Notes:

TW: minor injuries, flashback fallout etc.


Tony's barber arrived Friday afternoon and he cut Bucky's hair in the lab while Tony tinkered in the background. Bucky perched on the small round stool Tony usually rolled around with and the cut was completed without the mechanical buzz of a razor against his skin, no sound of electricity at all in the light of the big windows, only the clean snick-snick of good scissors and the soft hum of the barber who seemed to be in a world all his own.

"You're done." The comfortable voice said and Bucky opened his eyes to see the barber packing up his kit, he was almost out the door before Bucky could collect himself.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Tony walked over to a box recessed into one wall and flipped the big breaker switch, bringing everything back to electronic life, computers humming, the soft sizzle of lights and dummy bumping repeatedly into the doorframe of the storage room. It all made Bucky's skin crawl after the natural silence, but as it had been Tony's idea to cut the power in his own lab to give him space for the long awaited haircut, he would rather eat nails than show displeasure now.

"You good?" Tony asked.

"Yeah, thanks."

"I think we can call it even," Tony said cooly.

The events of the previous Wednesday lingered unspoken in the air between them and all Bucky could do was nod.

One of Tony's worst nightmares to-date had resulted in a 3am alert from F.R.I.D.A.Y. to Bucky and the AI voice had actually sounded concerned.


"What about Pepper?" Bucky asked the disembodied voice.

"Based on his current state and the data I have collected, You are the person best able to assist him, Mr. Barnes." The Irish voice stated simply.

He ran.

Bucky found Tony standing in the middle of a blasted crater of melted metal and mangled machinery, one of his more recent suit builds reduced to rubble and Tony himself bleeding from the right knee and shoulder, wild-eyed and dragging in panicked breaths he forgot to exhale.

"Tony?" no response and Bucky wondered how loud the blast had been before shouting, "Tony!"

Recognized sparked in his red eyes and his expression changed like a flip had been switched. "Barnes, I, uhm I had an incident, what brings you to my less-than-humble abode?" He smiled and it was a hollow, haunting thing.

Bucky pushed heaps of metal aside and walked up to him, cautious as he was used to being with Steve. But Tony was different, he challenged the approach, raising his chin in defiance of comfort. "Tony," Bucky shook his head no, slowly, never breaking eye contact, and put his hand on Tony's shoulder, it trembled under that slight pressure and Tony blinked at him, raised his chin higher, pressed his lips tight shut against the hope of expressing whatever set the pain in his eyes. Bucky shook his head again, not letting him look away and Tony blinked again, and crumbled. Bucky barely caught him before his injured knee hit the floor.

All Tony had been able to say, whimper really, was disjointed words and names but from it, Bucky understood what it was that plagued him in the dark of that night. Bucky hadn't intentionally memorized the list of the dead in Sokovia but there were some names he couldn't forget, and then there were more he did know.

Vision, in one sense Tony's father figure as JARVIS and in another, his son, a by-product of his own mind and yet more than he was, still somehow deeply human. They had been forced by Thanos to destroy the mind stone and Vision had not survived the task. More names, in a dreadful litany, from New York, the downfall of shield 'should have known' Tony said to himself, over and over, 'should have known' 'could have stopped it.'

"Tony, you did what you could, what you knew. Tony!" Bucky said sharply, interrupting the murmured condemnations, "Pepper Pots, Colonel Rhodes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker. These are a few of people who care about you, who are grateful to know you, who would be devastated if we lost you."

Tony's eyed had shut before and now they opened blearily, "if we lost you?" Bucky nodded. Tony held his breath for a moment and then his features changed again, softening slowly. A tear marked Bucky's arm that still braced him up. "I tried to kill you," Tony choked back the lump in his throat and whispered almost below hearing, "sorry… glad I didn't- But… you understand."

"I killed your parents," Bucky said, his own voice graveled with barely suppressed emotion.

"Yeah. Yeah, you did…" Tony started, choked back a sob and gripped the side of Bucky's neck suddenly fierce, "did you know? When it was happening, did you… were you in there?" He tapped the side of his own head aggressively.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Please." The word sounded like a prayer.

Bucky set Tony down gently and took a couple of long breaths before he began, "they, hydra, really tried to burn me out of this—" here he shrugged and lifted his hands to indicate his body –"but they never quite did. They made my carcass into a machine but they never quite got me out. So yeah, I was in there, useless, but I was still there… I still saw- saw all of the… the murders. Those butchers wiped me, over and over to make the body compliant, but when the programming finally broke, it was all still there, every face- everything, I ever did."

"I asked you in the bunker, that day…" Tony said, turning the words over in his mind like marbles, looking at them properly for the first time, gulping a little in the pauses, "you said, you said you remember all of them. That was the truth…"

Bucky shut his eyes against the faint impression of the images beginning to layer over his vision and nodded tightly.

Several minutes passed in silence, Tony working through things in his mind and Bucky trying to keep his at bay.

Finally, Tony broke the silence with a question, so soft and hesitant it didn't sound like him, "you fought it?"

Bucky stilled, eyes still tight shut.

"The reports, I read them after Nat leaked it all. They wiped you every day that you were awake, sometimes twice… because…?" the unfinished word sounded like a question and the answer. Bucky nodded again and Tony let out a long low breath that was almost a whistle, "I always wondered. That must have been hell."

"Yeah."

Both men sat on the floor, staring at their own hands, envisioning the blood they felt they couldn't quite wash off, still seeing the shackles on their wrists, perhaps both.

"You're bleeding," Bucky said, snapping out of it at last to deal with the immediate concerns, "med bay."

"No. I… its shallow." Tony stood up suddenly, as if to prove he was fine, or to run if he wasn't.

"First aid kit?"

Tony pointed and dummy trundled out of a corner holding it out. Bucky cleaned and bandaged the wounds, glad to find them shallow and with clean enough edges to heal naturally given they didn't get infected. It was 5am by the time he finished, too late to get more sleep and he didn't want to leave the him alone in the lab, the smell of burnt rubber and smoke burned his eyes and nose and it was likely much worse for Tony.

"My bike was making a knocking sound yesterday and I can't figure out why; think you could take a look?" It was a boldfaced lie, and Bucky knew that Tony saw through it but he didn't object.

Steve found them in the garage, surrounded by parts and a holographic schematic readout off to one side and working in tandem. "Good morning." It was clear he had questions but he constrained himself to a single raised eyebrow.

"Needed to get Bucky's bike in shape for his date tomorrow," Tony said brightly up at him, then turning his attention back to the bike and holding a hand out, "ratchet."

"Not a date," Bucky grumbled, slapping the requested tool into Tony's waiting palm.

"Right. Not a date, just dinner with a pretty woman." Tony smirked, "so what are you wearing for the 'not a date' date?"


Now Tony stood before him, head tilted at the new hair and smirking once again, "go get em tiger."

Bucky had the rest of the afternoon free, far longer than needed to prepare for dinner but word had gotten around the compound and the smirks on Sam and Clint's faces forced him to retreat early to his own room where he took a longer than necessary shower and then paced the length of his closet in frustration at the sudden lack of choices when it had always felt more than sufficient before.

Time- that had been crawling to this point -suddenly leapt.

Three sweaters and two leather jackets lay splayed across Bucky's bed and he grunted at the mirror once more running a hand through his hair, the sides and back were shorter but not so short it prickled as he ran his hand over it, the hair on the top was long and he swept it back again huffing at the strands that seemed determined to fall on either side of his face. Maybe he should try growing it out again, it had been easier to keep it out of his face then but he hadn't enjoyed asking for help tying it up one handed and there were still days he didn't want to wear his arm. And there was something to be said for blending in a little more, at least until the image of the winter soldier on the news faded in people's minds. For now, he'd settle for unintimidating, perhaps even approachable.

The mirror also revealed the shadow of stubble on his face, and Bucky scrubbed it thoughtfully. He should shave again. Showing up looking like he didn't care to groom himself properly might give the wrong impression.

He was overthinking it; Stone hadn't ever seen him looking anything but rough, and she had never seemed bothered by it before now. But then it was a meeting in public, and what passed at midnight in the gym might not in the revealing light of day, it wouldn't do to embarrass her. The new haircut, carefully styled back defeated his arguments, too much change would be worse than none. The light blue henley t-shirt was added to the pile of rejects. Another, dark gray and long sleeved this time, replaced it. His arm wouldn't show through the fabric, it would be fine.

In any case to much time had been wasted over what was supposed to be a simple outfit choice so there was no turning back now if he didn't want to be late. He grabbed the dark brown leather jacket off the rack and pulling it on, shrugged a few times to get the material to settle over his prosthetic properly, but the shirt kept bunching up around his armpit and he had to hold the cuff with his fingers and rotate his arm fully twice before it finally sat right. He grabbed the nicer pair of leather gloves and his keys and half ran out the door.

The ride was somehow much shorter than he remembered and Bucky parked the bike at the back of the gym in his usual spot at 6:47, looking around the empty alley and noting the typical absence of vehicles. Stone's jeep had never been parked there before and now he wondered if she walked to and from home. If that was the case, she might prefer a diner within walking distance instead.

The solid steel door was locked but the light was on in the hallway when he opened it and there was music playing in the gym, not quite obscuring the sharp smack of gloves against leather. He walked quietly toward the sound, not wanting to startle her but too curious to see what she was doing make his presence known.

Stone stood on a mat with boxing gloves facing an oppositional body bag, a dummy in the shape of a human torso with a weighted base that allowed it to move with the impact and return to be fully upright. He had always hated the ones they had back at the compound, with their eyeless faces and mocking smiles, but this one was blue, and featureless and bore no false head which lessened his discomfort slightly. It rocked back and forth as Stone delivered a solid blow to the front shoulder with her right hand once, twice, and a third time with a grunt, then with her left hand, her teeth gritted. He winced at the pain as she shook her hands out to loosen up the wrists, rolled her shoulders back, and stretched her neck from side to side before squaring up again.

She was wearing sweat pants and an athletic top with long sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms and her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Hands properly wrapped and her ready stance technically perfect enough to have been cut from the front page of a magazine. The image she made was perfectly suited to her surroundings from the athletic shoes to the little wisps that escaped her hairline to curl and stick to damp skin and added to that the determined focus he could read in the side profile of her face. The newly healed wound on her inner wrist stood out as a dull red check against the silvery brown of the older scars, not a stain against the whole picture, but a proof of reality that made it still more beautiful Bucky thought.

He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms as she launched a series of kicks at the dummy, ribs, kidneys, and a pair of pads attached to the post at knee level, first the left leg, then the right and she finished with a high kick at the neck, grinning to herself and breathing fast. Bucky cleared his throat gently to be heard over the bass from the speaker and she whipped around to see him.

"Sarge! I didn't see you there, is it seven already? I thought I had more time," she said, scanning the clock on the wall with some concern.

"I'm a little early."

"I was going to get cleaned up before you came but I must have lost track of time. Do you mind if I—" she gestured at the entrances to the changing rooms down the hall beyond him. He nodded and she smiled and said, "I'll make it quick."

And she wasn't lying, returning in just under 10 minutes. It had been long for Bucky though, long enough to run through the suddenly much too short list of conversation openers he'd memorized that morning. Long enough for him to begin regretting every choice that led to this situation. Until she returned and he was suddenly rooted in place. She was dressed somewhat casually in black jeans and a deep purple top that enhanced the glow of her warm brown skin, covering her arms to the wrists as usual.

"Where were you thinking of eating?" Stone asked. She stood in the doorway of her office, pressing the water out of her long straight hair with her palms and a t-shirt and he watched the water build up to a bead at the very ends and slowly splash to the floor so mesmerised that he forgot the question until she repeated herself, "any preferences? Indian, Italian, Mexican? There's a Polish place not too far out that makes a great borscht."

"No," Bucky answered a little too sharply, "uh, I'm sorry, it's just… I don't have a lot of good memories with…"

Stone paused her drying to look at him in a knowing way and then resumed with, "any other cuisines off the menu?"

"No, I… Indian, Indian sounds good," Bucky said shifting uncomfortably, wishing he could crawl out his skin and into the earth beneath his feet.

"I'll have to go and get the car first, unless you've got a spare helmet and don't mind carrying a passenger?" She said, tossing the damp t-shirt over the back of her desk chair and pulling her own leather jacket off a hook near the door.

Bucky shrugged and then shook his head, "no, I- don't mind if you don't. I've got a helmet in the… spare. If you don't mind riding along. I'm safe…" he was failing to put the words together but she was smiling in a way that made the bridge of her nose scrunch up and almost hid her eyes from view and it didn't seem to matter that he couldn't make sense of himself.

Stone pulled out her phone, and showed him the route to the Indian restaurant she liked before donning the helmet like a pro and climbing on the bike behind him like it was second nature.

It wasn't the first time Bucky had had a passenger on his bike, both Steve and Becca back when they were young and everyone felt invincible, and Steve a few times after they'd become nearly invincible, but that had been very different. Stone sat lightly behind him, tight against his back, hands on his waist, just enough pressure to know she was there and not so much that it interfered with his movements and when he leaned into the turns, she leaned with him. Becca had always countered, afraid to fall and making the maneuver both more difficult and more dangerous, which was why he'd avoided ever taking any of his dates on the bike, beyond the fact that they wouldn't appreciate messing up their carefully crafted updos, they could be hurt, it was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

That hesitation had been forgotten, and Bucky wondered at it as the asphalt melted into a blur under their wheels. Much as Stone worried him most days, he hadn't even stopped to think if she would be safe as a rider, and if he had, it would have been an unnecessary concern. Now the concept of a passenger being a 'backpack' finally made sense to him. A car suddenly honked at them from the left and Bucky maneuvered hastily to avoid the driver who was changing lanes for the next exit and hadn't seen him in his blind spot, in all of that Stone never flinched, never moved except to match him, nothing but an extra pressure on his waist to indicate she even noticed the incident.

He parked the bike in front of the restaurant and she released her grip on the leather of his jacket with a chuckle, dismounting and taking her helmet off to reveal a wide grin.

"Thanks for the ride, that was great."

Bucky shrugged, feeling a blush rising up his neck and following her into the establishment.

Perhaps it would turn out all right after all.

Perhaps.


Notes:

And thus the "not a date" date begins...
Bucky has some social anxieties, Stone is- well, stonefaced as usual, what will happen to begin breaking down some of these barriers?
I'm already working on the next chapter and it wont be too long before I can share it with you all.
It's time to gather a little kindling for this slow burn!