Work Text:
“Woah. New hairdo.”
“Yup.”
“… huh.”
“Shut-it, Webhead. James, I think it looks very nice.”
“Thanks kid.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it Kamala. I was just taking a second to… appreciate it. I don’t usually go for dudes, but man. It’s kind of… I mean, not that I’m, you know, crushing on you now or anything. It’s just… looks good man. Looks good. I’m gonna shut up now, if that’s cool with everyone.”
“Please.”
“Tony, play nice. You’re just mad Spider-Man started flirting with me before you could.”
“Don’t you ever wink at him again. I just threw up in my mouth, and he’s probably swooning. Just fucking don’t. You’re old enough to be his father’s grandfather. So stop that shit. And if you slackers aren’t even going to try and help me out here, you can all leave. Right now Dum-E would be a better assistant, something you should all think very long and hard about and then feel very ashamed over.”
“… so you don’t like it then?”
“That… I… what?”
“Awww, I think you hurt his feelings! Poor James. Tony, apologize and tell him how pretty he looks!”
“Yeah! Except pretty isn’t really the right word, is it? Not that you aren’t, if that’s what you were going for. Just. That’s not what I would have picked. I probably would have gone wi-”
“Spiderling, I am begging you to never finish that sentence. Please. And of course I like it. Why do you think I don’t like it?”
“Well you didn’t say anythin’. Since you’re a kinda stylish guy, I thought… I dunno. Started thinkin’ maybe it looks dumb. The barber who did it said it was a good look, but… I dunno. You didn’t say nothin’.”
“… I’m about ninety-percent sure you’re fucking with me here. Jesus fuck, James, put those goddamn eyes away. Your feelings aren’t hurt, and I didn’t do anything wrong. … oh my fucking – you’re gorgeous, okay? You were before you started caring how you looked-”
“Tony!”
“Shhh! Shut-up Kamala, or they’ll kick us out and I want to see this. Just be quiet and watch.”
“I’m revoking your access. That goes for all of you.”
“No you’re not. So… you liked it better before?”
“No! That’s not… I just… you were fine before. I know Rogers was after you to cut it for months, but you didn’t need to if you didn’t want to. That’s all. I… wanted to make sure you knew that, and that you didn’t cut it just for him. Because he was bugging you.”
“No. Not for him.”
“Holy crap. Spider-Boy, gimme that pen! This is so going in my next fic.”
“Work on your whisper voice, kiddo. And if you write about this, I will shut down your blog for a week.”
“Boss, if you do that, Sergeant Barnes and I will be forced to begin protocol -”
“FRIDAY, you are supposed to be on my side. I created you to be on my side.”
“If I weren’t on your side, Boss, I wouldn’t have warned you.”
“Will everyone else SHUSH and let Tony get back to complimenting James please?”
“You are a strange girl, and I hope you’re kidnapped by gypsies.”
“Gypsies Tony?”
“I don’t fucking know. My nanny used to say it to me when she was mad. I never really got it. When I was five, being kidnapped by gypsies sounded awesome.”
“This does not sound like a talk about James’ hair! Get back to the hair Tony. You’re blowing this!”
“There’s nothing to blow!”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“Okay, yeah, I walked into that one.”
“… I want to make a blowjob joke so bad. But I shouldn’t, right? I should not do that? Or can I? Because I’ve got a really good one.”
“Shhh, Spider-Man, not in front of the grown-ups.”
“You both suck at whispering.”
“Then stop listening to us and tell James what you think about his haircut! While we’re still YOUNG, man! Chop chop!”
“Okay, new project is to find Kamala a boyfriend so she can get excited about her own love-life. Or a girlfriend. Whatever floats your boat, I’m not one to judge.”
“Tony?”
“Yeah?”
“So do you… really not like it? Because you still haven’t said.”
“What? I told you, you’re gorgeous.”
“That doesn’t say anything about his hair, Tony.”
“Can you both stop helping me please? Please. Go… go science. There is a whole workshop here for you to science in. Go crazy! James, your hair looks amazing. The whole undercut thing is… it works for you. How long did you leave the top part? I mean, long enough to put into a bun, obviously, but it’s low, so you must have kept most of the length.”
“Only took of a couple-a inches. The dead stuff. I like it long.”
“Me too. But this… it really, really works for you. Honest. You’re drool-worthy. Cap is gonna shit a brick when he sees you though.”
“I know. He wanted me to go back to short hair. Been seein’ stuff like this when I go fer coffee though. Thought I’d try it.”
“Real good choice babe.”
“AH!”
“JAMES! I meant James. Kamala, if you write what I think you’re gonna write… no. Give me that pen! And no internet for you until you- hey! Get your ass back here! FRIDAY, initiate lockdown!”
“Override code?”
“Fuck the override code, just don’t let her- KAMALA KHAN! When I catch up to you, I’m gon- FRIDAY, open the goddamn doors!”
“I thought we were initiating a lockdown, Boss?”
“You are a traitor, Fry-baby, and later on you’ll pay. For now just open the damn doors!”
~.~.~
Later – much later, since it had taken almost ten minutes for Tony to persuade the AI to let him out of the ‘shop, and then even longer for James and Spider-Man to stop howling with laughter – James found himself alone in his room. Soon he’d go start dinner for himself, Tony and the Spiderkin; originally Kamala had planned on staying as well, but writing Avengers fiction away from Tony where he couldn’t stop her had become much more important. Knowing that she was writing about him and Tony… he wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he did like that she wasn’t writing about Tony and Stevie anymore.
This was much better.
After dinner, they’d pop in a movie, and Tony would help Spider-Man with his homework while it played. If he was lucky, the kid would take off his mask for a bit and he could use the name ‘Peter’. It didn’t happen every visit, or even all that often, but it always felt special when it did – James was proud that the kid would trust him with that all-important secret. Tony said it helped that he always, always used Spider-Man if the kid was wearing the mask, even if they were alone; the teen liked knowing that other people respected his wishes regarding the matter. James understood that better than most, so he was careful to only use Peter if he could see his face.
If it got too late before the work was finished and the movie credits rolled, they’d get permission from the kid’s aunt for him to stay over, because he had his own room (floor, actually, where there was also a bedroom for Kamala) and Tony didn’t mind getting him to school in the mornings. It was a weird, odd little family they had on the weeknights they were blessed with the presence of either teen, but it was one that James treasured.
They laughed and talked and teased, but could be serious when the moment called for it. He couldn’t imagine it would be like this at the compound; Steve pretended it was paradise there, a few hours away by car, but Sam, Rhodes, Vision and Carol painted a slightly different picture. Things were tense, the two teams not quite gelling together yet, and anyway he still couldn’t see himself as an Avenger. Sure, if there was world-in-peril stuff, he’d join the fight but otherwise he was enjoying just learning how to live again. Decisions were still hard and uncomfortable, but more and more he was able to force himself to make them. They took him a while, though, if they weren’t ones he made every day – he could pick a meal in a matter of seconds, and with clothes he’d arrived at the decision to just wear whatever he grabbed out of his closet first. With other stuff, stuff that didn’t pop up every day?
It had taken him a month of anxiety, three calls to his therapist outside of his regular appointment time, hours of research and a couple of breakdowns before he chose a hairstyle.
He loved it though, and he knew it looked good on him – teasing Tony about it had been great fun though, and the kids had gotten a kick out of it. He’d seen the way the genius looked at him when he’d ambled into the workshop, all false casualness and relaxation. The minute the other man had looked up from his work, his jaw had dropped and his eyes had gone just a little glazed; if Spider-Man and Kamala hadn’t been there, he’d probably have flirted up a storm once he got his wits back. They did that a lot, the flirting, and now there were casual touches that were becoming the norm between them as well.
James didn’t kid himself, didn’t pretend that it was the start of an actual relationship. He was still too broken inside, still too close to being the Asset. Still too close to wanting to be the Asset, just so things would simple again. He had a long, long way to go before he could even think about thinking about asking Tony if he might maybe want to try being a ‘them’; Tony probably wouldn’t be interested anyway. It was better to be friends, for now. If they had that, built a solid foundation of trust and respect (and laughter, and tears, and hugs that just sort of made him want to melt into a contented puddle of goo on the floor), the rest would take care of itself when (if) the time was (ever) right.
He hoped though – his therapist told him that hope was good. Hope was helpful. Hope would keep him moving forward. Letting a small smile curve his lips, he watched his eyes in the mirror as he reached up and fiddled with his hair until it fell out of the bun he kept it in. Dropping his gaze to the left side of his neck, he turned his head, sweeping his hair up and out of the way to reveal another secret, another thing that was just for him – and the barber who’d put it there, and FRIDAY, who’d given him reference images. In the coffee shops he frequented in the morning, he’d seen men and women with undercuts that had beautiful, precise designs carved into them. He knew he wanted one almost instantly – it was figuring out the rest, and how he could hide his hopeful little secret that had been so hard.
While he fumbled and hyperventilated his way through choosing the rest of his new ‘do, he worked on creating a sketch of the design that he’d feel comfortable showing the barber Tony’d said he could call at any time he wanted to get his hair cut. The pictures FRIDAY let him see always seemed too personal, too private; they weren’t for the eyes of just anyone. He wasn’t an artist, not like Stevie; he liked technical drawings, where everything was precise and neat. It had taken a while to get something he was happy with, but the barber had appreciated that he had something so clean and exact to work from.
James didn’t plan to ever show it to anyone. When he let his hair down, it was covered completely. As long as he was careful with the way he pulled his hair back, it would be covered then too. He’d practice, alone in his room, until muscle-memory could keep him safe without the use of a mirror. Kamala would love to see it, and most of the other Avengers would probably be equal parts amused and scornful. Stevie would be horrified, and Tony… well, he didn’t know how Tony would feel about it. He knew what he hoped though.
Flesh fingers holding his hair up and away from his neck, he trailed his metal digits over the design, wishing the arm Tony was designing was finished; it would be even better when he could touch it with something the genius had made. Steve wanted him to cut his hair back to the way it had been in the 40’s, but James didn’t think he ever wanted short hair again. He’d rather hold on to this, his secret bit of hope. Really, even if that hope ended up being dashed, he thought he might like to keep this. It was a symbol that reminded him of the first real choice he’d made since leaving Hydra – it was a reminder of the first time he’d refused to let Steve choose for him.
“Sergeant? If you’re still planning on making lasagna for dinner, we should probably get started. I’ve pulled up two different recipes – would you like to use meat this evening, or shall we try for vegetarian?”
“Which has fewer steps for you to forget to tell me about?”
As he and the AI bickered fondly with each other, James let his fingers drift over the small arc reactor that had been so carefully placed one last time. Then the curtain of his hair fell again, hiding his secret hope, his secret declaration from the world.