Chapter Text
James is a little shit and he knows it. “S’cuse me, doll, I think that’s mine.”
Tony looked up in surprise, holding a white box of takeaway Thai food and already half-way turning to leave. Probably intent on escaping with his bounty despite Steve’s insistent requests for their elusive host to join them for “team dinner”.
From the corner of his eye, James could see Steve stiffen.
“There’s only one order of Singapore noodles, Toy Soldier, and it’s got my name written all over it,” Tony retorted.
“Sharing is caring, sugar,” he teased, brows lifting suggestively.
"Put those egg rolls on the table, and I'll think about it, Winter Wonderland" and that's that, Tony stays for "team dinner".
Throwing a wink Steve’s way, as if he were doing it for him, James commandeered the seat closest to Tony, with Romanova – never once meeting an opportunity she didn’t exploit – sticking to Tony’s other side.
“You know,” Steve began, once the table was cleared, the rest of the team had scattered and more importantly – Tony had disappeared back into his lab. “You don’t need to entertain him, Buck. I mean, I want Tony to get along with us better, but you don’t need to sacrifice your comfort like that.”
Innocently, James asked, “Whatcha mean?”
“I know he’s been giving you these…pet names and all, but you don’t need to reciprocate.” When James still maintained his confusion, Steve continued, more firm, “In fact, I’ll tell him to cut it out, it’s clearly making you uncomfortable.”
“Whoa, hey, Stevie, I have no idea what you’re even talking about, I don’t have a problem with Stark calling me whatever he wants.”
“You…you don’t?”
Clapping him on the shoulder albeit a little rougher than necessary, “Nah, he’s just being friendly, ain’t he?”
To that, Steve couldn’t argue, and for every interaction between James and Tony, Steve contributed by offering pained smiles as the pair of them seemingly got more and more comfortable around one another.
Hatches, evidently, buried, and friendship flourishing.
James may not be comfortable being Bucky Barnes, but he could certainly play Bucky Barnes well enough.
That it seemed to drive Barton crazy too with how chummy he and Tony were only served to solidify his decision to take Bucky Barnes’ good looks, charm, and charisma, and go for a joy ride; driving in deep that out of all of them on “Team Cap” in that “Civil War” bullshit, it was only he that had Tony’s forgiveness.
“Petty, petty, petty,” Tony tsked from the workbench, “I really am a bad influence.”
Idly twirling one of his knives between his knuckles as he lay on the couch a few feet away, James snorted. “You can’t take any of the credit, kotenok.”
“Why not?” Tony fake gasped. “I made the arm, that’s at least twenty-five percent of it.”
“It’s attached to me.”
“It’s technically still mine.” Tone matter of fact, Tony added, “I get it in the divorce.”
“We’re not married,” James deadpanned.
“Damn it, I knew I forgot something.”
Before James could reply, a video-call alert interrupted them, and Pepper Potts’ voice rang around the room, “Tony Stark.”
James could practically feel the man cringe.
Instantly, Tony turned placating, “Yes, my darling Pepper, my honeysuckle, the light of my life -”
Then, the berating started.
And yeah, James could have left, it was like standing next to your friend while their mom yelled at them – but. Peering at Tony from over the back of the couch, James couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not even because he found the whole thing hilarious (and he really did), but he thought for just a second, he caught sight of something odd, that every time Tony’s name was spoken, he seemed to wilt ever so slightly and –
Impossible, no way, how could it be?
It was another week of observation to gather the evidence, and by then, it became too apparent that Tony was playing a similar game James played.
Not that James should’ve been surprised.
The Rogues, for all the sulking they were doing about Tony's coldness towards them, said his name like a curse word, or more charitably, accompanied by displeased expressions, or in a tone that suggested nothing good. Steve’s signature I’m-so-disappointed-Tony sigh provided Exhibit A through H well enough.
Immediately after, regardless of how little Tony cared for Steve's opinion, Tony's expression would become muted: his sparkle dulling as his eyes, once alight with feeling, shuttered. The laugh lines around his mouth smoothed too, the curve of his lips swiftly changing the angle from a small genuine smile to that typical smirk James recalled on television: defiant, but wary, sad.
It was like an incantation had been spoken, like Tony’s name was a curse unto itself.
To be fair to Steve, at least, Tony had a similar but slightly more sheepish of a response when Pepper or Rhodes said his name too; a blend between looking caught doing something he shouldn’t and resolved to accept whatever scolding he was in for regardless of whether he deserved it or not. Which was a little unfair, in James’ opinion.
All Tony ever really did was get carried away on his creating binges – sciencing his days away – messing around and snarking at his robotic children, his Spider-son and Rhodes himself, when the Colonel had the time to visit.
Granted, there were many a day when Tony insisted on being a brat – and he was outright adorable, a national treasure that needed to be protected – and all Tony really needed when that happened was one of three things: something to eat, a nap or someone to listen to him rant about something that was bothering him.
Hell, James was convinced that sometimes just murmuring sweet nothings in Russian placated Tony's temper tantrums which was the most weirdly endearing thing because James knew for a fact Tony didn’t understand a lick of it.
But that was all besides the point.
No one had such an aversion to their own name, no one except James when Steve called him Bucky.
“Kotenok, do you like your name?”
For a fraction of a second, Tony froze, caught. “Can’t really complain.” He shrugged but was quick to wiggle his brows as he teased, “I’m really getting into the Russian pet names though. And I know the Brooklyn is phony, but goddamn, the things you do to a man.”
Despite knowing the tactic was just a distraction, and damn it, he babbles when he’s nervous, James couldn’t help but preen a little. “I’m serious, you always have a face when people call you by your name.”
Tony squared his shoulders, a physical move to defend himself, “You’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”
“Exactly," James said, placating, "you’re talking to the Russian spy pretending to be a Brooklyn boy from the Forties.”
“So, you think you’re an expert?” Tony earned the pet name, the man could get downright feisty.
“Russian spy,” James repeated for emphasis, brows lifting, “Pretending, and succeeding in pretending to be a Brooklyn boy from the Forties.”
Still, Tony scoffed, “So you think I’m pretending to be Tony Stark?”
He was trying, consciously, to keep his limbs loose, trying too hard to appear unbothered, even as his eyes narrowed in warning, in fear. James could practically hear him trying to think his way out of this, trying to talk his way through this without giving too much up too much about the fact that Tony Stark was just as much a title and a role as much as Bucky and the Winter Soldier was for James.
Like he was afraid that James would treat him differently for it.
But if Tony could look at him and know exactly who James was, James could do the same, “Like you said, you’re a connoisseur of coping mechanisms.”
Even before he was Tony Stark, Iron Man, he was Tony Stark, Howard’s son. And then, Tony Stark, the genius. Tony Stark, the billionaire. Tony Stark, the futurist. Tony Stark, the hero.
It suddenly didn’t sit well with James that Tony thought he could self-condense himself into the genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist like that; echoing the headlines of magazines as if those identifiers could ever quantify him to just that because Tony actually thought -
“It isn’t the worst one.”
And James had known, but he didn’t realize how deep those waters were.
Because Tony Stark - James’ Tony was the man who kept wanting to fix and improve the world; who kept looking at the possibilities; who kept dreaming of the future. The man who faced turmoil and heartache and everyone telling him to take up less space and responding by spreading his arms wide and demanding they take it from him. The man who kept fighting to make the world safe and to keep on saving it even when the odds weren’t in his favor.
Tony, who probably had PTSD and trauma engraved into his bones after all the shit he went through for no other reason than the fact that he wanted to do what was right; who still looked at the people who adored him and thought you deserve better.
Tony, who despite everything, was so human and couldn’t be stronger or sadder for it.
Tony – who deserved better than to just be a title – felt he wasn’t.
But James practically hearing Tony’s silent plea in his uncomfortable shifting, declared, unflinchingly in the quiet of the lab, “Wouldn't know, I’m not as emotionally stunted as you.”
Something in his eyes flickered in surprise, and James could have sworn Tony exhaled in relief, except he snorted instead. “Gee thanks, babe, I appreciate that."
“Oh yeah,” he nodded seriously. “Because to me, you’re just Tony: Tony, who builds robots. Tony, who wears kitten shirts. Tony, who drinks too much coffee. Tony, who sucks at sharing. Tony, who saves the world.”
Tony huffed out a breath through his nose, sounding like a laugh even as he teased,“Hey, what about my pet names?”
“Oh, the pet names are still a thing,” James said, feigning thoughtfulness, even as a slow smirk wove itself onto his lips. “But I’m using Tony for special occasions.”