Chapter Text
The worst part of this whole thing, and by that he means both having lost his memory and having gained it back, is that he can’t seem to unsee Stark. Of course, that is impossible, they work together, but the way he looks at Stark has changed and is unerasable.
Before the memory loss, Bucky hadn’t ever thought much about Stark’s looks. All he saw when he looked at Stark was a kid he orphaned and an angry man.
Now? Now he is keenly aware of Stark’s looks.
“Goddamn it,” he whispers to himself. He doesn’t need to fall asleep with the image of Stark’s arms in his head again. He knows where that will lead.
Bucky hasn’t seen the man since he regained his memories. He doesn’t know if that’s because Stark is avoiding him, or if it’s just that Bucky isn’t actively seeking him out like he was when he didn’t know any better.
Still.
So when you get your memories back, and you go back to stalking around all silent and broody, you remember that. It wasn’t your fucking fault.
Losing the guilt and gaining it back doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. Doesn’t help him sleep.
Bucky stops trying after a while. He’ll start sleeping again when the exhaustion reaches that point where he doesn’t dream at all.
He blames that on why he forgets he doesn’t usually hang around Steve’s team, joining them for dinner again.
That, and his arm.
Without the pain he finds it too easy to forget himself. What he is, what he’s made for. The limb feels real, too human like. It no longer feels like the weapon it marks Bucky as.
He starts feeling real. Too human like.
“You hit your head again?” Sam teases.
“If I’d had known what Bruce’s cooking was like, I would have joined you dumbasses earlier,” he grumbles, hiding his embarrassment.
Steve beams at him.
He supposes he does feel a little different lately too.
Spending a week with nothing but the “good” memories has somehow brightened them in his mind. They combat the bad ones now instead of getting swallowed and distorted by pain.
It’s a little easier to make Steve smile. A little easier to tease back. A little easier to get out of bed.
“I appreciate the flattery,” Bruce says with a small smile and he stands to make a plate for Stark.
Impulsively, Bucky stands, “I got it,” he mumbles, “you cooked,” he gives the same justification he gave when he didn’t know what a terrible idea this was.
He feels eyes on his back as he makes his way out of the kitchen.
See’s eyes on him when he is allowed into Tony’s workshop.
Two sets.
There’s a pretty woman there too. She’s tall, a redhead, wearing clothes far too clean for the likes of the lab, but somehow she looks like she belongs.
Belongs in Tony Stark’s arms.
It’s a very awkward exchange. The women looks back and forth between Bucky and Stark looking for answers, but Stark looks just as confused as she clearly is, and Bucky feels his shoulders come up around his ears trying to shrink away.
He leaves the plate with a stuttered “Bruce cooked so…” and then he makes a hasty retreat.
He doesn’t know why he’s so uncomfortable. He didn’t go there looking for comfort. He knew the exchange would be tense, awkward. Maybe a bit emotional.
He wasn’t expecting his amnesiac self’s schoolboy crush to rear it’s ugly head.
“Bucky no,” he groans to himself.
He was not jealous.
He was just… lonely. That’s all.
It’s been a decades since he last held someone in his arms, since he last kissed someone.
That’s why his amnesiac self was so enamoured by Stark. Smart, possibly gay, attractive, and near by.
That was all.
He still looks up Pepper Potts and finds article after article about her and Tony’s relationship scandal.
She is the women who was in the lab alright.
Bucky doesn’t know why he hates it so much, really.
It’s not like Stark ever did or said anything to indicate Bucky’s feelings—no, not feelings… thoughts. That Bucky’s thoughts were mutual.
Stark made it very clear he wasn’t interested in forgiving Bucky at all.
What kind of asshole gets upset by the guy whose life he ruined moving on and building himself a family?
Bucky’s amnesiac self was right.
Bucky is an asshole.
Stark feeds, clothes, houses them all, and Bucky –his parents murderer—has the audacity to be jealous like Stark was somehow obligated to… to… ugh, he doesn’t even know.
Bucky decides to take a walk.
He even leaves the Compound grounds and just goes.
He doesn’t need to be surrounded by reminders of Stark while he sorts through this mess.
He feels like two people. Unfortunate that this too is familiar.
He feels both lighter and further from his grief, and heavier, weighed down and guilty.
How awful it must have been for Stark to deal with Bucky’s persistence when he knew the truth about who Bucky was.
How easy it was to exist when Bucky didn’t know.
It’s still easier, he thinks. With everybody except for Stark.
That should be enough.
Why isn’t it?
Maybe it’s that Stark is the one Bucky’s hurt the most? He supposes it will always just sit closer to the surface with him.
That thought makes Bucky sad.
He… misses the easy banter. The futuresque dreamscape of Tony’s workshop. Misses learning about new things. Hearing excitement in the voice of a man who should only show resentment.
He knows the resentment is back though.
Bucky doesn’t think there’s enough pies to be made in the world to make that go away.
Stark can say it’s not his fault. That doesn’t mean…
That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt them both.
Bucky sighs. He has no idea where he is.
Thankfully he has his phone and therefor he has Friday.
“Hey Friday,” he says to the device, “Can you get me ho—back?” he asks.
“Of course, Sargent Barnes,” her voice sounds small and silly from his phone, less omnipresent than usual, “I can send a car for you?” she suggests.
“Probably a good idea,” he agrees.
He sits at the side of the road, head in his hands until a car rolls up on the empty street.
It’s not one of those simple black SUV’s that they use to take on missions and publicity events.
It’s the 1932 Ford from Stark’s workshop.
The driver in none other than Tony Stark himself.
“Get in loser,” he says.
Bucky just blinks comically.
“It’s a reference,” he sighs, “You wouldn’t get it, just get in the damn car,” he says.
Awkwardly, Bucky stands and does as he’s told.
The car isn’t exactly made for two grown ass men who do the kind of laborious jobs that they do, which makes it difficult to avoid brushing against the other man.
Stark doesn’t make to turn back towards the compound though.
“You wanted to talk earlier, so talk,” he says.
Bucky blinks owlishly again, “You want to talk while we’re trapped in a moving vehicle going…” he checks the speedometer, “eighty-six miles an hour with no seatbelts?” Bucky clarifies.
“You’re going to be hard pressed to find me in a better position,” he says offhandedly.
The comment makes Bucky blush. There are many positions Bucky would like to find Stark in.
Ugh, that right there is the biggest problem. Amnesiac Bucky’s stupid fucking crush.
“Right,” Bucky coughs out.
Stark hums, and he’s actually a pretty good driver. The car seems to like him.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” he prompts, impatient.
Bucky suddenly doesn’t want to be anywhere near Stark ever again, ever.
“Uh, I don’t remember,” he says.
“You don’t remember,” Stark repeats deadpan.
“I have memory problems,” Bucky says jokingly.
It startles a bark of laughter from Stark, which in turn brings forth a small smile of Bucky’s own. There’s something almost like that banter that Bucky’s been missing, but he thinks it’s likely just in his head.
The moment fades away, blurs by like the trees, and Bucky steadies himself to have this conversation.
“You said, uh, you said that... it… wasn’t my fault,” Bucky starts unable to bring forth the words to describe what has transpired, “And uh, well I just—either way I wanted to—” he continues only to be stopped when Stark cuts him off.
“No, there’s nothing to be…” he struggles with his own words, Bucky thinks. Can’t bring himself to acknowledge it’s an apology in the making, “there’s no reason to,” he says instead.
“It still happened, no matter who takes the blame and—” Bucky argues.
“Look,” he cuts off again and for someone who prompted Bucky to speak, he’s not very interested in what he’s trying to say, “I didn’t know you before,” Stark says obviously, “But now I’ve seen… I know how much…” he sighs roughly, frustrated, “Look, it’s pretty obvious you hate yourself enough for both of us, alright? So just—truce,” he says, “It’s done. It’s over. We move on now,” he says with finality.
“I—” Bucky starts, then changes his mind, “It’s okay to hate me,” he says, “I can take it, if that’s what this is about,” he glances at Stark who’s profile belies nothing.
“Resentment is corrosive and I hate it,” he says, “besides, I doubt you could really take it,” he says, this time it’s teasing and shifting the conversation. He glances back at Bucky to presumably wink. It’s hard to tell with the sunglasses.
“You’d be surprised what I can handle,” Bucky teases back instinctively.
Since when did Bucky have instincts that were for more than just killing?
Stark turns serious again though, “You don’t have to,” he says, “Handle it, I mean”.
Bucky nods, “Yeah, with my memory back, there’s not much room for toxic masculinity in there,” he agrees, “I cry… more than anyone else I know,” he laughs at himself, a little self-deprecating.
“Well good,” Stark says with a nod.
“Good?” Bucky says, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “It’s good for you, healthy. There’s been studies,” he says.
“Do you follow your own advice?” Bucky asks.
Stark smirks, “I’m Tony Stark,” he says like that’s an answer.
Bucky supposes it is.
Bucky doesn’t get a chance to comment on it, as Stark launches into discussion about the car and that easily distracts Bucky until they arrive back at the compound.
It feels almost normal, in a strange way. Stark treating him kindly, the same way he had when Bucky had no recollection of the tension between them. Still just a little distant, voice just a little tight. Filling in silences the way Bucky used to now, like their rolls have been reversed.
Unfortunately, when they make it to the garage, Clint is there too.
Bucky feels like the confrontation is his fault again, because Bucky convinced Stark that he should come back to the kitchen with him, which is the only reason they cross paths with the archer.
See, Bucky maybe made another apology pie that he never planned to deliver, but it seems like it could be better suited as a ‘thank you for picking my ass up off the side of the highway in the middle of fuck-all-nowhere upstate New York’ instead.
They run into Clint on the way into the building.
“Finally gracing us with your presence?” Clint sneers.
Quick as lightening Stark snaps back with a grin, “Yeah, your wife was busy tonight,” and Bucky chokes on the air in his lungs trying to stifle the snort of shocked laughter that overtakes him.
Clint storms off ahead of them, and Bucky looks at Stark with an incredulous look.
“Did you—did you just,” and then he starts laughing, because Clint is an asshole and wow.
This is that easy banter, isn’t it?
Stark laughs, proud, “You liked that, huh?” he says.
“Wow, Stark,” Bucky chuckles, “What would your girl say?” he teases.
“Girl?” Stark asks, confused, “Oh, you mean Pepper,” he realizes.
“Yeah, sorry. Woman,” he corrects.
“How progressive,” Stark teases, “But I don’t think she cares much about the trouble I get myself into, so long as it’s not effecting the company,” he mentions.
Bucky’s heart does something stupid.
“No?” he prompts.
“We aren’t together,” he says, “If that’s what you’re not asking,” he adds and then glances at Bucky, “You’re not very subtle for a ghost,” he says.
Blushing, Bucky mumbles, “Yeah, that’s why they muzzled me,” he says offhandedly.
Stark stops walking, looks at him, and laughs even harder than Bucky just did.
Bucky loses the battle with his poker face and starts laughing too.
That’s how they walk into the common room kitchen, giggling like children.
Bucky abruptly stops, squaring his jaw, and Stark just smirks and raises an eyebrow at Clint, as if to say, ‘yes, we’re laughing at your misfortune’ even though they’re laughing at Bucky’s.
It’s awkwardly quiet, yet Stark doesn’t seem to care.
The moment he’s gone Steve turns on him.
“Bucky no,” he says with the full force of his puppy-dog eyes.
Bucky refuses to meet his eye, shrugging, “Bucky maybe,” he says with a grumble.
It’s not until hours later when Clint is gone for the night and it’s just Bucky and Sam left that he has the jarring thought that Stark might know about Bucky’s feelings.
Might know and be completely uninterested.
Which is well within his rights, of course.
Who in their right mind would be interested in someone like him?
When he mentions this out loud, Sam just shakes his head, “Stark’s not what I would call in his right mind, either”.
“Asshole,” Bucky mumbles.
Sam smiles brightly in response.
Everyone else knows about Bucky’s not-quite-feelings for Stark, and he’s almost glad that the man refuses to interact with any one of them because it means he won’t accidentally find out or be told by someone who hates Bucky. He’s safe in the regard.
He knows better than to get his hopes up about Stark too.
The best he could possibly hope for is that he and Bucky become friends.
That’s all.
This little crush will fade in time.
It will.
He’s got a head full of death and a body made to execute it. He’s not relationship material. He’s not likable, not lovable. He’s the Winter Soldier. He follows orders and tries to make the world a better place.
He’s nothing to nobody.
Well, except Steve, but that isn’t exactly what he means.
***
His crush gets worse.
***
Where Bucky had thought attraction would fade, it grows. Where Bucky thought the hard lines of friendship had been set, they blur.
Where there was friends, there was flirting.
No one flirts quite like Stark.
Bucky doesn’t even recognize that’s what it is at first.
But Steve points out that people don’t give cars as gifts to their friends in the twenty-first century.
It’s old. Not as old as Bucky, not old like the Ford. This one was built after the war. It’s still old, and it’s broke down.
- Another Ford, another V8 engine. Club Coupe it’s called. First car that the company put out after the war, Bucky later finds out.
“So you can mess around with something that isn’t wired into your brain,” Stark says.
It comes with unrestricted access to his workshop.
It comes with the change from Stark to Tony.
“For me?” Bucky asks, blown away, “You… I’m allowed to…” he can’t quite get the words out, “Stark, I—I don’t know what to say,” he sounds a little faint even to his own ears.
The man just scoffs, “Please,” he waves away Bucky’s gratitude, “It saves me from fixing your arm every time you want to get creative,” he says, “And call me Tony if you’re going to be down here,” he mentions and walks away.
Bucky bakes another stupid pie, because he doesn’t know what else to do in the face of all that makes up Tony Stark.
And it is so much more than just left over attraction from his little crush.
Because of course Tony is an amazing man, a kind man, a good man. Bucky feels like an idiot for every having thought otherwise.
And Bucky knows so very little about him.
Bucky doesn’t realize what the true gift is that Tony has given him at first. It’s a car for Bucky to tinker with, it’s a budding friendship.
It’s unrestricted access to Tony’s space.
To Tony himself in a way.
Bucky never noticed how much time Tony spends in the lab, and he thinks he probably wasn’t supposed to either.
It’s just that after a few weeks of only visiting the lab during a respectful 9-5 schedule, Bucky eventually gives in and after a particularly terrible nightmare, he asks Friday if he could go tinker with his car for a bit until he settles enough to try sleep again.
Tony’s there, as lively and erratic in his designing as he is during any of Bucky’s other visits.
It’s three in the morning.
DUM-E wheels over with some coffee, refills Tony’s mug too.
“Rough night?” Tony asks, then looks at his watch, “It’s nighttime, yes?”.
“Uh,” Bucky can’t help but shake his head at the genius, “Yeah, it’s nighttime,” he agrees, “Sorry, you must be busy if you’re still working,” he tries to say.
Stark waves him off, always, always waving people off, “Creativity waits for no man,” he says, “Or sun,” he shrugs, and motions for Bucky to continue towards the car.
Bucky doesn’t think too much about it at the time.
He’s too busy thinking about how Tony refers to Bucky’s tinkering as ‘creativity’. It’s the second time, and for some reason Bucky hadn’t considered that.
He’s building something. Fixing something. Creating instead of destroying.
The thought makes him tear up a little because he’s already a bit of a mess from waking up with the image of blood in his hands seared into his brain.
Tony is so damn thoughtful.
All Bucky knows about the guy is that he’s smart and he’s funny, and he likes blueberries.
But slowly Bucky learns more.
He talks a lot, to himself, to his AI’s. The bots love him.
Bucky has stopped thinking that strange. That Tony could create life with machinery. It just seems normal, real, believable when Tony is around.
Tony’s brain is incredible.
He tells him this often. Tony never takes the compliment.
Bucky thinks about ways he can make him take it.
Tony doesn’t sleep. That’s another thing he learns.
No, really.
Never.
Not once has Bucky went down to the lab after a nightmare and not found the other man there too.
The only times he’s not in the lab are when he’s on mission or doing something for his company.
He still lets Bucky in during those times, though the Iron Man suits are always locked away. Probably for the best. Temptation and all that. Bucky likes to think he wouldn’t dare, but… (so shiny).
Tony never looks at Bucky strange on those nights when it’s too late or too early for anyone to be up besides them.
Sometimes, if Bucky hesitates, even a little, Tony will ask if he wants to talk. Bucky always shakes his head ‘no’ even though he’s entertained the idea a few times.
Tonight is one of those.
“Talk about what?” Bucky retorts, and it sounds a little harsher than he means to sound, but he’s just so tired. He wishes he could sleep the way he did when he didn’t have all these memories.
He doesn’t regret having them though. They make him who he is. Someone has to have them, right?
“Anything you want,” Tony says easily, barely glancing Bucky’s way at the aggressive tone.
Tony is so easy, Bucky thinks. He makes things so easy.
He doesn’t understand why everyone else seems to think he’s difficult. He doesn’t understand why Tony can just forgive him either.
Pressing his luck out of some strange form of self punishment, Bucky asks, “Tell me about your parents,” and waits.
Tony whirls around, his expression sharp even as he raises a quizzical eyebrow, “No,” he says simply, calmly. “I’m not going to be the fun new way you torture yourself,” he says and turns back to whatever he was doing.
A hot mess. A disaster. Emotionally stunted. Egomaniac. Hazard to himself. That’s what everyone’s told him about Tony.
But he’s also a genius.
Compassionate.
Considerate.
Pays attention to detail. Details about the people in his life.
“I’m sorry,” Bucky says.
When Tony waves him off yet again, Bucky doesn’t let him. He moves closer to Tony’s space than he’s been since the car ride several weeks ago.
“Tony,” he says, urgently almost.
“You alright?” Tony turns back.
Bucky makes sure he catches Tony’s eye this time, places a hand on his shoulder (not his wrist, this is friendly).
“I’m sorry,” Bucky says and tries to convey more into those two words than either of them could bare to hear. He knows Tony wasn’t ready to hear them before, but Bucky thinks if he can guise them with a double meaning, he might just listen, “And,” while he has Tony’s attention, “Thank you,” he says.
He walks away this time, giving Tony his back.
There’s a long moment where Bucky thinks Tony’s went back to work before he calls across the room, “Yeah whatever,” in a huff.
“You’re supposed to say: You’re welcome, Bucky,” he shouts back.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” the other man grumbles.
Bucky laughs softly, starts back on the car.
They are friends, and Tony’s trust doesn’t feel quite so misplaced anymore.
It is because of this that Bucky is allowed in the lab when Tony is not there, and that he is around when Tony returns from a mission one night.
He’s not in the suit, which Bucky was expecting, because the suit has already made its way from the landing pad, via robots, because of course.
Tony doesn’t seem to notice Bucky’s there, and maybe Friday didn’t warn him or something, because he doesn’t so much as glance Bucky’s way.
“Wake up, daddy’s home,” he says, and the lights come on. Bucky only kept his corner lit, something in him wanting to conserve power.
It illuminates the other man, who looks like shit. Bucky freezes at the sight.
There’s blood running down the side of his head, hair matted to his scalp. He’s limping, and his grey t-shirt is torn and bloody too.
He hisses as he strips the garment over his head, “Fri, scan for internal bleeding,” he grinds out from clenched teeth and it spurs Bucky into action.
Tony is hurt. Badly.
“Tony?” He says, rising and making too quick strides across the room.
The other man jumps from where he’s leaning on his desk, twisting to get a look at the jagged looking cut along his ribs. His side is already turning colour with bruising.
“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath, not meant for Bucky, “Hi,” he says, louder.
“Hi?” Bucky parrots, voice filled with his own disbelief at the casualness he makes of the situation.
He’s shirtless, bleeding, bruised, and kicking off his shoes like it’s a regular day in the office. Tony’s expression is one of pain, lip caught so tightly in his teeth the colour has been washed out, though. It ruins the lie he’s trying to sell completely, that and all the blood.
“No signs of internal bleeding, Boss,” Friday interrupts, “Though I am detecting multiple fractures to your seventh and eighth rib, severe bruising, as well as—”
“Yeah, got it Friday,” Tony cuts off.
Bucky doesn’t really know what to do or say. He has no idea what happened on the mission, he wasn’t called out.
But Tony is hurt.
“Don’t you fund an entire medical wing?” Bucky blurts when Stark produces a first aid kit from his desk.
“This was closer,” he says shortly.
There’s a little mirror in the kit and Tony sets in on the desk, and it occurs to Bucky that this might be a regular occurrence. Tony patching himself up.
He’s not thinking when he reaches out and stills Tony’s hands.
“Let me,” he hears himself say, and his voice gives too much away. Sounds too sad, too broken, too choked up even to his own ears.
He just can’t help imagining all the times Tony’s been here alone, hurting and too tired to deal with sitting next to someone like Clint or Natasha in medical waiting to get fixed up alongside a team of people he can’t let his guard down around.
It’s probably difficult to be a sarcastic asshole when your ribs are turning black and blue.
He says the words, but he isn’t surprised when Tony shakes his head, “It’s fine,” he insists.
Bucky doesn’t know if he should press, he knows he’s hovering, standing too close, hands not let releasing Tony’s, and wow, he didn’t realise that part.
“Tony,” he says again, just as he lets his hands slip away.
He watches Tony scanning his features, watches his throat bob, watches him bite his lip again with something not quite like pain.
“Yeah, yeah alright,” he says on a shaky sigh.
“What happened?” Bucky asks when Tony is situated on the desk, having used Bucky’s arm to steady himself. Bucky pulls up a chair of his own, his legs feel unsteady.
He doesn’t know if it’s a shirtless Tony Stark, or a bloody Tony Stark that has him feeling so shaken.
“Building collapsed,” he says through his teeth as Bucky dabs an alcohol soaked cotton ball against the jagged line.
“What happened to the suit?” Bucky asks.
“Weak point in the armour,” he says taking a breath, staring up at the ceiling, “I’ll fix it tomorrow,” he mutters.
Bucky’s hands are steady despite how shaken he feels. He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like the scent of Tony’s blood in his nose, the feel of it sticky under his hands. He pushes it aside though. He’s helping, not hurting.
“You need stitches,” Bucky murmurs, because for some reason talking at a normal level seems obtrusive and wrong.
Tony doesn’t answer but to hand him a package of adhesive steri-strips and a suture kit, “Pick your poison,” he says, “It’s not like I’m worried about scaring,” he winks down at Bucky.
Which strikes Bucky odd, considering how much effort Tony puts into his appearance when it comes to publicity.
He makes the mistake of looking back up at Tony though, and that’s when he notices for the first time the extant of the scarring already littering his body.
Bucky would be lying if he said he’s never imagined Tony shirtless or even more (or less) than that, if he’s being honest. So, Bucky’s put thought into it, alright? Tony works with his hands a lot, and they’re pretty rough for a someone as pretty as Tony, and of course in their line of work, Tony is bound to get banged up.
And the arc reactor.
So, Bucky was expecting scars.
Not as many as he see’s though.
There is a perfect circle that doesn’t look quite like a scar, and nothing like a skin graft, which he knows is synthetic. It’s real looking but for the paleness. The rest of Tony’s skin is just a bit darker, warmer. Surrounding it and smattered all over Tony’s chest in raised white scars from collar to collar and down nearly to his stomach is shrapnel damage. Shards of jagged metal pulled painstakingly from his body in some other time long past.
There’s another scar on his other side in almost the exact same place as the wound Bucky is tending now.
More marks, burns both from heat and friction if Bucky were to guess, litter Tony’s body, his arms, his shoulders.
Bucky takes the kit. He’ll do his best to limit the damage. The adhesives will leave more of a mark.
Tony doesn’t make a sound, but Bucky feels his eyes on him. He’s thankful for the metal arm, how it doesn’t shake as he works.
“You’re good at that,” Tony says softly.
Bucky smiles just as gentle, “I’ve had practise,” he says.
“Glad you’ve had time to work out the kinks,” Tony teases, but his voice doesn’t sound teasing, it sounds hushed and a little distant.
Bucky glances up, and Tony’s staring down at him, something quietly assessing in his gaze. Bucky struggles to keep it.
He’s never felt there was a place for intimacy where there was blood. Or Blood where there was intimacy, and yet still, in this moment, Bucky’s hands stitching broken flesh back together with gentle tugs of a nylon thread, the air feels charged with it.
All the ways Tony has shown trust in Bucky, but this feels like more than that.
This isn’t a statement the way access to the workshop is, or permission to use first names.
There’s something mutual about this, where before it was only ever Tony.
Offering this to Tony makes Bucky feel less passive, he supposes.
Bucky breaks eye contact, finishes the job and covers the stitched flesh in a bandage, mindful of the pressure on his ribs.
He stands, but he doesn’t go anywhere, and neither does the silent and strange intimacy that he knows frightens them both.
Bucky reaches up, touches Tony’s face and wonders about kissing him.
He sets to cleaning the cut on his temple instead.
Tony’s eyes flutter closed on a silent wince, and he wonders about that too. About Tony’s eyes, bright with life, fluttering shut as Bucky leans in to kiss him.
He doesn’t.
But Tony does.
As Bucky’s hands drop away, Tony’s rise. Gentle, soft despite the years of abuse they’ve suffered, and they turn Bucky’s face to his own.
Bucky watches, lips parted on a silent gasp, as Tony’s eyes do exactly as Bucky had just imagined, fluttering shut, dark lashes against his cheeks and slots their mouths together perfectly.
Bucky’s hands flex uselessly for a moment before he finds them sliding up Tony’s thighs to rest gently at his hips.
They kiss and kiss and kiss, and every time one tries to pull away, the other chases the contact and they start all over again.
The gentle slide of lips, heated breath against the others mouth, the warmth of a curious tongue.
Tony kisses Bucky. Bucky kisses Tony.
Neither of them stop, and Bucky feels he hasn’t breathed anything that wasn’t Tony’s kisses all night. They have replaced the gross stench of blood entirely. He doesn’t want to breathe anything else ever again.
He thinks the sun is probably up by the time Tony finally pulls away, rests his forehead to Bucky’s and sighs, “That’s better than morphine, but I think I might need some sleep,” with a hesitant little smile.
Bucky swallows thickly, “Y-yeah, you should get some rest,” he says.
Tony kisses him again.
Bucky chuckles softly, pulling away himself, “Rest,” he says again.
“Still playing nurse?” Tony raises an eyebrow, “Maybe I didn’t kiss you well enough,” he teases.
“Kiss me again when you wake up,” Bucky says, and it’s not quite teasing, and he thinks it maybe boarders on begging. A desperate request.
Tony’s nodding against him, capturing his lips yet again, “I’ll do that,” he promises.
The sun isn’t actually up by the time Tony’s made his way to his rooms, but it’s a near thing. Bucky doesn’t bother trying to get any sleep.
Doesn’t think he could if he wanted to.
Instead he sits in front of the car and relives the feeling of Tony’s mouth on his own. Thinking about nothing but the other man.
So, they were flirting.
That’s good to know.
If it was anyone else that Tony was kissing, Bucky might say it was just a spur of the moment thing. As self-centered as the thought is, Bucky does think who he is to Tony plays a part in why he doesn’t think for a second that this was some fleeting feeling for either of them.
You don’t call for a truce with the man who killed your parents unless you mean it.
You don’t kiss the man who killed your parents unless you mean it, either.
Tony is far too cautious, far too guarded, to not have meant it.
That’s what Bucky tells himself when he starts to panic. Worthlessness seeping into his thoughts every now and again.
Bucky tries not to let his happiness show when he leaves the lab though, but he doesn’t think he manages enough to hide the glow from a super-spy and his best friend of a hundred years.
“You’re seeing someone,” Natasha says immediately.
Bucky is skilled enough that he doesn’t let anything show on his face, just the quizzical eyebrow he raises.
“You weren’t here last night,” she points out.
He doesn’t bother to wonder how she knows that, so long as she doesn’t know where he actually was.
He shrugs, “Maybe,” and goes about his morning, feeling Steve’s eyes on him.
“It’s not Tony,” she says a few minutes later. There is something in her voice that she tries to hide, but he can’t distinguish what it is.
He freezes at that.
Was his crush that obvious? Yes. Yes, it was.
“He was hurt during the mission yesterday, he went to lick his wounds as soon as we got back,” she says and her voice this time is different, almost kind. Like she’s doing him a favour.
Bucky doesn’t know what Tony wants anyone to know.
Bucky doesn’t know what to tell anyone if they asked.
He knows Tony is too closed off around Natasha still, and Steve more than anyone. He can guess how this might play out.
Bucky plays his part well, easily fooling her and Steve with the sudden tension in his body, “Is he okay?” he asks, not turning to look.
“Couple of bruised ribs,” she says simply.
Bucky knows it was more than that.
Is that what Tony told them all? When he had to have Friday scan for internal bleeding? When his ribs were fractured, his side bleeding, his temple split?
“You’re tense, like you want to ask, but you’re not, which means there’s someone else,” she says.
“Nat,” Steve reprimands, “Don’t,” he says.
Don’t try to psychoanalyse the Winter Soldier. Don’t pry into other people’s relationships. Don’t be a bitch? Bucky doesn’t know what exactly Steve means.
She does stop though, and he’s grateful for that.
He and Steve embark on their usual run. Bucky’s tired, he was up most of the night, not that he’s complaining. It still shows.
“You gonna ask?” he says after the seventh time Steve looks over at him.
“You gonna tell me?” he counters.
“No,” Bucky says, simply.
He expects Steve to laugh and shake his head, but he doesn’t. He frowns softly.
Bucky doesn’t think much on it at first. There are a lot of things Bucky does even now that make Steve frown like that. He’s given up trying to remedy it. Steve will use his words if he needs to. He always does. With Bucky at least.
Bucky is under his car on a wheel board trying not to be too anxious waiting for Tony to wake up when the man comes down to the workshop. Bucky hears his entrance, the customary greetings to the bots, so he doesn’t spook when he’s pulled out from under the car.
He looks up to find Tony smirking down at him, a leg on either side of Bucky’s hips. He can’t help taking a gentle hold of the mans ankles even though he’s dressed for SI and Bucky’s filthy.
Bucky swallows thickly at the sight.
“You know, you picked a bad time to finally make your move,” Tony says conversationally.
Bucky was worried things would be awkward, but Tony just picks up where they left off. The usual banter, the flirtatious smiles, the light teasing.
“Me?” Bucky repeats, “I’m pretty sure you kissed me first,” he says smiling goofily up at the man.
Tony rolls his eyes, “Tomato tah-mat-oh,” he says, “Either way, I can’t come down there and it’s a shame,” he smirks.
It really is.
Bucky’s suddenly got the image of Tony straddling his hips, leaning in and kissing him until—
His hands grip Tony’s ankles a little tighter.
He clears his throat, “Guess I’ll have to come to you then,” he says.
Tony moves away, giving Bucky the space to stand.
Bucky is barely vertical before Tony is pressing him gently against the car, their lips meeting just as soft.
Tony really does pick up where they left off.
“Tony,” Bucky breathes into their shared kisses. It seems like all the engineer wants to do, “what are—” we doing he tries to ask with a smile, because Tony is forever trying to avoid the conversation even as he instigates it.
Tony cuts him off with another kiss.
“I don’t have words for this,” Tony says, “So I’m going to kiss you until you forget to ask,” he murmurs.
“Careful,” Bucky mumbles back, “A guy might make his own conclusions that way,” he teases.
“Mhm,” Tony agrees, “You should do that, then email me,”
“You don’t read your email,” Bucky retorts, but Tony doesn’t respond besides grinning at him.
“Come on, show me what you’ve got going on in here,” Tony says, motioning to the car, “You’ve been back and forth under the hood and with that exhaust pipe for days now,” he mentions offhandedly, “What’s got you stuck?” he asks.
Bucky just stares at him for a moment, lost in everything that is Tony Stark. How, while surrounded by life and creation a million light years ahead of Bucky, Tony had time to notice his struggling is just… beyond him.
“What?” Tony says, when Bucky just stares at him.
“You’re incredible,” he says.
Tony, like always, rolls his eyes and ignores him.
One day, Bucky thinks. One day Tony will take the compliment.
The news travels fast that Bucky is seeing someone. At precisely the same speed as the news that it is not Tony, for some reason.
He isn’t sure why that tidbit is making the rounds. Bucky assumed they were all reasonably sure Tony would never go for him, anyway.
Either way, it’s wrong.
Bucky decides, if Tony isn’t going to put a name to it, and Bucky sure as hell isn’t going to make any brazen assumptions, he’ll let the team figure it out.
What could that hurt, right?
Things don’t magically get better for Bucky, nor do they improve for Tony.
They are both still traumatised super-heroes.
But now, sometimes Tony brings take out to Bucky in the workshop and they eat together, both covered in grease and grime with stupid smiles on their faces.
“Is this a date?” Bucky asks the first time.
“No,” Tony assures, “It’s a—it’s a,” he sighs, “Yeah it’s a date, now shut up and eat your fries,” he grumbles.
Things are good. Between them at least.
As good as secret relationships can be, he supposes.
It’s easy for Tony, because he interacts with no one whose silence cannot be bought with suit upgrades or new shoes, but for Bucky…
He lets them form the conclusions they want.
They ask about the mystery man, and sometimes Bucky can’t help but gush just a little.
He just never thought he’d have anything like this. Never thought he’d be allowed happiness, let alone handed it the way Tony has.
He sees so many more of those smiles too.
The big ones, the excited ones. The ones that don’t just light up a room, but light up Tony’s face.
It’s not perfect.
Sometimes Tony snaps, sometimes Bucky growls. Sometimes they just silently agree they shouldn’t attempt to talk right now and work on opposite ends of the lab space.
But it works out. It always does.
Bucky is happy. So, so happy.
It’s not the carefree sort of joy he had when his memories were gone, or that he might have had even before that. He is still weighted down by who—by what—he is.
He thinks it makes the smiles, the joy he feels, just that much more sweeter.
He thinks Tony is in the same boat.
Bucky is happy, so why the hell Steve won’t stop frowning is beyond him.
“One word, come on,” Bucky is wheedled to share with the team on the subject of his mystery man.
Schooling his features as not to blush under the attention, and at thoughts of Tony, Bucky considers the question. A word to describe Tony?
“Compassionate,” Bucky finally answers. “He’s compassionate,” he admits softly, a small smile pulling at his lips.
“Well,” Clint scoffs, “Not Stark then,” he says offhandedly.
Bucky frowns, and so does Steve.
Not at Clint though.
Steve frowns at Bucky, even when he scolds Clint.
“What’s not Stark?” Tony’s voice calls out from the doorway.
“We’re trying to figure out who Bucky’s new boyfriend is,” Natasha fills in easily, she’s not grinning sharp and mean, she actually looks a little tense considering the light tone she uses, “So far he’s smart and compassionate,” she tells Tony, looking up with her head tilted just so.
Judging for a reaction maybe.
Something complicated passes Tony’s face. Even Bucky couldn’t say what it was.
“Congratulations,” he finally says, and he doesn’t stay.
When Bucky locates him later, he says, “Kiss me as a reward for not punching Clint,” to which Tony replies:
“When did I sign up to become a morally sound one?”.
“About the same time you became my boyfriend I would guess,” Bucky says easily enough.
And that’s what they are.
It’s nice.
Steve keeps frowning at him.
“Alright, Rogers,” he growls one day. It’s not a good day. It’s not one of those days he feels like teasing, or using nicknames, or even just pretending he’s friendly. “What the hell is your problem?”
Steve looks like he’s about to spew some bullshit or another, but he catches the look in Bucky’s eye and changes his mind.
“It’s stupid,” he says, “Selfish, and it doesn’t matter,” he tries.
Bucky just repeats the question.
“It’s just…” Steve says, anxiously running a hand through his hair. Bucky can’t tell if he’s worried about his wording, or Bucky punching him in the face. “This guy your seeing, is all,” he tries.
“What about him?” Bucky demands.
“I just thought… I thought you and uh… and Tony,” he stutters, clearing his throat, “I thought you and Tony were maybe you know, with the… you were just spending a lot of time together, and uh, Tony seemed a lot happier then—he uh, he wasn’t as closed off around the team on missions—so I thought it was you, you know?” Steve says, bringing Bucky up short.
“You’re upset that… I’m not dating Tony?” he clarifies.
“I told you, it’s stupid,” he says, “Not to mention selfish,” Steve mutters to himself, a reprimand to his own emotions.
Bucky just stares at Steve, completely incredulous, his sour mood forgotten.
“I know, I know,” Steve sighs, “It’s just—I don’t know, it seems… rushed to me? A month ago you were still so hung up on Tony—and now…,” he winces, “This isn’t any of my business, I’m sorry,” he says, “I should be more supportive,” he groans.
“You wanna meet ‘im?” Bucky hears himself ask for no reason whatsoever.
Steve blinks at him, “Uh, yeah, yeah sure, Buck,” he nods, “I’d love to,” he assures.
Talking to Tony about it doesn’t go quite as well though. Which he expected of course. Which is why he spent several hours cursing himself out and wondering what the hell possessed him to say what he did.
It was just… Steve had a point, didn’t he?
Tony was a little less tense, a little more open, around the team lately. Steve, Nat, everyone besides Clint seemed to soak up every second of camaraderie Tony was willing to share with them like flowers to the sun. Bucky knew they were all desperate to get back to some semblance of normalcy, anything resembling the life they all had together before well… Bucky, he supposes. Even Tony was getting tired of the tension.
Bucky hasn’t been an optimist in a very long time.
Still, he’s holding on to some kind of hope here.
“Hey Tony?” Bucky calls into the workshop.
“What’s up?” he hears from somewhere deep within the room.
“Was wondering if I could maybe introduce you to my friends,” he says and hears a loud bang followed by creative swearing.
“What?” Tony asks, coming out from under some kind of contraption Bucky can’t name.
“I wanted to introduce you to my friends,” he repeats.
Tony squints at him, “Is that a joke?”
“Sort of? I mean, I do want to tell the team, and Steve, about us—and uh, maybe I told Steve he could meet you already so…” he trails off.
“You what?” Tony repeats, tone harsh, angry.
He hasn’t heard Tony use that tone with him in a long time. Not since before he lost his memories.
He tries not to flinch, tries not to let his own hackles rise.
But Bucky doesn’t get a chance to retort, to argue back, to say anything to diffuse or escalate the situation.
The call to assemble comes at that very moment.
After that, everything happens so fast.
Everything falls apart.
He doesn’t do anything dramatic like scream Tony’s name.
He doesn’t do anything.
He doesn’t even breathe.
The world stops. Bucky stops.
As Iron Man plummets unresponsive towards the pavement head first.
Bucky can’t get to him. No one can. It’s the Winter Soldier’s voice that reminds him of this. That keeps Bucky rooted in the spot, watching helplessly as Tony falls and falls and falls.
His brain draws forth the memory of his own fall and taunts him with wondering if Tony’s conscious in there.
He won’t survive the fall. Not at the current trajectory. He’s going to land on his head, snap his neck.
If Tony is awake, he knows it too.
The man is always too smart.
Bucky doesn’t even notice his gun slipping out of his hands, hears nothing of the screaming over the comms, sees nothing but the rapid descent of shiny red and gold armour.
Repulsors kick back into action exactly four feet from the ground.
Sounds rushes back into reality.
Tony tumbles, skidding across the pavement on sputtering power and he gets closer and closer.
Bucky realises it’s because he’s running, the frozen feeling that locked his joints into place now flings him forward.
Just as the suits power fully kicks back in and Tony rights himself, Bucky pulls up in front of him.
Tony lands with a dull thud, and immediately the faceplate flips up.
Bucky can’t push sound through, can’t bring air into his lungs.
“Hey, that was close,” Tony smiles, a little weak.
Bucky just stares back at him.
“Buck?” Tony is saying, but Bucky just stands there.
It’s not until Tony releases himself from the suit and takes a step forward that Bucky notices he’s shaking.
The image blurs and but Bucky doesn’t feel the tears in his eyes until Tony’s hands are on his face and he can finally take a deep shuddering breath.
“I’m alright, it’s alright,” Tony says.
He tries to nod, to tell Tony he’s listening, but the words are still trapped in his chest.
Tony kisses him then, and Bucky—something about it makes Bucky respond. It’s one of those instincts again that isn’t about killing.
His body knows how to kiss Tony even if his head hasn’t caught up.
“I’m here,” Tony whispers against Bucky’s lips and finally everything rights itself.
He still wraps his arms around the other man and buries his face against his throat.
“I thought—” Bucky gasps brokenly.
“Yeah, me too,” Tony agrees, holding him tighter.
“Parachute,” Bucky mumbles, “Dumb ass gave one to Rhodes and not—not your own damn—holy fuck,” he rambles.
He feels Tony grip him even tighter even as he laughs, and Bucky can’t help but laugh too, though it’s bordering on hysterical.
It’s not until he hears the shuffle of rubble near by and attempts to shoot with a gun he misplaced that the full reality of the situation catches up though.
“Shit,” he says, seeing a news van skidding to a halt.
“Yeah,” Tony says, because apparently even though he’s the one who almost died three minutes ago, he’s still more aware than the legendary Winter Soldier.
The battle is over, the media encroaching on the scene.
Bucky looks back to Tony quickly, “Tony, I—I didn’t know—” he tires to say.
“Don’t be stupid,” Tony rolls his eyes, “I kissed you,” he smiles.
“Yeah,” Bucky supposed that’s true, “You keep doing that,” he jokes.
Tony grins at him, and they both make the decision to forget about the news van and their fight for the time being.
They get back home in time for the story to break.
“What is your boyfriend going to say?” Natasha says with a small smirk.
“Oh, well he’s used to it,” Bucky rolls his eyes, and Tony shimmies past him to the refrigerator, leaving a kiss to his cheek before setting eyes on the last slice of pie.
“I’d fight ‘im,” Tony mumbles around a mouthful of blueberry filling.
Steve beams a smile at them both.
Bucky and Tony roll their eyes in tandem.