.”
“And Bucky?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let this bring you down. It can be tough hearing this, but this is the first step in finding a plan that works for you.”
“Sure,” Bucky says. “I’m sure it is.”
Maybe if he lies he can get out of here sooner.
…
“Hey,” Bucky says when Steve opens the door of their apartment.
Their apartment.
“Hey,” Steve says back, shutting the door quickly and carefully so that Commando doesn’t slip his way into the hallway again. He’s a slippery little black cat who spends most of his time somewhere on top of Bucky except when he’s trying to escape the apartment. “How did your appointment go?”
“Don’t I get to ask you how your day went? You’re the working man in this relationship.”
Steve snorts and plops down on the couch next to Bucky. Bucky pecks Steve’s cheek while Commando jumps up and settles into the space between them. “My day was fine,” Steve says. “Now tell me about your appointment.”
“Fine,” Bucky echoes, voice light to make fun of Steve.
Steve rolls his eyes. “Gonna need a little more than that.”
Bucky sighs. “It was fine, really.”
“And?”
“Bipolar II.” He hates the way it sounds out loud.
“Which, um…”
“Cycles of hypomania and depression blah blah blah, he gave me a handout that’s on the kitchen table. You can read it when I’m not around.” Steve looks unimpressed. “I’m also startin’ a new drug. Put in the prescription this afternoon. Should be ready after dinner.”
“He didn’t put you back on the stuff you were on?” Bucky shakes his head. “Why?”
“I dunno,” Bucky says, a little exasperated. Steve just looks at him. “It wasn’t workin’, alright?”
“Buck,” Steve says, levelly, “What’s wrong?”
Carefully, Bucky pulls Commando out from between them and sets him on the ground. He leans over and rests his head in Steve’s lap, shutting his eyes. Steve moves his hand into Bucky’s hair, detangling it. He needs to get his hair cut. He needs to do a lot of things. “Long day, talkin’ about my symptoms and how I feel, and all the other ways I’m fucked in the head.”
“You’re not fucked in the head,” Steve says. Bucky rolls over a little to give him a little skeptical look. “Your big beautiful brain just works differently than other people’s.”
“You’re full of crap,” Bucky says, relaxing again.
Steve flicks his head, then goes back to playing with his hair. “I applied to a couple jobs when I got home.”
“That’s good,” Steve says after a pause.
“But?” Bucky offers.
“I told you that you didn’t need to rush it.”
“Steve—“
“We’ve only been here a month. And it’s not like you’re not doing anything.”
“Hardly call copyediting book reviews anythin’.” Steve sighs, flops back on the couch. Bucky rolls up so he’s laying on his back, looking up at Steve. “I just wanna do somethin’. Be useful.”
“I can think of a few uses for you,” Steve says, raising his eyebrows.
Bucky grins. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah. You wanna… go make dinner?”
Bucky groans. “You’re the worst.”
…
“I was thinking we could grab ice cream tonight. Maybe the place over by the pharmacy?” Steve asks over pasta with vodka sauce.
“Steve,” Bucky says, mouth full of noodles, “You’re lactose intolerant.”
Steve’s nostrils flare a little. “I can take a pill!”
“You’re just tryin’ to make sure I go to the pharmacy.” Steve sets his fork down with a little more force than strictly necessary. “Steve, I can go on my own. I promise I will get the drugs and come right home. No need to keep watch.”
“I’m not trying to keep watch. I just want to support you!”
“Then just ask if to come with,” Bucky says, hating the harsh way his voice comes out. Steve glares down at his pasta. “Steve, sorry, I’m…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Jesus, I’m being a jerk tonight.”
“Yeah. You are.”
Bucky exhales. “Sorry,” he says. Steve nods, but doesn’t say anything. “It’s just that I get frustrated, like my brain’s getting poked at and prodded, and no matter how many names they give it and medicines they give me, I don’t feel better. Just more and more like I deviate from the norm. And…” He sighs. “And you of all people would understand, and I know you understand, but I’m just bein’ a pissy jerk.”
“So, you’re acting like normal.”
Bucky smiles. “I love you,” he says.
“You’re alright,” Steve says, all fake haughty.
They eat quietly for a few more minutes until Bucky says, “There’s a pie place a block from the restaurant. The one with the weird plum pie that I liked? You wouldn’t have to take a pill.”
“Unless I get it a la mode.”
“How ‘bout this: I get mine a la mode and I let you have a lick or two.”
Steve pouts. “Just because I’m lactose intolerant doesn’t mean I don’t wanna be treated normally.”
Bucky barks out a sharp laugh, grinning as his traitorous eyes fill with tears. He stands up and slides behind Steve’s chair, hugging him from behind, pressing a tender kiss on his hair. He almost apologizes again — that Steve has to put up with his bullshit, that this wasn’t what Steve signed up for back when they met in college, that Bucky is such a huge fuck-up that he can’t even control his own mind.
But then he remembers something Phil told him a while ago: that sometimes when you feel like you should apologize, you should say thank you instead.
“Thanks,” Bucky says.
Steve laughs. “You’re a big sap.”
“Only when you’re around.”
“I think Commando is hurt.”
“Well, Commando’s not my best guy,” Bucky says. “You are.”
“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching up and pressing his hand over Bucky’s. “I am.”