The weeks following what was being hailed as "The Battle of New York" were… surprisingly uneventful. The following morning all of them had gathered at Central Park to see Thor off, giving a considerably less pleasant send-off to his prisoner. Stark had insisted that Bucky join him and Banner back at Stark tower, where they spent the better part of the day hashing out preliminary plans for his arm: Bucky listing his requests, Stark making ridiculous suggestions, and Banner chiming in with what would actually be feasible. In the end Bucky had been sent off with a pair of tiny phones (StarkPhones, Stark had bragged, before yammering on about the technology and how much better they apparently were than EyePhones… Bucky missed most of it) so that both he and Steve could be easily contacted, as well as the promise that they'd have the mock-up for his new arm done in no time.
He woke around 0400 the following morning to the sound of his StarkPhone ringing – Stark, who apparently hadn't bothered to sleep, regretfully informed him that it would be a few weeks before he could begin on a working prototype… something about needing to contact a neurosurgeon and having a sports doctor look at the plans and other details that Bucky dozed off in the middle of attempting to listen to.
The odd interruptions from Stark at random hours continued, and in the meantime Bucky and Steve worked on settling in to their new, strange lives. At one point Agent Romanoff had stopped by their apartment, armed with Chinese takeaway and a tiny moleskin notebook, which she handed off to Steve. "It's a list of all of the restaurants around Manhattan that you boys need to try… food's changed a lot since your day, you're welcome in advance." She'd also set them up with some internet service called Netflix, showed them how to search for movies and documentaries on it, and added a page of recommendations to Steve's notebook before leaving just as suddenly as she had arrived.
That encounter, though, had been nowhere near as surreal as the entire day they'd had to spend at the Veteran's Affairs office with Agent Hill, filling out countless forms and surveys before some poor little grunt in a suit had taken them into a cubicle, tried to explain compound interest and back-pay for soldiers who turned up after being declared MIA, and eventually handed the both of them sheets of paper describing how much the US Army was apparently paying them. Bucky, despite having always been good with numbers, was completely unable to comprehend that many zeroes behind a dollar sign… and only felt marginally better looked at Steve's pale face as he stared blankly at his own sheet.
Hill told them on their way out that she'd be happy to have SHIELD financial planners talk to them about investing, which they both vaguely agreed to get back to her on. They'd both lived through the Depression of course, and read about multiple crashes during their time on ice… after discussing their options most of the night, they both decided to turn the offer down, and keep the fact that they'd ended up with fifty grand in cash stuffed under each of their mattresses to themselves.
Ten days after the attacks, Steve had finally gathered up the nerve to call Peggy, and had spent most of his night locked in his room on the landline, with Bucky puttering around in the living room – unable to sleep and trying his best to not eavesdrop on whatever was being said. Steve finally emerged just before dawn the next morning, eyes red and face pinched and exhausted, looking surprised to find Bucky seated on the couch watching Mythbusters. "I'm gonna take the train to DC tomorrow," he announced on the walk back from their morning run, having sprinted around Central Park until they were both panting and shaking from exertion. "Spend a few days visiting with Peg."
Bucky raised his eyebrows in surprise, before asking, "You want company?"
Steve shook his head emphatically, "Not this time, I think… I need to do this on my own, Buck." He paused outside the door of their apartment complex, key fob in hand. "Unless… you'll be alright here on your own?"
Bucky gave him his most confident smile, "I'll be fine… go sweep your girl off your feet, I'll hold down the fort here."
Which was how they'd ended up spending their first long weekend apart… Steve bidding him a quiet, nervous goodbye the next morning before slinging a knapsack over his shoulder and making his way out the door. Aside from a brief Made it, no problems. text a few hours later, Bucky heard nothing else from him. While it wasn't exactly surprising, Bucky couldn't really deny his disappointment.
By the end of his first night on his own Bucky was finding it hard to keep himself occupied, which was how he ended up wandering into Stark tower the following afternoon, awkwardly making his way past construction crews in the shell of a main lobby then heading up in the elevator to meet Stark in the same lab as they had worked in before. JARVIS announced when he had gotten to the appropriate floor that Stark was expecting Bucky (the AI was something that he was still getting used to, but at least it didn't startle him like it had the first couple of days) so he made his way down he glassed in hallway, opening the appropriate door then stopping in the doorway in surprise.
The interior of the lab itself still looked the same as Bucky had remembered it a couple of weeks prior, only it looked as if the Iron Man suit had turned it into a production line. Components of at least twenty of the suits were lying around the room – most in pieces, but one disturbingly fully-assembled and seated in the computer chair Dr. Banner had favored the last time Bucky had been there. He stepped a bit further into the room, looking around at the chaos, trying not to look too overwhelmed, lest it give Stark ammunition to start in on him with. "Uh… Tony?" He called out, slowly making his way into the lab.
Stark popped up from beneath a desk in the corner, dark smudges under his eyes and his hair in disarray – it was clear that he hadn't seen a bed in a few days. Bucky knew the look all-too-well – he'd seen it every time he'd made the mistake of glancing in a mirror the first few months after Kreischberg. "I promise to build you the most advanced prosthetic the world has ever seen, and you walk into my lab wearing that hunk of junk again?" Stark asked peevishly, before Bucky could garner any further sympathy for him.
Bucky shrugged, slipping his leather jacket off and dropping it onto a chair not occupied by robotic armor parts. "It's better than nothin', and it helps with the phantom pains…" He responded, refusing to apologize. While he wouldn't gripe at Stark about the amount of time it was taking to build something better, he was hardly going to apologize for not using what SHIELD had gifted him with in the meantime. "You said you needed measurements?" He added, hoping that it would work for changing the subject.
"Yeah," Stark responded immediately, standing and making his way across the room, already talking a mile a minute as he poured himself a drink from the carafe in the corner of the room. "Talked to my guy about our basic design plans, I want to get your dimensions and start building the prototype; just something to confirm that the design specs work, then we'll get to business on making the real thing. Vibranium isn't exactly easy to come by, so it's going to have to be a measure five times, cut once kind of deal."
"Vibranium… you mean like the shield?" Bucky asked, unable to hold back his surprised frown.
Stark shrugged, as if he wasn't promising one of the rarest and most expensive materials on the planet. "You said you wanted to be able to go into combat with it… nothing better for withstanding force, and as long as your bone and muscle tests add up to what I'm pretty positive they're going to, your body won't have any trouble supporting it. Anyway… pull your shirt off and get that damned Fischer Price model out of my sight, we can scan all of your basic measurements here and I'll show you what I have in mind so far."
Bucky shrugged in response, pulling his t-shirt over his head with only moderate difficulty then unfastening the straps for his prosthesis. He left it and the headset next to his jacket, before making his way across the room, waiting for Stark to indicate which of the hundreds of monitors he wanted him at.
"Alright, we'll just… Holy shit." Stark gaped, staring at Bucky with a surprise that made him feel horrifically uncomfortable. "What the hell have you and Rogers been doing the past week? Devouring oxen and lifting semis?"
Without thinking about it, Bucky crossed his right arm over his chest, staring Stark down as he spoke. "The hell are you talking about… we've tried a couple of restaurants Romanoff recommended and sparred at the gym. Why?"
"I mean… not to be weird, but have you looked at yourself?" Stark asked, reaching out hesitantly and poking Bucky's chest. "You were built, but not like this… Now you look like you're trying to give Cap a run for his money in the beefcake department."
Bucky frowned, looking down at himself in earnest. He hadn't paid much attention to his body since waking up, truth be told… he usually avoided looking as much as he could when he was in the shower, as the stump still made him uneasy – not just the fact that it was a reminder of what he'd lost, but also how perfectly it had healed, without a scar in sight… as if he'd never actually had it at all. But looking now, pointedly avoiding his left side, he had to admit that Stark had a point. He'd always had a lean boxer's build, well-muscled and obviously powerful but in a compact sort of way. Now, though, his chest was noticeably broader, and his right arm looked as if he really had spent the entirety of the past month lifting heavy things. He felt thicker through his torso as well, still well-toned but substantial enough that the waistband of his jeans cut into his sides slightly, while the legs were practically shrink-wrapped around his thighs.
"Huh…" Bucky murmured, "Guess that's why my clothes have been fitting so funny…"
Stark snorted, shaking his head and moving to a tower of monitors nearby. "Guess so…" he responded sarcastically, pulling a couple of scanners down from the wall. "At least it gives me more wiggle room in designing the arm… and a little less concern about the weight of it. If anything, bigger might be better – actually balance you out once you've reached Popeye proportions." He flipped a couple of switches on the monitors, before vaguely pointing to a spot in the ground at the center of them. "How much more did you plan on filling out? In case I need to start planning on a bigger order…"
"You actually saw the SHIELD data," Bucky responded begrudgingly, following as Stark had directed him, "All we got to find out was that we'd live. So… you tell me. My guess is it's just the serum reacting to the fact that I'm off rations for the first time in my life." He felt an uncomfortable rush of memories as Stark powered the monitors up, remembering the constant, gnawing hunger that he'd felt in the months after captivity, how tight his jacket felt by the end of the war despite how gaunt everyone else seemed… his mind unhelpfully supplied him with the image of himself as big as the Hulk, mindless and smashing shit, too massive for anyone to stop him.
His thoughts were thankfully cut off by Stark's dark mutterings, his enhanced hearing allowing him to pick up some unsavory cuss words followed by Fury. "From what I saw…" Stark began, shaking himself and sounding as blithe as ever, "your cell turn-over rate runs at about 80% capacity as Cap's does, so I would imagine your general metabolism does the same. Granted, he had the benefit of Dad's magic superhero microwave so that his physical changes were immediate, but like you said… it's probably just your cells getting used to finally having proper nutrition. I'm sure it'll reach a steady state eventually." He paused, checking the monitor one last time before moving away from Bucky with a small frown. "I'll email you the data after you leave, if you want to look it over yourself."
"Thanks, that'd be great," Bucky drawled, although his appreciation was sincere – even if he didn't understand a lot of it, it would be nice to have the opportunity to at least try to learn what the hell had happened to his body after Zola's experiments.
Thankfully, Stark dropped the topic after telling JARVIS to send Bucky the information, instead focusing on the scanners as they worked their way around Bucky's right side, blue and green lights slowly scanning from his fingertips all the way to his pectoral muscle. It was weird, Bucky thought, expecting to feel some sort of heat or other sensation as the scanners hummed and spun – instead of nothing. They finally powered down, apparently having gotten what they needed, and Stark moved back to his screen, muttering to himself as he input the data.
"Got what you need?" Bucky asked, beginning to feel chilly and more than a little awkward as he stood in the middle of the room shirtless.
As an answer Stark waived his hands, an image projecting away from the screen so that a hologram of a full-sized arm glowed faintly in the air between them. Bucky stared at it, not even bothering to hide his fascination – the basic structure was contoured to look like a real arm, down to slight definition in the muscles, but the casing itself seemed to be made of small, interlocking pieces – nothing at all like the bulky limb he had been wearing. Stark moved his hands again, separating the image so that the casing hovered above what looked to be the guts of the thing. "Alright… here's my plan – we'll start by putting a rod into what's left of your humerus, so that we can use your actual shoulder joint as the anchor and give the thing natural range of motion. You'll need a bone scan ahead of time to make sure that your bones will be able to stand the force and the weight, but based on the tests SHIELD ran on you it shouldn't be an issue. Then there will be neurosensors that will act like real nerves, plug into your current nerves and run down directly into the engines in the forearm, so all of the control will remain internal. I'm also planning on adding pressure sensors in the plates of the hands, and pads on the fingers so you can use touch screens… eventually we'll figure out some type of synthskin so it's a little more stealth, but…"
Bucky shook his head, still staring at the images in front of him, before reaching out with his right hand, taking the image of the outer covering and turning it around to examine it. "It sounds perfect… how are you going to attach it? And what's the power source?"
Stark fell back into a lab chair near him, his usually confident air sliding a bit. "I'll put an arc reactor somewhere in the upper arm… plenty of power to make the thing punch as hard as you want, no risk of tissue damage or poisoning from it, and it'll last at least fifty years before you need to worry about replacing it with a new one – probably even longer." He sighed, tossing the guts to the arm away and staring at the casing as well. "The other bit… I still need to work out. Obviously it will need additional anchors to keep the metal in place, then a way to fuse it tight to your skin so nothing can get into it… I've got some people looking into our options."
Bucky had to bite his tongue to keep himself from asking how much it hurt Stark to admit he didn't know something… amusing as it was, he figured it would be best to spare the lip, especially given all of the work the man was already putting in for him. "Alright, well… no rush, I suppose," Bucky finally said instead, making his way back across the lab and slipping his prosthetic back on. "This'll do as long as there aren't any new aliens to fight, and it's not like Stevie and I don't have enough catching up to do to keep ourselves busy."
"Speaking of the good Captain… where is he?" Stark asked as Bucky pulled his t-shirt over his head.
"Took the train to DC a couple of days ago…" Bucky responded vaguely, wondering if he should be offended by Stark's question – it wasn't as if he needed Steve when he was out and about… the two of them were more than capable of doing things on their own.
"Ah… meeting with the President, I assume?" Stark asked sarcastically, his eyes still on the computer screen in front of him. "I'm sure he'd like nothing more than to pin a few dozen medals on him…"
Bucky snorted at that, "I don't doubt it, but he refuses to accept them until I get mine, too, so… no. Catching up with a friend."
Stark looked over at that, thankfully not prying any deeper into the friend bit (the last thing Bucky wanted to do was to talk about Peggy with him). "You both should head down there… it'd be good press, especially on the heels of the country realizing you're both alive because they caught you in the middle of saving New York."
"You give me something to show off and not look like a cripple in front of the whole country," Bucky responded, shrugging his jacket onto his shoulders, "and I'll get on it." He paused for just a second at the door of the lab, taking in again how awful Stark looked, and for a second considered mentioning it… it seemed ungrateful to simply demand the arm and then wander off while it was obvious that the poor guy was dealing with some shit, but ultimately he decided against it. God knew Bucky had enough issues to deal with himself, and it wasn't as if a guy appreciated someone pointing out that their battle fatigue was showing – soldier or not, he couldn't imagine Stark wouldn't be offended. "Anyway… let me know when you need to see me again," he added awkwardly, before making his way to the elevator.
Although it wasn't exactly a surprise, Bucky still felt unsettled by the quiet hurt that Steve had been emanating for the two days since he'd returned from DC… he'd kept to himself mostly, rarely using more than a couple of words to answer anything Bucky said to him, and constantly playing melancholy Nat King Cole singles on the gramophone they had set up in the living room. He never once mentioned Peggy… although, to be fair, Bucky hadn't exactly had the stones to ask him about her, either.
Finally on the third day, while he was frying ham slices and waiting for Steve to get out of the shower after their morning run, Bucky came up with a plan, grinning to himself as he moved the meat onto pre-sliced bagels and plated them. "Let's go to a game," he announced, passing sliding Steve's breakfast sandwich across the kitchen counter before he'd even cleared the kitchen door. "Weather's been nice enough the few days, and I'm sure the Bums will be in town for a series… if not today, by the end of the week."
Way back when, baseball had always been an easy way to get Steve out of a funk – even when he was at his lowest, when his ma was sick and they were all quietly worrying how the hell he would survive on his own once she was gone… Bucky could save up a few days pay and talk him into going to Ebbets field. Between peanuts and box scores, it gave them at least a couple of hours to sit out in the sun and get away from all of the shit that was hanging over them; really, Bucky was embarrassed that he hadn't thought of it before now.
"I doubt Ebbets is still standing, Buck," Steve scoffed around an enormous bite of bagel, but Bucky was already moving to grab his laptop from the living room.
"Well… wherever they're playing now. As long as it ain't Yanks Stadium, who cares?"
The amused snort that he received from the kitchen was enough to raise Bucky's spirits, and he logged in as quickly as he could, typing "Dodgers Tickets" into the search bar.
"Probably gonna cost us a thousand bucks…" Steve murmured, moving closer and leaning against the counter as Bucky clicked on the first link.
"Good thing we're flush then, innit?" Bucky smirked. "And lookie there… they're home this afternoon against the Cardinals, whoever the hell that is." He'd already clicked on the link, grinning away… regardless of how high the ticket prices were (judging by how ridiculous charges were at the grocers he wouldn't be surprised if Steve was right), Bucky was confident that the afternoon would do them both enough good that it would be worth it.
Steve leaned over to watch as Bucky browsed for tickets, chewing obnoxiously in his ear, but Bucky found himself glad for the change after the distance that had stretched between them. "Dodgers Stadium," he murmured, pointing to the words across the top of the screen, "Real original, whoever picked that one out…"
Steve hummed in agreement, before pausing and leaning a little closer. "Hey Buck… hold on. It says the game is in Los Angeles…."
Bucky frowned, looking away from the seating chart on the screen. "What? No… I'm sure the schedule page said it was at home…"
"But that's an LA address, not Brooklyn." Steve responded, pointing to where the address was clearly listed underneath the stadium name.
Bucky clicked the link for the team's homepage, already feeling his stomach dropping as it loaded up… and there it was, plain as day across the top of the page. The Los Angeles Dodgers. "What. The. Fuck."
"I could buy them, you know? If you want me to. Move them back to Brooklyn, I'm sure there's space for a park…"
Bucky had barely finished explaining the disappointment that had been having to settle on a Mets game when Stark made his offer – his initial response was to chuckle at how ridiculous the statement was, before he realized that Stark wasn't only perfectly capable of doing such a thing… he really might do it. "Ah… no, it's fine. Just a shitty way to find out, you know? The Mets were fine."
"Right… anyway, back to shop." Stark clapped his hands, turning around and grabbing something off of the desk behind him, then turning and presenting Bucky with a mock-up of the arm they had discussed. "This is just the casing for now, I'm still working out the mechanisms for articulation and whatnot, but I figured you should get a look, first."
Bucky was already reaching out for it, barely listening as Stark spoke. He used his right hand to gently bend the fingers on the prosthesis, marveling over the amount of motion they could achieve… even as a rough model of the casing, it was obvious that this arm would be far better than the one he was stuck with now.
"And also," Stark added smugly, clearly picking up on how happy Bucky was with the results, "Start talking about what kind of toys we're going to put on it."
"Toys?" Bucky asked, frowning as he pulled his eyes away from the mock-up.
"Sure… extenders, lasers in the fingertips for aiming sightlines…"
"No," Bucky responded immediately, rolling his eyes. "No, I just need a damned arm that works, not some freak show trick."
"Come on, Buckster, live a little! It's 2012… Oh! I could put a repulsor in the palm!"
"No," Bucky responded again, tightly.
"No, hear me out, it would be great! You could use it to fly, too… we could use someone else on the team with ups, given we have no idea of knowing when Thor will be around…"
"I don't want damned lasers or repulsors or jetpacks or whatever other stupid shit you're thinking of," Bucky responded, a bit more harshly than he had initially intended. "Wouldn't do any good with just the one, anyway… I'd end up flying around in circles." The look of surprise on Stark's face only irritated Bucky further, so that he was grumbling on before he could stop himself. "Yeah, I know how physics work; me and Steve… we aren't actually stupid, y'know." Even to his own ears the words were petulant, but once he got going Bucky couldn't stop, remembering how much Stark had gotten Steve going as well. "Just cuz we didn't grow up with the kind of tech you guys are used to, and couldn't afford some big fancy college… I like to read and tinker with shit, and Steve's always been good at figuring stuff out."
Stark, at least, had the decency to look abashed for a second before opening his mouth. "I've never actually thought that either of you were stupid," he started, hastily adding, "Not as smart as me, of course, but who is?"
"Really? You rag on Steve enough that it feels a lot like it…"
"Oh please, that's all just fun for me, I only tease people if I like them. And it's not like getting knocked off of his pedestal is going to hurt Saint Rogers…"
"He ain't remotely close to being a saint, and neither of us are used to total strangers being funny with us outside of bullies and assholes, so try showing a little respect for a change, okay?"
Stark watched him for a second, his face inscrutable in a way that made Bucky oddly nervous, afraid that maybe he'd said too much. "Fine, I'll try to lay off the Cap jokes." He finally said begrudgingly, before grabbing the arm and moving it back to the work bench. "Where is he, anyway? I figured he'd have stopped in by now… what's he doing while you're here?"
Bucky failed to see how that was any of Stark's business, but kept it to himself. "Helping with clean-up, most days," he answered instead, sincerely doubting that Stark didn't know as much, given how many trashy news sources had started covering it since they had recognized Steve amongst the volunteers.
"Of course, should have known…" Stark muttered under his breath.
Bucky decided to leave it alone, poking around on a laptop that Stark had left open for his use awhile simultaneously trying to think up an excuse to leave. He felt like he'd probably already given too much of his own feelings away for one day, and it wasn't as if Stark actually needed him around for the work, anyway.
"You know, he used to talk about him like he was a God…" Stark murmured a while later.
It took Bucky a couple of seconds to put together what the hell Stark was even talking about, or if it was supposed to be addressed to him. The man had an unnerving habit of chattering away to himself, or to the robots around the room. "Howard?" He finally asked quietly, unsurprised when Stark startled a bit at the response. "Cuz I mean… he's the one who made Steve that way."
"Yeah," Stark laughed, "I read some of the notes after he died, never realized Cap was so scrawny before… they don't exactly teach you that in the history books."
"There's a lot no one ever bothered to mention about Steve," Bucky responded tightly. "Never bothered trying to figure anything out about him, once he went to war… it's like the country just needed a face to rally around, so they blew his up and went with whatever character they wanted to put behind it."
Stark was surprisingly quiet about that… as soon as he'd said it, Bucky was afraid that he would have jumped on the bitterness behind the comment. Instead, they sat in awkward silence for a few more minutes before Stark interrupted it again. "He talked about you sometimes too, though. Dad, I mean… said you seemed to like hanging around the field labs when you had downtime."
Bucky shrugged, surprised to hear it… the way that Howard had ignored him during the war, he'd really figured that he hadn't noticed anyone outside of Steve and Peggy, not that Bucky could really blame him. And he had enjoyed tinkering around in the weapons holds when Steve was busy with officer meetings… it was easy to get lost in them, a chance to hide from his worries and nightmares for a little while, without having to put a brave face on for the Howlies. "Your dad was a hell of a scientist," he finally ended up saying awkwardly. "We didn't exactly get along… didn't see eye-to-eye on much of anything, but… underneath all of it, Steve said he was a good guy."
"Yeah," Stark responded flatly. "You don't know the half of it."
Bucky was falling. It was cold and they were on Zola's train, and when Steve had scrabbled out the hole in the compartment he'd lost his grip, leaving them both to fall to their inevitable deaths. Only then Zola somehow managed to bring them back to life, and they woke up in 2012, only New York was now die Republik von Amerika and the entire world was united under the seal of Hydra, who happily gave Loki the throne when he arrived in return for his scepter, which they were about to force Bucky to use to kill Steve in the middle of Times Square…
He woke with a start, gasping for air as he sat up in bed and shivering as the sweat on his skin began to cool. After a second of convincing himself that none of it had been real, Bucky turned to glance at his alarm clock – it was a nice old twin-bell without any of the annoying glowy-bits that the future seemed to be so set on having, but Bucky's sight in the dark was more than adequate to make out the hands on its face: 0117. He blew out a long, low sigh, rubbing his face with his right hand as the annoying burning feeling set in on his missing left. He'd been able to sleep for a little more than two hours; better than he had been doing of late, at least, and the dream left him too unsettled to try to drift off again.
Bucky pushed himself out of bed, pulling on the pair of drawstring pants and cotton t-shirt that he had left draped over the footboard before he had crawled in, then padded his way out into the living room, deciding he could probably make a snack quietly and then settle in to read without waking Steve up. It turned out that he didn't need to worry… when he flipped on the lights in the kitchen he found Steve standing at the range in a pair of boxers and undershirt, a spatula raised in defense as he blinked stupidly in Bucky's direction.
"Couldn't sleep, either?" Bucky asked, not bothering to smother his amused smirk as he made his way to the ice box to get the milk out. While he didn't exactly like the idea of Steve having to deal with night terrors, he couldn't help the selfish bit of his mind that was glad for the company.
Steve shrugged, turning back to the skillet on the stove and flipping the flapjack that he'd been cooking, "Lot on my mind, I guess," he murmured, hedging the question… "You want me to throw some more batter together?"
Bucky shook his head – as good as flapjacks sounded, they really weren't worth the extra trouble. "I'm fine with eggs if we have enough left – just leave 'em out and I'll throw it together when you're done."
Of course, his suggestion didn't go over with Steve, who instead ended up splitting the cakes he'd already made between two plates, then piling them with scrambled eggs and bacon, which Bucky didn't even remember them having in the apartment. Ultimately, they ended up on the couch half an hour later, half-propped against each other as they ate their way through their breakfast food, a random documentary about the Civil War droning on the television. It wasn't the least bit interesting, but they had both agreed that it would be better to watch something that they knew… a decision that ended up being wise, given the fact that they both ended up nodding off not long after they'd cleaned their plates.
Steve startled them both awake some time later, awkwardly sitting up on the couch for a moment and blinking at the Netflix loading screen on the TV before jumping to his feet and collecting the dishes from the coffee table then disappearing into the kitchen. The clock on the wall read 0335, so Bucky stood as well, stretching for a moment and dreading the idea of climbing back into his bed, despite the fact that he knew they both needed more sleep. He hesitated for a moment, listening to the familiar sounds of Steve cleaning up in the kitchen, staring at the couch in deep thought. Finally, he muttered a quiet fuck it, stalking quickly back to his bedroom where he yanked the blanket off of the bed then gathered up all of the pillows as well as he could under his arm, hauling them all awkwardly back to the living room.
The coffee table was light enough that it wasn't a problem moving with just the one arm, although the couch definitely made Bucky wish that Stark would hurry it up with the prosthetic. By the time that Steve appeared in the doorway to the living room, Bucky had cleared enough space in the center of the floor to throw the couch cushions down, and was in the middle of hauling the seat cushion out of the arm chair. Steve just stood and watched him, his confusion so obvious that Bucky didn't even need to look at his dumb face to know how he looked, but Bucky didn't bother acknowledging it until he'd dropped the cushion next to the others and started stacking his pillows to fill the space out.
Once everything was arranged to his liking, Bucky sank down to the floor, pulling his quilt up to his chin and finally glancing to where Steve was standing. "Get your skinny ass over here already, Stevie…" he sighed, reaching across his body and patting the empty space on his left with his right hand, "You already said you ain't been sleeping right, either."
Steve made a face like he was about to try arguing with Bucky, before he clearly thought better of it, taking a deep breath and padding across the room. He shook his head as he looked down at where Bucky had folded the blanket up for him, before kneeling down and situating himself in the pile of cushions. "There," Bucky said matter-of-factly, tossing the edge of the blanket over Steve once he'd finally stopped moving. "Was that so fuckin' hard?"
Steve chuckled lightly, although it sounded oddly strained, then turned his head to look at Bucky, his eyes bright and blue despite the shadows in the low light of the room. "Like old times, eh?"
"You know it," Bucky responded with a grin, remembering countless nights of the two of them curled up together on the floor of his parent's living room. "Hell of a lot more comfortable, though… and don't think for a second that I won't kick you awake if you start snoring."
Steve laughed earnestly at that, before turning on his side with a grin. "G'night, Buck."
"Night, Stevie." Bucky responded, closing his eyes and letting the sound of Steve's deep, even breaths lull him to sleep.
Bucky didn't wake the next morning until sunlight was peaking over the back of the couch and shining directly into his eyes. He was sore and disoriented for a few moments, trying to figure out where the hell he was, but as he turned his head against the crick in his neck Bucky saw Steve's peacefully sleeping face next to him, and remembered the events of the night before. He slowly sat up, doing his best not to jostle the cushions or the blanket enough to wake his bedmate, and finally glanced at the clock on the wall, shocked to realize that it was already nearly 1000.
Bucky was half-way to the kitchen when he heard Steve's pained groan, and he glanced back into the living room, smirking at Steve's sleepy glare as he stretched out on the floor. "That was the worst idea your fathead has ever come up with, I swear Buck…"
Bucky laughed, feeling as good as he could remember – hell, since before he'd shipped out for London, probably. There was no heat at all in Steve's muttering voice, so he was all too happy to chirp back sweetly, "But you slept like a baby, din'tcha Stevie?"
"Shut up and put a pot of coffee on…" Steve muttered, the grin already spreading across his face as Bucky laughed and saluted him before doing just that.
Bucky hissed in pain as the doctor turned the dial higher, unable to keep his reaction to the sudden, strange feeling quiet. "And what does that one feel like?" Strange asked, sounding bored and impatient as he kept the dial where it was, watching the screen instead of Bucky.
"Like a real bad Charlie horse in my thumb…" Bucky responded with a frown, glaring at the electrode sticking out of the stump of his arm. How the hell were they causing so much pain in parts that he didn't even have anymore…
"Good," Strange murmured, obviously without care for Bucky's discomfort. "Now imagine moving it to alleviate the pain…"
Bucky sucked in a deep breath – it was at least the twentieth time he'd gotten the same ridiculous instruction. For as much as Tony swore that this guy was the best brain surgeon in the world, he sure seemed like a quack to Bucky. Frowning, he tried his best to focus on the task at hand, and imagined extending his thumb out to relieve the cramp.
"Good." The doctor finally intoned, turning down the dial as Bucky exhaled in relief. "That was excellent news, Sergeant Barnes – the surgery should be relatively simple."
"What'd you find?" Bucky asked petulantly, glad that the tests had come out alright but still wholly confused as to why the hell they had done it in the first place – or what Strange had even been looking for.
"Your brachial plexus is wholly intact." Strange responded flippantly, beginning to peel the electrodes off of Bucky's arm with a clear air of distaste. Bucky wondered if he ever actually did anything like this with his normal patients, or just forced nurses to do all of the talking and touching. It wouldn't surprise him at all… What did surprise him, though, was when the doctor apparently put together Bucky's blank, silent stare in response to his words. "Ah… there's a large nerve bundle in your ax… your arm pit," he began, "which is responsible for all of the commands going from your brain to your arm for movement and sensation. Yours wasn't damaged in the accident or the surgery, so whenever Stark is able to finish the neural transmitters, we will be able to connect them to the plexus, rather than having to operate on your spinal cord or brain."
"Nice…" Tony said with a grin as he made his way into the room, a carrier full of cups full of murky green liquid in hand, "So we won't have to worry about paralysis or worse if there are mishaps during surgery…"
"There won't be any mishaps during surgery," Strange responded tightly, his brows furrowing as he hastily shut down the monitors around him.
Bucky had to wonder how there was a room in the tower big enough for containing both of their egos.
They sniped back and forth at one another for a while longer, Strange giving backhanded compliments to Stark about the neuroreceptors that Tony had apparently finished, while Stark bragged about his numerous doctorate degrees and poo-pooed on people who dared to specialize in just one area of hyper-intellectual science. Bucky played CandyCrush on his phone, wondering if either would even notice if he simply got up and went home. Before he could test the theory, Strange stiffly told Tony to contact him when the prosthesis was ready to be attached, and then stormed out of the room without even acknowledging Bucky.
"He's a prick," Tony said flippantly as soon as the elevator door had closed, "but I wouldn't trust anyone else to do the surgery… his abilities make up for his attitude."
"As long as you're sure," Bucky responded, biting the inside of his cheek to avoid saying anything else, such as how damned similar the two of them were.
"Positive," Stark said, glancing quickly at the data that Strange had left behind before making his way to another workbench, "Anyway, I wanted to show you what I had in mind for the skin interfacing…"
Bucky advanced on Steve again, grunting with exertion as he thrust the plastic knife they were sparring with towards Steve's side, only to have it batted away easily. He flipped it, changing his grip and coming back across his body, but Steve was able to sidestep away. They continued on for hours, Bucky actually getting a few hits in – while it was nothing compared to the number of times that Steve had either deflected or disarmed him, there was no doubt that Bucky was getting closer to matching him at hand-to-hand combat, a fact that made him almost giddy with excitement.
They paused for a water break, moving to the side of the ring as Bucky tossed the knife aside in favor of his water bottle – he hadn't bothered trying with the prosthetic, knowing that between the headset and the awkward way it tended to respond to quick commands that it would only be a burden. "You know," Steve panted between drinks, his lips quirking into a crooked smile, "I'm not so sure how I feel about you getting that new arm anymore…"
"Afraid it's gonna be back to old times?" Bucky asked teasingly, "With me having to go easy on you again?"
"Try it," Steve laughed, "just remember that I can beat your ass now."
Bucky grinned, taking one final sip of water before moving back to the center of the ring… maybe it was weird, but the thought of the two of them being equals for a change was one that actually excited him. He knew, logically, that he would always worry about Steve – would always want to have his back, and picture him as his small, smart-mouthed friend who had a habit of getting into messes he couldn't get himself out of. But the idea that they could have this too, throw each other's weight around and unwind completely, sparring like no other humans were even capable of… it was a disturbingly heady thought.
They finally broke apart and made their way to the locker room a couple of hours later, sweaty and feeling just exhausted enough that they might actually be able to sleep properly. Bucky peeled his sweaty shirt off with some difficulty, the tight material clinging even worse to his skin now that it was wet. He moved to attach the prosthesis, before thinking better of it and simply pulling on his sweatshirt, jamming the arm in the bag and trying to ignore the awkward way that his empty sleeve flopped at his side. Much as he hated it, it was late enough that no one would be around to see anyway, and it beat the idea of trying to shimmy into clothes with both the awkward-fitting prosthetic and sweat-damp skin. He begrudgingly remembered Stark's comments about his physique, acknowledging that it was probably time to go out and buy some new clothes… his muscle mass was finally seeming to stabilize, and while they were still serviceable his clothes weren't exactly always comfortable on his knew, bulkier frame.
Bucky glanced across the locker room to where Steve had finished pulling on one of his own tiny t-shirts, the words dying on his lips as he watched the cotton stretch across his friend's broad chest and back. He was tired enough that the dirty, obtrusive little voice in his mind that he could usually repress made itself known in full-force, insisting that he just go out on his own, lest Steve get the idea that he needed bigger sizes as well and Bucky lost his free show.
"You alright?" Steve asked, pausing in the locker room doorway with a look of concern on his face.
"Fine," Bucky responded, snapping out of his daze with a bright smile, "just tired, is all…"
He'd ended up waiting until Steve was out with clean-up duty a few days later to wander out to the stores on his own.
"You know," Tony muttered, sparks flying momentarily as he finished shaping the plate that he was working on. "We still haven't figured out the most important part of this thing…"
Bucky frowned at the screen of his StarkPhone and went still, already dreading whatever stupid joke or suggestion Stark was going to make, before giving in and playing along. "What is that?" He asked, trying not to sound as if he was dreading whatever dumb shit Stark was about to answer with.
Stark paused what he was doing, flipping his mask up and turning to face Bucky with a dead-serious look on his face. "Your brand… we need to put some flash on this thing, after all."
Bucky just frowned at him, trying to figure out if he was being had or not.
"Seriously, have you put any thought into it? Replica of Cap's shield… kawaii little caricature of a Bucky Bear face?"
Bucky rolled his eyes, not bothering to justify either suggestion with any further response. He had finally gotten around to Googling this Bucky Bear thing that Tony kept bringing up, so he at least didn't have to give him the satisfaction of asking what he meant – but it was still mortifying enough to know that people had actually sold the damned things (and were apparently thinking of bringing them back, dammit) that he preferred to pretend he wasn't aware of them. Tony continued rambling about something, his mask coming back down and muffling out the majority of it down to a drone that Bucky could easily ignore, when the idea hit him. He hesitated for a moment, temporarily afraid of even mentioning it… but in the end entertaining stark was worth not being stuck with an Arc reactor permanently etched into his prosthetic.
"My wings." He said simply, refusing to look as he heard Tony's instrument power down. "My jacket, during the war… the left sleeve had a wing emblem on it. Put that up on the deltoid…"
Bucky glanced up to see Stark watching him, an odd smile on his face. "Sure…" he responded finally, "you want them in blue or white?"
"Blue would show up better," Bucky decided after a minute – Stark had no smartass response for it, and just like that they fell back into companionable silence.
"So… this should be done by the beginning of next week," Stark prompted an indeterminable amount of time later, powering his tools down again and turning in his chair to face Bucky, who simply hummed in acknowledgement. "I'll talk to Strange and Doctor McKenney about their schedules, but we should be able to have them attach it before week's end…"
"I'll clear my calendar," Bucky responded flippantly, still fiddling with his phone and trying to hide the nervous jolt he felt in his stomach over the announcement. "Can you show me how to switch ringtones on these things? I want to change Steve's to Star-Spangled Man…"
Stark huffed a short laugh at that, shaking his head "Right, I'll have JARVIS figure out a time that works best for them and call you with the appointment." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between the two of them before he continued. "Have you given any thought to what you're doing after we've got you kitted up?"
Bucky shrugged at that, setting his phone aside and turning his attention to Tony. "We're gonna go on a road trip, Steve and I… I promised him in '41 that I'd take him to the Grand Canyon some day, and we figured we'd make a whole adventure out of it now that we can." Once again, he found himself rambling before he could really stop it – he and Steve tried to focus on the present and the things they had missed instead of talking about the past together, and it wasn't as if Bucky had anyone else to talk to. "I visited my Nan in Indiana when I was 13 before she died, and Steve had the USO tour around the country in '43, but otherwise neither of us ever really left Brooklyn, so…"
"I've got just the car for you," Tony interrupted, rising from his chair excitedly. "Might need a little work on the engine if it's going to make it all the way to California, but it's nothing I can't soup up before you go…"
"Naw… we already got a couple of Harleys, I just have to prove that I can drive the thing with a prosthetic and get a license," Bucky insisted. When Stark's face dropped, he added, "Besides… one of us would need to learn how to drive a car, first, it'd just delay us even further. We'll worry about that when we get back."
Stark sighed, "Fine. I can hardly argue against the idea of the two of you going for an Iron Ass award, I suppose…" Bucky didn't want to touch that comment with a ten foot pole, so he let the topic drop. "But," Stark continued a second later, "I was actually talking about what you plan to do for good, now that you're about to have the world's best cybernetic arm and can get back to full ass-kicking commission…"
"Gotta talk to Fury," Bucky responded blithely. "He refuses to even discuss plans with us until August, wanted us to acclimate and get our heads on straight, but I imagine we'll join up with SHIELD and do whatever they need us to do."
Stark paused at that, dropping back into his chair and fiddling with a random tool on the table. "That's it? You're both just going to run off and become SHIELD goons?"
Bucky shrugged, "Romanoff and Barton both seem to like it alright, and I've got no interest in going back into the Army."
"Who says you need to fight at all?" Tony asked.
Bucky snorted, "Please, Steve ain't gonna give up fighting evil as long as it's still in the world."
"That's his fight…"
"And I'm gonna have his back, same as I have our whole lives." Bucky insisted, not in the mood for philosophical arguments. "Besides… what else am I gonna do? There's a pretty limited job market for people with my skill set."
There was an uncomfortable second where Tony looked like he wanted to say something else… Bucky could only imagine how bad it was, if Stark was actually holding back with it, but in the end he gave a quick shake of his head and a smarmy smile. "You could model… Pep says the Vintage Hollywood style is about to make a comeback."
"Shut the hell up and finish the arm," Bucky shot back with a chuckle, hoping that his face wasn't as pink as it felt warm.
His eyelids felt impossibly heavy as Bucky tried to open them, blinking for a moment against the bright white of the room and trying to clear his groggy head. His mouth felt terribly dry, and for a second he panicked, imagining himself back in the hospital after thawing… or worse, back on Zola's table in Kreischberg.
The weird, uncomfortable heaviness on the left side of his body was what grounded him, and suddenly things started rushing back. Bucky frowned for a second, before deciding to raise both of his hands in front of his face… for the first time since waking up, it worked. His right one came into view palm down, looking the same as always – the left followed at the exact same time, light reflecting off of the polished metal in a way that was strangely beautiful. Bucky turned both of them out, so that his palms were facing away, then flexed and extended his fingers a couple of times – the articulations in the prosthetic moved fluidly and with no hesitation at all… he couldn't help sighing in relief, already confident that the surgery had been a success.
"Buck?"
He turned his head, vision still swimming a bit when he moved, to find Steve seated next to the bed, a book now closed in his lap and a wide grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Bucky did his best to smile back, although he still couldn't quite feel his face… Steve laughed, so he could only imagine what it looked like. "They were wondering how long it would be before you woke up, apparently you needed a lot more drugs than they had planned on to keep you knocked out during the surgery…"
Bucky vaguely recognized the words Steve was saying… or, at least, he knew they were English, and they were probably good words. His brain couldn't really process them properly at the moment; it was too busy working through the sensation of having proper feeling in his arm again, and taking in the sight of his best friend. The light of the recovery room lit up Steve's blonde hair and white t-shirt like he was a god damned angel, and Bucky was just with it enough to know that the last thing he should do at that moment was to open his mouth… he'd only end up saying something stupid, like rambling about how fuckin' beautiful Stevie was at that moment.
Pushing that thought as far out of his head as he could, Bucky reached his left hand out for Steve, the fingers wiggling a little as they extended past the railing of the hospital bed. Steve chuckled at the motion, but thankfully didn't hesitate, instead just reaching out and lacing their fingers together. As if it were a perfectly normal thing for two fellas to do, hold hands like that. "I gotta admit," Steve said quietly, "Stark did a hell of a job."
Bucky pulled their joined hands back toward himself, so that he could rest them on the bed. The sensation in his fingers were exactly as Stark had predicted they would be – a little bit blunted and without any temperature, like he was wearing heavy gloves, but… he could still feel the weight of Steve's hand in his own. "Mmm'yeah..." he murmured, his eyelids growing heavy again. "S'swell…"
With that, Bucky let himself drift back off, his mind going blank and peaceful as his brain registered the sensation of Steve's thumb rubbing gently over his knuckles.