#dracusfyre

“New meat, huh?” Stark asked, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he tilted his head and studied Bucky with eyes that seemed entirely too perceptive. “Tell me about him.”

“Wants a job,” the man at his elbow said. Bucky didn’t jump, but it was a near thing; he’d forgotten the man was even there. This was Tony Stark? The Mechanic was actually a mechanic? Everyone, from Bucky's fellow policemen to the FBI task force that had been organized to take him down, to the ATF agents and federal marshals that swapped stories over beer, had a different theory about where the man’s klichka came from: because of his well-known penchant for nice cars, because shop tools were his favorite methods of interrogation, because he was good at greasing wheels and making things happen. No one had ever suggested, even as a joke, that it might be because the man was a grease monkey. “Former military, spent time in Iraq,” the man continued. What was his name? Oh yeah, Harold. Everyone called him Happy. “Got out and a friend of a friend got him a job, if you know what I mean. His info checks out; he used to do work down at Brighton Beach then moved up to Red Hook before crossing the bridge. You said we needed new muscle down on 6th, remember?”

“I remember.” Stark pulled out a wrench that had been hanging from his belt and started flipping it from hand to hand as he considered Bucky thoughtfully. Bucky lifted his chin and met Stark’s eyes, hoping his nervousness didn’t show; this wasn’t his first undercover assignment, just the one with the highest stakes. Stark controlled most of Manhattan and had been successfully expanding his territory at the expense of the Russians and Irish and gangs from Harlem. As the silence stretched, the metal of the wrench flashed in the light from the windows as it rose and fell, his hands sure and steady. “Go away, copper,” Stark said finally, and Bucky gaped as Stark turned away.

“I’m not a cop,” Bucky protested to Stark’s surprisingly muscled back. This operation, his job, maybe even his life depended on convincing Stark he wasn’t a cop. “Look, this is the biggest outfit in the city and I just want a paycheck, ok? My last boss came up short and ran back to Armenia without paying his debts. Word is you always pay up.” 

“Sure you do,” Stark said, the corner of his mouth turning up. “We all just want a paycheck, right? Happy, remind me why we need muscle on 6th?”

“Cops have been hassling our people,” Happy said, taking a step away from Bucky and eyeing him with suspicion. “Trying to shake’em down, demanding a cut.”

“Right, right.” Stark picked up his welding mask but didn’t put it on. “What’s your name, copper?”

“I’m not-“ When Stark just raised an eyebrow and gestured like get on with it, Bucky said, “Jason. Jason Brooks.”

“That’s it? No street name?”

“My friends call me JB sometimes, but that’s it.”

“Alright, Blue Eyes,” Stark said as he pulled his mask back down over his eyes and fired up the torch again with a hiss of blue-white heat. “Get the cops to lay off my people, and you’ll get your paycheck.”

Happy put a hand on Bucky’s back and shoved him back out the door of the warehouse since they’d been dismissed. “That’s it?” Bucky said, bemused.

“Yeah, that’s it. Whaddya want, to provide a resume and cover letter? It’s not like the Boss has to check with HR here.”

“Does he really think I’m a cop?”

Happy shrugged. “Only the boss knows what the boss thinks. Guess not if he said you could stay. Come back tomorrow at 5.”

“Do you really think he’s a cop?” Rhodey asked when Tony was done welding, coming over to admire the smooth bead he’d put on the chassis of the classic car he was remodeling.

“Oh, he’s definitely a cop,” Tony said, stretching his back and shoulders. “But then I thought, we have a cop, we have cop problems, let’s let one take care of the other. Either he’ll get them to back off, or he won’t, but either way one of my problems will be solved.”

“Oh, so it’s not because he has a pretty face?”

“I didn’t know you were on the market, platypus,” Tony said with wide eyes. “I’m sure I could get his number for you, along with his bank account, social security number, and entire relationship history.” When Rhodey just rolled his eyes, Tony grinned. “He did have a pretty face, though, didn’t he? I wonder if that’s why they sent him.”

“Not unless the feds have changed their MO in a big way,” Rhodey said, handing Tony a towel to clean his hands and wipe the sweat off his face and neck.

“I’ll let him run around a bit and see what happens,” Tony said, voice turning serious. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like I had about Natasha. Or Natalie, whatever she’s calling herself now.” Natasha had been a plant from the Russians, trying to crack his operations so they could retake some blocks they’d lost a few years ago when Tony had taken advantage of infighting to push his boundaries out. She’d taken one look at the ladies working in Tony’s territory and taken to them like a mother cat with kittens. She’d also organized them with the ruthlessness of any NY City union boss, eliminating pimps with such prejudice it earned her the klichka the Widow. Six months into working for him, she’d flipped and given him everything she knew and was the reason why the Russians had been pushed back to their tiny toe-hold in Brighton Beach, with most of them heading back for greener territories back in the Motherland. “Put him with KT. He’s good with newbies.”

“You aren’t worried he’s going to find something?”

Because it was Rhodey, Tony gave it some thought. Whatever law enforcement sent Blue Eyes had apparently done a better job with his cover than the previous people did; so far Happy had been able to weed them out pretty early on. Tony couldn’t even say why he was getting a cop vibe from the new guy. He had short hair, little longer than military regulation, but the stubble on his jaw screamed six-day bender and he had the thousand-yard stare of an ex-soldier used to violence down pat. Hell, that part was probably true. Maybe it was the surprise in his eyes when he’d seen Tony; in Tony’s experience, most people who made their living on the streets had the ability to be surprised burned out of them long ago. “Nah,” Tony said eventually. “For the good stuff, he’d have to go through me. Anything else he’d just be nibbling around the edges.”