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It's weird living in the Tower.
That's a key theme of the sort of narration Bucky's hearing in his mind all the time these days. He'd worry about the whole "hearing a narration in his mind" thing, but his therapist says it's probably just a coping technique for now and will go away once he fully acclimates to his current situation. Which is that he's living in Tony Stark's house-slash-office building-slash-good guys headquarters. And more specifically, in Steve's bedroom.
Granted, the part about Steve's bedroom isn't that hard to get used to, especially as his memory works its way out of the shadows of his mind.
But the rest of it, everything else that this home address brings, is Weird and Bucky is trying desperately to just. Y'know. Go with it.
It doesn't help—even though he thinks it's supposed to—when Stark calls him to his personal lab one day, and swears it isn't about his arm.
"Okay, well. Maybe ten percent about your arm," Stark admits, holding up his hands and shrugging, and Bucky shrugs back, because he figured it was at least thirty percent, so he can't complain.
"It's June 30," Stark says, so practiced in his casual air. "Summer is truly upon us."
"Yeah," Bucky replies, carefully not touching anything in this lab. Half the shit is actually a robot, and Bucky's not sure how he feels about all of Stark's robots yet. "You're gonna ask me to do the grilling?" It's a joke, mostly. Bucky is joking, certainly, but he is aware that Stark might enjoy the suggestion too much and make it real.
"No one touches the grill except Barton. I don't make the rules. Well, I do, but that one I agree with. Unless we do some sort of Iron Chef challenge. Vibranium Chef?"
"I can be the meat thermometer. What did you want to talk to me about, kid?" That shuts him up; Bucky likes imposing the chronological age difference on Howard's little Tony Stark a lot, even if he never actually knew him as a kid.
"I can beat you up," Stark fires back, like it's a threat.
"And then Steve'll have some fist-words to say about that."
Stark points at him. "Steve, yes. That's why I invited you into my precious Tony-cave."
Bucky winces. "Please, I beg you. Do not call it that."
Stark waves him off. "Yes, fine, but stick with me here, Bonzai. It's Cap's birthday in a few days. And I have the present you can give him."
First, Bucky is handling some whiplash from the abrupt change in subject, though he's gotten pretty good at that, considering that all of the members of this team turn on a goddamn dime. Second, he's got some mighty confusion about why Stark is giving him presents to give to Steve.
Third, he's also thinking this is sort of... nice?
But he'll deal with number two first. "Why don't you just give it to Steve?"
"Because I pay his rent and make his outfits and I take care of your arm, so he and I are officially square on the idea of me giving him gifts." Stark reaches out and pushes at Bucky's shoulder. "And also this gift is definitely not one that should come from me."
And he hands Bucky a small, velvet box.
"Uh." If Bucky takes a step back as he carefully does not accept the box, it's because he's just...
Well.
"Uh," he says again.
Stark steps closer. "Oh for Christ's sake, Barnes, this doesn't involve a question. Get that commitment-terrified look off your face and just take it."
"I'm not afraid of commitment," Bucky mutters, but he takes the box without further comment and opens it. As Stark implied, there's no rings inside (thank God—not because Bucky's afraid but because, shit, shouldn't they, fucking hell, there are conversations to be had before— aw goddammit); instead, it's two flat pieces of metal on ball-bearing cords, with dark brown leather outlining the silver strips.
"What—?" He takes them out carefully, holding them close to read. Their dog tags, original ones by the dented and scuffed appearance of the metal. Only one of each, but Bucky's shocked enough that even one of his had survived.
"Where did you find mine?" he asks. He doesn't ask about Steve's, as he figures that Steve had them on when Valkyrie went down and so he came out of the ice wearing them. One's probably in the Smithsonian. But Bucky's should have been buried in a revine, or tossed out with some HYDRA trash.
"They were in some of my old man's things." Tony's voice is softer than Bucky's heard before, a voice he imagines usually belongs to Pepper's ears when they're alone. "Honestly I've had them for years, but I never thought much about them. Reminded me too much of how much he went on about you both." He shrugs. "Then I remembered a bit ago, thought I'd try to clean them up and give 'em back to you."
There's a whole unspoken conversation about Tony coming to an understanding about his parents' murder, and neither of them feel like hashing it out now. So Bucky goes along with the next line of questioning. "How did he have them?" He points to his own. "One of each, I mean. I never gave him one."
Stark shrugs. "Beats me, I never asked, he never shared." Too late, now, but then that stays in the unspoken bits.
"We didn't have them in leather, either."
"No, that was me. Some of the edges were rough, but I didn't want to buff 'em down. Handy compromise!" He grins. "You should ask me where I got the leather."
Bucky lifts the tags closer, peering at the leather as though he could figure it out on his own by sight and smell. He shakes his head. "Okay. Where'd you get the leather?"
Stark walks away, which means he's extremely pleased with himself but doesn't want to look like he actually cares about being pleased over this. "In with all the stuff that dear ol' dad brought back with him from Europe, which included those tags, was a leatherbound journal. Diary. I don't know whatever you guys called it back then."
Bucky frowns, peering at the small bits of leather again. "Steve's sketchbook?"
"I don't actually know. There were lots of pages torn out. Everything left was blank." Stark turns back, gesturing to Bucky. "But inside the cover, there was a pair of initials carved in it. Might've been JBB and SGR. Who's to say?"
Like a flash it comes back to Bucky. "Our... book."
They'd picked it up in London, used it to write things to each other that they couldn't say with the Howlies around so close. It had been almost full, front to back, when they were headed to intercept the train.
"It's not a lot," Stark says with a gentle voice, suddenly closer than Bucky had realized, which means he'd let his guard down. He never does that, not with anyone but Steve. "Most of the cover was really damaged, but I found enough to wrap around your tags."
"This is really... nice, Stark." Finally, Bucky looks up again and nods at the other man. "Thank you, Tony."
There's a moment when they both just regard each other, not saying anything, and then Tony gives a fast nod and then spins away, hurrying over to distract himself with something that might explode.
Bucky tucks the dog tags back in their box and closes it, then puts it in one of his many pockets, slotting in aside one of the knives he keeps on him still.
It's Steve's birthday in a few days, and Bucky thinks he's got a great gift to give him.