avengers fic - situation normal: all fucked up (steve/tony, nc-17) [3/3]
For summary, author's notes, etc, please see Part One.
Everyone wakes up--or, in Tony’s case, goes from sitting down half-asleep to standing up half-asleep--around eight. They all shuffle into the kitchen, not quite listening to Bruce’s apologies, and settle around the table, silent.
It’s maybe ten minutes after that when they all realize that food isn’t just going to magically appear. Tony sighs and goes to the coffeemaker; Thor, the most chipper of the lot of them by a fair margin, decides to take stock of the fridge.
“Perhaps I shall endeavor to produce a meal,” he says happily. “Tell me, would this purple gelatinous substance combine well with eggs?”
“Fine with me,” says Bruce.
“Remember to take the shells off,” says Natasha.
“We order too much fucking take-out,” says Clint, “but hey, so long as there’s coffee, what do I care? I’ve probably eaten worse.”
“Coffee’s happening,” Tony mumbles. “Five minutes.”
He’s hit his least favorite phase of exhaustion: the one where he doesn’t have enough to do or enough caffeine in his system to ignore it, the one where he remembers why normal people sleep. When he sits back down in his chair, Steve smiles, puts a hand on his back, and Tony slumps, lets him.
“Tired?” says Steve, because even in the midst of what is undoubtedly one of the more stressful weeks of his life, he has the wherewithal to be a dry bastard.
“Ha ha,” says Tony, “really, you’re hysterical, you’re so funny, you crack me up, remind me of how funny you are the next time I’m, say, reinforcing your costume’s armor--”
“Mmm,” says Steve, moving his hand to rub the back of Tony’s neck, “and here I thought this was the kind of thing we’d be able to settle with frogs in my bed.”
“What are you, twelve?”
“Haven’t been for, oh, eighty years or so,” Steve says, and it’s so nice to hear him joking about it that Tony gives in and smiles. Steve smiles back, warm and open, and Tony feels his cheeks heating, and--
“Oho!” says Thor, startling them both. “This powder is a most intriguing color; truly, it shall add a layer of depth to this great feast of the day!”
There is a pause, the kind of pause that means no one knows what the right response is, and Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just tell me.”
“Cayenne pepper,” Steve admits, and laughs when Tony groans and drops his head onto the table. “Hey, cheer up. It can’t be that bad, right?”
“That’s the worst thing you could have said,” Tony says, indistinctly, into the tabletop. “The worst one, the worst one, it’ll be poison now, you watch.”
It’s not actually that bad; Tony has no idea what’s in the casserole thing he’s served, but it doesn’t taste like it’s going to kill him, so that’s a plus. Thor’s beaming, proud of himself, and the combination of food and caffeine wakes everyone else up; soon Natasha’s teasing Clint about the Kermit boxers while Pepper asks if anyone wants orange juice. Bruce goes to get the paper, because he hasn’t seen the damage he did to the front hallway yet--his groan is horrified enough that everyone forgives him, mostly, for making the mistake of watching Hitchcock before bed--and Steve, who’s gotten Tony back in the habit of reading print news through force of will, hands over the business section and keeps the front page for himself.
“Arts & Life, right here,” says Clint, and then glares when they all look at him askance. “What? I’m a man of culture and--Natasha don’t throw that at me--”
“No projectiles before ten,” says Pepper.
“Unless it’s in the name of justice,” Steve adds, without looking away from the front page. “Tony, what on earth is a stem cell?”
“Bruce, buddy, that’s all you,” Tony says, and goes to rescue the rest of the coffee from the pot.
They fall into--well, it’s not silence, is it, not really. Tony’s alternating between reading the newspaper and his morning emails, shooting questions back and forth at Pepper when he thinks of them, and Bruce doesn’t wind down the stem cell spiel for nearly 15 minutes. Clint, true to his word, reads Arts & Life cover to cover, and Natasha gets into a friendly enough argument with Thor about whether or not his hammer-throwing technique extends to knives. It’s not silent at all, if Tony’s honest, but it’s...comfortable.
“This is nice,” Steve says quietly, just for Tony, when Bruce finally winds down and grabs the Education pages. “We should do this more often.”
And Tony wants to laugh, he really does, because that’s just so Steve, that’s Steve all over, and it’s hysterical, worth mocking. But when he lifts his head Steve’s still smiling at him and there’s plaster dust on the side of his shoulder, and his hair’s mussed and slept on, a mostly-faded crease from Tony’s jeans on the side of his face, and Tony...god, Tony thinks home before he can stop himself.
“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, sure, if you want.”
--
At ten, Steve says, “Oh, twelve hours, thank god,” which is when Tony finally, finally puts the pieces together.
“You were banned,” he says, brandishing the object in his hand in Steve’s general direction. Steve makes a face and takes a hasty step back--probably because it’s a blowtorch--and Tony winces, turns it off, and then points his finger at Steve instead. “From SHIELD! Banned! That’s why you’ve been here all this time, oh my god, Fury banned Captain America--”
“Bucky did, actually,” Steve admits, putting a hand to the back of his neck. “He gets--overprotective, I guess, even though it’s kind of silly now. He said that if he saw my ugly mug before ten o’clock tomorrow he’d personally make sure he never saw it again.”
“Your mug’s not ugly,” Tony says, automatic, and then: “Wait, and you listened?”
“Not at first,” Steve says. “But he’s got his mom’s lungs, always did, and I was kind of afraid he was going to pull a muscle if he didn’t stop yelling.”
“Hey, is coming back from the dead the secret trick to getting you to listen to things?” Tony says. “Because, look, I could totally engineer a--”
“Don’t,” Steve snaps, all the humor draining out of his face, and oh, shit, Tony’s an asshole.
“Whoa,” he says, “fuck, sorry, sorry, that was a bad joke, I shouldn’t have said that, Steve, c’mon, I was kidding.”
“I know,” Steve says, “just--”
“Don’t,” Tony supplies, maneuvering himself around a workshop table so he can put a hand on Steve’s arm. “Yeah, definitely getting that memo, I’ll make a note--Jarvis, make a note--no more of that, not again, seriously, I’m really--”
“Yeah,” Steve says, and his smile’s coming back a little bit, “okay, it’s okay, I get it. Don’t hurt yourself.”
“I’m not going to hurt myself,” Tony says, “apologizing only eats away at my soul a little bit, no big deal, look, maybe I can even do it again. I’m...I’m...nope, shit, fresh out.”
“You sure about that? Because I’m still kind of waiting for you admit that you ate--”
“I didn’t, that was totally Thor--”
“And that the thing with the hose was on purpose--”
“Of course it wasn’t, it’s December, there’s perverted and then there’s actually insane--”
“And that you bought the rights to ‘Star Spangled Man’--”
“Well, yeah, that’s totally true, I’m not going to apologize for that, you’re the one who broke the radio in my Beemer,” Tony says. “That’s definitely your thing to apologize for, I was just looking out for the safety of my car radios.”
“The safety of the car radios, huh?”
Steve’s grinning at him now, doing the whole my-superpower-is-actually-dry-wit-didn’t-you-read-my-file thing, and Tony rolls his eyes, lets go of his arm, and goes back to the control panel he’s soldering.
“Well, if you’re going to be like that about it, you can just go slink back to SHIELD. Maybe Fury’ll apologize to you, I know how that gets you all--”
“God, Tony, come here,” Steve says, laughing, and leans across the workshop table to kiss him. Tony--well, Tony’s definitely not going to ask him to apologize for that.
“Jesus,” Tony says, pulling back, “first breakfast, now this, you wanna tell me to keep an eye on the Beav while you’re gone, really round out the morning?”
Steve gives him a blank look, which is when Tony realizes that Leave it to Beaver was the fifties. He groans.
“Fuck, that was funny, too--well, sort of--actually maybe it’s kind of better that you don’t get it, whatever, I’ll catch you up on culture later, go break your buddy out of prison.”
“I’m not breaking anyone out of anywhere,” Steve says, straight-faced. “I’m merely going to have a measured conversation with Bucky about his options, and then discuss them with Director Fury accordingly.”
“Helps to practice in front of the mirror,” Tony says. “The lying thing, I mean, you might want to try it, works wonders--”
“You’re a terrible liar, Tony,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “Maybe you should try some new tricks.”
“Maybe you should get out of my workshop.”
“I’m trying,” Steve says, and, hmmm, interesting, that’s the laughing-at-you-on-the-inside face. “You’re probably going to need to let go of my wrist first.”
“Huh?” Tony says. Then he looks down, frowns. “Shit, you’re not my blowtorch.”
“You should try to get some sleep,” Steve says, shaking his head as Tony releases him. “Or at least stop using things that could actually burn the whole place down, does that seem fair? I don’t really want to bring Bucky back to a disaster zone.”
“It’s already--oh, fuck, I forgot to call the contractors for the front hall, Jarvis, do that, will you?” Tony says, and then blinks, focuses on Steve. “Right, totally, no more fire, you got it, now get out of here so you can pretend I listened to you, that’ll be good for everyone--”
“Bye, Tony,” Steve says, leaning forward and kissing him again, a quick thing. “And, uh, thank you. For last night, and the house, and--all of it. Just--thanks, okay?”
“What I’m here for,” Tony says absently, pulling his goggles back down, and doesn’t realize what he’s said, what it means, until Steve’s already gone.
--
“You have got to be kidding me,” Rhodey says. “Seriously, I refuse to believe this is happening, I am going back to bed, no.”
Under normal circumstances, Tony would probably give him shit about commitment to justice and work ethic, just to watch him get mad; Rhodey’s easy to wind up if you know the right buttons to press. It would be hugely worth it to watch him pitch a shit-fit in the suit, to see the exasperated hand gestures with an added layer of Armed and Dangerous, but...
...well, but giant fluffy bunnies are trying to take Manhattan. Tony doesn’t really have the heart make Rhodey’s day any worse.
“If it helps, Clint’s gonna make a really terrible Easter joke in about half a second,” he offers. “Seriously, if tries to make it a whole minute his insides might explode, it’s like a science, just wait for it.”
A moment later Clint whoops and yells, “Cadbury this, asshole!” over the sound of his crossbow firing.
“Ugh,” says Natasha, “Hawkeye, you can do so much better.”
“Eat chocolate?” Clint suggests. “Eggs-ellent try? I can go all day.”
“Told you,” says Tony. “He’s got a condition, there’s no helping it.”
Rhodey sighs. “Is it always like this?”
“Course not,” Tony says, grinning behind his mask, “sometimes, it’s much worse.”
“Hulk wants pet,” the Hulk says despondently; he’s got a murder rabbit gripped in one massive hand, staring at it sadly while it flails and snaps its saber teeth. “This pet right size, but still wrong! Why world not fair to Hulk?”
“Hulk, don’t form emotional attachments to the enemy,” Natasha says, because as much as they don’t like him when he’s angry, it’s worse when he’s sad. For one thing, even his tears are green--it’s a real bitch to get out of the carpet.
“Seriously, buddy,” Tony says, “that thing is foe, not friend, you want a pet, I can build you a pet--”
“Yeah, he’s good at that,” says Clint, and Tony has just enough time to wince before Jarvis, who is a computer and should know better, takes over the comms and says, “If you refer to me in that manner again, Mr. Barton, I will personally see to it that your credit score does not survive the day.”
“Whooooa,” says Tony, “easy there, he was kidding, that was a joke, calm down, Jarvis, seriously, how many times do I have to warn you about 4chan?”
“My apologies, sir,” Jarvis says, managing to sound snippy about it, and goes silent.
“Iron Man,” Natasha says slowly, “did your AI just take offense to something?”
“He’s a little sensitive,” Tony says, realizes how that sounds, and sighs. “Look, just, don’t worry about it, watch your back, though, Flopsy’s gunning for you.”
“This is already the weirdest day of my life,” says Rhodey, “I’ve only been awake for four hours, I did the smart thing and stayed at a hotel, you haven’t been drinking and it’s already the weirdest day of my life.”
“I missed you too, sweetheart,” Tony says, and does something to one of the bunnies that is going to have a much cooler name than tazing as soon as he thinks of it.
“Be still, large rabbits,” booms Thor, who is--well, the accurate way of describing what he’s doing involves the words “skipping” and “tops of their heads” but Tony’s pretty sure there’s a children’s song like that. He’s trying not to think about it. “We shall let you go in peace, but you must first show us a sign of your good faith. Please release the vendor of dogs that are hot, for he is only doing his job!”
“Hot dogs,” Tony corrects, for the hundred thousandth time, “hot dogs, Thor, I know you can get this,” but a call comes through to the suit before he can really break it down.
Unlisted number; SHIELD, then. Tony sighs, and takes it.
“Little busy here, guys! Is this about before, because look, it’s fine, we know we’re only supposed to stun them, it’s not actually beyond us that ‘Avengers Viciously Murder Hoard of Oversized Fluff Balls’ is a bad headline--”
“No,” Steve says, “just me,” and Tony grins.
“Oh, hey! Forgot to give you a new cell, didn’t I, my bad. Tell me you’re watching this, this is the most hilarious thing since--well, okay, the Hello Kitty thing was probably funnier--”
“Yeah, we’ve got it up on one of the monitors,” Steve says. “Is Thor trying to ride that one?”
“Trying implies a lack of success,” Tony says, “so no. Where do you think you’d put a saddle on one of these things, d’you think? Back of the neck?”
“He’s not going to keep it.”
“Do you think we have much choice, if he decides he wants to?” Tony says, and then switches back into the comm long enough to say, “Widow, what’d Coulson say about the press coverage, you can’t stab them.”
“Whoops,” Natasha says, completely without emotion.
“You know, I had a nightmare like this once,” Clint says contemplatively. “Maybe I’m not even awake right now--War Machine, you wanna maybe come and pinch me, think you’re closest--”
“Shoot another arrow that close to me and I’ll do more than pinch you,” Rhodey warns, and Tony laughs, switches back to Steve.
“So, yeah, that’s pretty much what’s going on here,” he says. “Did you need something specific, or is this a social call? Hey, you know what, if I put the suit on autopilot I can probably manage phone sex--”
“Tony, you’re on speaker,” Steve groans, mortified.
“Oh,” says Tony, “well, yeah, that complicates things a little bit, that’s a lot of mouths to feed if you know what I mean and I think that you do--”
“Jesus Christ, Rogers, blush any harder and your head’ll fall off,” says an unfamiliar voice, deep and a little raspy. “Stark--you are Stark, right, you sound like a Stark--don’t break him, I only just woke up.”
“Oh, hey, uh--Bucky Barnes, I presume?” Tony says, and blasts the repulsors until he’s hovering over one of the bunnies. He thumps it, hard, on the top of the head, and it crashes to the ground with a satisfying thud. “I’ll tell you what, I wish this wasn’t representative of what our lives are like but, uh, welcome to the future--”
“Yeah, getting a lot of that,” Bucky says. “Rogers tells me you’ve got a bedroom for me?”
“With a view and everything,” Tony says, “even a shower in it for you if you play your cards right, oh my god, that one’s got a pouch, it’s a kanga-bunny, are these live-action stuffed animals or something?”
“Hulk, stop trying to pet them,” Steve says, and then seems to remember he’s neither on the scene or patched through to the comm link. “Tony, tell the Hulk to stop trying to pet them.”
“Hulk, seriously, enough with the petting already,” Tony says into the comm, and forcibly ignores Clint’s snicker. “And Thor, Thor, buddy, come on, do us all a favor here and let go of that one’s ears, it’s just making him angrier--”
“But the Allspeak shall win the day!” says Thor. “Surely we can resolve this peacefully, and then I shall build him a magnificent stable, suited for a--”
“You are not going to ride a giant rabbit around New York,” Natasha says, “we have a reputation to maintain, Thor, honestly.”
“Uh,” says the voice that apparently belongs to Bucky Barnes, “the fuck if I know how this thing works, maybe it’s just the, uh, screen, but from where I’m sitting it looks like they’re--getting a little bigger...”
“Jarvis, patch me into the comm link,” Steve snaps, and then, “Avengers, be advised that the enemy is growing. Hawkeye, if you don’t stop favoring your left side I will make you run laps every morning for the next week. Widow, put the dagger down, Thor, that is an enemy, not a stallion, and Hulk, we will buy you a canary or something, can you please all focus up?”
“Ah,” says Thor.
“Wow,” says Natasha.
“I’m not,” Clint starts, and then pauses. “...oh. Hi, Cap.”
“Hi, yourself,” Steve sighs. “See if I ever miss a mission again--War Machine, I’m sorry we haven’t met properly yet, but nice job on the one with the notch in its ear.”
“Uh,” says Rhodey, “thank you?”
“I could’ve handled that,” Tony says, but cheerfully enough. “Your control issues are showing, by the way, have I ever told you that you have control issues, because, I’m just saying--”
“Iron Man, shut up,” Steve says, but it’s fond. “I only called to tell you that this morning’s plan is a go--can you brief the team when you’re done here? We’ll be at the house in 45 minutes or so.”
“If this is an orgy I call dibs on the chocolate sauce,” Clint says. Everyone stops moving and stares at him, and he shrugs. “What? Early bird gets the Hershey’s, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Jesus,” says Rhodey, “can we establish some chatter protocol before the next time I come out here with you lunatics, please and thank you. How do you function like this?”
“Advil, mostly,” Tony says, and then one of the rabbits shoots up by about two stories and everything is suddenly a lot less funny. “Shit, okay, Cap, that’s a go, 45 minutes, ending the call unless you want to--”
“No, go, go,” Steve says, and Tony cuts the line, turns to his latest task, and pretends not to hear Clint say the words “Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog” on principle .
--
An hour later, in the middle of cleanup--which, hey, great, it’s mostly poop, as it turns out giant rabbits leave giant shits all over the street, how awesome is Tony’s life?--Tony grabs Rhodey by the arm. “Hey, buddy, how much do you love me?”
“Loaded question,” Rhodey says. “Enough to talk you out of whatever it is; not enough to help.”
“Now, see, that’s not nice--”
“Tony--”
“So Bucky Barnes is coming to live in my house,” Tony says breezily, enjoying the way Rhodey’s mask flips up to reveal his incredulous stare. “You want to cancel that hotel reservation, or...”
“Tony,” Rhodey says, jabbing him in the chest with one armor-clad finger, “I swear to you, if you are fucking with me right now--”
“We just fought a battalion of gigantic alien rabbits with indigestion,” Tony says, because that, as it turns out, is what they were--the Fantastic Four had shown up after two hours, waved some colored flags around, and then smirked when the rabbits vanished into thin air. Superhero politics are the worst. “You really think I could make shit up at this point?”
“Yes,” Rhodey says, without removing his finger, “yes, I do.”
“You know what, keep your hotel room, you can’t stay at my house after all,” Tony says, and then cracks and laughs when Rhodey opens his mouth to argue. “No, no, I’m not fucking with you, I’m totally serious. He’s Steve’s closest friend, where else would he stay?”
“But he’s Bucky Barnes,” Rhodey says. “They should--they should build him his own house for his contributions to modern attack strategy alone--”
“Wow, you have some feelings here, buddy, don’t you?” Tony says, enjoying this more than he should be. “That’s kind of a scary look on your face, isn’t it, do I have to worry that you’re gonna steal his boxers and sniff them?”
“No, Tony, that’s something you would do,” Rhodey says. “You, and not me, and it’s not a scary look, this is what respect looks like, do you understand? This is esteem and, and admiration for sacrifice for one’s country and--”
“Hero-worship,” Tony finishes, “this is hero-worship, hey, what gives? You weren’t like this when I told you they’d found Cap.”
“Yeah, well, you were on that enough for the both of us,” Rhodey says, and then, before Tony can argue that in what would probably be a very unconvincing manner, says, “Don’t worry, our secret or whatever. But, uh, it’s just--not that Steve isn’t great, he is, but Bucky Barnes--Bucky Barnes is a soldier’s soldier. It’s different.”
“I think I’m offended on Steve’s behalf,” says Tony, “but I’m not entirely sure why.”
“Think on it,” says Rhodey, “and hey, can you maybe mention my Medal for Valor when you introduce me? It’d seem weird if I did it myself, and I’ll forgive you for Cuba ‘94.”
“Oh, right, it’s only weird if you do it--wait, not ‘96?”
“No one’s ever going to forgive you for ‘96, Tony,” Rhodey says.“Cuba hasn’t forgiven you for ‘96.”
“I sent a fruit basket,” says Tony.
“You are a fruit basket,” says Rhodey.
“Awww, baby,” says Tony, and goes to brief the rest of the team before Rhodey can reply.
--
They go in through the back door of the mansion, because Rhodey got all weird and intense about how they couldn’t meet an American hero for the first time smelling like alien rabbit shit. Tony tried to disabuse him of this notion, going to far as to call Steve to confirm that yes, the second World War had indeed desensitized them both to assorted terrible smells, but since Steve still didn’t have a cell phone and had to take calls through Jarvis, it had kind of backfired on him.
“This is the future, pal,” Bucky said, “and in the future, I don’t have to smell that kind of thing if I don’t want to, which I don’t. Everybody showers.”
“Thor’s going to be kind of hard for you to get used to, with that attitude,” Steve said, and Thor, flying next to Tony and not in any way privy to the call, somehow managed to look offended anyway. God powers, probably; Tony wasn’t going to worry about it too much.
“I still like you, buddy,” Tony said. “Your, uh, musk or whatever, it’s Asguardian-chic, I dig it. You’re fine.”
“You confuse me,” Thor said, “I was only thinking of what noble deeds I might have accomplished on the back of He Who Eats Carrots Boldly In The Night,” and it took Tony longer than it probably should have to realize he meant the rabbit.
Point being, by the time they’ve all gathered in the living room--the kitchen and the front hall are both still out of commission, though according to Jarvis the contractors are on their way--Tony has showered, shaved, and put on clothing that hasn’t been crushed inside the Iron Man suit. He’s looking good, definitely, feeling good, too; he’s not nervous about meeting Steve’s best friend, because that would be crazy. Unnecessary. Unlike him.
Well, not necessarily unlike him, but whatever, it’s fine, he’s fine, it’s gonna be great.
Steve’s standing next to a dark-haired guy, about Tony’s height, and he’s smiling. Which, that’s pretty normal, Steve smiles a lot, but this is--Tony hadn’t realized until right now that this is what he’s been looking for the past few days, this ease in Steve’s shoulders, this lack of haunted, worried darkness in his eyes. Relief breaks over him in a sharp, startling kind of wave, and this is probably why it takes him a full forty-five seconds to notice the elephant in the room.
“Right, so, everyone, this is Sergeant James Barnes,” Steve says, “and Bucky, this is--”
“Arm,” says Tony.
“Oh, god,” Steve says, while Bucky, presumably, gives Tony a strange look--Tony’s not really sure, he’s a little busy, “Tony, come on, can we at least get through the introductions first?”
“What? Oh, yeah, sure, right, Tony Stark, you probably knew my dad, bet that’s a little weird, talk about it later, there, we’re done, Steve didn’t tell me you’ve got a giant metal arm--”
“Really, Rogers?” Bucky says, over Tony’s head, as Tony reaches out gleefully to start prodding at the mechanics.
“I can’t help it,” Steve says, and hey, that’s a tone Tony likes; he’ll figure out why later.
“You’re a punk,” Bucky says, and when Steve laughs he says, “No, Rogers, not you--well, yeah, you, but not right this second. Stark, give a guy a little breathing room, would you? Is personal space not a thing they have in the future? I mean, he said you’d probably do this, but I didn’t really believe him.”
“Sad for you,” Tony says absently, “hey, can you move your fingers? No, I mean--there they go, oh my god is that a delay, who did the neural receptors on this thing, monkeys? I can do so much better than this, I could do better than this in my sleep, someone should’ve called me, you got any favorite colors or, uh, metals--whoa, what the hell, these connecting cables are shit--”
“Okay, Tony, that’s enough,” Steve says, and a second later he’s actually being dragged away by the collar, that’s a little embarrassing.
“But--”
“You do know I’m stronger than you, right?” Steve says. His hand is warm on the back of Tony’s neck, and so is his voice, a little, under the exasperation; Tony sighs and straightens up, lets himself take a couple steps back.
“I’m gonna build you a new arm,” he says to Bucky, “and, I mean, hello, obviously, but I think we can all agree that the arm’s the important thing here--does it come off or do you have to stay attached--well, no, I guess that doesn’t matter--”
“Right,” says Steve, whipping out the field commander voice, “so that’s Tony, he’s sorry, I’d say he’d stop but he won’t, moving on--this is Natasha--”
“Nice to meet you,” Natasha says, favoring Bucky with a rare smile.
Bucky, who’d been occupied with staring at Tony like he was a crazy person, turns. Then he makes the shell-shocked, good god you’re hot face most people make upon meeting Natasha, which, hey, Tony has totally been to that movie, can’t really blame him at all.
“Hi,” Bucky says, “I met your, uh, girl? Can I say girl now, is that right, Steve says there are rules, which is great, better, probably, weren’t really rules back when--well there were, but I broke them--but, uh, Pepper, she left, said she didn’t wanna see the fireworks when Stark met me--oh, god. Rogers, listen to me, this is terrible, I’m you.
“It’s not your fault,” Natasha says, completely calm, while Steve does a terrible job of covering a laugh. “I have this effect on everyone. However, if you ever ogle me without my permission again, I will not hesitate to harm you bodily.”
“My god,” Bucky says, blinking, “I’m embarrassed and I don’t even care--”
“And this is Thor,” Steve says, apparently in mercy.
“Greetings!” Thor booms. “May we both look back upon this moment as one upon which a glorious friendship was founded!”
“Uh,” says Bucky, “yeah, pal, okay.”
“And I’m Clint,” says Clint, before Steve can get around to it. “And that’s Bruce--sometimes he’s not Bruce, you’ll know because he gets all giant and green, try not to piss him off if you can help it, can we wrap this up? I TiVo’d Criminal Minds.”
“Okay,” says Bucky, “didn’t understand half that sentence but I’m getting the impression that you’re kind of a--Stark, touch my arm again and I will drop you.”
“Sorry,” Tony says, “it’s just right there--oh, hey, neither one of you has met Rhodey yet, so, right, uh, this is--”
“Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, sir,” Rhodey says, reaching out, and then actually salutes with the hand that isn’t shaking Bucky’s. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s mine,” Bucky says, “but hey, unless the ranking system’s changed a helluva lot since my day, pretty sure I’m the one who should be saluting you, Colonel.”
Rhodey looks--well, shit, if he didn’t know better, Tony would use the word starstruck. “Don’t you dare. I wrote my thesis on you at Academy; I’d sooner let you salute me than--or, well, not to suggest that you couldn’t, if you wanted to--”
“You know what,” Bucky says, smiling warm and slow at Rhodey, still clasping his hand, “I think I do. Want to, that is.”
“Is this how people flirt in the army?” Tony demands, because, well, Christ, really?
“Tony,” Steve and Rhodey say in unison; Bucky just grins, rubs his thumb over the back of Rhodey’s hand.
“Sure is, pal,” he says, and okay, it’s kind of worth it, isn’t it, for the way Rhodey smiles and chokes on his own breath all at once.
--
“Sir,” Jarvis says, “both Ms. Potts and Captain Rogers have requested that I pass along the suggestion that you eat. Would you like me to order something for delivery?”
Tony blinks; then he finds he has to do it again, keeps his eyes screwed shut for several seconds to try to will away the dryness. It doesn’t really work, and he looks down at the wiring of his second model of Bucky’s new arm and sighs.
“Uh,” he says, wincing at the sound of his own voice, “no, thanks, I’m good. What time is it, exactly?”
“Eight thirty p.m., sir,” Jarvis says smoothly. “Captain Rogers, in particular, was quite insistent that you break for food. Are you certain you wouldn’t like me to order something in?”
“Nah,” Tony says, and then, rubbing at the back of his neck, “yeah, actually, maybe a pizza or something? Pepperoni and, uh, you know what, I don’t care, really, so long as I don’t have to go get it.”
“Ordering now, sir,” Jarvis says. Tony nods, rubs the heel of his hand against his eyes, and tries to remember how long he’s been down here. At least--ugh, at least twelve hours, maybe longer; he vaguely remembers Steve coming in at one point, trying to get a word in edgewise over the music, and then rolling his eyes and going upstairs again.
At least the new arm will be ready soon, Tony thinks ruefully. The temporary upgrades he’s installed in the old one are patching the gaps a little, but it’s still complete shit. He really shouldn’t have let Barnes talk him into handing over a first prototype; that never ends well for anyone. Granted, Bucky’s been pretty pleased with it, and it’s definitely better than the pile of junk SHIELD gave him originally, and technically it’s only been a week since he met the guy, but still. Tony’s not ones to let details stop him; exhaustion, maybe, just this once, but definitely not details.
“Hmm,” he says, “think I’m gonna...call it quits, for a bit. Could you, uh, just freeze everything that isn’t running automatically? And hold this process, and this one, they’re both gonna need my help--no, Jarvis, not that one, that one’s done, just leave it--and backup copies, probably, because I’ve got no idea where I am in this string, or these two. There you go. Oh, and kill power to anything with heat, and render another paint job mock-up, will you? Barnes says he wants a big red star on it, and I really want him to get up close and personal with how that’s gonna look before I go ahead with it.”
“So noted, Mr. Stark,” Jarvis says. “Will there be anything else?”
“No,” Tony says, and then he sighs, thinks again. “Or, yeah, you know what, lock me out ‘til tomorrow, I guess. Just from the room, not the code, obviously, but I probably shouldn’t be operating heavy machinery anymore. Steve upstairs?”
“Captain Rogers is on the roof, sir.”
“Oh good,” says Tony, “because that’s such a normal thing to do at the end of December, I’m sure he’s in a great mood,” but he heads up there anyway, grabbing a hoodie off the back of the sofa as he passes it.
“Hey,” he says, when he’s pulled the sweatshirt over his head, climbed up the little back stairway to find Steve exactly where Jarvis said he’d be. “What’re you doing out here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” Steve says, sounding surprised. “I’d kind of bargained on having to come down to the workshop and drag you out myself.”
“Like you could,” Tony says dismissively. Steve doesn’t dignify that with a response, just gives Tony a look that means no one’s buying it, but nice try; he’s got a point, so Tony sits down next to him, tucks his knees up to his chest. “Seriously, it’s freezing out here, what’s up? Is this a sulking thing?”
“I don’t sulk.”
“Yeah, you do,” Tony says. “We can call it something else if you want--manly brooding or whatever--but this is totally your sulking spot, don’t lie.”
“It’s not--” Steve starts. Then he stops, shakes his head, huffs out a laugh; Tony can see his breath hanging in the air. “I’m not sulking. Just trying to keep an eye on things.”
“Huh?” says Tony. Steve gestures out to the yard, and...oh.
The team’s out in full form, in various states of dress and gear--Tony can’t believe he hadn’t seen them, heard them, immediately. Clint’s in the maple tree, perched with his crossbow over his lap, entirely blind to the fact that Natasha is silently climbing up behind him; Thor’s hurtling Mjölnir up into the air, laughing as Clint tries to shoot it and misses. Rhodey’s suited up, and he and Bucky seem to be involved in some kind of mechanical arm-wrestling competition, using one of Hulk’s massive hands as their platform. It looks like Bucky’s winning, and Tony’s not sure if he should be embarrassed for the suit or proud about the arm--he’s never been a bystander to his tech battling itself before.
“You break it, you buy it, Rhodes!” he yells.
“My suit, my rules, Tony!” Rhodey yells back; Tony rolls his eyes, pulls the hoodie a little tighter around himself.
“What are they doing?” he says to Steve, and Steve shrugs.
“I think they’re bored,” he admits. “It’s been kind of quiet the last couple days.”
“So this is what we’re like in our downtime?” Tony says, and shudders. He’s not sure if it’s from the cold or from what a terrifying thought that is, but Steve puts an arm around him anyway. “Ugh, I just had a terrible insight into what Nick Fury’s life must be like, I’d really love to unthink that.”
“Wouldn’t we all,” Steve sighs.
Below them, Natasha successfully manages to surprise Clint, as evidenced by the way he shrieks at the top of his lungs and falls out of the tree. Thor catches him before he actually hits the ground, depositing him back in his perch with a grin and a hearty slap on the back; Clint makes a little squeaking noise at the impact, and then promptly looks horrified with himself.
“Manly, Barton,” Tony calls.
Clint gives him the finger. “Come down here and say that to my face, asshole! You can’t mock from the peanut gallery, that’s not cool.”
“He’s got a point,” Steve says.
“Yeah, probably,” Tony says, and then: “Wait, you’re not expecting me to go put on the suit, right? Because, uh, I don’t know about you but I’m kind of enjoying the lack of crazy.”
“No, of course not,” Steve says. “They’re out of their minds; Thor tried to convince me to throw the shield with him sitting on it, for ‘the great glory of our legacy as men,’ whatever that means.”
“That sounds kind of awesome, actually,” Tony says. “What? You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about, I don’t know, using it as a sled or something--”
“You’re not serious.”
“Nah, not really,” Tony admits. “Be funny to watch, though.”
“Hilarious,” Steve says, dry, but he pulls Tony in a little closer anyway. Tony’s glad of it; Steve’s wearing a thick wool peacoat, vintage-y, very dapper-gentleman-from-1945, and he’s all but radiating heat. Tony sighs and puts his head down on Steve’s shoulder, hides a yawn in the fold of the fabric.
“You wanna tell me where Bruce Hulked this time,” he says, “or should I just wander around the house ‘til I find the mess? It’s like Where’s Waldo, right, only instead of Waldo it’s holes in the drywall--”
“Waldo?” Steve says.
“Oh,” says Tony. “Guess that was the ‘80s--it was just, uh, this guy, and he had a shirt and--you know what, never mind, it’s not important. Just tell it to me straight, anywhere but the garage, please tell me he didn’t hurt the Rolls.”
“No, front hall,” Steve sighs.
“What, again? They just finished fixing that!”
“Apparently Bruce got a phone call and just lost it,” Steve says. “Natasha’s the only one who saw it, but we’ll have to wait until he’s back to get the whole story.”
“Aw, hell, I hope his grant funding didn’t get denied again--I keep trying to tell him Stark can just put him on payroll, but he’s weird about it.”
“Are you honestly telling me you don’t understand pride? You, of all people?”
“Be nice, I’m tired.”
“And whose fault is that?” Steve says, but it’s warm, and he rubs a hand down Tony’s arm with absent affection. “Anyway, it’s not as bad as last time, just a little bit of broken glass, and one of the support beams is cracked again.”
“Great,” Tony says. He yawns again, not even bothering to hide this one. “Remind me to call the contractors--or have Jarvis call ‘em, whichever.”
“God,” Steve says, shaking his head, “they must love us, they’re here nearly as much as we are. Maybe you should just give them a bedroom.”
Tony looks out at the yard. There are arrows sticking up out of the grounds, chunks of dirt pulled loose by Thor’s hammer and Rhodey’s repulsors; Hulk’s giant footprints are everywhere, and Natasha’ daggers have left a series of ragged scars in the bark of the old maple, right next to the dent where Bucky actually punched it. It’s just starting to snow, the faint dusting of white serving only to highlight the chaos, and to anyone else, it would look like a disaster area.
And that’s true of a lot of things in Tony’s life, isn’t it--the inside of his workshop and the bottom of his microwave; hell, Tony himself, nine times out of ten. It’s all a mess, the yard and the missions, everything, really, but then again...well. There’s Steve to keep an eye on the team, and Tony to keep an eye on Steve, and maybe the rest of it will work itself out.
Tony takes a deep breath, watches his exhale, and smiles. “Think we’ve got enough people living here, don’t you?”
Steve doesn’t say anything for a long time; after a minute, Tony figures that he missed the question entirely. He closes his eyes, not particularly bothered about it, and so he’s surprised by the emotion in Steve’s voice when it comes.
“Yeah,” Steve says, arm around Tony tightening just slightly, “yeah, this feels about right.”
Everyone wakes up--or, in Tony’s case, goes from sitting down half-asleep to standing up half-asleep--around eight. They all shuffle into the kitchen, not quite listening to Bruce’s apologies, and settle around the table, silent.
It’s maybe ten minutes after that when they all realize that food isn’t just going to magically appear. Tony sighs and goes to the coffeemaker; Thor, the most chipper of the lot of them by a fair margin, decides to take stock of the fridge.
“Perhaps I shall endeavor to produce a meal,” he says happily. “Tell me, would this purple gelatinous substance combine well with eggs?”
“Fine with me,” says Bruce.
“Remember to take the shells off,” says Natasha.
“We order too much fucking take-out,” says Clint, “but hey, so long as there’s coffee, what do I care? I’ve probably eaten worse.”
“Coffee’s happening,” Tony mumbles. “Five minutes.”
He’s hit his least favorite phase of exhaustion: the one where he doesn’t have enough to do or enough caffeine in his system to ignore it, the one where he remembers why normal people sleep. When he sits back down in his chair, Steve smiles, puts a hand on his back, and Tony slumps, lets him.
“Tired?” says Steve, because even in the midst of what is undoubtedly one of the more stressful weeks of his life, he has the wherewithal to be a dry bastard.
“Ha ha,” says Tony, “really, you’re hysterical, you’re so funny, you crack me up, remind me of how funny you are the next time I’m, say, reinforcing your costume’s armor--”
“Mmm,” says Steve, moving his hand to rub the back of Tony’s neck, “and here I thought this was the kind of thing we’d be able to settle with frogs in my bed.”
“What are you, twelve?”
“Haven’t been for, oh, eighty years or so,” Steve says, and it’s so nice to hear him joking about it that Tony gives in and smiles. Steve smiles back, warm and open, and Tony feels his cheeks heating, and--
“Oho!” says Thor, startling them both. “This powder is a most intriguing color; truly, it shall add a layer of depth to this great feast of the day!”
There is a pause, the kind of pause that means no one knows what the right response is, and Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just tell me.”
“Cayenne pepper,” Steve admits, and laughs when Tony groans and drops his head onto the table. “Hey, cheer up. It can’t be that bad, right?”
“That’s the worst thing you could have said,” Tony says, indistinctly, into the tabletop. “The worst one, the worst one, it’ll be poison now, you watch.”
It’s not actually that bad; Tony has no idea what’s in the casserole thing he’s served, but it doesn’t taste like it’s going to kill him, so that’s a plus. Thor’s beaming, proud of himself, and the combination of food and caffeine wakes everyone else up; soon Natasha’s teasing Clint about the Kermit boxers while Pepper asks if anyone wants orange juice. Bruce goes to get the paper, because he hasn’t seen the damage he did to the front hallway yet--his groan is horrified enough that everyone forgives him, mostly, for making the mistake of watching Hitchcock before bed--and Steve, who’s gotten Tony back in the habit of reading print news through force of will, hands over the business section and keeps the front page for himself.
“Arts & Life, right here,” says Clint, and then glares when they all look at him askance. “What? I’m a man of culture and--Natasha don’t throw that at me--”
“No projectiles before ten,” says Pepper.
“Unless it’s in the name of justice,” Steve adds, without looking away from the front page. “Tony, what on earth is a stem cell?”
“Bruce, buddy, that’s all you,” Tony says, and goes to rescue the rest of the coffee from the pot.
They fall into--well, it’s not silence, is it, not really. Tony’s alternating between reading the newspaper and his morning emails, shooting questions back and forth at Pepper when he thinks of them, and Bruce doesn’t wind down the stem cell spiel for nearly 15 minutes. Clint, true to his word, reads Arts & Life cover to cover, and Natasha gets into a friendly enough argument with Thor about whether or not his hammer-throwing technique extends to knives. It’s not silent at all, if Tony’s honest, but it’s...comfortable.
“This is nice,” Steve says quietly, just for Tony, when Bruce finally winds down and grabs the Education pages. “We should do this more often.”
And Tony wants to laugh, he really does, because that’s just so Steve, that’s Steve all over, and it’s hysterical, worth mocking. But when he lifts his head Steve’s still smiling at him and there’s plaster dust on the side of his shoulder, and his hair’s mussed and slept on, a mostly-faded crease from Tony’s jeans on the side of his face, and Tony...god, Tony thinks home before he can stop himself.
“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, sure, if you want.”
--
At ten, Steve says, “Oh, twelve hours, thank god,” which is when Tony finally, finally puts the pieces together.
“You were banned,” he says, brandishing the object in his hand in Steve’s general direction. Steve makes a face and takes a hasty step back--probably because it’s a blowtorch--and Tony winces, turns it off, and then points his finger at Steve instead. “From SHIELD! Banned! That’s why you’ve been here all this time, oh my god, Fury banned Captain America--”
“Bucky did, actually,” Steve admits, putting a hand to the back of his neck. “He gets--overprotective, I guess, even though it’s kind of silly now. He said that if he saw my ugly mug before ten o’clock tomorrow he’d personally make sure he never saw it again.”
“Your mug’s not ugly,” Tony says, automatic, and then: “Wait, and you listened?”
“Not at first,” Steve says. “But he’s got his mom’s lungs, always did, and I was kind of afraid he was going to pull a muscle if he didn’t stop yelling.”
“Hey, is coming back from the dead the secret trick to getting you to listen to things?” Tony says. “Because, look, I could totally engineer a--”
“Don’t,” Steve snaps, all the humor draining out of his face, and oh, shit, Tony’s an asshole.
“Whoa,” he says, “fuck, sorry, sorry, that was a bad joke, I shouldn’t have said that, Steve, c’mon, I was kidding.”
“I know,” Steve says, “just--”
“Don’t,” Tony supplies, maneuvering himself around a workshop table so he can put a hand on Steve’s arm. “Yeah, definitely getting that memo, I’ll make a note--Jarvis, make a note--no more of that, not again, seriously, I’m really--”
“Yeah,” Steve says, and his smile’s coming back a little bit, “okay, it’s okay, I get it. Don’t hurt yourself.”
“I’m not going to hurt myself,” Tony says, “apologizing only eats away at my soul a little bit, no big deal, look, maybe I can even do it again. I’m...I’m...nope, shit, fresh out.”
“You sure about that? Because I’m still kind of waiting for you admit that you ate--”
“I didn’t, that was totally Thor--”
“And that the thing with the hose was on purpose--”
“Of course it wasn’t, it’s December, there’s perverted and then there’s actually insane--”
“And that you bought the rights to ‘Star Spangled Man’--”
“Well, yeah, that’s totally true, I’m not going to apologize for that, you’re the one who broke the radio in my Beemer,” Tony says. “That’s definitely your thing to apologize for, I was just looking out for the safety of my car radios.”
“The safety of the car radios, huh?”
Steve’s grinning at him now, doing the whole my-superpower-is-actually-dry-wit-didn’t-you-read-my-file thing, and Tony rolls his eyes, lets go of his arm, and goes back to the control panel he’s soldering.
“Well, if you’re going to be like that about it, you can just go slink back to SHIELD. Maybe Fury’ll apologize to you, I know how that gets you all--”
“God, Tony, come here,” Steve says, laughing, and leans across the workshop table to kiss him. Tony--well, Tony’s definitely not going to ask him to apologize for that.
“Jesus,” Tony says, pulling back, “first breakfast, now this, you wanna tell me to keep an eye on the Beav while you’re gone, really round out the morning?”
Steve gives him a blank look, which is when Tony realizes that Leave it to Beaver was the fifties. He groans.
“Fuck, that was funny, too--well, sort of--actually maybe it’s kind of better that you don’t get it, whatever, I’ll catch you up on culture later, go break your buddy out of prison.”
“I’m not breaking anyone out of anywhere,” Steve says, straight-faced. “I’m merely going to have a measured conversation with Bucky about his options, and then discuss them with Director Fury accordingly.”
“Helps to practice in front of the mirror,” Tony says. “The lying thing, I mean, you might want to try it, works wonders--”
“You’re a terrible liar, Tony,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “Maybe you should try some new tricks.”
“Maybe you should get out of my workshop.”
“I’m trying,” Steve says, and, hmmm, interesting, that’s the laughing-at-you-on-the-inside face. “You’re probably going to need to let go of my wrist first.”
“Huh?” Tony says. Then he looks down, frowns. “Shit, you’re not my blowtorch.”
“You should try to get some sleep,” Steve says, shaking his head as Tony releases him. “Or at least stop using things that could actually burn the whole place down, does that seem fair? I don’t really want to bring Bucky back to a disaster zone.”
“It’s already--oh, fuck, I forgot to call the contractors for the front hall, Jarvis, do that, will you?” Tony says, and then blinks, focuses on Steve. “Right, totally, no more fire, you got it, now get out of here so you can pretend I listened to you, that’ll be good for everyone--”
“Bye, Tony,” Steve says, leaning forward and kissing him again, a quick thing. “And, uh, thank you. For last night, and the house, and--all of it. Just--thanks, okay?”
“What I’m here for,” Tony says absently, pulling his goggles back down, and doesn’t realize what he’s said, what it means, until Steve’s already gone.
--
“You have got to be kidding me,” Rhodey says. “Seriously, I refuse to believe this is happening, I am going back to bed, no.”
Under normal circumstances, Tony would probably give him shit about commitment to justice and work ethic, just to watch him get mad; Rhodey’s easy to wind up if you know the right buttons to press. It would be hugely worth it to watch him pitch a shit-fit in the suit, to see the exasperated hand gestures with an added layer of Armed and Dangerous, but...
...well, but giant fluffy bunnies are trying to take Manhattan. Tony doesn’t really have the heart make Rhodey’s day any worse.
“If it helps, Clint’s gonna make a really terrible Easter joke in about half a second,” he offers. “Seriously, if tries to make it a whole minute his insides might explode, it’s like a science, just wait for it.”
A moment later Clint whoops and yells, “Cadbury this, asshole!” over the sound of his crossbow firing.
“Ugh,” says Natasha, “Hawkeye, you can do so much better.”
“Eat chocolate?” Clint suggests. “Eggs-ellent try? I can go all day.”
“Told you,” says Tony. “He’s got a condition, there’s no helping it.”
Rhodey sighs. “Is it always like this?”
“Course not,” Tony says, grinning behind his mask, “sometimes, it’s much worse.”
“Hulk wants pet,” the Hulk says despondently; he’s got a murder rabbit gripped in one massive hand, staring at it sadly while it flails and snaps its saber teeth. “This pet right size, but still wrong! Why world not fair to Hulk?”
“Hulk, don’t form emotional attachments to the enemy,” Natasha says, because as much as they don’t like him when he’s angry, it’s worse when he’s sad. For one thing, even his tears are green--it’s a real bitch to get out of the carpet.
“Seriously, buddy,” Tony says, “that thing is foe, not friend, you want a pet, I can build you a pet--”
“Yeah, he’s good at that,” says Clint, and Tony has just enough time to wince before Jarvis, who is a computer and should know better, takes over the comms and says, “If you refer to me in that manner again, Mr. Barton, I will personally see to it that your credit score does not survive the day.”
“Whooooa,” says Tony, “easy there, he was kidding, that was a joke, calm down, Jarvis, seriously, how many times do I have to warn you about 4chan?”
“My apologies, sir,” Jarvis says, managing to sound snippy about it, and goes silent.
“Iron Man,” Natasha says slowly, “did your AI just take offense to something?”
“He’s a little sensitive,” Tony says, realizes how that sounds, and sighs. “Look, just, don’t worry about it, watch your back, though, Flopsy’s gunning for you.”
“This is already the weirdest day of my life,” says Rhodey, “I’ve only been awake for four hours, I did the smart thing and stayed at a hotel, you haven’t been drinking and it’s already the weirdest day of my life.”
“I missed you too, sweetheart,” Tony says, and does something to one of the bunnies that is going to have a much cooler name than tazing as soon as he thinks of it.
“Be still, large rabbits,” booms Thor, who is--well, the accurate way of describing what he’s doing involves the words “skipping” and “tops of their heads” but Tony’s pretty sure there’s a children’s song like that. He’s trying not to think about it. “We shall let you go in peace, but you must first show us a sign of your good faith. Please release the vendor of dogs that are hot, for he is only doing his job!”
“Hot dogs,” Tony corrects, for the hundred thousandth time, “hot dogs, Thor, I know you can get this,” but a call comes through to the suit before he can really break it down.
Unlisted number; SHIELD, then. Tony sighs, and takes it.
“Little busy here, guys! Is this about before, because look, it’s fine, we know we’re only supposed to stun them, it’s not actually beyond us that ‘Avengers Viciously Murder Hoard of Oversized Fluff Balls’ is a bad headline--”
“No,” Steve says, “just me,” and Tony grins.
“Oh, hey! Forgot to give you a new cell, didn’t I, my bad. Tell me you’re watching this, this is the most hilarious thing since--well, okay, the Hello Kitty thing was probably funnier--”
“Yeah, we’ve got it up on one of the monitors,” Steve says. “Is Thor trying to ride that one?”
“Trying implies a lack of success,” Tony says, “so no. Where do you think you’d put a saddle on one of these things, d’you think? Back of the neck?”
“He’s not going to keep it.”
“Do you think we have much choice, if he decides he wants to?” Tony says, and then switches back into the comm long enough to say, “Widow, what’d Coulson say about the press coverage, you can’t stab them.”
“Whoops,” Natasha says, completely without emotion.
“You know, I had a nightmare like this once,” Clint says contemplatively. “Maybe I’m not even awake right now--War Machine, you wanna maybe come and pinch me, think you’re closest--”
“Shoot another arrow that close to me and I’ll do more than pinch you,” Rhodey warns, and Tony laughs, switches back to Steve.
“So, yeah, that’s pretty much what’s going on here,” he says. “Did you need something specific, or is this a social call? Hey, you know what, if I put the suit on autopilot I can probably manage phone sex--”
“Tony, you’re on speaker,” Steve groans, mortified.
“Oh,” says Tony, “well, yeah, that complicates things a little bit, that’s a lot of mouths to feed if you know what I mean and I think that you do--”
“Jesus Christ, Rogers, blush any harder and your head’ll fall off,” says an unfamiliar voice, deep and a little raspy. “Stark--you are Stark, right, you sound like a Stark--don’t break him, I only just woke up.”
“Oh, hey, uh--Bucky Barnes, I presume?” Tony says, and blasts the repulsors until he’s hovering over one of the bunnies. He thumps it, hard, on the top of the head, and it crashes to the ground with a satisfying thud. “I’ll tell you what, I wish this wasn’t representative of what our lives are like but, uh, welcome to the future--”
“Yeah, getting a lot of that,” Bucky says. “Rogers tells me you’ve got a bedroom for me?”
“With a view and everything,” Tony says, “even a shower in it for you if you play your cards right, oh my god, that one’s got a pouch, it’s a kanga-bunny, are these live-action stuffed animals or something?”
“Hulk, stop trying to pet them,” Steve says, and then seems to remember he’s neither on the scene or patched through to the comm link. “Tony, tell the Hulk to stop trying to pet them.”
“Hulk, seriously, enough with the petting already,” Tony says into the comm, and forcibly ignores Clint’s snicker. “And Thor, Thor, buddy, come on, do us all a favor here and let go of that one’s ears, it’s just making him angrier--”
“But the Allspeak shall win the day!” says Thor. “Surely we can resolve this peacefully, and then I shall build him a magnificent stable, suited for a--”
“You are not going to ride a giant rabbit around New York,” Natasha says, “we have a reputation to maintain, Thor, honestly.”
“Uh,” says the voice that apparently belongs to Bucky Barnes, “the fuck if I know how this thing works, maybe it’s just the, uh, screen, but from where I’m sitting it looks like they’re--getting a little bigger...”
“Jarvis, patch me into the comm link,” Steve snaps, and then, “Avengers, be advised that the enemy is growing. Hawkeye, if you don’t stop favoring your left side I will make you run laps every morning for the next week. Widow, put the dagger down, Thor, that is an enemy, not a stallion, and Hulk, we will buy you a canary or something, can you please all focus up?”
“Ah,” says Thor.
“Wow,” says Natasha.
“I’m not,” Clint starts, and then pauses. “...oh. Hi, Cap.”
“Hi, yourself,” Steve sighs. “See if I ever miss a mission again--War Machine, I’m sorry we haven’t met properly yet, but nice job on the one with the notch in its ear.”
“Uh,” says Rhodey, “thank you?”
“I could’ve handled that,” Tony says, but cheerfully enough. “Your control issues are showing, by the way, have I ever told you that you have control issues, because, I’m just saying--”
“Iron Man, shut up,” Steve says, but it’s fond. “I only called to tell you that this morning’s plan is a go--can you brief the team when you’re done here? We’ll be at the house in 45 minutes or so.”
“If this is an orgy I call dibs on the chocolate sauce,” Clint says. Everyone stops moving and stares at him, and he shrugs. “What? Early bird gets the Hershey’s, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Jesus,” says Rhodey, “can we establish some chatter protocol before the next time I come out here with you lunatics, please and thank you. How do you function like this?”
“Advil, mostly,” Tony says, and then one of the rabbits shoots up by about two stories and everything is suddenly a lot less funny. “Shit, okay, Cap, that’s a go, 45 minutes, ending the call unless you want to--”
“No, go, go,” Steve says, and Tony cuts the line, turns to his latest task, and pretends not to hear Clint say the words “Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog” on principle .
--
An hour later, in the middle of cleanup--which, hey, great, it’s mostly poop, as it turns out giant rabbits leave giant shits all over the street, how awesome is Tony’s life?--Tony grabs Rhodey by the arm. “Hey, buddy, how much do you love me?”
“Loaded question,” Rhodey says. “Enough to talk you out of whatever it is; not enough to help.”
“Now, see, that’s not nice--”
“Tony--”
“So Bucky Barnes is coming to live in my house,” Tony says breezily, enjoying the way Rhodey’s mask flips up to reveal his incredulous stare. “You want to cancel that hotel reservation, or...”
“Tony,” Rhodey says, jabbing him in the chest with one armor-clad finger, “I swear to you, if you are fucking with me right now--”
“We just fought a battalion of gigantic alien rabbits with indigestion,” Tony says, because that, as it turns out, is what they were--the Fantastic Four had shown up after two hours, waved some colored flags around, and then smirked when the rabbits vanished into thin air. Superhero politics are the worst. “You really think I could make shit up at this point?”
“Yes,” Rhodey says, without removing his finger, “yes, I do.”
“You know what, keep your hotel room, you can’t stay at my house after all,” Tony says, and then cracks and laughs when Rhodey opens his mouth to argue. “No, no, I’m not fucking with you, I’m totally serious. He’s Steve’s closest friend, where else would he stay?”
“But he’s Bucky Barnes,” Rhodey says. “They should--they should build him his own house for his contributions to modern attack strategy alone--”
“Wow, you have some feelings here, buddy, don’t you?” Tony says, enjoying this more than he should be. “That’s kind of a scary look on your face, isn’t it, do I have to worry that you’re gonna steal his boxers and sniff them?”
“No, Tony, that’s something you would do,” Rhodey says. “You, and not me, and it’s not a scary look, this is what respect looks like, do you understand? This is esteem and, and admiration for sacrifice for one’s country and--”
“Hero-worship,” Tony finishes, “this is hero-worship, hey, what gives? You weren’t like this when I told you they’d found Cap.”
“Yeah, well, you were on that enough for the both of us,” Rhodey says, and then, before Tony can argue that in what would probably be a very unconvincing manner, says, “Don’t worry, our secret or whatever. But, uh, it’s just--not that Steve isn’t great, he is, but Bucky Barnes--Bucky Barnes is a soldier’s soldier. It’s different.”
“I think I’m offended on Steve’s behalf,” says Tony, “but I’m not entirely sure why.”
“Think on it,” says Rhodey, “and hey, can you maybe mention my Medal for Valor when you introduce me? It’d seem weird if I did it myself, and I’ll forgive you for Cuba ‘94.”
“Oh, right, it’s only weird if you do it--wait, not ‘96?”
“No one’s ever going to forgive you for ‘96, Tony,” Rhodey says.“Cuba hasn’t forgiven you for ‘96.”
“I sent a fruit basket,” says Tony.
“You are a fruit basket,” says Rhodey.
“Awww, baby,” says Tony, and goes to brief the rest of the team before Rhodey can reply.
--
They go in through the back door of the mansion, because Rhodey got all weird and intense about how they couldn’t meet an American hero for the first time smelling like alien rabbit shit. Tony tried to disabuse him of this notion, going to far as to call Steve to confirm that yes, the second World War had indeed desensitized them both to assorted terrible smells, but since Steve still didn’t have a cell phone and had to take calls through Jarvis, it had kind of backfired on him.
“This is the future, pal,” Bucky said, “and in the future, I don’t have to smell that kind of thing if I don’t want to, which I don’t. Everybody showers.”
“Thor’s going to be kind of hard for you to get used to, with that attitude,” Steve said, and Thor, flying next to Tony and not in any way privy to the call, somehow managed to look offended anyway. God powers, probably; Tony wasn’t going to worry about it too much.
“I still like you, buddy,” Tony said. “Your, uh, musk or whatever, it’s Asguardian-chic, I dig it. You’re fine.”
“You confuse me,” Thor said, “I was only thinking of what noble deeds I might have accomplished on the back of He Who Eats Carrots Boldly In The Night,” and it took Tony longer than it probably should have to realize he meant the rabbit.
Point being, by the time they’ve all gathered in the living room--the kitchen and the front hall are both still out of commission, though according to Jarvis the contractors are on their way--Tony has showered, shaved, and put on clothing that hasn’t been crushed inside the Iron Man suit. He’s looking good, definitely, feeling good, too; he’s not nervous about meeting Steve’s best friend, because that would be crazy. Unnecessary. Unlike him.
Well, not necessarily unlike him, but whatever, it’s fine, he’s fine, it’s gonna be great.
Steve’s standing next to a dark-haired guy, about Tony’s height, and he’s smiling. Which, that’s pretty normal, Steve smiles a lot, but this is--Tony hadn’t realized until right now that this is what he’s been looking for the past few days, this ease in Steve’s shoulders, this lack of haunted, worried darkness in his eyes. Relief breaks over him in a sharp, startling kind of wave, and this is probably why it takes him a full forty-five seconds to notice the elephant in the room.
“Right, so, everyone, this is Sergeant James Barnes,” Steve says, “and Bucky, this is--”
“Arm,” says Tony.
“Oh, god,” Steve says, while Bucky, presumably, gives Tony a strange look--Tony’s not really sure, he’s a little busy, “Tony, come on, can we at least get through the introductions first?”
“What? Oh, yeah, sure, right, Tony Stark, you probably knew my dad, bet that’s a little weird, talk about it later, there, we’re done, Steve didn’t tell me you’ve got a giant metal arm--”
“Really, Rogers?” Bucky says, over Tony’s head, as Tony reaches out gleefully to start prodding at the mechanics.
“I can’t help it,” Steve says, and hey, that’s a tone Tony likes; he’ll figure out why later.
“You’re a punk,” Bucky says, and when Steve laughs he says, “No, Rogers, not you--well, yeah, you, but not right this second. Stark, give a guy a little breathing room, would you? Is personal space not a thing they have in the future? I mean, he said you’d probably do this, but I didn’t really believe him.”
“Sad for you,” Tony says absently, “hey, can you move your fingers? No, I mean--there they go, oh my god is that a delay, who did the neural receptors on this thing, monkeys? I can do so much better than this, I could do better than this in my sleep, someone should’ve called me, you got any favorite colors or, uh, metals--whoa, what the hell, these connecting cables are shit--”
“Okay, Tony, that’s enough,” Steve says, and a second later he’s actually being dragged away by the collar, that’s a little embarrassing.
“But--”
“You do know I’m stronger than you, right?” Steve says. His hand is warm on the back of Tony’s neck, and so is his voice, a little, under the exasperation; Tony sighs and straightens up, lets himself take a couple steps back.
“I’m gonna build you a new arm,” he says to Bucky, “and, I mean, hello, obviously, but I think we can all agree that the arm’s the important thing here--does it come off or do you have to stay attached--well, no, I guess that doesn’t matter--”
“Right,” says Steve, whipping out the field commander voice, “so that’s Tony, he’s sorry, I’d say he’d stop but he won’t, moving on--this is Natasha--”
“Nice to meet you,” Natasha says, favoring Bucky with a rare smile.
Bucky, who’d been occupied with staring at Tony like he was a crazy person, turns. Then he makes the shell-shocked, good god you’re hot face most people make upon meeting Natasha, which, hey, Tony has totally been to that movie, can’t really blame him at all.
“Hi,” Bucky says, “I met your, uh, girl? Can I say girl now, is that right, Steve says there are rules, which is great, better, probably, weren’t really rules back when--well there were, but I broke them--but, uh, Pepper, she left, said she didn’t wanna see the fireworks when Stark met me--oh, god. Rogers, listen to me, this is terrible, I’m you.
“It’s not your fault,” Natasha says, completely calm, while Steve does a terrible job of covering a laugh. “I have this effect on everyone. However, if you ever ogle me without my permission again, I will not hesitate to harm you bodily.”
“My god,” Bucky says, blinking, “I’m embarrassed and I don’t even care--”
“And this is Thor,” Steve says, apparently in mercy.
“Greetings!” Thor booms. “May we both look back upon this moment as one upon which a glorious friendship was founded!”
“Uh,” says Bucky, “yeah, pal, okay.”
“And I’m Clint,” says Clint, before Steve can get around to it. “And that’s Bruce--sometimes he’s not Bruce, you’ll know because he gets all giant and green, try not to piss him off if you can help it, can we wrap this up? I TiVo’d Criminal Minds.”
“Okay,” says Bucky, “didn’t understand half that sentence but I’m getting the impression that you’re kind of a--Stark, touch my arm again and I will drop you.”
“Sorry,” Tony says, “it’s just right there--oh, hey, neither one of you has met Rhodey yet, so, right, uh, this is--”
“Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, sir,” Rhodey says, reaching out, and then actually salutes with the hand that isn’t shaking Bucky’s. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s mine,” Bucky says, “but hey, unless the ranking system’s changed a helluva lot since my day, pretty sure I’m the one who should be saluting you, Colonel.”
Rhodey looks--well, shit, if he didn’t know better, Tony would use the word starstruck. “Don’t you dare. I wrote my thesis on you at Academy; I’d sooner let you salute me than--or, well, not to suggest that you couldn’t, if you wanted to--”
“You know what,” Bucky says, smiling warm and slow at Rhodey, still clasping his hand, “I think I do. Want to, that is.”
“Is this how people flirt in the army?” Tony demands, because, well, Christ, really?
“Tony,” Steve and Rhodey say in unison; Bucky just grins, rubs his thumb over the back of Rhodey’s hand.
“Sure is, pal,” he says, and okay, it’s kind of worth it, isn’t it, for the way Rhodey smiles and chokes on his own breath all at once.
--
“Sir,” Jarvis says, “both Ms. Potts and Captain Rogers have requested that I pass along the suggestion that you eat. Would you like me to order something for delivery?”
Tony blinks; then he finds he has to do it again, keeps his eyes screwed shut for several seconds to try to will away the dryness. It doesn’t really work, and he looks down at the wiring of his second model of Bucky’s new arm and sighs.
“Uh,” he says, wincing at the sound of his own voice, “no, thanks, I’m good. What time is it, exactly?”
“Eight thirty p.m., sir,” Jarvis says smoothly. “Captain Rogers, in particular, was quite insistent that you break for food. Are you certain you wouldn’t like me to order something in?”
“Nah,” Tony says, and then, rubbing at the back of his neck, “yeah, actually, maybe a pizza or something? Pepperoni and, uh, you know what, I don’t care, really, so long as I don’t have to go get it.”
“Ordering now, sir,” Jarvis says. Tony nods, rubs the heel of his hand against his eyes, and tries to remember how long he’s been down here. At least--ugh, at least twelve hours, maybe longer; he vaguely remembers Steve coming in at one point, trying to get a word in edgewise over the music, and then rolling his eyes and going upstairs again.
At least the new arm will be ready soon, Tony thinks ruefully. The temporary upgrades he’s installed in the old one are patching the gaps a little, but it’s still complete shit. He really shouldn’t have let Barnes talk him into handing over a first prototype; that never ends well for anyone. Granted, Bucky’s been pretty pleased with it, and it’s definitely better than the pile of junk SHIELD gave him originally, and technically it’s only been a week since he met the guy, but still. Tony’s not ones to let details stop him; exhaustion, maybe, just this once, but definitely not details.
“Hmm,” he says, “think I’m gonna...call it quits, for a bit. Could you, uh, just freeze everything that isn’t running automatically? And hold this process, and this one, they’re both gonna need my help--no, Jarvis, not that one, that one’s done, just leave it--and backup copies, probably, because I’ve got no idea where I am in this string, or these two. There you go. Oh, and kill power to anything with heat, and render another paint job mock-up, will you? Barnes says he wants a big red star on it, and I really want him to get up close and personal with how that’s gonna look before I go ahead with it.”
“So noted, Mr. Stark,” Jarvis says. “Will there be anything else?”
“No,” Tony says, and then he sighs, thinks again. “Or, yeah, you know what, lock me out ‘til tomorrow, I guess. Just from the room, not the code, obviously, but I probably shouldn’t be operating heavy machinery anymore. Steve upstairs?”
“Captain Rogers is on the roof, sir.”
“Oh good,” says Tony, “because that’s such a normal thing to do at the end of December, I’m sure he’s in a great mood,” but he heads up there anyway, grabbing a hoodie off the back of the sofa as he passes it.
“Hey,” he says, when he’s pulled the sweatshirt over his head, climbed up the little back stairway to find Steve exactly where Jarvis said he’d be. “What’re you doing out here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” Steve says, sounding surprised. “I’d kind of bargained on having to come down to the workshop and drag you out myself.”
“Like you could,” Tony says dismissively. Steve doesn’t dignify that with a response, just gives Tony a look that means no one’s buying it, but nice try; he’s got a point, so Tony sits down next to him, tucks his knees up to his chest. “Seriously, it’s freezing out here, what’s up? Is this a sulking thing?”
“I don’t sulk.”
“Yeah, you do,” Tony says. “We can call it something else if you want--manly brooding or whatever--but this is totally your sulking spot, don’t lie.”
“It’s not--” Steve starts. Then he stops, shakes his head, huffs out a laugh; Tony can see his breath hanging in the air. “I’m not sulking. Just trying to keep an eye on things.”
“Huh?” says Tony. Steve gestures out to the yard, and...oh.
The team’s out in full form, in various states of dress and gear--Tony can’t believe he hadn’t seen them, heard them, immediately. Clint’s in the maple tree, perched with his crossbow over his lap, entirely blind to the fact that Natasha is silently climbing up behind him; Thor’s hurtling Mjölnir up into the air, laughing as Clint tries to shoot it and misses. Rhodey’s suited up, and he and Bucky seem to be involved in some kind of mechanical arm-wrestling competition, using one of Hulk’s massive hands as their platform. It looks like Bucky’s winning, and Tony’s not sure if he should be embarrassed for the suit or proud about the arm--he’s never been a bystander to his tech battling itself before.
“You break it, you buy it, Rhodes!” he yells.
“My suit, my rules, Tony!” Rhodey yells back; Tony rolls his eyes, pulls the hoodie a little tighter around himself.
“What are they doing?” he says to Steve, and Steve shrugs.
“I think they’re bored,” he admits. “It’s been kind of quiet the last couple days.”
“So this is what we’re like in our downtime?” Tony says, and shudders. He’s not sure if it’s from the cold or from what a terrifying thought that is, but Steve puts an arm around him anyway. “Ugh, I just had a terrible insight into what Nick Fury’s life must be like, I’d really love to unthink that.”
“Wouldn’t we all,” Steve sighs.
Below them, Natasha successfully manages to surprise Clint, as evidenced by the way he shrieks at the top of his lungs and falls out of the tree. Thor catches him before he actually hits the ground, depositing him back in his perch with a grin and a hearty slap on the back; Clint makes a little squeaking noise at the impact, and then promptly looks horrified with himself.
“Manly, Barton,” Tony calls.
Clint gives him the finger. “Come down here and say that to my face, asshole! You can’t mock from the peanut gallery, that’s not cool.”
“He’s got a point,” Steve says.
“Yeah, probably,” Tony says, and then: “Wait, you’re not expecting me to go put on the suit, right? Because, uh, I don’t know about you but I’m kind of enjoying the lack of crazy.”
“No, of course not,” Steve says. “They’re out of their minds; Thor tried to convince me to throw the shield with him sitting on it, for ‘the great glory of our legacy as men,’ whatever that means.”
“That sounds kind of awesome, actually,” Tony says. “What? You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about, I don’t know, using it as a sled or something--”
“You’re not serious.”
“Nah, not really,” Tony admits. “Be funny to watch, though.”
“Hilarious,” Steve says, dry, but he pulls Tony in a little closer anyway. Tony’s glad of it; Steve’s wearing a thick wool peacoat, vintage-y, very dapper-gentleman-from-1945, and he’s all but radiating heat. Tony sighs and puts his head down on Steve’s shoulder, hides a yawn in the fold of the fabric.
“You wanna tell me where Bruce Hulked this time,” he says, “or should I just wander around the house ‘til I find the mess? It’s like Where’s Waldo, right, only instead of Waldo it’s holes in the drywall--”
“Waldo?” Steve says.
“Oh,” says Tony. “Guess that was the ‘80s--it was just, uh, this guy, and he had a shirt and--you know what, never mind, it’s not important. Just tell it to me straight, anywhere but the garage, please tell me he didn’t hurt the Rolls.”
“No, front hall,” Steve sighs.
“What, again? They just finished fixing that!”
“Apparently Bruce got a phone call and just lost it,” Steve says. “Natasha’s the only one who saw it, but we’ll have to wait until he’s back to get the whole story.”
“Aw, hell, I hope his grant funding didn’t get denied again--I keep trying to tell him Stark can just put him on payroll, but he’s weird about it.”
“Are you honestly telling me you don’t understand pride? You, of all people?”
“Be nice, I’m tired.”
“And whose fault is that?” Steve says, but it’s warm, and he rubs a hand down Tony’s arm with absent affection. “Anyway, it’s not as bad as last time, just a little bit of broken glass, and one of the support beams is cracked again.”
“Great,” Tony says. He yawns again, not even bothering to hide this one. “Remind me to call the contractors--or have Jarvis call ‘em, whichever.”
“God,” Steve says, shaking his head, “they must love us, they’re here nearly as much as we are. Maybe you should just give them a bedroom.”
Tony looks out at the yard. There are arrows sticking up out of the grounds, chunks of dirt pulled loose by Thor’s hammer and Rhodey’s repulsors; Hulk’s giant footprints are everywhere, and Natasha’ daggers have left a series of ragged scars in the bark of the old maple, right next to the dent where Bucky actually punched it. It’s just starting to snow, the faint dusting of white serving only to highlight the chaos, and to anyone else, it would look like a disaster area.
And that’s true of a lot of things in Tony’s life, isn’t it--the inside of his workshop and the bottom of his microwave; hell, Tony himself, nine times out of ten. It’s all a mess, the yard and the missions, everything, really, but then again...well. There’s Steve to keep an eye on the team, and Tony to keep an eye on Steve, and maybe the rest of it will work itself out.
Tony takes a deep breath, watches his exhale, and smiles. “Think we’ve got enough people living here, don’t you?”
Steve doesn’t say anything for a long time; after a minute, Tony figures that he missed the question entirely. He closes his eyes, not particularly bothered about it, and so he’s surprised by the emotion in Steve’s voice when it comes.
“Yeah,” Steve says, arm around Tony tightening just slightly, “yeah, this feels about right.”