#bxdcubes

Morning finds Tony bent over a bench with a torch in his hand. He has his goggles on and Rage Against the Machine is playing on the speakers. He’s in his work, thoughts running hundreds of miles per second, and… well, he might be a little bit sleep deprived. 

Well, it’s to be expected of a genius, isn’t it?

“I wish,” a firm voice jolts Tony out of his work. He looks up, pushing the goggles on his forehead, and assumes the blurry figure at the door is his boyfriend. He mostly bases that on the honey-rich, but disappointed voice and the black hair kept in a neat topknot. “I was more surprised to find you here, Anthony.”

“Babe! You know me too well to expect anything else!” he sends him a million-watt smile. It’s only a little bit fake, so that’s a plus. “How’ve you been?”

“Busy,” T’Challa sighs and swiftly undo his tie. He wraps the purple silk in a ball and puts it in a pocket, making his well-fitted suit pants bulge at the front. 

Tony wiggles his eyebrows at that and the corners of T’Challa’s mouth twitch in an almost-smile. 

“Happy to see me?”

“Always, my heart,” T’Challa answers without missing a beat.

Tony lets out a startled, embarrassed noise that sounds like a dying animal, and hides his face in his hands. T’Challa can still see that the tips of his ears are red when he approaches. 

“Oh, dear heart,” T’Challa mutters, running a hand through Tony’s short hair. He kisses the top of Tony’s head when the man leans into him instinctively. “You should be used to it now.”

“I am. Kinda,” Tony mumbles into his hands. “It’s just difficult to undo decades of abuse and manipulation. Leslie says it’s normal.”

T’Challa nods at the mention of Tony’s therapist. It’s been going great, especially with Dr Thompson being professional and stern enough, but also with a funny side and a brilliant mind, that Tony could easily relate to. It also helped that when she started treating Tony and the media got wind of it, she punched the first journalist that kept pushing her to break the doctor-patient confidentiality (and a bunch of NDAs that Pepper insisted she signed). 

Tony was so impressed, that he didn’t need any encouragement to start his treatment. He tried to buy a car for Leslie, but she threatened to switch him to her colleague if he didn’t stop. 

T’Challa was and still is extremely proud of Tony for reaching for help, even if it took him some time. 

“Got a gala tonight to attend,” T’Challa says, sitting next to Tony on the bench. His boyfriend picks up the little robot that he’s been working on all night long again and is inspecting it from every side. It looks like a cube with ears. “Will probably be running late.”

“Well, that’s tragic,” Tony responds a little thoughtlessly. T’Challa can still hear the disappointment in his voice, even if the man is distracted by his work.

“Come with me?”

“Hm?” Tony looks up from the cube and rich brown eyes meet T’Challa. “Come again?”

“Come with me to the gala.”

“As who?”

“Whoever you want,” T’Challa answers. “But I’d love you to attend as my partner, my plus one.”

They haven’t been hiding their relationship, but truth to be told they didn’t try to be ‘official’ as the tabloids would say. Both T’Challa and Tony love having this only for themselves and a few very close friends, but the rest of the world doesn’t know about them.  

“You sure about it?” Tony puts down his work and focuses completely on T’Challa, who nods. “You know I don’t mind having you only for myself. Wakanda is still a little… unbalanced,” Tony winces at his chosen word, but keeps going. “Being officially tied with me might not be the best business move right now.”

“Good thing this isn’t a business thing,” T’Challa replies and grabs Tony’s hand. He presses it to his lips and holds Tony’s gaze. “I love you, Tony. Wakanda has no say in this.”

He can see that Tony wants to yank his hand away and hides his adorable, blushing face again, but he holds on. The grip is loose enough for Tony to escape if he really wanted, but T’Challa doesn’t want him to hide. 

“I love you,” he repeats and leans in for a short, sweet kiss. Tony tastes like coffee and T’Challa has been in love with this taste for years now. 

“Love you too, babe,” Tony answers, barely above a whisper. His eyes are glued to T’Challa like he expects the other man to just disappear. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“You sure? I wouldn’t want to pressure you into anything you don’t want.”

“I don’t think you could even if you wanted,” Tony says softly, giving him a sincere smile. “You’re a marshmallow.”

“Only for you, my heart,” T’Challa admits and presses another kiss to Tony’s full lips. 

He deepens it and Tony’s hand finds itself in T’Challa’s hair. A gasp escapes the Prince when Tony pulls a little too much on the freed strands, and when they pull away Tony’s eyes are black with desire. 

“What time is the gala?”

T’Challa barely looks away from his lover to check the time. 

“In seven hours.”

“Wanna do something fun?” Tony asks, teasingly. “I have a bed with our names on it.”

“You certainly need some sleep, darling,” T’Challa laughs and reluctantly lets go of Tony. 

He straightens and offers his hand to Tony. 

“Shall we?”

“We shall!” Tony grabs the offered hand with enthusiasm and soon is squealing in surprise when T’Challa leans down and grabs under his knees. He scoops Tony in a bridal carry like he weighs nothing and the engineer’s arms sneak around his neck. 

“I’m sure I weigh a little more than a pack of grapes,” he grumbles into T’Challa’s skin.

“Just a little more. Maybe two packs.”

Tony hits him playfully on the chest, but T’Challa can feel him smile, as he walks toward their bedroom. They settle in a comfortable silence during the elevator ride and T’Challa doesn’t need a superhuman hearing to know that Tony’s falling asleep. 

“Just a little more,” he assures Tony in a warm whisper. The other man just hums in acknowledgment and it’s a good thing he’s already so gone on Tony, because the sudden wave of emotion that hit him, would certainly unbalance him. As he is well aware of how in love he is with Tony Stark, who’s acting like a kitten in his arms, he simply walks into the bedroom and gently puts the man under the covers. 

“I’ll be right back, my love,” he whispers tenderly while tucking him under the blanket. 

Tony lets out a little sound, something that makes T’Challa think of a sleepy newborn kitten, and unconsciously tilts his head towards T’Challa waiting for a kiss goodnight. 

T’Challa doesn’t melt at the sight, but only barely. He leans down and presses a loving kiss to Tony’s offered cheek. 

He pulls himself away reluctantly and moves towards the closet to change into something comfortable as quickly as possible to get back to his lover. 

That rules out Natasha, too. He can’t predict her on the best of days and the last thing he wants right now is her ratting him out to Steve. Even the prospect of it causes prickles of discomfort – the Winter Soldier rousing with a murmur from his hindbrain that pegs the Black Widow’s volatility as a threat. Bucky breathes through it, lets that protective rage wash through him before it flows out and away. 

He has options. He can go on the run again – not ideal, not with the life he’s been trying to build as a legal citizen and an Avenger. His other option is to get help – and Bucky needs help from someone he knows is going to stand up to Steve; someone he can count on to, if not side with Bucky, then to at least listen to what he has to say. 

The Soldier anticipated what he’d need. When he searches the pockets of his dirty jeans he comes up with a cheap, black flip phone and a handful of crumpled dollar bills. He can only hope the phone was purchased somewhere instead of pickpocketed, even if Bucky knows he had no cash on him before the Soldier fled the Compound. It’s a simple matter to dial in the number Bucky’d memorized, even if he never thought he’d put it to use. The line, slightly staticy with bad reception, only rings once before FRIDAY’s cool voice answers: 

“Dr. Anthony Stark’s private line. To whom am I speaking?”  

“Uh, this is Buck- James Barnes.” 

There’s a pause, then the line clicks and just like that, Stark speaks.

“Barnes. You sound… cognizant.” 

Shit. 

“Steve already called you,” James realizes, heart sinking.

“Not so much, but FRIDAY is installed in the compound. I get alerts.” 

“Then you know why I had to leave.” That’s almost a relief – he won’t have to explain-

“See, not so much. No microphones or cameras in the bedrooms, remember? Whatever you and Steve get up to is your business until someone gets put through a wall.” Stark’s tone is mild, but Bucky can hear the strain in it. 

“Yeah, not my finest moment,” Bucky tries for levity, but it falls flat. “Look, I- the news was talking about the anti-Avengers protestors and they mentioned Maximoff. That she- did you know? That she was HYDRA?”

There’s silence from the other end, then a crackling over the line as Stark swears viciously for a long moment, then sighs. 

“I’m sorry, Barnes. I’d have told you if I thought for a second you didn’t know,” the man promises, sounding grim. Bucky feels something in the pit of his stomach unwind, startled to recognize relief – relief that at least one person in his life wasn’t purposely keeping him in the dark. He and Stark have only spoken a few times since they apologized to each other, but Bucky can admit to himself their sparse interactions have mostly been due to him avoiding Stark, still feeling awkward. He can’t afford to feel awkward now, has to move forward. 

Move on from Steve’s automatic defense of Maximoff, the claim that she’d been a kid who didn’t know what she’d been getting into. He’d felt the anger rising, and when Bucky made to leave before he lost his temper, Steve reached out to stop Bucky

The Soldier was the one who turned to meet him.

“Are you still there, snowflake?” Stark asks, and Bucky realizes he’s been silent too long. 

Bucky laughs at the question and the nickname both, and it’s too bitter with recent memories, but he can’t help it. 

“Yeah, still here. I just- it was too much to hope, wasn’t it. That there wasn’t one more thing Steve was keeping to himself.”

Stark snorts, tone wry, “Well, now we both know how that goes.” 

Such a blunt comparison should sting, but instead it emboldens him enough to blurt: 

“You don’t owe me anything, but I have a favor to ask.”

A pause, and even over the crappy connection he can hear the deep breath Stark takes. 

“Ask.” 

Bucky lets out a breath. “I need somewhere to hunker down a few days. It doesn’t need to be the Tower, just, if you could get me some breathing room…” he starts, but Stark interrupts.

“The Tower? Barnes, are you in the city right now?”

“...Yeah, yeah I am,” he admits. 

“You know what, I don’t want to know. Do you need- of course you do. I’m having FRIDAY triangulate your location. Stay there, I’m coming to get you.”

That makes Bucky sit up ramrod straight, mind skipping right over the why and you don’t need to that would be his automatic response in any other situation. “You flying around the warehouse district is going to attract attention,” he protests – every sighting of Iron Man eventually makes it to social media, and Natasha will be quick to pick up the trail of any unusual activity.

“Good thing I was planning to send a car then. No armor to sweep you off your feet this time,” Stark replies, and Bucky finds his mouth pulling into a smile against his will, unable to decide if the reference to their fight is in bad taste or not. 

“Okay,” he agrees, to both the car and the unspoken offer of help. Tension he’s been holding in his back finally unknots and Bucky climbs to his feet, metal hand against the brick to steady himself. “I’ll wait for you.” 

-

When he steps outside the warehouse to find a sleek black car idling in the rain, he only hesitates a moment before one of its tinted windows rolls down and he’s treated to Stark’s raised eyebrows. 

“Don’t just stand there getting soaked, Winter Wonder. Happy packed towels just for you.”  

The words are enough to jolt him forward, and Bucky opens the door and slides into the seat before his hesitation gets the better of him. He nods to the driver – the vaguely-familiar Happy looks surprised but nods back – and the Soldier in the back of his head takes in the man’s broad shoulders and the holster beneath his suit jacket and dismisses him as a threat in a single glance. Stark, on the other hand, stares at him for a long moment before he turns, gesturing Happy to drive. Somehow, he’s not a threat either, and Bucky finds himself relaxing back into the seat.  

The car is warm where the warehouse and outside are cold, and as good as his new arm is at not leeching heat and the serum never lets him be affected by the weather, he still prefers the warmth. Warmth is not the bunkers and labs and the Chair – warmth is the Wakandan sun on his face after the triggers are removed, the blankets of his bed in the Compound, Steve’s hand on his shoulder- 

Bucky shudders, and Stark must take that as a shiver because the man drops a large red and gold towel in his lap. 

“At least take care of your hair, you’re dripping on the upholstery,” Stark says, and when Bucky turns to look at him Stark has already turned back to his phone. 

“Thanks,” Bucky croaks, clearing his throat when that gets the man to meet his eyes. “For all this, I mean. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

Stark sighs and massages his brow, but shuts off his phone. “You’re not the trouble, Steve is. No one realized you didn’t know about Wanda.”

“I’m… not going to be taken off the team?” As far as he figures, throwing a teammate through a wall is probably an infraction of the rules of the Compound, if not his actual pardon. Hope is a weak thing when it blooms in his chest, and it wilts a little when Stark fixes him with an incredulous look. 

“You want to stay on his team?” To his credit, at least Stark’s tone is neutral, and that’s enough to make Bucky pause instead of giving voice to the automatic ‘of course!’ sitting on his tongue. 

The Accords Council allowed the rogues back with a full pardon in order to fight Thanos, but their pardons’ conditions placed their team under Carol Danvers’ command. Bucky hasn’t had any issues with Captain Marvel, but the Scarlet Witch is one of the heavy hitters on her team. Bucky won’t – can’t – work with someone who volunteered for the same organization that made him the Winter Soldier. He’ll never be able to trust her at his back again. 

Most of all, he doesn’t know if he can trust Steve; twice now he’s kept major secrets from the people he called his friends, and Bucky- Bucky remembers that Steve wasn’t always big on the whole truth, but he’d never lied to his friends, not before. 

He doesn’t feel like he even knows who Steve is anymore. 

“No,” Bucky finds himself saying. “I don’t think I want to.” 

Stark watches him, his gaze steady, almost reassuring. 

“I’ll make some calls in the morning then, see if we can’t swing a case for the Council. They’ll probably reassign you to Rhodey’s team.” 

The same team Stark himself works on. 

“Wait, in the morning?” The city is bright with lights under a black sky when he looks out the window, and Bucky suddenly realizes he has no idea what time it is.

“It’s around 3 a.m.,” Stark says before Bucky can pull his flip phone out to check. He holds up a hand when Bucky opens his mouth to apologize. “Don’t. I was awake and in my lab anyway, against FRIDAY’s advisement,” he adds with a quirk to his lips. 

The phone in the man’s hand lights up.

“You have a meeting with the board in six hours, boss. I just suggested that more sleep might make it easier to deal with them.” It’s the most Bucky’s ever heard the AI say in one go – and he’s never heard that playful, chiding tone either – he wonders if it’s reserved for her creator. 

Stark only shrugs. 

“With enough coffee I can run circles around them. And Happy is used to my weird requests at this stage.” There is a grumble from up front but their driver doesn’t otherwise protest. “Anyway, not the point! Don’t you worry, Barnes, we’ll get you squared away at the Tower until things are ironed out. Sound good?”

“Call me Bucky,” he says, instead of an affirmative, or a thank you, or any of the million better options that could come out of his mouth. Stark blinks, any surprise quickly wiped away by a small smile, more genuine that anything Bucky’s seen on the news or tabloid covers. 

“Well Bucky, I guess you can call me Tony,” he says, and offers a hand – his left, so when Bucky reaches out in return he has to shake it with his metal hand. Stark’s, no, Tony’s hand is warm and firm as it grips back unhesitatingly. They shake, then part, and Bucky finds himself missing the contact instantly. 

Nevertheless, it feels like a step in the right direction – towards safety – and that’s all Bucky can really ask for at the moment.