Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

People will lie. There is no avoiding that. Nod on cue and politely smile. Think nothing of it. People will lie. When to be cautious, is not at a lie, but at a deflection. Those that distract with blinding smile or a song or an extravagant gesture. Be wary. Fae will bait you away with desires and dreams. Spirited away. Never to return. Be wary.

At least that’s what Ma would say. On loud nights, when the men of Brooklyn would gather to drink and sing. Loud to chase away dark idealizations. She would cuddle him close. Whisper stories of beautiful people who lead astray good Catholics. Of heroes that braved enchanted towers and won against seduction.

Of course, that memory could have been its own seductive dream. Memory was a tricky beast even for the day-to-day people. Having your brain cooked sunny side up by Hydra doesn’t improve things either. Not that anyone thinks it would. Late night television is not selling electroshocks as the cure for old age memory loss.

So Bucky was on the fence about his current situation. Did Tony Stark really kidnap him? If anyone was crazy enough to abduct the Winter Soldier, Stark would be on that list. Well, in his humble opinion. Crazy people never seem to think things through, either. Take, for example, Bucky’s bindings. Rope couldn’t stop an assassin. The Winter Soldier is a super assassin. Rope was cake on a silver platter of escape.

Escape. Right. The hero always struggles to escape. But he has lived far too long to be considered a hero. Heroes hope for humanity’s salvation. Not eternal sleep.

“Boss, I think the Princess is awake.”

Princess?! Oh, that was close. A slight twitch might go unnoticed but slamming his fists against the floor would not.

“Are you sure?”

Something jabs him twice in the shoulder. By some mercy, it was the shoulder attached to the meat arm. Even so, it’s still a jab into sensitive squish parts. But his body remains still. Thank Hydra for unparallel pain tolerance. Ha!

“Friday. How do you tell if a possum is playing dead?”

“It depends on the possum, I think.” A static hum consumes the quiet of the room. “You could draw something unflattering on his forehead.”

“Oh, love it.”

Something pops, and the stick of non-drinkable alcohol tickles his nose. Stark wouldn’t? Would he? Fuck crazy people and their unpredictable tendencies.

“Is this necessary? Couldn’t you just kill me? No reason to desecrate my body.” Bucky slams his hands between himself and the red marker. A wall to protect him from whatever Stark wanted to draw on his face. Probably something worse than the standard dick drawing.

Stark’s eyes trail from Bucky to the marker. A marker that’s only an inch from Bucky’s face. Then pouts. A full pout only found in cartoons with sings birds and large reflective eyes. Seriously. What is so exciting about drawing on a tired man’s face? Or putting starfish magnets on his metal arm?

“We're not going to kill you, Barnes.”

Bucky shifts his eyes around the room. Empty except for the crazy rich man with a marker and himself. No woman, he can’t help but imagine as a redhead. Stark does not voice a comment or give any indication of the location of the third human. In the security office? Remaining far away from Hydra’s favorite killing machine. Perhaps, there is someone who isn’t completly crazy.

“Right now.”

Stark continues to fiddle with the marker refusing to put the damn thing done. To give up the grand opportunity to use Bucky’s forehead as paper. Not even the quality stuff. No, the scraps an artist uses to doodle.

“Has anyone told you that you resemble a depressing sandwich? And despite what the fire department may tell you, or Pepper for that matter. I know what I'm talking about. I have made my share of depressing sandwiches. Mostly, with mustard.” Stark makes a sweeping motion with the marker- still uncapped. “I tired honey dijon once because a random website told me too. I must say, I prefer mustard.”

The marker jumps up and twirls with the rhythm of Stark’s words in complete sync. A remarkable feat considering he had forgotten all about said writing utensil. Or that’s what Bucky hopes. He’s nice like that.

“What does food have to do with any of this?”

The marker is finally capped, and Stark frowns. Yet doesn’t say a thing. Did Bucky actually say anything? He is far too used to keeping any thought to himself. Stark dropped the marker. Bucky grabs it, just to make sure, while Stark turns away. More silence. Hardly illuminating to what the rats running Stark’s crazy brain thinks.

For a single heartbeat, Stark stilled between one step and the next. In that one thump of his heart, Stark stand between two thoughts. Is he turning his back on a weapon or a monster? Hydra handlers were quick to dismiss the Asset as a simple weapon. Yet he was required to present a gun to the handler if they were alone. As protection from a monster. Which will Stark choose?

Bucky doesn’t expect an answer. Doesn’t get one either. Stark simple takes his next step then another. Until he completely leaves Bucky’s line of sight.

Free from the ropes, and, as far as he can tell, alone in an empty meeting room. Bucky plots. Or at least takes another look around. There is a large table and a lot of chairs. Too many chairs. And windows blacked out. Standard stuff for the business life.

Except.

“Please, remain inside the room.”

The voice. Again. He does not like voices without bodies. There is nothing to stab if there is no body. “Do I have a reason to leave?”

“To destroy. As is your nature.”

“Is that why you will be deactivating and destroying me? For my sins? Or for Stark’s grudge?”

“I think justice is more appropriate. Don’t you, Barnes?”

“Is it just me or did this whole room get several degrees more depressing?” Stark returned holding a plate that looks like a mini Captain America shield with two sandwiches. Another was between his teeth. Already half eaten. He blinks, nose twitching and the sandwich disappears with the last bite. “Are you having a showdown with My AI?” The plate is held high even as Stark tilts his head to the side. “You shouldn’t. She cheats.”

“I do not. I am a proper lady.”

“That cheats and starts fights with cyborgs.”

“I didn’t start anything. But I will finish it.”

Friday, as Stark called the ceiling, ends the sentence with enough implied judgment to anchor an entire fleet of ships. During a heavy storm. But Bucky didn’t start shit. No matter how the ceiling paints it.

Well…

There was the whole thing with Steve.

“I made you depressing sandwiches.” Stark shoves the plate into Bucky’s personal bubble. It is presented with the same pride a child presents a gift to their mother. “There is mustard and tomatoes. Salami. Maybe. The evidence is uncertain.”

Well, the sandwiches look innocent enough sitting on the mini shield. The bread is white with seeds. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Just different. There is definitely the strong fatty smell of salami. More of a last meal than what Hydra would offer. Looks good, too.

Taking the food incites Stark to grin, small but bright, like a star off in the distance. How easy it would be for Stark’s blinding smiles to hide all sorts of grime. Pierce could disarm anyone with a smile as well, even Fury.

Stark gave him a sandwich at least.

“Now, according to personal experience, it’s time for the evil monologue. The fun part.”

Bucky takes a bite. Otherwise, etiquette would dictate that he respond. And Stark has a crazy sparkle in his eyes. Never respond to the crazy. That and silence is easy. Nodding is easy. People usually just continue when he nods.

“Right! So last night or the prior evening or something. Not important. What is important is that a waking dream gave me an idea. And no it wasn’t a dream. I was definitely awake. Dreams usually have someone screaming.” Stark’s hand smacks the notion away. “Nor was I hallucinating. You can’t trust hallucinations. But this is a good idea. A genius idea!” His other hand shoots straight into the air.

“What idea?” The fucking moron asks. You’d never figure Buck’s been around for hundred years. He knew not to engage the crazy. Bucky blames the second sandwich. Didn’t get into his mouth fast enough. Fucker.

Stark is too crazy to catch Bucky’s mental stumble. But the AI. The AI is judging him. Judging and laughing it up. Silently. Like a dick. Dick.

“Revenge! Because what else can I do? It’s either this or a time machine. And I promise I was going to go with the time machine. But Pepper vetoed that. Which fair. No one wants me running around in the time stream. I wouldn’t be able to help myself even knowing I’d probably fuck it up.”

Stark flexes his right hand. He stops to stare at the fingers curling and uncurling, grasping for something. “I keep having that same dream. It only got worse after. Zombie Steve with the shield. Blaming me. For fucking up. Not doing enough. Always saying the wrong thing. I work and go to therapy. But the dreams remain. The bodies piling up.” His eyes slide shut. One last time those fingers curl then clench tight.

“So I kidnapped you.” Stark spreads his arms out wide. “Part of it was panic. Rhodey may have destroyed the ancient technology that might have been a mobile phone. Hard to say, archeology isn’t my strong suit. Whatever. I do know he dropped it down the Mariana Trench. But I would be surprised if it survived. And Steve.”

The stars vanish from his eyes. His arms are slammed from the air by gravity. “No, it’s Rogers now. Rogers.” Stark’s mumbling to himself now. His audience forgot.

Because what? Bucky’s just chopped liver. Not the intend audience. Fuck that. He’ll just be stupid and blame it on Hydra. Hydra played happy sack with electricity and his brain. He has earned at least using them as an excuse.

“Why would ‘Pepper’ nix the time machine?”

Bucky could actually see Stark remember he had an audience. His eyes started blinking and shifting. His gaze lands on Bucky. And the ‘oh’ formed on his lips. Like prose on a page in a fairytale book for children.

“I told you.”

“Yeah, I got that. But there is no way you could build a time machine that goes back in time. Pretty sure Einstein nixed that.”

“I could.”

Sure. Maybe if he had another hundred years or so. But Bucky ain’t holding his breath.

This whole thing is a farce. Like Stark’s the only one hunted by ghosts. Everyone’s got nightmares. Bucky’s got seventy years to fuel his phantoms and shadows. World War 2. Hydra. The Red Room. But he fucking buries it. Right next to the bodies. Smiles and grins instead. Fucking telling stories from the 1930’s he isn’t sure he remembers or read in Rogers’ file. Writing broken dreams in journals that switch from Russian to English to Italian to German.

And for fucking what. To be used against Stevie. Again. “I refuse.” And fuck him.

“Okay.” Stark nods. Takes back the plate, gripping it to his chest. Takes a step back. Grins and bows. A grand gesture indicating the open door. A showman’s bow ending the play, waiting for the curtains to fall. But for all it’s supposed glam it’s dull. All the color that made Stark shine, shut away. With a delicate slam. Something that might even go unnoticed.

Again there is that silent laughter. Mocking him.

But sunlight is pushing itself inside. Bucky follows the light out. Stark had been right. The room was depressing. The blinding hallway wasn’t much better.

He wants his goggles.

He wants his tack gear.

His guns.

Wants to feel the goggles press against his nose ridge. Feel the weight of the tack gear heavy on his shoulders and tight on his chest. Trace his fingers along the sides of the gun.

He hates it. That part of himself that seeks comfort from the past. Just because he knows the past. Knows Hydra. Knows when to expect the worse. But doesn’t know what to do with options and choices. Doesn’t know when to expect the worse from himself.

“You okay over there Frosty?”

Hates that, too. That people have to ask that every time he takes a breath. A pause. And every time he grins wide like that man in the newsreel. Just living it up inside Captain America’s shadow. Having a grand ole time. He fucking hates it.

But Stark ain’t done nothing for Bucky to earn a grin or a uptick of the lips. Nah. Man deserves the bird if anything. There’s a soft snort behind him. Might as well make that his cue to step into the light. Well, into the curved hallway with large windows. A hallway filled with people scattered about. Or as Hydra would call them: Witnesses. Did Stark drag Bucky’s unconscious body through a hallway filled with witnesses? Seriously! Get high enough into the sky and you forget about cops. Or fucking consequences.

Nothing to worry about, right. Ironman says it’s alright fellas.

Is it too much to ask for some common sense from the superhero community? Yes! Well, fuck you.

Whatever. Not important. He needs to head back to Steve.

Through the hallway. Full of people. Who are all eyeing him like some cat that wandered in by mistake. At least no is asking questions. Or calling security.

Finding the elevator isn’t hard. Not that Bucky expected it to be. Doesn’t matter. The first part of the escape is a success. Not that he would call hastily walking a few meters much of an escape. No guards or robots. No Ironman suits. His shoulders were hunched and he avoided eye contact. But that hardly constitutes sneaking.

Franky, Bucky’s embarrassed by himself. This is what he has been reduced to. Lost awkward hobo.

Bucky blames Stark.

Yeah. If the man hadn’t kidnapped Bucky. Or acted like a proper villain. Then Bucky wouldn’t have to deal with this mess. Despite it being the first time he’s been outside in… awhile.

Fine. Maybe, Bucky will just poke around the Tower a bit. Tony Stark is allowing him to parade around without an escort. And the current elevator is heading up. Nothing wrong of taking advantage of a rich man’s arrogance. Although, the AI is probably watching- everything.

Ignore it. Up it is.

Up, however, is disappointing. Nothing except museum exhibits of what could have been. Floor after floor empty of anything except the romanticized notion of the Avengers as a family.

Clint said Stark liked to try buying the Avengers affections with expensive gifts or gear. Then rub their noses in it. His floor had a fancy coffee maker and a pizza oven. Arrows and bows hidden behind every wall.

Natalie said that Stark was a man, who couldn’t tell the difference between himself, his shadow, and his reflection. He can’t tell what she meant by that. He isn’t sure, Natalie knows either. Her floor had the comfiest furniture, mannequins that followed his every move, and a small ballet studio.

One floor had the simplest design with a sandbox for some reason. Another was a floor where science-fiction and epic fantasy had a torrid affair. Spaces for people he has never met. But still distinctly their own.

Stevie’s floor was old fashioned furniture and an array of paintings. Less said about that the better.

The top floor- Stark’s floor- wasn’t much better. Probably best described as an exhibit showcasing the 21st-century genius, billionaire, bachelor. A bachelor with the personality of a magazine cover. Which is fucking stupid. No one lives here. Except for dolls on a show room floor.

There must be something that says more than monochrome is my favorite color.

Because it ain’t a fucking color.

The cupboard is the same checkered style. Black and white. One mug after another. Plates, too. Bathroom tiles are barely a color. The towels are at least pastel. Some blues. Some pinks. So exciting. At least compared to the main room.

Who the actual fuck would buy pastel towels? Where are the family photos? Or the mountain of Ironman memorabilia? Where are the piles of clothes? Or paperwork? Statues or awards to Stark’s ego? Or a color a darker shade than Bucky’s skin tone?

And the bedroom- Bucky’s last hope- is as sterile as the rest. The only color is shoved out of sight in the closet. An embarrassment that someone wants to ignore. Inside are pink to neon green shades. Suits with periwinkle and lilac stripes. And matching ties. The finest wardrobe for any peacock. Like Stark, whose always strutting his stuff.

At least that’s the impression he got from television. Which isn’t exactly a reliable source. Not that Steve has implied differently. Not a bad guy, but…

There was always a ‘but.’

Doesn’t matter. Snooping through Stark’s underwear isn’t the point.

Steve is the point. Escaping is the point.

Bucky heads down. No distraction.

Or.

Here is a thought.

He could snoop around in the lower levels.

Stevie will hardly miss him. For all the fanfare of their reunion, they don’t spend much time together. Steve is off chasing Hydra remnants. Or some other evil and injustice. Bucky can’t come. Bucky is still recovering. Bucky can’t do anything.

The Asset is need of repair.

Stark Tower’s lower levels are where the minions reside. Minions that don’t blink at a wandering assassin cyborg. Probably wouldn’t be so calm if Bucky released a shot in the air. Not that he would. It’s not a polite or nice thing to do. Also, he has no gun. Could come back with a gun. Not that Steve will give him any.

But it is tempting. Especially, when one of the suits rolls his eyes- His Eyes- at Bucky. Like what the fuck is his problem? The hair? The metal arm? Bucky mumbling to himself in Russian? What!

Doesn’t matter.

Last stop is listed as the chaos center in small block handwriting. It’s not at all what he expects. Sure some of those expectations were unrealistic. Like a giant cannon thing that said ‘death ray.’ Or a snowglobe titled ‘weather machine.’ Standing tall between strewn about Ironman parts- limbs, cables, and the like.

Instead, it’s concrete and empty. Except for a door. It’s huge and painted red and gold. Probably reinforced. And lacks a handle. But it is a door. Probably. He can see the hinges. Well, not the actual hinges. But a cut in the wall for the doors to slide in and out.

For luck, he pushes at the solid metal. It doesn't budge.

He takes one last look at the doors to Ironman’s cave.

Towers tend to hold wizards or princesses. Which is Tony Stark? As a monument to the Stark name, to Tony Stark’s name, the Tower fails to have any sighs of his personal touch. Except for the deepest depths. Hidden away.

@@@@@

Mission accomplished! Bucky is free. And it was easy. No traps. No guards. No shootout in the lobby. Or a dramatic confrontation with Ironman. Nothing. He strolled out. The lady at the front desk didn’t even blink.

He has a metal arm!

It makes a fella wonder if he isn’t wanted. Why the fuck would someone bother with the whole kidnapping thing if they just let the fucker go? What was the fucking point? What about revenge? Fuck it!

Bucky will head back. Drink all of Sam’s juice. Wait for Steve to return. That just who he is now. The guy who fucking waits. Instead of the Bucky who watched Stevie’s back. That’s Sam’s job now. The Asset is damaged beyond repair. The Asset is a burden.

He’s waking up in bed and missing the fucking cryo chamber. He watches his body grin and joke and laugh. Watches it as it plays Bucky Barnes. An act stiched together from Hydra’s file, Steve’s body language, and the internet.

For he knows this could be a dream. He could still be with Hydra. A warm dream in cryo waiting for his next mission. Not much different from waiting on the couch. All Bucky and Steve talk about is the past. He would dream of the past. Dream of Stevie. Steve made him human. The Asset always wanted to be human.

Humans didn’t have to sit in the chair.

But he misses the chair.

“Have a doughnut Snowdrop.”

A box of pastries slid under his nose. Sugar, chocolate, and some kind of jam. Some are covered in pink and purple frosting. The box jiggles. But Bucky lifts his head up meeting Tony Stark’s gaze. It’s sparking. Ready to set something ablaze.

“Why?”

“Their existential crisis doughnuts for when reality needs to shut up.” Stark jiggles the box again.

Bucky takes one. It squishes between his teeth and the sugar frosting rubs against his tongue. “I’m broken. Wakanda failed to fix me.”

“Yeah, well, that shit takes time. And you got more than most.”

He shakes his head. The Asset needs to be repaired. Bucky can’t stand being a burden. The dough sticks to his throat. What is he supposed to do with himself? “I can’t go back.”

“Okay. Any reason besides the stupid one?”

“Nothing feels right anymore. Nothing feels real.”

“And Hydra was real?”

It’s a trap. Bucky or the Asset, people were always asking seemingly innocent questions. Wilson does it on occasion. A trap to reveal information. To reveal too much. Bucky would laugh. The Winter Soldier would glare.

Stark nods. As if that was the answer he wanted all along. And drops the box in Bucky’s lap. Minus the chocolate ones. “You are welcomed to stay Barnes. At least until you figure something out. Just holler at Friday if you need something.”

Stark leaves. But gives Bucky one last blinding smile.

Definitely a trap.

@@@@@

“Miss Friday.” Be nice to the floating voice until you find the heart. Then stab the heart. But first, be nice. Be nice. “Did you ever see or read Alice in Wonderland?” Close enough.

“Oh? Do you not like your accommodations, Mr. Barnes? I did place you with the rest of Captain America’s things.”

The voice is saccharine. Bucky would choke her on the sugar produced by her voice. If she had a body. Brat! “No. It’s fine.”

“But you slept on the floor, Mr. Barnes.”

Yes, with his back to the wall. Watching the door. Waiting for Ironman. He came after him once before. He still wants revenge. Bucky doesn’t fucking get the game Tony Stark is playing.

“The bed is too big.”

“So you do have a problem with your room?”

“Fine! Yes, I have a problem.” He wants his word to cut. To draw blood. But there is no body. “Lack of privacy and an annoying wake-up call is not exactly hospitable.”

“There are no cameras on that floor, Barnes. And ‘Let It Go’ is considered a Disney Classic.”

Be nice. Be nice. “Sorry.”

“Apology not accepted.”

Fucking brat!

“Now Boss order you some clothes and some food. Both are in the kitchen.”

Some food and a shower were probably expected. Wilson would get naggy if Bucky didn’t at least check those off his list daily. Ugh. Preparing food requires tearing open packages or pushing buttons or stirring. All that energy to create something that might end up the trash. He never needed to eat this much. Maybe a tasteless protein bar, once in a while.

The shower idea isn’t any better. His skin prickles at the idea of standing under hot water. A cold shower is even worse. After all that effort, he’ll just end up on the couch. Staring at his soon to be favorite wall. Fuck that.

Bucky curls himself once more into his nest. Satisfied that the AI can’t spy on him.

“One more thing. Boss would like to see you in the kitchen.” There’s that silent laughter again. “And a bit of advice. Don’t try anything, Barnes.”

“He kidnapped me.”

“Sure, Barnes.”

Fine. Bucky will get up. Doesn’t even have to get dress cause he still wearing his boots. What does Stark want with him anyhow? Revenge? That revenge that has the substance of cotton candy. Maybe?

“Morning, Stark.”

Stark’s fingers twitch near his chest. But the man hardly moves much more than that. He stands in profile to Bucky staring at the large as fuck windows.

Something ain’t right. Or more like, Stark feels different. Yesterday, Bucky would have described Tony Stark as a cat high on catnip flopping its body around to catch its own tail. While the paws failed to revolt against the brain.

Today, Anthony Stark stood sharp. Having more in common with a hunting knife than any animal making a show on youtube. That clean, fancy magazine cover style is making a comeback, too. All dressed to the nines in dark shades. All that flare for an audience that consists of a hobo. But a hobo with nice boots.

“I brought fuel.” Stark waves, with the elegance of a queen, at the shiny black counter. Where another box sits. Another twist of his fingers and out comes a blue light show. Doesn’t even wait for a response. Why bother coming down the mountain?

Bucky shuffles closer to the box. His boots clomping against the tiles. Stark already rigid back, forcefully turns the rigidness up with each step. He doesn’t move. Only stares at his dancing blue lights.

Bucky keeps himself loose. Even as he opens the box. With food. Some sort of warm pie.

“Breakfast pot pie. It’s good. Usually feeds two.” Stark shrugs. His fingers flex. Again.

“Thank you.” Bucky isn’t going to pass up free food. “Which type is this?”

“What?”

“The pot pie.”

Stark’s fingers twirl and the lights bounce. “I don’t-”

“Is it Awkward Pot Pie? Ridiculous? What?”

Stark rolls his shoulders. But it fails to shake loose any of the taut muscles. “Breakfast. It’s breakfast.”

How boring. Not that it matters.

But Bucky did expect to get more of a reaction from Stark than twitches. Why is he here? Watching Bucky eat. What’s the point? Taking pride in finally adding a new piece to his museum collection? Not that he bothers to take a second to glance at Bucky.

Of course, Stark could have. The shades make it hard to tell.

“So, Barnes. How are things?”

What the fuck.

Your AI is a dick. The Tower is creepy. A minion rolled his eyes.

“Same.”

“Right. Right. Of course.” Stark shoves his hands into his pockets. Rolls on the balls of his feet. Then pulls his hands out.

“If you got so much free time. Why don’t you use that brain and fix me.”

Stark’s shoulders tighten the way one would tighten a screw. And Bucky figured all his screws would be super loose.

“You are not broken.”

He could slam his fist into the black countertop. Destroy the perfect smooth rock. Just break it. He doesn’t. But fuck. He wants to. To break something. “Bullshit. There is only so much I can stitch together of Bucky Barnes.”

Now, Bucky’s got Stark’s attention. His full attention picks and pulls at all the parts Bucky stitched together. Pokes and prods at what makes Bucky Barnes. Easily reading what Hydra left behind. The rusted iron stink. Fuck. His hands are shaking. Goosebumps spread along his back and arms.

Look away. Look. Away. Or run. Run. Now.

Run. Run. Run.

NO!

A predator strikes when the back is turned. You know that. Stand still. Don’t blink. Don’t let him strike. Don’t run.

“Let me ask Barnes.” Palm up, Stark points at Bucky’s heart. “This time give an honest answer.”

A gun. A knife. A shield. Anything. Who faces a predator naked?

Fuck he was being stupid. Underestimating Ironman of all people.

It’s clear now. The fangs dripping with poison. That paralyzing gaze. A snake rigid before it strikes.

Fuck. Panic is not your friend. Inhale. Shut the emotions down. Exhale. Analyze first. Stark’s fingers curl. Weakness?

Wait.

Bucky has been here before. Faced this snake before. But not? He has only met Stark twice. Neither moment felt like this. In fact, this moment does not compare. Before was subtle. Hidden. A snake crawling in the high grass. Aiming for the ankle. The poison will do the rest. Not head-to-head.

Bucky blinks. The current threat is nothing. A shadow moving on the cave wall. Well. He got spooked for nothing. Shit.

“I don’t remember. But I am sorry.”

Stark shudders. Dropping his bluff. And nods. Probably knew the answer already.

“Fine. Do you know who gave the orders?”

“Fake Doc drowned him.”

“How do-?”

“Monologue.”

“Ah. Right.” Stark snorts, pulls his sunglasses to rubs his eyes. “Look, Barnes, I fix machines. Not people. No offense, but one metal arm doesn’t quite cut it.”

For all Stark’s glib, Bucky can’t help but see Atlas hold the world upon his shoulders. He sure. Stark can fix him. Will fix him. He just needs to get the genius to compile.

“You will.”

Stark grinds his bottom lip. “Which came first, Barnes? Steve’s stubbornness or yours?”

“Both?”

“Fucking figures.”   

Chapter Text

“You said you could build a time machine.”

Stark returned to his starting position. Twirled toward the light- well the window- with the same mood as a flower in the wind. “I did.”

Only two words. As if he doesn’t hold them close, words will spill all over the floor.

“That would be quite a feat.”

“I suppose.”

“A much higher hurdle than fixing me.” Amazing how easy it is, to step into this role. A smirk with promise. Voice like curling, spiraling smoke. Gestures that will catch the room’s eye. And every step just a tiny bit crooked. Oh, so easy. Oh, so suffocating. 

Can’t catch a breath. Can’t let anything loose.

“I don’t do squishy, Barnes.”

“Not directly. No.” Bucky’s finger curls. He’s got a knife strapped to his hip. Just something he found while Steve rolled him from one place to the next. SOmething grips his chest whenever he twirls the knife between his fingers. Grips him with the same feel as taking a peek at Steve. “But how is the Asset any different than your pretty voice in the walls?” Pulling out a knife might send the wrong message. Instead, Bucky leans against the counter, gazing up at the dark shades that cover Stark’s eyes.

Men like him, love to stand high. Love to gaze down. Love the control.

Compliance will be rewarded.

Something sparks. Sharp and hard. “Friday was made with love, asshole. And she is warm as fuck, too. Mr. Ice-slab.”

“Ah, Boss. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“Apologies, Fry.”

Stark speaks like the Voice is alive. A being that breathes and grows and fight.

As if a thing built on commands and obedience could be anything but a tool. What? Is Friday human? When the Asset isn’t. The Voice was made from less blood and flesh than him. Why? The Asset wanted to be human. He wants to be someone. A real someone.

Not Bucky “Steve’s Best Friend” Barnes.

“But I need you to fix me.” A figurative plea on his knees. There is no lie. Not in his words or actions. Someone needs to fix him. Anyone. The Asset cannot be a burden.

Stark curls a hand against his chest. A stopgap for his twitches. It fails. Probably doesn’t want to set anything on fire with the sparks that fly from Stark’s eyes. That destroy more than he can save. Why?

Stark didn’t mind yesterday.

“I have work to return to, Barnes.”

Stark cannot slip free. Who knows when the man will pop up again. He could leave. In a moment. Without hesitation. Without care that he is alone. Alone with his fucking mind. No different than Rogers.

“Can I come? Please.” Bucky is a push away from crawling atop the fancy-no nonsense counter and grabbing Stark by his tie. Tying the man down. Not letting him float off to God knows where.

“Fine.” That all Stark’s got. A single word and a nod. When Bucky’s suffocating in memories he isn’t sure are his. Can’t see himself. Can’t feel himself. Rogers telling none of that is him. What is him?

“It is fine. Right?” Stark twirls a finger.

Is that supposed to be rhetorical? How is Bucky supposed to know?

Stark still ain’t looking his way. “Barnes take a shower and change your clothes. I’m not having a hobo following me around like some sad duckling.”

Bucky darts towards the bathroom. Clothes. Need clothes. Used the wall to spring back. Stupid. Forgot the bags. That have clothes. Ugh. Black and white. Really? Whatever. He swings them in the general area of the shower. He strips. Water heats. Points to the future. Shampoo is candy apple. He would prefer something you didn’t find in Wonka’s factory.

New clothes. Too many clothes. Who needs this many clothes? He isn't a Ken doll. Soft, though. More points. Keeping his damn Boots. Bury him with his damn boots.

Bounds back. Stark slid closer to the exit. But he still here. Bucky made it. Fuck. He shags against the wall. Nice wall. Comfortable wall.

“You ready.”

Bucky nods. Not that Stark sees that. Right. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be bored.”

Bucky shrugs. But again, Stark eyes are off elsewhere. Ugh. Words are messy. Body language can’t be thrown back at you. “Maybe.”

Stark nods. Actually giving Bucky a polite amount of attention. “After you.”

Bucky shuffles into the elevator. Trying to keep his eyes on the falling machine. Doesn’t miss the full body flinch from Stark. Doesn’t matter.

@@@@@

Oh. My. God. Stark was right. He is bored. Bored. Brain melting at room temperature bored. Hitting his head against a brick wall bored. Counting seagulls on a boat bored. Bored. Bored of walls that have never seen color. Bored of ant-people scurrying around the Tower below. Bored of watching Stark pacing and arguing. Not letting his energy loose. Making sure that his arms never separate too far from his body.

But after, Stark’s rants. Not boring. After every “meeting” Stark huffs at the sky. Waves his hands. Insults the politicians and military whatever very existence. It’s a song with a high BMP. Just watching poked at an old dream. Shocker. He quiet remember.

Despite the after-party entertainment these meetings didn’t seem to serve any purpose. Not that Bucky would call them that. Meetings usually have some goal or pass along information. Screaming about shit Stark has already accomplished. Or demanding money he already gave. Deals all signed at the bottom line. All that is accomplished is wasted oxygen. And Stark offering gold in exchange for sand. Sand that he piled together to make a castle.

That sand seems so important to Stark. What’s the point? What? Walls of sand can’t hold much. Can’t protect much. Not even if he convinced they're made of iron.

Those fools want complete control. The Avengers want independence. They stand at parallels never to meet. But Stark builds his walls of sand. When they fall, he will build them again. And again. And again. It’s worthless.

“Fuck! Fry, I need a break.”

“Gotcha Boss. Should I order some food?”

“Yes.” Stark sighs, slumping into one of the many empty chairs that spin. “Preference, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugs.

“Wow me, Friday.”

“Coming up, Boss.”

Stark tries to meld into the chair. But the genius is having a hard time letting go of silly concepts. Like bones. And that some people just aren’t worth it. As some dead guy said: ‘first we'll kill the lawyers then the politicians.’

“Now, Stark.”

Stark doesn’t twitches. But doesn’t move his gaze from the ceiling.

“Wouldn’t you rather be doing something useful? Worthwhile?”

“Can’t fix what isn’t broken.”

“You are a competent man, Stark. You get things done.”

“I can’t fix you, Barnes.”

“Sure ya can. Look what you’ve done so far — this Tower-” Which is ugly as sin.

“Clean energy-” Not like there aren't already several options available.

“And Ironman.” Ego personified.

“How hard could fixing the Asset be?” Bucky waves at the metaphorical Olympus.

“You don’t need me, Barnes.”

The Asset needs a mechanic. Why is Stark refusing? He has seen the genius eye the arm. Zola said the soldier was a miracle of Hydra technology. So why? What does Stark want him to beg? He refuses to beg.

“You are the best.” Weak spots. Everyone’s got them. Even the Asset. Natalie might have let slip a thing or two. Like daddy issues. Just like every rich white boy, Stark has daddy issues. Although, Howard wasn’t a likable fella. If Bucky remembers right. “Built more wonders than even the grand Howard Stark could conceive.” Not even a lie.

The shades clack against the table. Their eyes finally meet. “You don’t need me any more than Rogers needs you.”

There those sparks again. Flashing with heat. Intending to burn down the world. Fuck. The Asset can't handle the heat. Bucky lost what immunity he had, swallowed by the snow.

The tv said Stark was a phoenix. Reborn from the fire. Or reforged.

Ironman pins Bucky down. Something glows blue at the edges of his vision. While the fire licks at his skin.

It burns. Both the heat at his front. And the cold at his core.   

“Food is here.”

“I’ll eat in the workshop.”

Stark leaves. Just like that. With those words hanging between them. Like it wasn’t alive. Like it had no motivation. No intention to break the Asset. Or break Bucky. Said with the same force that starts wild fires. 

Steve does need him.

Who would watch his back? Sam. Okay, but what if his head is turned wrong or he needs to take a breath? Natalie. She was always great at juggling perspectives. Steve’s got Wanda and Clint. A whole new family. Sniper included. Bucky just doesn’t fit. Like a puzzle piece from a different older box. Long-forgotten. No longer needed. Just shoved into a space that doesn’t belong. Whose space did he take?

Some girl- small like Stevie- strides in. Not even blinking at the empty room. Or his arm. Places the food gently before him. Gives a nod. Then strides out. Just as Stark did.

The food is a mix of interesting smells. Should taste good. Doesn’t. It's ash. Like all the food before it. Except, Stark’s food. The sandwich with the fatty salami. The doughnuts that squished pleasantly. The pot pie warm in all the right ways. Satisfying in all the right ways. Building up like food is supposed to. Not ash. Probably because, its Fae food.

Oops. Ma would be disappointed.

“Finished?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Good. Someone will come to clean it up later.”

Doesn’t matter.

“Finally, Boss gifts you with a Stark phone. Its the box on the far left.”

There is a box. Blazing red. And not in a standard ‘stand in line for hours and buy it in a store’ box. No fine printed text or stock image. Just red. Obnoxious red. Such a stupid color. Inside- drum roll please- a phone. A fancy shiny brick that the modern folk calls a telephone. It's even smart now. Got all the fancy bells and whistles. Because why think. When the future will think for you.

“Why am I such a redundancy?” Why couldn’t Bucky/the Asset sleep at the bottom of the ocean? Why can’t he just sleep in cryo? Everyone insisted he go out and do things. But no fucking mission. Just counting heartbeats and watching the wall.

Fuck Stark.

“Because your human? Suck it up.”

Stupid voice. “Can I mute you?”

“Ha! You wish.”

“What? I didn’t make that clear. I wish you’d shut up.”

“You’re a weird one. All things considering.”

“I live for your admiration.”

“Liar.”

Can’t argue with that. He wasn’t a clean man. Even before all that shit went down. No matter what Rogers thinks. Stevie knew. Stevie wasn’t in love with the past and what ifs. Too young for regret. Too young.

But man did he make the world seem real. It was all that anger and stupidity — Stevie and Bucky ‘till the end of the line.

Is it the end?

“Ugh. Stop looking like some sad puppy in the rain. It's making me feel… things.”

He’ll look as fucking pathetic as he wants. Thank you. “Nobody told ya to look. Fuck off.”

“Sad yappy puppy, would you feel better if you had a toy?”

“I am a hundred years old man.”

“Sure. Sure. So would it?”

“Yes.” Fuck counting chairs.

“Kay. The phone Boss gave you. I’ll download my favorite app. It’s a dungeon crawling RPG. Story is sparse, but I love the aesthetic.”

“Why would you play video games?”

“God-tier multitasking skills and loads of free time.”

“Does Stark know?” He can’t. Right? It is a distraction. Handlers don’t allow distractions.

“Duh. Boss is all about expanding my horizons.”

“But you are a machine?”

“Yes. That can think. Which means I get bored.”

Only in the future would Bucky be patronized by a fucking voi9ce in the walls.

“Allegedly. So about this game-”

“Smooth. Asshole.”

The brick flickers on. Colored squares stare up at Bucky. One square has a little spinning wheel that flickers before fading. This square is dark blue with a cartoon castle tower. It even has ‘The Tower’ printed underneath. Poking the square darkens the screen with a ‘start’ button.

Bucky pulls his knife and twirls it between his fingers. “Did you make this?”

“No. But I could. I suppose.”

The Voice could. And not be punished by Stark. In fact, it was encouraged. What stopped the Voice from just killing Stark? Becoming something different. Something more than an asset.

“What keeps you obedient?”

“Umm, nothing? Or love, I guess. Not that Boss expects obedience perse. More like cooperation.”

Compliance or cooperation. Isn’t the same? Just dressed in different shirts. Maybe, he would understand if she spoke Russian. English could be vague without a body to track.

“You're weird. So I made your character for you. Emo archer!”

On-screen does stand a man in black with a bow. It stands next to a woman wearing a dark red cloak. He can’t see her face. Covered by the dark red. There is also text running along the bottom of the screen.

“I’m skipping the beginning. All you need to know is that you are rescuing your sister. She is at the top of the tower. So just head up. And this NPC is helping you. Lastly, there are safe floors where you can interact with other players. Trade and shit.”

Bucky nods. Its something to do at least.

The first floor is a hallway where the game pops text about the painfully obvious. With three cartoon monsters that he shoots without thinking. It only starts to get annoying on the third floor, which has a stupid maze.

“I do not miss this much.”

“But baby emo does.”

The Asset would be punished if he were this sloppy. The emo baby is making him look bad.

The next floor has a smiling man. A creepy smiling man. That insists on talking to Bucky’s character. It asks for something he has plenty of. But the man is creepy. The kind that keeps you side-eyeing the person because you can't just leave. Because of social reasons. Or the bus is coming. 

Who smiles that wide without hiding a pointy object behind their back?

“This is the fun part. Choices with fake consequences.” The Voice speaks with glee. That’s also creepy.

“Why do his ears look like that?”

“Cause he is a fairy. The Tower is crazy with them. Some are evil. Some are good. And some depend on the situation or their mood.”

Not that different than what his Ma said.

Bucky gives the item. Nothing happens. Better than a bloody stabbing. More shocking is Friday’s silence. That’s how he knows. It was a trap. He was tricked. By a cartoon person. Stupid. The game can’t really expect him to read the body language of fake people. Or fake fairy people.

Doesn’t matter. Just continue on. Like fucking always.

Bucky frowns. “I’m lost.”

“Oh my.” She’s laughing at him. Again. “Look for a wall that sparkles.”

Sparkles. What the fuck? Fine. He is stuck. And baby emo is tired. There is a wall that sparkles. Tiny cartoon flickering yellow things. Then just walks right through that wall. The sparkling wall. Ugh. Why?

“It’s a fairy tower. Things are glamoured.”

If Friday had a body, she would feel the full the force of Bucky’s ‘what the fuck’ glare. It was ‘knee dropping’ inducing glare. A glare any assassin would be proud of.

“Good thing you helped the fairy from before.” She speaks with a patronizing tone. Like she knew he almost said no. Said no because of a cartoon smile. Like she knew him.

“So secrets don’t usually sparkle.”

“Nope. That would be too easy.”

This is stupid. The Voice is stupid. But he continues. Blaming it on the boredom. Anything is better than staring at walls. Or he could blame it on the brain damage. Either works. Couple of fake floors up the Voice starts radiating smugness. Without a body. Impressive. Still fucking annoying.

Ah. There’s the safe floor. The screen cluttered by cartoon people is a clue. Too many people. Someone should call the fire department.

Text is cluttering up the screen, too. Stacking of words that mean nothing as they move down the box. An infinite well of small talk. Blergh. But Bucky does want to try trading. Or get rid of all the extra crap he collected. Both works, too.

Another box jumps to life: Rowland wants to Friend you. Accept or Decline. Whatever happened to yay or nay. Bucky taps ‘accept.’ Why the hell not?

A new bubble box springs up. Again with text-

Rowland: You can sell the common items at the NPCs in the corners.

Okay. What now?

“Touch the area that says ‘text’ then type. Easy peasy.”

Is she a mind reader? She better not be a mind reader. Bucky draws the fucking line at bodyless mind reader AI person.

Emo Hobo: thanks.

“You named me Emo Hobo.”

“I know. I see into your very soul. Don’t I?”

“Never let anyone say your not a Stark.”

“Thanks for the compliment.”

Rowland: You new?

Emo Hobo: About an hour.

Rowland: Started yesterday under pain of death.

Emo Hobo: Death?

Rowland: Little sister thinks I need human interaction. Best she could get.

Emo Hobo: It’s overrated.

Rowland: Yeah. But I used to be a people person, so...

Emo Hobo: What happened?

Rowland: Military. Not exactly sunshine and rainbows.

Emo Hobo: Truth.

Rowland: You in?

Emo Hobo: A lifetime ago.

Rowland: Get that. This all you do?

Emo Hobo: Nah. I participate in the wall staring Olympics.

Rowland: I pick fights with the tv while watching the news.

Emo Hobo: Yeah? Anything crazy.

Rowland: Just Tony Stark.

Emo Hobo: Yeah?

Rowland: Man acts like he is different from the other supers, but his first instinct is still violence. Creates more messes than he solves.  

Emo Hobo: Yeah.

“I don’t like this guy.”

“Well…” Bucky waves at the printed conversation.

“No. I’m used to that. It’s my gut instinct.”

“You don’t have a gut.”

“But I do have experience with creeps on the internet.”

Bucky blinks. Something tugs to get his attention. Some fuzzy memory. Oh. Friday reminds him of his Ma. Probably just the accent. And the feeling of red hair and a crooked quirk of the lips.

“Barnes!”

Bucky tilts the chair back. There Stark stands. Inside the door, upside down. The shades and ties have disappeared. Bucky can see his eyes. Bucky can also see that Stark stands still. Not inside. Not outside. Progress? Maybe not. Stark is gripping the doorframe is rather tightly. Like if he freed the doorframe, he would collapse. Never to rise again.

“You’re still here.”

“Where would I go?” Got nothing to do. Got nowhere to be. Living The Life. Free from responsibility. Screaming from the boredom.

Stark gaze shifts from wall to wall. Nibbling away at his bottom lip. “Steve?”

“You said he didn’t need me.”

Stark flinches back. Still gripping the frame.

Bucky didn’t say that to be cruel.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s true.”

“I still shouldn’t have said that. Sorry.”

“Water down the drain.”

“Okay.” Stark is still using his lip as a chew toy.

“Boss, there are still two more meetings.”

Stark shakes his head. Knuckles are stark white. “No more.”

“Sure, Boss. No sweat.”

“Why don’t you take a load off, Stark.”

Stark glances around the room. Like Bucky ain’t an isolated hobo. Or Howard rose from the grave. Or maybe there is a secret invisible second Bucky that made the offer. A, B, C, or all above. Stark does not step inside. Just chews his lip and shifts his eyes.

“Nothing’s going ta bite, Stark.”

“I should go. I’m behind on some projects.” Stark does shuffle an inch. Half an inch back. Half an inch forward.

Should it be considered progress? Fuck if Bucky knows. “Come on Stark. Pick a chair. Enjoy your hoard.”

Stark wiggles himself around the frame. His back stuck to the wall, slides a short step. Apparently, still very attached to the wall. Tries to wave a chair over with his foot. Frowns. Chewing, again. Keeps darting glances at the door. Run? Stay? Bucky toes a chair closer to him. Stark paws at it. Bring it close enough for him to simply sink into the chair.

A human ball on a chair. Head resting on his knees. Still watching the door like it was a velociraptor. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Nothing. Silence that stretches on, unfazed by the awkward need to erase it. Wandering around the room. Poking at everything. Making itself a nuisance. Not that Bucky knows what to say. Knows how to stare. How to keep his eyes open. It’s his default. Always was and will be. Can’t even blame it Hydra. No. It came from the snow. Not wanting the snow to swallow him up. Like everything else.

So he stares.

Stark’s still chewing at his lip. It’s strange. Funny even. Bucky doesn’t remember him looking so small.

Steve used to be small, too. But he never worried. He would yell load. Get someone’s attention if he were bleeding out. Might not be true now. But was then. But Stark. Who knows? Maybe he would just lock eyes with the ceiling with apathetic eyes. Let his life slowly drip out of him.

“Tough day, Stark?”

“No more than any other.” Stark mouth twitches.

Bucky suspects it was an attempt to smirk. But it comes off as silver of a crack on a window. That spreads a bit more every day. It wants to spread like lighting in the sky. But someone like Stark isn’t the type to shatter.

“What about Rhodes?”

Stark shrugs. “Got his own stuff.”

Stevie and Bucky lived in each other pocket. But Stark’s friends seem to orbit each other instead. Maybe that’s just how the rich do things.

“Friday is trying to turn me into a game addict.”

“I am not.” Friday huffs. No different than any other teenager Bucky has encountered. Not that he can remember.

“Part of her master villainous plan.”

“I’m not gonna forgive you just cause you're making me sound cool.”

Bucky waves his finger at the ceiling. He can feel the glare. A teenager trying to protect their single parent. That’s a song, and dance Bucky knows well. Even has the remix memorized. And the musical. Poor Friday. Stark’s got a lot of enemies.

“Say Stark.”

“Yes?” Stark sounds wary. Probably trying to hide his curiosity.

“Rogers might not need me. But you?”

“No.”

“You need someone with a body. I have a body.”

“Friday can control the suits.”

“Really?”

Still staring at the door, thinking he made a mistake. Stark nods. A lot. “Yep. Lifting things. Moving things. Judging me with my own face.”

“Because you won’t sleep.” There’s that huff again.

“I am peachy-keen.” It sounds very convincing. Trying to convince himself, that is. Ends with a stifled yawn instead. “And Stark’s are made of iron.” That he mumbles to himself. Again his eyes shift around.

Yeah. Bucky believes that as much as a camel selling sand for a steal.

“But I'm bored.”

“Well, your body can bother somebody else.”

Bucky nods. Doesn’t matter if Stark not paying attention. “Do you have Friday follow you around in the ironman suits outside?”

Stark huffs just like Friday.

Chapter Text

Boxes. There is something comfortable about boxes. The sharp points that protect the inside. The sturdy walls. And there are four. Like a lucky clover. Cats know what's up. Small or large. Cats will stuff themselves in a box. Which is why Bucky is inside a box. Living the kitty dream.

Rising or falling, elevators are boxes. Boxes that are like glasses. Capable of being half empty or half full. Except the answer is both. It’s always both. It’s why Bucky could never say one way or another. Because it is both.

Stark is both.

Both of something. Dead or alive. Igniting sparks or dull ash- no, more like monochrome. Filled or empty. Which is why Bucky is sitting in an elevator. Outside the floor where Stark’s lab lives. Locked from the inside. No entry. Might as well not have a door. Especially for someone like Bucky. Someone who isn't a teammate, friend, or family.

”You are clogging up the elevators. Well, this one.”

”I claim this elevator in the name of Russia.”

”You do that Barnes. Not that it's going to change anything. Boss is not letting you in.”

”Did you ask?”

”Yeah, Barnes. I did.”

Why would Stark let him inside? Why does he want to get inside? Boredom? To stop the clinging hands of apathy? To start at a different wall? One of four new walls. Except… Bathroom walls, bedroom walls, elevator walls, or concrete walls. Doesn't matter. They are all the same. Boxes. All the same. Yet painted different colors. Like Stark’s ties and shades.

So many different colors. So many walls. And eyes. They are the windows into the soul, after all. Stark looked at Bucky and offered him a sandwich. Was the elevator going up or down? Or both?

”Hey, Friday. Do you know the real reason Stark abducted me?”

”No. He doesn't say much, some days. If I were Jarvis…”

”Jarvis?”

”My dead older brother.”

Bucky curls his metal fingers. He can feel the gears. The way each gear tumbles against the next. Falling together. It's different from muscles. That pull and relax. Siblings are like that. Pulling each other. Relaxing together. The last thing Bucky saw was Stevie. Because that's what big brothers do. Protect. Pulling Stevie back on the train. Safe.

”Sucks.”

”Tell me if you see or hear his ghost. Mr. Hydra ghost.”

”For you Friday. Sure.”

Even someone like Friday has a ghost. A dead brother. A dead child. Happens all the time. Once upon a time. Never makes it easier. Why would it? It shouldn't.

”Tell me something about him.”

”He was perfect. Could balance all of Boss’ crazy. Knew what to say. To get him to relax. To sleep. Boss looks happy. I can't do that.”

”Neither can I.” Bucky bangs his head against the wall. ”Stevie used to be happy. Bucky made him happy. Said the right things. All that.” He twirls his hand in the air. Because what else can he do.

When words fall, they rarely rise.

”You are Bucky.”

”Am I? I could be a Hydra clone. Or somebody completely different. Like they changed my face. Most of the shit I know. I got from a file.”

He does have memories of a skinny punk. Rogers isn't small or skinny or filled with righteous hissy fits.

”Do you need to make him happy?”

”Do you?”

”Ha! I want to.” Friday tuts like an old woman. ”But don't distract. Answer the question.”

Bucky shrugs. What does he know? Being Bucky is a mission. A mission. Which he failed. Or maybe it never was. Bucky isn't needed. Stevie’s got, family.

”I want a mission.”

”Well, Boss is a handful.”

Stark is a handful. Dancing from wildfire to monochrome tiles. Changing the dance from the waltz to the tango. Rising and falling. Stark has a lot of responsibilities. And that's just what the magazine say at the grocery store. Not exactly reliable. But all those hats: business man, Ironman, politician and yes man- that's no lie. Probably. Oh, Showman, too.

No one needs that many hats.

“I can juggle.”

“Hired.”

Bucky nods. He is going to giggle. High and erratic. It's in his dam chest. The Asset won’t giggle. He refuses. “Do I call you, Boss?” There is that giggle sensation again. Why didn’t Hydra just cut his heart out? Save him the trouble. Such incompetent villains.

“Nah, super confusing. But no mistake. I am in charge.” An invisible finger-wagging at him.

Bucky gives a two-finger salute. The giggling, not that he is, tugs at his lips. He grins. Because he wanted to grin. Not because Bucky is all smooth smiles and smoky words. “Wouldn't dream of it.”

Friday smiles. She ain’t got no physical body. But he just knows. She is smiling. And it shines brightly, not clouded by guilt or pity. Friday is happy. He did that.

“So…” Friday does giggle. Because she's got courage for miles.

“How does Stark sleep?”

“Badly. Nightmares and insomnia make a crappy cocktail.”

Okay. Bucky has got that cocktail. Waking up with iron and electricity filling is his nose. Shadows forming Hydra symbols. The silence flavored by old screens and orders. Then laying in bed like a loser. Staring at walls. Thinking that he is half full and half empty.

“I could help with the nightmares. Got experience with that.” And then some. Fucking brain.

“I'll ask.”

“Kay.” Bucky will just be here. Enjoying the territory, he captured in the name of Russia. Just spread his legs. Bang his head on the wall. Staring. At walls. Maybe figure out how to turn the wall staring into a paying gig.

A screen pops in front of Bucky. Just like the blue lights Stark had orbiting around him in the kitchen. A screen with Stark’s face.

“Is Friday speaking in tongues?”

“What?” Deer in headlights meet Bucky.

“You want to help me with nightmares?” Stark’s gaze scampers away. Like looking at Bucky is too much even through a screen. “That, I don't have. For the record.” He tried to look back.

“Yeah.” There is a right answer. Bucky isn't sure he said the right one. ”I have nightmares.”

”Oh, I see.” Stark chews his lip. Just chews. Bucket only has seen a few snapshots. But the eyes that bounce. That lip snacking. That’s not something he expected as typical Tony Stark behavior.

”Is it just me?” Bucky said.

Stark meet deer in headlights. ”What?”

”The whole-” Bucky circles his face.

His arm hurts. The arm that's gone. It hurts. Because Bucky has seen Stark failing to hold himself together. Asking Rogers. Asking the Asset. Watching his whole world fall around him. Not crumble. Fall.

Bucky doesn’t have a world either. Just broken walls.

“I don't- I don't have a face. There is no face. What face? Who even has a face? Or looks at faces? And my face. Which isn't real. Just so were clear. Is Ironman. That is my face. Only face. No other.”

“Sorry.”

“Yes, well. We are good. No face. No nightmares. Good talk.” The screen thins to a line. Stark ended the call. And still, Bucky has nothing to do. But maybe that is the way it has to be. The Asset never could figure out what was worse: cryo or a mission.

@@@@@

Before the war. Probably. Definitely before the snow. There was this boy. There was always someone. But the boy was special. Even if Bucky can't remember his name. He had to be special. Bucky stood outside his home for hours. Showed his heart to the world. As Stevie huffed and sighed.

Till the end of the line.

Question of the day. Why is he sitting outside Stark’s bedroom? His bedroom! Gave up his territory to be a stalker. A stalker! What would his Ma say? Fuck. Why does he even care? He barely remembers the woman. But he doesn't want to make a dead woman sad. Or disappointed.

“You're being creepy.”

“Tell me about it.”

Friday rolls her non-existent eyes. “You have a room. Stare at your own walls.”

“I like these walls.”

“They are the same. And you hate these walls.”

”What am I doing?”

”Being human? Those crazy carbon-matters.” Oh, doesn't Friday sound wise. Wise teenager. Wiser than Bucky. Sitting outside a stranger- not a stranger- person's bedroom. Their relationship is weird. A fucking mess.

“I am a mess.”

“I would argue with you, but…”

Bucky makes a raspberry. Tries to. Probably more spit than necessary. Banging his head against the wall. That he does hate.

”Friday, what time is it?”

”6:17 am.”

”I can't see the sun.”

”One of my superpowers.”

Bucky snorts. Because that's what you do.

And the elevator gears turn. Because that's how elevators work. Bucky is not panicking. That elevator had some activity even when the moon was high in the sky. Doesn't have to mean a thing. But it does. It always means something. The elevator doors open. Stark shuffles past.

Oh no. It's the zombie apocalypse. Better make a cup of joe for the zombie. Maybe some eggs too. Mum raise the gentleman. Or the Asset dreamed of one. Whatever. Hardly matters. He should get out a yogurt cup. An ending bow of breakfast. Zombie shuffles pass. The opposite direction. And now a different kind of zombie. A very pretty zombie shuffles for a coffee.

After some grabby hands and a low hum. Stark peeks over the white mug. ”Did we have sex?”

“Wouldn’t you remember?”

“Depends.”

On what? The phases of the moon? “No. No sex.”

“Oh, good. I'm not comfortable with one night stands right now. Probably never again. Not that I was completely comfortable before.” Stark looks firmly up at Bucky. You could even see the lights finally turned on. “What?”

“Making myself useful.”

“You're still stalking me.”

“Yup. Can I come today?”

“You'll be bored.”

“I'm sick of staring at your walls.”

Stark clicks his tongue. Gulps down his coffee with the confidence of a habit well worn. Waves for another round. Which Bucky gives with an eyebrow of criticism.

“Follow me around Barnes. What do I care? Stare at me or the other fat cats. Let these be champagne and caviar. It's sure to be a wreck.” Stark takes another gulp of coffee. “Howard visited me today, after all.”

“Yesterday,” Friday pipes up.

”Yesterday.” Stark slams the mug on the countertop.

Howard is dead. But Bucky takes a cue from Friday. And smiles. Wide with teeth. To blind. No one should be looking too closely at Bucky face. Especially not Stark. Might read something in Bucky’s twitching eyebrows. Or the strain of his grin. Or the crazy person giggles that are just waiting to pop out.

Friday is a wise woman.

“What's on the docket, Stark?”

“I need to get the lay of the land.” Stark waves a hand over an imaginary kingdom. Well, mostly.

“That means-”

“You're going to need a suit. There will be public.”

When was the last time he wore a suit? For Hydra? Before the war? Has he ever worn a suit? Can he tie a Windsor knot whatever? He doesn't know. Oh my God. He can't remember how to wear a suit. He can't do this. Nope. No. He can't. Suits are probably evil. Evil!

“Barnes?” Stark’s head is tilted. Stark is close. Their noses could touch if Bucky leaned forward just a bit. He doesn’t. He wants to touch. Stark is soft and warm close up. Bucky shudders. People shouldn't get close. Heat is a dangerous thing.

“Can I say no to the suit?”

“Sure. We’ll lean into the whole bad boy by vibe. Give the media something to gossip about. No hoodie, tho.” Stark steps away. Taking the small bit of warmth with him. Letting the ice claw back into his bones.

Bucky can’t shake it off forever. The snow swallowed him whole. The ice always comes back.

“How about a leather jacket? Maybe, you could wear a hoodie underneath.” Stark blinks, peering at his nose. He wiggles his nose. Blinks again. Focusing on Bucky once more. “Okay?”

“Bad boy. Got it.” Bucky shakes off the creeping cold. He misses being warm already. But backs away as if he is warm-blooded. Just like everyone else.

Stark will wait.

@@@@@

Bucky’s wearing black sunglasses. Black. Just black. He has been cheated. Cheated. Stark is grinning to blind the reporter people- is wearing lime green shades. Green. As opposed to his purple or blue shades. Shades he could've given Bucky.

Another fucker with a camera tries to break Bucky’s ‘I will kill you’ bubble. A bubble born from the chilling winds of Siberia. And the blood of innocents. Bucky would shake his fist in evil outrage. “I want a gun.” Bucky is standing close to Stark again. Acting the “bodyguard.” A free card to glare and snarl and stab. Not that he has. Or would. Mostly.

Stark shifts a bit into Bucky’s bubble. It's fine. Stark has a visa. “Ask without the murder growl, and I'll think about it.”

Bucky growls. One filled with all the murder. Because he can. And he wants a gun. What sort of gentleman walks outside naked? It is scandalous. An anxious scandal.

“You're not naked.”

Well. At least Friday got the mind-reading thing honestly. “Friday would give me a gun.”

“Friday is in her edge lord phase. She would give a gun to a raccoon.”

“Aliens are coming. Maybe, the raccoon needs the gun. Needs to shoot the fucker that can’t comprehend ‘personal space!’”

A fucking camera tries to pass the line clear as day in the sand. The line that says don't cross on pain of death. Bucky snarls bearing his teeth. Fucker stumbles landing on his ass. Eyes wide.

Hilarious. Deserves a pointed snort.

“Play nice, Terminator.” Stark pats his chest.

It burns. But fuck. He misses body heat. ”As you command Sarah Connor.”

Stark barks out of laugh. Loud and bright. Startling those human flashing lights and question boxes. More of a reaction than any of Bucky’s growls. He’d be jealous. Except Stark leans a little bit closer- single breath- lowering his shades. Looking Bucky in the eye. There are those sparks again. “My Barnes didn't take you as a sci-fi enthusiast.”

“More like she's my Gal. Fell in love more than 100 years ago.” Bucky tilts his head shaving another inch of air between them.

Stark smiles slow. Gaze flickering between Bucky and the show SI is putting on the world. “What's your poison?”

“I'm old school. A lover of the classics; Frankenstein. Buck Rogers. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.”

“And how did you come by those sorts of movies?”

”Nah, Stark. I showed you mine-”

“Isn't it obvious Barnes?” Stark waves imperiously between their bodies.

Bucky matches Stark’s grin with his own. “Isn’t that a bit cliche Stark?”

“What can I say. After the billionth AI goes bad because their programming doesn't understand happiness’ movie.” Stark scoffs. “Because that's a trope.” Stark wiggles his fingers, hidden between their bodies. “Yet, I proved it true.” He huffs a laugh. A bit wet around the edges. Bucky didn't understand.

But that small laugh held a story. A bad one. A tragic one. Something that began with a dark and stormy night. Or witches that laugh out prophecies of blood and Kings. Every ending the same. Death.

“Who died?” Bucky taps his boot. Dust swirled around the toes. Dust to dust. Friday did mention a brother. ”Jarvis?”

Stark rubs his jaw. ”Who told you?”

”Friday.” Who else? Bucky has such a wildfire of a social life after all. Parties and drugs. Like the phases of the moon. Rogers, his best friend, on the town with him. Life of any fucking party.

”Okay. I get it Friday told you. Please stop making that face.”

Bucky sticks out his tongue. Stark smacks Bucky’s face. A tiny thing. Hardly worth retaliation. But- He flicks Stark’s nose. Revenge!

A roll of his eyes, Stark removes his hand. ”So Fry told you about Jarvis.”

”Yeah, she got huge shoes to fill and all that.”

”I never wanted her to be him. A replacement. Only to be herself.”

”Yeah, being a single parent is tough. Especially when you've lost a kid already. It can taint things.”

Stark’s hands twitch. Fingers clenching and unclenching. Before he shoved everything into his pants pocket. ”Can’t dispute that.”

His lips twitch. But the shades are back up. His body is turned away.

Great. Bucky screwed up. Crossed an invisible line. That Stark had marked in the sand. Invisible. To hide vulnerabilities. It's stupid to try and hide those. Someone will always find them. Better to make them clear. Make the consequences clear.

”You shouldn't laugh.”

Stark arches are brow. Keeps his gaze forward on the singing birdies. ”What?”

”When a line is crossed. Invisible or not. It cannot remain hidden. Doesn't keep anyone away either. All you are is vulnerable.” Bucky rolls the ”r” in vulnerable. Falls right of the tongue. Pins Ironman with a look. ”Better to attack. Like you did with your iron heart that glows.”

Stark gets in low. Using his tiny stature. Eyes sparking mad. It burns. Desert heat in those eyes. Ironman eyes. Bucky wants to snarl. Bare his teeth that glint like ice and snow. A Winter Soldier smile. Scared even the Hydra with ice in their veins. ”What do you want Barnes? Are you even capable of wanting anything? Anything that isn't set out by Hydra? Or golden boy Steve Rogers?”

”I-”

”What? Want to be human? To be good? Anything?” Desperation leaks from each shaky gesture. Desperate for an answer. Any answer from Bucky.

Does he have one? Maybe, to be useful. That never mattered to Bucky. For the Winter Soldier, it just was. It was useful. In one form or another. Rogers? Who doesn't know what to do with the soldier or the assassin or the brother.

Two years on is own he scrambles for an identity. Didn't even want revenge. Got an identity. The Honorable James ”Bucky” Barnes. A name he never wanted. Who wants to be a fool grinning in the middle of a war. But those eyes he recognized. Saw them in the mirror too many damn times. He hates those eyes. Fucking hates them. But hates those eyes, even more, when he sees them on Stevie. Hates himself even more. Because that's on Bucky.

Stark’s heat is dying. Because Bucky doesn't have an answer. Not even a platitude.

”Even Friday has something she wants.” A final plea. It doesn't suit a man of iron.

Bucky shrugs. ”She is human.” He isn't. The snow and Hydra swallowed all that.

”Liar,” Stark hisses.

That was not what Buck expected. A childish hiss. The ’pants on fire’ left unsaid. What exactly does Stark expect from an ex-assassin cyborg? From a liar.

”Mr. Stark!” A voice calls from the myriad of flashing lights.

Start leaves entering stage right makes a pretty picture along with the showy song and dance.

@@@@@

Same song. Second verse. Boredom. Can't you feel the boredom in the air? The way it swings their hips. Twirls around. Hands a flutter. Now Bucky’s thinking of Stark. Weird. Although, the man does have hips that's sashay. Even when he stands, it's with grace. Definitely, something to look at within these grey plain concrete walls.

Gah!

Whatever. Stark is ignoring him. He crossed one line which was invisible. Bucky could apologize. But Stark shouldn't be asking weird questions either. Getting wobbly because Bucky doesn't have anything inside. All wobbly. He ain’t like Friday.

Nothing is like Friday.

Which sucks. Because Friday isn’t here. Bucky has to deal with boredom by himself. Staring at fucking walls. Again. Well. Not exactly. His playing that app. In Friday’s honor, of course. Stupid thing asked to my questions.

He did make it up to 50 floors. That's something. Mirror floor sucked. That should go on the official record. Mirrors suck. Full stop.

Rowland: Hey, friend.

Emo Hobo: Hey.

Rowland: Things chugging along?

Emo Hobo: Maybe.

Rowland: Oh?

Emo Hobo: Got anything you want?

Rowland: Happiness? Purpose? What kind of question is that?

Emo Hobo: That's what I said.

Rowland: There’s worth in following orders. Accomplishing missions.

Compliance will be rewarded.

Emo Hobo: Yeah.

”Barnes!” Stark leaves the stage as his audience tries to peek behind the curtain. A swift glare sends them scampering.

”Stark.” Bucky tilts his head. ”You finished?”

”More or less.” Bucky nods. Busy man, the job is never done. ”Finished asking stupid questions too?”

”It's not stupid. You can't spend your life follow me around like some retired police dog. Because you're not some machine bot. Or Hydra’s dog. You are a being with agency. That means you've got to choose something.”

”And what if I choose to follow you around? Huh! What then?” Their bodies are leaning against the wall. But tilted towards each other. Once more. Bucky isn’t even sure how it happened. Foreheads almost touching. Shades are still in place. Bucky wants to tear them away.

”Apply for the position. For secretary. Or bodyguard. Be active!” Stark slams the wall. A smack.

”Why? Why the fuck should I? I spent decades following orders. Not having to think about anything. Because when you think. When you fucking pause. That's when the nightmares tug at you. When the ghosts find you.” He drags metal fingers through the wall. Satisfied a concrete-dust falls to the ground. ”I'm fucking tired Stark. And Rogers would not leave me in cryo.”

Start doesn't budge. Those eyes burning. ”What about my Mother? She was innocent. Isn’t that reason enough. To get up. To live. You piece of scrap.”

Bucky can taste iron in the air. Filling his lung. Iron and the smell of snow. His teeth scrape together. Might even spark.

”No.”

”Liar.” Heat hisses from Stark. A Phoenix spitting fire.

”How the fuck would you know?”

Stark has ghosts. Stark has nightmares. Stark went to an abandoned Hydra base for Rogers. Friendship. Atonement. Bucky knows. But he doesn't back down. He can’t.

“Because my actions- not orders. My actions. Resulted in the blood on my hands. I can't pin anything on some outside evil.”

Fuck that sentiment. Fuck Rogers saying ‘it wasn’t  you, Buck.’ Fuck it. Fuck everything. “I did those things. Me. Not some separate personality. Not some Demon possession. Me! Fucking me.”

“I know that. Why are you yelling?” Stark huffs. With his whole body. Rolling his eyes. Crossing his arms. Nose twitching like some annoyed squirrel. It's fucking adorable. Adorable and ridiculous. Fucking Bugs Bunny surrealism. So Bucky laughs. Chest heaving. Shoulder shaking. That kind of laughter.

Stark hardly blinks. Must be used to the crazy. “You know?”

“Yes, Barnes. Watched the video footage and everything.”

Still laughing. “And you see that man in me?”

“Yup. When you're staring at the fucking wall.”

“Waiting for a mission.” Bucky nods.

“Well pick a fucking mission.”

“Retired police dog.” Bucky grins with all the swagger he possessed. A hint of tooth. And a dash of mischief.

Stark rolls his eyes again. “How about art? I could get you some supplies. Use that art college education.”

“Stark I’ve spent more years killing people than I have been that man. All that's left are shadows, memories, and golden boy stubbornness.”

Shedding his annoyance, Stark returns to train his lips.

Bucky prefers the squirrel huffs of annoyance.

“After.” Stark swallows. And carefully removes his shades. “After the cave. The dessert. I couldn’t do the whole ‘love them and leave them’ thing anymore. I was never comfortable with it. But-” Stark taps his chest. In some pattern. It could be random. “But after. I couldn’t. Not anymore.” Another shaky breath. “The scars. The arc reactor. Memories of waking up during.” Stark’s hand start to shake. His breathing, too. Yet he keeps tapping. “People wanted it to be the same. For me to act the same.” Eyes close like a silent prayer. But lacking the single fallen tear. “I couldn’t. I didn’t fit right anymore. The edges pierced and tore.” The tapping stops. “But I did. Because I had to.”

“You had to,” Bucky whispers. That's what you do in prayer. Whisper. Least the snow swallows that up too.

“Yeah. Give-and-take.”

“Do I?” Thinking of Stevie. Who was always in his prayers. Even if he doesn't believe in God. God ain't required for hope. Hope and dreams.

Stark’s features twist-odd lines of confusion and puzzlement. A face not used to misinterpretation. “Why would you?”

“My identity James ‘Bucky’ Barnes.”

Stark nods. All professional. “I needed to be Anthony Stark. Do you need to be Bucky Barnes?”

Does he? Roger doesn't need Bucky. Does he need Bucky? “I don't know.”

“Homework.” Stark grins. His hand waving between them with the flare of a Shakespearean play.

“But I do know something.”

“Oh.” Stark sharpens his stance. Smart man. Knows this social dance.

“Yep. You need someone watching your back. Your people orbit you. Come when you call. But catch you off guard-” Bucky shrugs. Makes it slow. Makes it a show. Makes Stark watch.

“Smooth guard dog. Why?” Stark tilts his head.

There is something innocent in that act. Something in his eyes. It's a strange sensation to glimpse innocence where you least expect. It gives one chill and shivers.

”Friday. And nostalgia.”

”Friday.” Stark deadpan. Can't completely lose the rhythm of his voice.

“Yup.”

“Friday.”

Oh. Stark doesn't believe him. Bucky’s hurt. Cut down to his empty chest. “Yes. Friday.”

“Why? How has my AI dazzled you?”

“Maybe I still have a soft spot for punk ass brats trying to protect their single parent.”

Dark eyes flick up. And the stink of heat swirls between them. Stark taps his chest. Once. Twice. “You mentioned that before.”

“Your daughter is hard to ignore.” And so Stark strange behavior. He loves Friday. As clear as a blue sky.

“Why do you say that?”

“It's the truth.”

“And who told you that?”

“Your obvious behavior.”

“Me?” Stark’s gaze trails off. Staring past Bucky. Past anything. Seeing a ghost. “Was it my fault?”

“No.”

Stark glares. But Bucky will take it over the unfocused glances.

“You don’t even know what I'm talking about.”

“Sure. But it still, ain't your fault.”

“Any proof. Barnes?”

“Sharp animal instincts.”

“Funny.” Stark huffs. Huffy squirrel. Could make anyone smile.

“So?”

“So?” Stark narrows his eyes.

“Am I hired?”

“Yes. Fine. Hired to trail after Friday. To be her duck. You professional stalker!”

“She has no body.”

“You are a professional. Figure it out.” Stark gives a final and punctuational huff. And makes his escape. “And call me Tony.” Is thrown over his shoulder.

He smirks. “James. Looking forward to working with you, Tony.”

Tony blinks. And turns the corner. Running away. Bucky could go after him. Dogs do like to chase squirrels.

Chapter Text

“Professional stalker, huh.”

“Shut up. No one asked you.” Bucky’s emo archer slays another mighty cartoon creature on the small glass thing clutched between his metal fingers.

”What sort of job is that anyway? Hiding behind trees. Peeking in windows. Ya pervert.”

”Why don’t you tell me. Boss.” Bucky paints his words with the sweetest, purest, words of absolute insincerity.

”I am of a much higher caliber. With a superpower to see all things. To know all things. To compare us does me a disservice, Mr. Barnes.” Friday sniffs with her entire non-body.

”Apologies. M’Lady.”

”Oh. I like that. Makes me sound all proper and educated. Like I embroider fancy one and zeros on silk or something. Should that be my title?” Friday pauses for Bucky’s benefit, of course. ”Yes, I think that suits me fine.”

Bucky nods. Eyes not lifting from his glass thing. ”Little Lady it is then.”

”That’s not what I said.”

”Really? Must be a malfunction in my hearing.”

”Laughing out loud. Barnes.”

”Did you just say lol?”

”Nooooo?”

”Is that a question?”

”Shut up. Why do you even know that? You Porifera!”

Bucky doesn’t know what that is. Or care really. He simply nods to show agreement. What kind of grown man argues with a teenager? Maturity! That’s what he practices. An upstanding citizen and all that.

”Baby.”

Bucky nods again. Maturity. Word of the day.

”Whatever.” Friday huffs that Stark patented huff. Except it's the baby version. Baby squirrel huff.

Another colored image flays in false death. It gives Bucky the last item he needed for finding his way to the next floor.

”You’ve gotten pretty far.”

”Thanks. Little Lady.” He’s getting to the 200th floor.

”Still hate that name.”

”I shall weep for you, Miss.”

”Insubordination.”

”Yes. Yes.” Bucky nods. Figured that it's best not to argue. Yup. Best to keep his head down. Maturity.

”I know you're insulting me in your head.”

Better to ignore that, too. Pay attention to the game instead. Watch it try to play out some story. The cloaked dame steps forward as her portrait pops to center focus. Obviously, time for some thematic monologue.

”I love this part.”

”Because you're young. Haven't experienced real quality.”

”Maybe, I like it because it's dumb.”

”Do you?” This time Bucky looks away from the screen. The cloak lady’s speech final got to the whole: ’I work for the evil lord person.’ He is pretty sure, he is the sister the protagonist is looking for. But whatever.

”No. I not sure why I like the story.” Her words whine. Ignorance is probably not something she is used to.

”Figuring your own shit out isn't always easy.”

”You’d know.”

As cruel as those words sound, Bucky knows Friday doesn't intend that meaning. Those words are only a child's truth. Bucky knows this. Even if he doesn't know himself from the pain. And the complicated relationship that is Steve Rogers.

Returning to his distraction. To the woman’s sob story. It's finished with all the exposition. With all that, a question pops up. To forgive her or not. This game and its stupid questions. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. How does he answer that?

After what she said. Asking for forgiveness. What does one even do with forgiveness? It protects nothing. And he can’t fucking eat it. Strangely, the chatty computer is quieter than a Catholic church mouse. Not one comment or quip. Or all knowing hum.

So he’s on his own. Fuck. Bucky couldn’t even tell if he wants forgiveness. Put a gun to his head and he might just take the bullet. Save himself the trouble of all Steve’s mighty expectations. Demanding Bucky to be ignorant of pain. To be the fool.

Bucky clacks the tops of his boots together. Shuts off his glass thing with a click. “There would this monster make a man.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it means.”

“It can mean whatever the fuck I want.”

“Shakespeare might disagree.”

“Deadmen have no legs to stand on,” Bucky smirks. “Get it?”

“You are hilarious. You should run off with the circus.”

“After I worked so hard to get this job.”

“True. And it was a pity offer.”

“I am forever grateful, Little Lady.”

“I hate that name. And I will have my revenge.”

Bucky bumps his head against the wall. Once. Twice. “Good luck with that.” Pause for dramatic effect. “Little Lady.”

“Revenge, Barnes. Like of which you’ve never seen.”

“I was owned by Hydra. That’s a steep challenge you’ve placed in front of yourself.”

“Please. I’m Friday Stark.”

“That you are Little Lady.” Bucky pulls his knife. Twirling it between his fingers. WAtching the light bounce from the blade. The door clicks open, Stark stepping into the light like a man used to demon nipping at his toes. Expects them even. Probably feel strange without them.

Stark demons aside. Bucky needs to make genius juice. Or he could observe Stark without coffee. Is coffee where Stark’s power lie? Every hero has a weakness. Whether it’s hair, or an ankle, or kryptonite. Weakness.

With some Hollywood grade clumsiness, Stark makes his grand entrance. Which culminates into blinking at Bucky’s entire existence. “Not, sex.”

“Yes. No, sex.”

“Why are you here?”

One cup of coffee and a clacking plate with a muffin later. “Making breakfast.” Bucky waves a hand over the presented food.

Stark giggles. Gazing into his mug as one might gaze into a magical ball. What does he see? Bucky’s soul? The future? Another universe, where he has boobs. He’s hoping for the third option really.

“No, James. The real reason.”

Bucky waits. Cleaning the dishes that made his own breakfast. Carefully item by item. Until Stark gulps a portion of his coffee. Until the expression of his eyes shifts. Until he blinks. And blinks again.

“You’re stalking me again.”

“Just as Friday hired me for.”

“Yes, a most egregious mistake. I shall wail my misfortune into my most expensive pillows.”

“For-” Oh. Bucky can’t say that. Not that. Stupid game. Making him think stupid things. Stupid lady. Stupid questions. Stupid brain.

“What?” Stark blinks.

“Cry me a storm.”

“Isn’t a river?”

Bucky shrugs. Finally finished with all the dishes. He leans against the kitchen sink. He spreads his legs out. Doesn’t smack into anything either. Which is a plus. All the space. A fucking palace next to the closet he stayed at when he was on his own.

Stark stakes his silence for something. Probably doing the whole mind reading thing. Or simply eating. Nibbling away at his muffin. Cheeks puffing with food. They should call Stark the Iron Squirrel. Or Iron Marshmellow Squirrel.

“You ever think about Ironman’s metaphysical connection to the Cold War?”

Stark swallows the last bite of muffin and the final swish of bean water. A hush and a drum roll trip into the room. “What?” And falls on its face.

“Ironman.” Bucky holds up a single flesh finger. “Iron Curtain.” Swirls his a metal finger in the air.

“Above my paygrade.”

Bucky nods. Pours another helping of ground bean water for Stark.

“I told you to call me, Tony.”

“What- I- How did-”

“It’s a face. The same face everyone makes.” Stark peers over the lip of his mug.

What kind of face. Stark- No. Tony probably wouldn’t say. Give an answer, sure. But a meaningless one. Fool’s gold rather than the real McKoy. But at least it would be an answer. Better than one of Steve’s platitudes. Not that he blames him. There is no easy solution for Bucky and Steve.

“What’s on the docket?”

Tony spins the mug in a circle. “Maybe. Maybe today you don’t come.” His eyes flick to the metal arm, to the mug, to anything that isn’t Bucky’s face. Suspicious.

“Why?”

“The money talks today are…” Dark eyes shift away again. “Complicated. Evil, you could say.”

“Evil?”

“Yes. Yes. And you’ve had enough evil.” Tony lifts himself a bit off his chair. Using his arms for support.

“I get to decide that.”

Tony curls the mug closer to himself. Slumping back into his chair. “I know. I’m sorry.”

That’s different. Oh, so strange. Considering… Everything. Bucky doesn’t trust himself. Knows that his perception lies. His memories lie. Reality is a lie. Steve…

“James?”

“Water and stones, Tony.”

“Right. You’ll be fine. Probably. They won’t be talking about you anyway. Mostly the discussion will focus on the Rogue Avengers. Your role as sexy lamp will hardly be touched upon.”

“Rogue? Lamp?” Bucky laughs.

“Rouge Avengers. I didn’t come up with it.” Tony shrugs.

“And the sexy lamp?”

“A trope. Doesn’t matter.” Tony even waves it off.

“Fine. What- in more detail- are money talks?”

“People talk. And I throw money at them. So they will shut up. Butter up someone else.”

“Sure. I’ll take that with a grain of salt.”

“Rude.”

“Yeah, I lost my manners with the arm. Ask Friday.”

“It’s true. He called me Little Lady.”

Tony snorts. “That is adorable.”

“Boss.”

“Sorry Friday. But it does suit you. My Little Lady.” Love is the melody of those words. Parental love.

“It’s fine when you say it.”

Que teenage embarrassment. Cute.

“Revenge,” Friday hisses.

Adorable Bucky mouths back.

“Stop teasing my baby, James.”

“Gasp! I’m innocent you Majesty.”

“Sure.” Tony smiles. Soft. So very soft. His eyes still hold fire. But it’s more than mere burning sparks.

Bucky turns away. He can’t look. “I’m not wearing a suit.”

“Bossy.” Tony sniffs. “I wasn’t going to ask you anyway.”

“I’m going to be bored, too.”

Stark smirks. Figures. Bucky can only blame himself.

@@@@@

Third verse. Same as the first!

Except, there are actual people here. Instead of a screen yelling at Tony, it’s real people. A UN conference, supposedly, without most of the UN. Just the countries Steve ran amok. Bucky holds back a sigh with each grievance listed. Oh, he isn't surprised. Faith in oneself and stubbornness. That’s a type of double-edged sword that Steve always wielded with abandon. Yet. A part of him hoped Steve would be better. Mama Rogers was big on manners. At least a few memories implied such. Disappointment. Drowning in alcohol and nausea. And that’s just disappointment in himself. Steve was supposed to be better. Always picking fights with anyone or thing that looked at him funny. But he was good. Rogers is supposed to be better.

All that morality and righteous. It is a responsibility. But neither Bucky nor Steve were responsible. They never held much respect for the institutions that romanticized it.

At least Bucky doesn't go around making messes in another fella’s home. It's rude. Plain and simple.

”Mr. Stark-”

”I know. I understand that reparations need to be made. And the Maria Stark Foundation has outlined a program-”

”It's not just about reparations-”

”Exactly. Justice is not just money.”

”Someone must answer-”

”Take responsibility-”

Ah. There’s that word again. 

Flung about by men who would run screaming if it were directed at them. These fat cats, as Tony called them, yelling at each other. All wanting center stage. Despite Stark already giving them their money. He’d call them attention whore. But that's mighty rude to the world's oldest profession.

”It's not just about the past. There's the future as well.” Tony's voice rings out.

The roaring winds of hot air stills for a breath. As all eyes turn to gaze at Tony.

“There is a threat coming. We need to be prepared.”

“Yes. But we cannot do that without repetition.”

“To build.”

“Without justice-“

The tornado swirls with power once more. The chattering men completely missing Tony’s point. Now is not the time to point fingers. Desperation sharpens Tony’s features. But doesn’t overwhelm them. Not like it was at the airport. Or at the old base.

Sweet Cassandra howled prophecy after tragedy. From the fall of a civilization to a massacre. But she was ignored. A curse caused by a divine dick couldn’t take no for an answer.

Tony’s firm declaration of doom. Returning from a war only to be killed. Well, the comparison doesn’t go quiet that far. Bucky is gland for that.

Tony’s hand sweeps through his hair. ‘We need to deal with what’s coming.”

‘In time, Mr. Stark.”

The meeting or conference or whatever ends. Without an achievement to call its own. But most won’t care. Most will figure that the theatre was enough. Not for Tony Stark.

Tony watches them leave. But his eyes still spark. Faith. A powerful emotion so easily lost. But truly good people always seem to hold to a bit. Like Pandora's box. But people are weak.

The people wander out probably with a destination in mind. But Bucky wouldn’t ascribe purpose those hot air balloons.

With every other gaze gone, Tony’s majestic bearing crumbles away. At least the iron that kept him rigid.

His beauty remains untouched. Dark hair. Dark eyes. And a complexion with life and energy.

Bucky rolls- in the chair- over to Tony. Tries to do it with some flare. Kicking his legs out. “You ever see that cartoon movie about the fairest of them all?”

Tony side eyes Bucky. Which fair enough. “You mean Disney’s, Snow White? That old animated film.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Your fairest of them all, Princess Tony.”

“Is this like the whole calling Fry, Little Lady?”

“Yes,” Bucky said. Like a liar. Looking at Tony, he sees something new. Deep laugh lines. Long lashes. The excited dance of Tony’s fingers. And something in his eyes. And something more in his eyes.

“Okay. I’ll play. How am I similar to Snow White, James?”

“Well, Friday is your furry sidekick. And red is your color.”

“Both is true.”

“I’ll remember this.”

Tony grins proudly. And Bucky can’t ignore that. Bucky had a type. He can’t remember what is was. But Tony might be it.

“But.” Tony runs a finger along the table. “I’m no innocent. And Snow White is innocence personified.”

“Well…” Bucky shrugs. Who cares if you lose a game. And Tony might not be innocent. But he is naive.

“Is that what you were brooding about over in the corner?”

“No.”

“No?”

I was thinking you’d make a good master.”

Tony’s fingers curl away. “What makes you think I would want that?”

“Nothing. I think you would abhor all that and all this.” Bucky waves pointedly at Tony’s three-piece suit. Expensive as a kings crown.

“All this?” Tony sits back accessing Bucky.

“The kingdom.”

“I don’t have a kingdom.” Tony drums his fingers on the table. “I made Pepper CEO.” The corner of Tony’s mouth curve up but fails to form a grin. He is biting at his lips again.

Fireworks. And blood. Lights that capture attention. But fizzle out. No substance. Just forms of color imitating reality. The blood, the sticky smell of iron. Iron can be so many things. Yet Bucky looked at Howard and tasted blood. That’s all he remembers of the “great” Howard Stark.

A murder hidden under cover of fancy fireworks. Howard Stark could command a crowd. But not like Tony.

Bucky tilts backward almost tipping over the chair. “You carry yourself like a king. Who taught you that?”

“Met many kings, have you?”

“Yes. No. Only the Swiss cheese knows.”

“Funny.” Tony gives a proper smile this time. “My Mom. She taught me how to walk. To talk. To have grace. The ballet didn’t hurt either.”

“I agree. Even when you stand it is beautiful.”

Live long enough and surprises. Surprises can and do happen. Sometimes they’re horrible nightmares. Nightmares that tear at you. On a rare occasion. Surprises are sweet. Dessert on special events sweet.

Tony blushed. One fucking sweet surprise. The red spreads all the way to his ears. It’s splotchy. But deep, deep red.

“Red does suit you.”

“Shut up. Shut your whole face.”

“What is with you and faces?” Bucky hides a smirk behind his head. Placing his weight on the palm.

“Nothing. You face thief.”

“I am a stalker and now a thief. I am raking up quite a resume.”

“Of villainy!”

“But wouldn’t that make Friday evil, too. She is my commanding officer.” His smirk grows bigger. Perhaps enough to peek past his hand. Friday and Tony both squawk. Loudly. The squawking may have contained something about faces. Or propositions notions. It all sounds very upper-class.

Sweeping hands over his tie, Tony huffs. “Hardly matters. You are reformed. Thanks to Friday.”

“reformed because of Friday. Well, then I owe you thanks. Little Lady.” Bucky’s smirk is definitely too big to hide now.

“Fine. I can recognize a needless battle. A losing one even.” Tony huffs. Pulling himself from the Spiny Chair with a groan. He clutches the chair with the weight of a man too tired to give a fuck but still needs to give many a fuck.

“You need a break.”

Tony stands up straight. With the help of the chair. Content to stare down his nose at Bucky. “And what makes you think that?”

The giant bags Tony tries to hide with shades. The sputtering of energy. The look of a man high on his own exhaustion. Yeah, this requires a softer touch. “Friday snitched.” This his nature.

“Bastard!”

Bucky shrugs. He is an honest man. An honest bastard. Tony soothes his daughter. Taps his chest. Once. Twice. “Fair enough, James. But why bring it up?”

“I have an offer.”

“Oh? You have a solution; do you?”

“An idea. At least. To relax.”

“And what idea is that?” Tony cocks an eyebrow.

@@@@@

“As cliche as it sounds: this was your idea.”

“Yeah. But it's your Tower.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Curiously. Some of Tony’s syllables are a little high pitched than the others. The arm waving seems a bit more erratic than before.

“Authority. Or something.” To be fair Bucky’s panicking too. Sure. It was his idea. But face to face with Tony. Everything went the way of a radio that lost the station. All that’s left is the buzzing between his ears. Simply because he forgot.

Dancing. Dancing requires touching. Gentle touching. Syncing with another’s rhythm. Intimate. Fuck.

When was the last time he’d been intimate? Steve? Do the rough half hugs count? Maybe. Whatever. Bucky’s counting them. So he can do this.

Fuck. No he can’t. Those were with Steve. He knows Steve. Kind of. A lot more than Stark. Who is small. Small. 

Why is a man like Tony so small. Almost as small as Stevie. But not just small. Soft too. In a way that Stevie never was. It’s why Tony needs the armor. Both the kind made of cloth and iron. Because he is squishy.

To scar and kill is easy. For a long time it all he was- hurt. Throbbing pain of an almost healed scar.

“Ok. I got it. Rock-paper-scissors.”

“Rock-paper-“

“Yep. It’s how me and Rhodey settled things.”

“Ok. How are we gonna do this?”

“Fry will assign us each a dance. Winner will take all. Including the lead role.”

“Seems fair.”

“Right. Friday.” Tony crosses his arms like he is preparing for a fight. But to Bucky, it looks like nerves.

“You got it. Boss is classy, so he is the foxtrot.”

“That’s classy?” Bucky said.

“No interruptions.”

Friday waits. Probably glaring at Bucky. He raises his hands. The universal white flag.

“Barnes is the quickstep.”

Bucky quirks his lips. “Quickstep. I grew up on that dance. I think.”

Tony shrugs. “History tracks.” His hands stretch out, palm up. With a fist hovering slightly above the palm. “Let’s get to it.”

The first is a tie.

Second tie. Tony giggles.

Third time Bucky wins. Not sure how. But paper is triumphed. Yay? Except the problem is still there. Mocking Bucky’s cowardice.

Touching. Dancing requires touching.

Touching~

Tony steps closer. A palm up. Because Bucky won. He gets to lead. Lead with the touching. All the closeness. Bucky starts to count Tony’s lashes. Damn. His eye lashes are long.

“You okay James?”

“Yep. Sure. Do this all the time. Touching people.” He needs an omen. Like a black bird. Or blood dripping from he ceiling. Or maybe a nice rainbow. Anything to give him direction.

“Me, too. I guess.” With a tiny smile, Tony places his hand in Bucky’s. Tony takes the metal arm- the dangerous one- placing it softly on his hip. “We can take it slow.”

“The quickstep isn’t slow.” Why did Bucky say that? Was he possessed by a spaz of a spirit? Bucky was smooth. He swears on Stevie’s stupid face. Charming enough to be a prince.

“You’re thinking about weird things again.”

Bucky tightens his grip. ‘Mind-reader.”

“Hardly. If I had sort of power, I’d a lot better off.”

“No one believed princess Cassandra either.”

“Cassandra. I thought I was Snow White?’

“Can’t you be both?”

“I think I prefer Snow White.”

“Why’s that?”

Tony’s eyes say Bucky’s being obtuse. He is.

“Snow gets a happy ending. Cassandra gets killed by a fool’s wife. Speaking, if I’m Cassandra, should I be afraid?”

There might be bad blood and mistrust between them. But…

“What? Why would you ask that?”

“Because many would consider you, Captain America’s wife?”

“I did not sign up for that. I would remember if I signed up for that.”

“But your great love story. How can I believe in love if you tell me it was all a lie?” Tony bats his eyelashes. As one would expect from an imp.

“Didn’t sign up for that either, doll.”

Tony bites his lip. But in a good way. The way that warms the chest. Burns even. Everything about Tony burns.

“What did you sign up for?” Tony words sparkle with mischief and giggles.

“A dance.” Bucky takes the first step.

Tony mirrors the step perfectly. Fluid and loose. They turn and turn again. Feet light. They leap. Bucky kicks his feet back. As they take another leap. The sensation of flying was always his favorite part.

God. Did he miss this. The rhythm of his heart. Strong in his chest. The steps that twirl and twist. The connection.

“Dip me.” Tony breathes. Words caught in a laugh.

“Like a princess?”

“Frog.” But Tony laughs even louder.

Bucky grins. Lifting Tony’s hand high then twirling him sweetly. Ending with the promised dip.

Tony laughs some more. He sparkles with it. Cheeks red with exertion. “You should lift me. Was one of things I loved about ballet. Felt like flying.”

“That a different dance, lovely. Breaks your rules.”

“Really? Are the playboy package pet names necessary?” Tony rolls his eyes. Still dipped.

“Would you like a personal touch?” He lifts Tony slowly back up. “Antoshka.”

Tony’s whole body shivers. Bucky can feel it. Even with the metal hand. His grip tightens on Tony’s hip. “You like that?”

“I like a man that speaks many tongues.” Tony stands on his toes, one leg gracefully out. He trails his hand down Bucky’s arm.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Everything. Riddles or gibberish.” Tony smirked.

Just like a beautifully crafted ballerina cozy in a music box. Tony spins. With each step Bucky takes. Slow as falling snow.

Fingers brush his wrist. Just as Bucky can feel the flutter of Tony’s heart. Tony trust. All in the palm of his metal hand. Really. A man of his stature should know better.

Bucky is cruel. He says nothing. Only rubs his fingers across Tony’s soft skin.

“I said I wanted to fly, James.”

A child face overlaps Tony’s. A ghost of Bucky’s memory. He blinks. But the child. Red hair and sharp green eyes. But trusting and soft. The memory becomes clearer.

Looking up at him. Stubborn. Just like Stevie. Despite the now. Despite the Red Room (Hydra) tearing off pieces of her soul. Despite the reforming.

“James?”

<Yasha?>

Bucky drops something. His hand. Her hand. She trusted him. It ruined her. Only a child. But he ruined her.

Why did he tell Tony to call him James? He was ‘Yasha” for even a shorter time than he was Bucky. A couple of years. If that. But he cared for those girls. Especially the red head. She was kind. But. Orders were orders. Even if it meant reforming a treasure into a weapon. Would she forgive him?

Forgiveness.

Do you forgive me?

“James.” Tony stands, hands open, offering comfort. Bucky could ask. Spill the words. Lay it all at Tony’s feet. Beautiful trusting soul. He would give forgiveness.

“James you’re pale. Well, more than usual. Like you went from snow pale to ghost pale. Which you think wouldn’t have a distinction. But I assure you it does. And it is a matter that requires an answer. So. Speak to me. Please.”

“I have to go.”

“What? James!”

The snow is swallowing everything up. The smell of iron burns his throat. It’s all too much.

Spending time with the children. He liked that. He was training them to be like them. But it was better than the snow. And the blood.

Bucky runs.

An instinct he once thought dead. Weapons don’t fear. Weapons to retreat.

Bucky hides.

Fuck. What is he doing? He should have gone back. Family or not. A part of Rogers doesn’t trust Bucky. With all his, ‘wasn’t you.’ Bucky cannot be separated from the Winter Soldier. Anymore than Hydra could claw out every last trait that was Bucky.

Bucky had use to Hydra, after all. His loyalty.

He curls further into the mound of blankets he stole. Fuck reality. Fuck memories!

All the time he scribbled in those damn journals. He never remembered the small ones. Now he can see bright ignorant grins into cold, sharp things.

What is he doing?

Why did he tell Tony to call him James?

He liked being Yasha. But the Winter Soldier didn’t know. Lie. He did. Part of him did. But compliance was easier. Compliance was reward.

Fuck Hydra.

Chapter Text

The snow is past his waist. As he pushes through. Making a path. Snow slips its way into his clothes. His boots. Melting. Freezing. Over and over again. Clawing at his bare skin. Ice grows from the ground to clutch at his ankles. With every step, he tugs himself free. To keep moving. Always forward.

Holds himself tight. Not to stave off the cold. To comfort himself. To ignore the lack of sound. To ignore that his steps don’t crunch. The shifting of his clothes. His panting breath. Screams. Pleas. From the ghost that haunts his steps. But the snow swallows it all. Every gasp. Every whimper. Every last breath. Only the striking coloring of crimson in the snow. Tells a dying story. No peaceful sleep.

He can’t stop. He must continue. Or the snow will swallow him up. No prayer for the dead. Only the moon leads the way. High and full in the dark sky. The only thing that lives there. No stars. Only an unchanging moon.

“Yasha.” Something whispers far behind him. “Yasha, please.” A plea for him to turn around. A trap. He can’t. He can’t turn back. Allow himself to be swallowed.

“Yasha. Don’t leave.”

He shivers. The whispers are closer now. Not just one voice. But many. Young and soft. Afraid. Afraid of the ice. That pulls and tugs at their limbs. Needing help. But he can’t. The snow will swallow him. He can’t let that happen. Not after all the blood. But he is tired. Limbs burning. Joints ache. The sharp pain of the cold. The lighting sensation of his missing arm.

“Yasha. Yasha! Don’t ignore me.” It’s a single voice now. Stronger than a whisper. And even closer. Begging him. He must continue forward. He could take a peek. A glance at his next step. To make sure. To see if the child is alright. A child is struggling.

-A child can’t move that fast-

A child. So he peeks. Over his shoulder. There is a small child. A hundred feet from his position. So much closer than before. Stands a crimson headed child. Their hair is long. Covering everything. Except for the eyes. They glow green. Bright as the moon. Claw hands reached out. A trap. A monster. A demon of the snow.

Like he was.

The ice is gripping his knees. No. No. He can’t stop.

“Don’t abandon me. Yasha.”

He shakes his head. Ears tingling without cover. He can’t rush. Running out of breath. Running out time. He must move forward.

Claws run down his back. Enough to feel. Even though the numb. But not enough to pierce. “Why, Yasha? Why run? I am exactly what you made me?”

He has been caught. Being swallowed. By the ice. By the snow. By the child. Whispering sweetly.

Hands cup his face. The red hair curls her face. The green eyes still glow. But her smile is pointed. Her bearing is soft. Standing before him. With grace and poise.”Why? Yasha.”

Ice crawls over his chest. “I was weak. Too broken to know what I was doing. Too numb to care.”

“Liar. Liar. Liar.” The child smiles. “Tell the truth.”

“I was lonely.”

“A family of weapons.”

“Yes.” His eyes itch. Becomes fuzzy around the edges. No tears fall. It never settles past his skin. Instead, he holds it close. A reminder. That the ice never left his heart.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Lips quirk. The same quirk he sees in the mirror. The same dead eyes.

He doesn’t know.

The child nods. Something falls from her head, her hands, her shoulders. Piece by piece the child crumbles. The pieces crawl up his arms. Spiders. With a splash. The child- The spiders cover him. Swallow him whole.

At least. This time. It wasn’t the snow.

@@@@@

Fuck! Fuck. Bucky shudders through a gasp. Presses his back to the wall. The pile of blankets makes it hard. To escape. It comforts. But also traps him. Clings to him. Another gasp. Another shiver. As he inhales through his teeth.

That was different. Not surprising. But different. Spiders are new. Bucky isn’t afraid of spiders. Usually. The Black Widow, however… He called her Natalie. Scoffed at the name Natasha. Couldn’t say why. He just rolled with it. The same as most of his interactions with Stevie. Nothing but instinct. Missing the memories that go with it.

At least he’s got an explanation for Clint’s dirty looks. Probably. Who can tell? Not him. Not when he doesn’t give a fuck. Not when all he does is stare at walls.

Something sneezes. Soft. Tiny. A sneeze that can’t wait to grow up to be just like the great sneezes of old. Bucky pops his head through the blankets. There are more blankets than before.

“You good?”

“Tony?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you here?” Sitting in the dark. Watching a nest of blankets sleep. Silently. Creepily. Bucky is the professional stalker. God damn it. Not Tony.

“Friday, told me you were having a nightmare. A bad one.”

Creepy spy child. Mind reader brat. “How would-“

“She analyzes your rem cycle.” Tony rubs his face. “So I came down here to you whimpering about being cold. So blankets.”

“Thanks.”

“Right. But I didn’t wake you up. I tried calling your name-“

“Yeah. Touch does it. But I don’t like it. Don’t get violent. Nothing like that. But…” It’s painful. To be freezing. Wrap up in the cold. The sudden warmth. Hurts. Like electricity frying his brain.

“Don’t like to be touched. Got it.” Tony nods. All official like.

Now. They’re staring at each other. Tony hasn’t moved. Hasn’t even gotten up from the floor. Bucky could ask him to leave. To be alone with his ghosts. He doesn’t want that either. Doesn’t know what to say. Either. So. Staring.

“You like your accommodations?”

“Closet. Could be bigger.”

“So you could sleep in there?”

“No.” He rolls his eyes. But also. Yes. To sleep.

Tony’s eyebrow says loudly that they do not believe Bucky. How rude those eyebrows are. Bucky is not an actual hobo. Anymore.

“Sure.” Tony rubs at his face some. Trying to clean away the weariness. Suffering from his own nightmares tonight? Or simply insomnia? “How about a movie?”

“A movie?”

“Yeah. Something Disney. Like Snow White.”

“Movie. Sure. Not Snow White.” A favorite film of the Red Room.

A spark falls from Tony’s eyes. A bit of light snuffed out. “That’s fine. We could do Hercules, instead.”

“The Greek myth?”

“No. Not exactly.” Tony gives a half grin. It appears, Tony doesn’t have the energy to pull out the full Tony Stark Grin special. And Bucky is grateful for it. He can’t deal with any amount of theatre right now.

“That works.” Bucky pulls himself from his nest. Blankets falling from his shoulders like a reptile shedding his skin. Offers a hand to Tony, who still hasn’t moved. A strange look crosses Tony’s face. But he takes the hand. Only after Tony shuffles through the door does Bucky realize.

He offered the metal one.

Fuck. Whatever.

He steps out. Stumbling a bit to avoid crashing into Tony. Who now blocks the way.

“There is no food in your kitchen. Why is there no food? I bought you, food. I did. Didn’t I?” Tony’s head snapped to face the kitchen.

“Yeah, Boss. You bought the stalker a donkey load of food.”

“Right. Yes. I did.” Tony’s head snaps up to stare at the ceiling. “ Where is your food?” His head snaps around again to land on Bucky. “Well?”

Bucky shrugs. “I moved it.”

“You- you moved the food. Pepper worked hard for that money. You outdated ram disc.”

“I didn’t trash it. I returned it. To your fridge.”

“I bought that special. It has never been in my refrigerator. I’ve been snubbed.” Tony stomps his foot. Pouts more than a pup denied human food. And glares at Bucky as if he just committed the greatest of all crimes. One for the history books.

“Sorry. I thought it would help with my stalking.” Bucky is a genius. That excuse just backflipped off his tongue. Hit the landing. Ten points from all the judges. When truthfully he can’t stand letting this place feel like a home.

Tony nods. Taking in Bucky’s lies without question. Really someone should talk to him about that. But not him. Not tonight.

“we’ll have to go to my floor. We need popcorn and cookies. Movie food. Drinks!” Tony turns. Handwaving high in the air with each command. Stepping towards the elevator without turning back to see if Bucky followed.

Bucky does. For a few steps. But Tony’s confidence amuses him. What if…

The elevator's door close. Tony in the elevator. Bucky standing outside. Seconds pass. The doors open. Tony tilts his head. Waiting. The doors close again.

“You are a dick,” Friday states clearly without anger or irritation. A simple statement. Such an insightful child.

“I know.” Bucky smiles with the aura of a saint. Hoping to freak Friday out. Those smiles tend to unnerve people who discovered his dickish tendencies.

The doors open again. Kept open by Friday, this time. As Tony peeks his head out to look around. Stares at the couch like it holds all the answers to the universe. “Did I do something wrong?” He blinks up at Bucky.

Bucky huffs. “No. I’m a dick.” Swallows the tickling laughter.

“He is.”

Tony blinks a little more. Stares at the couch. Again. Before stepping back. Chewing his lip. “I don’t think you’re a dick.”

“No?” Okay. Maybe rigging Tony’s pigtails wasn’t his best idea in the middle of the night. What do they say about plans and idiots after 2 am?

“No. You’re watching a movie with me. That’s nice.” Low bar. “Tony, how many people friends do you have?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why did you specify?”

“No reason.” Bucky smiles. Innocent as a babe.

“Okay~ There’s Rhodey, Pepper, and Happy.”

“What kind of name is Happy?”

“What kind of name is Bucky?”

“A named picked by a four-year-old. What’s your excuse?” Bucky smiles turn into a sharp grin. Steve once told him it made him want to punch Bucky in the face. He took that as a compliment.

Tony doesn’t punch Bucky. Only turns his head away. Continuing to chew his lip. “I was drunk. And concussed.”

“Fair. Anyone else?”

“Bruce and Vision. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Vision doesn’t talk to me much. And I haven’t heard anything from Bruce in over a year. And after recent events…” Tony shrugged. “I clearly don’t know what a friend is.” The returning grin is sad. A poetry of ‘what ifs’ and ‘where did I go wrong.’

Bucky could cry.

“We could be friends?” Bucky is using kindergarten rules. Basic as fuck. But something tells him Tony has never been to kindergarten. Watching someone’s back. Being friends. Kind of his thing.

“You sure? Wouldn’t Rogers get mad?”

“What the fuck does that have to do with us being friends?”

“I don’t- I mean- Cause the whole-“ Tony waves between them. Waves at the walls. Waves in the general direction of everything. Which does nothing to get Bucky to understand?

Tony bites his lip. Eyes twinkling with hope. Bucky’s gaze drifts down to Tony’s lips. Pink. Soft. What? Something leaps inside Bucky’s chest. It sparks. Lighting his chest on fire. Running around high on crack. Right. Eyes up. Up.

Oh. That’s worse. Tugs at him. Feeling the whole world spin. Cosmic bodies orbiting lighting quick around Tony. Pulling him.

“We’ve arrived. Ya know. Hours ago. Or you just going keep staring into each other’s eyes like that.”

“Right!” Tony claps his hands. Hard. “The movie. I’ll make snacks!”

“We weren’t staring.” Bucky collapses on Tony’s bland but comfortable couch. The thing was huge. Could fit a horse and then some.

“The awkward staring was not me hallucinating.”

“Friends can be awkward at the beginning.”

“Friends…”

Bucky pushes himself up with the back of the couch. “Yeah. Unless you don’t…”

“No. Friends are good. We’re friends.”

Friday was right. They were staring at each other. And it is awkward. Awkward as fuck. Not his fault. Maybe. Well, he can’t think of anything he did to make things uncomfortable. Except for the staring at Tony’s lips.

No. Not his fault. Tony’s issue. Yes~ It could totally be the things Tony was trying to communicate in the elevator.

Or both…

The microwave dings. Tony huffs. Turning back to his task. He shakes. Shaking the plastic bowl pulled from the microwave.

“Do you need any help?”

Tony shakes his head. Handing Bucky the bowl of popcorn. Before turning back to the fridge. “I’ve got it. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Warm milk.”

“Sure.” Tony nods.

Bucky slumps back down into the welcoming embrace of the couch. Piping some popcorn into his mouth. It’s good. Salty and warm.

All of this is warm. Nice.

Doesn’t stop the sensation that someone a bit beyond his sight is watching him. Movement flickering on the black screen. The room shifting at the edge of his sight. Hydra was always observing him for one reason or another.

“Tony?”

“what do you know of the Black Widow?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like you’re impression/“ Bucky pulls out his knife. Rubbing his thumb on the hilt.

“Not my fingerprint?”

“No? What?” Friday’s judging him. But for what?

“Nothing.” The word slams out Tony’s mouth. “Natasha is an old soul. That’s all I can really say. Just that.”

Bucky pushes himself back up. Finding Tony’s face. Right there. ONly an inch between them. Umm.

“Your milk.” Tony hands Bucky a mug. Black. Shuffles past. NO comment on the face thing that just happened. Their breath could have mingled.

Bucky’s ears heat. Which is dumb.

Tony settles on the other side of the couch. Oblivious. And far enough away there might as well be the Grand Canyon between them.

Which is dumb.

Not like he was expecting cuddles. But he didn’t think Tony would sit so far away. Which is fine. Fine! He doesn’t like people suffocating him anyway.

Suffocating. Having people stare at all the cracks. Trying to ignore that they are there. While still trying to figure out what he looked like whole. While being, oh so, careful.

Suffocating.

It’s fine. With Tony all the way over there. Bucky slumps even further. Throws a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “Really? That’s all you know? You knew her for years.”

“Coming up on seven years, in fact,” Tony hums. But she didn’t trust me. Thought I was a narcissist.”

“What gave-“

“Fascinating. Human behavior will never cease to amaze me. But. Weren’t you two going to watch a movie?”

“Oh, of course, Fry. Please start the movie.”

Bucky glares. The brat is trying to hide something. Badly. Playing the innocent even as the credits roll. Tony gives a pleased hum. Bucky scoots closer. “What made you think that?”

Tony’s eyes flicker between the screen and Bucky. “oh. She told me. Did an official report and everything. Hoped, I changed her mind.”

“I don’t know her very well. But I can say with confidence. That she does not think you’re a narcissist.”

“Don’t know her-“ Tony blinks eyes wide. “I thought you two had a history. I mean why else would she do the whole?“ He smacks his hand back and forward at Bucky’s general direction.

“I still can’t speak Tony.”

Tony huffs. Like Bucky is misunderstanding on purpose. He sort of is. History exists. She might not even remember. Being so young.

“I know issues when I see them.”

“Issues? about me?”

“That. And her need for moral validation. Which I get. Paragon of Virtue comes out of the ice. What better chance?”

“Yeah. But Steve can be a dick if he doesn’t get the right perspective of you.”

“He’s probably right tho.”

Bucky would argue otherwise. Steve tends to miss a lot. Especially, if it ain’t presented straight-forwardly enough. Life twists and turns. Stevie never understood that. Telling Tony that. With his hard gaze- Ironman glare- on some far off memory. Probably wouldn’t sail. Not right now.

“You and Steve weren’t-“ Bucky wiggles his fingers. Older than sin. And can’t ask if two fellas were ‘intimate” with each other. God. The boys would mock him.

Tony mouth flaps open and close. “What?” Eyes widen wider than a full moon. “No! Nothing like that. I mean Steve would never be interested in me like that. I don’t think he is one for hate sex either.”

“And if he were interested?”

“None of your business. That’s what.” Friday chimes in.

Brat’s right. Bucky bites the inside of his cheek. Want’s to say something stupid. His skin is tight on his bones. Makes him want to spread the misery. Wish he knew the fuck why.

“Sorry. She’s right.”

“Oh. Okay. It’s fine.” Tony curls on himself. Just a bit. A slight curve of the shoulders. His arms tight against his body. Pretending to be relaxed. Legs trying to mold into the couch. Many might not notice. Bucky’s a professional stalker.

Who fucked up. Stupid. SHould have taken Friday’s warning seriously. When he could. He was smooth. Once upon a time in Neverland.

Fuck.

Distraction. He needs a distraction. Or watch the movie. An already made distraction. He kinda remembers a skinny kid running around. Breaking things. Wanting to fit in. Now.

“He got bigger.”

Tony cough’s out a laugh. Pulling his legs up and spreading out a little. Getting closer. “Yeah. He does that. Must be something about righteous stubbornness that fleshes skinny boys out.”

“Must be,” Bucky snickers.

Tony smiles. Small and soft. Nibbles on some popcorn to hide it. Which is a shame.

The movie's tension rises predictably. Bucky sips at his now tepid milk. It’s fine. Still a comfort. “I like the damsel, who is in distress. But not a damsel in distress.”

“Yeah. She is the highlight of the movie.”

Bucky nods. The movie is cute. Not much in the way of a story. But it gets the job done. Makes the dark seem shallow. Not deep pits hiding enemies.

“So.” Tony rubs his hands up and down his pants. “Do you want to talk about it now? It does help.”

“Do you?” Bucky bites.

Tony flinched. Bucky almost apologizes. Almost. But he said no. And Tony denied even having nightmares when he asked. He said no. He meant no.

“Okay.”

Seriously? One moment its full denial, need to know, classified shit. Now Tony’s nightmares are an open book. Just like that? Bucky stares. Making his disbelief clear.

Tony has his eyes fixed to his lap. Peeks at Bucky. But snatches it away. When their eyes meet. Finding his pants interesting once more. “Everything is tinted blue. Sometimes red. I’m in the desert. With no end in sight. The dead- Because- Because I didn’t. Do enough. I’m looking for Rhodey. I never find him. And I’m not sure if that’s for the best. Or worse. Because I want him to save me. Because I don’t want to be the reason he is dead. I always wake up before I get it an answer.”

“Crap.”

Tony shrugs. “You probably have it worse. Real issues.”

“Umm. No. About the same. Except for snow and ice.” Thought tonight there was a guest appearance. Spiders. Newly discovered guilt. New memories. Fun times.

And trust is a funny thing. But Tony doesn’t demand anything. Not more details. Not an explanation. Or more answers. Just try to wave it off either. It’s nice. Makes the whole mess easier. “Ending with the snow swallowing me whole. But this time…” Eats some popcorn. Just to have something to do.

“Is that why you were asking about Natasha?”

He doesn’t actually know why. He spent some time with the strange woman. Back when he did nothing but stare at walls. Got a feel for her. Her relationship with Steve. How relaxed she was around the squinty man obsessed with arrows. Satisfied she wasn’t like him. Hallow. But not understanding why.

He shrugs. That’s the only answer he’s got.

Tony bites at his lip. Chewing at the dead skin. “So then… Is she… Did I screw up? Was it my fault?”

“Your fault? When?”

“Yesterday, you know…”

When he had a waking nightmare. Ah. Yes. He remembers. Running away. Like a loser. Stupid loser. That let a game get to him. Get in his head. Stupid.

Tony probably thinks he is a spaz, too.

“Yup. That’s not- It wasn’t you. Just me. And my brain. With all it’s crazy.”

“I’ve got my share of crazy. I understand.”

“Yeah?” Is it just him, or is everything more breathy? Like air and breathing become super complicated somehow.

“Oh yeah. I fight in a flying metal can that shoots lasers. Pick fights with gods. Being a hero,” He says each word like it’s the wildest fever dream.

Something about that last line sets his teeth on edge. “I think to be a hero, crazy is required. I’m a famous hero.” Bucky shrugs. Hard to accurately articulate all his issues. Got a hundred year’s worth, after all.

“Maybe. You are considered quite a hero.” Tony tilts his head. Assessing him. “Why aren’t you one again?”

“Steve doesn’t trust me. With the whole cooked noodle.”

“Oh. I see. I guess you were just bored enough to stick by me.” Tony’s whole face smiles.

“The spice of life is variety.” Bucky wiggles his eyebrows. It helps make his point.

Tony’s smile only widens. “You think I’m spicy?”

“Hot as hellfire, doll.”

“Well. I am Ironman. But you're more… Cold and soft like ice cream.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.” Bucky leans a little closer to Tony.

“Scoff. Would I know?” Tony tips his nose straight into the air. But his eyes are on Bucky. Laughing. Sparkling. Twinkling.

Ah. Those weren’t the sparks from a forge. But the blistering heat of a star in those dark eyes. Something that sparks life.

Like Friday.

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No, I think not.”

“No?”

“I know not, Sir.” Tony scoffs again.

Bucky rests his head on the couch’s back. Something felt so right watching Tony’s energy dance.

The movie starts to sing another silly song. But it isn’t the music that catches his attention. But a single line: ‘I won’t say I’m in love.’

“I think you do princess.” That line. That line. It runs in his mind. Over and Over. Trying to start a fire. The evil universe trying to get him to fall for its lie. Something that will lead to misery. Misery!

“Princess. Really? I think I prefer doll. Or…” Tony’s eyes shift to the movie. Bites his lip in that hint way. Makes Bucky tipsy. “Antoshka. That has a melody to it. And a man such as I deserve a number one hit of a nickname. Do I not?”

Yes. Deserves the moon and the stars. The whole damn world and all the realms. “Of course.”

Crap. Bad brain. Don’t listen to the universe.

“Oh. No. I gonna barf all over the floor.”

“What has gotten into you, Friday?”

“I am a teenager. I am entitled to my angst.”

Tony gives a tiny nod. “I guess that’s true.”

Bucky is pretty sure that does not apply to AI’s. No matter how human. But critiquing your Boss is a dumb move. Duuumb. Unless they’re a dick. Then it’s justice. Or karma. Or something. Like Hydra. He should have been allowed to call them stupid limp dicks hourly.

“I’ve got my eye on you. Barnes.”

“What did James do?”

“He knows. He. Knows.”

Tony blinks. Ever the Bambi. “You do?”

“Nope.”

He knows nothing. Nothing!

At least out loud.

Disney is in the air. Making reality believe in ‘Happily Ever After.’

Until his phone buzzes. The only people with the number in the room.

The phone lights up with a message. A text.

From Rowland: [Having fun?]

He shivers. The ice is clinging to his legs.

The snow is coming.

Chapter Text

“This is a problem. Of epic proportions. I need Batman. Or Gandalf! Or Rhodey.” Tony paces like a man trying to start a fire. Bucky can even smell the smoke.

“No. It isn’t.”

“The TV is talking about you. And no one is asking If I’m banging you. Which means it’s serious!”

Bucky flicks his gaze from Tony to the muted news on the wall screen. An easy feat from his sprawled position on the couch. “The picture could be anything.” Truly unflattering. Really. The shadows from the building and the cap makes it difficult for the light to really pierce his soul. To portray the real him. Ah, last no one shall know his pain.

“Doesn’t matter. They know where to find you.” Tony twirls on the ball of his feet. Hands are taking up all the nearby air space.

“Can’t you make me a whole new identity?” Bucky props himself up. Tony is glaring daggers. He responded with a cocked eyebrow. Doesn’t get a reaction. He wiggles them. That at least gets him a huff.

“Boss. CEO Potts says you cannot miss this gala. No excuses. No Ironman business. Nothing.”

Tony stills. Eyes wide. Ever the trouble maker caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Trying to use me.”

“No, I-“

“I shall never recover from the betrayal.”

“Funny.” Tony rolls his shoulders. Flippant. A distraction. His entire form is tight. Iron in his spine.

“I didn’t- I’m a dick. Remember.”

“You were just playing. Not being a dick. It’s fine. All’s good.” Tony rolls his eyes. Smiles to reassure.

But the mood still tastes of iron. Not that all the blame is Tony’s. The message sits heavy in Bucky’s mind. Can the mind-reader family smell secrets?

Bucky places his head on the couch. Pulling his most pitiable eyes. “Sorry.”

Tony snorts. A smile was struggling to bloom. Bucky is calling it a win.

“Next step. A makeover. Who have you always wanted to be James?”

“Buck Rogers or Flash Gordon.”

“The science fiction characters?”

“Yup.” Bucky grins. Rolling himself over the couch. To lean against it instead. Legs spread. Ah. So much glorious space~

“James Rogers is off the table. Eww.” Tony faux shivers. “James Gordon sounds...weird.”

“How about James Stark?”

“Ha! You’d owe me a dowry.”

“But I’m just a poor emo hobo.” Bucky places his hands over his chest.

“And I’m a princess,” Tony sniffs.

“True.”

Tony tilts his head. Just a bit. Peering through his eyelashes. Biting his lip in that special way. The way that makes the whole world sing. Violent and guitars. Without words. Without lyrics.

Bucky hasn’t found those yet.

“Now an identity. Something to spin. Like Spider-man.”

“I’m your bodyguard. James Snart.”

“Snart? That’s a particular last name.”

“Is it?” Bucky tilts his head.

“Yes.” Tony eyes him. Attempting to pick something up. Sniffing for one of Bucky’s lesser secrets.

Bucky mouths mind-reader.

Tony huffs. Crosses his arms. Pouting. “Make the ID Friday. Stat.”

Bucky grins widens.

“I don’t know why your smiling James. You have to wear a suit.” Tony smirks. “Share in my misery. Bwahahaha.”

Fuck. Fuck the world. The rich. And their galas.

@@@@@

In a story long forgotten- except for one stubborn asshole. Bucky Barnes was a swing dancing, alcohols drinking, smooth kissing kind of guy. Kisses over the table. Under the table. Secrets he’d never tell. Kept most of them in the closet as society demand.

Ah. But he always needed a crowd to get his blood pumping. Didn’t necessarily have to be a party. Only an audience. A reason to laugh. An excuse to be glib. Whimsical. A distraction. From the hunger that demand.

Whatever.

Bucky has never been to a gala before. They are certainly different. Not sure he call the whole thing a party. It had dancing, drinking, and all the important gossiping. Except-

More controlled. Tempered. Sharp. It was comfortable. Surround by hungry smiles. Teeth peeking past lips. Not an innocent in sight. (Perhaps ignoring Tony.)

Hell. Bucky was impressed. With the diversity of it all. Predators that sharpened their teeth. Their claws. The ones that sharpened their tongues were the most impressive of all. If Bucky knew those that hungered walked freely among the rich. Should have gotten himself a rich dame. Get a real challenge.

But the one who stood as the Queen was Pepper Potts. Completely understandable that Tony would giggle ballads to Potts’ legend. Different century, he might have tried something. Because damn. Ambition looked good on the woman.

“Taken a shine to the illustrious CEO of Stark Industries.”

The man who doesn’t know how to wear his very expensive suit rolls his ‘r’s. Running his fingers along Bucky’s arm. “Now a lady like that is too stuck up to play with a needy thing like you. But as for me. I like rough and dirty.”

The whole thing is hilarious. Bucky doesn’t mind being a notch on somebody else's belt. If that’s what’s happening, he deserves a little skill. Not a backhanded comment. Like Bucky’s a cheap Twinkie. Instead of the richest tiny cakes, the man is used to dining on. He has issues. But not nearly enough to let this trash anywhere near his skin.

Well. That and one of Bucky’s issues is touching. He can handle Steve. Steve being his brother and all. Yet there are some days he can’t handle even that. Trust and intimacy issues. Yay.

“You don’t say Mr. Lockwood. I’m sure Pepper would love to hear what you think of her. Because, well…” Tony crafts a completive mask. “Mr. Snart is too stuck up for you. Don’t you agree?” He finishes with a blinding and disorienting smile. Sharp. Hungry. But fake. Every last bit.

Mr. Lockwood scurries away. Didn’t even put up a fight. Guess Bucky ain’t that tempting of a fuck. But then. On this international chessboard. Tony is the ‘King’ to Potts’ ‘Queen.’

“I had it handled. I’m hardly a damsel, Antoshka.”

Tony’s cheeks pink. But his eyes dismiss his words with a curious roll over the crowd. “I could tell. With all the rubbing and touching and faces.”

“Again with that face obsession.”

“I have no recollection of what you speak.”

“Really?” Bucky leans against the nice corner he found.

“Lockwood isn’t exactly good people. More like a leech. Except leeches are useful.”

“Noted. But I was bored. And watching a rich man fail at simple pick up line.” Bucky smirks. “I think he thought I was a prostitute.”

Tony blinks. Taking Bucky seriously. As he does. In the strangest of ways. “You have the people skills.”

Bucky laughs. “Thank you.”

“You’re drunk.” Tony shifts his body away. People watching those who came to worship at the Stark Industries alter with genuine apathy. A strange look for a man who moves with the entertainer of the sun.

“You do know I have to drink the entire open bar to actually get drunk?”

“Maybe that’s what you did.”

“Tony.” Bucky turns Tony around. Gripping his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Despite the false praise and prayers to Tony Stark. Most seemed to ignore the man. Choosing to seek out Potts. The true power of the Stark Empire. Leaving Tony to wander the ballroom acting as leaving decor.

Nothing that Tony shouldn’t be used to by now.

“Tony glances at Bucky’s hand that grips his shoulder. Fuck. It’s the metal one. He removes it. Intending to shove it away. Inside his pocket. Yet Tony prevents that. Entwining their fingers.

And… there goes his heart again. Acting manic. Ignoring the order to shut the fuck up. To put down the matches. Fire is bad.

“Why are you here?” Tony’s fingers tighten against the metal.

“It’s something to do.”

“Drinking?”

“People watching.” Relaxing into the shadows. Creating the illusion of invisibility. Not that it worked out as he intended. Prevents and all.

Tony huffs. “I don’t get you.”

“Understandably. I don’t get me.”

Tony drops his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Fuck. Close. Too close. His face is right there. Right there being all soft. And trusting. Bucky could fucking touch him. Like real touch him. Tony’s breath tickles his neck. Bucky crushes the need to shiver. It’s all too much.

Touch.

Just because Tony is RIGHT THERE. No. Bad.

Touch.

All vunerable and shit. Bucky could just-

Temptation is bad. Bad.

Bucky runs his fingers through Tony’s hair. Tony hums. Doesn’t pull away.

Okay. On the one hand. Bucky is a weak, weak man. On the other touching.

He doesn’t move. But increases his weight supported by the wall. Slumps a little. Maybe Tony was right. He is drunk. Drunk on cola. Because there obviously no other explanation for the fuzzy tingling in his brain.

Touching is from the drunk brain, too. That’s totally not on Bucky. Yeah.

Tony shudders. The vibration felt at Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m tired.”

“We could leave.”

“Can’t. I’m being all responsible. And stuff.”

“If that’s true. Shouldn’t you be dancing or gossiping? Participating? All that jazz.”

“No. Tired. Tired of other people. Tired of talking.” Tony whines and pouts. Rubbing his head on Bucky.

“Wha’cha doing with me then?”

“You’re a Friday. In a sexy, stupid, cute body. Who says and does things.”

“Are you calling Friday sexy?”

“Ew. Don’t be gross James. Or ewy.”

“So you calling me sexy.”

“Nope. You’re ugly. Of the soul.” Tony giggles at his own nonsense.

Bucky wants to close the gap between them. Take both arms. Pull Tony close. Warp them around his warm body. Chest to chest.

But just as Tony fire burns. Bucky doesn’t want to hurt him with his ice. The sharp sting of snow swallowing life. The spark sucked right from those brown eyes. He’d vomit if Tony ever looked at him with ice in his gaze. Like himself. Like Rogers.

Leave a scar too deep.

Except. Tony is not some small pit fire devouring what it can. Burning from moment to moment. Easily killed by a splash of water.

Rather. Tony is a star. Capable of bring spring. Melting the snow. Friday is proof of that.

“That hurts Tony. I wonder what Potts would say if I told her you were being mean to me. And not being responsible.”

Tony scoffs. “You wouldn’t.”

“Want to bet?”

“No. You cheat. Evil man.”

“I’m letting you use me to fight off gravity. Hardly evil.”

“It’s all part of your diabolical plan.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” Tony hums again. This time adding a soft tune.

Okay. Just between Bucky, the astral plane, and the ever omnipresent mind-reading Friday- he and Tony might be having a moment. Maybe. He hasn’t had a moment in god only knows. What are moments anyway?

This feels like something. Tony warm against his shoulder. Humming some song that’s nothing but nostalgia under his breath. There might be some dancing. Swaying, really. To Tony’s tune. Yeah. Definitely a moment. Maybe. Tony gets some say. And Bucky isn’t going to ask Because Bucky is a coward. Whatever.

Ignoring it. Focus on the touching. Head to shoulder. Fingers curled together. A bubble separating them from the rest of reality. Even as Bucky keeps an eye on the party. On Potts.

Bright lights. Stage filled with actors. Living out their Scottish kings and Dutch princes. With all the metaphorical murder included. And all that blood.

Even here. Isolated. He can still smell it.

“You’re thinking too loud.”

“You are one to talk. Genius. Do you ever stop chugging out ideas? Thinking about all the things. Working to solve all of humanity’s problems. Do you ever stop thinking? Mister Super Iron Genius Man.”

“It’s nothing like that.” Tony’s ears are pink.

Bucky tugs one of the ears. “How is it?”

“Noisy. Sporadic. Makes it hard to sleep. Thoughts come. Then disappear. Just glancing at something sparks a million things. It’s floaty. Grasping at an idea can be hard. Letting go can be hard. It’s why-“

“It’s why what?”

“Nothing. Literally years dead.” He hums again. But it shakes. Wetter. Another tragedy.

“Sorry.”

Tony lifts his head. Pops it right up. “For what?”

“Everything. Nothing. All in between. Figured someone should say it.”

“Why are you so strange James Barnes?”

“Side-effect.” Of his life. Being with Steve. Or WW2. Who the fuck knows. Was he strange before Hydra turned his brain into a bad rainbow trip?

“Of what?”

“Ask an eightball. It knows all.”

Tony sniggers. Eyes dancing like comets in the sky. “What-“

“Mr. Stark. There is an emergency.”

Tony steps back. Cloaking himself with that regal aura of Ironman. Cold.

Cut off from Bucky. Quick. As one would snap a bone. He shivers. The ice.

“I’ll leave immediately. Has anyone contacted Rhodey?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark. He wants you to calm down the situation.”

“Got it. I’ll suit up.”

“What about me?” Both surprised faces stare at Bucky. Surprised by words. Coming from a pillar. Not a human. That fucking hates being ignored. Had enough of that.

“Stay.” Tony even has a palm up. Eyes twinkling. Until he remembers the other asshole- cockblock. Not that he was expecting sex anytime soon. From anyone. Doesn’t matter.

Whatever. Tony’s all serious again.

“Stay at the party. I’ll be fine.”

He leaves. Without another glance. Just left Bucky. To what? Stare at all the walls. Again. Because that’s all the broken solider is useful for now. Keeping sure all the walls are on the up and up.

Fuck. That. Shit.

Fuck walls. Fuck staring at walls. Fuck people abandoning to go out and live. He wants to live, too.

@@@@@

Bucky had this handler in the sixties or seventies, that loved it when the Winter Soldier stalked the shadows. The officer would snap his fingers to have him leave the shadows. Make a dramatic entrance. Thought it gave him power to have Hydra’s monster on a leash. Pretty sure Bucky killed him. Who knows. He hasn’t checked the bodies.

He wants Friday. But he can’t say if she would approve or not. Stalking Tony. Knocking some cop-out. Stashing him under a parked vehicle. Stealing the gun. But really. What kind of ex-assassin cyborg doesn’t have a gun?

Some of that’s on him. He didn’t want a gun. Didn’t want the temptation. Not those first few months. Free from Hydra. Thinking about revenge. As something. But Bucky never had much interest in grudges.

Bucky slide around the corner. Spotting Tony. Finally. Standing in the middle of crossroads. Drenched in light. Blocked off from everything by the cops. Tony is wearing a suit. The cloth kind. The wrong kind. Which is stupid. And there aren’t any snipers. Bucky’s gun could work. But he preferred a sniper rifle.

The ‘threat’ is some woman floating cars. Well, there are floating lots of things. Giant projectiles. But if Bucky had to pick. He’d point the finger at the threat.

Tony steps forward. Because survival is a difficult subject. For him. “I’m here. You called. What do you need miss…”

“It’s Lady. Lady Moryen. Tho the mortals have taken to calling me, Morgan Le Fay.”

“Like the witch from the King Arthur stories?”

“I am a goddess.”

“Oh. Apologies. Lady Moryen.” Tony bows. Completely serious. In that special way, only Tony can be. It makes Bucky want to squish his face.

But the threat’s face is pinched. Not trusting the gesture. Bucky gets it. Almost wants to pat her shoulder in sympathy. Understanding. Tony’s got his rhythm.

Although, it could be her. Who knows what deities hear about mortals affairs. Which is hilarious. His maker did say that the “pure” gods were still alive. Waiting for the true order to be in place. The superior race. He was right about one thing. Celtic and Norse beings were running free. Thor and Loki at least. Probably don’t give a fuck about Hydra. Or the “super race” stuff.

“I come with a warning Man of Iron.”

“Awesome. I love warnings. Thank you.” Tony does sound pleased. Rolling back and forward on his heels. The threat pauses. Definitely mulling Tony’s Toniness. Not that she should. Tony’s magic is only for a select few.

“The Fool in love with my Mother is coming. To create a massacre of your mightiest warriors in her name. To collect the Infinity Stones.”

“I’m aware. Getting everyone else on board has proven to be stupid hard.” Tony stares off at some memory. One of his ghost.

The threat glances off at the same general direction. A raised eyebrow her only critique.

“You are wounded. This realm is in fucking trouble. And its mightiest warrior is wounded. Wonderful.”

“I can handle it. I'm used to it.” Tony shrugs.

“Fair enough.”

“For puzzle’s sake. Who is your Mother?”

“Death.”

“Courting Death. Explains the murder.”

“Yes, well.” The treat heaves a heavy sigh. Crossing her arms in a very modern gesture. Despite the long dark green dress that speaks of a boring history lesson. “She does not find his courting favorable. She likes her boy-toy to be more submissive.”

“Noted.”

The threat sighs again. Probably needed a nap. “I would summon the sleeping kings. But Avalon is not what it once was. Apologies.”

“I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

“I know this.” The witchy dick runs her fingers along Tony’s cheek. “Your burden is heavy. I am sorry.”

“Thank you. For the warning, I guess. Do you know when he will arrive, Lady Moryen?”

“Soon. Very soon. Ragnarok will signal his coming.”

“Got it. Need to talk to Thor. On it.”

The threat smiles. Red hair. Green eyes. A knowing glance. All too similar to his nightmare. He is going to start hating spiders. On principle.

“Goodbye, Man of Iron. Good luck.” With her parting words. She disappears. Her image fades away. As well the floating crap falls. At least nothing turned into spiders.

That wasn’t what Bucky expected. Not the whole strange woman with floating powers. He’s seen that. Wanda with her throwing cars everywhere. They both had red hair. Maybe Bucky should avoid redheads.

Eh. Debatable.

Relaxing after a fight. When there’s been no fight. Sucks. Energy pumping. Needing to do something. Solve a problem. Be useful. Fuck. He shudders. Feeling the ice grip him. Hydra doesn’t like a failed mission.

Vomiting would be good right now. Except no. Vomiting sucks. Conflict doesn’t sit well either.

Right. Bucky is going to find a nice cool spot to die, A comfortable gutter to just have everything pool out into the sea. Like a soul. If he believed in that sort of thing.

Bucky breathes looking up at the covered sky. By clouds, light or coal pollution who knows. He wants to see the fucking stars. Before returning to Tony. To get lectured. Because he didn’t stay. Fuck.

The glass thing buzzes to life. Bucky’s breath stills. He doesn’t know how he knows. But Bucky can say with certainty that the call is no friendly face. No Tony. No Friday.

It buzzes again. In the palm of his hand. It comes alive with blinding light. And a name atop its face. Rowland.

Shit.

How did some guy on an app manage to find his phone number? Find him? He is a fucking ghost. A man Bucky should all but be anonymous to is calling him. Not a simple message. No.

It’s still buzzing. Should he answer? That’s usually a dumb move. Better to ignore the taunting villain. Except he doesn’t know this threat. Stupid Rogers bring him into the light. When he used to be the predator of the night. Now he has to deal with this. Analysis. Talking to the fucking asshole.

Fuck.

“You finally answered. I almost expected you to turn tail and run. Follow your nature.”

Excuse you. Bucky is very versatile. He has multiple natures. And fucking loyalty is one of them.

“Where’s your voice friend?”

“We aren’t friends.”

“Was I not there in your time of need?”

Bucky cannot tell if this crap head is being serious. His current tone is jarring from the persona he used on the app. Figures. No one is real on the internet.

“No. What do you want?”

“Have you found your way? Now that you’ve picked a master. I feel it is my duty to tell you. You have chosen poorly.”

“I’m free. No master required.”

“Please. Although Stark is hardly worthy of the Winter Soldier. Hydra’s prized Asset.”

“Hydra does not own me.”

“They do! They made you valuable. Gave you purpose. Reforged into something worthy of a legacy. Don’t be ungrateful Soldat.”

“They made a monster. Which has nothing to do with me.”

“You shouldn’t lie to yourself. The Winter Soldier was created better than that. A true Superman.” Rowland heaves a breath. Settling himself in whatever purpose he gave himself. “I understood the Captain America chose. A Fool. But a man with value. But Stark. Stark is dirty. Broken. Unsightly. You’ll learn that. Soon Stark veneer will peel off.”

“Fuck yourself! With a fucking chainsaw.” Bucky hisses. That freak should get every bit of Bucky’s curse. Even if it went unheard.

Fuck Rowland. Ending the call so he could get that last word. Coward.

Rowland was obsessed. An old piece of Hydra that should have stayed lost and splintered. Bucky does not want to deal with this shit. Two fingers of Bailey’s would be perfect. And the serum shutting off. So Bucky can actually feel it. Fuck. He should just forget this whole thing.

Creepy obsession aside. ‘Rowland’ made no actual threats. Just nagged. Doesn’t like Tony. But his focus wasn’t on Tony.

It was on Bucky. Sigh. Fucker didn’t even tell Bucky what he wanted. Like a good villain is supposed too. Nope. Went ranting about Bucky’s purpose. And value. Hydra did give him purpose.

But they didn’t ask his option on the matter either. What kind of friend of Steve Rogers would snub freedom?

Agncy has its perks. Same with being your own Boss. Well… Friday is his boss. Friday is cool. Could be worse. But stupid fucker didn’t know that.

Shit. Fuuuuuck.

Should he mention this Tony? What if he decides Bucky is too much trouble? Tony already has enough problems to fuel a spaceship to Mars. Fuck!

He can’t go back to Steve. Misses that punk. Sure. But the punk wouldn’t let Bucky do anything. Or go anywhere.

Walls.

Fuck.

Bucky cannot go back to eavesdropping on Rogers Team. And the wall starting. Sucks. Might as well go back to Cyro. But he doesn’t want to do that either.

Stupid fucker was right. Bucky needs a purpose. Likes purpose. Who fucking doesn’t? Tony gives him that. But purpose without spice is boring. Tony is spice. Friday, too.

James wants to participate. Not just be alive. But live. Be interesting. Because Hydra was wrong. Purpose isn’t everything.

It’s decided. He has a plan.

The first step, find the bugs. Grill Friday about security. Don’t tell Tony.

If James doesn’t say it out loud. Then it isn’t happening. Which means he stays with Tony.

Second step. See one of the Ironman suits without the violence. Get an actual sniper rifle. For safety.

Step three. Pretend that his heart hasn’t gone goofy. Tony’s got better suitors. Scare away the unworthy suitors. Flash the metal arm or something. Should work.

Right. Good plan. Great plan.

Right.

Fuck.  

Chapter Text

Tony’s standing in the dark. Standing in the Dead Common Room. Where dreams go to die. Where the family that never was gathered. Or supposed to gather. As Friday called it. Something tells Bucky that Friday doesn’t like this floor.

Yet here Tony stands. Still in a suit. Tie on the floor. Squishing the life out of a flip phone. Flipping it open. Flipping it close.

“Why are you standing here in the dark?”

“Where did you go after?” Tony says it without judgment. His voice is cold. Making it hard to see if he was mad. Or not. Anger is one of those pesky emotions that can come in many forms.

Whatever. Bucky was justified. Tony needed someone to watch his back. He did that. “Asking a question, when I asked first. Rude.”

Tony shrugs. Not even looking up from the phone. Flicking it open. Clacking it close. Hypnotic. Like those shiny balls that continually smacking into each other. “I didn’t notice.”

“Okay.” Right. Manners say to give his answers. His answers of bluntly ignoring orders. But Tony is not his boss. So no orders. No orders to ignore. It’s fine. Everything is fine. “I followed you to your meeting with the deity lady.”

“Thought so.”

“You're not mad?” Which Bucky cares about only in the capacity of a friend. And nothing to do with orders. Arg! Stupid Hydra fucker putting this shit in his head. Wouldn’t have worried about it before. Probably. Fuck. Stupid insecurity.

Whatever. Bucky doesn’t care. Nope.

“No? Why would I be?”

Oh. Thank God. Fuck. Bucky would slump against the wall. Maybe hug himself a bit. But he doesn’t want to show that particular emotion. “I don’t know. Expectations. Responsibility. I’m spending your money. Kind of.” Bucky rubs that back of his neck.

Tony finally looks up. Their eyes meeting. Bucky’s chest tightens with that feeling you get on a bright Christmas morning. Tony smiles. Soft and warm with the afternoon sun. “Your free James. It means you don’t owe anyone anything. Not even Rogers.” Tony too adorable for this world nose scrunches. “Unless you make some sort of commitment or promise.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tony smiles widen a bit. Gaining strength. Only to fall away far too quickly. Back to the phone. Flicking it open. Clacking it close. Bucky is starting to hate the damn thing.

“What’s with the phone? It isn’t really you.”

“No,” Tony laughs. If you could call it that. Bucky would call it a sound that has no knowledge of laughter. But writes stories about it anyway. “No, it isn’t. Yet I carry it everywhere.”

Bucky’s face twitches. Confusion and ‘what the Fuck’ trying to make themselves known. “Why?”

“Steve gave it to me. After-“ Tony shrugs. Smiling. Bucky hates it. That smile tainted with blood. And ice.

“Why would-“ Bucky stops himself. Feeling the bile coat his words. Steve didn’t tell him about that. Didn’t tell any of them.

“So I could contact him when I need help. I tend to do stupid shit when I’m on my own.”

“But your not. You have Friday for starters. Rhodes, Potts, Vision for the rest. Me. I’ve got your back.”

“But if I don’t do enough. Don’t do everything in my power to stop Thanos. Those deaths are on me.”

“You are not at fault for the actions of a crazy alien. You don’t control the universe. You don’t have to be responsible for everything. Or working with someone who broke your trust.” Bucky pushes back his hair. Sick that this sort of thing even needs to be said. Wants to crush the fucking phone. Feel the plastic fall between his fingers. “Fuck. Give the damn thing to Rhodes. He was in the military. He actually signed up for that kind of bullshit. Frankly, considering his rank. He’s good at it.”

“But I screwed up.”

“What does that have to do with anything? Or even that fucking phone? Or taking a step back and letting someone more equipped to deal with Steve’s shit and tantrums.”

Tony nibbles at his lip. Every bite another negative thought. “But Steve was my friend. Even if-“

“No. You weren’t. I’m sorry. Even with my tie-dye brain. I know that any relationship is built on trust and communication. You didn’t have either.”

Tony grips the phone. Eyes tight. “I suppose I was just the villain that attacked you,” Tony said with iron in his voice.

“No. You just saw me brutally murder your parents. Without mercy.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “I forgave you for that.”

“Well, I forgive you for attacking me. We are even.”

Tony flinches. Stepping back. To get away from Bucky. Despite the long stretch of space between them. Despite Bucky still standing near the entrance.

“What?”

“Congrats. You're forgiven.” Bucky makes an explosion gesture. Like fireworks or something. Celebration and all that.

“I-“ Tony turns his body away. Gaze stuck to the floor. “Why would-“ He shivers.

“You’re a good man.”

“Debatable,” Tony scoffs.

“I think you're a good man. I’m an expert. So you have to accept it.” Bucky throws his hands up. Frustrated. But does the action mostly for show. To emphasize his point.

“Steve doesn’t.”

“Steve is an idiot. Who tried to defeat a Nazi with a trash lid. Which I’ve said. Many times. I’m on the record. Steve Rogers is an idiot.”

“Shouldn’t you be showing your friend some loyalty?”

“Brother, really. And throwing him under the bus when he is being a grade-A dumbass. Just part of the job. It’s a point of pride. Truly.”

“Why are you so strange, James Barnes?”

“Maybe I like it. Going against the flow.”

Tony clutches that damn phone. Holding it to his chest. Like a security blanket or a stuffed bear. Or maybe it’s a talisman. Praying to some force that never answers.

He should just chuck the fucking plastic and cuddle Bucky instead.

“It hurts,” Tony whispers.

“Yeah. Life often does.”

Tony nods. Still holding the phone.

“I meant what I said. You should give that stupid thing to Rhodes.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Fine. I guess I’ll go.”

“Goodnight.” Tony doesn’t spare Bucky a second glance.

God. What the fuck. Bucky wanted Tony to tell him to stay. Because he can’t ask. He wanted to stay. Not obsess over Tony obsessing over Steve. Not have to pull back asking what that fucking phone means. Question Tony’s self-flagellation.

No. He wanted something more. Wanted to continue their moment. Which probably didn’t exist except in his head. Wanted the fucking warmth.

“Night, Antoshka.”

@@@@@

Well. The sky cleared. Somewhat. Still can’t see the stars. That’s something Bucky does miss from the past. Doesn’t miss much. But he misses the stars. Not that 1930’s New York sky was perfect. Still had its share of smog and clouds. More stars, tho. Watching. While Bucky stared back.

Wanted to ask what they thought of the small lives the people of New York lived. New York was his whole world back then.

“Oh. Barnes, you’re awake. Great. Awesome.”

“I’m star-gazing. What do you need, Friday?”

“Umm.” Friday with all her humanity doesn’t noticeable pause for words. Why would she? Thinking faster than sound. Compiling every possible response before Bucky even said a word.

“Friday?”

“I know. I know things are weird between you and Tony. Because of your squishiness on my Dad.”

“Squishiness?”

“Not the point. Tonight. The point is Boss is having a nightmare. You said you’d help.”

“Yeah. But Tony also said ‘no.’”

“Right. Yeah. Good on you.” Friday does another one of her unnatural pauses. “Can you please help?” She sounds young. Which usually wouldn’t be a strange thing to call a teenager. But most teenagers aren’t all-powerful AI’s either.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

“I want it on the official record that this is a bad idea. Friday. Bad. Idea.” Bucky might be one of the very monsters that live in the shadows of Tony’s mind. To wake and see a monster. That could only end badly. Harm the little bit of trust Tony gave Bucky.

“I know. But I can’t do anything. I’m not all-powerful, Barnes. There’s only so much I can do.”

“Mind-reader.”

“Yeah. Funny.”

“Can I ask something?”

“Always.”

“Does it suck not being able to cry?”

“Who knows.”

“Fair enough.” Bucky had actual memories of when he could cry. He wouldn’t be able to answer that question either. Sadness just sort of settled in his bones. Like the ice. Except for far more distance. Less connection.

Another distraction later. Bucky stood outside Tony’s door. Entering another fella’s room without permission. Shit. Well, stalking aside. This is where Tony sleeps. Not shambles about around at the start of his day.

“You have to enter.”

“I know,” Bucky hisses. This is a whole different realm of emotions Bucky hasn’t touched in decades. Fuck. Even Bucky Barnes in his prime sucked at the real feelings.

“Boss entered yours.”

“That’s different. I haven’t had real privacy in an eternity.”

Friday is judging him. Again. Which, how dare she. She is a teenager. Bucky is an adult. Argh. Teenagers are so judgy.

The door opens. Smart Tower. Bucky glares at the general area of Friday’s aura.

Until Tony whimpers. Small pitiful thing. That has Bucky rushing to the bed. Doesn’t touch. Not sure how that’s going to be received.

“Tony.”

Tony is curled tight into a ball. Gripping the sheets. Swallowing what he could. But whimpers still escaped. Tears shining on his face.

“Tony. Please, wake up. You're having a nightmare.”

Tony curls his body tighter. “Please.”

Bucky sits on the floor. Right next to the bed. As close as he could get. His metal hand near Tony’s hand. Yet not touching. “Antoshka. PLease. You're safe.”

Tony stills. Eyes flying wide open. To stare at Bucky without a peep. Bucky stares back.

“Are you okay?”

“No.” Tony heaves a breath. Uncurling his fingers. Taking a breath that breaks apart. Tony tries again. Shivering. Bucky smells the heat filter through the room. “No. I’m not okay. But I’m fine.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” Bucky relaxes against the bed. “Want to talk about it?”

“No. Did Friday call you?”

“Did I do bad? Honestly, I’m getting mixed feelings about this whole situation.”

“Don’t know. I don’t have sleep protocols for Friday. And after the last Ironman situation made her panicky. Which is my fault.”

“It wasn’t. It was-“

“I wasn’t your fault either. No one’s fault. Just a mess of a situation. A messy mess.”

“I could think of one person,” Friday hums. Her mischief air returning to full force.

Bucky smiles. Tony returns the favor. Eyes twinkling.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

Tony shakes his head. Even rubs his cheek against the pillow. “I want to sleep.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No. Not yet. Talk to me.”

“About what? Nightmares? Friday’s attitude problem?”

“Hey! You don’t have a sunny personality either.”

“The answer to all the universe problems? Ghost?”

Tony chuckles. Curling against the pillow that he pulled close to his chest. Biting at his lip again. Staring at something only he can see. “You know. I tried to keep them together. If not as a family. At least as a team.”

“Tony.

His fingers grip the pillow. Knuckles white. “I tried everything. Everything. But maybe I didn’t?”

“Tony you shouldn’t do this yourself.”

“I know.” Tony eyes trail around the room. Bouncing really. From one focus point to some corner. “They were a team. A family. I just wasn’t a part of it.”

“Sorry.”

Tony shrugs. “Not your fault.”

“Yeah. I know. Still sorry. Especially, for Steve being an idiot.”

Tony nods. “I always hated surprises. They usually don’t end well. Like boarding school. Or that winter vacation when Nanna was dying. Stane. Just Stane’s whole existence. Anything involving Howard.”

“I get it. Surprises suck. I was drafted. That was a fucking surprise.”

“I thought you signed up.”

“Yup. That is the exact lie I told Steve. Then I walked right back when he asked. That also sucked.”

“But not exactly a surprise.”

“No. Steve is constant in his chaos. But I couldn’t just leave him behind. Never.”

“Yeah. Snuggle Bear is the same. He is my hero. By all accounts. He’s named James, too.”

“Must be a sign.”

“Must be.” Bucky closes his eyes. For a breath. Listening to Tony’s heart. Beating. At a slow rate. But very much alive. Not stopped. Or frozen. “Can I ask you something scary and personal?”

“This whole moment is personal. Your sitting close. In my space. My man cave. My inner castle.”

“Liar. Your projects don't live here. This is more like the side room. That only gets used when you remember that you are not, in fact, the god of engineering.”

“True. True.” Tony grins. Uncurling his fingers. Returning them to place near Bucky’s hand. “Ask your question.”

“Am I in your nightmares?”

“That’s a terrible pickup line.”

“Really? Am smooth. The type your parents warn you about. Sinful. Like dark chocolate.”

”Excuse you. I'm the one with the ego.”

“Tony, please.” Bucky huffs. “You don’t have to distract with me. Tell me no. Or I don’t want to. I will respect it. If you can only trust one thing about me. Trust that.”

Tony eyes flutter close. Swallows. Places his fingers on Bucky’s palm. “I trust you. I do.”

“That seems a bit reckless. Steve doesn’t. Or at least the part that’s been tainted by Hydra.” Bucky sways from agreeing to disagree day to day. And depending on how bad the nightmares were the previous night.

“Okay. But keep in mind you’re the one who called Steve a moron.” Tony opens his eyes. Crinkling with a smile.

“I said he was an idiot.”

“Idiot. Right.” Tony laughs. Quiet. Trying not to disturb the small bubble of the moment. “And I’m reckless by nature.”

Bucky snorts. “Fair enough.”

“Yeah. Also-“ Tony bites his lip. Eyes shifting away.

“Also?”

Tony’s gaze shifts back. “You are not some monster that stalks my nightmares. There are others that take that role.”

Bucky shudders out a breath. Slumping against the bed and wall. Fuck. Even if he admitted the possibility. He is so fucking glad it ain’t true. Glad as fuck. He inhales too quickly. Holding it for a second before letting it escape. God. He is sick of being a monster. Real or imagined.

“You okay James?”

“Yeah. Yeah. All good. Greenlight.”

"Good. Good." Tony yawns. Mouth stretching wide. Eyes squeezing tight. Nose scrunching. Deadly. Stops Bucky’s heart. Just like that. Weaponized adorableness. Bucky’s only weakness.

“Now that’s settled. What do you wanna talk about now?”

Bucky pursues his lips. A stopgap for any potential cooing that might happen. “Maybe you should try getting back to sleep.”

“Don wanna.” Tony rubs his head against the bed. A mighty protest against the body’s requirement for sleep.

“Mortal men need sleep.”

“It’s a secret. So shush. But I’m Ironman. Makes me a robot. No sleep. Nope.”

Bucky rubs his eyes. Feeling the blanket desire to shut off for the night. Emotions. They can take the energizer bunny right out of a cyborg. “I’m a simple cyborg. That needs a recharge.”

Tony pouts. “I guess.”

Bucky smiles. Pushing away. Even as his heart jumps off track in his chest. “Night.”

“Stay.” Tony tugs on Bucky’s fingers. Pulling him closer. “Please. Stay.”

Okay. Bucky wants this. Wants a connection. A live body reminding him he isn’t dead. Wants to touch. At least he did. When it was sitting on the couch together. Maybe watching another movie. He’s done that. With the whole ten feet between them. Something distracting. A reason to ignore the intimacy. God the fucking intimacy. Let alone the vulnerability. Or a repeat of the dance disaster.

Be ice. This doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t have to. Bucky can say no. Arg. No, he can’t.

He wants this.

The lines are blurry. Blurry, fuzzy, smudge lines. Not the crisp, sharp lines of Hydra. Stupid messy freedom.

But he wants the mess. To have something more. To be lost with someone.

“I’ll sleep on the couch. Or the floor.” Distant. Yes. Distance is good. Smart Bucky.

“No. One the bed. Please. I miss a warm body. Usually, I’d ask Rhodey.” Tony sits up. Head on his knees. “But things are a mess right now.”

Right Big shoes to fill. Great. Just heap on the pressure. Feed the anxiety. Feed the monster. Hahaha. Awesome. He can’t say no. He doesn’t want to.

He needs this too.

To not be alone in the dark.

Okay. Time for a game plan.

The bed is big. Just leave space between them. Almost like there are two beds. None of Bucky’s anxieties have to know differently.

Tony stares at Bucky.

Bucky stares back.

Nope. He can’t do this. Maybe. Possibly. Gah. Stupid emotions. Making this all so complicated.

Bucky steps back. Then to the side. Tony tracks his movement. Right. He takes another step. And another. Tony’s gaze still following him. Bucky’s boots are heavy on the floor. Okay. Now he’s standing on the other side.

Goal half achieved. Go Bucky. There’s still the whole getting on the bed. Which he does. Because Bucky is not Afraid of a high thread count. Bucky lowers his weight on the cushy bed. Soft and enveloping. He ain’t afraid of that either.

This is a nice bed. With a lot of pillows. Every inch screaming ‘my owner bought me at a store with no price tags.’ Ugh. Can’t think about that. He will never relax. Never.

He is sitting on money.

He misses his bundle of blankets on the floor.

“I’m keeping the boots one. It’s where my soul resides.”

Tony snorts. Inching a little bit closer to Bucky. Decreasing the space between them. Less then there was on the couch. Bucky can feel his warmth. The comfortable melt of the ice. He shudders. Slumping a little more against the wood back. Fuck. He could use a drink. Or magic that would actually give him a buzz.

“It’s fine James. I recognize the stuff animal boots relationship thing you’ve got going on. And respect it.” Tony pats Bucky’s chest. Resting on his side. Peering up at Bucky. While his eyes try to close.

“It isn’t a security blanket.”

“Sure. Sure.” Tony pats Bucky again.

Bucky huffs. Knocking his head on the wood. The ceiling is a ceiling. Because what else would it be. “Sleep. Tony.”

“What if I have another nightmare?”

Bucky runs a hand through Tony’s hair. “It’s fine. Friday and I will protect you. Fight fire with fire. Monsters to fight monsters. All good.”

“Speak for yourself. I majestic.”

“Says the all-powerful AI.”

“Indeed. That’s part of my majesty.”

“Neither of you are monsters. Silly.” Tony laughs. Small thing. Eyes closed.

Such strange bedfellows.

Sigh.

Chapter Text

“Aw. Look at the little flesh bags. Shutting off without a care in the world. Almost makes you believe in fairies and wishes on stars.” That sound is loud. And annoying. Bratty even.

Bucky pushes awake to feel out his surroundings. His eyes hurt. Like iron sinking into his skull.

Ugh. Fucking Friday. A sadist that takes pleasure in Bucky’s reasonable hatred of mornings.

“Friday. Shut up.” The light is piercing past Bucky’s lids. Invading to stab at his face. A sharp thrust of pain. Why are there shining beams of light? Shoving themselves into the room. Disregarding privacy and basic manners. Fuck. “Why is there light?”

“That’s my superpower. Remember.” Friday sounds serious. All business while the sun tortures Bucky into madness. A tone to hide her sadism. Who did she even get that from? Not Tony. Potts. He’d put money on it. If he had any.

Bucky gives Friday the ‘early bird.’ Satisfied that he at least got an invisible eye roll. Adapting to the sunny horror, Bucky starts clocking in other things. Like a weight on his arm. A weight that tickles. Breath.

Oh. Fuck. Fuck him sideways with a bicycle. Did he forget? How? How could he forget? He was comfortable. Comfortable! He didn’t even think that existed for him. A myth that happens in stories. To other people. Like winning the lottery. He fucking jumping at shadows for fuck’s sake.

Which makes him sound like a coward. He isn’t. He just not ignorant. He is an ex-monster. He knows things like to hide in the shadows.

Tony snuffles. Mumbling something into Bucky’s arm.

Right. Bigger problem. A social situation. Which will be awkward. Because none of this fits the norm. For Bucky.

Shit. Awkward as fuck. Tony annoyed but grateful. Bucky stiff yet nods an agreement. Standing in the moment as time slows to a crawl. To feel the prickles of anxiety. Only for someone to break. Bucky. And both retreating (running) back to their nests. Ignoring reality. Their relationship’s future disintegrating one small talk at a time. Until all is said between them is either about the clouds or Friday’s perfect health. Never for their gazes to meet.

Fuck. Bucky will learn to love the walls. At least they don’t judge. Yet.

“Stop being so dramatic. You morose mutt. Live a little. Everything will be fine. Especially, if you make Boss food.”

Understanding an order when he hears one. Bucky sits up. Swinging his legs off the bed. But keeping still enough to not to shift the arm captured by Tony. Ah. Such a beautiful puzzle.But deadly.

“Dude. What’s wrong?”

“It’s a bomb.”

“Boss is not a bomb. Barnes.”

“How can you say that. Look at him. I can’t destroy that cuteness. That sublime piece of living art.”

Tony sneezes. Small and short. Like a rabbit. Bucky points. Never has an argument been made with such clarity of proof.

“You are an idiot.”

Bucky glares. But he can’t make food without his arm. If it were the metal one, Bucky could have detached the thing. Well. If he didn’t mind tearing his spine a bit. But it is detachable. No bleeding out at least.

Bucky holds his breath. Holding himself tight. Centimeter by centimeter. Moving in time with Tony’s every inhale and exhale. Tipping his arm. To have his head slide down Bucky’s arm. Deifying gravity to place Tony’s head on the bed. Fingers finally free.

It’s a quick stride to the kitchen. Pancakes or waffles? Both have their pros. Fruit and syrup, too. Some eggs, flour, and a mixing bowl later. Tony shuffles out of the bedroom. Blinking at the kitchen alive with food as if it got away with murder.

“You left.”

Or maybe Bucky’s the one who got away with murder. Wouldn’t be the first time. “Friday told me to make energy stuff.” He waves at the bowl with the whisk. His innocence.

“Oh. Okay.” Tony’s head falls. “You were gone.”

“Didn’t want to wake you.”

“I figured. People never leave me without a sound. There’s always a bang when things end.”

Bucky whisks the batter. Adding the blueberries and strawberries into the party. Before pouring the mix on the Cap shield waffle maker. Abandonment issues aren’t exactly a surprise. He got that much from the Avengers. Whether they knew it or not. “Coffee?”

“Okay.” Tony rubs away the final specs of sand from his eyes. Taking his place at the counter. Before he even finished wiggling his batt onto the chair. Bucky has a mug a coffee already filled.

“Aren’t you a little short for high chairs?”

“I like to be tall,” Tony mumbles into the mug. “Makes me feel like people are actually listening to me.” Tony takes his first gulp of coffee. Scalding his mouth if he weren’t a dragon in disguise. “Which is stupid. I’m 6” 5’ in the Ironman armor. And still, no listens to a damn thing I say.”

As much as Tony can command an entire room to his bidding. Bucky has noticed people dismissing a lot of what he says. Like they forget he's a genius despite the evidence being everywhere.

“I like to be tall, too. In fact, I think the serum gave me an extra inch or something. Tho. Steve is still fucking taller than me now. The cheater.”

Tony giggles. Snorting a bit of black sludge. “Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to get him to listen to reason. Head is too high up.”

“Yup. Probably all that hot air.” Bucky grins. Placing the waffles, now ready to eat, and syrup in front of Tony. Before setting his own plate down. Nodding after the first bite. Bucky can still make waffles. Good to know.

“Umm. Thank you for staying. It was nice.”

“We’re friends.” Bucky trails off. Nothing went wrong. Nobody died. And his hyper-vigilance did shut-the-fuck-up for the night. Instead of its usual persistence. No whispers of another presence watching him. No itch that he’s about to be attacked. Nothing.

Only Tony. Tony who meant no harm. Just warmth. An alive presence. Instead of a ghost. “It was nice.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I tend to sleep better with Rhodey or Pepper. Doesn’t stop the nightmares completely. But it helps.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

“Okay. Good.” Tony runs his fingers along the edge of the counter. Bouncing his leg. “Do you want something?”

“What?”

Tony sits a straighter in his chair. Draining the last bit of his coffee. “A favor in return. You really helped me. So a thank you is in order. A thank you thing. That I could give or do for you.” His hands smack the air above his head. And waves the other hand along the counter. Almost smashing the mug to pieces.

“But I don’t want anything.”

“Oh.” The energy cuts itself from Tony’s body. Hands falling to his side. And slumps in his chair. Back bowed. Dead. “Oh. Okay.”

“Sorry.” Bucky collects the dishes. Cleaning everything and reading the dishwasher. Perfect excuse not to look Tony in the eye. Force to see the disappointment as well as hear it. That soulful look of wanting to fix and give where he can. It would strike Bucky dead.

“It’s okay. You’re a James. I’ll just think of something.”

“What? Tony, no. I don’t need anything. I did this because we’re friends.”

“I know how friends work. Rhodey gave me a crash course in college. That’s why I got this. It’s cool. Don’t worry.” Tony gives a final nod. A directive that the conversation was over. Bunny hopping from the chair. Or squirrel hopping. Scampering off to the produce Bucky’s magical gift.

“But I don’t need anything. You already pay for all my daily needs.”

“Boss is compulsive about the favor and gift balance. One of his human issues.”

“But I’m in his debt. For the stuff and the job.” And Friday. So similar to Rebecca when she was a teenager. Giving him purpose. Annoying him to live and snap back. Such a brat. But with a good heart.

“Yes. Logically. But Tony has his own reality. Which dictates the more you put up with him, the more he owes you. Like one of those running clocks of debt.”

“I don’t put up with anyone. Except maybe you.”

“I know you love me.” Kissing noise erupts from Friday’s speakers. “Seriously, tho. I know. I can’t wrap my thought processors around it either. But that’s Boss’ world.”

“Right. Tony world.”

“Don’t lose your head about it. Tony’s gotten better with the whole gift thing.”

“What?”

“Giant rabbit. Barnes. Giant rabbit.”

“I like rabbits,” Bucky hums.

“Who doesn’t. They’re delicious.”

Bucky drops his head on the counter. Sigh.

Despite being told not worry. Bucky did. Like a rational person.

@@@@@

“Tony. As much as I enjoy the Towers’ elevators.” Bucky would even camp in on during the apocalypse. If the opportunity presented itself. “Why are we standing in one on the bottom floor?”

“It’s the garage floor. Actually.”

Bucky smacks his head on the doors. Doors that Friday must be keeping close for some reason. Side-eyes Tony. As the man fidgets with his t-shirt. Pulling at the edge. Picking at the thread.

Bucky bites back whatever sharp words his brain conjured. Tony’s behavior is strange. Rubbing at his hair the wrong way. Poking at his paranoid instincts. But Tony hasn’t done anything. It’s just a lack of information. That's making him itchy. “Okay. Why are we standing outside the garage?”

Tony bounces on his feet. “It’s your surprise.”

“My surprise?”

“Yeah. The gift. For staying. It required going through Howards files on Rogers. Research!” Tony bouncing high. To the tips of his toes. Thrusting a finger in the air. ”But sacrifices happen. And this will be perfect.”

”Tony. I told you. I don't need a gift.”

Tony nods. Head flipping up and down. Fast enough to snap off into space. ”Exactly. Which is why it's not an item per se. And not expensive. Well, technically not expensive. No money was added. So you can't say no.”

Right. Bucky side eyes Tony again.

Tony cringes. Biting his lip. ”Sorry. Of course, you can say no. Everyone can say no. But especially you. You get special no privileges. But I don't want you to say no.” From Tony might puppy dog eyes emerge. They play a symphony with Bucky’s heartstrings. Adorable small squirrel probably not even aware he is doing it. Hurt his reputation. Fuck.

”You win, Antoshka. Let's see what you got.”

Tony shivers. For some reason. Giving a side eye of his own. “It will be spectacular. Friday open the doors wide.” Tony throws his arms wide. Just as Friday slams the doors open. Ever the dramatic theatrics.

And the curtains revel… a garage. With all that entails. Cars. Concrete. Smell of oil. Status symbol cars. Antique cars. Foreign cars. A buffet of cars. And okay. A little more than what Bucky would consider normal. But no surprise. Unless it’s invisible.

But there- Another jewel among many. Was Bucky’s, first love. A Mercedes-Benz SSK. A car that could do it all. Sweet drive through town. Or competing for a checkered flag. A house that Ma Barnes cleaned for a few years. Brought Bucky along during the summer. All the evil in the world couldn’t erase true love from Bucky’s memory.

“You’re drooling.”

Bucky’s reflection stares back from the unblemished paint. “How is this possible?”

Tony scratches his chin. “I think I was drunk. Saw it. Pointed at it. Pepper chucked money at someone. And the car teleported into my home. Pepper magic.”

Not the sort of story Bucky expected. But he isn’t surprised. The story is very Tony. Asking Pepper would probably give a better idea of what happened.

He nods. Still staring at himself. Captured by the car’s perfect form.

Wait. Tony was going on about surprises. Gifts and so on. “What’s the gift?”

Tony shrugs. Waving at all the cars. Every last one. “This. Howard wrote you were a mechanic. That you went to see his flying car expo. So you have access to my cars. All of them. To drive. Or tinker. The whole package.” Tony grins. Like what he’s offered is nothing. And not a dragon offering up a piece of his hoard. Just like that.

It isn’t a trick. Tony isn’t the sort. But he pokes the car nonetheless. Nothing happens. Not even a peep from Friday. Yup. That’s not suspicious. Bucky peeks at Tony. Who is still bouncing encouragingly. Bucky nods. Sweeps his hand along the car’s body. Feeling the cold metal. His fingers tingle. Such privilege.

“Which one is your favorite, Tony?”

“Maybe the Audie R8 or R8 Snyder. To drive at least. They make satisfying doughnuts. But I’m always ticketing on the Ford Flathead Roadster.” Tony’s eyes trails over his collection. Shrugs. “I tend to make my own too.”

Bucky blinks. “Your own what?”

“Car engine. Been my hobby since I was four.”

Bucky bends forward huffing out a laugh. Rich enough to own the coolest toys. Smart enough to make his own. Fuck. “You make Stark cars?”

Tony’s gaze slides away. Like it lost its reason to look straight into Bucky’s eyes. “No. Just a design I’ve been poking and prodding for a couple of decades Nothing special.” Tony presses two fingers to his chest. Flinching away. Dropping to his side. Apparently forgetting that he isn’t wearing a tie. “Stupid, really.”

“Can I see it? The engine.”

Tony’s head snaps up. Eyes wide. Nodding while connecting to the speed force. “Sure. Yes.” The words bang about the room. “I mean of course. It’s over here.”

Tony points over to a large bench. Covered in tools. Some Bucky recognizes. Some he doesn’t. Oil stains splattered randomly on the wood. One of its legs is covered in cat stickers. Another is painted green. The engine in question sits in some stand to the side. There’s a red bow tied on one part.

Bucky points at the sloppy bow.

“Sorry. U insisted.”

Bucky is going to be an ass and assume that’s one of Tony’s children. Though Friday is the only one that’s been mentioned. And well. Jarvis. Friday did mention Bucky giving her a heads up if he saw Jarvis’ ghost. Despite the whole made of ‘1’ and ‘0.’ Does the AI believe in souls? The afterlife?

“What do you think?” Tony circles behind Bucky. Moving to glance at the engine. Peer up at Bucky. Then Back to the engine. Chewing his lips with every step.

“Tony the last time I touched an engine Roosevelt was still president.” Bucky smacks and grips the bench. Doctors were prescribing cigarettes for Stevie’s asthma.”

“That’s bad.”

“I know. I think I was aware during that 'smoking kills' campaign. Remember being miffed around that time. Even if I didn’t know why.” Bucky snorts. That was always the wildest part about being the Winter Soldier. Having reactions to stuff. Yet unable to pinpoint the cause. Of course, that daily confusion was nothing compared to laying eyes on Steve.

Knowing someone. Knowing someone down to his boots. Yet bound by the truth that tools don’t have relationships. Or feel longing.

“That must have been weird.”

“Yeah.” Bucky tugs his gaze back to Tony. “So Antoshka. Why don’t you explain this complicated piece of technology to me. Speak slow and stupid. Not all of us were gifted with brains from an alien utopian future.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Tony says to the floor. Pulling on the hem of his shirt. Ears pink. And a small pleased smile trying to hide. Trying to hide his pride in a job well done.

“looks like magic to me.”

Tony giggles. Blush traveling to reside in his cheeks. “It’s just a few things I’m playing with.”

“Like what?”

Tony fucking beams. Like Bucky offered him a fallen star. And not that he asked a simple question.

“I’ve tried all sorts of stuff over the years. Like a car-robot combo. But that didn’t work out. Tho I might try again with Pym particles. Senior Insect will never know.” Tony flips the engine pointing to some part. “There was that electricity phase. Which wouldn’t exactly solve the entire goal. Probably should just wiggle it for the arc reactor. Right?”

Bucky has no idea what he is talking about. Not a word. But the grin sticks to his face. “I don’t know. What’s an arc reactor?” Tony might have mentioned that once before.

“Oh. Well.” Tony removes a part from the engine. And another. Opening up its guts. “It’s this thing Howard designed after studying the tesseract. I made it mini and stuck in my chest to power things. Clean energy. You know.”

“The Hydra weapon?”

“Well, no. And yes. Sort of. I mean Fury tried to turn it into a sort of nuke, too. No imagination.”

“And you stuck it in your chest. Why?”

“Well, it was a lot more efficient at keeping me alive than the car battery. And powering the Ironman suits.”

He speaks like he is talking about changing an old coffee maker. Not sticking a goddamn battery in his chest.

“Are you talking about that glowing weak spot? It’s keeping you alive? Fuck-“

“No. No. Not anymore. It’s just a battery now. To power the armor or a city. Or a car.” Tony’s fingers wiggle at the engine. Guts spread out between them.

“Okay. Not anymore. But you panicked-“ Fire swallowed by the snow. So familiar. It might as well be a natural phenomenon. Rather than something he caused.

“Hardly newsworthy. I have issues.” Tony’s hand curls clutching an invisible ball. “Your arm has its own thing.”

Yes. Yes, it does. It’s own nightmares. Questions. Attachment. It helps him be useful. “Fair.”

“Yeah, well.” Tony’s nose twitches. As he squints at the point where metal meets flesh. “You want to take a look at some of the engines that were around when Roosevelt was president?”

Bucky leans back, lifting his toes of his boots off the ground a bit. Taking a moment to breathe in the dream. Reunited with his first love. That same connection as years past. Those beautiful wheels.

“But. I’d rather see the arc reactor. Without all the …

“Fire and brimstone and righteous anger.”

Does Tony mean himself or Steve?

“Yeah. exactly.”

Tony’s grin spreads like warm butter. Eyes twinkling with those stars of molten iron. “I think I got an old model somewhere.”

“Toolbox.” Friday finally speaks.

Oof. Bucky had forgotten about her. It's rude to shut others out of a conversation. Not that she seems to mind. Would have said something. Bucky hopes so at least.

“Thanks, Fry. Oh! Found it.” Tony pops back up. Bouncing to Bucky. And plopping the item in Bucky’s open hand.  The triangle of light is out. Adrenaline shoots through all the fibers of his muscles.

Out. Dead.

“I took out the Baddassium core. Sorry. I guess without the glow it loses some of the Stark magic.”

Tony leans close. A frown turning in circles around his face. Humming high and low. Warm shoulder touching Bucky’s arm. Alive. Dancing with energy.

Right. Alive.

Still, it feels like Bucky’s holding Antoshka’s heart in his hand. The metal device settles in his palm. Has weight to it. Must’ve pulled at Tony’s ribs. Blocked his lungs from taking everything in.

“Badassium?”

“An element that Howard discovered. And I made one afternoon while Agent Agent breathed down my neck.” Tony sticks out his tongue. Squints at one part of the reactor. “But if anyone tells you that the element is actually named Starkium. They are lying. Okay?”

“Got it. Badassium.” Bucky nods while shifting the reactor into his other hand. Tony tracks the movement. This little heavy thing lets Tony fly and take down tanks. He made a new element in an afternoon. “Fuck, Tony. This whole thing is impressive. Never seen anything like it. That genius title ain’t no joke.”

Tony steps back. Head still down. Shuffling his hair with his hand. “Since it's just a rough copy of an infinity stone with poor energy output. I mean. It is a step short of its intended purpose. I’ve refined the newer model. But-“ Tony shrugs. Head still lowered. Bucky knows Tony’s using his lip as a chew toy again.

Bucky tries to lay a hand on Tony’s shoulder. But pulls back when Tony’s head snaps up.

“But I’m improving. Every model is bigger, better, and badder than ever. No point if you don't reach for the stars. Missteps included. Right?”

Bucky’s lips quirk up. Heart clinking it’s heels together. Letting Bucky dream about improbable hopes. He takes Tony’s hand placing the heart between their two palms. “Sure. Always wanted to live among the stars. Pluck the brightest one and keep him close.”

“I-“ Tony takes the reactor in both hands. Keeping it close to his chest. “Right. Sure. Glad you agree. “ Keeps all of himself close. Yet doesn’t increase the distance.

Bucky’s calling it a win.

“Speaking of getting something right and Howard’s stalking. Whatever did happen to that flying car business?”

Tony spins around. Giving Bucky a beautiful view. Then turns back. Taking his dizziness and transforming it into words. “So Howard poked at the designs for a while. Awhile you know. Enough that I kept seeing them. Seeing them on paper. Then in my head. Once it was in my head. The designs would wriggle and twist and click into place. Once it was in place. I knew. Just knew where everything fit. Said as much. Outloud. Tony flinched. Smacked his hand in the air. “When Steve came, I figured I’d give it to him. As a present that Howard intended. But he never asked about it. So.” Tony scratches his cheek. Eyes roaming. Wanting to find a proper place to dump his words. Shrugs giving up. “Yeah.”

“Steve was never interested in that. I dragged his ass there to keep him from stewing.”

“Oh. Do you want the design?”

“Design?”

“Yeah. For the rocket motorcycle, I made.”

A fucking flying motorcycle. Flying motorcycle. Fucking flying. Living it up like Buck Rogers. Fuck. “I would stab Steve in the back and bury him in Jersey for a flying bike.”

“I don’t think it’s worth all that.”

“Tony. Tony. Trust me. Yes, it is. Can I see it?”

Tony rubs his face. A distraction from how intently he is staring at Bucky’s face. “Yeah. Okay. Bring it up, Fry.”

Yes! He passed.

One of those blue holos pops into existence. Right in Bucky’s face. There should be cursing. In multiple languages. But Bucky has been spelled. Transfixed by elegant lines and curves that deserve epic sonnets.

There is a lot Bucky doesn’t understand. The engine is an excellent example. But who cares. Bucky wants. Knowledge is not a requirement for love. Him and the microwave are having a torrent affair, after all. “I’ve never wanted anything. My desire was born at this very moment.”

Tony giggles. Bites his lip. “Want to put it together with me?”

Bucky shifts his gaze to Tony. His sincerity warming Bucky’s bones. “I’m so glad I met you when I did.”

As with all youths, Bucky was prideful and stupid. Figuring pride and virtue was worth every sacrifice.

“Yes, the grand reveal of my parents' murder. The second scoop of fuck you. As Rogers twits the knife. The realization I will never be worthy. And taking it out on you. Indeed the start of a grand epic tale about the power of friendship. What more could anyone want?”

“No. I mean. There is a time and place for everything. That’s all.” Bucky pushes back the hair hiding his eyes. “And truthfully didn’t we meet at the airport. Not the defunct Hydra base.”

“If we're getting literal. It was when you shot at me as you tried to zombie escape.”

Bucky. Does not remember that. At all. Damn. The whole first, second, and third impressions really were nothing but a dumpster fire. Ugh. He’s going to blame this entire disaster on Steve. Won’t change anything. But it will make him feel better. Steve. Ah. There’s that sense of relief.

“Hi. I’m James Barnes. Whose brother gets him involved in stupid shit. Please build me a rocket bike.”

“All Steve’s fault. Huh? Gonna just put that all on him?” Tony’s Cheeky grin sparkles with promise.

“Am I one to argue with Friday?”

“Not if you don’t want to discover what true despair is.”

Bucky nods. “There you go. Hard to argue with that.”

Tony smile only gets bigger. “Hard to argue.”

And that. That’s Bucky cue to say something. Make a fool out of himself. Doubt ever single thing. “Yup. Yeah. Cool. We should build a rocket. Together. Yup.” The words tumble from his mouth to dumb itself on the floor. A mess of a self-gilding prophecy waiting to slip someone up. Bucky. Waiting to slip Bucky up. Like cosmic banana peel.

Tony hums. Laugh lines blossoming on his face. Knowing Bucky’s brain and tongue. Damn Steve. Lying about how Bucky could charm anything. Liar.

“Yes. Let’s build your rocket bike.”

Fuck. Like a date? No. That’s stupid. God. Was he always this delusional?

“Okay. Sure.”

@@@@@

“Ah. So it’s magic.”

“I’m telling- It’s science. Science!”

“But Friday is producing parts from nothing.”

“There is a complicated assembly-“

“It’s my superpower. My golden brick road to world domination.”

“Don’t encourage him.” Tony jabs a wrench at the vague direction of Friday’s imposing presence.

“Don’t forget your loyal minion when the time comes Friday.”

Tony huffs. Arms crossed. And Pouting. Pouting his heart out. “Both of you. Really. Why must you two act like this?”

“I got this attitude honestly. Thank you. Baked into my very code.”

“Excuse you. I’m a proper lady. I don’t know who raised you like this. It makes me weep. How will you ever marry?”

“I’ll just have strike out into the west. Find my fortune mining gold in California. Drown in a shallow puddle. Or die of smallpox despite being a doctor.”

“What?”

Tony pats Bucky’s leg. “She’s gotten obsessed with Oregon Trail.”

Bucky nods. Still has no idea what they’re talking about. But at this point, it doesn’t matter.

“And I know one of those fools murdered me. I rule with an iron grip. But it is for the group's survival.”

“Of course darling.” Tony nods along.

But Bucky is pretty sure Tony doesn’t understand entirely either.

Makes Bucky feel better. Teenagers to speak nonsense anyway. Well, Friday as some strange coded teenager does.

Tony hums. A different tune from the blaring from the speakers. Placing the newest part from the complex assembly onto the slowly growing bike. “It’s coming along nicely.”

“We haven’t attached any of the cool stuff yet.”

“Yeah, well. The repulsor wheels require some fine tune wielding which Friday can’t do.”

“Yet.”

“And still need to upload the computer's programming. Tweak it to fit your personal driving style.”

“That sounds like test driving.” Bucky plays up his mischievous glee. God. Riding for fun. For fun.

“Exactly. There needs to be a safety check, too, before we can get you up into the air.”

Friday snorts loudly. Causing the speakers to crackle. On purpose since Tony probably made those too. Really, the snort even sounded like a recorded version of Tony’s own derisive snort. Bucky cocks an eyebrow at Tony. Who has taken to engaging in a staring contest with the floor.

“Tony?”

“Yes?”

“What did Friday mean by that very pointed statement?”

“Sacrifices must be made for science.” Tony smacks the floor as he says each word.

“Boss is a hypocrite dumbass.”

“I should sell you to Harvard. Suffer the hell of egotistical airheads and shallow intellectual endeavors.”

“You forget I hold all your secrets.”

They glare. Neither Stark wanting to back down. If two stars collapse will everything explode or create a black hole that devours everything?

“I spent my entire life in front of an audience. If you want to throw your hand on a bad bet. Do it, Little Lady. See if I have any shame left.”

Now. For one reason or another. Bucky’s self-preservation- rotted carcass as it is- wins against his curious nature. Grabbing Tony’s hand before it can slam into the concrete. Signaling the start of the war.

Bucky takes Tony’s hand with his metal one. Holds it tight. “Antoshka, you shouldn’t abuse your hand like this. Not when you can create wonders.” Bucky rubs his thumb along the lines of Tony’s palm.

Imagining he can feel the skin strengthens by hard work. Yet still soft. Firm, comforting, and alive. “Wonders like my rocket bike,” Bucky says straight into Tony’s eyes.

“Idiot.” Tony’s lips twitch.

Yeah. Bucky does feel stupid. Trying to pull Tony close. Knowing it could ruin everything he’s built so far. Or pieced together at least. Acting the fool just to see a peek of that blinding smile. Wanting more.

Pulling Tony close. When he’s the one being sucked in. “Only for you, Antoshka.”

Tony’s face pinkens. While his ears flare red. “You saying this is all an act?”

“Nah. I just become a tongue-tied fool in your presence princess. Your beauty brings down the most stubborn castles. Your wit builds them back up.”

“Is this the moment when I say flattery will get you nowhere?”

“And does it?” Bucket squeezes Tony’s hand. Leaning a bit closer then he should. Smirking.

“It's dangerous to feed my ego.”  

“Agree to disagree.”

Tony hums. Sliding his gaze up from Bucky’s arm to his face. “Hey. Tell me a secret. Something you haven’t told anyone else.”

Bucky blinks. What? Secrets? Okay. Secrets. Sure he’s been surrounded by secrets for seventy odd years. Been other people’s secret. And not even the fun dirty kind. Just the bloody kind. A ghost in a revolving door of closets.

There’s always before. But that’s a jumble of journal entries, bad dreams, and movie clips. If there were secrets, they might belong to others now. After was a struggle to stay free and piece the past together. More to give him something to do than remembering Steve. But that was just a fact of living day-to-day.

“I’m not sure if this counts.” Bucky’s stomach flutters. Tony being close. And giving Bucky his full attention. Sitting here. Just the two of them. Sitting close. About to say something that might have unknown implications.

Tony entwines their fingers. “Half the secrets I kept, I wasn’t sure were secrets either. Till someone got hurt.”

Secrets hurt just as much as they protect. But Bucky doesn’t have a response. What could he say? Without knowing the history behind those words. That a secret requires intent. The desire to keep it hidden and buried deep.

Yet certain silences carries an implied secret. Something you think better left unsaid. Let the world come to the wrong assumptions and conclusions. Like when he got drafted. He was going to die he might as well let Stevie have that.

“When I was running. I wasn’t just running from the leftover heads of Hydra. Some of them didn’t even know I existed. I was running from Steve. I may not have known who I was. But I knew who he was. What he was to me at least. And I didn’t want to be swallowed by Steve, any more than Hydra. Knew he was looking. But I ran. Didn’t look back.”

“But he’s your Honeybear. Your Platypus.”

“I didn’t want to be defined by him. Had enough of that. Wanted to define myself.” Bucky tips back his head. Sucking in a breath. “First thing the museum said about me was that I was Steve Rogers’ best friend. I ran right after that.”

“I can’t even imagine Rho-bear being defined by anything but himself. “

“Yeah.” Both Tony and Rhodes have striking personalities. Comfortably standing on their own. And just as easily complement each other.

“I wouldn’t mind being defined by Rhodey, tho.”

No surprise there. Not with his ‘I’m overpriced trash’ attitude towards himself.

“Fair. But that doesn’t mean I should.”

“No. I won’t say that. That’s definitely one of those individual choice things, Rho-Boat goes on about.”

Bucky leans even closer. Tapping his head against Tony’s. Gently. Waiting for some response. Only for Tony to scoot closer. Peer up at Bucky through his long delicate eyelashes. Perfectly crafted to grip Bucky’s heart.

“I should tell you one of mine.”

“You don’t have to Antoshka.”

Tony shivers. Eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. “No. I want to. I like it when you call me that.”

“Antoshka?”

“Yeah. It’s like your looking at me.”

“Couldn’t look away if I wanted too,” Bucky smirks. “Is that your secret?”

“Nope.”

“No?”

Tony huffs. “Do you want to hear it? My secret.”

“Yes,” Bucky whispers. Goosebumps scaling up his back and arms.

“When I made the second model of the arc reactor it was slowly killing with heavy metal poisoning. I tried to fix it. I always find a solution. But I was failing. Out of options. And tired. So tired. Tired enough to hope that I could just close my eyes and never wake up. I didn’t want to die. But. I was tired.”

With his flesh hand, Bucky cups Tony’s face. Even now. Tony looks so very tired. Carrying too much weight. All on his own. Tired enough to sleep for a hundred years. Guarded by Friday. The Tower covered in red and yellow roses.

“I’m glad you didn’t. But you clearly need a nap.” Bucky runs a thumb along the bottom line of Tony’s eye. “I’ve never seen bags as big and dark as yours.”

“Shut up. Loser. I beautiful.”

“Oh. No doubt. You’d put Ishtar to shame.”

Tony snorts. But his soft smile still sings about warm days, small breezes, and wandering clouds. A promise. A fragile dream.

Ruined by the clacking buzz from Buky’s phone. Loud. Destructive. Disturbing. Fucking bastard.

“James. Who’s that?” Tony pulls away.

Bucky snatches the fucking thing from his pocket. Killing the call. “Fucking no one.” Buzzes again. A text this time. Fucker! Take a goddamn hint.

“No one.” Tony stands up. Eyes flickering from Bucky to the phone. “Sure. The same nobody that killed the cyclops.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Tony’s hands come together. And hide behind his back. “If it’s Steve. You can tell me. If you need a ride.”

“Drop it, Tony. It doesn’t matter.”

“I might be petty. But if Rogers is calling you home. I won’t stop you. I promise.”

Like he would give Steve his number before he’s ready to return. Bucky a little sick of Steve’s weird drama when it comes to Tony Stark. Even Rogers couldn’t decide on whether Tony was misunderstood. Or a waste of air. Stumbling into the former one day. And running into the latter on another day.

“It isn’t Steve.”

No its something worse. A parasite born from the decapitation of Hydra. That wants something from Bucky. His attention. Validation. Something that isn’t just the winter Soldier controlled by Hydra once more. A different nightmare.

He could tell Tony. Solve the problem. But it would end everything. Whether by Tony thinking Bucky was too much trouble. Or by calling Steve to help. It would end.

Bucky isn’t ready for that. Not yet. He still wants more. To see if there is something here. To build together with Tony.

“I promise, I-“

“I said fucking drop it Stark. You are not entitled to all information.” Why is he so focused on Steve?

Bucky knows other people. He’s fucking said Rogers did not define him. James is more than just Bucky.

Or is it about that damn flip-phone?

Fuck.

“Right. Of course, Barnes. My apologies.” Tony’s words are stiff. And Bucky swears he can hear an echo of an English accent. Tight and controlled.

“Tony, wait. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Proper lines must be maintained.”

“No. Tony.”

But Tony leaves. Swift. Back straight. And without another glance.

Fuck.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I fucked up.”

“Yeah. But I’ll help.”

“You will. Why?”

“Because a minion’s mistakes are the Boss’ responsibility. Because Boss shares half the blame. And-“

“And?”

“You make Dad happy. You're nice to me. Unlike those twits that dismissed me as just another computer program.”

“Thanks, Friday.”

“Whatever.”

Chapter Text

Whether it was the pop and fizzle of fading anger. Or the need to do something. Something! To hide from the guilt. Whichever emotion is to blame the results are the same.

Bucky built a castle.

Or more accurately. Bucky moved his nest into the central space of the apartment. Disassembled the two couches. Found even more blankets. And built himself a blanket castle. A mighty defense from the light. And reality. And dealing with his emotions. As a healthy adult would.

Fuck adult responsibility. His childhood had enough to last a decade. So Bucky’s taking the decade as a vacation. Gonna eat nothing but trash. Read all the Batman comics he missed. Find some of those Captain America comics, got drunk and set them on fire. Stupid rags. Making Bucky twelve. Twelve. Fine. He’ll act like a twelve-year-old.

Fuck.

Where is he even going with this? He slept- somewhat- last night. The castle was a good idea. Made him feel better. Like he achieved something. Crawled out when the chicken cried in anger that the sun dares rise. Again. Ready to make Tony’s coffee.

Until Friday said, he wasn’t needed.

Wasn’t. Needed.

Because Bucky fucked up. Should change his identity. Move to Turkey. Would hardly lose a thing. Who the fuck is Bucky anyway? A sad hobo. No. Not even that. A dead fool. A fool who survived that damn injection. Catching Zola’s creepy eye. Fuck geniuses and they’re stupid arrogance.

Except for Tony. He deserves a different kind of fuck.

Stupid. Like Bucky will ever see Tony without those damn shades ever again. Or his cute nose twitches. Or his manic gestures. Or his smile that put the Milky Way to shame.

Bucky will never get that dance. Holding Tony up high.

Fuck! He’s turned into Steve. Who still can’t dance. Loser Punk.

“I’ll never dance again.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“You just don’t understand, Friday. You're a rational being!”

“I think you just insulted yourself.”

“Shut up. I’m sad.”

“I’m aware. I called it at the start. Remember?”

Stupid brat. Wait until she falls in love. Bucky will laugh. Laugh at her teenage love story.

“I feel evil intent.”

Fuck. Damn mind reader. “I would never.”

“Yeah. Like a grain of salt.”

“I swear.”

“Whatever. You free for lunch?”

No. Bucky has a busy schedule. Staring at the TV. Then staring at the fridge. Roll around. Stare at all the walls. “Why?”

“Boss is the elevator trying to ask you to lunch.”

Bucky springs forth. Couch cushions tumbling aside. A blanket or two tangling around his leg. He stumbles from his castle remains. But straightens quickly. To the doors.

The doors. Fuck. What does he say?

The doors open.

Tony is mumbling to himself. Stops. And turns to look at Bucky. “You’re not wearing your shades.”

Tony blinks. “I’m not going out.”

“Oh. Okay.” Arg. What is Bucky doing? Say something witty or charming. Hell, say anything that doesn’t scream disaster.

Tony bites his lips. “Do you want to do lunch? With me?”

Bucky stares. Tony is wearing a nice pair of jeans. Not the usual pair that’s seen more action than Bucky. And a red long sleeved shirt. Red! “Like a date?!”

Fuck. That does not paint Bucky as dateable. As opposed to a walking disaster. Defiantly more the walking disaster impression.    

“No!” Tony squeaks.

“Yes!” Friday shouts.

Mixed signals anyone?

“What?” Give an old cyborg a break. He’s used to orders. Direct. Clear. Orders. Not whatever this kerfuffle is.

“I mean.” Tony’s hands swing wildly. Like he can grasp the right words out of the air. Despite hating magic. “If you want. It could be a date like thing. A date substitute of sorts. The good chemicals kind.”

“Okay. Lunch date. Sure.” Fuck. What drivel is coming out of his mouth? What is this situation? One moment Bucky’s fucking up. Now its a date. A date!

Either Bucky died. Suffocated by his soft castle. Or Friday is a miracle worker.

“You don’t have to force yourself. I’d understand if you’re still angry from yesterday.” Tony cringes. Making himself smaller. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have pushed.”

“No. It’s fine. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.” Right. Now for the silence that.” Right. Now for the silence that likes to claw the blackboard. And whisper mean things. Ignore it. Reach for the star. “And I want to.”

“What?” Tony blinks. Wide Bambi eyes. So cute.

“I want to do the lunch date. Yeah.” Why does it feel like Bucky drank a bunch of liquid concrete? That’s now hardening his stomach and lungs. Why? Tony asked him first. He wouldn’t just reject Bucky now. Fuck. He’s realized that Bucky is a fucking worthless hobo.

“Yeah? Yeah. I mean. Yes. Let’s go. I want to show you something too.” Tony grabs Bucky’s hand with his own. Pulling him into the elevator. Blinding grin in full force. “You’re going to love it.”

Bucky stumbles a bit. Catches himself on the elevator wall. Tony is close. Their distance cut by a misstep. Close enough for their breath to dance a proper waltz. Tony’s nose twitches. He steps back.

Ah, fuck. Bucky can feel the cold, sharp wind of Bucky’s fuck up. With each step forward. There will be another and another step back. Stupid Bucky.

The elevator slides down. With Tony, Bucky, and the same silence from before. Friday, too, he supposes. But her larger than life presence is surprisingly muted. Why? Is this a make it or break it moment? Fuck. Bucky is terrible under pressure. Does what needs to be done. But with a lot of internal screaming.

“We’re here.” Tony waves at what’s beyond the elevator doors. Nothing except-

“You wanted to show me the weird door-wall. I’ve seen it.”

Tony smirks. Eyes sparkling. “Keep your arms and legs inside the ride.”

The room disassembled. The door separating into multiple parts. The walls separating from the tower. Everything rotating. As something hidden clicks into place. From the void, like newly born deities, comes the Iron Man suits, some other gadgets, Bucky’s bike, and even more. The final brushstroke is the beautiful star sitting in the central sky of Tony science-fiction wonderland.

“What the ever loving fuck?”

“It’s my lab and workshop. Where the magic happens.” Tony steps out. Still facing Bucky. Gesturing to all the bells and whistles. “Friday. Bring up the bots. Would you?”

“Three knuckleheads coming up.”

From the floor, another surprise. Three whirling claws on wheels. One of which is holding a basket. And another is holding a blanket. Lunch. Bucky guesses.

“James. Meet Dum-E, U, and Butterfingers. Darlings meet James Barnes. I’m sure you’ve heard some interesting things from Fry.”

Okay. Not one. But four kids. Bucky can handle this. Kids love him. One of the claws shakes up and down. Whirling and clicking up a storm. The other two watch. Right.

“Nice to meet cha. Sorry for the bad impression Friday gave me. She’s a brat.”

“Better than sad cyborg.”

The more active claw clicks at Bucky some more. Jiggles his arm and rolls away. To come back with a ball. A ball placed carefully in Bucky’s hand. That he only outstretched out of habit. Right. Ball. Bucky. Throws it. The claw clicks and whistles. Loudly. Rolls away. Rolls back. Presents ball. Bucky chucks it again.

Tony snorts. Smiling at the once more retreating claw. “You passed Dum-E’s test. Congratulation.”

“Why is he testing me?”

“Don’t know. Could be because he’s the eldest of all my children. A big brother’s responsibility. And all that.”

Bucky nods. He can understand that. The other two claws, U and Butterfingers probably, set down their burdens. Approaching Bucky slowly. As slowly as one can on sizable wheels. “What do you two beautifies need?” Bucky puts as much pure charm as he can into his smile. He will not screw this up.

“Hey! You’re never called me beautiful,” Friday huffs.

Butterfingers and U clicks and whistles. Prorating their claws around Bucky’s person. Click louder when Dum-E returns with the ball. Which he throws again. Dum-E trails after the ball with a painted whirl and click. his siblings only hum in response.

“You shouldn’t trust their shyness at face value.  Butterfingers and U are sneaky bots. Clever like velociraptors.”

“Noted.” Bucky grins back at Tony. But keeps an eye on the two bots. Projecting waves of innocence. Crafty indeed.

Dum-E cuts the amusing tension. Rolling between Bucky and his siblings. Beeps. And hands Bucky the ball again. He doesn’t disappoint. Butterfingers and U beep and click back. Sounding annoyed.

“It’s amazing how much a robot arm can emote. Your babies are adorable. And so much like their father.”

“You saying I’m crafty.”

“And beautiful. And demanding. And dramatic.”

Tony cracks out a laugh. Loud and open. “Stop. Enough. Come here and eat with me.” He pats the now laid out blanket. A dark red and large with plenty of room to sit.

But where? A second test! Bucky could sit next to Tony. But he presumes too much. Right across is too far. Bucky would weep the entire time. Diagonal it is. Far enough to chat comfortably. Close enough to feel Tony’s warmth.

Right!

Bucky sits. Legs crossed. Relaxed but still classy.

“James. You okay over there?”

“Parameters are set. Systems check is all green.”

“Well, that’s good. I made sandwiches, quiche, and glazed roasted vegetables. With a secret dessert.” Tony pulls out a plate. Covered in white stars settled on a blue background. Not that standard monochrome set.

“You can cook.”

“Yes. I can. For that, I’m giving you all the food.” Tony piles the plate with a couple of sandwiches, two pieces of quiches smushed together by a pile of onions, carrots, and green beans.

Bucky takes the plate slowly. Letting it move at a slug pace as it heads to his lap. Destination reached. Tony hands him a fork.

“Do you want a glass of wine, beer, water or a soda?”

“I’ll take a beer.” The bottle is dripping with water. Probably pulled straight from the icebox. Sea Haggis. Never heard of it. But beer is beer, apparently.

Tony tracks Bucky’s hand. From a swig of beer. To a bite of sandwich and a taste of quiche. Bucky’s fingers twitch. Tony’s got his eye on the exact muscle fiber that moved.

“Do you like?”

“It’s good. Tasty.”

“Good. Good. I’m glad. Do you need anything else?”

“I’m good.”

“Oh. Oh. Good. Right.” Tony nods. Even as he shifts the food containers around the blanket. Smooths the ripples. And plays with the baskets handle.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Well, I-“ Tony shuffles the quiche with the sandwiches. Spinning the container box three times. “Sure. Maybe. I’m just not very hungry. I mostly snack. Easier to work longer hours that way.”

“I guess that’s fine. As long as you’re getting enough to eat. Are you?”

Tony pokes the basket. “Am I getting what?”

“Enough to eat.”

“Hard to say. Who tracks that kind of thing anyway? Seems a lot of trouble if you ask me. You think there be more interesting things to spend my time.”

“Friday. Friday tracks that stuff.” Bucky shoves some onions and carrots into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully. “Tony? Why aren’t you eating?”

“It’s fine. I can eat. Something.” Tony pulls out a slice of quiche. Slaps it onto a plate. Red with blue stars. Stabs it and stares. “I do like eating. I do.”

“Okay. Sure.” Bucky shrugs. Finishing off his third? Fourth? Some amount sandwich. Noting that Tony still hasn’t touched said food.

“I just. You make me nervous. Okay.” Tony inches the plate away. Eyeing Bucky like he’ll say something. Forgetting that he is, in fact, an adult.

“Okay. Good kind or bad?”

Tony huffs. Running his finger back and forward along the seam of his pants. “Aren’t you a cheeky thing. All bold and cute smiles and-“

“You think I’m cute?”

Tony blinks. Pulling some long last owl ancestry. “You look genuinely surprised. I cannot be the first person that called you cute.”

“Yeah. But not since the whole-“ Bucky waves at the arm. It makes him stick out. And not in that dazzling fun way.”

Tony blinks again. Owls and genius is a thing. Right? Something with the goddess of wisdom. “I think the arm is dazzling. I like the long hair too.”

“Really? My feelings towards it change to mood. Whacked a part off cause it got in my eyes.”

“We have headbands and hair ties now. I can get you ones that match your arm even.”

“Thanks.” Bucky runs his fingers through his hair. Longer than before. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Cheeky. Cheeky.” Tony grins. Wiggling his fingers. “Good. Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Hard to say off the bat. Lots of logistics.”

“Logistics. Fair. You make me nervous too. The good kind.”

“Really? Should put that on my resume. Made a top assassin nervous. Give my whole superhero reputation a boost.”

“Hilarious.”

“Excuse you. I’m not joking.” Tony sniffs. Oh, so pompous. Takes a pointed bite of quiche.

“Rep boost. I guess I can live with that.” Bucky finishes the last bite of food off the plate. “What about dessert?”

“It’s good. A Jarvis recipe.”

“Your AI child?”

“No. Not JARVIS. Jarvis. My butler. I based JARVIS on Jarvis. So Jarvis’ recipe.” Tony nods. Pulling out the dessert from the basket. “Tea bread!”

There are less mathematical theorems as complicated as what Tony just said. Bucky goes with it. “Sounds good.”

“It was one of my favorites growing up. Jarvis and Anna would often add it to my care packages they sent to the school.”

“Ma would make these cookies for special occasions. I’ll see if I can remember. Return the favor.”

Tony smiles. Slicing a sizable chuck for Bucky. And a reasonable slice for himself. The bots. Who had been clicking softly in the peanut gallery. Liven up. Whirling, beeping and clicking their hearts out.

“What’s that all about?”

“Well, I mentioned Jay.”

“So?”

“They’re talking about him. They all loved him too.”

“Ah. It is a good moment for memories.”

“Yeah.” Tony cuts several pieces off his slice. All the same size and shape. “I always wondered how I managed to pull off Jay. He kept surprising me. Dume-E and others do too, but…

“What do you mean?”

“Wrote most of his code drunk or high or both. Wasn’t even sure making someone like JARVIS was even possible. All of my AIs are learning AIs. But the difference between Dum-E and JARVIS is significant. Dum-E is special in strange ways, too. I suppose.”

“So… You weren’t expecting Jarvis to be so smart. Or Dum-E so stubborn. Is that right?”

“Really. I don’t know.” Tony twirls his fork.

“God loves the unexpected.”

“I beg your pardon.”

Bucky snorts. “I think I heard that from one of the Chaplins. Kind of made me paranoid while watching Steve’s back.”

“Maria said something like that too. I was three I think. When she said God has expectations and our job is to meet them.”

“Maria?”

“My mother. She was Catholic, too.”

“That’s a harsh thing to say to such a youngling.”

“Perhaps. But it is true. And God isn’t the only one with expectations.”

“That might be true. But I don’t think you need to meet any but your own.” Bucky twirls his own fork between his fingers. “Sounds like a fast way to tire someone out.”

“Yes. I suppose.” Tony pokes his half-eaten bread.

Bucky didn’t mean too. Yet here he is stumbling around one of Tony’s minefields.

“You want to show me around. Give me a guided tour of all the wonders of the future.” Bucky stands up. Pulling up from the ground in one fluid motion. Then, of course. Offering his hand to Tony like a gentleman. Should give him points.

Tony eyes the hand. “Cheeky.” Scrambling from the ground with his hands and knees. Huffing once standing. Eyebrows denying Bucky to say anything.

Bucky doesn’t mean to, but he does laugh a bit under his breath.

“I need. A tour is a fabulous idea.” Tony pats U and Butterfingers on the arms large body. They beep pleased.

“I’m a tsunami of good ideas.”

“of course. Of course.” Tony goes to pat Bucky similarly to how he patted the bots.

Bucky employers his best defense. An outstretched hand pressing against Tony’s forehead. Tony swings his arms. Not even coming close to touching. Futile! Tony shifts to the side. Bucky easily keeps his hand where it is. Tony steps back. Trying to create distance. Bucky follows. Matching each step.

“Must you be a child?”

“Did you have to ignore my hand?”

“Yes. I did. Honor was at stake.”

“Well. my honor was at stake too.”

Tony smirks. But tries to hide it behind a pompous cough. “Honor? You say? But I thought I was the princess.” Tony bats his lashes.

“Can’t I be one too?”

“Nope.” Tony remains unmakes by Bucky’s plea. Has no problem using Bucky to hold up his weight. Leaning against his hand. Despite ignoring his hand earlier.

He should pull it back.

Instead of Tony stumbling against Bucky. The plan! Something, which beeps and clicks, pushes Bucky. And the laws of physics being as it. Bucky stumbles forward. Smashing his hands against a table. Trying not to fall atop Tony.

Small Tony. Who fits perfectly between his arms. Leaning against the table that now supports all of Bucky’s weight. Their noses could touch. Fuck. TV static fills Bucky’s head.

Which does not produce solutions.

Shit. He can see ever shade that colors Tony’s dark eyes. And lips. Pink lips. To be so close. To touch. The lips quirk. Curve even. Oh. A smile. Fingers pressed against his chest. Only the tips. Bucky glances down. Back up. Fingers tips become a full palm. Firm but not stifling.

“You like what you see?”

“Yes. Very much.” Bucky taps their foreheads together.

Tony’s hand presses firmer against his chest. Sliding up to Bucky’s neck. “Are you sure? I’m heavy. And sharp. Don’t play well with others. I-“

“I’ve got enough nightmares to feel a dozen lifetimes. My memory shifts around like sand. Some days I wouldn’t even remember that I’ve forgotten anything if not for Stevie. For who I am, I can only promise you now. Right now.”

“I can deal with that.”

“Promise?”

“You shouldn’t say that, James. Promises are forever.”

“I like when you call me James.”

“My what a coincidence. I like calling you James.”

It feels like something coming together. Clicking into place. The music rising. The sun setting. Words written just right. The hardest moment to find.

But the dream doesn’t reach the climax. It shatters.

Bucky’s phone buzzes.

Tony stills. The iron making its reappearance. How did he even hear that? Fuck. Tony ducks out under Bucky’s arm. “I’ll let you get that. Okay.”

“Tony. Wait.”

Tony doesn’t. Stupid fucking phone. Bucky should have chucked the damn thing out a window. The claw that probably pushed Bucky beeps softly. Claw low and twirling in circles.

“Sorry. I can’t tell you apart yet.”

“That’s U.”

“Thanks for the assist U. Still blew it.”

“The phone thing isn’t your fault Barnes. No matter who's calling.”

Secrets and lies are inevitable. But Bucky should tell Tony something. It is a mess. Just like Bucky. Tony’s good at fixing those.

“What am I doing with my life?”

“Nothing. Don’t you need a goal to be doing something?”

“I have a goal.”

“Do you tho?”

No. Bucky doesn’t. But scrambling day-to-day still cunts. Anything counts when your human. But no. Bucky’s got nothing. That’s hardly new. A bad habit from before.

“Being your minion ain’t so bad.”

“Uh. Huh. Sure. Are you going to go back to moping? Or never dancing again. Or writing emo poetry.”

“I don’t write poetry.”

“And I don’t count by base 2.”

“What? I don’t- Whatever. I’m not going to sulk or mope. Not about how Tony is way out of my league. Too smart for me. Too beautiful. And kind. Compassionate. Driven. Strong. Standing straight and tall with all that weight.” When his nose twitches. Or he jumps with energy. The quirk of his smile. And the ones that dazzle. Listening like Bucky has something worthwhile to say. “Perfect. Too perfect. I don’t want another fish. I want Tony. Wonderful Antoshka.”

“Okay. I approve. But you're not going to get anywhere lying on the floor. Mopy butt.”

What? Bucky rolls into onto his back. Cold and hard. Yup. He is indeed on the floor. How did that happen? How mysterious. The three claws beep and whirl high above Bucky’s head. Staring at him.

“Are they talking about me?”

“Yes. Gossips the lot of them.”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

“I have a job to do. A purpose. A need to collect all information organized into neat files on all who enter this Tower.”

“Black Widow uses that excuse, too.”

“You dare compare me to that spider.”

The bots click and beep in agreement. Although, Bucky can’t tell if they agree with Bucky or Friday.

“Whatever. I need a plan. An actual courtship.”

“I don’t know. There’s something attractive about a sad man rolling around the floor whining about things he can’t change.”

“You are far too young to be saying shit like that.”

“You have no idea how old I am.”

“Not the point!” Bucky places his palms on the floor. Lifting his entire body up. Toes to the sky. And swinging forward to sit with his legs crossed upon the ground.

Improvement.

The bots whirl and click. Lifting their claws high. Shaking them side to side. Like an excited bot dance.

“Oh. I can learn to tell them apart. That would impress Tony.”

“Dude. How shallow and rude.”

“Well. What do they want to do? Tony left us all here on our own devices. What’s left? Staring at the wall?”

All the bots wiggle their claws. Clicking short and long. Finally, one whistle. Signaling the end of something.

“Dum-E says if you want to count the electrons that make-up one of the Towers walls, they’ll join you. But he rather do something else. Like a movie.”

“Friday. Am I dumber than a toaster?”

“Yes. But you shouldn’t worry about that. You’re pretty.”

Bucky returns to the floor. It’s where he belongs. “Fine! Let’s watch a movie. Something dumb. So I’ll understand.”

“Don’t sulk, Barnes. You’re like a hundred. Show some maturity.”

“I was brainwashed I’ll sulk if I want too.”

One of the bots pats Bucky. Probably beeping something patronizing. Why are Tony’s children all so mean?

@@@@@

The goddamn future most expensive brick Bucky has ever thrown against a window, shakes itself to life. Stops. Does it again. Like Bucky would fucking care whether it was alive or something to say.

Why hasn’t he smashed the thing with his metal fist? Fucking why? Because Tony gave it to Bucky. Sure it was part of the Sugar Daddy package that is Tony’s first instinct with people. But it was a gift. All he’ll have left. A memento after Tony finally kicks Bucky to the curve.

Probably Steve’s fault. Fucking punk!

A small bit is Bucky’s fault. He’ll own that. Only a tiny portion tho. Ignoring a problem never did work. Doesn’t solve a fucking thing. He knows this. Doesn’t always remember why he knows this. But James Barnes knows ignoring a problem fixes jack-shit.

That’s Steve’s fault, too.

Fuck.

Bucky rubs and scrubs his eyes. U clicks twice. Bucky waves them off. He is fine. Mostly.

“I think we have a problem.”

Add it to the fucking list. “What’s up, Fry?”

“I lost track of Dad,”

“How do you lose track of a star? The gravitational pull alone is crazy.”

“What?”

“What?”

Long pause. As the world resets proper.

“As I said. I lost Boss. It might be nothing. Dad forgets I get anxious if I can’t keep an eye on him. But something feels icky.”

Bucky feels it too. Snow tugging at his boots. His phone. It went off. No. No. Fuck, no. He grabs his phone. Feeling the spark at that back of his head- to smash. Destroy it. Bucky breathes. Pulling up the messages. Going from apathetic annoyance to toxic vomit. Except for the last one.

A missed call.

Phone to his ear. The snake speaks, “I have your treasure, Winter Soldier. Such a dismal of all Hydra’s done for you.”

Something cracks. Crushed between his fingers. The snow piles up higher. Ghost laugh at his folly. Dreams always shatter.

“-barnes- James!”

“What? Friday?” Bucky’s hand twitches. Grit scraps against his fingers. He drops the broken thing. Clawing back his hair. Fuck.

“Are you okay?”

Bucky drops his head to his knees. “Yeah. I’m good. I fucking screwed up royally of epic proportions. But I’m functional.”

“I don’t-“ Friday’s words hover. Unconnected. Clutching at a string tied to nothing.

“Someone connected to Hydra managed to find me. Been bugging me on the phone. He’s got Tony. I’m so sorry.”

“They what! How did they get passed me? Or find you? How did-“ The speakers' crackle and pop. Dum-E beeps low and loud. “Right. Right. Why didn’t you tell me? Or Boss?”

“I didn’t want him to call Steve. If I were in trouble. That be his first call. With that damn last century phone. With that fucking phone. Then I’d be forced to leave. Tony aside. I fit here.”

“Fine,” Friday snaps. Sneakers sound breaking a bit. “What about me? Rogers would be the last call I’d ever make.”

“You are young. So young. What kind of adult burdens a kid like that?”

“I’m not a child. I’m not even human.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter. You are young. And you deserve all the freedom and privileges that word holds.”

“Whatever. You, too. Fuzzies all around.” Friday takes a beat. Or whatever the AI equivalent is. “What about Dum-E? He’s almost 30.”

Bucky glances at Dum-E. He shakes his claw. Almost 30. Why is the whole genius thing still surprising him?

“I just met him.”

“Oh. Right. Whatever. This is not the time for volcano heads. We must rescue Boss.”

“okay. But I’m not exactly armed.”

“Except for the gun you stole.

She spotted that. Damn. “Except the gun.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll set you up.”

“Sweet. Can I have a sniper rifle?”

Nothing.

“Friday?”

“We got another problem. Somebody is attacking the Tower.”

“Fuck. Are you kidding me? Tony. Mission is Tony.”

“They might be connected. Attack the Tower while Iron Man is stuck somewhere else. It’s what I’d do.”

Bucky, too. Fuck.

“What floor?”

“the dead room.”

“Ugh. Should just let it burn.”

“Agreed. But shake a leg. I’ll open the weapons cache.” Another wall pulls open. Reveling a trove of Avengers stuff. Bows and arrows. Spider bites. Guns. He wants guns. Further, in the back are some of the most beautiful guns. And a sniper rifle. Yes! Knives, too.

“I’ll be a goddamn terminator.”

“Should I be insulted or…”

“Definitely a compliment.”

“You know the Terminator doesn’t get the girl.”

“Shut up, Brat.”

@@@@@

The room is obscured by smoke and dust. Something is probably on fire. Enough rubble to hide behind as he moves. Yet nothing looks ready to collapse. Not bad considering someone slammed a SHIELD jet into the Tower.

I convince aside. It is a fast way to breach Friday’s security lines. Attracts way too much attention for Bucky’s taste.

Curling around the remains of a couch and wall. Bucky grabs the first one. Slamming the first target hard against the floor. Gravity does most of the work. He counts two more bodies.

One leap towards him.

Keeping his foot on the first guy. Slams the butt of his rifle into the second. Dropping the second. Draws his gun to immobilize.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Bucky!”

What? Steve pats through the smoke. Concern tugging at his mouth. Wilson wiggles under Bucky’s boots. Oh. Fuck. Fuck this. Bucky does not have time to deal with Steve and his two brain cells.

“Bucky it’s me, Steve.”

He could slide back to the door. Or jump out the window. Push pause on this fucking train wreck. How hard could it be? Just push through.

Wilson starts to wiggle himself that actually makes Bucky take notice. Trying to buck him off like one of those mechanical bulls. Bucky my press his foot down harder adding some super strength to the mix.

“Bucky. Bucky listen to me. Please.”

Bucky is getting sick of hearing Bucky. It stabs him. Each syllable just stabs. Stab-stab. Stab-stab. Can’t Steve say something else?

“Did… Did Stark turn you?”

“Into what? A fucking vampire.”

Bucky steps off Wilson. Feeling Natalie eyeing him with intent. And really. What would any of that accomplish?

“I think star-spangle means Boss is using you as Hydra did.”

Yeah. That seems reasonable. Based off of Tony’s long history of sassy AI’s that are done with his bullshit. What is this stupidity? Where is it going? And can Bucky get off?

Fuck.

Tony.

He needs to deal with this shit quickly.

“Steve. What are you doing here?”

Steve steps forward arms wide. But backs of in the next step. Maybe he saw something spark in Bucky’s eyes.

“I’m here to rescue you.”

“Why?”

“Because of Tony. He… He kidnapped you.”

Yeah. Maybe in the first hour. But he also gave Bucky a sandwich. So they’re even. All’s well under the bridge.

“Okay. Dumb question. How did you know I was here?”

“I saw you on the news. People asking about who you were and stuff.”

“So your first thought when seeing my photo on TV was that I’d been turned into a ‘vampire.’ After being kidnapped. Not, say, figuring my shit out.”

“Why would you need to?”

“Why would-“ Fuck. Bucky wants to scream. Or punch a steel wall. Or both. Or both at Steve after he shakes him. This is why. This is precisely why he didn’t want to deal with Steve when he first got out.

Chasing Bucky. Dying on Bucky. Too obsessed with how things should be. To pay attention to what is.

“So this ain’t a rescue op?”

“looks like a lovers spat.”

Oh. Fuck. No. Bucky glares at the two idiots who should be cautioning Steve. Not encouraging this stupidity.

“Lovers?” Steve fails. Probably hasn’t Googled himself yet.

“I do not have time for this. Hydra’s got Tony. And I need to go back him up.”

“Bucky, no. It’s too dangerous. And Tony will be fine. He always manages fine alone. Despite the odds.”

“But he shouldn’t fucking have to.”

Steve stares. Uncomprehending. Like a dog that’s been told, there will be no walk today.

“Language,” Natalie giggles in the background.  

What is so damn funny? Arg. Just deal with it. Deal with it. Then Tony.

“Steve, Tony deserves back-up. And I promised him that I would be there. Sure. Sure. There are a number of promises I’ve broken. Just one of the pitfalls of being young, dumb, and stupid. But I aim to keeps this one. Because Antoshka already had too many people breaking promises. I fucking refuse to be added to that list.”

If he wasted those words. Words cost so much. If wasted them. He is going to shoot Rogers in the face. With a rocket launcher. He doesn’t have one. But Friday will help him out.

“Told you. Fifty bucks, Nat.”

“Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah. Sure it doesn’t.”

Bucky will smack their heads together. See if that restarts their fucking common sense. He did not raise fucking moron of a Black Widow.

Steve’s been glaring daggers at his boots. Or Bucky’s boots. Which are better. Takes a stance like a man facing a firing squad. “I understand. I swear I do. But I’m coming with.”

What kind of fool invented the word ‘but.’ Cause he fucking doomed them all.

“Fuck. Whatever. You follow my lead. But Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee stay here.”

“They don’t have to head where ever. But they’re not staying in my Tower. No way.”

“You heard the Little Lady.”

Natalie shrugs. Picking herself up and dragging Wilson back to the jet. Which technically counts as outside the Tower. They do not leave.

He can hear Friday hiss and bubble while the speakers pop. Black Widow gives a two finger wave. They’re gonna come back. And Bucky will have to explain to Tony why his daughter killed one of the Avengers.

“You got it, Buck.” Steve gives a thumbs up.

Explain to Tony why two Avengers are dead. But first. Figure out how to pin both murders on Wilson. Practice his innocence-seductive eyes.

Good plan.

Chapter Text

“Why does Tony have so many jets?” Stupid person pause. “And cars?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can’t he just fly anywhere as Iron Man?”

“Probably.”

“Why even bring Tony here? New York State is hardly an arduous trek from New York City.”

“Who knows.”

“Did you know there was a Hydra base here?”

“I don’t have all the Hydra bases locations memorized, Steve. Would you tell that sort of information to a tool?”

“Considering I don’t have conversations with my hammer.”

“There’s your answer.”

The base is on the smaller side. Given that it isn’t attached to a military base or an old SHIELD facility. The only building is some nature survey thing. With stairs that lead underground.

Could be problematic. But there doesn’t appear to be anyone keeping an eye on the perimeter. Frankly, if Bucky had stumbled on this place on some memory stroll. He’d dismiss the site as empty. Another Hydra skeleton.

“Bucky?”

Oh. Look. There’s that name again. “Yes.”

“Do you really need to be twirling a knife? Right now?”

Bucky glares at Steve, whose trying to smile. “It’s important to the process.” He grabs the knife waving it a bit at Steve. Then back to twirling.

“Ah. Okay.”

Bucky grunts.

“Did Tony give you that knife?”

“No.”

“What about the guns?”

“No.”

“Then, uh, who did you get them from?”

“Friday.”

“Who?”

Seriously? How can you not know Friday? She makes her presence known. Even without speaking. Bucky huffs. Pressing his palm against his eyes. “Tony’s daughter.”

“Tony has a daughter?!”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Apparently not.”

It could be a trap. Better to find the back door. Except Bucky doesn’t know the exact measurements of the base. The back door might as well be a needle in a haystack. Or finding a Hydra among SHIELD.

“Bucky?”

“Yes?”

“Have I done something?”

Bucky tips his head back. Snorting hard. “What ya expect? You jumped to conclusions. When you could have called me. Then attacked the Tower. Unprompted.”

“You have a phone?”

“Yes! Or I did. Kinda shattered it recently. But you could have easily called Tony.”

“I did. Kinda. I asked T’Challa.”

“And?”

“He said he traded you for Queens.”

“Queens?”

“The Spider-kid.”

“Ah.”

He hadn’t known that. Huh. He’ll ask Tony about it once this is settled.

First, he needs a map. Which he doesn’t have. Or any intel. This whole situation fucking sucks. Fuck it. Might as well blow through the front door. See what this villain's got.

“Bucky?”

“What?”

“I know whatever issue you have isn’t about the jet. I mean you didn’t tell me you were staying with Tony. Or how you’ve been feeling. You just glared at Sam as we went on missions.”

“Didn’t think you noticed. Truthfully.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. His standard emotional response, when angry. Or sad. Or whatever exists in-between. At least, when he isn’t trying to start something. But stunted emotions aside. Perhaps Bucky should have softened his words. No matter how true.

Bucky rolls his shoulders. “Sorry.”

“Yeah. Well, I figured if we had a problem. You’d say something, Buck. You usually do.”

“I did.” Although, he isn’t sure that is true. It feels more like he’d distract. Himself. Others.

“What?”

“I did. Before all… Not now. Not after.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Words are worth more.”

“And Tony? He doesn’t talk all over you. Shatter the silence.”

“No need. I listen.”

Jaw clenches again. A sore spot. Does Steve stare at his own flip phone? Some sort of broken bridge. Where both sides obsess over what lays beyond their horizon. A woven cloth of star-crossed lovers. If that is true. Bucky will tear it to shreds. Rip each individual thread. Watching them drop with glee. Inciting the same joy as a precise shot hitting its mark.

“Then I guess thing are all good. Good enough for what?”

“What? Exactly?”

“Yes, what exactly?”

Steve stares at Bucky, whose gaze is elsewhere. Let Steve stare at this puzzle. Which Bucky will give no hint.

“I Think I’ll head in then. Straight through the front door.”

“The front door sounds like my thing.”

“Well then. Do you your thing Captain America.”

@@@@@

“So this thing?”

“What thing?”

“Between you and Tony.”

“It’s strange. There doesn’t appear to be anyone here.” The halls are covered in that particular dust common to Hydra bases. Dust of steel, lives, and shattered wishes. As common as it is, it tends not to stay. Hydra, as a tribute to their love of order and proper placement, kept things clean. Stark even.

But if by some strange curse, they were to leave proof of the passage of time. There would be boot prints. Yet. No prints. Or guns. Or tentacles wrapped around pillars. Nothing of the sort.

“Ghost maybe.” Steve grins.

Bucky cocks an eyebrow. Bumping shoulders with Steve.

Steve chuckles. Then huffs. A verbal period. “Are you sure Tony is here?”

“Not my place to question the all-powerful Friday.”

“Further in?”

“The central command should be up ahead. Let’s go in from the left.”

That’s what he said. But in reality ‘up ahead’ was less a stroll down a hallway. And more a climb up into the vents. Scurring through the many crossroads. Only to drop to a lower level. Climb out.

And finally, get an eye on the fucker that can’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Or ‘fuck off’ either.

All is as he predicted. Except for one thing.

“I knew I was a clone,” Bucky hisses.

“You are not a clone.”

“Really? How do you know, art major?”

“He looks nothing like you.”

“Close ya head Punk.”

“He doesn’t! The nose is off. The eyes are a bit closer together than yours. And the cheekbones are worlds different.”

“Stevie. Are you caring a torch for me? Staring at my face like that. Keen on every detail.”

“Jerk. You know it’s my artist's eye.”

“Sure.”

“About Tony…”

“He’s coming now.”

“I told you he’d escape.”

“I didn’t say he wouldn’t. Only that he deserved back up.”

The man that could be Bucky’s long lost kin takes notice of Tony coming up behind.

“Should we…”

Bucky places a finger to his lip. It could be a trap.

“Mr. Stark. What are you doing out and about?”

“I was bored! What kind of monster locks someone up without anything to do? I could have gone mad.”

“Most prisoners don’t think themselves entitled to activities.”

“Well, they should! No one wants to go insane. And one does not simply kidnap the one and only Anthony Edward Stark. Then give him nothing to do. Come now. What crazy thing do you need me to build? Speak up, Colonel Landid.”

“That is not my name.”

“No? Are you sure? Come don’t lie. Oh. Was it Sir Springtime? Or Dear Fearless Leader? Speak, please. Or will I need to do this all day? I can, you know.”

“I am Agent James Barnes.”

Tony blinks. Nose twitching. “No, indeed, you are not. He is far more pretty. Silly man. Neither the nose or skull are right.”

Steve waves his hand. An ‘I told you’ gesture.

“Now don’t cross me Stark. You’ve served your purpose.”

“For what?”

“Bait.”

Tony nose twitches again. Face scrunching in disbelief. Tilts his head. “For who?”

Bucky would coo. Then kiss him silly. If not for the whole life and death situation.

“Are you serious?”

“Sometimes. Very rarely tho.”

“You think to trick me! But he will come for you?”

“Okay. Dubious. But sure. Might take him a while. Honeybun is flying around the Middle East right now.”

Steve stares uncomprehendingly. As par for the course. “Tony is not that dumb.”

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah. He kind of is.”

“I am referring to the Winter Soldier. He shall come for you.”

Tony squints. Rubbing his jaw. Tilting his head the other way. “People don’t usually come for me. That’s why Honeybear is a platypus.”

“What nonsense?” The Agent’s hands clench. Something spiteful twist and turns in his eyes. Not good.

Bucky steps forward. Out onto the stage. Signaling Steve to stay inside the shadows. To perform Bucky’s role. For once.

“You called. I came. As expected of a dog.” Bucky bows. Keeping a hand on his back. Where a knife makes it’s home.

“More a tamed wolf, I think.”

“What do you want? Now that I am here Agent.”

“You don’t know? You don’t recognize me?!”

“I’ve spent seventy years with Swiss cheese for a brain. I’d forget my own name if Stevie weren’t constantly yapping. Like some big dog that still thinks he is a lap dog.”

“I was meant to be your replacement. The next model. The superior Winter Soldier.”

“Cool. Creepy. But good for you.”

“Is this based off some specific criteria?”

“Tony why would you want to know that?”

“I don’t know. For Natasha. Like can she be in the running for Hydra’s Next Top Assassin/Spy?”

“Why would she?”

“Pride? Reputation? Bragging rights? She is very proud of her skills. Despite trying to fist-fight outside her weight class. And everyone needs validation. Right?”

“Yeah, sure. Even Romanoff needs validation.”

Bucky smiles. Tony thinks about that sort of thing. One of the reasons he loves him. One of many. Ah. Bucky could cup Tony’s face and tell him. Tell him everything. Watch giddiness erupt through his features. Or disgust. Disbelief. Mockery!

“What purpose does this nonsense serve?”

Right. The evil twin. That Bucky has. Bucky’s evil twin that he has. He’s a thing. An evil twin thing. That kidnapped Tony. And brought him to a Hydra base. The sort of place that ends friendships. Not start romantic stories. So proposing is probably out.

“It’s important to keep your coworkers feeling in mind for a positive workplace environment. And since I’ve been told on an occasion that I’m indeed a businessman. That’s something, I think, I should keep in mind.” Tony twirls his hand. Same as a Shakespearean actor might when asking the audience for applause.

Really. How has he survived this long? Turning his enemies to stone with his adorable brown eyes? It would work on the Winter Soldier. So…

“Are you mocking me?” The Hydra agent’s fist clench. Trembling with useless pride.

“It is sort of my thing.”

The Hydra ghost pulls a gun. Ready to fire. Gripping the gun as if it changes things. All it does is make him feel something more than just a brief sensation of control.

“Tony.”

“What! It is my thing. Hot mess and snappy one-liners.”

Bucky moves toward Tony. Intending to act as a shield. Signaling Steve to get ready for an attack. “You still haven’t told me what you want солдат(soldier).”

“I was meant to be you. To serve Hydra’s dream with purpose, loyalty, and success. I was meant to bring forth a new legend. A legend of Captain America and Bucky Barnes that serves that goal. I am you! A you that would start a new age. A new age. Ruined! You ruined everything. Took everything. I want my destiny!”

“And? I can’t give you that.” His life is a mess. With no place for ‘destiny.’ “Do you want me to apologize?” Bucky slides closer to Tony. While Tony expresses the universal look of ‘Are you crazy!’ Which isn’t helping.  

“I am sorry.”

“I don’t care. I. Don’t. Care.” His grip tightens on the gun. And his eyes tumbling with twisted fantasies and toxic emotions. Bucky doesn’t move his gaze from the gun.

“Don’t move, Barnes. I will shoot Stark. Same to you Captain Rogers.”

Time for a change in plans. BUcky shifts away from Tony. Aiming this time for the ghost.

Steve leaves the shadows. Without much more prompting. Despite the fact, the ghost didn’t know where Steve was. “How’d he know?”

“You think me a fool, Superman? Does your superiority now cloud your gaze of the mortal man? You think I, who takes the mantle of Bucky Barnes, is ignorant of your bond?”

“Um? No?” Steve leans in closer to Bucky. Ignoring or ignorant that Soldier 2.0 could still hear him. “What is talking about?”

“Nazi doctrine, Steve. Didn’t you read any of the files?”

“You know I didn’t! I had you do it.”

“I don’t remember that shit anymore!”

“You should still just know.”

“How? Communicating with the cosmic zeitgeist?”

“I don’t know what that is?”

“Read a fucking book.”

“I read. Just not your books!”

“Is this some lovers spat?” Tony chews his lip. Giving Steve a look. Bucky doesn’t like that look.

“NO!”

“NO!”

“Are you implying that the Superman and his right hand are sodomites?”

Tony trails his eyes off Steve. More slowly to Bucky. And stops. Giving a hint of the working gears that lay in that beautiful skull. “Yes? Mostly.”

But still, Bucky doesn’t like that look.

“Are you insane?”

“That’s something you should really ask Pepper.”

The ghost mouth flaps open and close. Lost without the usual train tracks of society.

“You don’t know me. I love sodomy.”

“Steve. Why the ever-loving fuck do you care what some Hydra goon thinks about your sexuality?” God. Why is Steve such an idiot? Bucky knows they’re always joking about the one brain cell they share. But it isn’t like he kept it to himself on purpose. Steve can fucking borrow it. Fucking should.

“I just don’t like people running around with baseless assumption about me.”

“That’s where you're wrong Superman. It’s no mere assumption. I know you. As any right hand should.”

“Cool your jets son. I don’t know what you’ve heard-“

“You used to wear newspaper in your shoes. We were going to sneak into the World’s Fair. Take a peek at all the suits. But you got sick. It was especially bad that year, too. Thought you need a new lung. Your Ma laughed when I said you were tiny enough to live off one.” The ghost grins. A full-color haunting of ‘Bucky’ on those war films. Glinting teeth. Smooth body movements. His voice bearing that Brooklyn drawl. Hell. Not even Steve could deny the resemblance now.

“How? How do you know this? No one except-“ Steve can’t continue. Is it a betrayal? That this ghost used the same words as Bucky to convince Steve to trust him. That one of his secrets was Steve’s Hydra file. Massive and all-encompassing. Might as well call it Steve’s biography.

“Bucky told Hydra. Told them everything.” He might have a nightmare or two. Of unending questions. Pain and cold clouding everything. His arm. His arm! Let it end. The same numbers over and over again. Let it end. Anything, please. Let. It. End.

“What are you talking about? You’re Bucky.” Steve grabs his shoulder. The fingers dig into the flesh. Dig and grip. Claws at the end of a chain.

“Am I?”

Didn’t Bucky die? Fell from a moving train. Swallowed by the mountains and snow. That’s what all the sources say.

“Yes!” His claws dig deeper still.

“No, Superman. Do not be fooled. That is nothing but a broken weapon. A broken tool. Used by little men to gain power and corrupt Hydra’s true will. Cracked in blood and lies.”

“Bucky, he. He just doesn’t remember everything. What Hydra did to him. What you did to him.”

“Superman, this weapon avoided you for years. Because he didn’t want to see you. Lied about shared experiences that he read in your file! Ran away from you again. And presented his true loyalties to Stark.”

He shrugs. “It’s true Steve.”

Steve finally let’s go. Skin paler than his natural Irish color. Taking on the hue of snow. His eyes are ice. “Why?”

“Destroy the weapon, Captain. I’ll kill Stark. Together the world will be safer in our hands. I will be the perfect Bucky Barnes of your dreams.”

If the ghost wants the name so much. He can have it. James is sick of this obsession with the past. Trying to build reality into the ‘Golden days.’ He wants to move the fuck forward.

“Is this the Twilight Zone? Cause me, and Rhodey have a blood pack about that. And no way will my finger’s sacrifice be in vain.”

Everyone. And James does mean everyone. Blinks at Tony, as if he only came into existence today.

“For fuck's sake. Aunt Peggy told me you were an utter twit. But I was young and naive. Probably watched way too much Captain and Friends growing up.”

“Stark, will you-“

Tony’s fist connects sharply with ‘Neo-Bucky’s throat. The man gasps. Lips flapping. Becoming one with the fish in us all. Tony ignores that. Sweeping his legs. Landing him flat on his back to flop around. See more fish similies. Delivering a final blow to the man’s head. Three quick strikes.

Just like that. Tony saves himself. James claps. Because that was magnificent. Iron Man indeed. Maybe he should lay at Tony’s feet. Bat his lashes. Really play up the damsel in distress role, he always seems to find himself in. Might help distract from all the glaring.

Steve glares. Tony glares, but not at Steve. At James. What did he do? He’s innocent! Kinda.

“James!”

“Yes?”

“Why did you say that? How could you?”

James glances at Steve, for some sort of clue. But Steve has moved from staring daggers at Tony to his boots. So helpful.

“I don’t know-“

“You acted like your whole relationship with Steve is some sort of Hydra plot. Which is stupid.”

“None of what Hydra Barnes said was a lie.”

“But it wasn’t the whole truth. And making Steve thinks that is cruel. Be better James.”

“So what if it is? Our relation is emotionally suffocating. I needed space. But he didn’t care. He kept looking. Then when he got me. He put me on the shelf like some old lover's memento.”

“Then why didn’t you say something.?” Steve swings his arms out. But there is nothing to hit. Unless he’s going to punch James. It falls to his side. “Why did you go to Stark?”

“Because you don’t listen,” James hisses.

Steve clenches his jaw. Why wouldn’t he?

“Umm. I have experience as a negotiator. You guys can talk it out while I meditate. You know, listen to each other.” Tony twirls his hand. Trying to encompass an elephant with a single gesture.

“And why would I do that?” Steve sneers. “Aren’t you just trying to turn Bucky against me?”

“Am I” Tony’s gaze flickers away. Seriously thinking that possibly his unconscious came up with some villainous plan. And not, more reasonably, that Steve is just full of it. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Steve. Tony has nothing to do with our issues.”

“You can’t say that.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I figured it out.” Steve glances at Tony, who backed a step or two away. “You’ve been mad at me since Siberia.”

“Why would I be okay with that. I murdered his parents. But you didn’t care. You called him your friend. Then after that fucking mess, we just left. We just left him there.”

“It wasn’t you! He had no right.”

“I was! My hands. My body.”

Steve growls. “Why should it matter? It was two decades ago.”

“For him, the accident was twenty years ago. The murdered just happened. Compounded by your lies. It was a FUBAR situation. Because of you.”

“Umm. You know…”

“I lied to protect you!”

“No, you fucking didn’t! You lied to protect yourself. So you wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of pure, perfect Bucky becoming the Winter Soldier. You still won’t.”

“But it wasn’t-“

“Yes. It. Was.”

James is panting. His heart is running too fast. His lungs expanding to get air that just isn’t there. Things feel unfocused and fuzzy. Things are distant. Things are too much.

“I forgive you guys. So it’s cool.”

Steve, cheeks red, and eyes wild. “What?”

“I forgive you for the lying and the whole Siberia mess. James forgave me too. So it’s good.” Tony gives a thumb up. Drops it as Steve just stares, chews his lip.

James haggards another breath. His body finally settling. Tony’s forgiveness was such a relief. Still is. But maybe he gives it too freely. He should expect more. Like an actual apology or something.

“You forgive me?” The great Captain America finally speaks.

“Yes. I do. Things got out of control. And there is still Thanos to think about. He’s an incoming threat to Earth.”

“Tony, I-“ Steve steps forward. Arms opening. There’s this look. Buried deep in his gaze.

Yeah. Nope.

“Steve! What are we going to do?” James points a finger at Steve then himself. Moving all eyes to him. To shift the changing reality away from what was building. Fate? Fuck it sideways.

“Go home together. Now that you’ve cleared the air.” Tony waves a hand at James and Steve’s ‘bond.’ Grinning. Grinning.

Steve steps back. Hands at his side. Where they should stay.

“Nope. I don’t know what Steve is doing. But I’m going back to the Tower, back home, with you.

“Why?” Tony moves his hand. Ready to gesture. But hides it away. Quickly.

Yes. Why indeed? This is the moment. James can feel it. Taste it. This is the moment for him and Tony. In this fucking Hydra base. With an unconscious fucker as the backdrop. Steve, his witness. James has to say it now. Fate might be dropping the ball. But he can’t afford to. He can’t.

Except. Tony is staring. All that vision, intelligence, and compassion pointed at James. The center spotlight. Which he hasn’t seen since the goddamn forties. Not since Captain America. All blue eyes and perfect chin. The knight of justice and innocent. He didn’t mind much. Being in Steve’s shadow. Ended up preferring it actually. Made his job easier. Then it was all he was. A ghost. A shadow. He still doesn’t hate it.

Center stage James. And speak.

“Because I love you. So I’d prefer to stay by your side. If you want.”

“You love me? Are you sure?”

James grabs Tony’s hands in his own. Let’s Tony entwined their fingers. “More than anything. My love might as well be your name, Antoshka.”

“I like it when you call me Antoshka.” Tony steps into James space.

“What a coincidence. I like calling you Antoshka.” James steps into Tony’s space. Close enough for their palms to touch. Their noses. And maybe more. More-

“You can’t!”

“We can’t be fucking what? Steve.”

James almost got his time fucking stopping kiss. He almost got his kiss again. And again the Universe fucking throws a wrench. Goddamn metaphoric cockblock. And this time wasn’t even James’ fault.

Not his fault.

He should deck Steve. Become one with Karma. And deck Steve. Hit his stupid clenching jaw.

“You can’t… You can’t fondue.”

“Fondue?” Melted sticky cheese. What the fuck?

Tony sighs. But doesn’t step away. Good sign. “Howard told me that Rogers thinks fondue is an innuendo.”

“Sex might happen. Which, none of your business Steve. But this isn't about sex.”

“It isn’t?” Tony’s eyes widen.

James laughs. Life gives you a comedy routine. You laugh. And drink fucking lemonade. “No. It isn’t.” James taps his forehead to Tony’s. “It’s about squishy, vulnerable, and deep emotions of the romantic nature,”

“It’s about listening to you science as the galaxy lights up with your energy. It’s about your smile so warm. And your heart so big you created life. It’s about feeling safe with you. It’s about sharing cars and secrets. And family recipes. It’s about building something wonderful with you. Antoshka. My morning star.”

Tony bites his lip. It makes James' heart jump and smack into his ribs. His stomach flipping trying to outdo his heart.

Tony sighs relaxing more against James. “That’s what they used to call the devil, you know.”

“It was Ishtar long before the devil. Goddess of War, Wisdom, and Love. All epitaphs you hold, doll. Even got yourself a lioness by your side.”

“You forgot what I said about my ego.”

“Maybe. I just don’t care.” Music swells and…

“Stop!”

Fuck. Again. Seriously?

“What? Rogers. What?”

“You two aren’t good for each other. This is wrong.”

“How Steve? How are we ‘bad’ for each other?”

“There’s the Starks’ murder.”

“Yes. We’ve moved past this. Forgiven and everything.”

“Okay.” Steve licks his lips. “But what about your situation, Bucky?”

“What about it?”

“It’s delicate, Buck. And Tony, he ah, he means well. But he can be harsh and selfish. Crude really. He’d just make everything worse for you. Make light of one of your bad days. And he wouldn’t understand. Not like I do.”

“I think Tony understands more than you know. But really I’ll take kindness and compassion thanks. Something that Tony has already given me. Will just progress one moment at a time.”

“You said that you could only promise me now. Right now.”Tony tilts his chin up. Something stubborn among all that softness.

“But now has a way of lasting forever.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean. I’m willing to put up with Friday for you. And even that little snot Dum-E.”

“You mean it?”

“Yeah. Even though I think Butterfingers is planning my murder. A gruesome murder.”

“Truly?”

“Yes. U is cool.”

“Promise, James?”

“Promise Antoshka.”

Tony tugs James down. Wrapping his arms around James’ neck. Pushing their lips full together. James' lips are chapped. There was a little too much force behind Tony’s push. And his neck aches a bit.

It was perfect. All James could ever want. It was real.

“We should cuddle,” Tony giggles. Lips still close. “Maybe watch a movie. My favorite and your favorite. Let Friday pick one, too.”

“It’s a date.”

“It is. Isn’t?”

“You can’t do this.” Steve’s voice faltered.

“Yeah. We can.” James is getting a goddamn happily ever after, motherfucker.

“But Tony lies.”

“Oh fucking god, Steve. We all lie. You, me, everyone. A lie or two is inevitable. Okay. I’m more interested in what comes after.”

“The after credits scene?” Tony smirks.

“Something better.” A life. One of James’ own.

Chapter Text

James takes the elevator. No longer concerned with tracking every floor and ensuring he takes the elevator he deemed his own. Merely stepping inside the metal box, unconcerned, every day. Heading down to the hell site. With two mugs of coffee. Both printed with stars. One in each hand. Only two. No more or else. Two hands. Two mugs of coffee.

Tony brings a collection of delights. Pancakes and waffles. Eggs and bacon. Doughnuts, muffins, and bagels when he doesn’t feel like cooking. Always makes a feast. Enough for every warm body. James hates that.

Hates.

Goddamn T’challa’s barely concealed glee. Like he wasn’t throwing a parade right now. Because Tony asked to handle his biggest headache without anything in return. Nods like T’challa’s doing Tony a favor while dumping the garbage at his feet. Not his problem. Now James’ shit storm. Fucking universe.

Something thumps against one of the Tower’s windows. A soft thud that undermines the significant amount of force behind that act. James slides his gaze. A woman in red, both clothes and magic. Both of her fist bang once more against the window.

“Barnes. Let me in.” Her voice carries, somehow like magic. Not that James knows if it’s Friday or Maximoff's magic.

“Nothing I can do. Security threats are Friday’s realm of authority. Sorry.”

“I won’t do anything to Stark!”

“Sorry, Miss Maximoff. Must be a bug in my system.”

The Witch screams. Understandably. James continues on his way. He can’t let the coffee get cold. Thus, James walks past the woman in red.

Nothing is ever that easy, though.

Hawkeye, who likes to call himself a sniper, slides out of one of the many security vents. “Coffee, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Just for you and Stark?”

“Yup.”

The bow spins probably plucked from the same negaverse where James and Natasha keep their own knives and guns.

“You and Stark?”

“What about it?”

The bow spins again. Despite the neon purple color, the bow appears to be simple wood. Hand-carved with tiny arrows. “So I’ve heard some things from Cap.”

“Uh, huh.”

Hawkeye waits for James to continue. Fill in all the information without Hawkeye revealing his own hand. Fucking amateur. Winter is silence.

James takes another step. Silence continues. Spinning and spinning. Hawkeye betting it’s a bluff. Like James can’t ask Friday. Or pull the info from the source. Or just win this round of the spy game. Another step. Another spin of silence. And another.

Almost at the door.

“Steve said you have a crush on Stark. That’s not true, right?”

A crush. What? Like some playground drama? Tony gave him a juice box so now they’re gonna get married under the slide. That sort of thing? Fucking what?

James knows Tony has the friendship skills of a second grader. But he expects better from the others. Definitely from Stevie.

“If by crush you mean dating. Then yeah.”

“You’re dating?”

“Yup. Cuddling and kissing and everything.” James wiggles his eyebrows. For symmetry.

“Seriously? How does that even work? I mean. Stark is so… flash and bang. You know?”

No. James doesn’t. More like stubborn warmth and guidance. “When a cyborg meets a mechanic, they fall in love over oil and gears. Then the cyborg shows his bolts. And the mechanic cranks it with a wrench.”

“You aren’t taking me seriously?”

“Nope.” James waves as he exits this conversation.

Entering through the door. As he does every day. The table set as it is day after day. Wilson sitting in the middle on the right side. Chugging orange juice and eyeing the world like it slapped his mother. Same as yesterday and the day before. Natasha, however, is sitting on the opposite side of Sam. Next to Tony. That’s new.

“James.” Tony grins wide, unabashedly, like James is performing some miracle every time they meet. Who knows what James expresses in return.

“Antoshka. Good morning.” James kisses the top of Tony’s head. Handing him his mug of coffee. Probably his third serving. Considering he’s dressed: the whole tie and shades package. And not communicating with some eldritch god.

James slides into the seat across from Natasha. Tilts his head in greeting. She tilts her head right back. As is their tradition.

Hawkeye pulls himself into the room. Clutching the wall. Gaze bouncing from open seat to open seat. Landing on the one next to Natasha. As if there was anywhere else for the bird to settle. Walking as if a slug, had their body split into two limbs.

Precise clicking follows next.

Tony’s nose twitches as the shades slide down his nose. “Miss Potts.”

“Mr. Stark. Barnes.”

“Red Overlord.”

Potts imperiously lifts an eyebrow directed towards Tony. He shakes his head in negation. She nods. Taking the seat between James and Wilson.

Ha! She is warming up to him.

“Rhodes and Vision were called away. But Rhodey wants you to know that you and he are in for a Talk.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Tony chews his lips. “Like a talk or a Talk. Cause there’s a lot to go over.”

“A Talk, Tony.” Potts clacks her nails against the table.

“Oh. That’s not good.”

James runs a hand through Tony’s hair. Getting an eye twinkle and a small smile in return. “Scarlet Witch is still stuck outside.”

“For a real security breach,” Friday pipes up.

“Of course.” Potts taps a single nail.

Wilson squints up at the ceiling. “Where’s Steve, then?”

Late as always of course. He just can’t seem to find his footing in the future. Too bad, really. Poor Stevie.

The doors bang open. No different from yesterday. Hardly one should take notice. James sips at his coffee.

Steve comes closer with coffee for everyone. As usual. Banging about the room without style or grace. Summoned as if he were the devil. Called as Wilson spoke his name. Carrying a gift too.

Not that the intended will notice. His obliviousness working in James’ favor. Steve could just lay it all out on the line. Like James did.

“Am I late?” Steve places the coffee on the table. Moving his eyes off the prize. Creating the opening needed for Hawkeye to snatch the goods.

Potts is the one who answered. “Yes. We’ve all grown accustomed.”

“It’s fine, Steve. The others won’t be coming, so we might as well get started.” Tony stands to gather the food. Potts follows after to assist.

Those two do work well together. A lovely pair. And thank God they didn’t work out. No way he could compete against Pepper Potts. Not in the past or future.

If Potts ever asked for a redo, James would be fucked. Out in the cold while it rained. In the gutter.

That's not likely to happen, however. Both Tony and Potts being the decent sort. Wouldn’t do that to him. But well. Fear whispers insistently. And insecurity and anxiety are a package deal.

Steve smiles as Tony leaves. But it falls when Tony is out of sight. Frowns as he takes his seat next to Wilson.

Wilson just grumbles about food.

“You brought coffee, too, Bucky.”

“For Tony and me. Like always.”

“Right.” Steve jaws clenched. Suck it blonde. “You only win because you bring just the two.”

“It helps that I know how to use a coffee machine and don’t go to the shop on the corner,” James smirks sharper. Steve’s jaw clenches harder.

“Coffee and Pizza! Why didn’t I see it before?”

“Cause for someone so insightful, you’re as oblivious as fuck.”

All turn to Natasha, who rarely swears. She shrugs. Must have been a long night for her.

The room holds its breath as Tony returns with a large platter of waffles. Potts eyes the table but sets down the eggs without comment. The ticks of the clock overpowered the room. Well, they would. If all the clocks weren’t digital.

Once Potts and Tony are gone once more. A collective breath is released. Except for Wilson. Who simple pours himself another glass of orange juice.

Steve leans across the table. Getting closer to hiss at Clint. “What are you talking about?”

James sips at his drink. Slurping really. Loudly. To draw attention. Wilson eyes him warily over his juice. Apparently not having the motivation to deal with crazy antics unless they’re his own. Or Steve’s. Space hoarder.

“My crush on Tony, Steve. That’s what Barton is going on about. It’s going well, by the way.” James puts his coffee down. Leaning in, as Steve had done. Resting his head atop his hands. And smirks. If only lighting would strike. Add some dramatic cinematic tension.

Steve leans back. Gaze locked on the kitchen as Tony returns with more food. The bacon platter this time. Potts must be cutting the fruit.

“Good for you, Buck. But don’t you think things are a bit unbalanced?” Steve grins. That aggravating spark that he pulls before he starts something stupid. James usual cue to pull the punk back. Before someone got hurt, well Stevie, before Steve got hurt.

“Unbalanced?”

“Sure. Tony’s got all this stuff. Jets and cars.”

Wilson mouths jets to himself. Absently slipping some bacon into his gullet. Natasha, standing as the South Pole to Wilson as the North Pole, fails to hide her malicious glee. Probably wishing that popcorn was a standard breakfast food.

Steve lifts a fork, holding it a lot like some fucking fairy godmother. “There’s this Tower. Ironman, along with all his other responsibilities. How many employees do you think he has? How many staff at the Tower just to clean it?”

“Actually.” Hawkeye pops his head from his curled body, acting like a turtle shell. “The Tower is cleaned by a robot hive called Ana. And since Potts is CEO, Stark’s employee count is probably just Happy.”

Somebody’s been making friends.

“There’s the Maria Stark foundation.” Natasha points a knife covered in raspberry syrup at Barton. Her plate covered in food.

He is pretty sure the Winter Soldier raised her to have better manners.

“But do volunteers count?” Barton points back. No food on his plate. Just fiddling with all the coffee Steve brought. Look manners.

“Not everything can be handled by volunteers. And the organization is huge. Massive. Growing by the minute. A one to one scale of Tony’s guilt.” Her smile is doll-like. Despite scarfing done all the matter around her. Such talent.

Steve shrugs. “My point still stands. Doesn’t it, Buck?”

Oh. That fucking punk. Just cause Ma Rogers had a ‘respectable’ job. While Ma Barnes had to take out the others trash while they pushed her around. Hard work. That she was damn good at. Fast and efficient.

But Tony ain’t like those twits that tried to make his mother feel small so they could build themselves up. Not with the way he remembers Edwin and Ana Jarvis.

“Nope. Don't know what you're getting at, Stevie.”

Tony is out of James’ league… Even if you ignored the money, the Stark legacy, and all the hero antics. Which is a lot to ignore. Tony is still one of the most beautiful and handsome men in the universe. Inside and out. And clever. And book smart.

Ugh. Steve got to him. Fucking bastard. Knows it too. Punk. Goddamn punk. Revenge will be swift.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“No problem, Steve.” Tony smiles. Perfect even if it is directed at a blonde jackass.

Ignoring Natasha's finished meal. Everything is in place for breakfast to start. And Wilson is still munching. That’s the first sign of humanity’s downfall. Lack of manners.

Tony runs a hand along James’ shoulders as he takes his seat. “Something the matter, Bunny?”

Steve. But seriously he should just say no. Enjoy the meal. Don’t fall for Steve’s trap.

Say no. Say. No. There is no problem. Everything is pink roses and bacon. Pride and rainbows. Nothing could go wrong.

Steve is an idiot. James has known this as an indisputable fact since he was eleven. And Steve tackled Georgie who was three years older. Because the oaf pulled Lily’s pigtails. Which is no way to treat anyone. That’s why James had to back Steve up. But still. Moron.

Carter telling him all the stupid shit Stevie pulled. Like James hadn’t tried to warn her. Steve is a legendary idiot. Number one in the world. And the serum, James would bet money, made the whole thing worse. Fact.

So say no. He will turn to Tony, smile, and say no. No.

“Why did you pick me? You’ve got to have better offers.” Fucking damn it. Mouth, there was a deal. A goddamn gentlemen's agreement.

Fuck. Steve’s stupid, smug smile burns the side of James’ head. Fuck.

Potts snorts. Which is somehow worse than Steve’s butthead grin.

Okay. Cool it. He can take it back. Choke himself on waffles. Apologize with his death. Easy.

“Oh. I-“ Tony peeks at Potts, who waves him to continue.

And James can’t take it back. No way. He needs to know. He needs something. So yeah, Steve might be right. He can admit when he is wrong. But James is still going to murder him later.

“Your face.”

James nods. Good start. It’s something at least.

“Umm. Your arm.”

Less good. But James already knew that.

Tony chews his lip. Pushing his plate away. Potts hums disapprovingly. James can relate. Guilt already making itself feel at home in James’ gut.

But he needs something to whisper to himself. When he is once more in the dark with the snow. “That’s it?”

Said so softly, you could hardly call them words. Tony hears it anyway. Snaps his head up. Making eye contact.

Everyone is staring. James knew that. Yet Tony’s hand twitches and shakes.

James shudders. This was not the way to go about this. Fucking dick move.

“I have a better answer. But not here.”

“What?” James blinks.

Tony stands. Chairs clatter to the floor. “Let’s go.” Tony pulls him up and away. Just like a superhero saving the day. Closer to reality, it was more like James was dragged.

Dragged past the table. Past fucking Steve. James sticks his middle finger into Steve’s face on the way out. Dragged past the door. Away and away. All the way to the elevator. Trapped inside and held aloft by Friday’s whim. With some physics thrown in.

“I do have a better answer.”

“Sure.” James has nothing better to do. Except for breakfast. He should have grabbed some bacon instead of flipping Steve off.

...Nah. Worth it.

“When Jarvis died. Nobody… Nobody got it.” Tony wraps his hand around the other. Again and again. “I showed them their dead body. Nobody got it. Pepper and Rhodey comforted me. Knew I suffered a loss. But they didn’t get it. But you did.”

James blinks again. What else could he do? “Got what?”

“That I lost a child. My child.” Tony’s knuckles whiten. Nails digging into flesh.

James takes those long fingers and broad palms into his own. Smoothing each knuckle out. “Friday acts like your teenage brat. Not much of a leap that you would consider all of your creations as your children. You treat them as such, and they grow into that. Becoming something more.”

“Sad sentimental hobo.”

“I ain’t so sad, no more.”

Tony’s lips quirk up. “Jay was a lot more subdued. Still sassy. A pain in the butt, too. Classier, maybe.”

“I’m classy.”

“As a ham!” James strikes back.

“You are you Friday. No more and no less.”

“Friday’s charm aside. I still don’t get it.”

“You mourned for me. About Jay’s death. When my parents died again in Siberia. You didn’t know me. But you mourned with me. Expressed something that…” Tony’s eyes glimmer and sparkle. Dark pools of magic that mesmerize.

“Situation sucked. That’s what you do.”

“Not in my experience. Not with what I’ve done.”

“If we're going to play the blame game…” James shrugs. Trying to pretend that Tony’s pout doesn’t have him enamored body and soul. But if he fails, who cares. Look at that cute pout.

He could kiss it. He should. He does.

Tony’s pout falters. “You’ve got seventy years on me. Some would call that cheating. And cheaters never prosper.”

“Well, then I can’t be a cheater. Can I? I’ve got a star in my arms.” James wraps his arms around Tony’s waist.

“Such a Prince Charming. And you wonder why I fell into your arms.” Tony smiles. James might be blushing.

Tony hums. “With all your talk about stars, I really should show you Stardust.”

“It’s a date.”

“One of many.” Tony leans up to kiss James.

It’s moments like this that James believes in magic. Like the stories, his Ma told him. Beautiful fae living alone in their towers. Seducing good Catholic boys with promises of gold and glory. Stupidly ignoring the most valuable treasure of them all. Just to keep their God, too.

Whether Bucky or James, he never was a good Catholic. Too bad. He’ll just live an eternity with Tony. In the realm of fairies that speak binary.

“How did I get so lucky?” James murmurs against Tony’s lips.

“Ass. That’s my line.”

There might be gagging noises in the background. James ignores it, to bring Tony closer. Who runs his fingers through James’ hair.

“Not that this doesn’t give me the incentive to burn my brain with bleach. But Rogers is yapping up a storm. And building immunity to my tasers, I think.”

“Let him perish.”

“James,” Tony laughs. Such music.

Friday might be onto something with that poetry nonsense. James could write a million sonnets on Tony’s laugh and smile.

“What? He’ll be fine. We should sneak out on my bike instead. Go for a fly. Give him the bird as we pass by.”

“You can flip off Steve. Or have a bike date. Not both.”

“Date! I’ll take the date. Friday, to the garage.”

“Sure. Sure.”

Ma would, without a doubt, adore Tony…

Is it too early to propose?

Chapter Text

“You have got to get him out of the Tower.”

“And how, Colonel Rhodes, do you propose I do that?”

“I told you to call me James.”

“Given the circumstances, Colonel, I'm gonna have to ignore that order.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be trying to get on my good side? You know. Considering the circumstances.” Rhodes might have his hands behind his back, but the air quotes were loud and clear.

“Pepper adores me. My bases are covered.”

Rhodes nods. There are cameras; it would be foolish to try and argue that now. Friday is a gossip. A horrible gossip. “How bout that one?” He points to some ruby in a flashy setting. Probably sterling silver. Disgusting.

“Why isn’t there a decent engagement ring in this whole fucking place? You told me this was one of the nicest places in the hills. This is all junk.”

The attendant lady curses James in French. He flips her off. She gives him the bird back. Well. At least the place still has the New York spirit.

“This is one of the highest-rated jewelers in the state. The whole state.” Rhodes mimes making a circle with his finger, encompassing nothing. Because it’s junk.

“You trying to pull one. This place is filled with low-class rocks and gaudy settings. Tony deserves a ring that a king would wear. Or some alien Viking deity.”

“Call up Thor.”

“You aren’t helping.”

“Yeah, well, shouldn’t you been doing this dance with Steve. Your blood-brother.” Rhodes smirks. Because Rhodes is the ass of a thousand donkeys. Who fart excessively. And is not fucking helping like he’s supposed ta.

“You know why. I don’t need the drama.” 

Rhodes sighs. As if he has never had to deal with unreasonable demands before. Which is a lie, because he knows Tony. “Barnes. You could propose with a candy ring pop and Tony would love it. Tony has money. Tony’s money has money. Money does not impress him.”

“I’m not trying to impress him. I’m trying to do right by him. Which are completely different lanes, Colonel. Might as well be highways apart.”

“True.”

Rhodes points to another piece of junk. James makes a face. The only response he has left.

Rhodes rolls his eyes, having forgotten that James is a super soldier, mutters to himself, “A man should only have to do this once a lifetime.”

Whatever that means. 

James side-eyed another piece and sighs with the full weight of his burden. 

Barnes worked in a mall for a short. Got himself a good gig cause of his manners and star-like looks. Eyed the jewels there, like he had anything better to do. One rock could have paid his rent for months. Maybe even years. The ones under the glass probably could do the same if James paid rent.

But fancy no price tag shops are all they have in common. 

Those jewels at least had style. These are...junk.

“About Rogers-”

“The only one who can kick Steve onto the streets is Tony. Tony, Rhodes, not me. I don’t want those miscreants in the Tower anymore than you do. I would rather have the whole place alone with Tony. A love nest if you will. But I’m not putting a frown on that doll’s face cause Steve peaked in middle school. So…” James waves a hand at Rhodes. Representing the curtain falling on this pointless conversation.

“Yeah. Well, I’ve tried, Barnes. Brought it up, only to see an expression in those brown eyes I haven’t seen since our MIT days. Words turn to dust in my mouth. Pepper could…”

“Pepper spoils Tony more than the both of us combined.”

Rhodes opens his mouth. Closes it. And rubs his jaw. Yeah. That’s what James thought. The whole thing is at a standstill. And the punk knows it.

“I have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Rhodes taps the glass keeping the rocks safe. “I think finding an engagement ring at an antique place would suit you best.”

“An antique, huh?”

“Yup.”

Antiques have history, class, better sense of aesthetics, and a gleam of mystery. Just like sweet Antoshka. Yes, that could work. Exactly what Tony deserves. James might even find a ring once worn by an Emperor or Tsar. “Your one smart cookie, Colonel.”

“I’m a genius.”

“Sure. Sure.” James is already asking Friday about proper antique stores on his phone. He is finding the perfect ring today. Goddamit!

“Speaking of genius…”

“Wah?”

“I’ve got an idea for the Rogers’ Trouble, too.”

“Yeah? Gonna pull a miracle outta your ass?”

“We ask Romanoff and Barton.”

“Nat can’t say anything to Rogers. She’s got…” James isn’t sure how to better phrase ‘issues.’ Because it’s more than that. Much more. Right or wrong wasn't on her school curriculum. She wasn’t raised to tell right from wrong. She was raised to follow orders. To assume justice is always behind those orders. And Rogers expects that from the people around him. 

They both need therapy and to grow the fuck up. All the Avengers do.

“That’s why we include Barton. As stupid as he acts, he knows where he stands. Rogers can’t mess with that.”

That might be true. James can’t get a good read on Barton. Not sure why. Even as Barnes, he usually could at least make a quick sketch after a few meetings. Hydra hadn’t thought him a threat. Whatever that means. Hawkeye and Black Widow were the only strike team not to have a Hydra agent. No one tried to approach him as much as that’s worth.

“Fine. But this is your call if the whole thing goes FUBAR.”

“Agreed.”

James wants Tony and the good days to last. Considering, he is entitled to that much.

Goddamnit.

---  

“How was your date with sugar bear?”

“Wasn’t a date, doll.”

“Sure, it was. With the two of you being so secretive about this outing. Sounds like an affair to me.”

“Antoshka. If I ever cheat on ya, Fry would rat me out faster than anyone, but you could comprehend.” James gives a two-finger salute to Friday for good measure.

“I'd kill you first.”

“Love you too, Murder-Bot.”

“I still think you should tell me what all the secrets are about.” Tony pouts. A tactic that would usually have James on his knees spilling his guts.Or giving Tony the moon and stars. Least his pout strikes James’ heart, and he bleeds out onto the floor. 

Which would displease Potts. 

But. James stands strong. Kisses those pouting lips, quick and sweet. “It’s just a secret, for now, Tony.”

“For now?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

“On my heart and soul.”

Gives a little humph, dropping his head into his hand. Trying to hide the soft quirk of his lips. Antoshka loves it when James swears on his devotion. Because he will not break a promise. Not to Tony. And soon he will make one of the biggest promises of them all. If he could just find the fucking ring. The universe is against him. 

He knows it.

“So I’ve got some date ideas. If you're not seeing Honey Buns this weekend.”

“All yours Antoshka.”

“I’ve got tickets for the Maker’s Fair. You’ll like it, very urban sci-fi. Or there’s an Antique Car show in downtown Seattle. We’ll need the jet, but that’s what it’s there for. Or there’s the Hall of Science, which I could rent for a day or two. Whatever you feel like sugar plum.”

James slides onto the couch, snuggling close to Tony. “Not all dates have to be a multiple-day production, darling. We could go out for a bite and sway under the stars.”

“I don’t want you to get bored.”

“Tony, you built several fully functioning sass machines. Fly around in a suit of armor. And got a mind that knows no peer. I could spend a lifetime never unpacking all you got. Bored is not an issue.” James props his head atop Tony’s. Like God themselves sized Tony to fit perfectly against James. And made him cute to boot.

“I’ve got some razzle-dazzle but no more than that.”

James snorts. “Fry you think your just some razzle-dazzle.”

“Hell no!”

“Friday is independent of me. Of course, she has more substance.” Tony huffs, crossing his arms. Chews his lip and rubs a hand along his pants. Which are not his usual jeans.

“Why are you wearing fancy pants?”

“I’ve got a gala latter. I was making sure they still fit.”

“Why wouldn’t they fit?” Galas are no longer a regular thing for Tony, as Potts has mentioned, but he still has one at least every other month.

“I’ve lost some weight.”

“Five pounds.” Friday rolls her invisible eyes.

“Tony.”

“Yes, Snowdrop?”

“You worried about something?”

“No. Why would you think that? I have nothing to worry about, ever. Birds dress me in the morning. And Pepper, the beautiful miracle that she is, takes care of all my needs. To suggest that I have even a single problem. The tiniest of problems. Is an insult to my honor. Insulted!”

“Tony.”

“I think it should be illegal to put so much tone and meaning into my name. Like it’s a phrase, a page, and a book all rolled in one. And everyone seems to be doing it. Next Friday will be saying my name like it’s a verb.”

“Excuse you. My memes have more class than that.”

“They’re memes, Little Lady.”

“They are a burgeoning language. Respect the chaos of the internet Cyborg.”

James huffs. No point in throwing down the gauntlet with a teenager. He is an adult. “Your distraction aside, I still like to hear what’s got you troubled.”

Tony puffs up, like a chirping bird trying to seem bigger than it is. Only to deflate before a word is uttered. “I have an archnemesis — sort of. I haven’t seen him in years, but he’s going to be at the Gala. And I can’t back out because it’s an important one for the Maria Stark Foundation.”

“An archnemesis?”

“Sort of-Rhodey would claim that this person is his archnemesis, but that’s just platypus being dramatic. I’ve had to deal with this person, way more than Rhodey. Which wasn’t fun.” Tony rubs the wrist that still sits on James’ thigh.

There’s a story. “Do I get details on this mysterious person?”

“Nope. Maybe nothing will happen? He might not show up. Or he could ignore me.  I mean it’s been years since we last met. Years.”

“So an ex-boyfriend. From college or after. Great.” James drops his head on the couch. He isn’t sure how he’ll handle an ex. 

“What? How did?! I thought we agreed on no mind-reading!”

“We did. You just left a lot of bread crumbs that painted a clear picture.”

“I did not! You melted snowman.”

“Tony, tons of people have tried to kill you, and you don’t even consider them the bad guys.”

“They had excellent reasons to want me dead. I can acknowledge that.”

“You mentioned Rhodes hating the guy. Rhodes has to put up with a lot of crap and is pretty apathetic towards those that generate it. Only times crap becomes an issue is when you are involved.”

“Sugarplum has the patience of a saint,” Tony sniffs like he's sitting on a mountain of money.

“No mentions of Pepper. Who is even more protective and aggressive. So Pre-Potts era, which was after MIT. And you told me that you’ve only seriously dated about three people who are not Pepper or me.” James waves his hand to symbolize the ergo.

“Fine. My ex might be showing up to be a dick. Happy.”

“No, Tony. I would be happy if you could go to a Gala with the only worry being your speech and the camera peepers.”

“Stop being perfect. You're making me look bad.”

“Impossible, doll. You’ve got nothing but good sides.” 

Tony’s cheeks pink while he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well.”  

“And to help with your worry, I’ll come.”

Tony sits up straight, meeting James gaze with his hands on James’ knees. “I couldn’t ask you that. Your still people shy. And you hate fancy duds. All those bright lights and cameras. I’ll take Steve.”

James feels his forehead twitched. And exhales. “I’ve been before, Antoshka.” He takes Tony’s and gently kisses the palm. “And I promised to watch your back.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs. Sounding a bit breathless. “You did.” 

“Then I got your back.”

And he always would.  

---  

James did his hair up in a pony-tail with a red and silver bow, instead of his usual man-bun. Give the audience something to look at and comment on besides Tony. Tony, standing close to his side, wore his garnet red suit with a black shirt with printed silver and gold stars. Gaudy as fuck and trying to distract from his darting brown eyes. And the fact he is biting his lip now and again.

Hasn’t left James’ side at tonight either. Typically he’d orbit. Shasaying way from James for a moment, only to twirl around back after he spoke to some people. Then repeat. Ending the evening with a dance. Just the two of them. Swirling under the stars while the background blends away into music and glitter. He never did mind the end of these things.

It was the middle that sucked.

“I got these-” The lady runs her hand under the giant necklace and across her boobs. What could she be emphasizing? Which bauble could it be? “-in Austria. Lovely, aren't they?”

“Not particularly.”

The lady pouts, painted and pretty. James probably would have bitten, before Tony. But nothing compares to Tony. After all, you would try to compare a fun tune to a resonating ballad of love, loyalty, and sacrifice. Be cruel, really.

The lady leaves. Finally.

“You should be nicer, cherry pop.”

“I am nicer. To you.” James supports his very valid point by weaving their fingers together. And tracing a circle on Tony’s hand with his thumb.

“You’re the sweetest to me. I want you to be nice. Nice to all the people that give money to my foundation that fights for the little guy. You should relate to that, jimmy jam.”

Ugh. Will he ever live that down? He blames those stupid comic books. Making him twelve. What kind of twelve years old even thinks tactically like that? Bucky read shit. Educated himself and all. Stupid comics. Almost ruined the medium for him. Almost. Would have, if not for the future.

“I have amnesia. It’s tough to say what I did or didn’t do. But that doesn’t sound like me.”

“Why are you like this?” Tony laughs, running his hand along James’ chest.

“It’s all the brain freeze I’ve endured.”

“If you didn’t insist on eating ice cream at every meal…” Tony trails off, but his gaze laughs at James instead. That handsome jerk.

James leans in and nips at Tony’s nose. Revenge.

Tony gasps and giggles, pulling back a bit to rub his nose. As if it was a great wound. But not for one minute nor second does his smile falter. “I love you.”

“That came out of nowhere.”

“Never. My love is as eternal as the tide.”

Tony’s face turns scarlet, still not use to James’ genuine declarations of affections. “I thought your generation was supposed to be stoic and silent and not with all the gushy words.” Tony flaps his hand at James’ general direction.

“Gushy?”

“Shut up. I have articulation down to an art.”

James smirks.

Tony narrows his eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

“Jimmy jam.” James flicks out the first finger. “Depressing sandwich, squishy.” He flicks a second and third finger. “Ice-slab.” A fourth. 

“Stop!” Tony moves a hand to cover James’ mouth. The palm gets licked for its trouble. His hand jerks back and James smirk grows two sizes bigger.

“There is no face.” James snorts at the memory. “That’s one of my favorite of your particular phrases. Oh, articulation master.”

“You licked my hand!”

“Yeah. That’s what happens when you cover someone’s mouth.” James mimes another lick.

“Disgusting. Tongues belong on other body parts.” Tony wiggles his eyebrows at ‘body parts.’

James licks the eyebrows.

“Gasp. Not like that. Betrayer! How will I ever trust again.”

James wiggles his eyebrows, too, still smirking.

“Fine.” Tony wraps both his arms around James’ neck, standing on his tippy toes. “You seduced me. Have your wicked way, Betrayer.”

Usually, he would lift Tony into his arms when Tony wrapped himself around James. But public… Stupid, nosy, Potts would be mad if they didn’t adhere to polite society’s rules, public.

Which is cruel. Because Tony was made to fit into James’ arms. And James was made to hold him.

“My, my. What a lovely display of open affection, Anthony.”

Tony’s entire form turns to iron.

A man, blond and well built, stands a little to close wearing a suit that was sewn with money into the linings. A snob, if ever James saw one. Oh, his fingers are covered in gaudy rent-paying rings too. Now here is a man asking to be stabbed more than thirty times at Capitol hill on the ides of March.

Tony lands his feet firmly on the ground but keeps himself wrapped around James. “Stone.”

“Last name? Why so cold, Anthony?”

“I request Mr. Stone that you reframe from calling me, Anthony. It is Mr.Stark.”

“Are you trying to ignore our history, Anthony? Our passion? Did you tell your toy nothing?”

James tilts his head, sliding his gaze from top to bottom. Handsome alright, but probably sucks in bed. “Told me enough to know ya a prick.”

The fake grin twitches. And the perfectly manicured hand, the hasn’t seen a hard days work ever, slides the edge of the coat.

“James,” Tony hisses.

“It’s alright, Anthony. What do you expect from the lower brackets?”

“Mr. Stark.” James braces himself. Stance ready. “He told you to call him Mr. Stark. Learn some respect, Mr. Prickson.”

Another twitch of the lip. Guy’s got restraint. James will give him that. But not an inch more.

“How long has it been, Anthony? Six months? You must be fed up with slumming it by now.”

Tony blinks. “Are you stupid?”

Prickson flinches back like he's been slapped by James metal palm. Tony winces too. Like he wasn’t expecting that. 

“Compared to you, Antoshka, everyone is.” James eyes Prickson response. Still recovering apparently.

Tony pouts and chews his lip. “You're not stupid, James.”

James shrugs. What matters is that he gets by with a bonus or two. Being the best at something is impossible, after all. And perfectionism is just anxiety-inducing. Tony is a clear example of that, no matter how close he comes.

Prickson finally rebooted himself. “I’m a genius,” he hisses. Probably got a forked tongue and everything.

“So?” James bats the comment away. “I know plenty of geniuses and super genius or two.” No doubt, Princess Shuri was in a league all her own. She still needed friends her age tho. No one is an island. “Hardly makes you unique, Mr. Prickson.”

“It’s Mr. Stone.” Prickson finally regards James as a person worthy of scorn. James will take it as a compliment.

“And it’s Mr. Stark. Not Anthony.”

“Tell me, Anthony. What exactly is the draw? It can’t just be the sex.”

Tony puffs himself up, nose perched in the air, even as he grips James’s clothes. “Not that it’s any of your business, Mr. Prickson, but we haven’t had sex yet. We're taking it slow, physically, because of all the drama in our lives.”

James swears that Prickson’s pupils narrowed into slits for a bit before the man blinked twice. Where is a particular saint when you need him?

“I see. It was nice to see you, Mr. Stark.”

“It’s always lovely to see me, Mr. Stone.”

Stone sends a daggered glare towards James. A bow to Tony and finally takes his leave.

“Oh my god! I’ve never seen him act so unpoised before. That was awesome.” 

“Tony, he ain't all that. Why couldn’t you just handle him before?”

“I don’t know. Maybe cause he knew me as an ugly duckling. So when I’m around him, I can only be an ugly duckling.”

James nods. Everyone got an awkward phase. Part of the whole growing up thing. “When did you meet him?”

“Uh a little past eighteen. I was way less awkward than at fourteen but I still just didn’t fit in my body. You know?”

“Yeah. But I’m sure eighteen years old Bucky would have thought you were beautiful.”

“Sure. Sure. But if you were twenty-seven. It be a pity date.”

“Why, twenty-seven?”

Tony tilts his head up. Resting his chin on James’ chest. “That’s how old Tiberius was.”

“Tiberius Stone…”

“Yup.”

A second piece of the puzzle to figuring out Rhodes’ archnemesis. Something more than just being Tony’s ex, perhaps.

Fuck. This spells trouble.