Chapter Text
Pepper presented him with the charity gala invitation over their ritual Monday morning coffee at Café Claritas. They sat together at a table next to a second story window overlooking the New York streets below. It was a security detail’s worst nightmare, but it was also the best place for a dark roast and a view. Well, short of the tower itself; but Pepper had insisted they meet somewhere out. So here they were.
Weekly coffee dates were their thing now. Well, it was their thing now that they weren’t a thing anymore. Pepper had initiated the first meeting after the messy aftermath of Ultron and their ensuing break-up. Not that Ultron had anything to do with her leaving him. It didn’t. Really it didn’t. It was just bad timing. And despite his attempts to put on a brave face, she knew him too well to let him get away with sulking in his lab for weeks at a time. Coffee had been a calculated move to make sure Tony didn’t isolate himself, and it had worked. What could he say? He’d take whatever affection she had left to give him.
Hell, he’d take whatever affection anyone had left to give him, really. Right now he was in short supply.
But the gala. Right.
“It’s to benefit businesses and families still struggling due to the destruction in Manhattan,” Pepper explained. Government grants and dedicated funds from Stark Industries had only gone so far and there were still people trying to get back on their feet after the alien invasion. The collapse of SHIELD in DC and the devastation in Sokovia had since stolen the public eye. It was all tactfully-worded, of course, and it would be an asshole move not to show up. Sure, Tony was an asshole, but not that kind of asshole.
“It says ‘plus one,’” he noted, twirling the embossed card in his fingers before slapping it down on the table between them.
“Tony,” Pepper warned, a note of guilt in her voice.
There was a reason for the guilt, although Tony wasn’t upset about it anymore. Well, maybe a little. Just a sliver. A microscopic amount. For the most part, he was happy for her. After all, soulmates were a big deal. More than a big deal. Sure, it would have been nice to have had a heads up. Maybe just a text on her way out the door would have been the right side of polite. “Off to meet soulmate. Back for dinner. Pep.” You know, something like that.
The thing was, the writing hadn’t given her much warning, either. Thirty minutes, to be precise. She’d acted on impulse. She’d never had the chance to meet a potential soulmate before. Like Tony, she thought she was one of the ones who simply wouldn’t get one. Or maybe one of those poor saps who’d missed their chance because the writing had popped up on the back of their neck, or while they were asleep. Anyway, she hadn’t wanted to worry him if it turned out to be nothing.
It hadn’t been nothing.
She’d come to him afterwards crying—makeup smudged, nose running, and eyes red. The last time she’d been so distressed, some nut job with a god complex had shot her full of Extremis. “I made a mistake,” she’d sobbed. It was an hour and a half before he was actually able to coax the information out of her, and by that point he was sure she was dying. In between soothing her tears and petting her hair, he’d been running frantic calculations and tallying up any favors he had left to call in, anything he could do to make whatever was wrong right. So when she said she was actually happy, he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around what she was trying to tell him.
She said she’d found… well. Happy.
The gears spun as he’d puzzled over that simple statement.
Then she showed him her shoulder, where a time, date, and location was now permanently etched against her skin. It was well past the rendezvous time. If she hadn’t made it, the mark would have faded.
…Oh.
Understanding worked its way into his skull like blunt force trauma, and then a cold, vast, unforgiving emptiness opened beneath him. He was plummeting like a lead weight through the stratosphere, which he’d literally done before, but this time it had been so much worse. No one was there to catch him.
Pepper’s voice snapped him back to the present. “You know I would go with you, Tony—”
“I want you to invite the rest of the Avengers,” he interrupted, mouth on autopilot. He leaned back and took a sip of his coffee. Rich and just slightly bitter. He honestly wasn’t trying to be symbolic, sometimes life just worked out that way. “That’s plus one, right? Tony plus,” he drew out the plus, for emphasis, “the Avengers.” His lips quirked and his eyebrows waggled coyly. “I don’t know if I mentioned it. The team and I are kind of an item now. All of us. Good for PR, right?”
Pepper rolled her eyes and scoffed affectionately. “Really now.”
“It’s a long-distance thing, but we make it work.”
Pepper laughed softly and pulled the invitation back. “All right, Tony, I’ll see what I can do.” She shook her head, her perfectly straight ponytail whisking across her shoulders.
In another time, another place, he would have smoothed her shoulders and pulled her close; just to press his cheek to hers and smell the shower-fresh scent of her hair. He never had figured out what that scent was, had never thought to find out. Something sweet—fruity, maybe—but classy. Like… pomegranate.
Typical. He always wondered about those things after it was too late for it to mean anything. Hindsight. “You don’t know what you got” and all that.
“I miss you, you know,” his mouth betrayed him. The desperate edge to his voice made him wince, and he did his best to turn it into a self-deprecating grin. “Sorry.” He wanted to add something quick and clever to lighten the mood, but words failed him.
Pepper reached out and squeezed his hand. “I miss you, too.”
+
Just because Pepper missed him didn’t mean she wanted to ditch her soulmate, though. A soulmate bond was a supernova of cosmic bliss and suckers like Tony couldn’t hope to hold a candle to it. Not that he’d gone out of his way to ask her to describe it to him—he’d already had a hole or two carved in his heart, thank you very much. No, every child grew up with the soulmate mythos. Howard used to go on at length about cultural indoctrination and the triteness of soulmates as a concept—probably because he was so obsessed with finding a certain Capscicle that he’d never made it to his own rendezvous. But Tony had seen the way Jarvis and Anna orbited one another. Their love for each other was so simple and so profound that it left his heart aching.
He wanted it.
He used to stay up nights wondering what it would feel like when he finally found the writing on his skin. Where would he have to go? How much warning would he get? Would they find each other somewhere exotic or perfectly mundane? He’d always thought it would be kind of hilarious to find his soulmate in a bathroom or somewhere equally bizarre. Everyone else had daydreams of sunsets and beaches, but he didn’t mind a bit of perverse humor coloring his romance. He wanted something unique. Sure, and maybe just a bit dirty.
Over the years, he spent his time studying people. Enthusiastically. Intimately. Any of them could be a match. There had been plenty of formal research, but science wasn’t any closer to defining the nature of soulmate potential and how it manifested. Was it purely physical? If so, where did the chemical interaction start? Was it metaphysical, some energy that couldn’t be quantified? What was it that drew two people together? There were no satisfactory answers to any of these lines of inquiry, but for a long time that didn’t stop Tony from searching faces in the crowd and checking his skin for marks.
He stopped looking when the reactor core leeched poison into his system. He’d scraped his way out of that mess by the skin of his teeth, and he’d almost died before knowing real love of any kind, let alone soulmate-level love. Maybe he couldn’t have a supernova, but did that mean he couldn’t at least try for a spark? He was willing to give it a shot. So. Pepper. Of course it had been Pepper. And, despite his laundry list of character defects, it had been pretty good. Perfect, actually, if you asked him.
Only now, not so much.
Tony extracted himself from a group of chattering socialites and wound his way around the crowded ballroom. He had a drink in hand, but it was some kind of sparkling, non-alcoholic beverage that would do little more than tingle on the way down. That was Pepper’s doing. She’d made sure the entire staff knew not to serve him anything else. Not that he wanted them to. Not tonight. He was actually having fun. And he was doing some good for the world, all in one night. God, how he’d needed that. He’d spent far too much time moping recently.
It was a lot harder to mope when he was with a team of superheroes dressed to the nines crashing a swanky Saturday evening gala in New York.
Sure, there were a few small things he hadn’t factored into the equation.
Thor had always come and gone. He was presently gone, and Bruce wasn’t there, either. Tony missed the larger-than-life presence of the Asgardian, but more than that he missed his science bro. It would have been nice to have someone to talk shop with in between the tedium of politics and gossip. The absence ached.
It was also just a bit like insult to injury to hear JARVIS’ voice come out of Vision’s mouth after Tony had just started to get used to Friday’s ever-present Irish lilt. Logically, he knew the only one he had to blame for that was himself. Still, it didn’t help.
Wanda was, well, she wasn’t friendly, per se; but at least she wasn’t glaring at him like she wanted to rip out his soul. That was a definite improvement over their first introduction to one another.
Natasha had come dressed in blue. There was nothing wrong with that, of course. There wasn’t. She was terrifyingly attractive, as always. It’s just that it reminded Tony of a different redhead in a backless blue dress who had forgotten to wear deodorant the first time her boss had asked her to dance.
Natasha, seeing everything as usual, had kissed his cheek and told him it would be all right.
Rhodey was there, and that was a lifeline. They’d been doing the friend thing long enough that they fell into each other’s space effortlessly. Tony needed that, and Rhodey knew it. He wasn’t a mother hen, but he was never far away while Tony was working the room and rubbing elbows with the city elite. Whenever Tony was trapped by well-meaning but nosy people who offered their condolences over his break-up—pity and a hint of desire glimmering in their eyes as they got a little too close, grasping for him—Rhodey would clap him on the back, squeeze his shoulder firmly, and steer him away to safety.
Nice to know someone still had his back.
And then there was Steve Rogers in an honest-to-god tux. Nothing to cry about there, except for tears of joy. The captain was sinful enough in a regular tee and jeans, but those broad shoulders and trim waist in a slick black suit... Tony had to rein in a few particularly unwholesome thoughts.
He caught up with the superhero team after the latest round of schmoozing. The team had claimed an open lounge with soft lighting just off the pillared ballroom. Rhodey gave Tony a pat on the arm and broke off, joining the others amid a circle of couches and ridiculously ornate floral arrangements. Sam and Clint welcomed him with a shout and offered up a tray heaping with cheese and fruit. Natasha had kicked off her shoes and drawn her knees up on the cushions next to Sam and Clint. Vision and Wanda had claimed seats adjacent to one another and their heads were together, sharing a soft conversation underneath the louder banter of the others.
Steve stood off to the side, studying a floor-to-ceiling oil painting, one hand in his pocket as he nursed a drink that was no doubt doing nothing more for him than Tony’s would have.
It was a perfect picture and Tony’s heart swelled dangerously. Yeah, this was his family. This was the way it should always be. He missed this, he needed this. Maybe even more than he needed Pepper.
That there. That was an idea he wasn’t sure he was quite ready for.
He took a deep breath and forcibly dragged his thoughts into safer, shallower territory. He came up to Steve’s elbow.
“You’re looking good enough to eat tonight, Captain.”
Oops. Tony tilted his glass and glared at the contents, yearning for the days when he could blame his drink for his faulty brain-mouth filter. He’d meant to comment on the painting—a composition with Victorian era lovers on a knoll above a river. They had a heaping picnic basket beside their rumpled blanket, and a white bird in a cage above that. Who on earth thought it was a good idea to bring a pet bird on a date, let alone arrange the food underneath it?
Steve arched an eyebrow and smiled, mercifully letting the comment slide. “Hey, Tony.” He pulled at his tie, trying to loosen it. From the wrinkles creased into the fabric, Tony guessed it wasn’t the first time that night.
“Got a problem there?” Tony gestured to the offending garment.
“It’s a little tight,” Steve said and mumbled something about “short notice” and “used to have the opposite problem.”
Tony ran his tongue over his teeth to keep himself from agreeing too readily about the snugness of his friend’s attire. “You should come by the tower on one of your off days,” Tony said. “I’ll take you to my tailor, get you fitted for some new suits. My treat.”
And if Tony happened to have a front row seat for the fitting, what would be the harm?
“Thanks, but, no offense, I hate this formal stuff.” Steve shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense to get more suits if I’m not going to wear them.”
“You can't avoid every formal occasion," Tony argued. "And the leader of the Avengers should have a suit that fits or you'll put the team to shame. How about this? We’ll only make one.” It was a lie. Tony’d make ten and Steve wouldn’t be able to turn them down because it would be a waste. “Being formal doesn’t mean you have to be uncomfortable, Cap. You might enjoy these events more if you were getting a little extra circulation to your limbs.”
Steve chuckled. “Well, you might have a point there.”
"I'm full of good ideas." Tony took a sip of his drink and cocked his head to the side, swallowing thoughtfully. “I mean, far be it from me to deprive the world of that ass in those pants, but—”
Wait. Was there really no alcohol in his glass? Because wow.
Steve cleared his throat. There was something knowing and apologetic and unexpectedly patient in his expression. Shit, it was pity. Tony was so pathetic that even the righteous Steve Rogers wasn’t going to call him on acting like a self-centered prick.
Tony swore softly and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry, Cap. Steve,” he corrected himself. His fingers on the glass were trembling. Traitors. “I shouldn't have said that." He ran a hand through his hair. "Things have just been weird lately, after Pepper, and I'm not drinking, I swear, but my mouth still seems to think I am.”
Steve reached out to steady his hand and said, “It’s all right, Tony. I get it.”
The thing was? Cap wasn't lying. It’d been almost two years since Steve had found out his best friend James Buchanan Barnes was still alive. Two years since he'd last seen him. Two years since he’d discovered the lifetime of tortures Hydra had put his friend through. If anyone knew what separation and heartache felt like—not to mention the ensuing desperation, the need to hide behind a facade just to keep going—it was Steve. Except Steve usually coped in a more austere, private, and dignified way. Tony fell back on brazenly self-destructive (and flirtatious) tendencies.
Steve turned back to the painting. “It’s not a bad party,” he said. “Good to be here. Good to know we’re getting more help to people who need it.”
“I’m really glad you came,” Tony agreed. “I’m glad everyone came.”
“Me too,” Steve said, light and sincere.
Tony gestured to the artwork. “So, I’m no dummy about art, but can you explain this mess to me?” he said. “We’ve got some problematic bird placement going on here if you ask me.”
Steve laughed. “Yeah, honestly? I was kind of wondering about that myself.”
+
Rhodey, Clint, and Sam had everyone laughing by the time the row of sleek black cars pulled up to take everyone back to the tower. Natasha was still barefoot, carrying her shoes, and Steve had finally undone his tie completely, thrown his jacket over an arm, and rolled up his sleeves. Wanda had her arm threaded through Vision's, and Tony felt inexplicably proud. Like he was watching two of his kids starting to figure things out. Hopefully better than he had.
Another bonus Pepper had arranged: formal gala followed by informal movie night and an honest-to-god sleepover with the team. She probably hadn’t gone so far as to order sleeping bags or anything like that—there were still plenty of vacant rooms in the tower for people to claim—but the point was the party wasn’t over and the Avengers would all be there in the morning, just like old times.
Yeah, tonight was a good night.
One of the drivers ushered Tony away from the group, hurrying him to the front vehicle.
“Pepper threaten your bonus if you get us there after curfew?” Tony snapped his fingers to get Rhodey’s attention. “Hey, Honeybear, you’re with me,” he called.
“I think I’m safer riding with Sam,” Rhodey called back. “Sorry, Tony, I hate to break it to you, but I’ve found a new wingman.”
Tony groaned and rolled his eyes. “Platonic life partners is a forever deal,” he insisted, pointing at his friend. “That means sharing car rides.”
Rhodey laughed and gestured that he’d follow along in a second.
The engine was already running and Tony slid behind the wheel, much to the driver’s consternation. She was new. Had to be. The new ones always threw a fit when he tried to drive himself.
“Look, I haven’t been drinking, if that’s why you’re worried,” Tony said, trying to shoo her away so he could close the door.
A figure shifted in the backseat, movement caught in the rearview mirror. Tony swiveled. A bear of a man sat behind the passenger seat with his hands folded politely in his lap.
“Mr. Stark.” The man inclined his head.
Tony’s brow furrowed. Pepper hadn’t told him anything about hiring additional security. And for the end of the night? Who exactly did she think he was going to bring home with him?
There was a commotion outside, scuffling, and a sickening thud as a body hit the pavement. Natasha shouted something indistinguishable, urgent. Tony’s focus snapped to the rear window. A group of armed assailants were bearing down on the team from all sides. A split second too late, Tony lunged for the door. The thug pulled back on the driver’s seat with a crack, and Tony lost his balance. The thug pulled him into the backseat as the driver squeezed in and they pealed off.
The driver swore as they swerved into traffic. “You broke the fuckin’ seat, you lummox!”
Tony writhed, knees knocking against the seats and elbows flailing. He fumbled for the door handle without success.
“JAR—Friday!” Tony shouted. The AI’s reply was muffled, coming from the phone in his pocket. “I need the su—”
The thug clapped a hand over Tony’s mouth.
“Calm down, Mr. Stark,” the driver snapped, and it was sharp enough to startle Tony into stillness. “Unless you want to cause an accident. There are plenty of civilians out on the streets tonight. You don't want my concentration to slip.” She jerked the wheel once to emphasize her point and Tony's stomach lurched.
Shit.
The thug rifled through Tony’s pockets and threw his phone out the window. Then he pulled out a syringe filled with something blue-white and glowing. Of course. Tony bit back a protest as the needle pierced his skin and his assailant’s thumb depressed the plunger. There was an electric jolt and his limbs were suffused with sudden warmth and his thoughts turned fuzzy.
That was probably about when they expected him to give up, and that would have been a reasonable assumption if he’d been anyone else.
+
It was almost depressing how easily he slipped through their fingers. Escaping kidnappers had kind of become his specialty. Most of their endgames were sadly alike. Villains these days shared an aesthetic affinity for dank, cement bunkers operating with outdated tech and weapons, usually in the middle of nowhere, and staffed by lackeys who made the best faces when they realized Tony’d gotten the better of them.
In this case, he managed to give the lackeys the slip before they even reached the secret hideout. Before they were out of Manhattan, in fact.
For some reason, people still had a hard time equating Tony-Stark-the-man with Iron-Man-the-Avenger. As if the metal suit by itself was Iron Man and without it he was, well, just “Man.”
What an awful superhero name. But he could probably make it work given the right marketing. He was Tony Stark, after all.
All it took, really, was pretending the little cocktail they’d given him had hit him harder than it had. Thinking he was out like a light, his kidnappers pulled over to try to fix the driver’s seat. He’d slipped out, just like that, while the driver was berating the hired goon for not listening to her instructions.
Now there were just a few small problems Tony needed to work out. Whatever they had injected him with had left him legitimately unsteady on his feet. He was having trouble seeing straight. The goo had also shorted out the homing implants the Iron Man suit used to track him. Without his phone or access to a network, he was flying blind. On top of it all, they’d cuffed his hands behind him with a plastic zip tie. A zip tie. That was it, but it was enough. He’d used his mouth on the door handle during his escape, but he’d most definitely need his hands back sooner rather than later.
For now, he settled for running as fast as his shaky limbs and blurred vision allowed.
He eventually skidded out on damp grass underneath a tree, falling hard on his tailbone. He yelped and knocked his head back against the trunk and bit his lip to stifle another shout. There were infinitely better ways to get that kind of hurt, and falling on his ass was definitely not on the list.
He tried to make sense of his surroundings. There were an awful lot of trees. On the one hand that made it easier to hide, but on the other hand it made it nearly impossible for him to get his bearings. “Okay, it’s got to be Central Park,” Tony muttered to himself, “but central to what?” He had no idea what part of the park he was in, and he briefly regretted not spending more time outside as a kid. “Can’t see the tower for the trees.”
Or for the injection.
Tony sagged back against the bark and squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of dizziness made the world vibrate around him. He hoped whatever they'd shot into him didn't act as a tracer. He didn’t know what had happened to the other Avengers, but he had to assume he was on his own for now. If he had to fight his way out, chances were good he wouldn’t be able to. And, honestly, it would be nothing short of embarrassing to get caught again by those two knuckleheads.
Tony resolutely ignored the small voice in the back of his head that worried the other Avengers might not come for him at all. Logically, he knew they would. Someone would. He just had to hold on until that happened.
There was movement in his periphery and distant lamplight sparked off metal. Tony swore. He didn’t think anyone would find him that quick. He braced his shoulder against the tree, got his feet under him, and righted himself clumsily. If he was in for a fight, he wasn’t going to get caught sitting down.
A silhouette parted from the nearby trees—a man with long, lanky hair pulled back into a loose bun. He was wearing a hoodie and jeans and a backpack slung over his shoulders. So, it wasn't one of his erstwhile kidnappers. Someone else. Tony would have guessed from his scruff alone that he was homeless, but the stranger had a focused intensity that left tingling pinpricks in his skin. This guy recognized him, was targeting him.
Tony scanned for anything he could use to defend himself. Anything that didn’t require the use of hands.
Yeah, he was fucked.
Unless those lessons Natasha’d given him on her signature move had magically sunk in.
But his attacker didn’t seem to be all that interested in attack. His thumbs were hooked into the pockets of his jeans and when his features resolved in the dark, he looked mostly tired and irritated.
Light flashed again off metal. The man’s left hand. Silver fingers poked out of a fingerless leather glove. Sleeves covered both of his arms up to his wrists, but Tony was pretty sure the entire left one had to be metal. He had an ear for mechanics and the whirring adjustments as the man moved were a dead giveaway.
There was only one person with an arm like that.
Tony honestly didn't know what to do. He sucked in a breath and held it.
Barnes dropped his left hand and shifted so the arm was mostly out of sight behind him. “You got something to say, say it.”
“James,” Tony said, his eyes darting up. He had to be careful. He didn’t want the other man to run. Steve needed to know where Barnes was, that he was okay, and Tony would never forgive himself if he let Barnes slip through his fingers. Sure, Tony’s hands were currently tied behind his back, but the metaphor was still solid.
Barnes scowled. “Don't call me that. You don’t know me, Stark.”
“You don’t know yourself, either, last I heard,” Tony said carefully.
“You don’t know what I know.”
Tony tried for a deliberately cheeky reply and hoped it wouldn’t get him killed. “You don’t know I don’t know, though.”
Barnes' gaze narrowed.
Tony sighed. So much for witty repartee, then. “Listen, I’m in kind of a predicament.”
“I know.” There was a smirk in the reply.
“Was that sass, Barnes?” Tony arched an eyebrow. “Because I like it.” He paused for a moment to properly process the other man's reply. "Wait. You know know?”
“Yeah.”
“You mean you’re here to get me?” Tony clarified. “Specifically to get me?”
“Yeah.”
“But how? Who…?” The answer was so obvious it seemed impossible. “Steve,” Tony guessed. “He sent you.”
Barnes shrugged.
“He’s been telling the whole world he can’t find you,” Tony said.
“Yeah.”
“I swear to god, if you say that you know.”
The side of Barnes’ mouth quirked.
“You’ve been in contact with each other this whole time?”
“More or less,” Barnes agreed, as if it wasn’t a big deal. As if all they’d done was friend each other on Facebook after losing touch after high school.
But it was a big deal. Huge, actually.
“Holy shit.” Tony’s thoughts raced. That meant Steve had been successfully misleading an active government manhunt for the Winter Soldier, if not deliberately sabotaging it, for almost two years. And no one in the intelligence community had been the wiser. A cold certainty prickled through Tony’s veins: both super soldiers would be in serious trouble if anyone found out. Steve had risked a lot sending Barnes after him.
It also meant Steve hadn’t been in a position to come after Tony himself.
Tony tried very hard not to use that information to jump to the worst possible conclusion.
“The rest of the team? Are they all right?”
“Still fighting when I left,” Barnes said, one shoulder rolling in a half-shrug. “Steve called me when your car took off. Didn’t want to risk them getting too far with you. Found the car abandoned. Wasn't hard to track you from there."
His kidnappers had probably turned tail the moment they realized he was missing. If they were ultimately the cowards Tony thought they were, they might not try to find him at all. "But everyone else is all right? Steve? Rhodey?"
"Should be. There were a lot, but from what I saw, they were pushovers.”
“They kind of caught us with our thumbs up our asses,” Tony agreed. He shook himself. “Speaking of which, I could use a hand here.” He bent awkwardly to indicate his bound hands.
“Luckily I got one to spare.” Barnes ducked his head and circled behind Tony. He grabbed the zip tie with his right hand and snapped it easily with his left.
Okay, that was a lot hotter than it should have been. For once that night, Tony was able to refrain from saying the first thing that popped into his head. He settled on the second. “Thank you.” He rubbed his raw wrists.
Another bout of dizziness tilted the ground underneath him and Barnes caught the back of his arm and steadied him. Fuck, he really was strong.
“You all right?” Barnes asked suspiciously.
“They, ah, injected me with something,” Tony admitted, slightly dazed. “It’s interfering a bit with motor control. Nothing serious. Should be all right. I can get it sorted out back at the tower.” He braced himself for the inevitable lecture on hospitals and the need for professional medical care; but Barnes simply nodded, pulled one of Tony’s arms around his waist, and secured an arm over Tony’s shoulders to steady him.
“Uh,” Tony said, heat creeping up the back of his neck, “so this is the plan? You're just gonna walk me home? Like this?"
"Yep."
"Aren't we a little conspicuous?”
“Conspicuous is good,” Barnes said. He leaned in. “Your kidnappers are looking for a frantic billionaire trying to hide in the shrubs. Not two fellas out enjoying a stroll through the park.”
“I’m in black tie and you’re dressed like a hobo,” Tony pointed out. “No one would mistake us for a couple.”
“You sayin’ you want out of those clothes?”
Tony’s pulse lurched. “Low blow, Barnes,” he muttered. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a damn tease?”
Barnes pulled back a little, deadpanning innocence. That was a yes. But then he was all business, focus back on the task at hand. He tipped his chin up as he scanned the sidewalk and shadows for potential threats as they passed between pools of lamplight.
He seemed to know where he was going, so Tony shut up let him lead. Well, he shut up for a little while. There was only so much he could take when the brainwashed former assassin best friend of Captain America was literally plastered to his side.
“All right, I gotta ask,” Tony said. “What is it with you and Cap?”
Barnes didn't look at him, but answered easily, like he'd been waiting for the question all along. “Depends on what you mean.”
“I don’t care how in touch you claim the be, the guy obviously still misses you. He’s basically Eeyore in army boots,” Tony said.
"Your point being?"
Tony felt heat rising again, but this time it was irritation. His heart was a little too close to subjects revolving around loneliness and abandonment. He had to live with his, but maybe Steve didn't. “Why not come in? There’d be some red tape to get through, but eventually you’d be back in the world with the rest of us.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“If you’d let it, it would be,” Tony insisted.
Barnes’ expression soured. “I told you, you don’t know me, Stark.”
“Yeah, well, you’re wrong about that,” Tony fired back. “I went through everything they leaked when SHIELD collapsed. If I had a stitch of tech left on me, I'd show you.”
“Then you should know better,” Barnes argued, voice hard. “Besides I’ve seen them. Hate to break it to you, but the Winter Soldier files are nowhere near complete.”
Tony huffed in frustration. “Listen, I get it. I get guilt. I’m no wide-eyed innocent by any means. There’ve been a lot of horrible things in this world that are, directly or indirectly, my fault. Even when I’m trying my goddamned hardest to do the right thing I've got a way of fucking things up. I’ve gotta live with that every day.”
“This isn’t about you, Stark.”
“I didn’t say it was,” Tony snapped. “But it is about Steve.”
Barnes’ brows had drawn low, his expression pinched and unhappy.
“He’s on his own in a future he was never supposed to be in,” Tony said. “So are you. Isn’t it worth wading through the bullshit if you get to be in each other’s lives again? For real?”
Barnes’ jaw worked and he tipped his head back. “I don’t remember everything, Stark. Not the way Steve does. And there are things Hydra did…” His nostrils flared and he shook his head once, sharply. “Anyway, I ain’t sayin’ it’s not hard on him and me both. It is. A lot harder than you’d think.”
There was a truth squirming beneath his words, something Barnes didn’t want to come right out and say.
Tony made a calculated leap. “You’re not just friends, are you? Or you weren’t, back in the day.”
Barnes grunted noncommittally.
There was something more Tony was missing. Something that had drawn these two along parallel courses, through death, and brought them back together across a seventy-year gap in time.
Tony stopped dead in his tracks. “Holy shit, you’re soulmates.”
Barnes rolled his eyes, but he didn’t deny it. He urged Tony to keep moving.
“Why would you want to hide that?” Tony hissed. “If anything, that would work in your favor if you wanted to come in.”
Again no answer.
Tony chewed at the problem.
There had been a brief time when same-sex pairings were frowned upon in general society, and that time more or less lined up with the era Steve and Bucky grew up in. Problem was, a soul bond was instant relationship validation, the universe giving its seal of approval. Homophobic attitudes simply weren’t sustainable in the long run. Most people, then or now, wouldn’t question or contest an official bond even if they didn’t like it.
So it had to be something else.
True, it would be hard at first for the public to reconcile the Winter Soldier and Captain America as a pair; but that was nothing a little marketing couldn’t fix. Expand the Smithsonian exhibit to other museums across the nation. Throw some footage of the Howling Commandos up on YouTube. Arrange for some respectful media coverage detailing the torture Barnes had been subjected to. Once everyone saw how much Cap needed and missed his old friend, no one would be able to deny they were meant for each other.
Hell, Tony couldn’t deny it and he’d just found out it was a thing.
Speaking of which, why was everyone around Tony basking in the light of predestined romance while he was left with Monday morning coffee dates and the scraps of an ordinary—and totally failed—love life? It really wasn’t fair.
“Saw the way you looked at him,” Barnes said softly, apropos of nothing.
Tony jolted out of his thoughts. “What? Who?”
Barnes raised his eyebrows and Tony blanched.
“You were at the gala?”
“Outside, technically. Place had pretty big windows. How d’you think I got here so fast?” Barnes said.
There it was. The icing on the cake. Tony had been caught red-handed, leering after someone else’s soulmate. Perfect. In his defense, he’d thought Steve was free for the looking at the time. The best he could do now was own it. “Steve… he’s, uh, not hard to look at, I’ll give you that,” Tony admitted. And because he was feeling just a teensy bit self-destructive, he added, “Neither are you, for that matter. I can think of about twenty applications for that metal arm that have nothing to do with its intended purpose.”
“That so?”
“I’m a genius. Trust me.”
“You might not like being on the wrong end of this arm as much as you think.”
“Only one way to find out,” Tony pressed. The responding frown was definitely his cue to quit while he was ahead. “Anyway,” he said, “there are worse ways to end a kidnapping than being walked home by a super soldier.”
+
They paused in the shadow of an alley a discreet distance across from Stark Tower. There was a traffic circle between them and their destination, but the road was practically empty. Tony’s steps were surer than they had been before. Maybe he wasn’t at a hundred percent yet, but he could make it across the intervening space without any trouble.
Barnes kept a firm grip on his elbow. “The team just got back. Steve’s going to come out and get you in a minute.”
Tony gave the former assassin a quick once-over. If there was a communication device hidden somewhere on Barnes, he couldn’t spot it. It was possible there was one built into the arm, but the guy hadn’t even said anything. “You know what? I’m not even going to ask how you know that.”
That little secretive quirk at the side of Barnes’ mouth. Tony was starting to like it.
“So, I guess this is—”
He didn’t have the chance to finish. One moment the streets were empty, the next a swarm of armed operatives in black where closing in on them from every side, weapons aimed to kill. What was it Tony’d said about worse ways to end a kidnapping? Being surrounded by a strike team with sights trained on his fugitive escort was definitely one of the worse ways.
"Stop!" Tony shouted and put his hands in the air. White light flashed across his face, and he winced away from it.
“Is that you, Mr. Stark?” a voice called. "Are you all right?"
“I’d be better if I could actually see who I’m talking to.”
The light clicked off and Tony craned his neck to survey the agents crowding into the alley, both in front and behind them. He wasn’t sure whether to be worried or relieved when he saw they wore SHIELD insignias. There were—holy shit—there had to be more than fifty, with snipers along the rooftops. They really weren’t kidding around. Then again, if they had learned anything about confronting super soldiers from their encounters with Steve Rogers, the numbers weren't completely unreasonable.
Barnes had gone dangerously still beside him, pent up energy rolling off him in waves. He was ready to fight his way out.
“So what’s the end game here, fellas?” Tony asked cautiously, one eye on Barnes.
“Our orders are to apprehend the Winter Soldier," the agent said. "According to our sources, he arranged the attack in Manhattan tonight, along with your kidnapping.”
What? And then he walked me home? It was so absurd Tony laughed. “Um, no,” he said. “He really didn’t. I promise he didn't.”
"Orders are orders, sir," the agent replied firmly. “If you would please cooperate and step toward us. We’d like to get you to safety, Mr. Stark.”
Oh. So it was going to be like that.
“You know what?” Tony said. “I don’t think I will.” He stepped in front of Barnes so the scattered red dots were hovering over his chest instead. It wouldn’t do anything to stop the sights trained on them from behind and above, but at least his point was made.
The operatives dropped the tips of their weapons and there were a few hurried whispers. For a split second, Tony almost believed they were going to be reasonable.
Barnes knew better. He grabbed Tony and jerked him to the side just before the snipers on the roof could take their shots; but there was nowhere for them to flee except into a sea of uniforms. Tony tried the implants, smacking his forearms hard with the heel of his hand to get them to reboot. If he had the suit, this would be over in seconds. But whatever the hell his captors had shot him up with, it had done its work well. The implants weren’t just shorted out, they were dead. (That was going to be fun to fix later, by the way.) And somehow he doubted his self-defense lessons would do much good with the gunk still in his system. Sure, he could land a few hits, but it’d make little difference against the odds.
To his credit, Barnes tried to keep Tony covered as the agents circled in and landed blows; but Tony wasn't their target. He was just keeping them from taking a clean shot at Barnes. And even that was over far too quickly.
While Barnes was occupied, an operative ducked in and grabbed Tony, shoved him face first against a brick wall, and pinned his arms firmly behind him. “Just stay still and keep quiet. This doesn’t involve you,” he rasped in Tony’s ear.
“I kind of feel like it does,” Tony shot back as he struggled. The stone digging into his cheek felt especially personal.
Barnes twisted an agent’s arm sharply behind his back, dislocating it with a sickening pop. The man screamed and Barnes shoved him into the crowd, bodies tumbling like bowling pins.
“Don’t you have a gun, anything?” Tony shouted.
“I don’t do that anymore!” Barnes snarled.
If the fight had been strength against strength, Barnes would have won, easily. But there were too many and there was no room to maneuver in the alley. One of them jabbed Barnes’ left hand with an electric baton, shorting out the metal arm. The mechanics locked and he staggered, off balance. Agents swooped into the opening, piled onto his shoulders, and forced him to his knees. Barnes’ chest heaved with the effort to keep himself upright, sweat beading on his brow.
Tony thought that would be the end of it. They’d caught him. He didn’t want to be caught, but it was far from the end of the world. Tony had plenty of high-priced lawyers he was willing to enlist on Barnes’ behalf. He’d be locked up for a while, have to endure tests and psych eval, but they’d get him home and back to Steve. It would be all right.
One of the agents pressed the barrel of her gun to Barnes’ temple, finger on the trigger, ready to pull. “We have the order?” She touched her earpiece, waiting for confirmation.
Tony’s pulse roared in his ears.
Barnes’ head snapped up, his expression naked with fear. He suddenly looked so young, and his grey-blue eyes had gone glassy. Steve, he mouthed.
It wasn’t an idle plea. Across the way, the blond had exploded out of the tower doors at a run, still wearing the singed and torn remnants of his tux. He sprinted for them like he already knew what was about to happen. Super soldiers were fast, but he wasn’t faster than the trigger. He wouldn’t get there in time.
“Don’t!” Tony bellowed, fighting against the man behind him, grasping at straws for anything that would buy them the few seconds they needed, anything that would stop the worst from happening in front of him. In front of Steve. “Don’t you dare touch him,” he warned, false bravado coming easily and loudly, like he’d been thrust in front of a camera instead of an execution. “James Buchanan Barnes is my soulmate.”
Yeah, about that filter. He really needed to get it checked.