Conversation 1: Rumination

Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark

The name evoked a sense of peace and calm that the once-owner of it did not feel. On the outside, he was a calm, quiet man plagued with the nightmares of years spent with HYDRA. The others were disturbed by what they considered unusual placidity though they tried not to let him know; he knew. How many times had Steve asked if he was okay? How many times had his friend suggested that he talk to Sam? He wondered if they knew that beneath the placid surface his mind was roiling and bubbling.

Bucky's memory of being part of the Winter Soldier group was patchy at best but what he did remember was bone chilling. The chair featured heavily in his nightmares and sometimes afterward he couldn't even look at a recliner or a kitchen chair without shuddering. No, he much preferred the couch to any of the chairs for a single person. Maybe they understood that, maybe they didn't, he didn't let it bother him either way.

"D'ya think they called it that because it's deceptive?" He questioned, eyes going to Steve where he leaned against the counter. Steve's brow knitted as he glanced up at his friend then back at the cookbook he was holding.

"What, lion's head? I don't know, maybe. I mean, it doesn't look like a lion." The book was turned on its side so that Steve could squint at it. No, the meatball dish didn't really look like a lion. "Why?"

If he'd bothered to look up at that moment, Steve would have seen the look of fond exasperation that Bucky was giving him. He reminded himself that Steve couldn't see inside his head though did roll his eyes heavenward in a request for patience. Sometimes Bucky would be so lost in his own thoughts that when he surfaced again, he would start conversations in the middle. It confused the people around him when it happened and unfortunately it had been happening more frequently of late.

"No, I mean…d'ya think that they called it Winter Soldier because it sounds peaceful?"

The cookbook was snapped closed so hard that it echoed in the silence following Bucky's question. Steve was giving him that look again; the one laced with pity and uncertainty. He had no idea how to handle it when his friend wandered through these thoughts. Should he agree with Bucky that it sounded peaceful? Should he tell him that the very thought of the name sent a chill down his spine? The words stuck in Steve's throat and he made a faint distressed humming sound in response.

"I mean, I'm just sayin'. I think of winter and snow. Snow covers like a blanket, covers everything, even though it's cold, not warm," Bucky offered in explanation, "but, I like that because it's peaceful, calm."

Steve's mouth was working now as he tried to get the words out. It would be great, he could use the distraction, if someone, anyone, would wander in to the common kitchen right now. His eyes darted to the doorways leading in but there was no help coming. This was a simple question, right? One he could answer without stepping in some minefield of hidden nightmares and emotions. Why, then, would the words simply not come out? Bucky, for his part, seemed oblivious to his friend's inability to answer as he worked through what had led him to the thought.

"But soldiers, Stevie, they ain't calm. I mean sometimes, yeah, but most of the time not. They're always movin' and followin' orders. And then there's…" Bucky trailed off, frowning lightly. His throat worked as he swallowed against the lump his words had caused before he continued, "there's the killing. That…that ain't calm." He looked up at Steve. "What do you think?"

And that was the crux, wasn't it? Steve didn't know what he thought. Or, he did know and didn't want to say it. His mouth worked a few times but there were still no words, just soft sounds of agitation. His head dropped forward in that familiar 'aw, shucks' uncomfortable way, feet shuffling a bit against the kitchen tile. At last, he huffed and managed to loosen the tightness that had begun in his chest enough to answer.

"I…uh…I don't know, Buck. I haven't really...thought about it, ya know?" He felt bad for his halting words but how was he supposed to respond? What was he supposed to say? "I mean...I'm not all that fond of winter. Remember how nasty the streets got back home?" His eyes lifted to look at Bucky, to watch him as he said that. "And my shoes always leaked," a short laugh followed that, though it was dry, pained, "remember that?"

Whatever reaction Steve had expected, Bucky breaking out in to a smile hadn't been it. The man huffed out a laugh as his flesh hand pushed in to his hair shoving it back from his forehead a moment. Why didn't he get a haircut? Steve had asked that a bunch of times but Bucky always put him off. Yeah, he remembered Steve and his shoes.

"That's why you had the newspaper, punk. Supposed ta keep your feet dry; kept mine dry. 'Course those boots they gave us in the army, those were…nice." The face Buck made said otherwise, but both men laughed.

Crisis averted; Steve had successfully derailed his friend from that morbid thought. He counted it a win as the cookbook was opened again, thumbing through it. They joked back and forth a bit, talking about the old days and how it had been. He felt relief; why wouldn't the knot in his stomach go away? The lion's head still sounded like a good dish so that was the one he picked and wrote ingredients for. He needed to go shopping but Bucky declined to join him, saying he wanted to finish his book or watch a movie maybe.

After Steve was gone, Bucky's fingers played over the rim of the coffee cup that had been sitting untouched before him. It had been there since he'd arrived in the kitchen this morning, before Steve started looking for 'something new to try' for dinner. The cream had made a swirling pattern where it tried to separate from the rest of the coffee but Bucky paid it little mind, just stirring it up again. He knew Steve hadn't wanted to answer the question; he'd had that deer in headlights look. It was easier to let the conversation be sidetracked than to keep pushing. He hated that it was easier. A voice startled him, his hand going to the gun that wasn't at his side any more.

"I hate the cold; don't care for the heat much either. I mean, the caves were cool and all sometimes but once I got out in the open desert, it was all heat."

Tony leaned casually in the doorway. His favorite coffee mug was, obviously empty, clutched in both hands and it looked like he hadn't slept in a while. His Metallica shirt was wrinkled, the long sleeved one beneath it pushed up to his elbows and covered in grease around the cuffs. That same grease was also smeared down the front of his jeans and there were probably droplets on his boots, but he didn't seem bothered. One hand had freed itself from the mug and was agitatedly tapping where the arc reactor had once sat in his chest.

"Stifling is what it was. It was so hot I felt like I couldn't breathe," his eyes were somewhere over Bucky's shoulder, looking in to a distance no one else could see. "But the cold, that scares me. All silent and still, it makes me feel alone, too solitary and if there's snow, it's too white and too bright." A visible shudder ran through the smaller man's frame. "Yeah, I definitely hate the snow."

Tony was moving now, leaving the doorway and heading across the kitchen toward the too complicated coffee maker. His cup rinsed out before he shoved it beneath the nozzle and began adding grounds to the maker. Bucky watched him, waited to see if he would say more or if he'd finished. The conversation seemed like a non-sequitur but it made him wonder how long the engineer had been standing outside the door listening. His chest tightened with nerves at the thought that Tony had heard.

"But the cold, that's the thing that really gets me. It's so unforgiving." Tony continued. "The cold just gets in your bones and chills all the way through you." He still hadn't looked directly at Bucky as he spoke; the coffee mug now liberated from the coffee maker and sipped before he continued. "Like how you can't quite warm your fingers up right away after you come inside. And how your chest tightens and your lungs feel strange after you've been out in it a while."

He was obviously running more on auto-pilot than anything, if Bucky had to guess, because Tony was already making his way toward the door to leave. It wasn't unusual to see the engineer wander upstairs for coffee though Bucky wondered why since he had the same fancy coffee maker in his workshop. He'd seen it once or twice when Tony had done maintenance on his arm. So why, then, were there random appearances in the kitchen? His mind did that roiling, bubbling thing it did when too many thoughts tried to vie for attention and his chest tightened with every word.

"Winter Soldier. I think that they chose it because it's terrifying; a cold, precise soldier that kills on demand and doesn't hesitate to follow orders. Yeah, that's why they named it that." Tony's shoulders lifted and fell to that. "Or maybe they like Moscow jokes. Does it even get above freezing there?" He knew it did, but it was worth it to see Bucky relax even fractionally at the really bad attempt at a joke.

The coffee was lifted to Tony's lips as he shoved a hand in his jeans pocket and hunched his shoulders a bit as he went. There was a pause or a falter in his steps and the man stopped a moment, head tilting; he did that sometimes when a thought hit him. A Cheshire grin touched Tony's lips and he turned back, tipping the coffee cup in Bucky's direction and finally making eye contact.

"You know what, Bucky-bear? I bet that's why you were so bad at it." His grin widened and brown eyes sparkled a bit mischievously. "You're too damned warm and fuzzy to be a Winter Soldier. I think Gentle Ben is more your speed. FRIDAY, put Gentle Ben on Bucky-bear's viewing list. There, now you have a show to binge watch while you wait for Capsicle to get back. You're welcome." He saluted Bucky with his coffee mug before wandering out of the kitchen effectively cutting the conversation off.

Bucky was left staring slack-jawed after the man; Tony really didn't need anyone to talk. Did he even notice that Bucky hadn't said a word the entire time? The smile Tony'd worn at the end turned out to be infectious; he realized that he was grinning and those grins turned to guffawing laughs when FRIDAY explained what Gentle Ben was. Stark was crazy. Maybe they all were, just a little bit. When the mirth passed, he grew somber and considered what Tony had told him; that seemed right. The Winter was cold, unforgiving; yeah, that made more sense.

With a nod, the question now answered and put to rest Bucky stood and pushed his chair in before dumping the old coffee in the sink. "Hey FRIDAY, think Tony would mind if we ordered pizza for dinner? Stevie's trying something new. I didn't get to tell Tony that before he left."

Silence a moment, before the accented voice replied, "Boss says he already has the order standing by along with the fire extinguishers. Would you like me to queue up the recommended viewing list in the common room, Sgt. Barnes?"

"Yeah, sure, FRIDAY. Let's see how warm and fuzzy he thinks I'm supposed to be."

-End-