Who: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Loki (briefly) What: Poor Steve and Bucky. Injured Tony makes life miserable for his new roommates, and Loki delivers a suit of armor and a healing. Bonus: Tony gets a hilarious magical disguise. When: Present Rating/Warning: Green
Stark, Bucky decided, was kind of a jackass. It wasn’t a big surprise, of course. And it didn’t mean that he thought the other man was a bad person. He knew plenty of essentially good people who could be annoying little shits some or most of the time. Well, had known.
But the last thing you wanted was to be stuck in a confined space with a bored and anxious jackass. That was why he was grateful that he’d gotten some temp work as a translator. It was one thing that paid reasonably well and you could still get occasional gigs without any kind of certification. Just getting out of the house was nice, but he was the only one with a different, unrecognizable face, so he was the only one who could go out into the world.
Then he had to come back, not just to bored and anxious jackass Stark, but to frustrated, losing-his-patience Steve. It definitely called for more alcohol.
“I’m home!” he called out, carrying four heavy grocery bags spread out across his left arm.
From the bedroom that the blanket burrito (formerly known as Tony Stark) was currently residing in, there is the mournful sound of a grown man saying, "Kill me!"
That is his way of saying 'welcome home' today. Because this is what happens when someone drinks vodka after pain meds, with a side dish of boredom and a heaping helping of a bad breakup.
Steve came out from the kitchen and grabbed the bags from Bucky. “No. Kill me. Please. Or I’m going to commit murder,” he said, low and urgent. He wished fervently that he could get drunk. Maybe it would take the edge off. He was trapped in here with Tony and he was thinking very uncharitable thoughts about the poor injured man.
Bucky snickered a little and followed Steve back into the kitchen. “Вы никогда этого не сделаете,” he said, letting the Russian roll off his tongue. He had enjoyed speaking it during his temp job earlier in the day. He was grateful to be able to get out and earn some money, though he did feel bad for both Steve and Stark.
In the kitchen, he took advantage of Steve’s full hands and pulled him into a quick kiss before releasing him. “I missed you,” he said, helping him with the bags and starting to unpack things. “We need to get that damn suit for him to fuck around with. Has anyone checked in on him? Medically, I mean?” he asked.
Steve bit his lip. “You know how sexy you sound when you speak a foreign language? Yeah. I know I wouldn’t do that. But he makes me think about it.” He shook his head.
He didn’t resist the kiss either. “I missed you so much, jerk. But I don’t know about the suit. He’ll work at all hours and tire himself out. Strange is supposed to come check on him. His vitals are fine. His bruising is healing. Much more than that I can’t tell.”
“Maybe we could let him have it for shifts?” he suggested. He grabbed a chocolate pudding cup from one of the bags, and a spoon. “I mean, it’s not like he could stop us from taking it away from him, right?”
He nodded towards Stark’s room and then headed towards it with the peace offering. “Death by chocolate,” he drawled, tossing the plastic container and the spoon onto the bed beside Stark’s good hand. “How’s it going?”
The blanket cocoon shifted around until the upper half of a face could be seen, with two big brown eyes blinking up at Bucky. Good Cop was back, bearing food that screamed 'break up'. This was good, even if he did eye it like he wondered if Steve slipped some meds in it.
Despite that, his big eyes narrowed down to a squint as he unraveled his working arm from the blanket to reach out for dessert. If it was medded up, he wouldn't have to cocoon hide from Nurse Steve, while everything ached and pained inside and out. He was already racking up enough complaints lately. Stupid body. Stupid fugitive spree. Stupid break up. Stupid Hammer-Tech missiles....
"Oh, the usual. Unicorns puking rainbows everywhere," grumbled a dejected Tony, while stabbing the spoon into the dessert. "Bored. I need stuff to do. All nothing and no work make Tony a grumpy boy."
One bite of that aptly named chocolatey goodness and his eyes rolled up like he was dying and enjoying the experience.
“If we got you the suit, would you agree to only work on it for a couple of hours at a time, and then rest?” Bucky asked. He was pretty sure Stark would agree even if he had no intention of following the rules, but it couldn’t hurt to have his explicit consent to the plan. He sat down on a corner of the bed and glanced out in the corridor for a moment before looking back at Stark. “Steve doesn’t think you can do it,” he said, lowering his voice. “He doesn’t want to risk you wearing yourself out or working all hours.” He never realized what a natural he was at the good cop thing.
Oh, he was good at that good cop schtick. Tony scowled down at the container as he jabbed the spoon at into what was in danger of becoming chocolate mush. His work habits were pretty much like his fighting style: a relentless full throttle balls to the wall, wherever his whims took him. Sure, he could take orders from Cap when it came down to a life or death situation. Right now, he really needed to get his mind off of pining for Pepper, legal issues, and getting the mental image of explosions in his face out of his brain.
"Sure thing," was Tony's reply, as he cast a glance at the door before staring intensely back at Bucky. "But the better I feel, the more I do what I've gotta do. I gotta bad feeling. I need to...stay busy, right now."
He knew that Barnes got annoyed when something was left unsaid, so he filled in that blank with a white lie. He needed to make outlines and start on another major remodel. There were no more Avengers, there was only a bunch of fugitives. If something bigger came at them than Sharknado, he needed to be more self-sufficient and he needed more redundancies. 'Paranoia will destroy ya,' he thought to himself with the barest shake of his head to clear those thoughts.
"Think you can convince him?" Tony asked, shoveling another spoonful of dessert into his mouth.
Steve appeared in the doorway, arms crossed as he leaned against the frame. “You two do know I have enhanced hearing, right?” He tried not to eavesdrop most of the time but in this small apartment it was almost impossible not to. He sighed and walked into the room. “I know you need to do something, Tony. I do. I just don’t trust you to be sensible about it.” He actually wasn’t sure if Tony knew the definition of the word sensible.
Bucky glared at Steve. He really wasn’t getting this whole coercion plot that Bucky was attempting to pull off. He shook his head slowly, feeling very let down by Steve’s complete inability to participate in subterfuge. For a lying little shit, he was inconveniently honorable most of the time. “You know we can easily overpower and drug him, right?” he offered with a sigh.
"You know that I'm sitting right here, right?" Tony glared at Steve, even though he was still grateful that Steve still gave a shit about him at all. "No, you probably can't. I have things I need to do. So let me do them, and I'll start off right here where I'm sitting. Then I'll slowly putter around. And then yes, Cap, I'm gonna bury my face right in it and go asghalblurghahaha...."
That noise accompanied him moving his head like he was motorboating in a stripper's breasts, which...yes, he's done before. Tony finished with a very exaggerated roll of his eyes and shoveled another spoonful of chocolate in his mouth, so he could try to sweeten the fact that he was going to get a talking to.
Steve manfully resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Tony’s childish antics. He looked at Bucky. “How about strapping him to the bed?” he mused out loud. He knew he was supposed to go along with Bucky’s plan but it seemed silly. Tony was an adult. Sort of. He looked at Tony. “You know you got some chocolate right there… never mind. Look, Tony. If you agree to take breaks, I’ll agree to bringing the suit here. If you don’t go along with it, we’ll take it away.” He glanced sideways at Bucky, the threat of their combined strengths implied.
"I'll take breaks," Tony instantly replied, although he intended to lay around in bed 'resting' with the laptop, sneaking into servers in his freetime. "I'm gonna need more than the suit. I need diagnostics, so I'll need my personal assistant to bring me that in pieces. And I need to talk to Bruce. Me doing nothing right now is a major deal. I haven't sat still since I hit age two, and I don't expect to be completely still until I'm dead."
Sooner or later, it would happen. He wasn't a Steve or a Bucky or an Asgardian. His time was finite and he had things he wanted to do, while he could still able to do them. And that's why Tony sat there eating the rest of his dessert while intensely staring from Steve to Bucky and back again. It was like he was watching the world's longest tennis match, his ass was killing him from sitting there for too long, and he couldn't freakin' wait to see who was going to win.
But of course, Bucky was going to defer to Steve. Tony and all the rest were Steve’s friends, and in this Bucky considered Steve in charge. Not just because Steve stopped Tony from killing him, either. “You’re the one who’s gonna be stuck in here with him every day,” he pointed out. He looked from Steve to Tony, and shrugged his shoulders. “We’re supposed to take care of you, not entertain you. So you want this privilege before you’re fully healed up, you have to convince him.”
Steve wasn’t playing good cop bad cop. He just disapproved of the whole thing but he knew Tony was going to find a way around them anyway. He crossed his arms again, and sighed, radiating disapproval. “Okay. We’ll try it and see how things go. I don’t know how you’re going to fit all that stuff in here but be my guest.” He glanced over at Bucky. “Anything to add?”
“How about… failure to follow doctor’s orders means all bets are off,” Bucky suggested. He smiled at Steve. There was something about him getting all righteous that was hot. He tried not to smirk, because he knew Steve was being all serious. He schooled his expression and looked to Tony. “Is that acceptable?” he asked.
"How about this." Tony drew in a deep breath, more to steady his steadily fraying nerves as he looked ready to strangle the spoon. "I had a concussion that obviously didn't kill me. I have sprains, and bruises, and what Strange said was three cracked ribs. Not split in pieces. No lumps. Cracked. That means that I'm not a pregnant woman on bedrest. So at some point, you're both going to have to let me get out of bed.
"I appreciate all of this. Both of you. Seriously, I do. You're taking such good care of me. But I am laying here in between nap times going stir crazy. I am a fugitive. I have no girlfriend. I have nothing to do. I have contemplated repeatedly stab myself in the throat with things if I don't have anything to keep my brain busy and focused. And if you take away this spoon, I swear to god I'll rip my face off and throw it against...that Ikea lamp across the room. I like you both, I do, even you Barnes. So do not. Make me. Do that. Even if it'd make that lamp look better."
Tony closed his eyes and sat there, breathing like a man trying to meditate after running a thousand mile marathon. That spoon was going nowhere, because he has a vice-like death grip on it.
It's his spoon. Don't take his stuff.
Steve did roll his eyes this time. “Okay, tony. We’ll take it one day at a time. We’ll get you your stuff. Because no one wants to see you stab yourself. It would make a big mess.” He smiled and stepped closer. “It’s gonna be okay, Tony. You’re gonna heal up and you and pepper are gonna work it all out.”
“I’ll send Loki a message,” Bucky volunteered. He’d spoken to him before, after all. And it seemed like the other man… god… whatever, had been fairly reasonable. Bucky could kind of tell that he could be a real asshole if it served his purposes, but with nothing to be gained by fucking with people, he wasn’t terrible.
“In the meantime, if you want some fresh air, maybe we could take short trips to the roof. Wear a ball cap, no circling drones will be able to verify you. What do you think?”
The grip on that spoon didn't look quite as white knuckle tense as before, and Tony drew in a shaky breath before opening his eyes.
"Well, first?" And here was the point where Tony laughed a little, in that way that made it clear it was nerves and not mirth. "No, Pepper and I aren't working things out. And yes, I would love that stuff. Please. I need something to fuss with or improve, to focus on. I'm quiet when I'm cooped up, if I've got stuff to do. What might be weird is the roof..."
He side-eyed Bucky like he wasn't so sure if that was a good idea. When he next spoke, it was clear he was well aware that he was driving them both insane. Few people were able to tolerate living with him for very long. It was inevitable.
"Don't push me off it, just so you two get some peace and quiet."
Steve would have laughed but it wasn’t funny at all. “You do know we’re on your side here, pal?” He said softly. “We’re gonna do everything in our power to be sure you get what you need, which is rest and healing.” He put his hand gingerly on Tony’s shoulder, so as not to hurt him. “As far as what you want… well. We’ll help all we can with that too.”
Bucky pursed his lips. “If I wanted to kill you, Stark, you’d be dead already. Some fresh air and some very minimal exercise would do you a world of good.” He folded his arms over his chest, mimicking Steve’s earlier stance. He was sure Stark probably would feel better if he had something to distract him, but maybe it might be good for him to spend some time reflecting. Even if his brain sped along at an alarming speed, he was also clearly very good at avoidance of anything uncomfortable to think about. Bucky was more of a wallower, which he knew was probably no better, just different.
“Anyway, I’ll message Loki. We’ll get your suit. You can work on it as long as you’re getting enough rest. Are we all on the same page?” he asked, looking between the two of them.
The minute Steve's hand met his shoulder, Tony visibly relaxed. He looked less frantic and more tired. That didn't mean his brain wasn't going at the speed of light, because it always was. There were things he wanted to do, that he wasn't even sure could be done yet. The realization that he was stuck in the same place his dad had been, really sucked. He had big ideas that couldn't be implemented for thirty or forty years. After he was dead and had no sarcastic spawn of his own to finish it.
"You know what? Yep. You're right," he conceded. "I'm on board. Sorry about..."
Being difficult? Being moody? Being an all around bitch to deal with?
"...stuff," he said, instead. Because that covered all the bases.
Steve nodded, fully understanding what Tony was trying to say. Or at least he thought he did. “Apology accepted. Now. Let us get started on getting you set up. You tell us what you need and we’ll do our best to get it. Within reason,” he warned. “And by the way that doesn’t include the stash of alcohol and refined sugar you thought you were hiding from us.”
He stepped back, feeling like they’d made the best compromise they could. If Tony could keep his super brain occupied he’d be a much better patient.
Bucky was pretty sure Stark was apologizing to Steve. He didn’t feel he really needed an apology anyway, but he could tell Steve’s patience was a little singed around the edges. “Okay. We got that settled. Who’s hungry?” Since Bucky was always hungry, the next meal was never far from his thoughts. “I got fresh ravioli and vodka sauce if anyone’s interested. If not, I’ll happily eat your share. You two wanna figure out where he’s gonna work while I cook?” he suggested.
"Me. Just a little bit. Kinda full of chocolate now," was Tony's mumbled reply, while patting himself on the stomach. That had been a gut bomb, that he would have worked boxed off in the right with Happy. If only that was possible. As for the apology, it was meant for both of them. He had no idea that Bucky didn't think it applied to him, too. Bucky always seemed so quiet, that Tony almost felt compelled to make more noise to make up for it. It left him feeling bottled up and anxious, because he didn't want Steve to go crazy because of it.
These two were far too nice for their own good. Tony normally suspected people who didn't have a dark side, or seemed too nice. Then again, Tony suspected everyone, because he didn't trust very many people at all. It's why he didn't like being handed things.
"Lessee," Tony's mouth synced with his brain. "I can work in here if there's a table I can use. I need that suit. I need Lewis to run errands, so I can get some of the holographic displays set up. I need my glasses so I can tinker in bed and keep an eye on the network. Oh, I'd like to talk at Bruce too, if that's ok. Load up on some tension tamer tea. Just in case."
Steve nodded at Tony’s list, prioritizing in his head. “Okay. Let’s see. Buck, I would love some food. But you knew that. You wanna get going on that? I’ll take over here.” He knew Bucky and Tony had a long way to go and he didn’t want to backtrack on their tentative truce. He looked back at Tony. “I’ll bring the dining table in here. We usually eat at the bar in the kitchen anyway. Why don’t you text Miss Lewis and Bruce and make up a list of things you need?” He liked that Tony had something to focus on, and he liked coming up with a tactical plan.
“Roger that,” Bucky said, throwing a mock salute. He headed out to the kitchen. He put a message up on the network to Loki asking about the suit, then he got down to making dinner. He was starting to enjoy cooking, and he wondered if maybe he could earn enough money to go to one of those chef schools they had in the city. At least if he ended up in prison, he’d have some skills that would win him friends.
Tony watched Bucky walk out and then looked up at Steve with his head tilted to one side. That was a sure sign that he was listening intently for the time being.
"Already texted 'em," he said, and for a moment he looked as if he was a kid caught with one hand in the cookie jar. "I'll bother Lewis some more. All I need is Bruce's big brain, and to tell him what happened with Ross. I'm guessing you and Barnes have figured out your thing. It's probably the only thing that's kept you from going Captain Smash so far, innit? That's cute. I'm happy for you. Yay! Go team you. He even cooks. You lucky shit. My longest relationship has been with a microwave."
He was happy for Steve, but it was what frilly writers would describe as wistfully happy. When one door closes on someone maybe another opens for someone else, blah blah blah. Sure, it sucked that all of his doors were slamming closed lately, but at least someone else wasn't going through that.
Steve ignored Tony’s comments about his and Bucky’s relationship. He wasn’t really in the mood to discuss it with Tony. He wasn’t sure he would ever be in the mood for that. “Okay. You work on your people, and I’ll start moving furniture around.” At least he could do that. “Maybe we should push your bed up against the wall so you have more room.”
Shutdown! Tony stared at Steve as if he was something fascinating to squint at through a microscope. That abruptly stopped the second he reminded himself he was flying solo. Even sarcastic teasing someone else made that seem worse than ever before.
"Sure," Tony said after taking a long look around, in which he seemed more lost than fully focused. He tried to give himself a mental slap, to get himself together. "More room's a good idea."
There was the soft and surprisingly jaunty rapping of knuckles at the door and Tony looked ready to lean over the side of the bed, eyes wide, like he was afraid it was the FBI, CIA, NYPD, and Ross. All at once. Ready to pile in through the door and drag them all back to The Raft.
"Please tell me that's room service," Tony whispered, looking at Steve.
It was not room service. It was, in fact, the living embodiment of trouble. At least it wasn't the law enforcement type of trouble.
On the other side of the door, Loki was wearing his favorite black suit and overcoat, a long green wool scarf looped around his neck. He didn't rap upon the door another time, nor did he announce who he was. And if he knew that Tony Stark was thinking he was law enforcement, he would have been tickled pink about it. Because anything resembling law and order in conjunction with himself would be absolutely hilarious.
Bucky heard Tony’s whisper, even over the boiling water. “It’s your suit,” he called out, before he headed over to the door, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He opened the door, glancing out carefully first, then relaxing when he saw that it was, in fact, Loki.
“Hey,” he said, stepping back to let him inside. “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” he said, closing the door behind him once he was inside. He glanced towards the bedroom. He had no idea how Steve was going to react to seeing the mischievous god.
From the bedroom there was the faintest "Yay!" and it was definitely Tony's voice.
As for the God of Mischief? He sedately raised an eyebrow just before a smile smeared its way over the lower half of his face. It spoke volumes of someone being up to his eyeballs in some sort of trouble, but was just vague enough that it might be good trouble of the fun variety, or bad trouble of the naughty kind.
"It is good to see you again," he told Bucky. "I should be away with great haste, for we are moving residences. Where should I leave his armor? And may I look in upon him, so that I might tell my brother how he fares?"
It was best to ask and not impose. He was, after all, a guest in their home, and he did have a debt to repay. He didn't like to leave those hanging over himself for overly long, when he did manage to be indebted at all.
“I think they’re setting up something for him to work in the bedroom,” Bucky said, pointing in that direction. He wasn’t sure about just bringing him in unannounced, so he hesitated. “Um… Steve? We’re coming in to bring the suit in there, okay?” He didn’t have to shout because he knew Steve would hear him anyway.
He walked towards the bedroom and poked his head in. “Loki is here with your suit,” he said, standing back so the other man could enter. Bucky glanced at Steve a little nervously.
Steve knew exactly who was there. He’d heard his voice when Bucky opened the door. By the time Bucky arrived, he was in full on disapproval mode, arms crossed and frowning hard enough to cause a wrinkle between his eyes. Working with Loki to rescue Tony had been one thing. But having him in their house was another. He stepped to the side, radiating his displeasure, while staying out of the way. This wasn’t his business. “Loki,” he said as evenly as possible.
"Hello, Steven," Loki replied, his smile never faltering. In fact, it practically shone with charm and benevolence. "How good it is to see you. I believe I have something that belongs to your fellow Avenger. Might I bestow it until him, and give him our well wishes?"
"Yes! Oh hell yes. Gimme gimme," said Tony, from where he was sitting up in bed, trying his hardest not to bounce in place. "This boy needs his toys."
Loki merely raised one hand in a classic 'may I?' motion toward the doorway, not about to enter the room without fair warning beforehand. He was, after all, attempting to mind his manners and behaving. To do otherwise would fall out of Thor's good graces, potentially wrecking what meager freedoms he did have left.
"I will do nothing untoward," Loki told Steve, as he passed by and entered the room. He did pause to frown at Tony. Not because the incessant little man was flipping him off (he was, most heartily), but because Midgardians healed so slowly. He was a colorful collection of multi-colored bruises and scrapes which had yet to go away.
Loki discreetly made the same childish hand gesture back at Tony, which earned him a reluctant "heh!" noise that he supposed was a truce, and proceeded to pull the suit out from where it had been hidden. Blink and you'll miss it.
The suit itself was a gnarled mess of circuit boards and metal, where it was plain enough to see which limb had taken the brunt of the missile blast, or where the metal had dented. It even looked like he had to have his right arm pried out of it.
Tony eyed it uneasily for a moment, before proclaiming, "Any landing you can walk away from, is a good 'un."
"If one says so," was Loki's response, as though he couldn't be bothered either way. "We do wish to offer our gratitude for housing us, and hope that you will mend swiftly."
"Huh. Thanks. I think."
"Do you need a disguise?" Loki asked, inquisitively.
"Like you gave Barnes?" Tony appeared to mull that over, rubbing the hair on his chin with his left hand. "Eh. Guess it couldn't hurt. Does it hurt?"
"Absolutely not. It's utterly painless." Loki moved toward the bed and waved a hand over the man, rolling his eyes when Tony protested that it tickled. "You are a such a child. There. All done."
He could have mended more, but he either wasn't inclined to do so, or wasn't fully aware of the injuries in question. Instead, he looked to Steve and Bucky, giving them a nod.
"I believe my work here is done," Loki said, ignoring Tony's attempt to get out of bed to glue himself to that suit, "unless there is some other way in which I may be of service? I am supposed to be bettering myself."
Bettering himself included making Tony Stark resemble a sixteen year old girl that looked like she hid out in the darkest corners of a library. With the encyclopedia sets.
Bucky could see how uncomfortable Steve was, and he didn’t blame him. He knew what Loki had done, but Loki was the one that had the suit. Just because Loki had been perfectly helpful to him didn’t mean he trusted him. Nonetheless, Loki had magic, and he seemed motivated to be helpful for some reason.
“So… what’s motivated you to try to better yourself?” he asked. He felt like there was more Loki could do, but he wasn’t sure that he should ask. Although… one thing he did know about the other man was that he felt superior to Doctor Strange. Maybe he could use that. “Doctor Strange said Stark had some cracked ribs and… what else did he say?” he asked, glancing over at Steve and Tony.
“Various sprains, three cracked ribs, and a possible concussion,” Steve quoted neutrally. “Plus various bumps, bruises and contusions. Not to mention a really bad attitude towards his caregivers.” He was suspicious of Loki and his intentions. He felt like the asgardian was toying with them. Like a cat plays with his prey.
Bucky turned his attention back to Loki again. “I guess that’s not something you can fix with magic, though. I mean… Strange couldn’t, right?” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway, thanks for the suit, and for coming over so quickly.” He was almost certain that there was a competitive thing going on there.
Steve wasn't too far off the mark, but there was some incentive to not be so predictably bad, and that there might be good in him, that Loki wished to explore further. What made him pause was that the sorcerer known as Strange had noted such injuries, and done little to mend them. This was an interesting development, since he was confident enough to mend himself after being ran through by a Dark Elf, and to walk it off so he could usurp the throne of Asgard. It was an opportunity to prove he was greater and more skilled.
Loki liked taking advantage of such opportunities. It was why he looked as though he was mulling over many answers. One fourth of those answers were lies. Another fourth was the truth. The remaining half was intricately woven white lies.
"Hold but a moment. I can mend him if your sorcerer is not able to. As for my reasons, the loss of one's home world tends to put things in perspective," he said, settling on a white lie. Even when hidden with the guise of Odin, he knew full well he would not be able to hide in Asgard forever. It had been terribly convenient and felt profoundly safe, since the might of Asgard seemed to fend off any retribution from the Mad Titan and the Tesseract was kept under lock and key in the vault.
As he idly watched Tony Stark start to croon at his suit like one would to an infant, he let a truth slip out, "My brother believes that I can be better than I am. Let us simply say that recent events have left me slightly more sentimental.. As sentimental as your fellow warrior seems to be, over inanimate objects."
"...that's right, daddy missed you," Tony was softly cooing, while petting the suit's shoulder with one hand. He had already managed to make it over there, like a moth drawn to a flame. "I'm sorry the mean men tried to pry our arm off. I'm sorry that you got stuck in Loki's magic closet. He probably hides bodies in there. Bodies of people he threw out windows."
By that point, Loki stared at Steve and Bucky like he wondered how they managed to keep their wits about them.
"If it would aid you, I would happily mend him," Loki offered. "I fear that I can not do much about his mental capacity. That will remain the same."
Steve’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not up to us,” he said, looking over at tony. “Tony? Will you agree to let Loki heal you?” Personally, he wouldn’t. But he also healed a lot faster than Tony.
Tony stopped treating his suit like it was capable of understanding (it did under normal operating conditions) and like it was in pain (it looked like he felt). He eyed Loki like he knew he could bust that guy's ass if he got his suit working, and then looked back at Steve, the gears of his mind turning as it raced toward a final verdict.
He knew by Steve's expression that there was a whole lot of disapproval going on, and Steve probably wasn't comfortable with it. And it wasn't that Tony was comfortable with it, either. He didn't trust very many people, and he didn't trust Loki at all. But he also wasn't the type to listen to conventional wisdom, and he knew he was pecking away at Steve's patience, and probably getting on Bucky's nerves too.
"Agreed." He pointed at Loki. "Is it going to hurt?"
"It should not be more than the slightest discomfort. Such injuries are minor. Even a healer in training would barely blink an eye using seidr to mend you," Loki was saying, while puffed up with pride over something so seemingly simple. "It would hurt considerably after being run through with a sword. Which I can not recommend."
"Ok, Rock of Ages. Question. Does it involve throwing me out of anything? Because hard pass on that redo, but a big fat yes to healing me."
"Must we dredge up an unfortunate past?" sighed Loki. "I do apologize for throwing you out a window. I had many dire thoughts weighing heavily upon my mind. Now, as I have your consent? Hold still."
He raised one hand and with a graceful sweeping motion through the air, a green and golden shimmer of light moved around Tony, enveloping him and shifting around as it sought out every injury. The most that happened was that Tony made a face and said ouch, only once, as the magic concentrated around his chest and his arm. But once that was done, the light faded along with the last of the bruises and Loki looked pleased with the result.
So did Tony, strangely enough.
"Wow. Yeah. I do feel better." He took his arm out of the sling and wriggled his fingers, followed by stretching his arm out. He patted down his ribs, jostled his knee, and slapped one hand against his forehead. Tony looked elated. "Yes! I'm free!"
Two seconds later, his buoyant mood deflated like an unhappy balloon.
"Shit," he grumbled. "Still a fugitive."
"Pity." Loki shrugged and smiled. "If only all things can be mended so easily with a spell. Consider my debt to you fulfilled."
"Ok? Whatever." Tony shrugged back at him. "Enjoy your warehouse."
Steve had been watching the whole thing with trepidation. He’d let people experiment on him, give him serum and irradiate him. He supposed that was also risky, but he’d not had much to lose. He knew he wouldn’t have made it much past thirty as it was. Tony would have healed conventionally, if a lot slower. It was ultimately his choice, though. And it seemed to have worked out for him. “Thank you, Loki,” he said as gallantly as he could manage. He wanted to ask if he was leaving now but that would seem rude.
"You are most welcome," Loki said with a slight, but no less theatrical, bow. He looked at Bucky as if to indicate they could have coffee again at another time. "Regretfully, I must depart. I am expected to decorate our new home as swiftly as possible."
"Yup, thanks! Now I can get to work for real," Tony said, turning his full attention to his suit again. While he felt it over with both hands, he kept right on talking. "Invite me to revelries later. Oh. And tell Thor to stop flirting with Pepper, or I'll get this tin can working and headbutt him again."
"Very well...I shall tell him?" asked Loki, looking momentarily confused. He hadn't heard anything from the usually boisterous Thor about newfound affections for a second Midgardian female. This was news to him.
"Good! You do that," a very distracted Tony was saying. He flapped one hand around in what resembled waving goodbye. "Thanks again, Prancer. See ya during revelries. Don't cause fires. Bye."
Bucky could see that both Steve and Tony were anxious to be rid of Loki, so it fell to Bucky to be polite about it. “I’ll walk you out,” he said, waiting for him to pass and accompanying him to the door. “Thanks for your help. It was a little like trying to stop a kangaroo from jumping.” He held the door open for the Asgardian. “Good luck on your redemption, fellow Bad Day,” he added, smirking a little.
"The best of luck to you as well," Loki told Bucky as he breezed his way past, while throwing one end of the scarf over his shoulder. "Perhaps, someday, we might be able to greet one another as fellow Good Days."
Although he didn't say it, Loki considered that somewhere in the middle might be a lot more fun.
With one hand in the air to bid farewell, he made his way down the hallway, humming a song to himself as he did so.
Meanwhile, Steve was watching Tony play. It was as if nothing else in the world existed for him but the suit, and though he was talking, it was clearly to himself. Or the suit. Or both, which Steve was beginning to feel might be interchangeable. He cleared his throat. “So Tony. Since you don’t need a nurse any more, is there anything I can do for you? I don’t know much about the suit, but I can lift heavy things.” He wanted to help. He also didn’t want Tony to burn the place down.
"Suit still has some juice. Good. Uhh...right. No more Nurse Ratched for Cap. You can grab me...."
Tony flipped the faceplate up and it looked as though he was trying to cram his face in there.
"Laptop. USB cable. Gonna download Friday back in here. Protocol was to extract the current version of herself if someone else got ahold of the suit. She's lurking as a shadow program on the network. I mean, besides the copy that's already in there, running interference."
It was what kept things mutating and scrambled on its own, so their tracks were continually covered. Tony was incredibly obsessivethorough when creating a Dark Web for superheroes and any hangers on.
Bucky could hear their conversation, in the other room, but he’d left the food unattended for too long, anyway. “You know… he doesn’t really need your help now. You could help me with dinner,” he said in a normal voice that Tony would not be able to hear from across the apartment. Stark would probably be a lot easier to deal with now. He had a false identity, so he could come and go as he pleased, and he had his toys to play with. Steve was the only one stuck now. But Bucky was more than prepared to keep Steve occupied.
Steve smiled, not because of what Tony was rambling about, but because of Bucky. “Yeah. I’ll get right on that. You yell if you need anything, right?” And because Tony was paying little notice to anything but his toys, Steve fled the room in relief.
He hurried to the kitchen, grinning. “You need my help, jerk?” He crowded close to Bucky, missing his touch.
Bucky grinned and fished a ravioli out of a pot of sauce with a wooden spoon. He blew on it to let it cool down, holding the other hand under to it wouldn’t drip. “Here, taste this,” he said, holding the spoon out to Steve with a warm smile. Memories of home were swirling around his brain and he couldn’t help feeling comforted. “My Ma used to make this,” he said quietly.
Steve’s stomach grumbled when he smelled the food. He opened his mouth to taste the ravioli. He moaned softly as the food all but melted in his mouth. “Oh my god,” he said reverently. “It’s perfect. You need to stay here and cook for me forever.” He opened his eyes to look into Bucky’s.
Bucky leaned in and pressed a light kiss to Steve’s lips. “That’s kinda the plan,” he murmured. “Or I hope so, anyway.” He backed up to get out some bowls to start plating. “You wanna grab the garlic bread out of the oven and start slicing it up? Is there a way to put Frankenstein in a time out so he eats something?”
Steve grabbed the oven mitts and pulled the tray out of the oven. “This smells amazing. You’re amazing.” He set the tray down and looked around for a bread knife. “Well, I could switch off the breaker to the power in his room. Unless of course he’s already bypassed the power grid and is running off hydrogen or something.”
Bucky snickered at that. “Screw him if he doesn’t want to eat. More for us. But maybe go tell him there’s food, so he can decide if he wants some. I got wine. I know it’s not your favorite, but it was kinda to go with the pasta. I don’t know. I thought… maybe try to do the thing like we’re fancy or some shit,” he added with a shrug.
Steve leaned in and kissed Bucky on the cheek. “You’re gonna make somebody a nice little wife,” he teased, before hurrying out of reach to go notify Tony. He knocked on the door before entering. “Hey. Dinner’s ready if you want that sort of thing.” He was happy Tony was healed but he couldn’t help still worrying about him. Tony was right. He was a mother hen.
Tony was scowling down at the laptop and it looked like he was tapping into the network, given the sort of mind bending coding scrolling by on the screen. The suit was already plugged in. At the sound of someone talking to him, Tony offered only a grunt, and then shook his head like he was popping himself out of whatever thought bubble he had been encapsulated within.
"Dinner? Oh, right. Dinner. Yep. Coming, dad." He walked toward the door and pointed a finger at Steve, while trying to sidestep his way through the doorway without touching anyone or anything. "I don't have to go to bed early anymore."
Steve sighed. At least Tony was agreeing to eat. It was progress. He followed along behind Tony, watching him for any sign of limp or injury. “No guests after midnight,” he shot back. He knew Bucky would hear them coming.
"Always ruining my fun." Tony was walking with the sort of confidence that covered up the fact that his entire life was a constant trainwreck. He plopped down into a chair at the table, without a peep of discomfort. He didn't even sit forward as much as it was askew, one leg crossed over the other, one arm draped over the back of the chair. "I have a disguise now. I'm gonna go sneak out on a hot date with Bruce. Can I bum twenty bucks so I can buy him a big frilly cup of tea?"
It was easy to see what Howard was dealing with and did nothing about.
Bucky came in from the kitchen with all three plates (two balanced on his right arm) and put them down on the table, arching an eyebrow. “You know most of the money we have is actually your money, right?” he said. “I wonder what your disguise looks like to other people.” Once his hands were free, he took his phone out of his back pocket and took a photo of Stark. His eyes widened instantly, then he slid his phone back in his back pocket. “Wine?” he asked, hustling off to the kitchen again.
Steve was watching Bucky, and followed him to the kitchen. “What?” he asked softly, getting out three wine glasses. He could tell the other man was amused by something. He moved closer to Bucky. “What does he look like?” It hadn’t occurred to him to take a picture like Bucky had, so he had no clue.
Bucky took out his phone and opened up the photo album and passed it over to Steve. “I mean… it’s definitely a disguise. No one is gonna suspect it’s Tony Stark.” He started twisting the corkscrew into the cork.
"Hey! You can't dine me and not wine me," Tony called out from the kitchen table. He was feeling like a million bucks again after nearly getting wiped out by a missile, even if he really didn't look like it to the rest of the world at large. "I need to give you two more money. I can't even tell what this table is even made out of. Is it real?"
There was no way Steve could hold back the bark of laughter when he saw what Tony looked like to the rest of the world. “You’re kidding,” he wheezed, leaning against Bucky as he tried to compose himself. “That’s… oh wow.”
Bucky put the wine bottle down and wrapped an arm around Steve again. “Shhh,” he said, putting a finger to his lips. Then he pushed him back and handed him the bottle. “Go make yourself useful,” he said. He got out the rest of the utensils and napkins and grabbed a couple of the wine glasses to go back out to the table. “What’s wrong with the table now?” he asked.
"I don't think it's real," Tony stated, drumming his fingers on it. Not out of impatience, but from trying to hear the sound it made. "When I have access to money again, we're going to have a little retail therapy session."
Steve was too busy trying not to snicker every time he looked at Tony, and trying to pour the wine at the same time, to make any kind of comment. He didn’t much like Loki, but he had to admit the Asgardian had a wicked sense of humor.