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cap_ironman2010-12-27 11:04 pm
cap_ironman_fe) wrote in cap_ironman2010-12-27 11:04 pm
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Happy Holidays, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
penumbren part one!
Title: A Window in the Sky
Author:manic_intent
Summary: Steve hits on a total stranger in Port-Lyautey, much to Bucky's astonishment.
Pairings/Characters: Tony/Steve
Word Count: 10,396
A/N: For the fic exchange, prompt: Steve wants Tony. Tony's reluctant (age [Steve's in his early 20s, Tony's getting close to 40], experience, whatever). Bucky's alternately horrified and amused.
Universe: Iron Man Noir
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Spoilers for Iron Man Noir, I suppose.
Beta:mozzarellaroses :D
Part One Part Two
[A/N: It took three attempts to finally write this out. I hope you enjoy, OP. :3 I’m not familiar with Bucky’s character, but I guess Steve and Bucky aren’t in the Iron man Noir, so… uh, artistic license.
Title from U2’s song of approximately the same title, because U2 is on tour in Melbourne right now. :3]
A Window in the Sky
I
It was perhaps unfortunate that the very first thing that Anthony Stark, Industrialist Millionaire, said to Bucky was a drawled “Aren’t you too young to be working for Uncle Sam?”
Bucky bristled instantly, but Fury had interrupted quickly before he could retort. “Bucky’s a valued member of the war effort, Stark. He keeps the recruitment going, with the young.”
“And I’ll be seventeen in a few months,” Bucky growled, resisting the urge to thumb his nose. Stark arched an eyebrow, and beside him, the redheaded, pretty dolly with the bright smile covered her mouth quickly to stifle a giggle. “It’s true,” Bucky continued stoutly, rather put out by the reaction.
“I’d rather have Bucky with me than a score of grown men,” Steve said firmly at that point, thrusting a hand forward. “Mister Stark. I’ve heard of your adventures. Thank you for the assist with the Kasba fortress. It’d have been at least another couple of days’ worth of the siege otherwise, and we would have suffered a great deal more casualties.”
“And you must be Captain America.” Stark’s tone was edged with amusement, something that annoyed Bucky further, as the two men shook hands. “I’ve heard of you, certainly. Mostly because Pepper here seems to have an unmitigated interest in the way your costume shows off your shoulders in all the papers.”
Pepper promptly punched Stark in the shoulder, while still smiling. It wasn’t a lady’s punch, either; Stark bit out an oath and staggered sideways, rubbing the abused spot, and there was a hastily stifled guffaw from the big, black bodyguard in the khaki jacket and trousers who was standing unobtrusively behind Stark, beside the hulking iron and steel shells of the famous Armors. Behind one of the Armors, still engaged in wiring it up to a score of generators, a gangly old man tutted in disapproval.
“That aside, what are you doing in Port-Lyautey, sir, if you don’t mind us asking?” Steve enquired, glancing around the commandeered section of the Port-Lyautey hangar. Wires and boxes of arcane-looking consoles of a make that Bucky had never seen littered desks and even part of a jeep that had been dragooned into use; tools, scrap metal, and spare parts were strewn over another set of three desks to Bucky’s right.
Fury snorted. “Bastard wouldn’t give us the time of day.”
“I would have, if you’d asked me this nicely, General,” Stark said blithely, his smile growing brighter as Fury’s frown furrowed deeper. “We were minding our own business, scouting a set of underground ruins east of the Port, when there was a cave-in and we got separated. The French took Jarvis here and Rhodey prisoner, so Pepper and I were obliged to stage a rescue.”
“Can’t bloody breathe in that coffin you call Armor,” Pepper complained, her tone not in the least ladylike. “I don’t know how you stand it, Rhodey.”
“It’s okay,” Rhodey shrugged.
“The suit was configured for Rhodey, not you,” Stark retorted. “You insisted on coming along. I said that you could have stayed with the ship.”
“I’m not exactly a blushing damsel, Mister Stark.”
“Tell that to the first time you got yourself caught by Nazis. And that other time, in Guatemala. Or that little incident with the crocodile worshippers in Yangoon-”
Stark and Pepper fell to bickering, like old friends, and Jarvis merely let out a gusty sigh, pulling on a pair of heavy gloves as he attached cables to the ribs of the gray Armor. Fury finally interrupted with a growl, “And it was just like that? You bust into a fortress full of the French to rescue your butler and your bodyguard?”
“Rhodey’s not a bodyguard,” Pepper said, indignant, even as Stark muttered, “Jarvis isn’t a butler,” to which Pepper sniffed and added, “Mister Stark, where are your manners,” and Stark growled, “Good bloody Heavens, woman!”
“They’re like this on their good days, sir,” Rhodey informed Fury, deadpan.
“I’m aware.” Fury looked tired, and Bucky, despite himself, felt amusement creeping in over the initial irritation.
Stark didn’t seem like the bad sort after all, not snobbish or full of airs like some of the other rich men who he had been introduced to in the course of his more or less official appointment as Captain America’s sidekick. The man had to be pushing his forties, and his stubble was at least three days old, encroaching on the once sharp line of his goatee. His hair stuck out in all directions, his stained shirt was hopelessly rumpled and folded up to his elbows, grease stains were painted liberally over his fingers, his trousers; there was even a long, thick black smudge on his cheek. He clearly treated both Pepper and Rhodey as equals, as his friends rather than his employees; a woman and a black man.
Steve’s eyes had also flicked quickly between Rhodey, Pepper and Stark, and his friend had relaxed, his smile quick and lopsided and genuine, for the first time since they’d made landfall in Africa. “Are you going to be staying with us for long? We could use your help securing Casablanca.”
“No thanks. I’m a civilian,” Stark said quickly, his tone blithe. “And before you try and confiscate my gear, I’ll like to mention that I’ve already briefed a pack of lawyers on standby, General.”
“Fuck you, Stark,” Fury snapped, though without much heat – as though Fury had tried this often enough that even the General’s own famous streak of stubbornness had given it up as bad business.
Instantly, Steve colored. “Nick, there’s a lady present,” only for Pepper to laugh out loud.
“Why, aren’t you sweet.”
“You’re probably the first woman he’s seen in a month,” Stark informed her.
“He’s certainly the first gentleman I’ve seen in a month,” Pepper shot back.
“Join up with Uncle Sam, then,” Stark called, as he waded through the thick coils of cables to help Jarvis with the connections. “Pepper Potts, Intrepid War Correspondent. Day One, observed men digging trenches for fortifications.”
“As compared to the life of Pepper Potts, Marvels Correspondent? Perish the thought.” Pepper folded her arms across her chest, though a smile curled on her lips. “I’ve had to cross out a rather remarkable number of days where the only entry was ‘Stark found rudely inebriated in an alley’, so as not to shock our more impressionable young readers.”
“Lies, filthy lies.”
“Found what you lot were looking for in Port-Lyautey?” Fury had given up on Stark, evidently, and was trying his luck on Rhodey.
“A whole lot of nada,” Rhodey shrugged. “Whatever the caves had held, they’d been long looted, and didn’t lead anywhere. We’re waiting for pick up by Stark Industries, and then we’re outta here, I hope.”
“Where are you going next?” Steve asked, failing to keep the disappointment out of his tone. His eyes hadn’t left Stark, who was kneeling down, and peering up into the bowels of his Armor, his arms thrust elbows-deep in wiring.
“I’m not convinced… Jarvis, try the Number Eight-point… yeah. I’m not convinced I’m wrong, just that we’re a little off,” Stark grunted as something sparked to life, then died away quickly. “Fucking shrapnel and its fucking ricochet.”
“Mister Stark,” Steve protested, with a quick glance at Pepper, who merely grinned and shook her head.
“It’s… Tony… ah, here we go.” Something hummed to life in a slow, background purr. “Backup onboard is on-line. As I was saying,” Stark continued, discarding a greasy shard, “There was another place that the trace picked up, we might try that, once we restock.”
“And where is that?” Bucky asked, curious despite himself. He hadn’t read the Marvels books, except for the few issues where Stark had gone up against the Nazis, usually inadvertently save for the Zemo episode, but having the Armors here, larger than life, was pretty impressive.
“Close to Oran,” Stark said vaguely, “Rhodey, I think we had a map somewhere. Fury tells me that the French have surrendered in Oran, assuming the poms haven’t already bombed the place to fragments and collapsed the tunnels. Where are you heading? Just so I’d know where to steer clear of.”
“Tunisia,” Fury grunted. “We’ve got word that the French might switch sides. I might not stay for the scrap; I’ve been called back to the home front. Seems we might have an infiltration problem.” An aide trotted up smartly to Fury’s side, murmuring in his ear. “I’m going to take a call. Once you’re done tinkering with your machines, come talk to me.”
“Now that we’re in an area with plumbing and running water,” Pepper informed Stark, “I’m going to get decent and find us someplace civilized to sleep and eat.”
“All right. Rhodey, could you? Not that I’m doubting the decency of our men, Captain, but there might be rogue French elements about.” Tony’s sharp smile, however, said otherwise, and Bucky knew from experience anyway that particularly once the drinks started flowing, a pretty doll like Pepper walking around by herself might end up getting into the bad sort of trouble. Steve nodded warily, and even Pepper didn’t comment.
“Sure.” Rhodey straightened. “Let’s get going, Pepper.”
“How’s the power level?” Jarvis asked Stark once Pepper, Fury and Rhodey had walked away.
“Good as new.” Stark rapped lightly over the glass bubble set over his chest. Thankfully, his shirt was buttoned up enough that Bucky couldn’t see any internal organs, but it did make a disturbing, hollow rap. “Integrating that spear was the best thing we ever did.”
“It did seem to hold out well in the fiasco,” Jarvis said grudgingly, sweeping a critical eye over the battered Armors. “I’m going to see if I can scrounge any parts from this place. We’re short on ammunition and fuel for Rhodey’s suit, as well.”
“Pepper’s a hellcat when you give her heavy armaments,” Stark sighed, as Jarvis brushed past Steve. “Well then, it’s just you and me and your underage sidekick, Captain.”
Bucky was about to snap something in return, up until he noticed the tips of Steve’s ears turning pink. Startled, he closed his mouth, a faint sense of horror creeping up on him. Steve couldn’t be… he wasn’t…
“Bucky can take care of himself,” Steve said, almost automatically. “Bucky, why don’t you go, uh, check on Fury.” He ignored Bucky’s disbelieving expression. “I’m sure he’ll come looking for us shortly anyway.”
Stark had paused amidst inspecting the connections in the ribcage hull of the Armor, even looking back over his shoulder at Steve, thoughtfully. There was a blink as though in revelation, then a sly smile, and Stark turned his attention back to the Armor. “You should go too, Captain. Fury nags when he thinks he’s wasting his time.”
“The boys are going to celebrate with a drink, later this evening,” Steve persisted stubbornly despite the clear dismissal. “Would you like to-”
“Pepper tends to give me an earful when she finds me drunk as a skunk in an alley.”
“I’ll be happy to make sure that doesn’t happen, Tony.”
“I also smoke like a chimney. And I’m a mean drunk, around kids.”
“Bucky won’t be drinking.” Steve ignored a second, disbelieving stare.
“Around people about fifteen, twenty years younger than me, then.” Stark corrected absently.
“You’re only as old as you feel, Mister Stark.” Steve was poker-faced, but the grin was laced all over his tone, and Stark actually straightened up and turned around, hip pressed against a steel arm, his smile lopsided, almost wolfish.
“Are you making a pass at me, Captain Rogers?”
“If you like,” Steve replied, with enough confidence that Bucky could only gape. This was a part of his friend that he hadn’t seen. Sure, he’d seen Steve chat up dolls and honeys, particularly during Army functions, but he hadn’t seen it go anywhere fast and not for want of trying by the women. He’d always thought that it either meant that Steve hadn’t met the right person, or that he’d left someone behind in the States that he was still pining after; Bucky hadn’t been the sort to pry, particularly if it was going to mean prying open old wounds. Besides, Anthony Stark was very obviously masculine.
“You’re corrupting the young, Captain, I profess myself scandalized,” Stark jerked his head briefly in Bucky’s direction.
Irritated, Bucky retorted, “Steve’s life is his own,” and he found that he meant it. Steve had earned his medals and his uniform a hundred times over already, and he would again in the future at the rate that they were going; he was fearless, loyal and an intelligent leader, looked up to by all the men that he had ever commanded. Bucky didn’t see how something like this would affect that. Steve shot him a brief, grateful smile, which held also an eloquent request, and Bucky saluted Stark smartly. “I’ll leave you to your machines then, Mister Stark. I’ll, uh, go and check on the General.”
“You might as well take your friend along, Mister Barnes,” Stark said dryly, stepping back around the Armor to take a close look at the other, darker suit. “I don’t deny that you look like a tall drink of cold water in a desert, Captain Rogers, but I don’t go walking out with people who weren’t yet born when I built my first Armor.”
Bucky had seen enough battles even in his relatively short lifetime to recognize futility when he saw it, but Steve seemed set to try anyway, so he slipped away, making a beeline for the command quarters. He’d ask Jamie King of the 9th Signal division later for his copies of the Marvels. Maybe there was something about Stark that he was missing.
1.0
This wasn’t the first time Tony had been approached by another man, or even a soldier; even with the law on so-called unnatural practices in force, a man with sufficient means (and Tony had more than sufficient means at present for several lifetimes) could comfortably circle discreetly around the problems instituted by laws that dictated how someone led his or her private life.
It was, however, the first time that he’d been approached in a semi-public location and by someone who was so… high profile. Tony almost expected to see Nick Fury looming under the wing of one of the bombers, frowning and waiting for him to slip up, looking to get some sort of leverage to force him into Armor production.
“You should wear gloves,” Captain America was saying, his tone faintly disapproving, as Tony opened the aft onboard panel of the auxiliary Armor, examining the gauges. “You could hurt yourself.”
“Don’t need them.” Tony chewed absently on his lower lip, resetting calibrations with the automation of practice. “You have someplace else to be, Captain?”
Steve looked a little hurt at the flat dismissal, but he seemed to be the stubborn sort. “Not right now, no. Tony-”
“I’m not going drinking with you,” Tony said bluntly, too tired to be kind, “Nor am I going anywhere remotely unsavory, or doing anything that might be remotely in line with what a man with my reputation would be seen to be inclined to do.”
Steve had, unfortunately, a rather adorable expression of puzzlement. “A man of your reputation…?”
“Loose morals, I believe,” Tony recalled offhand. Pepper had enjoyed that particular New York Times article. “Self-entitlement. Flagrant disregard for consequences.”
“You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, if you don’t mind me saying, sir,” Steve suggested, amused now, and he smiled, America’s gorgeous golden poster-boy, pulling back his ridiculous bright blue hood to free his thick mop of cornfield-gold hair, the ludicrous red and white shield at ease by his hip, too young and too perfect for war. “Your adventures are popular with the men, it’d do morale a world of good if you could come by and maybe tell some of your stories.”
“I’m sure that’s a poor commercial decision,” Tony said, though his ego was duly flattered. “I want people to buy my stories, after all.”
“I’m sure we could rustle up some greenbacks, sir,” Steve said innocently, “If you felt like you needed some spare change.”
“Go and talk with my publicist. She disappeared along with my so-called bodyguard,” Tony retorted, ducking his head to concentrate on Rhodey’s Armor, “And pester someone else,” he added tetchily, when Steve didn’t seem to get the point.
“I’ll get you some coffee. You look like you need it,” Steve decided, and Tony growled.
“Look, why don’t you bloody-”
“Hm?” Steve turned around, smiling again, this time lopsided and playful and Tony’s weakened heart tried to beat a little faster around its regulator. He sucked in a breath, grit his teeth.
“Fine. Black, no sugar.”
“Right away, sir.”
II
SHIELD called Steve in now and then to run tests on his blood, and it was usually a hell of a wait. Bucky spent it alternately dozing on the bench in the waiting room or poking around the cafeteria. Today he had amassed a small stack of esoteric magazines and newspapers via begging them off the lobby receptionists and was sitting by himself at a cafeteria table slowly working through a crossword, when a familiar voice said dryly, “Fancy seeing you here, Mister Barnes. Or is it ‘Sergeant’ now?”
Bucky turned around quickly, scrambling to his feet. He wasn’t in costume, and the square, ceramic and concrete prison-block style room that formed SHIELD’s excuse for a cafeteria wasn’t exactly empty so close to lunch time. As it were, the lunch ladies busy wiping up at the hot bar looked up at them with some curiosity. “Sorry, I think you have the wrong-”
“Same voice, same build, same hair,” Stark said dryly, while beside him, Pepper smiled, sympathetic. “And I haven’t ever seen kids around SHIELD’s Washington headquarters before.”
“I am not a kid,” Bucky snapped hotly, but his glare seemed only to amuse; Stark’s smirk widened, and Pepper looked away hastily. Arguing about secret identities would probably only prove both futile and embarrassing. Besides, he supposed that if it was that obvious to Stark, then it was very likely common knowledge in SHIELD – he’d just have to be careful the next time. “What are you doing here?”
“SHIELD happens to be one of Stark Industries’ biggest clients. I’m taking an interest in energy efficiency, and flight craft. SHIELD’s willing to fund my said interest,” Stark said vaguely, and he did seem dressed for business, all sleek and suited up plus a pressed shirt, a tie, and even a hat; beside him, Pepper was wearing a sober brown skirt, sensible heels and a white blouse, holding a slim briefcase, in all apparent appearances a highly efficient secretary. “Also, I’m trying to winkle some information out of Fury.”
“Good luck with that.”
“I’ve given up for the day,” Stark admitted easily enough, without any hint of irritation or frustration. “Where’s your friend?”
“The Captain? He’s doing some blood tests.”
“Tests?” Stark said, sounding concerned. “Is he hurt?”
“No, they’re routine. Because of the serum,” Bucky elaborated, when Stark and Pepper both seemed surprised. “They want to figure out what makes him tick.”
“You don’t seem a fan of these tests,” Pepper said, perceptive as any word-slinger.
“No. Not really.” Inaction chafed, especially pointless inaction. Bucky had no real idea why SHIELD needed so many regular ‘tests’. Surely old samples of Steve’s blood would be sufficient – but he wasn’t one for conspiracy theories, particularly not in the middle of a World War. Nick Fury was a difficult man to get along with, but so far he had proved himself a reliable and useful ally. “You could drop by and say hi; he’s at the lab.”
“I really don’t think-”
“Sure,” Pepper piped in, with a sidelong smile in profile that her employer wouldn’t have caught. “We’ll do that. Where’s the lab?”
“I know where the medical labs are,” Stark said, a little touchily, his expression hunted. “Pepper, we’re due to fly off to Lithuania, remember? Rhodey and Jarvis are already waiting for us at the air port.”
“Oh come on, it’s not like the plane will take off without us. You own it after all.” Pepper grabbed Stark by the elbow firmly. Sensing mayhem, Bucky followed as Stark’s chronicler dragged him, protesting volubly all the way, towards the medical labs, his complaints punctuated on occasion by directions from either himself or from Bucky as they navigated the sterilized steel and glass complex.
As it was, Pepper almost walked straight into Steve as he emerged from Lab Four, bare-chested save for his dog tags, his white Army-issue shirt folded over his left arm and still talking animatedly with the researcher.
“Tony,” Steve said, startled. “I’m… what are you doing here?”
“I was invited by Fury?”
“Really?” Steve, however, smiled.
“No, I’m actually making off with top secret blueprints right now,” Stark quipped, his expression speculative as he shot Steve an obvious, unhurried once-over. “Yes, really, Captain. And Pepper decided to drag me on over to say hello just as we were about to leave. Which I now have, so we can leave, can’t we?”
“Of course,” Pepper nodded agreeably, and then fell to chatting away with Steve about blood tests and his next military tour and the latest developments in the Pacific until the SHIELD researcher had ambled off someplace else, and they were alone in the steel and tile corridor, their voices giving off a faint, hollow echo. Bucky shifted his weight, impatient to get back to the airbase for their next deployment to France, hoping that Stark would interrupt again and insist on Lithuania, but he was disappointed; Stark was staring thoughtfully at Steve, as though seeing him for the first time, and Bucky wasn’t too sure what to make of that.
He knew that dolls thought the world of Steve, and after Port-Lyautey it was pretty obvious that Steve similarly thought the world of Tony, lurking around the hangar with excuses to talk to Tony, then peppering Fury with questions afterwards when Stark Industries helicopters had arrived for their master and the Armors, but then Tony had seemed so obviously if politely disinterested, and then they’d gotten involved in the scrap at Tunisia. Steve had stopped talking about Tony, and Bucky had thought that the end of the matter.
“… aren’t you, Tony?” Pepper looked expectantly at Tony, and Bucky realized with a start that he (and Tony) had just tuned out the last ten minutes or so.
“Hmm? Oh yes,” Tony said distantly, blinking.
“Dinner tonight with you would be great,” Pepper turned back to Steve. “And Bucky too, of course.”
“Wait, what?” Tony’s ears finally caught up with his brain. “We’re going to Lithuania.”
“The mystic crystal ball or whatever can wait another day or so, Tony.” Pepper smiled, sharp as a knife, and Tony grimaced.
“You could go on a date unsupervised, m’dear. I’m sure I’ll trust the Captain to keep his hands to himself.”
Steve’s ears pinked slightly, but his gaze was steady as he interjected, “It wouldn’t be any fun without you, Tony.”
“And now we’re discussing polyamory in front of a minor,” Tony said with mock horror.
“No, I wasn’t-” Steve said quickly, even as Pepper let out a bark of unladylike laughter and a quick, decisive, “The Captain isn’t my type.”
“Not your type?” Tony asked, genuinely incredulous. “What are you looking for in a man, baby-doll? Angel’s wings? A halo, maybe?”
“If that’s your opinion of the Captain, Tony, be my guest,” Pepper said dryly, and Steve coughed, pinking further. “I know this amazing place just around the corner, the owner’s Italian.”
“Lithuania awaits, Pepper,” Tony disagreed, tipping his hat to Steve before tucking it back at his hip. “Good to see you again, Captain.”
“Tyrant,” Pepper told Tony.
“You don’t have to come along, Miss Potts,” Tony responded pleasantly. “I’m sure I could rope around another chronicler on such short notice.”
“Don’t miss out on an adventure on my part, Pepper,” Steve said earnestly, though there was something of disappointment in how his shoulders slumped a little. “I’ll look forward to reading about it when you get back.”
“I’ll be sure to cast Tony in a particularly unsavory light this time,” Pepper promised, and the pair started back down the corridor, still bickering. Bucky watched, bemused, as Steve stared after them, or more precisely, stared after Tony’s retreating back, looking a little wistful.
“We could go too,” Bucky suggested in a murmur. “Take some leave, go on an adventure.” It sounded like fun, and he didn’t think Tony… or at least Pepper, would find their company unwelcome.
Steve blinked at him, as though startled at his presence, then sighed and carded a big hand through his hair, rubbing at his eyes right after. “Nah. We have a meeting with the brass in fifteen hundred hours. There’s a situation in Austria.”
2.0
Tony felt an overwhelming sense of relief once Fury snapped the lead-lined box shut on the Moor Ring, even sagging against the hull of the SHIELD-manned carrier as the persistent, oily sense of malice promptly disappeared. They were an hour’s cruise away from Greenland, heading back towards warmer waters, and Namor’s hurt pride or not, the SHIELD carrier at least had decent central heating.
“Himmler still has one,” Fury said, as he locked the box in another chest on the table of the makeshift war room in the carrier. “And the rest?”
“Someone in the Thule society has another. They’re hiding it from Himmler. Internal politics.” Rhodey said, nursing a freshly broken arm and slouched in a chair, his eyes a little unfocused from painkillers.
Greenland hadn’t been kind to Tony or to his companions; Pepper had bruised cheeks and arms, Jarvis had scrapes and cuts on his back from a bad fall and was sleeping off a mild concussion in the infirmary, and Tony wouldn’t be walking anywhere fast on his own steam for a while, with a bad sprain in his right ankle and the fingers all broken on his left hand. They’d only barely managed to extricate themselves once the Armors had frozen up in the bitter cold, even with the integrated Spear in Tony’s model, and only with the help of Captain America. Steve looked like he was in a foul mood, beside Fury, scowling at the box containing the ring.
“You’re a bloody idiot,” Fury told Tony flatly. “You could have called for help earlier.”
“I didn’t know what the Thule society was holding over there. The chatter we got indicated that they might have found the submerged ruins of Hyperborea, and Namor was interested enough to offer us a ride. Besides,” Tony added, with a placating smile, warm and full of good brandy and painkillers, “I called you, didn’t I?”
“Only once you were captured and your piratical friends were nowhere to be found.”
Tony decided not to mention Namor further; SHIELD and Namor were technically on the opposite sides of the moral spectrum, and pirates, after all, had their own motives. Besides, it wasn’t as though Namor had given up altogether on them; he had been the one who had caused the initial distraction that had allowed Tony time to lock himself in the lab with his Armor and cobble up a radio signal from the onboard systems. After that, Namor had fallen back to regroup, staying in radio contact until the SHIELD carrier had been spotted.
“You took a big risk.” Steve didn’t look happy either. “You didn’t just put yourself in danger-”
Rhodey’s eyes narrowed, but it was Pepper who spoke, her tone clipped. “Mister Stark is a private citizen, Captain, and we as his companions on his adventures are not strangers to risk.”
“Yeah.” Fury glared at them, though Steve grimaced at the rebuke. “You like to ask danger out and treat it to fucking dinner and cocktails. What if we didn’t happen to be cruising more or less close by? You and your Armors would have been scrap or worse by now.”
It was a long day, and Tony had had enough. “I’m going to get some shut-eye,” he told the room in general, and limped grimly out of the war room, managing to hold in the throb of agony snaking out from under the dull numbing of the painkillers until he was fairly sure that he was at a sufficient distance from the war room. Leaning against the cool metal of the hull, Tony let out a pained sound between gritted teeth, and then flinched when someone behind him cleared his throat.
“What… I didn’t hear you.” Tony blinked, looking over his shoulder at Captain Rogers. Either the man walked like a cat for someone so big, or the painkillers were numbing more than just the pain. “Where’s that kid who always tags along with you?”
“He’s organizing a youth initiative back in London,” Steve said, a little wryly. “If he finds out that I got involved in one of your adventures without him, he’d kick himself. Here, let me help you to your cabin.”
“He could always ask Pepper to write him into it. She likes you anyway,” Tony suggested, too strung out from pain to object as Steve gently pulled his uninjured hand over broad shoulders and took his weight as though Tony was as light as a feather. The mail armor scraped uncomfortably at his arm, but Tony was busy breathing deep, curious despite himself, the clean sharp scents from metal, sweat, leather and musk; he was feeling lightheaded when Steve finally got him into the assigned cabin and shut the door, lowering him carefully on the bunk.
“I can do that myself,” Tony said feebly as the Captain knelt down to help him with his shoe on his left foot.
“It’s no trouble,” Steve said, big fingers working with studied concentration on the laces as though he didn’t know how good he looked on his knees, and Tony was swallowing hard and looking away quickly, shifting uncomfortably even through the slowly growing haze of pain. Someone had left more painkillers and a bottle of water on the bolted down side table next to the bunk; Tony swallowed those and washed them down gratefully. Being a sort-offriend ally tolerated person of SHIELD had its perks.
The placebo buzz of the painkillers made Tony nod vaguely when Steve offered to help him with his shirt as well, and his brain only kicked itself back into function at the big, warm hands rubbing slowly up his waist. “So many scars,” Steve said, and he sounded angry, almost, and Tony couldn’t remember outright when the last time had been, when someone had looked at him like he was the beginning and the end of their world, all tender focus and fingers pressing carefully over the marks that the world had left on the canvas of his skin.
Eventually Steve leaned up, lips parted, his hand solid and steady cupped around the nape of Tony’s neck, and Tony folded his arms over mailed shoulders, leaned down, and if he was letting down his guard, it was just going to be this once.
Next
Author:
manic_intentSummary: Steve hits on a total stranger in Port-Lyautey, much to Bucky's astonishment.
Pairings/Characters: Tony/Steve
Word Count: 10,396
A/N: For the fic exchange, prompt: Steve wants Tony. Tony's reluctant (age [Steve's in his early 20s, Tony's getting close to 40], experience, whatever). Bucky's alternately horrified and amused.
Universe: Iron Man Noir
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Spoilers for Iron Man Noir, I suppose.
Beta:
mozzarellaroses :DPart One Part Two
[A/N: It took three attempts to finally write this out. I hope you enjoy, OP. :3 I’m not familiar with Bucky’s character, but I guess Steve and Bucky aren’t in the Iron man Noir, so… uh, artistic license.
Title from U2’s song of approximately the same title, because U2 is on tour in Melbourne right now. :3]
It was perhaps unfortunate that the very first thing that Anthony Stark, Industrialist Millionaire, said to Bucky was a drawled “Aren’t you too young to be working for Uncle Sam?”
Bucky bristled instantly, but Fury had interrupted quickly before he could retort. “Bucky’s a valued member of the war effort, Stark. He keeps the recruitment going, with the young.”
“And I’ll be seventeen in a few months,” Bucky growled, resisting the urge to thumb his nose. Stark arched an eyebrow, and beside him, the redheaded, pretty dolly with the bright smile covered her mouth quickly to stifle a giggle. “It’s true,” Bucky continued stoutly, rather put out by the reaction.
“I’d rather have Bucky with me than a score of grown men,” Steve said firmly at that point, thrusting a hand forward. “Mister Stark. I’ve heard of your adventures. Thank you for the assist with the Kasba fortress. It’d have been at least another couple of days’ worth of the siege otherwise, and we would have suffered a great deal more casualties.”
“And you must be Captain America.” Stark’s tone was edged with amusement, something that annoyed Bucky further, as the two men shook hands. “I’ve heard of you, certainly. Mostly because Pepper here seems to have an unmitigated interest in the way your costume shows off your shoulders in all the papers.”
Pepper promptly punched Stark in the shoulder, while still smiling. It wasn’t a lady’s punch, either; Stark bit out an oath and staggered sideways, rubbing the abused spot, and there was a hastily stifled guffaw from the big, black bodyguard in the khaki jacket and trousers who was standing unobtrusively behind Stark, beside the hulking iron and steel shells of the famous Armors. Behind one of the Armors, still engaged in wiring it up to a score of generators, a gangly old man tutted in disapproval.
“That aside, what are you doing in Port-Lyautey, sir, if you don’t mind us asking?” Steve enquired, glancing around the commandeered section of the Port-Lyautey hangar. Wires and boxes of arcane-looking consoles of a make that Bucky had never seen littered desks and even part of a jeep that had been dragooned into use; tools, scrap metal, and spare parts were strewn over another set of three desks to Bucky’s right.
Fury snorted. “Bastard wouldn’t give us the time of day.”
“I would have, if you’d asked me this nicely, General,” Stark said blithely, his smile growing brighter as Fury’s frown furrowed deeper. “We were minding our own business, scouting a set of underground ruins east of the Port, when there was a cave-in and we got separated. The French took Jarvis here and Rhodey prisoner, so Pepper and I were obliged to stage a rescue.”
“Can’t bloody breathe in that coffin you call Armor,” Pepper complained, her tone not in the least ladylike. “I don’t know how you stand it, Rhodey.”
“It’s okay,” Rhodey shrugged.
“The suit was configured for Rhodey, not you,” Stark retorted. “You insisted on coming along. I said that you could have stayed with the ship.”
“I’m not exactly a blushing damsel, Mister Stark.”
“Tell that to the first time you got yourself caught by Nazis. And that other time, in Guatemala. Or that little incident with the crocodile worshippers in Yangoon-”
Stark and Pepper fell to bickering, like old friends, and Jarvis merely let out a gusty sigh, pulling on a pair of heavy gloves as he attached cables to the ribs of the gray Armor. Fury finally interrupted with a growl, “And it was just like that? You bust into a fortress full of the French to rescue your butler and your bodyguard?”
“Rhodey’s not a bodyguard,” Pepper said, indignant, even as Stark muttered, “Jarvis isn’t a butler,” to which Pepper sniffed and added, “Mister Stark, where are your manners,” and Stark growled, “Good bloody Heavens, woman!”
“They’re like this on their good days, sir,” Rhodey informed Fury, deadpan.
“I’m aware.” Fury looked tired, and Bucky, despite himself, felt amusement creeping in over the initial irritation.
Stark didn’t seem like the bad sort after all, not snobbish or full of airs like some of the other rich men who he had been introduced to in the course of his more or less official appointment as Captain America’s sidekick. The man had to be pushing his forties, and his stubble was at least three days old, encroaching on the once sharp line of his goatee. His hair stuck out in all directions, his stained shirt was hopelessly rumpled and folded up to his elbows, grease stains were painted liberally over his fingers, his trousers; there was even a long, thick black smudge on his cheek. He clearly treated both Pepper and Rhodey as equals, as his friends rather than his employees; a woman and a black man.
Steve’s eyes had also flicked quickly between Rhodey, Pepper and Stark, and his friend had relaxed, his smile quick and lopsided and genuine, for the first time since they’d made landfall in Africa. “Are you going to be staying with us for long? We could use your help securing Casablanca.”
“No thanks. I’m a civilian,” Stark said quickly, his tone blithe. “And before you try and confiscate my gear, I’ll like to mention that I’ve already briefed a pack of lawyers on standby, General.”
“Fuck you, Stark,” Fury snapped, though without much heat – as though Fury had tried this often enough that even the General’s own famous streak of stubbornness had given it up as bad business.
Instantly, Steve colored. “Nick, there’s a lady present,” only for Pepper to laugh out loud.
“Why, aren’t you sweet.”
“You’re probably the first woman he’s seen in a month,” Stark informed her.
“He’s certainly the first gentleman I’ve seen in a month,” Pepper shot back.
“Join up with Uncle Sam, then,” Stark called, as he waded through the thick coils of cables to help Jarvis with the connections. “Pepper Potts, Intrepid War Correspondent. Day One, observed men digging trenches for fortifications.”
“As compared to the life of Pepper Potts, Marvels Correspondent? Perish the thought.” Pepper folded her arms across her chest, though a smile curled on her lips. “I’ve had to cross out a rather remarkable number of days where the only entry was ‘Stark found rudely inebriated in an alley’, so as not to shock our more impressionable young readers.”
“Lies, filthy lies.”
“Found what you lot were looking for in Port-Lyautey?” Fury had given up on Stark, evidently, and was trying his luck on Rhodey.
“A whole lot of nada,” Rhodey shrugged. “Whatever the caves had held, they’d been long looted, and didn’t lead anywhere. We’re waiting for pick up by Stark Industries, and then we’re outta here, I hope.”
“Where are you going next?” Steve asked, failing to keep the disappointment out of his tone. His eyes hadn’t left Stark, who was kneeling down, and peering up into the bowels of his Armor, his arms thrust elbows-deep in wiring.
“I’m not convinced… Jarvis, try the Number Eight-point… yeah. I’m not convinced I’m wrong, just that we’re a little off,” Stark grunted as something sparked to life, then died away quickly. “Fucking shrapnel and its fucking ricochet.”
“Mister Stark,” Steve protested, with a quick glance at Pepper, who merely grinned and shook her head.
“It’s… Tony… ah, here we go.” Something hummed to life in a slow, background purr. “Backup onboard is on-line. As I was saying,” Stark continued, discarding a greasy shard, “There was another place that the trace picked up, we might try that, once we restock.”
“And where is that?” Bucky asked, curious despite himself. He hadn’t read the Marvels books, except for the few issues where Stark had gone up against the Nazis, usually inadvertently save for the Zemo episode, but having the Armors here, larger than life, was pretty impressive.
“Close to Oran,” Stark said vaguely, “Rhodey, I think we had a map somewhere. Fury tells me that the French have surrendered in Oran, assuming the poms haven’t already bombed the place to fragments and collapsed the tunnels. Where are you heading? Just so I’d know where to steer clear of.”
“Tunisia,” Fury grunted. “We’ve got word that the French might switch sides. I might not stay for the scrap; I’ve been called back to the home front. Seems we might have an infiltration problem.” An aide trotted up smartly to Fury’s side, murmuring in his ear. “I’m going to take a call. Once you’re done tinkering with your machines, come talk to me.”
“Now that we’re in an area with plumbing and running water,” Pepper informed Stark, “I’m going to get decent and find us someplace civilized to sleep and eat.”
“All right. Rhodey, could you? Not that I’m doubting the decency of our men, Captain, but there might be rogue French elements about.” Tony’s sharp smile, however, said otherwise, and Bucky knew from experience anyway that particularly once the drinks started flowing, a pretty doll like Pepper walking around by herself might end up getting into the bad sort of trouble. Steve nodded warily, and even Pepper didn’t comment.
“Sure.” Rhodey straightened. “Let’s get going, Pepper.”
“How’s the power level?” Jarvis asked Stark once Pepper, Fury and Rhodey had walked away.
“Good as new.” Stark rapped lightly over the glass bubble set over his chest. Thankfully, his shirt was buttoned up enough that Bucky couldn’t see any internal organs, but it did make a disturbing, hollow rap. “Integrating that spear was the best thing we ever did.”
“It did seem to hold out well in the fiasco,” Jarvis said grudgingly, sweeping a critical eye over the battered Armors. “I’m going to see if I can scrounge any parts from this place. We’re short on ammunition and fuel for Rhodey’s suit, as well.”
“Pepper’s a hellcat when you give her heavy armaments,” Stark sighed, as Jarvis brushed past Steve. “Well then, it’s just you and me and your underage sidekick, Captain.”
Bucky was about to snap something in return, up until he noticed the tips of Steve’s ears turning pink. Startled, he closed his mouth, a faint sense of horror creeping up on him. Steve couldn’t be… he wasn’t…
“Bucky can take care of himself,” Steve said, almost automatically. “Bucky, why don’t you go, uh, check on Fury.” He ignored Bucky’s disbelieving expression. “I’m sure he’ll come looking for us shortly anyway.”
Stark had paused amidst inspecting the connections in the ribcage hull of the Armor, even looking back over his shoulder at Steve, thoughtfully. There was a blink as though in revelation, then a sly smile, and Stark turned his attention back to the Armor. “You should go too, Captain. Fury nags when he thinks he’s wasting his time.”
“The boys are going to celebrate with a drink, later this evening,” Steve persisted stubbornly despite the clear dismissal. “Would you like to-”
“Pepper tends to give me an earful when she finds me drunk as a skunk in an alley.”
“I’ll be happy to make sure that doesn’t happen, Tony.”
“I also smoke like a chimney. And I’m a mean drunk, around kids.”
“Bucky won’t be drinking.” Steve ignored a second, disbelieving stare.
“Around people about fifteen, twenty years younger than me, then.” Stark corrected absently.
“You’re only as old as you feel, Mister Stark.” Steve was poker-faced, but the grin was laced all over his tone, and Stark actually straightened up and turned around, hip pressed against a steel arm, his smile lopsided, almost wolfish.
“Are you making a pass at me, Captain Rogers?”
“If you like,” Steve replied, with enough confidence that Bucky could only gape. This was a part of his friend that he hadn’t seen. Sure, he’d seen Steve chat up dolls and honeys, particularly during Army functions, but he hadn’t seen it go anywhere fast and not for want of trying by the women. He’d always thought that it either meant that Steve hadn’t met the right person, or that he’d left someone behind in the States that he was still pining after; Bucky hadn’t been the sort to pry, particularly if it was going to mean prying open old wounds. Besides, Anthony Stark was very obviously masculine.
“You’re corrupting the young, Captain, I profess myself scandalized,” Stark jerked his head briefly in Bucky’s direction.
Irritated, Bucky retorted, “Steve’s life is his own,” and he found that he meant it. Steve had earned his medals and his uniform a hundred times over already, and he would again in the future at the rate that they were going; he was fearless, loyal and an intelligent leader, looked up to by all the men that he had ever commanded. Bucky didn’t see how something like this would affect that. Steve shot him a brief, grateful smile, which held also an eloquent request, and Bucky saluted Stark smartly. “I’ll leave you to your machines then, Mister Stark. I’ll, uh, go and check on the General.”
“You might as well take your friend along, Mister Barnes,” Stark said dryly, stepping back around the Armor to take a close look at the other, darker suit. “I don’t deny that you look like a tall drink of cold water in a desert, Captain Rogers, but I don’t go walking out with people who weren’t yet born when I built my first Armor.”
Bucky had seen enough battles even in his relatively short lifetime to recognize futility when he saw it, but Steve seemed set to try anyway, so he slipped away, making a beeline for the command quarters. He’d ask Jamie King of the 9th Signal division later for his copies of the Marvels. Maybe there was something about Stark that he was missing.
This wasn’t the first time Tony had been approached by another man, or even a soldier; even with the law on so-called unnatural practices in force, a man with sufficient means (and Tony had more than sufficient means at present for several lifetimes) could comfortably circle discreetly around the problems instituted by laws that dictated how someone led his or her private life.
It was, however, the first time that he’d been approached in a semi-public location and by someone who was so… high profile. Tony almost expected to see Nick Fury looming under the wing of one of the bombers, frowning and waiting for him to slip up, looking to get some sort of leverage to force him into Armor production.
“You should wear gloves,” Captain America was saying, his tone faintly disapproving, as Tony opened the aft onboard panel of the auxiliary Armor, examining the gauges. “You could hurt yourself.”
“Don’t need them.” Tony chewed absently on his lower lip, resetting calibrations with the automation of practice. “You have someplace else to be, Captain?”
Steve looked a little hurt at the flat dismissal, but he seemed to be the stubborn sort. “Not right now, no. Tony-”
“I’m not going drinking with you,” Tony said bluntly, too tired to be kind, “Nor am I going anywhere remotely unsavory, or doing anything that might be remotely in line with what a man with my reputation would be seen to be inclined to do.”
Steve had, unfortunately, a rather adorable expression of puzzlement. “A man of your reputation…?”
“Loose morals, I believe,” Tony recalled offhand. Pepper had enjoyed that particular New York Times article. “Self-entitlement. Flagrant disregard for consequences.”
“You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, if you don’t mind me saying, sir,” Steve suggested, amused now, and he smiled, America’s gorgeous golden poster-boy, pulling back his ridiculous bright blue hood to free his thick mop of cornfield-gold hair, the ludicrous red and white shield at ease by his hip, too young and too perfect for war. “Your adventures are popular with the men, it’d do morale a world of good if you could come by and maybe tell some of your stories.”
“I’m sure that’s a poor commercial decision,” Tony said, though his ego was duly flattered. “I want people to buy my stories, after all.”
“I’m sure we could rustle up some greenbacks, sir,” Steve said innocently, “If you felt like you needed some spare change.”
“Go and talk with my publicist. She disappeared along with my so-called bodyguard,” Tony retorted, ducking his head to concentrate on Rhodey’s Armor, “And pester someone else,” he added tetchily, when Steve didn’t seem to get the point.
“I’ll get you some coffee. You look like you need it,” Steve decided, and Tony growled.
“Look, why don’t you bloody-”
“Hm?” Steve turned around, smiling again, this time lopsided and playful and Tony’s weakened heart tried to beat a little faster around its regulator. He sucked in a breath, grit his teeth.
“Fine. Black, no sugar.”
“Right away, sir.”
SHIELD called Steve in now and then to run tests on his blood, and it was usually a hell of a wait. Bucky spent it alternately dozing on the bench in the waiting room or poking around the cafeteria. Today he had amassed a small stack of esoteric magazines and newspapers via begging them off the lobby receptionists and was sitting by himself at a cafeteria table slowly working through a crossword, when a familiar voice said dryly, “Fancy seeing you here, Mister Barnes. Or is it ‘Sergeant’ now?”
Bucky turned around quickly, scrambling to his feet. He wasn’t in costume, and the square, ceramic and concrete prison-block style room that formed SHIELD’s excuse for a cafeteria wasn’t exactly empty so close to lunch time. As it were, the lunch ladies busy wiping up at the hot bar looked up at them with some curiosity. “Sorry, I think you have the wrong-”
“Same voice, same build, same hair,” Stark said dryly, while beside him, Pepper smiled, sympathetic. “And I haven’t ever seen kids around SHIELD’s Washington headquarters before.”
“I am not a kid,” Bucky snapped hotly, but his glare seemed only to amuse; Stark’s smirk widened, and Pepper looked away hastily. Arguing about secret identities would probably only prove both futile and embarrassing. Besides, he supposed that if it was that obvious to Stark, then it was very likely common knowledge in SHIELD – he’d just have to be careful the next time. “What are you doing here?”
“SHIELD happens to be one of Stark Industries’ biggest clients. I’m taking an interest in energy efficiency, and flight craft. SHIELD’s willing to fund my said interest,” Stark said vaguely, and he did seem dressed for business, all sleek and suited up plus a pressed shirt, a tie, and even a hat; beside him, Pepper was wearing a sober brown skirt, sensible heels and a white blouse, holding a slim briefcase, in all apparent appearances a highly efficient secretary. “Also, I’m trying to winkle some information out of Fury.”
“Good luck with that.”
“I’ve given up for the day,” Stark admitted easily enough, without any hint of irritation or frustration. “Where’s your friend?”
“The Captain? He’s doing some blood tests.”
“Tests?” Stark said, sounding concerned. “Is he hurt?”
“No, they’re routine. Because of the serum,” Bucky elaborated, when Stark and Pepper both seemed surprised. “They want to figure out what makes him tick.”
“You don’t seem a fan of these tests,” Pepper said, perceptive as any word-slinger.
“No. Not really.” Inaction chafed, especially pointless inaction. Bucky had no real idea why SHIELD needed so many regular ‘tests’. Surely old samples of Steve’s blood would be sufficient – but he wasn’t one for conspiracy theories, particularly not in the middle of a World War. Nick Fury was a difficult man to get along with, but so far he had proved himself a reliable and useful ally. “You could drop by and say hi; he’s at the lab.”
“I really don’t think-”
“Sure,” Pepper piped in, with a sidelong smile in profile that her employer wouldn’t have caught. “We’ll do that. Where’s the lab?”
“I know where the medical labs are,” Stark said, a little touchily, his expression hunted. “Pepper, we’re due to fly off to Lithuania, remember? Rhodey and Jarvis are already waiting for us at the air port.”
“Oh come on, it’s not like the plane will take off without us. You own it after all.” Pepper grabbed Stark by the elbow firmly. Sensing mayhem, Bucky followed as Stark’s chronicler dragged him, protesting volubly all the way, towards the medical labs, his complaints punctuated on occasion by directions from either himself or from Bucky as they navigated the sterilized steel and glass complex.
As it was, Pepper almost walked straight into Steve as he emerged from Lab Four, bare-chested save for his dog tags, his white Army-issue shirt folded over his left arm and still talking animatedly with the researcher.
“Tony,” Steve said, startled. “I’m… what are you doing here?”
“I was invited by Fury?”
“Really?” Steve, however, smiled.
“No, I’m actually making off with top secret blueprints right now,” Stark quipped, his expression speculative as he shot Steve an obvious, unhurried once-over. “Yes, really, Captain. And Pepper decided to drag me on over to say hello just as we were about to leave. Which I now have, so we can leave, can’t we?”
“Of course,” Pepper nodded agreeably, and then fell to chatting away with Steve about blood tests and his next military tour and the latest developments in the Pacific until the SHIELD researcher had ambled off someplace else, and they were alone in the steel and tile corridor, their voices giving off a faint, hollow echo. Bucky shifted his weight, impatient to get back to the airbase for their next deployment to France, hoping that Stark would interrupt again and insist on Lithuania, but he was disappointed; Stark was staring thoughtfully at Steve, as though seeing him for the first time, and Bucky wasn’t too sure what to make of that.
He knew that dolls thought the world of Steve, and after Port-Lyautey it was pretty obvious that Steve similarly thought the world of Tony, lurking around the hangar with excuses to talk to Tony, then peppering Fury with questions afterwards when Stark Industries helicopters had arrived for their master and the Armors, but then Tony had seemed so obviously if politely disinterested, and then they’d gotten involved in the scrap at Tunisia. Steve had stopped talking about Tony, and Bucky had thought that the end of the matter.
“… aren’t you, Tony?” Pepper looked expectantly at Tony, and Bucky realized with a start that he (and Tony) had just tuned out the last ten minutes or so.
“Hmm? Oh yes,” Tony said distantly, blinking.
“Dinner tonight with you would be great,” Pepper turned back to Steve. “And Bucky too, of course.”
“Wait, what?” Tony’s ears finally caught up with his brain. “We’re going to Lithuania.”
“The mystic crystal ball or whatever can wait another day or so, Tony.” Pepper smiled, sharp as a knife, and Tony grimaced.
“You could go on a date unsupervised, m’dear. I’m sure I’ll trust the Captain to keep his hands to himself.”
Steve’s ears pinked slightly, but his gaze was steady as he interjected, “It wouldn’t be any fun without you, Tony.”
“And now we’re discussing polyamory in front of a minor,” Tony said with mock horror.
“No, I wasn’t-” Steve said quickly, even as Pepper let out a bark of unladylike laughter and a quick, decisive, “The Captain isn’t my type.”
“Not your type?” Tony asked, genuinely incredulous. “What are you looking for in a man, baby-doll? Angel’s wings? A halo, maybe?”
“If that’s your opinion of the Captain, Tony, be my guest,” Pepper said dryly, and Steve coughed, pinking further. “I know this amazing place just around the corner, the owner’s Italian.”
“Lithuania awaits, Pepper,” Tony disagreed, tipping his hat to Steve before tucking it back at his hip. “Good to see you again, Captain.”
“Tyrant,” Pepper told Tony.
“You don’t have to come along, Miss Potts,” Tony responded pleasantly. “I’m sure I could rope around another chronicler on such short notice.”
“Don’t miss out on an adventure on my part, Pepper,” Steve said earnestly, though there was something of disappointment in how his shoulders slumped a little. “I’ll look forward to reading about it when you get back.”
“I’ll be sure to cast Tony in a particularly unsavory light this time,” Pepper promised, and the pair started back down the corridor, still bickering. Bucky watched, bemused, as Steve stared after them, or more precisely, stared after Tony’s retreating back, looking a little wistful.
“We could go too,” Bucky suggested in a murmur. “Take some leave, go on an adventure.” It sounded like fun, and he didn’t think Tony… or at least Pepper, would find their company unwelcome.
Steve blinked at him, as though startled at his presence, then sighed and carded a big hand through his hair, rubbing at his eyes right after. “Nah. We have a meeting with the brass in fifteen hundred hours. There’s a situation in Austria.”
Tony felt an overwhelming sense of relief once Fury snapped the lead-lined box shut on the Moor Ring, even sagging against the hull of the SHIELD-manned carrier as the persistent, oily sense of malice promptly disappeared. They were an hour’s cruise away from Greenland, heading back towards warmer waters, and Namor’s hurt pride or not, the SHIELD carrier at least had decent central heating.
“Himmler still has one,” Fury said, as he locked the box in another chest on the table of the makeshift war room in the carrier. “And the rest?”
“Someone in the Thule society has another. They’re hiding it from Himmler. Internal politics.” Rhodey said, nursing a freshly broken arm and slouched in a chair, his eyes a little unfocused from painkillers.
Greenland hadn’t been kind to Tony or to his companions; Pepper had bruised cheeks and arms, Jarvis had scrapes and cuts on his back from a bad fall and was sleeping off a mild concussion in the infirmary, and Tony wouldn’t be walking anywhere fast on his own steam for a while, with a bad sprain in his right ankle and the fingers all broken on his left hand. They’d only barely managed to extricate themselves once the Armors had frozen up in the bitter cold, even with the integrated Spear in Tony’s model, and only with the help of Captain America. Steve looked like he was in a foul mood, beside Fury, scowling at the box containing the ring.
“You’re a bloody idiot,” Fury told Tony flatly. “You could have called for help earlier.”
“I didn’t know what the Thule society was holding over there. The chatter we got indicated that they might have found the submerged ruins of Hyperborea, and Namor was interested enough to offer us a ride. Besides,” Tony added, with a placating smile, warm and full of good brandy and painkillers, “I called you, didn’t I?”
“Only once you were captured and your piratical friends were nowhere to be found.”
Tony decided not to mention Namor further; SHIELD and Namor were technically on the opposite sides of the moral spectrum, and pirates, after all, had their own motives. Besides, it wasn’t as though Namor had given up altogether on them; he had been the one who had caused the initial distraction that had allowed Tony time to lock himself in the lab with his Armor and cobble up a radio signal from the onboard systems. After that, Namor had fallen back to regroup, staying in radio contact until the SHIELD carrier had been spotted.
“You took a big risk.” Steve didn’t look happy either. “You didn’t just put yourself in danger-”
Rhodey’s eyes narrowed, but it was Pepper who spoke, her tone clipped. “Mister Stark is a private citizen, Captain, and we as his companions on his adventures are not strangers to risk.”
“Yeah.” Fury glared at them, though Steve grimaced at the rebuke. “You like to ask danger out and treat it to fucking dinner and cocktails. What if we didn’t happen to be cruising more or less close by? You and your Armors would have been scrap or worse by now.”
It was a long day, and Tony had had enough. “I’m going to get some shut-eye,” he told the room in general, and limped grimly out of the war room, managing to hold in the throb of agony snaking out from under the dull numbing of the painkillers until he was fairly sure that he was at a sufficient distance from the war room. Leaning against the cool metal of the hull, Tony let out a pained sound between gritted teeth, and then flinched when someone behind him cleared his throat.
“What… I didn’t hear you.” Tony blinked, looking over his shoulder at Captain Rogers. Either the man walked like a cat for someone so big, or the painkillers were numbing more than just the pain. “Where’s that kid who always tags along with you?”
“He’s organizing a youth initiative back in London,” Steve said, a little wryly. “If he finds out that I got involved in one of your adventures without him, he’d kick himself. Here, let me help you to your cabin.”
“He could always ask Pepper to write him into it. She likes you anyway,” Tony suggested, too strung out from pain to object as Steve gently pulled his uninjured hand over broad shoulders and took his weight as though Tony was as light as a feather. The mail armor scraped uncomfortably at his arm, but Tony was busy breathing deep, curious despite himself, the clean sharp scents from metal, sweat, leather and musk; he was feeling lightheaded when Steve finally got him into the assigned cabin and shut the door, lowering him carefully on the bunk.
“I can do that myself,” Tony said feebly as the Captain knelt down to help him with his shoe on his left foot.
“It’s no trouble,” Steve said, big fingers working with studied concentration on the laces as though he didn’t know how good he looked on his knees, and Tony was swallowing hard and looking away quickly, shifting uncomfortably even through the slowly growing haze of pain. Someone had left more painkillers and a bottle of water on the bolted down side table next to the bunk; Tony swallowed those and washed them down gratefully. Being a sort-of
The placebo buzz of the painkillers made Tony nod vaguely when Steve offered to help him with his shirt as well, and his brain only kicked itself back into function at the big, warm hands rubbing slowly up his waist. “So many scars,” Steve said, and he sounded angry, almost, and Tony couldn’t remember outright when the last time had been, when someone had looked at him like he was the beginning and the end of their world, all tender focus and fingers pressing carefully over the marks that the world had left on the canvas of his skin.
Eventually Steve leaned up, lips parted, his hand solid and steady cupped around the nape of Tony’s neck, and Tony folded his arms over mailed shoulders, leaned down, and if he was letting down his guard, it was just going to be this once.
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