Dedication: This fic is for Mina on her birthday. You're the gift, baby, and I'm so glad you were born.
A/N: I'm going to ask for your patience as this is a very new pairing for me, and it might take me a minute to get the flow. Also… it will be immediately apparent to anyone who knows the law that I do not, so I'm asking for your patience there too. I'll try to be as accurate as possible, I promise, and I'm open to being educated.
Shall we begin?
Prima facie: based on the first impression; accepted as correct until proved otherwise.
~0~
A thick file folder landed on the desk, obscuring the paperwork Steve had been reading over. He jumped back and looked up, already knowing what he'd see. Sure enough, Tony was smirking at him.
Tony was always smirking.
"You know we have paralegals for that kind of stuff, right?" Tony asked.
"I like to—"
"Do your own research." He waved a hand.
Steve arched an eyebrow. "Stark, you don't let anyone do your research for you either."
"That's my problem, man. There can only be one Tony Stark. No imitations accepted." He looked Steve up and down in that way that always sent a thrill down his back—not that Steve would ever admit to it. "Don't think I don't see the game you're playing there, Captain America."
Steve grimaced. He hated that nickname. If only Tony hadn't seen the tear that slipped down his cheek when the national anthem was being sung at the Fourth of July party last year.
"You dress like me," Tony continued.
"You dragged me to your tailor because you said whoever made my suits was pathetic," Steve reminded him.
"You have the same phone as me."
"You mean the birthday present you gave me because you insisted I had to stop living in the past?" Steve tilted his head. "My Android was only six years old, you know."
Tony shuddered. "I don't understand how you can say that with a straight face." He waved a hand. "The point is, there can only be one me, and it's not you."
Steve sat back in his chair, his hands steepled—not unlike Tony was prone to doing. "So, you're saying I must use paralegals because you don't."
"Exactly."
"Tony?"
"Yes?"
"No."
Tony stepped forward, his face at its most intimidating. Another chill went down Steve's spine.
Well, what? Steve couldn't help it if he had eyes. The man was so handsome it was ridiculous. And he didn't have his suit jacket on. Tony always wore a vest. He looked good in a vest. Really good. The problem with Tony Stark was that he knew damn well he looked good in...well, anything. When he was staring down at Steve with his Tony "The Iron Man" stare of destruction that had many a defendant shaking on the stand… it just did things to Steve was all.
Tony put his hands on Steve's desk and leaned over, getting damn close to his personal space. "Are we going to have a problem, counselor?"
"That depends."
"On?"
"What's in the case you brought me?"
Tony straightened up, his face gone to its usual easy, arrogant expression. "Murder and mayhem, obviously. Up against a Brooklynite, so I thought you might know him."
Steve rolled his eyes. "Yeah. All us guys from Brooklyn know each other. It's not like two point six million people live there."
"The hooligans. You can know all the Brooklyn hooligans?"
Steve scoffed. "Hooligans. If I used that word around you—"
"You have used that word around me because you're at least a hundred and nine years old. I try to speak your language every once in a while." His phone buzzed. He pulled it from his back pocket and glanced at it. "Anyway, do what you do best. Make sure the scumbag stays behind bars for the rest of his natural life. I have a thing."
"I'm on it," Steve said.
Tony got to the door and turned back. "Hey, Steve."
Steve looked down to hide his grin. "Yes, Tony?"
"If you don't want to try the shawarma place, how about all American? Down home cooking? I wouldn't eat fried chicken for just anyone, but I would if you'd have dinner with me. I'm magnanimous like that."
It was, to Steve's recollection, the forty-second time Tony had asked him out. "I still don't date my coworkers, Tony."
Tony clucked his tongue. "You're missing out, Captain." He gave him a jaunty wave and disappeared.
"Yeah," Steve said with a sigh. "Missing out." Tony's playboy antics were well known by everyone in the firm, if not all of Manhattan. Men and women both fell at his feet. Steve knew exactly what he was missing out on.
Oh, well. One night stands weren't really his thing anyway.
Getting down to business, Steve straightened up and pulled the file folder toward him. "Scumbag of the week is…" He flipped the folder open.
And let out a strangled cry.
He gripped the top page in his hand so hard it wrinkled. The mug shot looked like…
The scumbag in question stared out from his mug shot with blank eyes that absolutely couldn't be who Steve thought it was. That man—well, he'd been closer to a boy when Steve knew him—had vibrant eyes. Gorgeous eyes. This one had a dead-eyed stare. The man Steve knew had a brilliant, beautiful smile. This one looked dour and dangerous. The man in the mugshot was disheveled—his hair long and scraggly. It couldn't be him. It couldn't be.
But it was.
James Buchanan Barnes. He had been Steve's best friend through one of the darkest times of his life, and he had disappeared without a trace when they were seventeen.
"Buck," Steve whispered, running a finger over the criminal, the man who was even now wasting away in a jail cell. "What the hell happened?"
A/N: We'll get another chapter later today.
Happy birthday, gorgeous girl. And she's talented too. Did y'all see that banner? *whistles*
Yeah, Mina made her own banner...like I could stop her, the fiend.