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Something Wicked

Summary:

After #shieldfiledump and the demise of S.H.I.E.L.D. as the world knew it, most of the Avengers have been living at Stark Tower. They take a night off from working out relationship issues, dealing with the aftermath of brainwashing and amnesia, fighting with bureaucratic BS, and doing science to go see Wicked on Broadway.

The events of this story go in between In From the Cold chapters 20 and 21.

Chapter Text

After lunch, Steve and Bucky returned to Steve's room where they spent the afternoon hard at work, collaborating on Bucky's Hydra diagrams and cartography project. Toward evening, their focus and quiet were disrupted when Tony burst dramatically through the door laden with garment bags and other shopping spree refuse. "Happy unbirthday, I bought you suits. At least I'm pretty sure it's neither of your birthdays. I know it's not Steve's, 'cause that's the goddamn Fourth of July because of course it is. Barnes is it your birthday?"

"Uh, no." Bucky glanced at Steve.

"Tony, you really didn't have to—"

"Yes I did." Tony strode past them to hang up the garment bags. "The only clothes Sergeant Hook actually owns are a beat up pair of cargo shorts, boots, and a vest-harness-thing." He paused. "Okay, if Barnes is Hook, you are definitely Peter Pan, Cap. You even have the whole not aging thing going. Anyway, all you've got by way of formal wear is your dress blues and you are not wearing those to the theatre."

"There is nothing wrong with wearing a dress uniform to—"

"No." Tony shook his head, dropped one of the bags he was carrying, and pulled a shoebox out of it. "Got you both shoes. Pulled all your sizing stuff from S.H.I.E.L.D. gear issue records, and damn, Cap, you have positively dainty feet for a guy your size. Never noticed that, don't look at your feet much. Barnes, couldn't find sizing for you so Jarv scanned you, hope you don't mind. Catch." He tossed Bucky a tissue-paper wrapped package.

Bucky caught it deftly and unfolded the paper. Inside were a pair of soft, dark red gloves.

"We have expensive seats, you've got fancy duds, it's still pretty cool at night, no one will question a nice pair of gloves. You can both borrow watches, cufflinks, and ties from me, I have plenty to go around." Tony swept out of the room as suddenly as he had come in, leaving a post-storm kind of quiet behind him.

Bucky experimentally pulled one glove onto his left hand. "If I'm Hook, and you're Peter, does that make Peggy Tinkerbell?"

Steve couldn't help but laugh. He shook his head. "I'm not sure how she'd feel about that, but yeah, I think it does."

 


 

"You shouldn't have told them you do hair," Coulson chuckled the next afternoon, watching Clint play stylist to Pepper, Natasha, Maria, and Jemma in the makeshift salon that was the kitchen.

"You know what?" Clint said through a mouthful of bobby pins. "Fuck you."

The women all laughed. Maria shrugged unapologetically. "You volunteered."

"I volunteered to help Pepper." Clint finished pinning up one of Natasha's titian curls. "Okay, I'm done. If any of the four of you want anything else done, do it yourselves or help each other. While I'm in the mindset, I'm gonna go make sure Barnes doesn't look like a hobo, and then I'm getting dressed. Phil are you dressed? I can't tell because suit."

Coulson shrugged. "I might change ties."

Maria shot him a look. "Phil."

"Or I guess I could put on a better suit."

"Why don't you do that?" Pepper said with a smile, her hair swept up in a graceful cascade of braids and curls.

"Everyone else is spiffing up," Natasha quipped.

Clint shoved a hairbrush through his belt loop, grabbed a hair tie and a couple pins, then turned to slip from the room, pausing in the doorway to look back at Phil. "Sisters?" he signed, blocking the women's view of his hands with his body.

"Yes," Coulson laughed, prompting a barrage of questions as Clint fled, laughing, down the hall.

He got to Steve's room, knocked, and let himself in without waiting for an answer. "Actually, I don't care if you're naked. Wow, did Tony seriously deck you out in red, white, and blue?"

"Yes," Steve said, fiddling with his scarlet tie, "he did. Even offered me a flag lapel pin."

Clint took a moment to take in the crisp white shirt, navy herringbone suit pants, and the matching jacket draped over a chair. "Wow." He shook his head then turned to the other man in the room. "Barnes, I'm fixing your hair."

"Uh, alright." Bucky looked up from fighting with the buttons of his dark red buttondown as Clint advanced on him with a hairbrush.

"There's a fine line between rock star and bum when it comes to men with long hair, and you're skirting it," Clint explained, pulling the sergeant's hair back into a neat ponytail. "It helps that you shaved."

 


 

"Happy's pulling the limo around," Tony said as he passed out sunglasses. "Greek for dinner."

Bucky turned the glasses over in his hands. "Tony, it's night."

"Doesn't matter when you're rich." Tony put his own shades on with a grin then snatched a trilby from the table behind him and plopped it on Barnes's head. "There, you look like, I dunno, the swanky head of some grassroots upstart company. It's perfect."

Natasha pulled up the hood of her lace capelet. "And I look like Red Riding Hood meets Lady Marmalade."

"I think you look fantastic," Clint said, pulling on a pair of opera gloves.

"I never said anything to the contrary." Natasha smirked.

Coulson rolled his eyes, then put on his own hat and sunglasses. "How do I look?"

Clint gave him a once over. "Like Mafia."

"No, he doesn't." Natasha shook her head.

"Yes, he does."

"No, he doesn't."

"He looks like movie Mafia," Steve said firmly, halting the bickering. He put on the red fedora Tony had furnished him with. "I, meanwhile, feel ridiculous."

"You shouldn't," Jemma said. "I love the hat. The hat works surprisingly well."

Fitz nodded his agreement from under the brim of his flatcap.

Pepper walked up, tucking her phone into her purse. "Are we ready to duck the paparazzi without looking like we're trying to duck the paparazzi?"

"We're missing Bruce," Tony said.

"No you're not!" Bruce called, coming down the hall, buttoning his vest.

Coulson frowned at him. "Are you wearing a three piece suit without the jacket?"

"I never even bought the jacket." Bruce shrugged and tugged at the cuff of his purple shirt.

"So we've got Bruce." Clint looked around. "Where's Maria?"

"Oh, she's not riding with us," Pepper said. "She's bringing someone else. I forgot, only Natasha was there when I told Tony we needed a twelfth ticket."

Before anyone could inquire, Tony's phone chirped. "And that, my dears, is our ride."

 


 

"Ah, Ms. Potts," the maitre d' said smoothly. "Right this way, we have you in your usual private room. Two of your guests arrived a few minutes ago. Though I must admit, Mr. Stark, we weren't expecting you tonight."

"Nor were you supposed to be." Tony grinned.

"She has a usual private room?" Steve asked of no one in particular.

Natasha, her arm looped through his as they made their way to their table, shrugged. "For working dinners, I'd guess."

Tony clapped the maitre d' on the shoulder. "One thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"If anyone asks, this is a wedding party."

"Oh?" The maitre d' did an admirable job of not sounding confused. "And who might the happy couple be?"

Natasha gave a very fake cough and looked pointedly at Coulson.

"We're not—" He stopped, having noticed Clint scowling at him. "Yet. We're not yet."

"That was a horrible save, bro." Tony bit back a smirk.

Clint relinquished Phil's arm and attached himself to Jemma.

"Them, Miss?" the maitre d' asked rather playfully. "I'd thought they were already married."

"Common law." Natasha shrugged.

The maitre d' made a sound of understanding.

A pocket door separated the private room from the rest of the restaurant. The lively group of ten spilled haphazardly through the doorway and into the well-appointed dining room. Inside, facing the doorway, Maria stood, quietly conversing with a slender brunet whose back was to the group.

Tony said, "I didn't know Maria—"

With a firm and sudden grip on his arm, Pepper stopped Tony's flow of words.

Beside Pepper, Bruce had gone very still. His face went white. "Stark," he choked out. "What have you done?"