fossilised | military mistletoe

military mistletoe

As much as Tony loved to travel, he preferred to do it in a private charter jet or, at least, in first class. The Army didn’t seem to understand the importance of his comfort, however, nor did they stop to think that a civilian might not want to be shoved into a jumpseat with fifteen of their finest unwashed masses. He appreciated the escort, considering where they were going for the demonstration of a new smart shell he’d developed in hopes of gaining a better foothold on defense contracts with the Defense Department, but he wasn’t sure that these men had showered much in the last few days.

Despite his general brilliance, Tony was more showman than he was R&D expert. That wasn’t because he lacked engineering genius, but because he couldn’t do everything. Hiring the best and the brightest to work for him only actually worked for him if he could be the face of the company and sell their products.

Sure. He dabbled. But dabbling didn’t keep a few hundred people employed and a technology business afloat. Just ask Zuckerberg. Or those idiots that sold Instagram to Zuckerberg. Or Google.

The plane rumbled beneath him as the pilots started take off sequences and Tony tugged on his restraints with a mix of mild dread. It didn’t get any better when one of the buckles popped loose either.

The man could create stuff out of 50s science fiction but he couldn’t get the belts to work? He cursed under his breath and fumbled with the straps.

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Ouch. He’d known Bucky wasn’t interested. He’d been told before. That did not mean that Tony could shut off his feelings though.

“Youve told me twice now that I’m not your type,” he teased though he didn’t feel like teasing. At least he could handle rejection. Mostly. He didn’t get angry or upset. Not outwardly. It made him a little easier to handle, or so he thought. “And I usually go for leggy blonds that hate my guts— Shit. I should have invited your friend over.”

Okay, he could tell that he'd said the wrong thing, or that it had been taken in the wrong way, pretty much immediately. He wasn't a total idiot and Tony had a bunch of tells for when he was unhappy about something and trying to hide it.

"I said it wouldn't end well, but you're absolutely my type. But didn't you hear any of the stuff I said before about being a mess and not wanting to drag anyone down with me? Friendship is all I'm offering. To anyone. So don't take it so personal."

“Stop reading into my grousing like the world centers around you,” Tony immediately groused again, startled by the insight Bucky had about him. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. “I’m not interested either. I don’t do relationships, and why are we even talking about that? You’re too focused on that— And I get it. I’m a catch. I’d be focused on me too.”

Tony kicked Bucky a little in the thigh. He’d rather the guy not call him out on everything. Couldn’t he keep it to himself?

“Eat your damned ice cream.” Yeah. Buck has gotten to him. Steve would be able to considerate on that point. “And yeah. I’d like you platonically sleep with me tonight unless you’re gonna try to strangle me.”

Tony needed someone to keep calling him out, he had too many people who either wouldn't bother or didn't see through the bullshit in the first place. But Bucky would take pity on him this time, partially because he also didn't want to talk any more about any potential relationship doomed from the start.

"...that's what I'm most worried about."

He had some pretty bad dreams and he could be violent if he woke up in the wrong way, he had already punched Steve hard enough once that it was only by a sheer miracle that he hadn't broken a rib.

"But I'll be careful."

“Wait. You’re worried about it and you still offered?” Tony jabbed his spoon at the air in front of Bucky as if it was some sort of magical ward to make him feel his distance. He didn’t know if it would work but he also wasn’t that worried about it. Bucky proved himself to be incredibly strong, but Tony still have both arms and a security team.

He’d be fine.

He was so sure of it that he extended his other leg and dropped his second foot in Bucky’s lap.

Where it ought to be.

Tony settled back against the couch’s armrest and gave his friend an almost withering look, as if to go ahead and say something. They could watch a movie. They could view some car videos. It wouldn’t be too much longer until Happy returned with a few bags of clothing for Bucky.

“Not sure what you wanted, Mr. Stark,” Happy confessed as Tony pulled out a neon pink Hawaiian shirt.

“Oh. This is perfect.”

He was honestly less worried about it happening with Tony than with anyone else, if only because the other man's presence was familiar even amongst danger, and that might keep him safe where nothing else would. But he was still worried, and if he hurt Tony then he'd hate himself pretty much forever.

Worries were driven out of his mind when he saw what Happy pulled out of that bag. He levelled a stare at the other man, not really knowing how intimidating his glares could be these days.

"No."

Just no.

"It's not really my colour, tell me you bought something plain. Sweats? A hoodie maybe?"

“Oh.” Happy’s face fell, not because he hadn’t gotten some plain clothing, but because he hadn’t realized that Tony was having him on by that moment of delight. He shoved the shirt into its bag and dropped the bag on the floor where it hopefully wouldn’t do any further harm. Tony could just look disappointed if he wanted to.

Another bag was held out to Bucky and it contained a few items that were certainly plain, soft black pants and grey socks and different muted colors of t-shirts with a hoodie or two.

Tony gave a big thumbs down, not that anyone was paying attention, and boo’d loudly.

“Fine. Be boring.”

Bucky picked out thankfully plain clothes, ignoring Tony and his bitching, and let his scowl soften a little bit. Obviously Happy hadn't intended to make him look dumb, he'd just got a variety of clothing because he didn't know Bucky. That was a nice gesture.

"Thanks, man."

Happy looked a bit surprised, usually Tony's guests either ignored him or were assholes to him, but he was just grateful the Hawaiian shirt wasn't being held against him and beat a hasty retreat before anything could go wrong again.

Once Happy had gone, Bucky pulled off Tony's clothes with some small effort, almost overbalancing when he attempted to get off the too-tight pants, and pulled on the new clothes with a small sigh of relief.

"You know, I want to live in sweats and hoodies forever. Just soft clothes, no more body armour, no more fatigues."

“Boring.” But honestly, Tony understood that feeling. He hadn’t put on a suit and tie since he’d come home, just in case someone from the media happened to glimpse him leaving the hospital or the car when they pulled in. He’d been in yoga pants and tank tops or T-shirts since, but he didn’t want to make it look like he was being too similar to Bucky.

They could have some overlap but Tony didn’t want to make it look like he was trying to cookie cut the other man’s experience.

He didn’t offer to help either. Bucky was doing just fine with one hand. He’d obviously gotten a lot of required self accommodations down pat. Plus, he’d been going without an arm for almost all of the time that Tony knew him. If he could drag his ass across the dirt floor of their cell, he could tie the drawstrings to his own pants.

“Want a drink? Rum goes create with ice cream.”

Bucky didn’t care how boring it was, it was what he desperately craved now. He had lived a life of blood and violence and struggle, he wanted to have years of soft clothing and plentiful food and decisions no harder than what drink to have. He knew it wouldn’t work out that way, life tended to be a struggle even not in an active war zone, but a man could dream.

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to be drinking this soon after open heart surgery. Hell, are you even supposed to drink at all now you’ve had that sort of surgery?”

Weren’t the heart muscles weaker, or perhaps more vulnerable to problems now?

“Do I have to tell on you to this mysterious Pepper?”

“You’re thinking liver surgery,” Tony said as some sort of effort to get Bucky off of the idea. “My heart is fine.” It had been fine since he had gotten home and started his regimen of drinking to forget.

It came in handy.

No wonder Steve was afraid that Tony would be a bad influence on Bucky. He was a walking bad influence since he so rarely stopped to consider the consequences of his actions. Or that there would be consequences to his actions. It was his greatest failing.

He was already pouring himself a glass of the sweet liquor and glanced over his shoulder at Bucky to laugh. “Mysterious? Are you doubting the existence of my PA? I think I’m the poster child for a guy who needs a PA.”

“Oh sure, I just don’t trust that someone who needs a PA as much as you do would risk pissing her off as much as you do, knowing how badly you’d crash and burn without her.”

He would honestly like to meet Pepper Potts one day, it sounded like the only reason that Tony had survived and thrived for as long as he had was down to her, and possibly JARVIS. Tony had Bucky now, but perhaps he would do better if Bucky managed to team up with Pepper sometimes.

“So maybe don’t drink too much, because I’m pretty sure it’s heart surgery as well. Don’t believe me? We can always ask your super smart computer butler.”

“I don’t drink so much. One drink isn’t going to send me into convulsions. You’re bossy. Did anyone ever tell you that?” Maybe that’s what Tony liked so much about Barnes. He wasn’t easy, he wasn’t a pushover and Tony needed that sort of stability. It also helped that he was easy on the eyes, though.

Tony held back on the pour and settled for two-fifths to go with his ice cream. It would mellow out his edges and everyone could agree that it was important.

“You could be my PA. Let Pepper run the business. She’s better at it than I am.”

"Pass."

Even though Bucky would undoubtedly need a job one day, one that wasn't coasting off disability pension and whatever stupid publicity the military had him doing, he wasn't going to work for Tony. Not ever. It would just change their dynamic too much. Tony had enough issues with wondering if his friends actually liked him, it would be impossible to counter that stupid self destructive streak if Tony could pretend to himself that Bucky only stuck around because of his job.

"If I worked for you then you'd get to boss me about, I think I'll keep it at being able to boss you about. It's better for my ego."

Tony’s response was a snort, but no further chiding or leading comments. He was getting tired. It was amazing what relaxing could do to a man suffering from insomnia. Even jacked up on all of the sugar in the ice cream they were eating, he could feel himself sinking into a warm comfort that usually came right before the yawns did.

Though Tony shifted the conversation to the littlest of the Barnes’ clan (inquiring about her grades and if she had made any further deals with rich and famous tech industry giants), he could tell he wasn’t paying attention to the things that Bucky was saying anymore.

And not out of general inability to follow long trains of thought that weren’t his own, but because his eyelids kept slipping shut. “Can’t believe I’m saying this with the intention of keeping my pants on. Ready for bed?”

Bucky relished in the feeling of Tony relaxing by his side, it wasn't often that he got to be the one who soothed someone instead of freaked out right alongside them these days, and there was something touching in knowing that he was probably the only person in the world who would elicit this reaction from Tony these days.

He stretched and slowly heaved to his feet when Tony finally called uncle on staying up, not looking nearly as ready to sleep, but looking relaxed. The panic of earlier was gone, leaving behind only slightly aching muscles and a faint embarrassment.

"What, you don't have more than one bed in this place? You're going to make me share yours?"

He's not actually complaining, he's just mildly amused.

“I have a lot of beds. I just prefer sleeping in mine,” Tony quipped, as if it wasn’t even something that crossed his mind that Bucky would sleep apart from him. He wasn’t too worried about becoming dependent on the co-sleeping, he and Bucky wouldn’t always share a space, and it didn’t occur to him that insisting he move the Barnes clan in where he could always be was the start of that exact same problem. People would talk.

Or Steve would talk. And that would be worse, Tony would come to find.

Instead, the continuation of a typical teenage girl sleepover commenced with very little pomp and circumstance once the pair had shuffled off to bed.

Strangely, Tony didn’t have as garish a bedroom as many might expect. The bed was queen sized and though the view was lovely, the furnishing was sparse. Maybe it did make sense for someone who had everything to decorate with so much emptiness, though.

“Left side is mine. Obviously,” he joked. It was in poor taste but he knew Bucky wouldn’t hate him for it.

Far from hating him for it, Bucky found himself letting out a rare snort of laughter. He had so many people these days - from doctors to his family - treating him as if mentioning the arm would cause him to shatter into glass. When actually the loss of his arm, as shitty as it was, didn't even compare to what they both went through long after the arm was gone.

To joke about it made it seem better, less an insurmountable disability and more something he could work around. He hoped that maybe Steve and the girls would get to this stage too, to help him feel normal, to help him feel himself again.

"Fuck you, Tony, that's insensitive. You can't be so-- uh-- armist. It's unconstitutional and I'll have you done for discriminatory jokes."

He did, however, slip into the right side of the bed.

“Armist? It’s true. I only like left sided everything so you’re at a huge disadvantage. Tell that to your blond. Maybe he’ll protest me and get my business shut down. Or tell your rightist support group and instagram their reaction.” Tony wasted no time getting comfortable because it was easy to do it with Bucky. The last time they’d laid together was on a straw mat in frigid cold smelling of body odor and urine.

This was something different. Tony could almost just fall asleep again, relaxed and without worry.

He kept his back towards Bucky, not quite as a safety precaution, though it did help.

“Also makes a lot more room for me on this side.”

It helped that Tony had his back to him, because he didn't think that he could keep his back to anyone in the same room as him, not even someone he trusted as much as Tony. He had been kicked awake too often in that dank little cave to ever want to display his vulnerable side to anyone.

He shifted a bit to get comfortable, luxuriously stretching his bare toes against the soft fabric of the sheets, and let the silence lapse for a bit just in comfortable camaraderie.

"You ever really think we'd make it back here?"

It's a soft question asked into the semi-gloom of the room, half expecting Tony to be asleep already or at least feign it to avoid a serious topic of conversation.

Tony didn’t want to lie but there was something about telling Bucky that he didn’t expect to open his eyes again most nights that he had closed them. It didn’t make for a good story and Tony had shown enough weakness to want to reverse course on this one.

“People like us don’t give up,” he said, smoothing the edges like cake batter. “And we didn’t. You didn’t let me die there when I could have. And you didn’t let yourself die there even when I was pretty sure you would. So yeah, Buck. We were always gonna make it out. And we did.”

Most of them did. They were both a little broken and they were both too cracked to ever be beautiful again in the traditional way and they both had been changed enough by the experience to let it cloud their lives. But they had made it out. Bucky Barnes was laying beside him, breathing. This was their best case scenario.

“Why? Did you only pretend to believe in me?”

"No, I believed in you. I believed we were gonna get out, because I had to. If I didn't believe that, then I couldn't keep going even when it hurt like hell. But it's weird because..."

He hesitated. He wasn't ashamed to talk to Tony, the man had seen him at his worst, had seen him bloody and pus covered and pissing on himself because he couldn't move from pain. They had sobbed in each others' arms and had bolstered each other up. It was just that he needed to find the right words.

"Now that we're out, it feels like it shouldn't have happened. Like this is some big hallucination, and I'm gonna wake up back there. Like I should'a died there."

That was a thought that Tony shared. It was why he couldn’t sleep. Before, back in the dark, he’d been so sure that if he slept, he’d never wake up. Now, he was sure that if he slept, he’d wake up in pain and covered in bugs and trying to keep his mind working enough to get them out. Or worse, he’d wake up back there and Bucky wouldn’t be breathing anymore. He’d he alone. And they’d leave him alone with that body, the whipping boy they used to force him to work, until his mind gave up.

The thought was momentarily paralyzing, like he was staring into Bucky’s unblinking, cloudy white eyes right now.

Tony swallowed down the worry and the sudden hitching breath.

“Hey listen. If we wake up back there I’ll get us out again. Spoiler alert, I know how to now.”

He heard the hitching of Tony's breath, felt it through the mattress they shared, and briefly felt a little guilty for bringing it up when they had both been relaxing. But obviously he wasn't the only one feeling that way, and he didn't want to get out of the habit of talking to Tony about everything and anything. If they couldn't tell each other things, they'd never tell anyone, and everything would fester inside until it killed them.

It took a bit of effort given how he was positioned, but he shifted so that his arm was free and laid his hand palm flat on Tony's back.

"Yeah, I guess you do. Maybe remind me of that from time to time, okay?"

Women didn’t touch a man like that. They stroked pretty fingers down your spine or traced a patch of skin everyone might forget exists on them, and they might even lay a dainty hand flat against you but no woman could do what Bucky had just done. The touch was wholly grounded and heavy, a true comfort that Tony had to stop himself from pressing back into.

“It wouldn’t take so long this time either,” he insisted, talking just to talk with a tongue too thick for his mouth and a Long Island accent making its presence known in a way it hadn’t since he was a teenager.

Not even the terrorists that had kidnapped him caused his guard to be so lacking.

“If I remind you too much you’re going to try to measure my ego again.”

military mistletoe

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