#utmc

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“You sure this is a good idea, Tones?” 

It’s eight a.m. and Tony hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep in at least a day. Jim can read it in the dark smudges under the man's eyes and he has to bite back an expression of concern that will do no good, not with the mood Tony’s in.

“Nope, not sure at all!” Tony chirps, smile a little too wide. “Come on, platypus, the guy needed help.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to be the one to help him. You could let the Council take it from here-” Jim starts, but Tony shakes his head before he’s halfway through. 

“You know I can’t do that. With the way the Council’s getting antsy, they might just shove him back on Carol’s team to shut Steve up and maintain ‘team harmony’.” 

With the warning from the Asgardians and the weight of Thanos coming closer every day hanging over them, everyone is feeling the pressure to present a united front, if only to keep the American public from panicking. Other parts of the world are both more and less interested in the Avengers these days as numerous countries scramble to assemble and train their own teams of enhanced to fight the Titan’s army, as well as coordinate planetary defenses. None of that means the United States can afford to show weakness right now. 

Jim sighs, sinking down onto the penthouse couch, his newest set of leg bracers silent as they adjust to his shifting posture.

“Point. But you don’t have to take it all on yourself—at least let me handle the call to the Council and get the paperwork started,” he cajoles. Jim shouldn’t have to convince him—as co-leader of the Avengers Jim should be the first one called in cases like this, even if Tony submitted the official complaint. “Your board meeting will probably run long, anyway.”

“Don’t get me started, I’m already getting raked over the coals for not coming up with new defense systems that aren’t just lasers and more missiles. Never going to complain about less paperwork,” Tony mutters into his coffee mug. 

It’s nearly empty, and based on prior experience he’ll soon use it as an excuse to get up and flee this conversation for a bit, if only to refill it in the kitchen.

When Tony glances up, Jim just raises his eyebrows, ignoring the familiar distraction Tony’s set up like a shining target. If they start in again on the difference between weapons, defenses, and how far Tony’s oath to stop weapons manufacturing actually goes, they’ll both miss their meetings. 

“I noticed you gave him the floor under yours,” Jim says leadingly. 

The floor that was supposed to be Steve’s, though none of the Avengers besides Tony had ever resided in the Tower. Jim can let himself be bitter about that—if only because he hadn’t seen the full impact that rejection had had on Tony at the time. He has the excuse of the Force keeping him busy, often overseas, but in truth it was like the damn palladium poisoning again; something breaking Tony down from the inside while Jim remained oblivious until it was too late.

“It was empty,” Tony shrugs, breaking off Jim’s train of thought.

“Happy says you went and picked him up yourself,” Jim replies, mild.

“You going somewhere with this?” Tony finally snaps, straightening. “Yeah, I went and got him. I wasn’t going to send a driver alone to pick up the damn Winter Soldier, give me a little more credit.” Jim doesn’t so much as blink, taking a sip from his own half-full mug. A long moment of savoring Tony’s very expensive coffee ensues before he concludes: “You really have forgiven him.” 

Tony deflates, all tension from his previous defensive posture gone. 

“...Yeah, I have.” The words sound wrenched out of him; Jim knows that’s all the honesty he’s going to get from his friend today. 

Jim wonders when the forgiveness happened. Was it before or after Barnes apologized? He hopes it was after, maybe as Tony getting some form of closure, but knowing his best friend it’s just as likely that Barnes had been forgiven before the rogues even returned. Not like he can bust Tony down for being forgiving—their own arguments stand testament to that—but Tony doesn't seem to know healthy limits, despite his and Pepper’s best efforts. 

“Okay then. I’m willing to take him on the team, assuming he doesn’t have any… entitlement issues.” 

It’s a nice way to put the general unwillingness to bend the rogues display behind closed doors, away from paying lip service to the press about a “united front”. Unlike the rest of the rogue Avengers, Barnes has never been the subject of Carol’s late night calls to vent. Myriad issues can crop up with accepting back a team of rebellious people that still believe their reasons for fighting trump the decree of over a hundred countries’ governments—and they do crop up.

Like fucking dandelions.

“There’s also the matter of the Winter Soldier,” Jim points out.

Tony sighs, fiddling with his cup.

“His therapy team will need to clear him after the incident.”

That makes sense, and would also give them a buffer of time to introduce him to the team and gauge where everyone stood with the super soldier. Jim knows Peter will look to Tony for cues, but the others might take a little more convincing—he’ll have to call a team meeting soon to brief them on the new situation. 

Tony clicks his tongue, snapping Jim’s focus back to him. He wiggles his empty mug demonstratively. 

“Top up?”

“I’m good,” Jim answers, gaze following Tony as he practically books it to the kitchen. If he’s honest, he’s surprised he could pin Tony down for as long as he did. The rogue Avengers come up in conversation—they can hardly be avoided—but Tony’s been particularly squirrelly about anything to do with Barnes. Until this morning, Jim had been sure that Barnes was still on his list of people to avoid. 

The misconception is understandable. Jim couldn’t imagine ever being able to look someone who killed his mother in the eye without flying off the handle. The fact that Tony had been able to accept an apology was a miracle in itself. To offer Barnes a floor in the Tower instead of one of his other New York properties, let alone the floor below Tony’s, was something Jim wouldn’t have considered a possibility up to the moment it actually happened. 

Part of him worries that this is Tony falling into those old patterns where he’d give time and money to SHIELD and his teammates, only to receive dust and broken promises in return. 

If it looks like Barnes thinks he’s going to be the next in that parade, he better have another thought coming. Jim certainly isn’t going to put up with it, either as a team leader or as Tony’s friend.   

He sighs, takes another long pull of coffee, and nearly spills it on his lap when the phone in his pocket starts blasting “Barbie Girl” and vibrating violently.

“Damn it! Tones, did you mess with my ringtone again?”

Only laughter meets his shout. He huffs, glancing at the smiling face and head of bright blonde hair on the caller ID. 

"Morning, Carol," he says as he picks up, hoping this is about what he thinks it is, instead of some fresh hell.

“Jim,” she says, sounding unhappy, and though he already has some idea of the situation he feels his spine straightening anyway. “Bucky is gone. FRIDAY can’t give me a clear answer on what happened and Steve won’t, and now there’s an emergency Council meeting? What the hell is going on?” She sounds stressed, and Jim grimaces in sympathy. 

“Rogers didn’t own up?” he asks, but of course not, why would he? God forbid the man be held accountable- he cuts off the thought—unproductive as it is—and continues before she can reply: “Barnes just found out Maximoff was HYDRA.”

A hiss from the other end of the line.

“Shit, that’s–”

“A huge fucking oversight,” Jim agrees—an oversight he’s probably already got paperwork on his desk to correct. He has no doubt the whole roster is going to be cross examined to avoid another disaster like this.

“And you know this when I don’t, because?” Carol demands. And that’s an oversight too—Jim should have been informed and called her the instant Barnes asked to be picked up, but instead Tony waited until the last minute to inform Jim and the Council both.

They’d already had words about that.

“He’s here.” 

He hears her pause, then a gusty sigh of relief. 

“Glad to know I won’t have to report him AWOL. Is he okay?”

Despite himself, Jim smiles, glad the stress of leading the rogues hasn’t worn her compassion to shreds the way it no doubt would Jim’s.

“I haven’t seen him yet, but Tony gave him a suite to crash in. Barnes was lucid enough to call him.”

Carol doesn’t miss a beat. 

“He called Tony after a Soldier episode? That’s…” she trails off, both of them taking in the implications—that Barnes had fled the compound was understandable, considering Maximoff’s presence there, but fact that the man’s first call hadn’t been directed to Carol showed a gap in protocol and team dynamics that becomes more obvious the longer he thinks about it. 

Never mind that the meltdown happened at all, when there had only been one other incident early upon the rogues returned from Wakanda—and none since.

Damn, but Jim is realizing how lucky they are that this didn’t come out during a mission. Adding a Soldier episode to an already high-stress situation is not anyone’s idea of a good time, and the last thing the world needs is to see one Avenger losing it against another in front of inevitable cameras. They’re exceptionally lucky the situation resolved the way it did, and Jim isn’t sure they can actually afford another slip-up of this magnitude if something does get out. 

He may have to ground Barnes for a few months, at this rate. Just to be safe, just to get all the wrinkles this is sure to cause ironed out. Speaking of which…

“Yeah,” Jim agrees. “Depending on psych’s eval, it may be a while before he can go back on the field, but Barnes doesn’t want to work with Maximoff anymore.” “Fuck, Steve is going to throw an unholy fit. I already had to talk him down from taking off after him. If he finds out Bucky is leaving the Avengers-”

“Not the Avengers, just the team with Maximoff on it.”

She pauses, then:

“Please tell me he wants to transfer to the San Francisco base.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“That’s worse. You realize that’ll be worse.” 

Jim grunts, the depth of his displeasure obvious when Carol sighs in response and mutters:

“I’ll do damage control as best I can for now, but Natasha is going to catch wind of the meeting sooner or later.” And she’ll tell Steve, no matter what Carol has to say about it or how secure those meetings are supposed to be. 

“We’ll deal with it when it becomes an issue.” Jim has no doubt that it will become one and, as head of the eastern Avengers branch, he’ll be on the front line to deal with it.

Movement out of the corner of his eye makes Jim look up at where Tony leans in the doorway. When they make eye contact Tony wiggles his eyebrows suggestively even as he takes a long pull from his fresh coffee. 

Jim sighs. 

“How’s the rest of the team?” he asks because he has to, and watches Tony’s playful expression drop—quick as a dead suit. It’s a testament to how far he’s come that Jim doesn’t even wince at the thought.

“Agitated. I’ll have to let them know something soon or Sam will stop helping me pin Steve down long enough to think rationally.” Jim grimaces.  

“Let’s hope this meeting starts the wheels turning. Remind them, if you need to, that their keycards only give them access to the Tower in case of emergencies.” 

“I’m sure that’ll go over great,” Carol replies, sarcasm obvious. “Anyway-” she starts to say, but pauses. “Someone’s knocking on my door, so I’ll have to sign off. I’ll see you at the meeting.”

Jim says his goodbyes and takes another sip of his coffee. He grimaces down at it in betrayal a second later, the liquid now too cool to be appetizing.

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.