Chapter Text
Charles Xavier was willing to meet with Bucky, but with his student's finals on the way he wouldn't have time for an in-depth interview for at least a week. Bucky didn't like it, but wasn't all that anxious to leave LA where he'd known Steve was a few days ago, to go up to Xavier's school in Seattle just to hunt for ghosts.
With the house destroyed, there was no where to go once the hospital finally cut him loose, other than the room at the Westin that Tony had ordered.
Bucky shoulda figured it would be the freakin' penthouse suite.
"Clint and Natasha are one floor below," Tony said, while Bucky tried and failed not to boggle. Sure, he was used to the decadence of the Avenger's house, but this... this was on a whole new level.
The hotel staff had even put up an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne on top of the grand piano. Huh.
Back in the lobby, Tony tried to get Bucky to check his own meager bag of clothes -- what they'd managed to pull from the ruins of the Malibu house -- with a bellboy, but Bucky wouldn't have it. His collarbone and ribs were sore, but if he could stand on his own two feet, he could damn well lug his own things around. "Bruce and Thor are two floors down."
"You're bunking with me then?" Bucky asked as he marched to the windows, checking the sights. He'd gotten out of the habit while living in the Avengers house, but Steve had always been a good shot. Not the sharpshooter Bucky was (or Clint is) but with today's modern weapons that didn't matter as much.
Their suite was facing the sea, with no building or line of sight directly before them. Steve would have to come with another helicopter. Still possible, but not very likely.
Why hadn't he'd attacked while Bucky was laid up in the hospital? Steve had said his mission was to kill Tony, and he'd had plenty of opportunity since Malibu.
Maybe he was hesitating? Remembering something?
Bucky turned to Tony, a comment about Steve on his lips, then realized that Tony had never answered the first question. He stood about twenty feet away, staring in Bucky's direction. His body language was... Bucky couldn't suss it out for a few seconds: Exhausted, a little pained, and... unsure.
Unsure? Tony?
Of course, the second Bucky met his eyes, Tony straightened and smiled -- cocky, but a little cracked around the edges. Just like he'd put on a mask.
"Dibs on the master suite." Tony said, turning. "You want the couch? Looks comfy."
Bucky didn't think. He strode forward, probably a lot faster than Tony figured he would because he actually jumped when Bucky caught his shoulder, stopping him.
"You know, I'm an old fashioned kind of guy," Bucky began.
Tony's shoulders actually slumped, and he didn't turn around to look at him. "Is the polite way of saying you think you made a mistake?"
Well, would you look at that. Bucky never thought he'd see Tony Stark insecure. It wasn't a look he liked on him. He dragged a thumb over the tight ridge of his shoulder. "It means, back when I used to like a girl, we'd go out dancing. Or I'd drag Steve along on a double-date." Bringing up Steve right now was a mistake -- Bucky felt an unpleasant jolt shoot through his own stomach at the memory, and didn't miss the way Tony tensed up. Bucky tried again. "It means... I don't know exactly what I'm doing here, but I don't wanna be sleeping in different rooms." He paused. "Do you?"
Tony turned, then, his gaze sweeping Bucky up and down. "Better idea," he said and jerked his chin to the marble bathroom visible just beyond a half-opened door. "The bathtub there is big enough to host a party -- I think I did, once."
"Yeah?" Bucky felt a grin stretch his lips and he forced himself to shove the thought of Steve away. Natasha and Clint would call the moment they had any solid lead, and it was selfish, but Bucky wanted to forget about what had become of his best friend, just for a few minutes. "Are you saying I smell like a hospital?"
"I want to get you off," Tony said in a direct way, meeting Bucky square in the eye as if in a challenge. "Maybe a couple times. I have theories about your refractory period. Am I wrong?"
Bucky swallowed, then stepped closer so they were nearly chest-to-chest. "You're not wrong." He wanted to kiss him, and if not for Tony's bruised face and healing nose, he would have.
But again, there was a hesitance in the air, and it wasn't coming from Bucky.
Tony's chin lifted as if in defiance. "I'm too old for you."
"You ass," Bucky said. "I am literally twice your age. Try again."
Tony looked like he wanted to say something else, but wonders upon wonders, actually choked it back. Looked painful.
Bucky leaned in, breathing over the shell of Tony's ear. "You about done trying to talk me out of a good time?"
He felt Tony shiver. "Sure," Tony said. "But heads up: I can't breathe through my nose right now."
Feeling a little fresh, Bucky reached down to grab Tony's ass, give him a friendly squeeze. "You're a genius. You'll think of something."
The ringing phone roused Bucky from a half-doze. Tony, who was using his shoulder as a pillow, winced a little and rolled onto his side, grumbling. Two days had seen much of the swelling in his face go down.
Two days of mostly staying in their room, when not scanning media reports for new Winter Soldier sightings (none), or calling Natasha and Clint for updates on their search (nothing).
Two days of either fucking Tony silly, or brooding about Steve. So yeah, they'd been in the bedroom. A lot. And the big bathtub again. And the kitchen.
The phone rang again, and Bucky's sleep-fogged mind pinged onto the fact that was Natasha's ringtone.
He snatched up the phone.
"You've found him," Bucky said in lieu of a hello.
"We've found where they're keeping him," she confirmed. "Clint and I will be there with intel in twenty minutes."
"Make sure you're decent!" Clint yelled, from the background.
Bucky was too preoccupied to feel even a glimmer of shame. "Got it." He swiped the phone off, then turned to Tony who was awake and watching him.
"Honeymoon's over?" Tony asked casually. One arm was over his head, showing off the long lines of his torso, the arc reactor centered in the middle.
"We're assembling in fifteen minutes." Bucky leaned down to give him a swift kiss. Tony tried to deepen it, but they didn't have time. Bucky leaned back, pulling gently on Tony's arm to get him to rise. "I'll call Bruce and Thor. Up and at 'em, Iron Man."
"Great. Yay. I always wanted to meet the first Captain America," Tony said lightly as he rose out of bed and padded, naked, to the bathroom.
Through the large penthouse windows, the sun was rising to the east. Bucky stared out to the middle distance -- towards the direction of New York, for a long moment.
We've found where they're keeping him, Natasha had said. Her words were important, and that implied wherever Steve was, it wasn't voluntary.
"I'm coming for ya, Stevie," Bucky whispered to himself, trying and failing not to think of Steve's fingers -- an inch away, and falling too fast to grab.
This time, Bucky swore, things were going to be different. He had seventy years to make up for, his team behind him as backup, a stunningly intelligent lover at his side.
Whatever happened next, Bucky was going to catch Steve, and drag him back from the edge.
The end.