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“You shouldn't have done that,” Tony says as soon as the workshop doors close behind you.
But the thing is - “I should have done something a lot sooner,” you disagree.
Just thinking about what happened a few minutes ago makes you angry again. Thinking about the rage on Steve's face, the disdain when he looked at Tony. As if Tony was the one who did something wrong.
Tony shakes his head and there's something in the lines of his face that you want to smooth out with your thumb; something you want to chase away with feathery touches and hushed murmurs. “He's your best friend, isn't he? You shouldn't be arguing, not because of ...”
“If you're about to say because of me,” you interrupt him, your voice tense with lingering anger. “I swear I'm gonna change all your coffee to decaf and throw out your precious organic Ethiopian ridiculousness.”
The glare Tony throws your way tells you that that's exactly what he was about to say but then Tony's lips press into a thin line and he turns away.
Because that's another thing - Tony doesn't pretend anymore.
You don't know when exactly it happened and you don't even begin to question why it happened but somewhere along those last months Tony stopped pretending. When it's just you and him, when Tony feels safe – and you also shy away from questioning why Tony feels safe with you, you won't go down that road, you won't – Tony's just … Tony. No guard, no walls, no flashy grins and sunglasses to hide his eyes. Just Tony.
And somewhere along those last months, somewhere along the hurt, the painful truths, the slowly developing understanding and the grim determination to not let Hydra win and still affect both of your lives, along Tony's honest smiles, his mind-blowing brilliance and his gentle hands on your left arm you did the most stupid thing you probably could have done.
You fell in love, slowly and inevitably, no matter how many times you told yourself not to. And sometimes, when Tony looks at you, you think …
“I can help myself, I don't need a knight in shining armor,” Tony bites out.
It rips you out of your thoughts and you're thankful for it because you can't let yourself think like that. Having Tony's friendship and his trust is more than you ever could've asked for and you won't let yourself ask for more. It's not fair.
“I know you don't.” Of course you know, you know how capable Tony is. That doesn't change anything, though. Not when you think of what you interrupted before you came down here. Of Steve's loud and exasperate Of course he wants to fight again, he wants to do good!, and Tony's stunned Did you even talk to him about it?!; of Steve's threatening Don't you think you know him better than I do and Tony's bitter laugh and his biting Well, but maybe I do. When you think of finally rounding the corner into the living room, of Steve's clenched fists and Tony's challenging stare. When you think of how you stepped between them, how you glared at Steve; how you chose a side and it wasn't Steve's. “Doesn't mean you shouldn't have one,” you add quietly.
Tony's body is all tensed lines and you have to take a step back to keep yourself from reaching out and … touch him, pull him into your arms, kiss him … and when Tony turns and looks at you you see the bone-deep exhaustion in his eyes.
“Look,” he says, seems to struggle and your heart stumbles because Tony doesn't struggle with his words, not ever. “I appreciate what you did, I really do, but you don't have ...”
“But what if I want to?” The words leave your mouth and it's only when he stares at you, all wide and unbelieving eyes, that you noticed what you just said. But it's the truth and when you came here, when Steve dragged you into the compound and back into the life of this man who had every goddamn right to hate you and when you realized that he never had you swore by yourself to never lie to him. It was the least you could do. “I know I don't have to do anything, but Tony … I want to.”
And there it is again – the wariness in Tony's face, the almost skittish gestures, the way he avoids to really look at you. And you can't help but … hope. As much as you don't want to, as sure as you are that it probably won't ever happen … it's moments like this when your traitorous heart whispers a litany of What it, What if, What if …
“But maybe it's just not worth it,” Tony objects, his voice detached and cold and you want so badly to erase his doubts, his self-loathing, you want to take all his broken parts and sharp edges and show him how beautiful they are.
“It is,” you insist. “You are.”
Tony's gaze flickers up to meet yours and you take a step towards him, and another one, move closer to him until you can see the golden flecks in his dark eyes. Tony doesn't draw back and you wish and you want and you hope …
“I won't stop,” you tell him, because how could you? You can't imagine not to choose Tony, not anymore, not after everything he's done, after all the endless hours you spent down here with him and getting to know who he really is. “I won't stand by and watch him treat you like that, watch anybody treat you like that.”
Something in Tony's face brakes and it hurts to see it, to look at him and know that he never expects people to choose him.
“Jamie …,” Tony breathes.
It makes a shiver running down your spine. Tony's the only one who ever asked how you wanted to be called; and when you didn't know, when all you knew was that you hadn't felt like Bucky since Hydra had captured you for the very first time, he just kept calling you nicknames. Terminator. Robocop. Winter Wonderland. Snowflake. Aurora. Sleeping Beauty. And then, finally, Jamie. And when he first did, affectionate, tender and almost unsure, you cried yourself to sleep that night, because you remembered a wild little girl with the same eyes as yours calling you Jamie and when the same name fell from Tony's lips, when he smiled at you, that secretive little thing that's only yours, you felt whole for the very first time since “Who the hell is Bucky?” had turned your world upside down.
You still feel like that, whole and seen, and Tony looks at you like you matter, calls you Jamie like it's not only your name but so much more and you can't …
“Tell me if I'm reading this wrong,” you beg, your voice all but a hoarse whisper and you clench your fists because you can hardly stop yourself from reaching out and touch him. You didn't want to allow yourself any sort of hope but how can you not when he looks at you like that?
Tony shakes his head and an almost sad smile tugs at his lips. “You don't.”
For a second his words echo in your head and you can't believe what he just said. You stare at him, speechless, because … “What?” More a silent, disbelieving sound than a question. You don't trust yourself right now, don't trust that you understand, but then you take another step and again he doesn't recede. “Tony...,” you whisper, raising your hand, just shy from touching him, and there's a plea in your voice you never heard before.
“This is insane,” Tony sounds exactly like you feel, his gaze scurries between your eyes and you want to loose yourself in them but you can't help exhaling a helpless little sound instead when his words register with you.
“Our whole life is,” you tell him, because it is. That you're here, after 70 years of torture and violence, that he survived everything the world threw at him, that it's the both of you, of all people, who stand here, orbiting each other, trusting each other. And now, everything you didn't dare to dream of seems so close and you're … you can't bring yourself to back away again. You just can't. When you touch him, when your fingers gently ghost over his cheek, he closes his eyes and it makes you hesitate because what if you did read all of this wrong after all? But then he turns his head a little, nestles his cheek closer into your hand and it makes desire burst deep inside of you, makes you yearn for closer, for more.
“Tony ...” His name seems to be the only coherent thought you can put into words, especially when he looks at you again and the expression in his eyes makes it hard to breath, narrows your whole world down to just him. He looks at you and there is so much affection in his eyes, so much trust and heat that you feel like you're falling.
Tony reaches for your hand, the left one, and entangles his fingers with yours. “You're right,” he says.
And then he smiles, a radiant, beautiful thing, and when he closes the last distance between you, when you feel his warmth, his breath, when his lips touch yours and your heart stumbles and aches, when you close your arms around him and he makes a needy, desperate sound, when you can finally feel him, taste him, touch him – you know as long as he'll have you, you'll never let him go.