The small conference room was more the size of a private office. It had the capability of doubling as an interrogation room, with its single table and two chairs on either side of it. On the side opposite the door sat Bucky Barnes, exhaustion in his features while his bearing was otherwise erect. He'd been talking with Rogers, the two men sliding looks at the door once Stark entered. Another glance cut between them, and then Rogers sighed. Gaze dropping to the floor, he made his way out of the room, a single nod given in response to Barnes' farewell. Catching his arm before he could sneak past him, the billionaire quirked an eyebrow up at the captain, silently asking him what was going on. Mutely, the blond man could do no more than shake his head, and iterate how he would be out in the hall if they needed him for anything.
Another pointed look, ice blue eyes sizing them both up, and then he was gone, the door clicking soundly behind him. Nonplussed, Tony turned to sit in the last available chair, a creeping sensation crawling up his spine when he stared across the table. It was strange to think that not one, but two super soldiers had survived after all that time, were in the facility. Of course, Barnes's story was a much darker shade than Steve's, but then again, it wasn't really anything new. Or at least it wasn't enough to make Stark run the opposite direction screaming.
"Sergeant Barnes," he greeted the other man cautiously, curiosity rising with every second that the sergeant did not speak. His gaze flicked up to him, metal fingers tapping against flesh ones as he met Tony's gaze.
"Mister Stark."
"Have to say, I'm surprised that you wanted to talk to me." Stark shrugged, brushing off the peculiarity as best he could. Something was going on, and he hoped that Barnes could at least elucidate. "Figured you and Old Glory would be off gallivanting now that you've come outta rehab. I would, personally."
A wry snort echoed out of Bucky, and little humor had made its way into his face. "I don't think anything of the sort is in the cards for me."
"Aw, come on. I know you old grumps can't stay up past nine, but—" Tony's sentence was cut short by the sudden flick of the other man's eyes, the light tap of his metal fingers on the table top. Shaking his head, Barnes bent in his chair to retrieve the bag he had left on the floor. Digging in it, he pulled out a manilla folder packed to the brim, a notebook atop it. Wordlessly, he set both items on the table, pushing them across the surface to the befuddled billionaire. Curious, Stark glanced down at the items, raising an eyebrow. "What is this?"
"Something you need to see," Bucky murmured, hands folding in his lap. His head drooped, some of the strands of his hair falling free. "Something you need to know."
A wry smirk twisted Stark's lips as he reached out for both folder and notebook, but it slid away as he examined the contents. The folder's papers were written in a slew of languages, with an English transcription accompanying each page. Photographs of the man before him, the savage removal of the last hanging bones of his arm, and the first prototype of his prosthesis flitted by. Reams of paper devoted to the experiments conducted on him, on the endurance tests and the subtle tortures they used to erase everything that made him Bucky, were in hand and he read them in foreboding silence. Then, he found it: the supposed kill list. The speculated list of assassinations committed at his hand as his tenure as the Winter Soldier. He was one of many, but he was their special project, the one who most often bore the title. At the bottom of the list were Steve's and Fury's names, left unscratched.
Opening his mouth to ask why he was being shown all this, when he already knew a good deal about Bucky's past, Barnes shook his head, inclining his chin towards the notebook. A specific section had been tabbed with a piece of colored paper, and off his prompting, Tony turned to that page. Scanning down it, his breath caught in his throat when he skimmed over a crucial line:...I had been sent to kill Howard Stark...
Hurriedly, he backtracked, his face going ashen as he read the painstaking details in which Barnes had recorded his contract. To be sure, it was one of several in the book (he had two more similarly filled back at Steve's house), but that was the one that mattered. He had documented all that he could remember. Waking from the ice. Being told to intercept the package. Kill anyone who got in the way. The bend of road, the car speeding along at top speed. The long shot that took out the tires, the crash into the tree. The package was destroyed, and the people clinging to life inside. The drag of the man pushing his way out, seeking help. A mercy killing, a familiar voice nudging at his mind as the fellow fell to him first, then his wife.
'It wasn't until three months ago that I remembered who that man was, who I was sent to kill,' the last lines of the narrative ran, nearly missed in the blur of tears and fury in Tony's eyes. 'Another face in a sea of dead bodies, but I did not forget him. Now I know why. It was Howard Stark. I had been sent to kill Howard Stark. I had killed a friend, and I never knew it. Not until it was too late. His son still lives. He needs to know, if he doesn't already. You need to know, Tony.'
Hands shaking, the billionaire let the notebook fall from his grip, a soft thump on the table top breaking the silence. That, and the shallow gasps Tony was inhaling. His dark brown eyes rose slowly, drinking in the sight of the man seated across from him. He wouldn't have believed it, had it not gotten every detail of the action right: the suspicious bullet lodged in the tire of the car, the injuries inconsistent with those of a car accident on both of his parents. It could have been a lie, if one was able to get to the reports drawn up after it, but they had been sealed, not even making it onto a digital file. That was virtually impossible, but somehow Barnes had been able to give it all down to the drag of his father's body in the dirt and the blood splatter on the ground left behind by his attack. The blood splatter that was half-buried with the swipe of a boot, unexplained and contaminated. He'd read the police and autopsy reports, in a daze, so many years ago, but the details returned to him with startling clarity. No trace had been left of an attacker, and so the police refused to keep the case open (perhaps they'd been bought off to shut it down, he realized). An accident, he'd been forced to concede publicly, even though it had never added up. And, more to that, who in their right mind would claim to have killed Howard and Maria Stark so brutally, after so many years? He had nothing to gain from such an admittance, unless he was stone-cold crazy. Though he had been brainwashed, Barnes wasn't a psychopath; all his testing came back to show that wasn't the case, testing that he had exposed to him willingly. He'd had the training, had been broken by HYDRA, was their top assassin. His father had been a founder of one of the greatest opponent organizations, a threat that had smacked at them for over fifty years. There was motive. That much had been confirmed already.
Mottled red bled into his face, and Bucky knew he was looking at pure rage when he met his gaze.
"You...you..." the other man stuttered, his eloquence lost as the great wave of emotion shot higher. His entire body was trembling now, and instinctively, Bucky slid to the edge of his chair, anticipating the next move. Forcing himself to concentrate, Tony slid a hand to cover his wrist watch, fingers tensing as the sleeve of his jacket was pushed up. "This is all real? This is true?"
Noticing his movements, Bucky did nothing to stop him, to stop the coming storm from breaking over his head. He didn't deserve it, and so he would not asked for it.
"...Yes."
Tense quiet reigned, jagged needles pricking the skin with each breath taken, with each second passed. Shallow, shallow, sharp...
"I'll kill you," Tony said, voice no higher than a whisper. Another ragged breath, and then he screamed at the top of his lungs. "I'll kill you!"
Springing forward, Stark just managed to snatch at Bucky's collar as he slid sideways, instinct taking over to bring him out of harm's way. Bodies smashed into one another as Tony completed the slide, a glancing punch connected with Barnes' temple. Stars exploded across his vision as he tumbled to the ground, the grind and whine of something echoing in his ears. Out of reflex, he swung wide, the metal arm shoving hard into the billionaire's side and knocking him off. Rolling away, he heard the whine again, and when he looked up, he could see Tony's arm raised, a clicking mechanical gauntlet deployed from his watch and wrapped around his hand. An arch of bright light emanated from his palm, power gathered and shooting forth mere seconds later. In the small room, there were very few covers and no hiding spots, and so he was reduced to merely dodging the other man's light shots. One tore through the sleeve of his right arm, burning him and causing him to curse outright. With a holler, Stark surged forward, shoving him down and into the nearby chair, splintering it under their combined weight. Punch after jab pummeled him, a flurry of bruises springing up in their wake.
The handle to the door rattled, something neither of them noticed as Tony's fingers finally gained purchase in Bucky's neck. At that point, the fight that had built up in Bucky was forgotten, all his concentration gone as he simply tugged at Stark's wrists. It was no less than what he deserved...Losing air fast, it all came back in a whoosh as the billionaire was bodily lifted off of him, the backwards momentum throwing both him and his savior into the far wall. Keeping one hand locked firmly around the back of Tony's neck, and the other crunching the device around his wrist, Steve shot a concerned, disgruntled look at both his friends, pain and shame dancing across his irises as he saw the lack of defensive wounds on Bucky. He'd accepted the punishing blows, and it was obvious. Still, he ignored that concern, instead rubbing at the soreness of his neck and refusing to watch as Rogers pushed Tony out the door.
Once out in the hall, with the door firmly closed behind them, Steve let his friend go. Unprepared for the onslaught to turn on him next, he barely managed to dodge when Stark shoved a fist towards his shoulder.
"Did he tell you, too?" the billionaire huffed after a few seconds, the madness in his eyes dissipating somewhat. Swiping at the cut along his cheekbone, caused when he caught it on the arm of one of the chairs, he flapped his hand with disregard to the blood dripping out of it. Steve blinked, the downcast set of his countenance from before returning in that instant. "That's why you're here, right? Bet you wanted to cover your own ass."
Steve frowned and glared in warning. "Tony..."
"Answer the question, Rogers!" he barked, snatching at Steve and gripping his sleeves in a death grasp. Waiting for the answer, he took in deep, harsh breaths, fingers digging into the captain's arms. It was hard to tell whether he wanted to push him away or keep clinging as though he were in danger of drowning. Swallowing hard, Steve met his gaze fully, knowing there was no backing out after that point.
"I read the files, Tony," he said, the fingers digging into his arms falling away. Incredulity edged into Tony's expression, and he lifted a shoulder in response. "There was nothing in them explicitly stating that HYDRA used him to kill your parents."
"But you suspected, had to have suspected," Stark accused, hissing when Steve fell silent. He was unable to deny that truth; Zola had strongly implied that Bucky was instrumental in the destruction of Howard Stark and his wife. While he refused to believe it without any hard evidence to back it up, it was unavoidable once Bucky had told him his intentions for that day. Once he told the truth, details entailing exactly where and when the event took place, and the precise causes of death, he could not ignore it. Seething, Tony reeled back, actually catching him off-guard with a punch to the mouth. It was the left, the cracked metal gauntlet reinforcing the strength of his fist as he caught his jaw. While it did not drop him, it was hard enough to break skin and to make Rogers grunt deeply in pain. Another punch landed, smacking him in the shoulder, and then another, and then another before the splintered metal pieces fell apart.
"And you didn't think that I might need to know about—"
"About what? A suspicion, an idea, without any proof? HYDRA had so many underlings, had so many other assassins to choose from. Why would I think he would always be their first choice?" Steve threw back, firmly grabbing Tony's shoulders and holding him at arm's length. His arms blocked any further swings, and he positioned his legs so that any blows there would not fell him. Instead, he secured his friend in his spot, speaking over his fury and trying to reach the part of his mind that was not clouded. "And how could I know for sure that HYDRA wasn't just telling a lie in regards to that, too? You would've wanted proof, and you would've mocked me for not having any."
"He killed my mom!" Tony cried then, all the hurt and suffering of the young man who had lost his whole world so many years ago bleeding into his voice. Taken aback by it, Steve loosened his hold on him, allowing him to slip out of his grasp. Rather than return to attacking him, Stark bent at the waist, the heels of his hands pressed to his brow. "My dad..."
A stab of sadness punctured Steve, piercing him the gut, and he grimaced. "HYDRA killed your parents. They just used him to make it happen. He was brainwashed, Tony. Which is more than what some of us could say."
Dark eyes flashed up, narrowing at him then. "What in the hell are you implying?"
"Natasha was a world-class assassin and then a SHIELD operative, with a hit list nearly as long and as devastating as his. Barton was an active spy for twenty years, and he didn't walk away unscathed. Thor has been fighting in wars since before time began. Nick was the head of a government organization that killed as often as it helped. Sam and Rhodey spent a good portion of their lives in armed service, which occasionally means casualties. Sometimes innocent ones." The captain paused, gathering his breath to continue the sharp, glaring spill of reproofs and truths. It may have been too much for Stark to bear in that moment, but he wasn't going to let him get away with blaming Bucky of crimes he had no control over committing. Not like they had. "And I...I am a genetically-enhanced super-soldier, who was chosen and made for the sole purpose of deterring a threat to my country, and did so. Many times, with force. Same with Wanda and Pietro, and so many others. The difference between us and him...is that we were all conscious of our decisions, did what we did because it was our choice." Looking at his friend, he could see the flush fall from his face, paling as each sentence struck home. Purposefully, he avoided mentioning Banner's actions, or even Stark's own after returning from the caves, knowing that neither would be received well (and Bruce had very little control of the Hulk as it was, so he could not be truly classified with them, anyway). "After his fall, when they took him...he wasn't. He had no choice. If you have a problem with him, you really should have a problem with all of us."
The billionaire looked at him with unbridled contempt, full hatred rising in his expression. And beneath it, the tiny spark of regret and sorrow.
"Screw you," he spat at Steve, hands balling into fists. He winced; his hands were aching after punching the equivalent of two human bricks walls, but he ignored the pain. "If it was your mother he'd killed, you wouldn't be spouting half the crap that's coming out of your mouth."
"I'm not saying you shouldn't be angry," the captain retorted, hand coming up to clean away the dribble of blood that was now pouring from his split lip. "I'm just saying, remember the circumstances. If it were Rhodey, or Banner, what would you do?"
The last question pulled Tony up short, and while he did not have a verbal answer, there was a low snarl at the back of his throat. How dare he...how dare he? Tremors wracked the billionaire's body as the words turned over and over in his mind, his gaze focusing entirely on the closed office door behind the bigger man. Bypassing Steve's questioning glance, and the curious stares of the milling agents in the hall, took a few steps towards it, bodily shouldering Rogers out of the way. The captain took it, stumbling to the side as Tony grasped the handle and wrenched it open. About to follow, the blond found the door slamming in his face, the click of the lock like a gunshot. Immediately, an electrical barrier flooded over the panels, JJ jumping the overrides and locking the room down. Anxiously, Steve could only step back, and wait.
Tony finished tapping at the handheld that had survived the bouts, tucking back into his pocket when the overrides were in place. The base's security systems were still in his control, after all. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the interior of the room, the broken and scattered debris of the furniture assembled or put into a far corner. The table was repositioned, the single unbroken chair on the side closest to the door. Barnes stood, hands on his hips, a black eye beginning to bloom and a sharp cut along his jaw (not to mention the singed marks on his arm and sleeve). However, it was the newest acquisition that was placed on the table along with the collected files and notebook that drew Tony's attention.
"What is that?" he asked dully, the rage in him driving beyond the ability to emote. It was a facetious wondering; he knew full well what he was looking at. The Glock 26 gleamed in the florescent light of the room, angled with the barrel of the gun pointed at Barnes. The knowledge that he had secreted a gun in the room, and refused to use it even as Stark had attempted to blast and throttle him, broke through the red haze in the billionaire's mind. For his part, the ex-assassin merely gestured at the pistol on the table.
"You want me dead. This is your chance. Take the gun and shoot me," he told him, stepping back to stand against the wall. Hands went behind his back, and and he bowed his head slightly. Ready for his execution, Stark remarked inwardly, a tiny part of him shuddering at that. "I won't blame you for it; if I were you, I'd want to do it, too. After all the hell I caused, I deserve nothing less. Go ahead."
Three steps was all it took for Tony to make it to the table's edge, one quick snap of his wrist and his fingers closed around it. It was loaded, a round yet to be snapped into the chamber. Bringing his arm up the barest fraction, he was preempted once more.
"Just...before you do it..." Bucky breathed, summoning the last of his courage and raising his hands in supplication. "I'm sorry. If I'd known—"
"You did know," Tony cut him off, not wanting to hear the protestations. Not wanting to hear any more hard truths. "You had him in your sights, both of them."
"I didn't. I had no memory of him then, and I had no will of my own," Bucky reiterated, tipping a palm back to the file folder, the spilling papers, the notebook. Every line, every detail signifying the lack of control he had over the contract all those years ago. Every piece of evidence pointed to him being manipulated, but he knew that was not enough. It was no excuse, not to his mind. Not to Tony's, either, it appeared. "But now that I do...I am sorry. For everything."
Having said his piece, Bucky lowered his hands, his stormy blue eyes focused solely on the barrel of the gun. Tony, throat thickening and eyes blinking against the deep well within him, tightened his grip on the pistol. He unlocked the slide, giving the magazine a final tap and pulling the slide to load the first round. Finger curling around the trigger, Stark brought up his arm, lining the ex-assassin's forehead up in his sights. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to do it, to get it over with. One shot, and it would solve everything.
Except...except it wouldn't. If there was anything he had learned in the last six months, it was that to let his emotions drive him would lead him further down the path of destruction. There would be no peace in putting a bullet between Barnes's eyes. It would not be clean, cutting away the regret and anger of the last twenty years. It wouldn't bring his mother back, and it wouldn't make his dad come home to him. He wasn't staring down a cold-blooded killer, one who deserved to be murdered as easily as he had done to other. Every single word of those papers, of that damned notebook entry, was seared into his memory, forged into the stone of his mind so he could never forget the truth. So that he could not ignore the duality of the man standing before him, awaiting his fate. The blue irises looking back him were not those of an assassin. They were those of a broken, lost man, used and abused, desperate to find a way to live with himself and the horrors he'd inadvertently wrought.
It was a familiar set that looked him in the mirror every day.
Wavering, Tony choked out a breath, his hand shaking so much that it was visible now. Slowly, he dropped the gun back onto the table, pushing it away as though it had bitten him.
"I...oh, my God. I can't," he gasped, sinking into one of the chairs and desperately trying to control his breathing. All the simmering energy that had surged with his anger had fallen, the rush of adrenaline gone. Shuddering sobs were poised in his throat, shakily pouring out of his nose as his face buried into his hands. "I can't do it."
That wasn't who he was, that wasn't Tony Stark. He wasn't a murderer, no matter what was said virtually worldwide. The desire to cause Barnes harm was still strong, but it wasn't in him to commit the deed. Because if it had been Rhodey, or Banner, he would not have been able to condemn him for things beyond his control. No matter who or what he'd destroyed in the process. It was not a heartless killer that deserved it. Just a man, a remorseful man, looking for salvation in a place where almost none could be found. Silent tears dripped out of Stark's eyes, horror and ire and hurt pushing out of him at an alarming rate, the water caught in his aching palms. Seconds, or perhaps hours, passed in which Tony succumbed to the swirl of emotion, his deep breathing matched by the other man still inhabiting the room with him. Exercises taught to him by his therapist to combat the rise of anxiety were employed, bringing him little by little away from the edge. A cough, and a sniff, and he unveiled his face, swiping the last of the tears off. Looking up, he noted that Barnes had not moved from his position by the wall. His blank stare had latched onto a point on the far wall, and his body remained at attention, ready for the next move. Bile rose, and Tony hastily choked it back down, bracing his hands on the edge of the table. Inhale, then exhale. Inhale, exhale. Turning away, he retrieved his handheld from his pocket, releasing the overrides and unlocking the door.
Before he opened it, and washed his hands of the Winter Soldier, Stark shot a heated glare at Barnes.
"Hope you're not looking for forgiveness, because I'm not gonna give it to you."
Bucky blinked, drawn out of his reverie back into the present. Noting the deadly seriousness in Tony's gaze, he nodded comprehension.
"I know," he muttered, arms crossing over his chest.
"Good."
With that, Tony left the tiny conference room, snapping the door shut behind him. The milling agents had long since deserted the hall, but the captain had not. Indeed, he'd been joined by Natasha, their close-headed discussion ending as soon as the redhead spied him coming through the door. Tony could not bear the sight of either of them, the heaviness of his soul weighing him down. Curtly nodding, he took off, striding away as swiftly as he could. Steve and Natasha exchanged a glance, and with a single nod, they separated. She stepped up to the conference room door, rapping it lightly before entering, and the captain followed after the billionaire, unwilling to leave things so unresolved.
"Tony, I—" he started, unsure of what to say. At the sound of his voice, Stark pivoted on his heel, pausing so abruptly in his journey that the captain nearly ran into him.
"You know, I always figured you were the one I could trust. You were supposed to so good, so perfect from your teeth to your toes, that something like this should never have happened." Tony snorted to himself, dark eyes snapping up from the ground. Rage and sorrow bordered his irises, and his jaw tightened. The blond man, the hero from the golden days, his dad's pal, and he was no more than a hypocrite and a liar. Just like everyone else. "But it did. Guess you're not so perfect, after all."
The lashes of Tony's tongue stung, rightly so, and Steve bore the brunt of them willingly. He'd known that this would be his comeuppance for concealing the truth for as long as he had; honestly, he had expected worse than cutting remarks and the few bruises that Tony had left on his person.
"Nobody is," Steve intoned sadly, carding a hand through his hair and pain wracking his features. Looking Tony square in the eye, he nearly whispered, "You're both my friends. I didn't, didn't want...what was I supposed to do?"
Tony didn't want to see the agony that had surfaced in his...leader's...expression. He did not want to acknowledge the rock and hard place Steve had caught himself in, the knowledge of the damage that would be wrought when both his past and present collided. The knowledge that no matter what they did, it would not change anything. Steve Rogers was supposed to be a paragon, an arbiter of justice and right...and to a degree, he still was. But he hadn't been a paragon when he chose to withhold information, and then chide him for doing the same back in May. Where was the justice in not telling him about his parents' deaths before?
'You're both my friends...what was I supposed to do?'
The thought reverberated in his mind, ringing louder and louder until he physically brought his hands up over his ears to block out the noise. Deep breathing, calming, soothing breaths...A hand came up to rest upon his shoulder, but he swatted it away before it could land. Taking the hint, Steve lowered his palm, going so far as to take a step back and give him space. The hum and buzz of his mind gradually lowered to a tolerable level, giving Tony enough ground to look up at him again, to speak.
"In case you're worried about it, because I think I've got an idea about where your priorities lay, I'm not giving up on the team," he ground out, tucking his hands into his pockets. He would not abandon the team due to an oversight. An egregious, outrageous oversight and lack of trust at that, but still. There was too much to be done; the world could afford to lose them, any of them, now. He would stick around for them, for the sake of the world's safety. No poorly-made decision would unseat him so easily. They had all worked too hard and come too far to be split apart now. "We're still needed, even old bags like you, so I won't leave you high and dry. But don't be surprised that my faith in you has dropped, or if I question your motives from here on out."
Again, it was no less than Steve had expected, but it hadn't stopped him from narrowing his eyes when Stark swiveled around again, preparing to leave him behind. No, he wouldn't just let him walk away. Not before he had confessed everything.
"It wasn't that I didn't say anything because I wanted to hurt you," he stated plainly, his even baritone pulling his friend up short once more. Gritting his teeth, Steve's eyes slammed shut as the lurch in his mind and stomach rose, the truth digging its way out with sharp, cutting claws. "It's because I didn't want to. I knew that even a rumor about this could actually devastate you. And why would I want to hurt you with a rumor, with a potential lie? I couldn't do that, Tony."
Eyes opening, the ice of the blue had melted, drowning in deep self-reproach.
"I'm sorry."
It was all he could do, apologize and hope that his friend would someday find it in him to forgive him. However, he knew better than to expect it to be that day, or any of the days following. Perhaps he would never be forgiven. Perhaps there would be no equilibrium between the two men again, the choice Steve had made forever shaking them apart. After a few moments of silence, Stark lifted his shoulders, as though he were physically shrugging both him and his apology away. Shaking his head once, twice, he lifted his chin, counting on his natural swagger and confidence to take him out of the facility, out of the madness that threatened to swamp them all.
He was tired, he was broken, he was done. Barnes could burn in Hell, for all he cared, but he did not want to do anything with him at the present moment. Not that there was much that could be done, anyway; Bucky Barnes had been legally dead for seventy years, and brainwashed to boot. His crimes were not of his making, and even if they stuck, they wouldn't stick for long. Even if he got an army behind him, it would not end well for any of them, and frankly, Tony was too fed up, disgusted, and exhausted. He had lived in fighting, in blood, for too long. He was just done. It just...wasn't worth it.
"The guys need anything fixed or upgraded, send me an email. We'll set up a time at the Tower for them," he stipulated quietly, unwilling to grant even the most rudimentary of phone privileges to his erstwhile friend. Hardening his expression, he cast another harsh glance over his shoulder at him. "And Barnes stays the hell away from me and mine in the meantime."
The unspoken addendum of Steve staying away from him rang loud and clear, as well, and he would have been remiss to overlook it.
"I can't...I can't be around here for awhile," the billionaire mumbled, taking stock of the base's hall, committing its layout to his memory. He didn't know when he would return, or if he'd even want to, but he would not forget the place that he'd built, that housed his friends. Housed the team he was supposed to be a part of, but could not fathom interacting with at the moment.
Steve inclined his head, hands resting along his belt. "If that's your decision, we'll respect it."
"Yes, you will," Tony shot back. Frowning, he continued, "Tell your missus I wish her the best of luck, dealing with the two of you; hopefully she'll get the message, at least. Before Barnes snaps, I mean."
The last lash struck home, and finally, finally, he made Rogers flinch, something he was pleased to do, though later on he wouldn't be proud of it. Neither of them had much to be proud of at the time, and would admit as much in the future. Then, though, the remark hung in the air, the thickness close to choking them both.
"Stark." The name, the farewell, was strongly spoken, despite the layer of defeat upon the captain's face. The billionaire glance back at him once more, and he shrugged again.
"Rogers," he replied, his feet propelling him forward, his flight uninterrupted from that point onward. Left in the silence of the hall, the captain lowered his gaze to his boots, hands shoving into his pockets and guilt tightening his throat as the footsteps of his friend faded away. In time, he too exited the hall, walking blindly away from Bucky and Natasha (who had both come out of the conference room to discuss what had happened), unable to hear their voices as he went. He had failed both his friends, had potentially failed his teams, and he could also fail...
No, it wasn't time to think on it. Tapping over his comm application in his phone, he summoned the others to an emergency meeting, requesting Natasha bring the files with her as she guided Bucky upstairs. They would hear the truth about Stark's flight, the truth of his parents' death, themselves, and as a team, they would decide how to proceed.
xXxXxXx
The air throughout the base had become fraught with suspense and tension, practically snapping and popping by day's end. Rumor had it that Tony Stark, there one minute and gone the next, had gotten into a major altercation with the rest of the team upstairs. Nobody had details about the direct cause of his flyby trip and fury, but it was speculated the relations between him and Captain Rogers, which had been regarded as tenuous at best, had finally broken down. Some claimed Stark's inherent arrogance, others claimed it was Cap's natural self-righteousness that caused the decay. Either way, it was noted that both men had visited the infirmary separately, and Stark had proclaimed that he would not be returning any time soon.
What was water cooler chat for others was a major concern for Holly, and when she heard the fast-spreading rumors, she felt the sickening slide in her stomach. Her nausea had nothing to do with the baby, and everything to do with whether or not any of what was said was true. It took a considerable amount of willpower not to march out of archives and straight up to the private offices, just to see Steve. Her mind was too scattered to allow her to be of any use that day, but thankfully, she did not have any deadlines to meet, and so it was overlooked. As the clock ticked past five o'clock, she resolutely scooped up her bag, ready to run and find her husband as soon as possible.
A knock at her door startled her. Looking up, her heart pounded harder when she spied Steve on the other side of the glass. His head was slightly bowed, putting his face in shadow, and when she got close enough to see, she gasped at his split lip and bruises forming at the corner of his mouth.
Whisking open the door, she grabbed his wrist and gushed, "Steve, what's happened?"
"I...I..." he trailed off, glancing at the workers leaving their offices and catching sight of him. Frowning, he shook his head. "Not here."
Nodding comprehension, she took his hand, both of them practically running out of there to avoid the stares and the questions lobbed their way. Their footsteps clipped across the tiles of the halls, hands gripping tightly as they boarded the elevator to the garage in silence. When the conveyance stopped on the first level, she led the way to her car, as it was the less recognizable of the two. Unlocking it, she was nearly bursting for answers by the time they climbed into their seats, doors latching firmly. Locking the car again for good measure, she turned to look at him, his pensive frustration all the more obvious.
"People have been saying that...well, they've been saying a lot of things. About you and Tony having problems, which is evident in your face," she said, the myriad of rumors cresting in her mind as she looked at him, at his cut and his bruises. Carefully, she stretched out, the pads of her fingers running along the curve of his jaw. "Are you going to tell me about it?"
"I don't...I don't know if I can," he said, the words sticking in his throat. What he had to say had the potential to make things worse, and that was definitely not a good time for it. His gaze flicked down to her belly, and mutely he wondered what would be worse for the baby: telling his wife directly or if he dealt a slow, softening blow. He sighed to himself. Dramatizing, as always; the habit should have died a natural death long ago, but it seemed to be as much a part of him as ever.
Holly tried to gentle her pinched expression into a smile, and failed spectacularly. She reached down, prying one of his hands out of his lap, wiggling her fingers in between his until they laced together.
"If you can..."
He looked at her for a long moment, eyes running over her face as if he were memorizing every detail. Leaning in, he quietly asked if he could kiss her first. Stunned by his request (he hadn't had to ask her for a long time if he was allowed to do so), she gave her permission. When his lips brushed over hers, there was the taste of regret and shame on him, the copper tang of blood still evident under the antiseptic on it. The embrace deepened, despite his wincing, as though he would not get the chance to do so again for a long time. Oh, that did not bode well, she thought when he finally pulled away, his thumb drawing across both her lip and his to clean up the splotches of blood. Squeezing her fingers with his, Steve cleared his throat, eyes focusing on a distant point in the garage.
"I screwed up," he stated calmly, as if he had just pointed out his shirt was blue. Puzzled, she furrowed her brow, wondering what he could've screwed up so badly in one afternoon. In short, quiet bursts he told her. Everything. About Bucky's admittance to him about two significant victims of his past, and how Stark was brought up to meet with him. That he nearly killed Bucky when he was told the truth, and how he'd attacked Steve for withholding it from him. She sucked in a breath when he gave her the abridged version of their verbal sparring, resulting in Tony almost completing the deed. The friendship was in shambles, Bucky standing in the ruins between them, and Steve, well...Steve had done exactly as he'd said. She'd listened to every word, breathless as he confessed that Bucky had unknowingly destroyed a part of another close friend's life, and how it had nearly cost them both so much that day.
So that was what had him up last night, worrying in the dark and taking to pacing the floor when he thought she was sleeping. That was what he had not talked about that morning, the tense silence between him and Bucky taking on an entirely new meaning as they woodenly ate. A low groan rumbled in her throat; though she'd asked them both, outright, what was going on (and received nothing but mutterings and complacence), she didn't know it would involve something like that.
Letting her head fall back against the rest behind it, she closed her eyes, trying to process it all. This, this was the impossibly difficult part of maintaining an association with a reformed brainwashed assassin, she mused perversely in her mind. This was the problem when his friend, her husband, would unfailingly go out of his way to protect him and the one he had harmed, and the cost was not considered. Lids flicking open, she looked at him, the loss and the heartache he was feeling in the downturn of his lips, the quirk of his brow.
Blowing out a sharp breath, she tipped her head forward again. "...Sounds like a hell of a day."
"It has been," Steve concurred after a snort of derision. He turned to look at her again, uncertainty lacing the mixture of emotions in his face. "How can you...you should be angry with me."
"Because everyone else is, right?" she retorted, shooting him a knowing look. Pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand, she exhaled slowly. "Angry, hmph. Well, I can't say I'm pleased with it all. I don't know how you could keep stuff like that from your teammates. From your friends."
It was one thing to not tell her every detail of the missions he went on for her own safety; that she was still making peace with, but it had more or less become a part of her life. It was the—rare, she had to admit—deliberate keeping of explosive secrets from even his colleagues and the people he considered his surrogate family that was the trouble. Rolling her eyes to herself, she rubbed her hand along the back of her neck. Blowing out a breath, she tried her best to temper her words.
"But...the situation is a difficult one," she conceded, a finger crooking over her eyebrow and running along her scar as she contemplated the situation. Haltingly, she went on, "None of you are totally right, and none of you are totally wrong."
"I was stuck. It doesn't excuse what I did, but...I couldn't tell Tony," Steve said, the conflicting sadness and indignation rising with every word he uttered. "And I couldn't leave him in the dark indefinitely, but...how could I give up Buck like that? Without proof? It would be like saying that he has no chance to come back, that he should be condemned for something he had no control over. I don't know what else I could have done." He harrumphed to himself, scrubbing his free hand over his face, thumb tapping against his cheekbone as he pondered the choices that had been before him. The choices that he could have made since the previous summer. Defeated, he let his hand fall back into his lap, blue gaze staring out the window again. "Something, anything else, I guess. But I thought...I thought that it was for the best, for everyone."
That last was spoken in his unyielding tone, the one he used when he felt he'd been put in a position of authority. Recalling the audio that had been transferred to the radio station after the helicarrier disaster, she found that it had trace echoes of that time in it. It was his captain voice, the tone that spoke of responsibility at the price of comfort, duty over passivity. He'd made an executive decision, thinking it was the only good choice available to them. Well, she hated to burst his bubble, but in that case, no choice that he would have made could've been accepted well. Rock and a hard place, and he'd been pummeled between both.
"I don't agree with you not telling Tony your suspicions." Glimpsing him out the corner of her eye, she could see Steve's shoulders slump a little upon hearing it. "I think keeping something that big to yourself is a mistake. Even if it was just suspicion, I think you should've said something. To soften the blow, if nothing else...but it's not like people should hate you for it. I don't."
The disturbance that had rippled across his face had been lightning-fast, but she'd caught it before it had gone, and she raised her eyebrows.
"Did you think I would?"
Blue eyes met hers, then skittered away. His lips twisted into a rueful grin, and it made her heart ache to see it.
"Steven," Holly drawled his name, half chastisement and half endearment. He knew better than that. "You're human; you're not perfect, nobody is. I'm certainly not." She nearly snickered at herself; good Lord, she wasn't. She was bound to make mistakes and verbal blunders, sooner rather than later. She knew full well that she could be doing so right at that moment. "I hope you'll still love me despite that. I still love you. Even though I don't like what you did. What any of you did, really. It was just...a total suckfest, start to finish."
"Not gonna kick me to the curb?" he joked weakly, finally feeling something other than guilt and indignation for the first time in hours.
"It's not that easy to get rid of me, honey," she replied, lifting her chin. Small chuckles passed between them, with them dying as the moment passed. The garage had become progressively emptier since the beginning of their discussion, with very few people left who had yet to make the commute home. Biting her lip for a moment, she said, "This is going to have consequences."
Steve nodded in understanding, confirming her summation soon enough. "The team has misgivings. The circumstances of the whole situation has them on edge. They've all looked at the files after Tony left. They understand the extent of the damage done to Bucky, and what was done by him."
It had been decided among the three of them that the rest of the team would be informed of Bucky's involvement in the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark once Tony had been told. The team, while not ignorant of Bucky's past as the Winter Solider, deserved to know how close to home he had hit, to know how far he had come. Natasha and he had made a point to let the team go over every single paper in the files from Kiev, the compiled transcripts the he'd pulled together with Sam, and Bucky's notebook. Nothing could remain hidden for long, and it wouldn't be right to do so, not after what had gone down. When the reasons behind why Stark had made such a hasty departure were revealed, that it had been his assassination of one of their member's parents, the reactions were strong, to say the least. Bucky had endured the silence, the scrutiny, and he'd made his case, just as he had to Fury in May.
"But they do know that he wasn't in control of his actions, and that he wants to atone. That he's not the only one who has been forced into that sort of situation. Rhodey's very leery of him, and wants to hold off on working with him personally for the time being. And Tony has washed his hands of the whole thing, for the present. Nat spoke in his favor, and I think that helped sway them a little, at least."
Holly hummed at that. Bucky Barnes was incredibly fortunate to find an ally in Natasha Romanoff. She would be the person least likely to string him to the rafters over being manipulated and broken by others. That carried weight, as far these circumstances went.
"And the other team?" she asked, curious as to how much would be told to them.
"They've been informed," he said. "Given how far removed they are, they don't have much of an opinion on the matter. Or, they didn't before this, at least. Pietro wants his sister to keep her distance as much as she can, but...Chapman gets it. He's seen something of this caliber before. They're wary, and gonna wait to see what will happen."
A few seconds of silence passed, and she tapped a finger along the wheel of the car.
"So you haven't lost them, or your job," she pointed out, knowing that losing the team would be akin to him losing members of his family. Losing his job would pale in comparison. He shook his head in the negative.
"No. But...we have lost something. They've lost trust in me, at least a little." He risked a sideways glance at her, dipping his chin. "It's going to take awhile to earn that back. And Bucky, and Tony, well..."
How much that truth stung him was evident in his voice. His reputation had been sterling for so long, that people put him on a pedestal, thinking he could never do any wrong. Captain America was the pinnacle, and there was no hope of his losing that. But she knew him as Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers, while a good man, wasn't always right. That loss of faith among them all was probably hurting at the moment, and he had no idea what he could do to mend it.
"I still trust you," she told him, meaning it. He closed his eyes at her quiet proclamation, squeezing her hand gratefully. She cupped his chin with her free hand, turning him to face her. Once his eyes opened and he looked at her fully, she let her fingers glide to the back of his head, threading them into his hair. "And I trust that you're going to keep trying to do your best. Right?"
Gently, she tugged on the short strands as if to emphasize her point. He snickered at her efforts, but he did manage to incline his head.
"Yes," he agreed, the acquiescence made in time. A palm grazed across her lower belly, the caress gentle. He promised, "For both of you, for everyone."
"Okay," she accepted his word, a kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth (she didn't want his split lip to open again). A final squeeze of her hand, and Steve unlocked the car door, preparing to exit the vehicle and allow her to go home. Pulling out of her grasp, he climbed out of the passenger side, bending at the waist to tell her one more thing.
"Bucky's...Bucky's going to stay with Sam for tonight," he said, sheepishly shrugging a shoulder. The alliance between the two men had not been broken, and Sam was willing to give him shelter. "He thought it would be better."
Holly closed her eyes at that. Her feelings regarding the damaged man, varied as they were, had been shaken by the revelations of the day, and he had acknowledged that tacitly in his insistence on not intruding on their home. He would not force her into asking for it herself, and she felt at once relieved and saddened at the prospect. She knew taking in Bucky Barnes was going to be complicated. She hadn't thought it would warp to the level that it had. Slowly, she nodded, her dark eyes connecting with Steve's bright ones, the luster lost for the moment.
"Alright," she said, letting the decision lie. Her husband let out a deep breath as she started up her car, and she glanced back at him. "I'll see you at home, then."
Murmuring a similar farewell, he moved away, the door shutting soundly. Swiftly, she backed out of the space, turning the radio off so her thoughts could remain undisturbed as she drove out of the base and onto the frontage road.
A/N: Serious talk right now. I had debated, long and hard, about whether or not to make Bucky actually responsible for the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark in the context of this story. Given that I have largely decided to eschew the events of CW, that was one of the sticking points that I did not know that I could rightfully ignore. After all, as early as TWS, it was heavily implied that Bucky was in some way used to bring the "car accident" to fruition. That was one of the "conveniences" that had angered me about CW: the use of Bucky as the scapegoat and the obvious tool of HYDRA to use. But could I actually push that aside? Ultimately, I chose not to. To ignore that particular plot point feels like a form of cop-out, just as far as this story goes; other stories do a magnificent job of glossing over it or refusing to make it canon for their plots. I didn't believe I could do that. So this is a tamer version of what could have happened in the movie, regarding Stark's reaction. If you find it unbelievable that Tony would accept Bucky's word as truth without the video, I submit this to you: there's no reason for Bucky to want to claim the kill, as he's trying to reform after being brainwashed. There's no reason for him to claim a kill that, by that point, had happened over twenty years ago. There would be no gain for him, since he's trying to leave that all behind, and Tony realizes it. As well as that, Bucky has provided evidence in his testimony about details of the "accident" that aren't known to the general public. Plus, there was the stuff that Natasha had dumped on the Internet in regards to SHIELD and HYDRA. It was mentioned in the previous chapter that the leaked information, up to and including HYDRA's hit placed on the Stark patriarch, was shared with him as well. So the suspicion was there, but nobody had come forward. Until now.
And you guys thought Bucky was going to have a tough time atoning before...It will be interesting to see how he gets along now.
I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text.
Two updates this week, but I can't guarantee that will happen next time.
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!
EDIT, 9/7/16.