Work Text:
i.
Tony’s eyes have been fixated on a single point on his blueprints for what feels like an eternity — perhaps even hours. He’s vaguely aware of JARVIS intermittently nudging him to take a break, to go to sleep, or simply move his body, but he’s too engrossed in his thoughts, unable to muster the slightest bit of energy needed to snap out of it.
A faint sound catches his attention, but he can’t discern its origin without looking away. Turns out he doesn’t have to — a metal-armed supersoldier materializes before him, intruding into Tony’s line of sight and obstructing his project. The trespasser holds two plates of food and regards Tony with an unreadable, almost disinterested look.
Tony sighs internally. Why did he think adopting all these orphaned Avengers was a good idea?
He knows why Barnes is here; however, he’s in no mood to discuss it. Because he’ll ask if he’s okay — a stupid question — and probe into the details of the break-up, as if Tony has any answers. For him, the separation came out of nowhere. He’s sure it doesn’t feel the same from Pepper’s side, but from his…
Regardless, Tony doesn’t wanna talk about any of it.
“Lost, Buckini? This isn’t the canteen.”
Barnes chuckles, placing the plates among Tony’s tools and materials — very expensive ones, mind you — then pulls up a chair beside him.
“Made too much. Thought maybe you’d help me eat some?”
Tony picks up the fork and eyes the saucy vegetables suspiciously.
“Since when are you into cooking?”
Barnes shrugs.
“Is that Stevie’s shield?” he says instead, pointing at the schematics. “D’you think he’d ever allow—”
“I know, I know, but a man can dream. I already hit the jackpot when he let me add magnets to it, but we all know that didn’t last long.”
Barnes snorts as he takes a bite of his food.
“Guy loves his straps.”
“He sure does.”
They continue their meal, engaging in small talk about various Avengers projects. Rather tactfully, Barnes avoids any mentions of Pepper.
When they finish, Barnes proposes that Tony wraps up for the day. Tony, either too tired or oddly relaxed — he can’t even tell, anymore — offers no resistance. They ride the elevator together; Barnes exits at a lower floor, wishing Tony a good night, while Tony ascends to the penthouse and unceremoniously collapses onto his bed, his face meeting the softness of the pillows with force.
Surprisingly, Tony manages to get more than two hours of sleep.
ii.
Tony stares at himself in the mirror, frustration etched across his face as he tussles with the disobedient tie in his hands. He teeters on the brink of a complete breakdown, nerves fraying at the prospect of tonight’s event, which he deeply dreads.
“Damn galas,” he mutters to himself, harboring a profound dislike for the whole thing. What’s the point of these events, anyway?
Pepper’s message about her absence only added another layer of stress. While they won’t have to arrive separately and fuel gossip, her nonattendance will undoubtedly spark speculation of its own, and Tony is unprepared for the scrutiny.
But attending is non-negotiable; he shares a name with the foundation.
“Hey, Stark,” comes a voice from the doorway. Yep, that’s the name. “Need a hand?”
Barnes gestures towards Tony’s tie, and his expression carries no signs of mocking.
“Yeah, I guess, I—yeah.”
Standing before Tony, Barnes studies him with careful eyes for a couple of seconds, then shakes his head.
“Tsk, you should go for navy with this suit. Got any?”
Tony opens his drawer of ties, mentally scolding himself for opting for a green one when navy clearly makes more sense.
“Since when are you into fashion?”
Barnes shrugs.
“I like what you’re doing with the charity. It’s very noble of you.”
Tony suppresses a chuckle at the word noble — he doesn’t want to offend Barnes’ earnestness — and averts his gaze.
“Just playing the part.”
Barnes hums skeptically but doesn’t push it. He holds up the chosen tie, and Tony nods in approval, feeling gentle fingers working around his neck only seconds later.
“Steve and I could come with you if you wanted. That’ll divert the attention a bit, won’t it? Three Avengers, two of them senior citizens, and the other Captain America?”
Tony doesn’t hold back his reaction this time, allowing a genuine, full-blown laugh to escape him. It occurs to him that he hasn’t laughed like this in days.
“Not one, but two handsome men on my arm? Could never say no to that.”
He’s likely imagining it, but Tony could swear he notices a blush coloring Barnes’ face as he smiles softly and pats the tie.
iii.
Tony wanders into the Avengers’ communal kitchen during an odd late-night (or early morning?) hour, with one thing in mind, and one thing only: coffee. He doesn’t expect the coffee to come with a side of Bucky Barnes lounging on the couch.
“Jesus Christ, Barnes, why are you just laying there in the dark?” Tony remarks.
“Couldn’t sleep,” comes the quiet response.
Tony doesn’t need to ask to know what kind of night it is.
“Yeah, me neither. Want some coffee?” Tony offers as he sets the machine in motion.
“That’s kinda counterintuitive, isn’t it?” Barnes observes.
Tony pauses. “I mean, if I’m gonna be awake, might as well be awake with a clear mind.”
“It’s not quite a clear mind though, is it? Caffeine’s a quick fix, but your neurotransmitters will be even more fried in the long run,” Barnes comments, still gazing at the ceiling.
“Since when are you into neuroscience?”
Barnes shrugs.
“I just think you’d be better off with some chamomile tea, is all.”
For reasons Tony can’t quite pinpoint — perhaps the mere mention of chamomile and the associated memories — he pours his fresh coffee down the drain and fetches two clean mugs instead. Rummaging through the drawers, he finds the right box, drops in the teabags, and pours hot water. Tony then makes his way to the couch.
“Wasn’t sure if you wanted sugar or anything else in that. Jarvis, my, um, friend growing up, he would add honey for me.”
Barnes turns his head to look at him, his moonlit face revealing the most emotions Tony has ever witnessed on the man’s usually stoic profile.
“Thank you, Tony. I don’t add anything, usually, but honey’s soothing, yeah.”
“I’ll try it your way,” Tony decides. “Scoot over?”
He knows, rationally, that he’s doing this for Barnes; yet, he can’t shake the feeling that Barnes is doing this for him.
iv.
Tony storms out of the debriefing before Fury even has a chance to blink his eye.
They’re being praised for their successful mission, while the outside world lies in ruins. What does it matter, that they won — whatever that means — when so many people lost their houses, their cars, their lives?
Casualties, they call it. Reducing human suffering to nothing more than numbers, projected losses, and inevitable field risks. All because he couldn’t stop it in time.
Tony can’t breathe.
He knows the Stark Relief Foundation is already on it, but throwing money at piles of devastation won’t magically glue it all back together. He might have the gold, but this is not something he can just Kintsugi his way out of.
He hears someone follow him out of the meeting before he gets to lock himself into a room.
“Not now, Steve,” he mutters defeatedly, leaning against a wall.
“Not Steve,” the mysterious follower corrects, joining him. “Thought you might wanna see this.”
Barnes hands him a phone, screen displaying a collection of messages from bystanders, all directed to Iron Man. Tony feels a wave of nausea, unprepared to face the impending onslaught.
“Please, I don’t—”
Would Barnes be so cruel?
“They’re thanking you, Tony. Look, you saved them.”
He taps on the first tweet, and a video plays — a woman tearfully recounting how Iron Man shielded her child just in time. The subsequent ones depict him in action; preventing a collapsing building from hitting a crowd, carrying people to safety, and passing through flames as he chases the enemy, risking his life without a second thought.
The mix of emotions overwhelms Tony, but he can’t deny that these messages anchored him and pushed away what was undoubtedly going to be an anxiety attack. He looks at Barnes, hoping his eyes convey the gratitude he feels, without the need for words. Well, any words other than:
“Since when are you into Twitter?”
Barnes shrugs.
“Come on, let’s go home.”
v.
Exhaustion weighs heavily on Tony, both mentally and physically, but he vowed to have the document ready by tomorrow, and he’s unwilling to further disappoint Pepper.
“What are you working on?”
“Oh, hey. Fighting with some math and attempting to save my ass from Pepper. It’s our new line of prosthetics. They should be lighter, and cheaper, and really help people, you know… Well, you literally do, you were the prototype,” Tony half-chuckles. “So it’s important we get it right. But something went wrong along the way, and the data I have from SI’s RPNI studies don’t match with the human trials, and I—I don’t know, not even JARVIS can see where the discrepancy comes from.”
Barnes skims through the floating text, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You know, when you first gave me this,” he taps his metal arm, “I noticed the adjustments weren’t just about the mechanics. It’s the little things, like the grip strength adapting to different tasks. The studies might’ve overlooked the variability in how real-life people engage with the prosthetic. Some might exert more force for certain activities, while others less. Maybe the human trials didn’t capture that diversity.”
Tony’s eyes widen as he comprehends his point. The prosthetics’ real-world application involves a dynamic range of user interactions that their studies might have failed to account for. Barnes, living with a prosthetic limb at all times, has become attuned to these subtleties and can offer a perspective that goes beyond mechanical precision.
“So, the adaptability is driven by individual needs rather than inherent capability, introducing a level of variability that the initial data failed to account for. What we’re witnessing is a personalized response to the prosthetics, a nuance that the controlled studies didn’t predict.” Tony sighs. “How did we not consider this? I promised a full report by tomorrow!”
“Tony, you have like a hundred jobs within your company, and you’re Iron Man, and you handle our gear, and you oversee the foundation… You can’t possibly expect to always do it perfectly, no matter how much that bothers you. Surely, if there’s anyone to blame, it’s some poor soul from the research and development department.”
Tony playfully bumps his shoulder into Barnes’.
“Since when are you into corporate hierarchies?”
Barnes shrugs.
“Maybe I’m just into whatever’s important to you,” he says absentmindedly, rolling up his sleeve. “Go ahead, poke at it, run some tests, take notes. I won’t let you go back to Miss Potts empty-handed.”
Tony blinks, immediately energized by the prospect of running an experiment; so much so, that he completely forgets about what Barnes let slip.
+i.
The line echoes in Tony’s mind a few days later.
Maybe I’m just into whatever’s important to you.
Suddenly, it all makes sense — it’s so crystal clear that Tony feels like an idiot for not seeing it before. But, it’s never too late to do something about it.
“Tony, what’s this?”
Okay, so maybe he was too cowardly to do it in person, just in case the risk was miscalculated, and the error margin proved too much for him to handle. Don’t judge him — his heart is too fragile to be given away so freely.
But seeing Barnes show up at his Stark Industries office only to talk to him, Tony is hopeful this is about to go remarkably well — or turn into the embarrassment of the century.
He watches him stroll over holding the now unwrapped gift Tony left in his apartment; shock still envelops his face upon discovering Tony gave him a first edition copy of The Hobbit — the very same one Barnes owned in 1937.
“How—how did you—”
“Billionaire perks,” Tony replies, standing up from his desk. “Turns out everything has a price, including items from Smithsonian’s basement storage.”
Barnes audibly swallows, delicately turning the cherished book in his hands.
“Tony, I don’t know what to say, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You’ve done more than enough for me, I promise. I finally opened my eyes and saw it all,” Tony says, his voice softening. He clears his throat. “Do you have an answer to the note?”
Barnes nods, a small smile playing on his lips. He suddenly seems bashful, prompting Tony to step closer.
“Hey, Barnes?”
“Yeah?”
Tony’s heart pounds so intensely, it seems on the verge of breaking free from his chest.
“Since when are you into me?”
This time, Barnes doesn’t shrug. Instead, he leans in, responding with a long overdue kiss.