The Changing of Colours - Steve/Bucky, MCU, Game of Cards Battle p. 2
Word count = 506
There’s a nervous tick to his hands. The uneasy feeling travels up his arm making his muscles uncomfortable.
“Rogers, he’s going to be fine,” Tony huffs, whilst removing his yellow tinted glasses. “Cross my heart and hope to die…except not really - the dying I mean…could do without that.”
Save for the small group of agents clustered around the plane, the airport is soulless. There is no hustle and bustle, no urgency, no colour. The air is crisp; cool, and smelling of spices that waft from the tope of Tony’s travel mug.
Steve shrugs, his leather jacket shifting just enough to let cool air slip under its surface and crawl over his shirt. “The last time we were at an airport…nothing was fine,” he says thinking back to their…he doesn’t even know what to call it. A ‘disagreement’ is too small. A ‘fight’? It certainly was violent enough. Stupidity? Pride? Steve thinks of it as their pathetic attempt of civil war, but there were no winners. Everyone lost something…some more than others. “You didn’t have to be here.”
“I can leave if you want. Just thought you’d like the company. A friendly face so to speak.” Tony grins at Steve, circling the air in front of his face. At Steve’s silence his hand drops to his side. “I’m trying to make things right,” he eventually sighs.
“There’s nothing to make right.” Steve says feeling guilty. None of this is fair. “You had your own opinion…beliefs. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Cap, we had a divorce. We drew lines. Our kid picked sides. Clearly there was plenty wrong.” Tony’s right of course. There was plenty wrong then, and there’s plenty wrong now.
Wanda doesn’t come out of her room when Tony is in the compound. Clint has taken to glaring at Tony and on very rare occasions, Steve catches him glaring at Natasha as well. I know she knows - I’m going to do it anyway, Clint tells Steve when he asks about it one day.
“Hey, I think he’s coming out.”
Steve cranes his neck as the stairs descend. A figure stands in the doorway, clad in black. An agent. They walk out, followed by another agent, and another, before Bucky emerges. “Why are they so many agents?”
“Precaution I guess.”
“He’s harmless.”
Tony remains silent.
“He is.” T’Challa assured them that the programming was gone. That Bucky was…well he wasn’t the same Bucky from before the fall, but he wasn’t going to suddenly turned into a killing machine at the drop of a hat.
“Forgive me if I have trouble accepting that.” It sounds harsh, but there’s no venom in Tony’s voice. He takes another sip of his spiced coffee and offers the mug to Steve who shakes his head. “My dad was obsessed with you…but he really considered Bucky a friend. Science fiction nuts, you know?”
“If Bucky had gone through the same thing I had…no Winter Soldier or Hydra he would’ve been so disappointed.” Steve chuckles. At Tony’s curious look he says, “No flying cars.”
There’s a nervous tick to his hands. The uneasy feeling travels up his arm making his muscles uncomfortable.
“Rogers, he’s going to be fine,” Tony huffs, whilst removing his yellow tinted glasses. “Cross my heart and hope to die…except not really - the dying I mean…could do without that.”
Save for the small group of agents clustered around the plane, the airport is soulless. There is no hustle and bustle, no urgency, no colour. The air is crisp; cool, and smelling of spices that waft from the tope of Tony’s travel mug.
Steve shrugs, his leather jacket shifting just enough to let cool air slip under its surface and crawl over his shirt. “The last time we were at an airport…nothing was fine,” he says thinking back to their…he doesn’t even know what to call it. A ‘disagreement’ is too small. A ‘fight’? It certainly was violent enough. Stupidity? Pride? Steve thinks of it as their pathetic attempt of civil war, but there were no winners. Everyone lost something…some more than others. “You didn’t have to be here.”
“I can leave if you want. Just thought you’d like the company. A friendly face so to speak.” Tony grins at Steve, circling the air in front of his face. At Steve’s silence his hand drops to his side. “I’m trying to make things right,” he eventually sighs.
“There’s nothing to make right.” Steve says feeling guilty. None of this is fair. “You had your own opinion…beliefs. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Cap, we had a divorce. We drew lines. Our kid picked sides. Clearly there was plenty wrong.” Tony’s right of course. There was plenty wrong then, and there’s plenty wrong now.
Wanda doesn’t come out of her room when Tony is in the compound. Clint has taken to glaring at Tony and on very rare occasions, Steve catches him glaring at Natasha as well. I know she knows - I’m going to do it anyway, Clint tells Steve when he asks about it one day.
“Hey, I think he’s coming out.”
Steve cranes his neck as the stairs descend. A figure stands in the doorway, clad in black. An agent. They walk out, followed by another agent, and another, before Bucky emerges. “Why are they so many agents?”
“Precaution I guess.”
“He’s harmless.”
Tony remains silent.
“He is.” T’Challa assured them that the programming was gone. That Bucky was…well he wasn’t the same Bucky from before the fall, but he wasn’t going to suddenly turned into a killing machine at the drop of a hat.
“Forgive me if I have trouble accepting that.” It sounds harsh, but there’s no venom in Tony’s voice. He takes another sip of his spiced coffee and offers the mug to Steve who shakes his head. “My dad was obsessed with you…but he really considered Bucky a friend. Science fiction nuts, you know?”
“If Bucky had gone through the same thing I had…no Winter Soldier or Hydra he would’ve been so disappointed.” Steve chuckles. At Tony’s curious look he says, “No flying cars.”