comment fic, little cookie bites of fic.
Title: assorted titles
Author:
jazzypom
Disclaimer:Characters and situations are the property of Stan Lee and Marvel Comics. No profit is being made off this fan-written work
Rating: PG-13 for all of 'em.
Warnings: none
Universe616
Pairing/Characters:Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Pepper Potts, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark,
Word Count: 2,200 in total
Betas: No. So read at your own risk. My version of 'flash fic'
Author's note: Comment fic, assorted pairings but not in that slashy way.
Your ex-friend is dead (Steve, Tony)
It was inevitable that Steve and Tony would have fallen into the patterns of their old friendship. They were fighting on the same side - this time- and Tony was back, his memory regained. But their eyes slide off each other's faces, and they say a lot of things, but nothing at all.
Tonight is no different, everyone else tucked in for the night, and Tony and Steve stay up for Avengers business, as they do. Tony leans his shoulder against the doorframe, and says in that whiskey soaked voice of his (yeah, still whiskey soaked, despite the fact that he's been dry for seven years), "According to Emerson, it is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them." A pause and, "I was stupid with you, Steve."
"Yes," Steve's tone is terse as he sticks his hands in his pockets. Despite the the fact that they are about six feet away from each other, the distance between them is so vast, it might as well be a continent. "You were stupid, and I do know that we do good work together Tony, and I believe in what we do, but -"
"I fucked up," Tony says simply. "You look at me, and see the SHRA, and I look at you and see nothing but regrets. I'm sorry how it ended, but you can't ask me to be sorry for the position I took."
"I'm not-" Steve swallows. "I realise that everyone else has moved on down that road, and I'm still... here at the SHRA. I look at you Tony, and I still see the SHRA and the stand you took," he sighs, weary now. "I can't believe that sentiment, not yet."
To Tony's credit, he doesn't push, nor does he fall back on a wise crack. "We might not finish this, eh, Steve?"
Steve took a breath, and for the first time, he can be honest. "No," he replies, clenching his jaw against the sting of tears. "No, we might not."
The Truce (Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark)
"Wait, you invited me here, to... speak about Steve?"
"It wasn't for the steak," Tony quipped, as he rocked back on his heels, his hands in his trouser pockets.
At this time of the year, night fell quickly upon New York , and the city tried to hold the dark at bay with lights set to dazzle and stun. Bucky turned away from the view and towards Tony. They were in his offices at SI, and it was after hours.
"Not that I'd share a meal with you, Stark."
"Strangely, I didn't really invite you here for a pissing contest," Tony said. "For one, this rug is a Morris."
"So you invited me for... your Bob Hope impression?"
"No, to talk about Steve."
"Steve?" Bucky repeated, damning Stark to hell and back, because the bastard was smug.
"Yeah, Steve. I think we should try and break bread for his sake. I'm his team mate-"
"I knew him first," and Bucky flinched at the words as soon as they came out, because he sounded petulant - and fourteen.
"I know him longer. But again, I didn't invite you here for a pissing contest, only a truce."
"Why?" Bucky asked. "Why now?"
"We're forming a new team," Tony explained, and Bucky frowned. "A new Avengers team. Steve wants one, and I'm giving it to him."
"Yeah, I heard about that. But again -"
"Steve thinks the world needs it -"
"And you don't agree." Bucky cut in, resting his hip against Tony's desk, darkly amused when Tony narrowed his eyes.
"I won't share my opinions with you, because they won't matter to you. I'm asking for us to be cordial for Steve's sake."
"Do I have to shake your hand?"
"No," Tony laughed, and the amusement might have been sincere. "Your word is good enough."
"A truce," Bucky nodded. "For now."
In Memorandum (Girl! Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes)
Finally, the sky stopped weeping, the wind's howls died down, and Clint clenched her fists in the pockets of her jacket, resentful at the earth for recovering, getting over Steve's death. Of all the people in the world to fall, to die ...
"Clint?"
Clint looked over her shoulder, not surprised to see him here, but half wishing it was Tony Stark, so she could knock his block off.
"Bucky," she said, relieved that her voice was still firm. He stood there, a shadow himself, all dark haired, dark eyed, swathed in one of those great coats with the fur along its collar that made her think Russian.
"You shouldn't be out here, little girl. As much as I'm glad to see that you're alive."
"You heard?" Clint turned to face Bucky now, wishing he'd take off his shades, but the sun was strong today, bringing light and warmth to a country that didn't deserve it.
"Heroes talk," was all that Bucky said, and Clint had to laugh, although it was edged with water. Bucky never really was a part of the community, not as much as Steve had been. He preferred to stay in the shadows, marking his own winter.
"Steve is dead," Clint spat. "And Tony Stark had the nerve -"
"I heard. From Kate."
"He's gone," Clint took her hands out of her pockets, raised her clenched fists to shoulder height, and repeated the words. "He's gone. It's unfair and -" she broke, turning her face away, and might have sank onto the grass if Bucky hadn't been beside her, holding her up. She felt the tremors in his arms, the sobs that shook his body, and knew that he was crying.
"I miss him, Clint," Bucky's breath heated and quivering at her ear. "I miss him too."
Apologies and Ashes (Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts, Tony Stark in passing)
When Tony Stark fell by Steve's hand, his death was not marked by Taps or flags lowered at half mast, but by the stock markets all over the world in a sharp death spiral, and his departure flagged by assorted magazines, ranging from the syrupy puff pieces of People to the more muted reactions from The Economist.
Steve found himself here, at Tony's family's plot, feeling like a pariah as Carol, Natasha and Jan walked past him; all three clad in black and lowered eyes. Steve drew breath, made to go, but was stopped by a hand on his forearm.
"Please, don't go." it was Pepper Potts, red hair done in a tight, low bun at the base of her neck. Skin so pale that her freckles stood out, scattered across her nose and cheeks. She clad in a severe dark suit. Her eyes were red rimmed and sheened, but her chin firmed. "Tony would have wanted you to stay."
"Ms Potts, I'm sorry for your loss." Steve offered, his tone sincere, because if he thought he had lost a friend, Pepper lost more than he did. Her husband gone in the ways that mattered, and now Tony. Steve saw the flash and heard the shutters from the photographers, as loud as a flock of birds taking wing. Steve almost choked on his resentment, because they shouldn't have been here. But then again, he should not be here, either.
"No, Tony knew what the risks were," Pepper dashed at the tears with the back of her hand. "He believed in the choice he made. Stupid, stupid, stupid. God, Tony. Just -" she stopped, biting the rest of the sentence off.
"It was -" Steve stopped, because no, he couldn't say it was worth it. Not when it still played in his mind as he delivered the killing blow with the edge of his shield. He had to take Tony down, because - but it didn't matter now.
"Stay," Pepper bit her lips briefly, then tried to do that social smile, with bright eyes and even brighter teeth. "Please, stay."
Steve nodded, unable to speak for moments. "I'm sorry," he could only say again. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
"He was sorry, too."
Bigger Than Us (Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton)
Bucky did not want to be Captain America. He did not. For one, he was shorter, and dark haired, and two, Clint suited. All fair haired and blue eyed. The poster boy for what the Allies started two generations ago, against the second great war. But when Clint tugged on the gloves, linked his fingers together and wriggled them for a better fit, Bucky slid his eyes to the shield by the bedroom door. Red, white and blue, the star winking in the centre.
"What do you think?" Clint asked, trying to do the patented superhero stance: his hands akimbo, fists at his waist, his legs spread, as he angled his face to that three quarter, low level profile, so all one saw was his chin first, and him appearing allimperious.
"I think..." Bucky said, squelching the desire to rip the costume off Clint and dump it in the nearest industrial incinerator. No one could be Steve, no one, and for Tony Stark to do this - he had no right. But the moment passed, and his only outward reaction was to clench his fist against the mattress. "I'm okay with it."
Clint moved out of the pose, tugged off the gloves and threw them on the bed beside Bucky.
"Bullshit," he hissed. "You don't like the idea, and I can't blame you. Tony should have asked you to be Captain America."
"I can't be, I won't be. No one should be."
"That's your heart speaking."
"It might be," Bucky agreed. "I spent time in communist Russia, I know the significance of icons. How they rallied people to a cause, no matter how tattered, and bare."
"And you think Tony is doing this?"
"I don't know what to think," Bucky answered, taking the greatest care to make his voice neutral. " I've made it my business not to care what Stark thinks."
"He's gone, Barnes. Steve is gone. He's bigger than Tony, this is bigger than Tony."
Bucky breathed heavily through his nose, as he looked at the shield leaning against the door, and raised his gaze to Clint's.
"I don't have to like it."
"I know," Clint said.
Making Up Is Hard To Do (Steve, Tony)
"There are songs for everything," Tony says, tone conversational.
It is the morning after. The Siege is over, Obsorn is brought down and the Dark Avengers are put away. Last night had been nothing but endorphins and the aftershock of battle. Seeing Tony there, looking the same, with armour singed, and his face covered in soot.
Another shock to Steve, in terms of being able to succumb to Tony's touches, bites and kisses as they became requainted with each other's bodies. All slick and sweat, and when he sank in, for that moment, Steve convinced himself that he came home.
"Songs," he repeats, because he knows that Tony tends to have soundtracks to his existence. "Which song did you play during The Siege?" he says, falling into the grooves of their conversation, hoping that he can hum along to the new tune Tony seems to have composed since he has been away. "Black Sabbath?"
"No," Tony says, his fingers linked across his chest, and Steve notes that the dusting of hair on his chest and arms is just as how he remembered it, along with lean limbs and clever fingers. "I thought Black Sabbath didn't have enough... panache. So I fell back on the tried and true, Symphony No 9."
"Ode to Joy," Steve says to himself, and is sad (but not surprised) when he cannot laugh, or find the amusement in the quip. He wonders what soundtrack played in Tony's headset when they lobbed cold words at each other through jail bars.
"You're back, Steve. You, me and Thor..." Tony's voice trails off, his eyes sober with sudden understanding. "But we're not back. So last night-"
"Was last night."
"Yeah," Tony waggles his thumbs, taps them against his chest, at he stares at the ceiling. Steve takes in Tony's profile, the lines around his mouth are a little deeper, and Steve is sorry for everything.
"I shouldn't have-" he starts, and Tony cuts in.
"Lead me on? C'mon Steve, we... well, you have a right."
Restless now, Steve leaves the bed, the sting of the chill makes his hair stand up in goosebumps, as he crosses the carpet to the adjoining bathroom, and just when he reaches to turn the door knob, Tony's voice stops him.
"It wasn't worth it, you know," he says, "everyday, I wished I'd taken your place instead."
"I - "
"Can we try this again, Steve? Do you want to?"
Steve curses himself for three hundred types of fool as he sees nothing but the hope and pain on Tony's face, and says "Yes," and realises that he wants it too.
"Yes," Steve repeats. "I do. I don't know if intent is -"
"It's enough, for now," Tony whispers, and Steve can only nod at the truth of the statement.
It's enough. For now.
Author:
jazzypom
Disclaimer:Characters and situations are the property of Stan Lee and Marvel Comics. No profit is being made off this fan-written work
Rating: PG-13 for all of 'em.
Warnings: none
Universe616
Pairing/Characters:Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Pepper Potts, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark,
Word Count: 2,200 in total
Betas: No. So read at your own risk. My version of 'flash fic'
Author's note: Comment fic, assorted pairings but not in that slashy way.
Your ex-friend is dead (Steve, Tony)
It was inevitable that Steve and Tony would have fallen into the patterns of their old friendship. They were fighting on the same side - this time- and Tony was back, his memory regained. But their eyes slide off each other's faces, and they say a lot of things, but nothing at all.
Tonight is no different, everyone else tucked in for the night, and Tony and Steve stay up for Avengers business, as they do. Tony leans his shoulder against the doorframe, and says in that whiskey soaked voice of his (yeah, still whiskey soaked, despite the fact that he's been dry for seven years), "According to Emerson, it is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them." A pause and, "I was stupid with you, Steve."
"Yes," Steve's tone is terse as he sticks his hands in his pockets. Despite the the fact that they are about six feet away from each other, the distance between them is so vast, it might as well be a continent. "You were stupid, and I do know that we do good work together Tony, and I believe in what we do, but -"
"I fucked up," Tony says simply. "You look at me, and see the SHRA, and I look at you and see nothing but regrets. I'm sorry how it ended, but you can't ask me to be sorry for the position I took."
"I'm not-" Steve swallows. "I realise that everyone else has moved on down that road, and I'm still... here at the SHRA. I look at you Tony, and I still see the SHRA and the stand you took," he sighs, weary now. "I can't believe that sentiment, not yet."
To Tony's credit, he doesn't push, nor does he fall back on a wise crack. "We might not finish this, eh, Steve?"
Steve took a breath, and for the first time, he can be honest. "No," he replies, clenching his jaw against the sting of tears. "No, we might not."
The Truce (Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark)
"Wait, you invited me here, to... speak about Steve?"
"It wasn't for the steak," Tony quipped, as he rocked back on his heels, his hands in his trouser pockets.
At this time of the year, night fell quickly upon New York , and the city tried to hold the dark at bay with lights set to dazzle and stun. Bucky turned away from the view and towards Tony. They were in his offices at SI, and it was after hours.
"Not that I'd share a meal with you, Stark."
"Strangely, I didn't really invite you here for a pissing contest," Tony said. "For one, this rug is a Morris."
"So you invited me for... your Bob Hope impression?"
"No, to talk about Steve."
"Steve?" Bucky repeated, damning Stark to hell and back, because the bastard was smug.
"Yeah, Steve. I think we should try and break bread for his sake. I'm his team mate-"
"I knew him first," and Bucky flinched at the words as soon as they came out, because he sounded petulant - and fourteen.
"I know him longer. But again, I didn't invite you here for a pissing contest, only a truce."
"Why?" Bucky asked. "Why now?"
"We're forming a new team," Tony explained, and Bucky frowned. "A new Avengers team. Steve wants one, and I'm giving it to him."
"Yeah, I heard about that. But again -"
"Steve thinks the world needs it -"
"And you don't agree." Bucky cut in, resting his hip against Tony's desk, darkly amused when Tony narrowed his eyes.
"I won't share my opinions with you, because they won't matter to you. I'm asking for us to be cordial for Steve's sake."
"Do I have to shake your hand?"
"No," Tony laughed, and the amusement might have been sincere. "Your word is good enough."
"A truce," Bucky nodded. "For now."
In Memorandum (Girl! Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes)
Finally, the sky stopped weeping, the wind's howls died down, and Clint clenched her fists in the pockets of her jacket, resentful at the earth for recovering, getting over Steve's death. Of all the people in the world to fall, to die ...
"Clint?"
Clint looked over her shoulder, not surprised to see him here, but half wishing it was Tony Stark, so she could knock his block off.
"Bucky," she said, relieved that her voice was still firm. He stood there, a shadow himself, all dark haired, dark eyed, swathed in one of those great coats with the fur along its collar that made her think Russian.
"You shouldn't be out here, little girl. As much as I'm glad to see that you're alive."
"You heard?" Clint turned to face Bucky now, wishing he'd take off his shades, but the sun was strong today, bringing light and warmth to a country that didn't deserve it.
"Heroes talk," was all that Bucky said, and Clint had to laugh, although it was edged with water. Bucky never really was a part of the community, not as much as Steve had been. He preferred to stay in the shadows, marking his own winter.
"Steve is dead," Clint spat. "And Tony Stark had the nerve -"
"I heard. From Kate."
"He's gone," Clint took her hands out of her pockets, raised her clenched fists to shoulder height, and repeated the words. "He's gone. It's unfair and -" she broke, turning her face away, and might have sank onto the grass if Bucky hadn't been beside her, holding her up. She felt the tremors in his arms, the sobs that shook his body, and knew that he was crying.
"I miss him, Clint," Bucky's breath heated and quivering at her ear. "I miss him too."
Apologies and Ashes (Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts, Tony Stark in passing)
When Tony Stark fell by Steve's hand, his death was not marked by Taps or flags lowered at half mast, but by the stock markets all over the world in a sharp death spiral, and his departure flagged by assorted magazines, ranging from the syrupy puff pieces of People to the more muted reactions from The Economist.
Steve found himself here, at Tony's family's plot, feeling like a pariah as Carol, Natasha and Jan walked past him; all three clad in black and lowered eyes. Steve drew breath, made to go, but was stopped by a hand on his forearm.
"Please, don't go." it was Pepper Potts, red hair done in a tight, low bun at the base of her neck. Skin so pale that her freckles stood out, scattered across her nose and cheeks. She clad in a severe dark suit. Her eyes were red rimmed and sheened, but her chin firmed. "Tony would have wanted you to stay."
"Ms Potts, I'm sorry for your loss." Steve offered, his tone sincere, because if he thought he had lost a friend, Pepper lost more than he did. Her husband gone in the ways that mattered, and now Tony. Steve saw the flash and heard the shutters from the photographers, as loud as a flock of birds taking wing. Steve almost choked on his resentment, because they shouldn't have been here. But then again, he should not be here, either.
"No, Tony knew what the risks were," Pepper dashed at the tears with the back of her hand. "He believed in the choice he made. Stupid, stupid, stupid. God, Tony. Just -" she stopped, biting the rest of the sentence off.
"It was -" Steve stopped, because no, he couldn't say it was worth it. Not when it still played in his mind as he delivered the killing blow with the edge of his shield. He had to take Tony down, because - but it didn't matter now.
"Stay," Pepper bit her lips briefly, then tried to do that social smile, with bright eyes and even brighter teeth. "Please, stay."
Steve nodded, unable to speak for moments. "I'm sorry," he could only say again. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
"He was sorry, too."
Bigger Than Us (Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton)
Bucky did not want to be Captain America. He did not. For one, he was shorter, and dark haired, and two, Clint suited. All fair haired and blue eyed. The poster boy for what the Allies started two generations ago, against the second great war. But when Clint tugged on the gloves, linked his fingers together and wriggled them for a better fit, Bucky slid his eyes to the shield by the bedroom door. Red, white and blue, the star winking in the centre.
"What do you think?" Clint asked, trying to do the patented superhero stance: his hands akimbo, fists at his waist, his legs spread, as he angled his face to that three quarter, low level profile, so all one saw was his chin first, and him appearing allimperious.
"I think..." Bucky said, squelching the desire to rip the costume off Clint and dump it in the nearest industrial incinerator. No one could be Steve, no one, and for Tony Stark to do this - he had no right. But the moment passed, and his only outward reaction was to clench his fist against the mattress. "I'm okay with it."
Clint moved out of the pose, tugged off the gloves and threw them on the bed beside Bucky.
"Bullshit," he hissed. "You don't like the idea, and I can't blame you. Tony should have asked you to be Captain America."
"I can't be, I won't be. No one should be."
"That's your heart speaking."
"It might be," Bucky agreed. "I spent time in communist Russia, I know the significance of icons. How they rallied people to a cause, no matter how tattered, and bare."
"And you think Tony is doing this?"
"I don't know what to think," Bucky answered, taking the greatest care to make his voice neutral. " I've made it my business not to care what Stark thinks."
"He's gone, Barnes. Steve is gone. He's bigger than Tony, this is bigger than Tony."
Bucky breathed heavily through his nose, as he looked at the shield leaning against the door, and raised his gaze to Clint's.
"I don't have to like it."
"I know," Clint said.
Making Up Is Hard To Do (Steve, Tony)
"There are songs for everything," Tony says, tone conversational.
It is the morning after. The Siege is over, Obsorn is brought down and the Dark Avengers are put away. Last night had been nothing but endorphins and the aftershock of battle. Seeing Tony there, looking the same, with armour singed, and his face covered in soot.
Another shock to Steve, in terms of being able to succumb to Tony's touches, bites and kisses as they became requainted with each other's bodies. All slick and sweat, and when he sank in, for that moment, Steve convinced himself that he came home.
"Songs," he repeats, because he knows that Tony tends to have soundtracks to his existence. "Which song did you play during The Siege?" he says, falling into the grooves of their conversation, hoping that he can hum along to the new tune Tony seems to have composed since he has been away. "Black Sabbath?"
"No," Tony says, his fingers linked across his chest, and Steve notes that the dusting of hair on his chest and arms is just as how he remembered it, along with lean limbs and clever fingers. "I thought Black Sabbath didn't have enough... panache. So I fell back on the tried and true, Symphony No 9."
"Ode to Joy," Steve says to himself, and is sad (but not surprised) when he cannot laugh, or find the amusement in the quip. He wonders what soundtrack played in Tony's headset when they lobbed cold words at each other through jail bars.
"You're back, Steve. You, me and Thor..." Tony's voice trails off, his eyes sober with sudden understanding. "But we're not back. So last night-"
"Was last night."
"Yeah," Tony waggles his thumbs, taps them against his chest, at he stares at the ceiling. Steve takes in Tony's profile, the lines around his mouth are a little deeper, and Steve is sorry for everything.
"I shouldn't have-" he starts, and Tony cuts in.
"Lead me on? C'mon Steve, we... well, you have a right."
Restless now, Steve leaves the bed, the sting of the chill makes his hair stand up in goosebumps, as he crosses the carpet to the adjoining bathroom, and just when he reaches to turn the door knob, Tony's voice stops him.
"It wasn't worth it, you know," he says, "everyday, I wished I'd taken your place instead."
"I - "
"Can we try this again, Steve? Do you want to?"
Steve curses himself for three hundred types of fool as he sees nothing but the hope and pain on Tony's face, and says "Yes," and realises that he wants it too.
"Yes," Steve repeats. "I do. I don't know if intent is -"
"It's enough, for now," Tony whispers, and Steve can only nod at the truth of the statement.
It's enough. For now.