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The swings creaked when they both sat down. The swings were old. Had stood there for fifteen years, never completely breaking apart, only rusting and losing time as the world did everything to destroy them. Bucky thought it was quite poetic. Tony didn’t understand it. He’d never been that much interested in poetry. He preferred logic over pretty words.
Though, the smaller boy had always enjoyed Bucky reciting poems. Bucky had been doing it since he learned how to read. His mother had always been a fan of poetry, thus making him a fan, too. Bucky pushed his swing backwards as far as he could with his legs.
“It's unbranded and unclaimed, elusive and in vain. It ebbs and it flows, wishing away as it goes.” Bucky recited from memory. It’s one of his favorite poems. He glanced at Tony to notice him glancing at the ground with a wishful smile, looking older than he actually is. Bucky frowned; he spent almost every day with Tony, but he’d never seen this look on his face. Pausing his poem reciting, he asked, “everythin’ alright?”
“Yeah, always,” Tony answered with a small smile. He wrung his hands together in a gesture of nervousness. He sighed and rubbed his small face (a habit he’d possess for the rest of his life). Tony extended his hand towards Bucky, who immediately grabbed a hold of it. “What if someone tries to separate us? What if we can’t stay together?”
“My ma said that it’s a possibility. Life doesn’t usually favor the ones who live it.” Bucky felt Tony clutch his hand tighter in a move of fear or desperation, he wasn’t sure. “But even if life separates us, we’ll find our way back to each other. We always do.”
Tony smiled like he was in pain but neither of them commented on it.
It was the last he saw of him.
* * *
Thirty years later and Bucky still hadn’t met Tony again. He knew of all the achievements the man had made (Steve said his stalking of Tony was insane and frankly psychopathic, Bucky didn’t agree. He just wanted to know where his childhood best friend was and what he was doing. Not that he’d told Steve he had actually known Tony Stark). He knew how the once scared of his own shadow little boy had grown into this larger than life persona, who influenced the world in a never before seen way.
So, now he was here. In the middle of Manhattan, sitting in the black car he had borrowed from Steve (who’s spy work had given them both enough money to rise out of the depths of poverty. Which Bucky also really shouldn’t know about), stalking the massive building in front of him. The so-called ‘Stark Tower’. Where Tony lived.
Bucky had been sitting there for three hours, and Steve was losing his cool. He’d called thirteen times and texted at least a billion messages (in reality it was only like 200). Bucky had left at seven in the morning, without telling Steve, took his car and parked himself in front of the large building with a cup of coffee. He’d been watching the door for ages and Tony hadn’t even come outside.
Steve was spamming his phone again. With a growl he turned it on and started slowly typing with his thumb. Steve was yelling now about how dangerous it was for Bucky to take the car because “you don’t even have two arms!” Which had pissed Bucky off. His wishful mood had gone from good to I-wanna-kill-you-right-now. Honestly? If Steve had been near him, he’d probably stabbed him.
Just as Bucky had gotten ready to call Steve a knock on the passenger side window startled him. He turned towards the window and just about had a heart attack. There was Tony Stark with his fancy suit and a pair of sunglasses. It did nothing to conceal his identity (his goatee was impossible to not recognize), but Bucky suspected that wasn’t the point. Tony pointed at the window and Bucky pressed the button on the console to open the window.
“Is there a reason you’ve been sitting here since seven am?” Tony asked and Bucky closed his eyes. Tony had changed so much, but for some ridiculous reason Bucky had hoped his voice hadn’t (which honestly was impossible). “Hey.”
“Uh, yeah there is,” Bucky grumbled out, his voice deep and hoarse. Tony frowned at him, like he was a stubborn piece of a puzzle, unwilling to go where he was supposed to. “I was waiting for you to come out,” which sounded a lot better in Bucky’s head. He couldn’t hide the grimace that was mirrored on Tony’s face. “That was not meant to sound so creepy.”
“I’m not sure I believe you,” Tony was looking at him kind of like he was deranged. Bucky supposed that was what it looked like.
“How about I start again?” Bucky smiled hesitantly. Tony gestured at him, all the while he was leaning on Steve’s car. “I- uh, so I have been meaning to talk to you for like forever, but then a lot of stuff happened and I kinda only had the courage to do this when I woke up today. And I left without telling my roommate and kinda stole his car, too.”
Tony stared at him like he’d lost it. “I’m sorry, but you seriously sound like you are mental.”
Bucky winced and tried again, “I don’t know how to phrase it, so it doesn’t sound insane, but I am so happy to see you again, Tony.”
Tony muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like ‘crazy psycho stalkers’, “I seriously have no clue what is going on, which usually doesn’t happen. Listen here, I have no clue who you are and if you don’t leave right now, I am going to call security.”
“What? No. Wait a minute. What do you mean you don’t know who I am?” What did Tony mean he didn’t know who he was? Had he forgotten…?
“Exactly that! I have never met you before in my life!”
“What do you mean? We were childhood best friends.” Bucky can’t help but look at Tony strangely.
“My childhood best friend didn’t have only one arm and I don’t even know your name.” Tony pointed out and suddenly it was so clear to Bucky what he meant. Of course Tony didn’t have any clue who he was. They hadn’t talked since they were six.
“I lost my arm when I was on my second tour.” Bucky watched Tony slightly lean back at his harsh tone. He still wasn’t okay with people discussing his arm. It had been years, but pain like that never really leaves. “And, my name is James Buchanan Barnes, but you always called me Bucky.”
Tony swallowed harshly and looked down. Then he recited from memory, “It's unbranded and unclaimed, elusive and in vain. It ebbs and it flows, wishing away as it goes.” He glanced at Bucky with eyes filled with years of memories and longing.
“Present and past, fleeting and fast. It whispers in the wind, to the oceans and back again.” Bucky recited, his words almost locking in his throat. The poem had only brought sadness as the years had gone by, but now the words felt like a whisper of promise.
“It echoes of battle cries where the red rivers once rose. Under moonlit skies, it witnessed the first breath and ashes' last cast.” Tony continued, his eyes shimmering as the sun casted around his face, caressing it.
“It heals the broken and bruised, has been abused and misused. Infinite and untamed, only time will remain.” Bucky finished the poem and opened his door. He stepped out and walked towards Tony. Suddenly his arms filled with a genius he hadn’t seen in thirty years; he couldn’t help the wet sob that escaped past his lips. Tony chuckled wetly; Bucky could feel the wetness of his tears on his shoulder. “Hi, doll. I told you we’d meet again.”
“Oh,” Tony whispered, his voice a fragile thing. “I had already lost hope.”
“We have a lot to talk about.” Bucky whispered in Tony’s ear, “but we have all the time in the world.”