fossilised | It's AU time

Tony was Loren's little secret, something that was his and his alone, something that Thor didn't know about.

Nobody would have thought the two would match well together, not with Loren's issues and Tony's audacious lifestyle, but they ended up forming a bond in the most unlikely of ways and had been together for quite some time now. Nearing a year, though Loren had determined not to tell his boyfriend to see if he would recall himself the date when it came around. Somehow he doubted it.

However, Tony was in his bad books at the moment after getting himself hurt in such a stupid way, and Loren had refused to take his calls for a few days. He shouldn't have come to the shop, there was a risk he could run into Thor and Loren did not want his brother and boyfriend to mix - partly because Thor did not know he was gay and partly because he feared Tony would like Thor more, everyone did.

So he continued to turn the pages of his book as if completely deaf to the man in front of him, though the smile at his lips did grow.

Tony sighed as if the whole world was set on the most annoyingly loose and loudest freaking floorboard in the house. "I can see you smile. It's in your eyebrows," he pointed out becsuse Loren's face was incredibly expressive even when half hidden behind a book. "I know my way back there. Or I'll just jump the bar."

He was very insistent and Steve was rooting for him, not because he suspected that this was a romantic relationship so much as he thought Loren was just playing around. He could see the side of his face anyway. And that face really was smiling.

"Listen. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I thought I could change the winch and that I did it without anyone around. And I'm sorry that you had to find me. But I'm glad you did. I owe you my life. That's got to be worth a direct smile right?"

That smile completely dropped from Loren's face and he snapped the book shut as if a call to arms. When he stood up, he completely towered over Tony even though he was thinner, green eyes intense and dangerous. Gone was the indulgence and affection, and in its place was genuine ire and, beneath that, fear.

"I thought you were dead when I found you."

His first words, and they were hissed out venomously in that lilting accent.

"You did not deserve to be saved, attempting something so foolish alone. I had thought you possessed even a small amount of intelligence, but it seems I have been proven wrong and your head is completely empty." He picked up his book again, hands shaking slightly as he repeated himself. "I thought you were dead."

This time Tony got to the book before Loren could open it again and return to ignoring him. "I know, baby I know and I'm sorry. I thought I had it and you have every right to be mad at me." And decide not not come over and help nurse him back to health. He understood. Loren was the sort to be brutal with his emotions. He held them close. Tony really did not.

But when Loren started talking in that incredibly sexy Scandanavian accent of his, oh Tony's heart (and loins) happened to be set on fire. Tony pulled up the edge of the bar and scooter passed the hinged board.

"It won't happen again. Why don't you tell your customers to finish up and come home with me?"

Loren may hold his emotions much closer to his chest than Tony did, but when he chose to love then he loved fiercely. He did not let many people past his barriers, did not consider most to be worth his time, and so his few worthy chosen few were hoarded as jealously as if they were actually his possessions.

He had thought he had lost one of them, and the healing wounds proved that he very nearly had. Still, perhaps he had punished Tony enough, and so he did bestow a small and wicked smile to him.

"I do not think that would be wise. Were I to take you home, your injuries would get no rest."

Bucky snorted from his table, unable to pretend he wasn't listening any longer. But at least the mini soap opera (seriously, who were these clowns?) had helped anchor him back in reality.

Three pairs of eyes, each one a distinctly different shade, turned towards that snort. "Buck," Steve warned under his breath but Tony, who was touching Loren's cheek with his uninjured hand, had the funniest expression.

"Oh I'm sorry. Are we disturbing you and your boyfriend? Hurry up and go. We have some making up to do." Tony was not impressed. He wanted to spend the time Loren had denied him for the last week and a half with his boyfriend. He didn't come all the way out here for nothing.

The coffee shop and bookstore were usually empty by now so this wasn't fair.

"Oh, we aren't," Steve said, but Tony snorted.

"Don't care. Goodbye."

Bucky hadn't intended to laugh, it was just that this whole situation felt as though he had found himself in a sitcom, and so laugh he did. Tony's arrogant dismissal only making this funnier, and Steve looking embarrassed, and-- God, he was laughing so hard that he might just fall off his seat.

Loren was unimpressed.

He did not care for a stranger laughing at him as though his relationship were something to be mocked, and he did not like that Steven had seen him with Tony, for he might then tell Thor and that would not be ideal. Spitefully, for he had seen the way that Bucky had jumped when the door slammed, he slapped his hand on the counter to create a loud crack, seemingly without realising the effect that it would have.

"Do not laugh so rudely, Steven take your guest and go."

Not that he would be able to, as Bucky reacted only a split second or two after the crack had come, literally tackling Steve from his seat and onto the floor, covering him with his body and shaking like a leaf.

If there was one thing that a recovering man did not really want, it was to be thrown to the floor of an old bookstore where the dust of pages and people were. Steve felt his head covered by side hands and then felt the terror of the man over him and whatever else was going on, coffee rolling from spilled cups in rivers across the opposite edge of the table, Steve's whole priority was the man who had tried to protect him.

"It's me," Steve said. "It's Steve. You're with me and we're in Brooklyn, Bucky. We're at the coffee place. The place you said had the best coffee you've ever tasted. and it's all right."

"Jesus Christ," he heard Loren's boyfriend say, coming closer. "Look man, look. Sorry. My bad." He felt terrible. It hadn't been his intention to get some Vet all messed up and he knew Loren wouldn't had tried it either. A lot of the guys he hired at the shop were ex-military. He saw the signs.

"See, you're here in a coffee shop. We're in New York."

Bucky hadn't snapped like this in a while, but nothing had been around to trigger him in quite this way for a while either. The sharp noise had just been unexpected, and it had thrown him right out of a coffee shop in Brooklyn and right into the desert again. He knew they were under fire and he thought-- there was someone with him, someone who was definitely a friendly, he could only hope that his body had shielded them from the fire.

But then more people were talking, a voice he didn't recognise in a garbled sort of way that didn't make any sense, and he resorted to his default answer, the only one that he knew was safe no matter what.

"James Barnes, Sergeant, 1070413. James Barnes, Sergeant, 1070413. James Barnes, Sergeant, 1070413."

He kept murmuring it, showing no signs of getting off Steve even though he didn't even seem to see him. Loren remained where he was behind the counter, watching with interest though he had arranged his expression to concern as though he had not intended this as revenge.

There was something Steve hadn't known. Rank. He wasn't sure why he assumed Bucky had been a private but... Well that didn't really matter right now, did it? Steve had to actively struggle to get out from under Bucky and even then, all he managed to do was actively get himself turned around so that he could get him hands on some skin.

The wheezing was back but he wouldn't let Bucky feel guilty about it. How could he when he was the one that forced him to come out? This was his fault, like the hospital. Steve managed to get an arm around Bucky's neck and he pulled him further down on top of him.

"You're just Bucky," Steve stressed. "To me. Name, rank and serial number aren't needed with me, Buck. This isn't war. No one's holding you right now, but me. We're going to get some new coffee and we're going to go home, pal. Just you and me. I promise. No one else. No one else is going to touch you."

Steve's voice slowly filtered into his fractured reality, making the desert sprout books out of nowhere and the smell of coffee mingle with the smell of blood and gunpowder. His brow furrowed and he tightened his hold on the man beneath him, instinct pushing him to protect just in case any further attack seemed to be forthcoming.

"...Steve?"

No. No, that couldn't be right. Who was Steve? There was no Steve out here, so why did he keep seeing intensely blue eyes and a smile that could outshine the sun? It just made him shake all the harder, his prosthetic bent at an odd angle on the floor where he had tried to shield Steve.

"It's not-- you have to stay down, I'll protect you."

"We're not over in Afganistan," Steve promised. "We're in a coffee shop." He would keep repeating these words, softly and without frustration, until Bucky saw him, and once he realized what had happened, he would smile and he would push a strand of hair over Bucky's ear and he would wait until he was helped up.

That could be ten minutes from now, an hour from now, Steve wouldn't give up.

"You know me. And you know where we are and nothing here will hurt you." He repeated the promises for coffee and for Maury on TV and his eyes never once strayed to Tony, who was looking uncomfortable and pulling Loren away, or to Loren and that intense, not quite right look on his face.

It didn't matter to him.

None of it did. Nothing but the shaking man trying to save him from his own mind.

It took another twenty minutes for Bucky to come properly back to reality, aching all over as if he had run a marathon and feeling an equal mix of shame and fear. When he finally got off Steve and offered a hand down to help him up, he couldn't quite bring himself to look over at where Loren stood with his hand entwined with his boyfriend's, though he did address all three of them.

"Sorry. I'm really sorry."

He was such a goddamn idiot. He could really have hurt Steve, maybe he had really hurt him, the poor guy was just recovering and now he had spent who knew how long on his back on a cold floor with a heavy idiot on top of him.

"Fuck."

Fuck.

"No need to be sorry," Steve said gently. "You've spent the last week playing fetch for me." He didn't make a show of doing anything and he moved slowly. On went his coat and his scarf. His smile was warm for Bucky and he looked at him carefully as he asked Loren for another two coffees and some scones. To go. "Don't forget to bundle up, Buck. Only one of us is wearing an eagle sweater."

Tony wasn't sure what to make of the two. Not dating, the little one said that, but man, that was some loyalty. If the brunet had taken care of the blond for a week and the blond just so easily brushed off the last half an hour here... Wow. That was love. That was love visible right before his very eyes. So excuse him, all right, if he found the whole thing just ridiculous. Tony didn't do love. He didn't think he could. Loren was something else all together. Something that they did not bother naming.

Whatever. It didn't matter.

"Coffee's on me, folks," Tony said, shelling out a twenty to slide over to Loren. He dared his boyfriend to argue with him.

Loren felt that he had more than got his revenge for the laughter aimed his way, and that left him on top in this little battle that only he knew had taken place. Which was enough to put him in a good enough mood to wave away the twenty and offer the scones and coffee for free, before ushering the two of them out of his store.

Bucky mumbled a thanks to both of them, but his attention remained almost solely on Steve right up until they got back to the apartment building and Steve's front door had closed behind them. Only then did he sag forward and grab Steve in a bone-crushing hug, muttering thanks into his neck.

What had he ever done to deserve a friend like this? Steve was pretty much a goddamn angel in human form and he wished so hard that he could have met him back when he had been functional. He would already have kissed him, he was sure of it.

"--did I hurt you? Are you cold? Does your chest hurt?"

There would have been no kiss back before the tour of duty that Bucky had last been sent on. That Bucky could have had anyone...up to and including the gaggle of ballerinas or the male dancers of the troupe, all at once, if he had wanted them. Steve had been no one special. Just a tiny, sickly guy with vibrant eyes and an easy smile. Bucky never would have looked twice.

And Steve would have just admitted the handsome soldier from afar. He probably never would have gotten to know Bucky like he had.

The hug was not unwelcome, but it had taken Steve by surprise enough to leave him barely balanced on his toes against Bucky's chest. He half hugged back and half clung.

"You didn't, I'm not and it doesn't," he said in response to the rapid fire questions, glad he'd gotten the coffee down before they were locked in another brown deluge. "But what about you? Are you all right, Bucky?"

Bucky wasn't sure how much to believe that Steve was okay. The man was recovering from goddamn pneumonia and had just spent god knows how long on the floor of some cold coffee shop, he couldn't be doing that good. Besides, he wouldn't put it past Steve to be lying just to make him feel better, he was a selfless asshole that way.

"Shut up, don't even try and worry about me."

He finally pulled back, eyes intent on Steve's face as if to find any clues that he might not be doing as well as he said he was. If Steve relapsed because of him, he'd hate himself for a long time.

"I'm fine, it was nothing. That-- it was a mistake, forget it happened."

Dumb to try and pretend he was still fine, but he didn't want Steve to join the brigade of people who tried to convince him that he had PTSD and that counselling was the best option. He didn't, he was fine, he just needed to stop being so weak and pull himself together.

Bucky wasn’t getting off so easily, not while he was hugging Steve so tightly, not even after he pulled back, leaving Steve unsteady on his feet and missing the warmth of Bucky’s chest and single, all encompassing arm. “I’m not going to forget what happened. I want to help you,” Steve said firmly. “I’m not going to toe the line about you needing to talk to anyone-- They told me to do that when my mom died but I couldn’t. I’m not even going to tell you that you should talk to me-- You can, obviously, you can talk to me about anything, but I want to help you with it just the same.”

And maybe he’d spent a little time looking up how soldiers were taught to deal with their PTSD. It wasn’t like that could ever be cured. Of course, most of the things they mentioned required two hands…knitting for instance. Something to keep active.

“And… I want to help me too, so don’t pin all of this on me being a good Samaritan. I mean, I’m in the Eagle shirt but that doesn’t mean I’m completely altruistic right npw!” Steve’s smile was never crooked and his perfect teeth almost outshone his eyes. That was one health issue he didn’t have at least. “Do you think-- Can you train me? The doctor did say that if I can build up the muscles in my chest, it will help with the asthma. But… Cardio doesn’t really go with asthma so… I really need someone that can monitor me and there’s no way I can afford a personal trainer at a gym around here.”

Bucky had been all ready for the talk, the sympathy, the way that people seemed to look at him as if he had no worth beyond being broken. Even the doctors had done it, careful to suggest activities that were soothing and gentle, oh-so-careful all the time, like he might shatter if they treated him like a person. And here was Steve, after seeing him meltdown, asking for training.

He used to be good at fighting, even before the army, a boxer. Having one arm might hinder him a bit, but he could sure as hell help Steve get the basics down and teach him breathing techniques so that he might be able to jog, all that sort of thing.

"--yeah." He couldn't help but smile, gratitude and fondness in his eyes. "I think I could help you do that. But are you sure that's what you want? I mean, I'm pretty ruthless, I'm used to training up shitty cadets. I'm not a nice guy when I train people."

"Well I'm good for it. I can take it. Nat only sets me up with jerks anyway," Steve pointed out, crossing skinny arms over his skinny chest. "I doubt you can beat them in asshole-ness. But you can try. Actually, I'd seriously love for you to try. Because I'm not buying that you're anything but a nice guy."

Steve kicked off his boots, or rather, he kicked off one and tried to toe out of the other before giving up to plop on the coffee table and unzip the other. It was tossed towards the door and he leaned back on one hand, knees splayed and socked feet crossed at the ankles. There was no attempt to look sexy so much as a little tired.

"I guess it's too bad that Loren has a boyfriend. I had no idea he liked men. I would have tried to pretend to be a at and set you two up. Even if that would make me a fifth wheel since Nat is dating his brother."

"Really not interested, but thanks."

How could Steve so effortlessly do this? Usually when Bucky had a bad day, let alone lost himself so completely like that, it could ruin the rest of the damn week. It should have sent him huddling into his apartment for days, but here he was flopping on the couch next to Steve after an hour. Shaky, yes, but not losing himself.

"I don't think it's a good idea for me to be dating anyone, Steve. I'm a project case, not a boyfriend."

There was a trace of bitterness in his words, but he kept a smile at his lips the same time. He knew the score, being angry about it wouldn't change it. Casual dating was pretty much off the table.

"Maybe," Steve gave in, climbing off of the table to occupy his usual spot on the sofa, legs folded up and blanket pulled from the back of the sofa. He would get the coffees in a minute, he just wanted to warm up. "I'm not exactly a therapist, so I can't really comment on it but it's probably better not to add someone else's baggage when you're dealing with your own stuff," Steve sympathized. He did not put the onus on Bucky, however, just on everyone else. Loren was strange and quiet and intense. And Bucky probably wouldn't be able to juggle that.

Heck, Steve couldn't juggle that either. He wasn't good with dark and mysterious.

He also wasn't good with big and muscley or cute and dumb or vapid and tall-- so just about everyone that Nat set him up with was never a good fit. Sure, it was his dream to have someone. To love someone and be loved back--

"And you're young. You have years to find someone. Or someones if you date the ballet troupe."

Now was the time to be finding someone, when he was young and supposedly in his prime. The longer he waited, the less likely he would end up with someone. He'd be a washed up soldier with PTSD, one arm, a shit-load of unattractive scarring, and be old. He read somewhere the statistics once, when he had been drunk and self-pitying, that if soldiers weren't already in a committed relationship when they went off to war then the chance of them finding someone when they got back was minimal. Hell, even established relationships fell apart 65% of the time if the vet had the sort of issues that he did.

Not good odds.

He slumped back and reached out to nudge Steve on the shoulder instead, giving him a smile and deliberately moving right past himself and into someone else's personal lives.

"What about you? You're young, you're artistic, you're smart, sweet, funny, and sexy as fuck. Why don't you have someone?"

"Me? Do people really have serious relationships when they're my age?" He brushed off the implication. People dated in high school and sometimes you still heard about those people getting married but it was less and less. "I want a best friend. A partner in crime. It's hard to meet people when you're always sick. And its kinda cruel right? I don't want to push my health issues on people and-- I don't know what was in that scone but sexy as--"

He wasnt going to say the word. Steve and vulgarity rarely mixed. He did, however, outright laugh at Bucky.

"You can see my ribs. And my spine. And my knees-- that's not sexy as anything. I look fifteen. There's nothing sexy about me." He unfolded himself to fetch the coffee and the parties in their little white bag, which he dangled in front of Bucky. "You bought me a sweater in a men's size small," he reminded him.

"Oh my God, will you not even say fuck?" Bucky's eyes widened incredulously. Not in a cruel way, he just hadn't thought that even Steve was quite this pure. "That's amazing, and I thought that I had a clean mouth, just because I don't pepper every other word with a curse like the other people I served with."

He reached out to take the pastry rather than the coffee, it was always a choice when there were two things and one hand, but he'd always pick sweet pastries over coffee any day of the week.

"And hey, shut up. Steve, look at me, I'm not bullshitting you. At the risk of making this super awkward, if I weren't so fucked up then I'd have asked you out weeks ago. You're handsome, so quit being down on yourself."

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