A/N: Slight delay yesterday, but now on with the show.
They introduce him to Howard Stark as he's finishing getting dressed.
Bucky spends a good few seconds gaping and staring dumbly at the hand that's held out to him before Howard just reaches out and takes Bucky's instead, like this is completely normal.
Stark is a solid wall of talk anyway, so it's just as well he can't seem to make his mouth do anything but open and close uselessly, like a beached fish. He'd never get a word in edgewise, even if he could speak.
Howard Stark is larger than life, a mad genius, and the most unapologetically narcissistic asshole he's ever met.
Bucky is absolutely starstruck.
Buck's been dreaming in science-fiction since he was 8 years old. Steve has teased him about being a secret egg-head for years, and he's owned it with a vengeance.
Bucky's a nerd. He's a bookworm. He's not ashamed of that, even if he doesn't advertise it anymore.
He even used to bribe their harried high-school science teacher, Mr Johanson, with his mama's fresh baked cookies to teach him extra material after school. He kept that up for a couple of years until his dad died and he'd had to get a job in the afternoons instead.
Bucky had hated spending his nights stacking boxes and sweeping floors instead of reading or screwing around in a lab, but he'd kept food on the table and his sisters in school, that was what mattered.
He'd always thought that maybe he'd save some money and try going to college when things got better… Maybe he'd even help put Rogers through some art classes, if the stubborn little bastard would accept his help.
He'd let himself dream for a while, but it'd been the end of his aspirations when the war had erupted soon after. He'd known his number would come up eventually, and it had. College was a distant dream that just kept getting more and more distant. He'd quickly let that dream go.
He'd never quite been able to shake the feeling that once he shipped out, that'd be it. He'd never come home again. He's still not convinced.
In another life, Bucky could've been a scientist, and a damned good one. He'd always been insanely curious, smart, and observant. Had a great eye for detail and a way with people that would've guaranteed him a cushy gig someplace behind a desk if anyone with any authority had been willing to give him the time of day.
Instead, he'd spent his time scraping together a bare living and babysitting the stubborn little firecracker with a hero-complex that he'd grown up with; just trying to make it through each day in one piece. They'd survived, at least.
It's funny the way life works sometimes… He's always, always, idolized Howard Stark and now that he's impossibly here, face to face with the guy... he can't think of a single thing to say to him. Stark lives everything Bucky ever imagined. This guy is like Santa Claus, Jules Verne, and Clark Gable all squished into one incredible, obnoxious package. He's every 8 year old nerd's wildest dreams come to life.
Maybe this whole 'torture and return to duty' garbage has a few upsides after all...
"So Captain Rogers tells me you saw my expo in Brooklyn a few months ago, Barnes. Said you're a big fan of my work." Stark is talking more at than to him, but Bucky perks up attentively. "What'd you think? Great stuff huh?"
Bucky blinks, caught off guard. Had that really been just a few months back? Come to think of it, that's also when Steve reached the crowning achievement of stupid in his lifetime of dumb and dangerous stunts. Both of their lives had flipped upside down inside of a year.
… But he's got to admit, the stuff they'd seen that night… Thinking about it still takes his breath away.
"Yessir." he says honestly, "It was incredible-"
"And that was just the kiddie stuff!" Stark interrupts immediately, as he rambles half to himself; already setting off across the lab. "The best stuff I keep for myself-," He glances at the raised eyebrow of a soldier walking past and amends flippantly, "-and Uncle Sam of course. I mean, flying cars are great, but that's just the warm-up!"
Something round, metallic, and shining like liquid mercury is thrust at Bucky's face. "Like this baby! Just finished testing 'em. I bet I can make them even smaller and the boom even bigger with a little more work." Stark tosses it carelessly into the air and catches it neatly before dropping it back into the box it came from. That the thing is apparently a high-powered explosive doesn't appear to bother him much.
It goes on like that for a while. Every so often Howard will pick up a prototype of something and shove it into Bucky's hands, exclaiming about how it's going to revolutionize the world in some fashion or other. Every single one of them is something incredible and exciting and he isn't getting nearly enough time to take them in before Stark is off on the next amazing something or other, still talking 90 miles a minute.
Bucky's starting to think he died on that table and went to heaven after all.
"That thing you're holding there?" Howard tells him eagerly, indicating a little square of metal and wire that's blinking alternately blue and red. "Barely the size of a shoe and it could level a major city if I pushed the right button." He mimes a huge explosion with a manic grin. Bucky quickly and gingerly puts the thing down. Howard has already moved on.
"Oh and this hunk of crap!" Stark whirls around from another table with what looks like a big rock in one hand. "This stuff's hilarious, feel how light it is!" he crows, shoving it into Bucky's surprised fingers. Bucky nearly drops the stupid thing, startled, but he's shocked at how easy it is to catch it. The rock weighs a whole lot less than he'd have expected it to.
He tosses it carefully from hand to hand. It's gotta be hollow…
"What… what is this?"
"That is vibranium!" Stark is almost bouncing on his heels with excitement. "I have no idea what the hell I'm gonna do with it, but it's amazing stuff! Hard as hell to come by, but oh man, the possibilities... Light as a feather, absorbs vibrations like nobody's business. I hear it polishes up real pretty too. No need to trade style for function here, no sir!" Howard snatches the lump out of his hands again, beaming and tossing it again aside like it's utterly worthless. He's off like a shot, with Bucky trailing, awed, in his wake.
"I tell ya kid, I am gonna have the very best toys for you boys. Nothin' less than the very best! That's why the army came to me!"
An hour or so later, when Bucky arrives to meet Steve, a little dazed and buzzing with enthusiasm, he's still grinning like an idiot. Even if it is at a pub that's much too crowded, much too loud, and way too bright for his taste - he's just too damned blown away to care.
Howard Stark called him 'bright'... called him a 'sharp kid'... Said he had great potential, and told him to come down to Stark Industries after the war. Holy shit…
He's gonna work for Howard fuckin' Stark!
Steve'd never believe it, even if Bucky was allowed to tell him.
When he eventually finds Steve waiting for him by the door, though, reality comes back into play with cruel gusto. That's when he realizes that he should've known it was all too good to be true. Life is never this kind to him.
Not only is Steve staying in the war- Oh no. He's going Special Ops. Forming his own unit to handle the shit too dangerous for the normal soldiers. Like trying not to get vaporized wasn't hard enough…
Just fuckin' wonderful. he groans to himself. Steve is determined to get killed by the end of this war, apparently.
Bucky feels the familiar weight of his responsibility settle over him again and resigns himself to it. He pushes away the little spike of fear that comes in its wake. He knows better than to let himself daydream anymore. There's no way he's going home from this mess, but it's his job to see that Steve does. He knows better than to forget that by now.
He puts Stark out of his mind.
Bucky smiles for Steve, because he knows he's supposed to. Tells him to go talk to Monty, Dugan, and the guys. Knows they'll all fall in and answer the call. Can't think of anybody better qualified for the job.
Then he tries his damnedest to drink himself into a coma while Steve's gone. He's twelve shots of the good stuff in, the bartender is eyeing him, and he's not even halfway to tipsy 20 minutes later.
God. Fucking. Dammit.