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He knew he'd never really liked the cold.
When he was younger, it was simply because it was uncomfortable: his family didn't have enough money to buy warm clothes, so he wore two sweaters over a t-shirt but, most of the time, it wasn't enough to stop him from shaking as soon as he stepped into the frigid cold that was Brooklyn in January. Steve had been a reason behind his dislike of the cold, too. Even when it was pleasantly warm outside, the little punk was always sick, sniffling or coughing; when it was cold, the wind blowing all day and night, Steve had to spend most of his days in bed, coughing his lungs out and burning with fever. He remembered, when he was around ten, watching the snow fall with delight and thinking about just how much fun they would have on the next day, having a snowball fight with their neighbors. Only problem was, the next day Steve had to be hospitalized after catching a cold that (like colds often did with him) kept worsening until he was coughing blood and struggling to breathe. So Bucky had spent the day at his bedside instead, reading out loud to his friend and silently hating this cold that hurt his Stevie so bad.
Then he'd grown up, and left for the war, and discovered the nights huddled with five other soldiers while shells whistled over the head, and being pretty sure that you wouldn't see another day, without really knowing if you'd die blown up by a bomb or shriveled up from the cold. There were nights he'd thought they would have to cut up one of his fingers, to amputate his toes, mornings after where he could barely talk, shivering so violently it looked more like convulsions… and knowing that as soon as he was feeling a bit more warm, he would have to leave the fire again.
And of course, there had been the train, and the fall. And everything that followed. Though his memories of these years were all fuzzy, the cold was something he couldn't forget. It had always been there, deep in his bones, small tremors, barely shivers, that ran through his body no matter where he was sent. It was the cryo, of course; some part of it had been physical, real effects of his time spent frozen; but most of it was in his head, everlasting effects, like phantom pains when you missed a limb (funny thing was, he had those, too).
This cold was still with him today, sometimes. He would be watching a movie in the perfectly heated communal room of the Tower and suddenly he'd start shivering, his teeth chattering. No matter how many blankets he wrapped himself into, no matter how helpful Jarvis was, heating the room until it felt like he was somewhere in the desert, nothing would work; he'd simply have to ride it out, wait until the shaking subsided and his lips lost their blue tinge.
He craved for human contact during these times, because it was the only thing that somehow helped. When Steve was here, he'd help, take his friend into his arms and rub his back, silently, never commenting on the tears that sometimes rolled down Bucky's cheeks – because with the cold always came the memories, the nostalgia, the guilt, the self-hate. Except Steve wasn't always there, because he actually had a life, a girlfriend he loved, and a job as a supersoldier that saw him sent all over the world. So most of the time, Bucky curled up on himself, his arms tight around his knees, his mind filled with yells of pain and tears of despair.
Logically, then, when Shield had asked him if he was willing to take part in a mission in fucking Alaska, with none other than Tony Stark, he should have said no. And he knew that, while his mouth said yes, his whole body and brain screamed no.
Not only would he spend two weeks in the freezing cold, he would also spend them with the man who hated him – and who had good reasons to do so. In the list of the worst ideas he'd ever had, this one was ranking pretty high, and that was saying something. He knew that if, at some point, the cold became too much for him, he'd just have to hide and suffer silently until it passed. There was no way he'd go through it in front of Tony.
Except of course, his life once more disagreed to leave him alone.
They had been hiding in a cave since early this morning, taking turns to watch their target – a concrete building in the middle of nowhere, strongly suspected to belong to Hydra. Of course, no fire could be lit; in this desert land, they wouldn't last two minutes before being spotted. Thankfully, they were wearing high-tech clothes that kept them somewhat warm, but lying down on the ice, not moving for a whole thirty minutes as they watched through binoculars for any movement was still far from comfortable. Tony had taken with him what he'd called ''improved handwarmers'', little pockets that turned almost uncomfortably hot when they pushed a button: at least, Bucky's right fingers were not in any danger of falling off, and he'd slipped similarly efficient warmers in his boots.
All in all, everything was going as well as it could possibly be going, right until everything suddenly went to shit. It was fast, far too fast for any of them to even attempt to stop it. One second, Tony was lying on his belly at the entrance of the cave; the next second, there was no entrance anymore. With a shouted holy shit, Tony crawled back hurriedly, a quarter of a second before a big rock fell right where his head had been with a deafening noise.
Everything turned silent once the crash of rocks had ended; the only thing Bucky could pick up was his own breathing, far too fast for a supposedly sniper.
''… Stark?'' he finally called out after what felt like an eternity, closing his eyes and praying for an answer.
''Yeah,'' a slightly shaky voice answered, ''yeah I'm here. I can't see anything, I– Keep talking, please? I'll try to join you.''
Bucky nodded, stupidly, and then realized that Stark couldn't actually see him and so he simply obeyed, saying regular I'm here until the other man tripped over one of his boots and fell down heavily right next to him.
''Ow,'' came his complaint, and then the noises of a hand rubbing against clothes. ''Well, that hurt.''
''You all right?''
''I think so. Landed on my knee, but I'll be all right. Hey, help me out, okay? My bag should be right next to you. Hand it over?''
He reached for it blindly, and winced when he got it and held it up.
''The hell did you put in this thing? A dead body?''
''Oh, you wish. No, just lots of things Shield wouldn't have approved but now will beg me for. Shit, I knew I should have packed better. I can't find… Oh yeah, there it is!''
There was a little ray of blue light now, and Tony's worried face just above it. He was holding what basically looked like a little iPod – except that from what Bucky had heard, he was pretty sure that it was not an iPod, what with Tony's hate for Apple. He touched at the screen a couple of times, frowned, and then smiled.
''Okay, so, now they know we're stuck. We'll just have to wait until they manage to form a rescue plan.''
''Weren't we supposed to not have any way of communicating?''
''No, no, you're right, we were supposed to have no contact with the outside world. Though, and I'm sure you'll agree with me here, that's completely stupid. All of that just because they don't want us to be found because of phone frequencies. Like I'm not able to create something that has absolutely no frequencies. Bunch of amateurs, I'm telling you. Anyway, light? Light.''
He rummaged through his bag once more, grumbling between his teeth and sighing, until he whooped and brandished another… thing.
''What's that?''
''That's a way to avoid our eyes turning all bat-y. Is that a word? I feel like that's a word. Wait, I'll show you.''
A second later, the whole cave lit up with a bright white light and Bucky blinked a couple of times, shielding his eyes.
''Ah, technology,'' Tony sighed contentedly, ''what a beautiful thing. Now I just wish I'd brought a book. Cookie?''
Looking at him incredulously, Bucky shook his head, bemused.
''You kinda sound not like you're stuck in a cave in the middle of nowhere,'' he said, softly, crawling backwards until he was sitting against a wall.
''I know it sounds funny, but I'm pretty sure that at some point Shield managed to stop finding ways to surprise me. Now every time they call me for a mission, I just pack every gadget I can think of, and I'm pretty sure there's at least one that I'll have to use. They saved my life more than once. I could write a book about the shit I've been through because of them. No, scratch that; I could write a trilogy.''
''There's really nothing we can do? Except wait.''
''I'm pretty sure we're here because of Hydra,'' Tony shrugged, searching for a bottle of water. ''I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if this was just a trap, or maybe they just saw us and shot at the cave to trap us in. Whatever it is, we could try to get out, but we'd probably be met by armed men. So we're safer here.''
Bucky nodded, and then gulped.
He did not feel safe here. He knew, technically, that Stark was right: even if they were not trapped intentionally, there were too many risks of the whole cave collapsing on them if they tried to get out. But still, he was stuck in a really small space and that made him twitchy; not knowing from where a possible danger could come stressed him out.
Plus, it was starting to get colder and colder.
He managed to not think about it, at first. Busied himself by walking around the cave, touching the walls to check if, by any chance, there wasn't any other possible exit. Then he unpacked his bag, ate some of his provisions, took a gulp of water. Shrugged on one more sweater. Then another pair of socks.
Next thing he knew, he was grabbing for two of the hand warmers, sticking one on his stomach and drawing up his legs; the other, he kept between his hands. It managed to stop the cold for a little while, at least. But then he started shivering; lightly at first, little tremors that he could hide easily. Then they became more violent and, no matter how hard he tried to breathe calmly, they didn't stop. His teeth joined the party, chattering, and he started rubbing at his legs, his sides, to try and warm himself a bit, but it was useless and he knew it. That cold was not only physical.
At first, Stark didn't see anything, too absorbed in whatever he was seeing on the screen of his little not-an-iPod, but when Bucky's feet started tapping on the floor, he looked up, frowning.
''Hey. You okay?''
Bucky nodded, but that didn't stop Stark from watching him, and so he hoped his teeth would stop chattering and said:
'' 'm okay. It'll pass, don't worry.''
There was hesitance on Stark's face, and then resignation as he got up, wincing, and jumped on one leg to where Bucky was sitting. He let himself fall next to him and softened his voice some.
''Not that I'm gonna contradict you, but your lips are turning blue and that does not look like okay to me. Hey, look at me? There, okay. Is there anything I can do?''
''No,'' he said, shaking his head, ''no, it's– I'm used to it. It's the cold.''
Incomprehension became understanding, and Stark's lips opened on a silent oh. He nodded to himself, and looked around him, grabbing the dozen of hand warmers left scattered all over.
''Okay, let's see. I'm gonna– yeah, just lean over a little. There, that should warm your back, a little, don't move too much. You already have some in your boots, right? Okay, so these… under your legs, I think. Perfect. Raise your arms for me?''
He probably looked stupid, but the little hot things helped, radiating warmth all over his body, like Steve did when he held him in his arms. Tony looked completely satisfied, right until Bucky's shivering started in earnest once again.
''Oh,'' he frowned, disappointed. ''Not helping?''
''It's not– not your fault,'' Bucky said, and closed his eyes, feeling his throat tighten up. ''It did help.''
There was silence for a minute, and then the rustling of clothes, before something cold but warm settled on Bucky's shoulders. When he opened his eyes, it was to see Tony without his coat, that he'd draped on Bucky's shoulders.
''No, don't,'' he protested, trying to shrug it off. ''You need it, keep it.''
''Stop moving. And don't be pissed at me, but it's– it's not actually that cold. I mean, I…''
''You mean it's in my head. You can say it.''
Tony sighed and sat more comfortably, cautious with his injured knee.
''It's not because it's in your head that it's not true for you,'' he said, softly. ''It took me years until I could swim again because every time I stepped into water, I saw people trying to drown me. So I'm gonna help you anyway I can, because I know how much it sucks. Tell me: anything I can do?''
Bucky hesitated, and swallowed thickly, breathing out shakily.
''When… When Steve's here, he–''
He couldn't finish his sentence. It was pride, he knew it– that pride he would have liked to get rid of, sometimes. Tony seemed to get it, though, thankfully, because now there were two arms around his waist, pulling him in against a warm chest.
''Like this?'' his voice whispered, very gently, like he didn't want to scare him.
He nodded, keeping silent, and tried to relax. Tony's warm hands were rubbing up and down his back, then his arms, his legs bracketing Bucky's, though he cautiously kept his knee out of touch.
''How's your knee?'' Bucky asked, daring to let his head fall on Tony's shoulder.
''Uh. Not broken, I guess. I hope.''
''Oh god, Stark. You shouldn't have moved.''
''Well, you know, at some point I'll have to. And call me Tony. Being stuck in a cave in Alaska grants you that right.''
It slipped out before Bucky could stop himself, really:
''I thought you hated me,'' he mumbled, wishing for a second that they were still in the dark, so he didn't have to watch Tony's reaction.
''What??'' he exclaimed, turning Bucky towards him. ''But… why?''
''Is that really a question? I mean, Tony, I– your parents… And then we never talked, and the few times we did, it was always awkward.''
''That's… Oh, but Bucky, it's not– Listen, I don't hate you, okay? I'll admit, I needed a few months after Steve told me before I really came to grips with it. And yeah, okay, I might have avoided you for a while back there because I'd rather do that that yell at you for something that wasn't your fault.''
''But after that, you…''
''Did Steve never tell you about how awful I am with human beings in general? I do robots, and electronics, and all that without any problem, but give me someone to talk with and I'll pretty much fuck it up in two minutes.''
Bucky was so busy wondering at how exactly they'd managed to misunderstand each other so bad that it took him a while to realize he'd stopped shivering. When he did, though, he wriggled around, until Tony let go of him. Then he turned around, and shush Tony when he tried to ask a question.
''Mister Stark,'' he said, solemnly, ''it is a weird place to get to know each other, but I'm really glad to meet you. James Barnes. Let's try to be friends, okay?''
''Nice to meet you, Mister Barnes,'' Tony answered with a little grin. ''But please, call me Tony.''
Turned out, a cold cave in Alaska actually and surprisingly was a good place to get to know each other. They had a lot of time to talk about things – both light topics and more personal subjects, overdue apologies and anecdotes about their respective childhoods – and when Shield finally came to fetch them, with a tight-lipped Coulson wearing a big parka, they found them huddled close to warm each other, laughing about some stupid joke Tony had told.
And though the mission was a failure, the return in the plan, filled with laughter and knowing smile, felt more like a victory.