Colonel and Captain
The Colonel lets him stay. It’s rather easy, once Tony has stopped bantering with the man. Colonel Rhodes levels his even no-nonsense gaze on James, and he knows that there isn’t much to this decision. It was made last night, and nothing James will say can influence it. So he answers the questions.
“I don’t remember anything before dropping out of Tony’s arms.”
“Tony, huh?” The Colonel lifts an eyebrow towards Tony, who grins wide. It’s a little strange to have a smile like that associated with him.
“You’ve left us alone for too long, papa bear. We’re real close now, can’t you tell?” James knows Tony is joking, but something in his gut twists pleasantly at the thought. The pavlovian instinct to crush that feeling comes just as fast. Nobody he likes lives for very long. And he doesn’t want Tony to be hurt. He reaches into his back pocket and takes out the folded papers from his room which he swiped when he followed Tony down here. It felt wrong to leave everything he can remember, everything he is right now, behind. It feels just as wrong to hand them over.
“What is this?” the Colonel asks, as he takes it.
“The plans on how I got in here. My backup plans. List of other people who could do this. And…” James hesitates, glances at Tony. Moves his shoulder in a way that doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s stupid, he is dangerous and he shouldn’t be dragging that here with him. But if anyone can take what the Winter Soldier brings it might be Tony Stark and the New Avengers. “Everything I can remember. It’s in pieces, last five weeks, before that in Wakanda, Germany, Siberia. Romania. And before. I—”
He falters. Rhodes opens the papers, opens it on the plan of the building James drew last night. The plans in tidy handwriting.
“This is in Russian.”
Tony looks over his shoulder. “Nope, German. And Chinese. Some Koran. Friday?”
“On it,” comes the confirmation from the ceiling, and James feels bitter shame run down his spine. Way to show that you’re an unstable risk.
“How did you sleep, Barnes,” the Colonel asks.
“Didn’t. Couldn’t. I’m fine.”
The Colonel sighs, and James can see what Tony meant. He’s a soft heart.
“Well, it looks to me like this, correct me if I’m getting this wrong. Wanda Maximoff attacked you, put some continuous enchantment on you. To what purpose we don’t know, and you don’t remember.” James winces, he wants to apologise, but Rhodes continues. “Tony’s theory was correct to the extent that when you were out of the radius of her magic, your consciousness… let’s say rebooted. Leaving you in about the same state as when Rogers fought you at the Triskelion.”
James nods. It’s been easier than back then, in Romania it was bits and pieces, memories and emotions coming to him whenever, and he had to go through them all again. Now it feels a little less vibrant. Not by much, but he knows that when the rest of the deaths start coming, he’ll be able to function. He holed up for weeks in Romania.
“You ran, and found yourself in pain. Were you aware of this pain before?”
James gestures at the papers the Colonel is holding. “Yeah, a little, I— I remember most of Siberia. The fight, the cold.” The fear. The shame. “I remember losing the arm.” Tony winces as he mentions it, and James makes sure to catch his eye, to shrug with the shoulder he can now move freely. Thanks to him. “I was in pain on the way back. Steve tried to fix it but couldn’t. I remember going into cryo with it.”
Rhodes’ jaw clenches, but he nods. “Which led you here.” James nods. “So what now?”
James tries to take a deep breath. Tony is looking at him, a reassuring smile on his face, and James wants nothing more than to go back to just the two of them. Somehow talking to Tony is so much easier than this.
“I’m not going back. I can’t explain why, Sir, but everything in me is screaming to stay away from her, from Steve. I— I could go away, somewhere else. I’d make it. But… it’s Romania, but faster. I remember things, I go through them, all the time. I don’t want to hurt anyone. And I— if you’d let me, here is safe. Doesn’t have to be for long.”
That’s as much as James can carve out of himself. He falls silent and sits wearily as Rhodes stares him down. Tony tries to break the moment, rolls his eyes and winks at him, but there is still palpable relief in the air when Rhodes nods.
“Alright. Under the condition that you, to the best of your ability, work with Tony, and whoever might help you, to figure out what happened. Tony’s theories are— well, franky they’re terrifying, and we need to know how right he is. Maximoff’s powers are pretty uncharted, and if puppeteering is one of them, we need to know.”
James tries to swallow around the knot in his throat. He can’t tell if this is relief or dread or both.
“Thank you, Sir.”
The Colonel smiles and Tony is beaming so wide it looks painful. “Glad to hear it. So, is there anything you need from us, Barnes?”
Puppeteering. James feels like throwing up. “If… if she comes near me, if she somehow… reactivates me.”
Tony’s face is doing something complicated, sorrow and pity and guilt and then settling on the face of a man analysing the situation faster than anyone else in the room.
“You want a containment plan.”
James snorts. ‘Cause containing him worked so well the last time, back in Berlin. He remembers lifting his arm, pulling a trigger. Remembers Tony’s eyes wide behind his glasses. James shudders.
“Bullet will do just fine.”
Tony’s jaw clenches and before the Colonel can say anything, Tony pushes forward looking furious. “Jesus Chist, James, we’re not killing you. I’m not killing you. Stop fucking throwing your life away.”
James shakes his head. That’s not what this is. “I’m not. I like being alive, I like being here… liked being in Bucharest.” He looks up, meets Tony’s furious brown eyes, and can't help thinking how beautiful the man is. Like someone sculpted him. “But I’m not worth the risk. Not if anyone else gets hurt. Don’t let me do that.”
Tony stares, angry and horrified, which is the feelings James is somehow deeply familiar with being directed at him. “Containment plan,” Tony bites out, and then turns around and storms away to collect the tools he’d used just now. The anger in his movements is a stark contrast to the gentleness with which he’d worked then, the care and empathy in his eyes. James feels bad for pushing like this. But it’s important.
“Nothing else, Sir.”
Colonel Rhodes nods and turns to Tony who is done angrily packing his tools and is now trying to angrily stand. Some sort of silent conversation passes between them, a glance, a tilt of the head, a sigh. The Colonel turns back to him handing him back his papers, everything James is, minus the compound plans.
“In that case, welcome to the compound, Mr. Barnes.” James stares, stunned. He’d braced for it, for this reaction that he doesn’t understand to this word that should mean nothing Smile, Sergeant and now he’s left off kilter. “Tony is going to show you around when you’re ready. You can always contact me by asking Friday, should you need anything from me.”
And with that the Colonel gets up and leaves him with Tony. Again. James feels relief go through him, relaxing something he hadn’t known was tense. Again. He looks over to Tony, who seems just as unprepared for the situation as he feels. But before Tony or let alone James can think of something to say, James’ stomach lets out a loud long growl and Tony lifts an eyebrow.
“When was the last time you ate something anyway?”
James tries to think back and snorts out a quiet laugh. Tony looks at him, confused.
“What?”
James can’t help his grin. “Would it surprise you if I told you that I can’t remember?”
That startles a laugh out of Tony, and he rolls his eyes before waving James to follow him.
“Will you look at that, there was some snark hiding behind that stench. Come on, snowflake, guess I’ll show you the kitchen first.”
***
Tony leads James to the kitchen, pointing out other features of the compound as they walk. It’s unsettling how quiet the other man is. Despite the off balance way he walks, despite being bloody huge, the Winter Soldier makes no sound, and Tony keeps on talking, just to have an excuse to look back at him every now and then. And James is always there, alas looking at him with weary blue eyes. It makes the hair at the back of Tony’s neck stand up at the same time as it makes a gentle heat bloom in his chest.
“Well, let's see what we can get you for breakfast. You look like hell, James.” He winks, makes sure the other man knows it’s a joke, and catches the beginnings of a self deprecating smile out of the corner of his eye.
“Feel great though.” They reach the kitchen, and Tony isn’t sure whether that was sarcasm or not, so he turns around. James is two steps behind him, looking relaxed, a smile on his face. Tony almost buys it. But his hand thumb is on the seam of his jeans, and his eyes flit around the space, taking in a dozen threats a second.
It’s like watching predator and prey crammed into one body and Tony knows he can’t do anything, mistrust like this takes time and familiarity to overcome. But god if he doesn’t want to help.
“You’re safe here, James.”
James’ blue eyes snap to him, the smile gone and the tension more pronounced, even the uneasy tick is gone. Just a still statue of a man waiting for the consequences of his failure, for not being able to hide from Tony.
“Friday is monitoring the entire compound and surroundings, nothing slips past her. And you gotta remember, Snowflake, while I’m just a squishy little human, we have androids, gods, Rhodey and the Hulk in the house. This is one of the safest places on earth.” Tony can’t guarantee outside of that, but that’s his panic attack to have, not James’.
“As long as you’re on the right side,” James adds quietly, and Tony shakes his head.
“Nah uh, that’s not how this works. No sides, no allegiances, this isn’t a playground anymore.” Tony tries to restrain the bitterness from his voice, tries to stay neutral, but hey touchy subject. “You came to us for help, Papa Bear agreed, and that’s it. Doesn’t matter who your friends are.”
James grimaces at the word, and so what if Tony feels a spark of vindicated glee in his chest at that expression. He still turns to the kitchen and the state of the art coffee machine there before James can see it.
“You’ll be safe here for as long as you want to be. No sides. No grudges. Only condition is that you keep the rest of us safe too. Don’t hurt anyone under our care, don’t give out any information that could put us in danger.”
“So common sense.”
The coffee machine comes to life, and maybe it’s his caffeine addiction talking, but the sound is music to his ears. “Common curtesy, sure.” He turns around to James who is again two steps behind him, looking very lost next to the kitchen island. “So, Winter Wonder, what’s your favourite breakfast food?”
Fierce battles have been fought over that subject in the New Avengers kitchen, and Tony needs to sus out if he’s gained an ally or an adversary on that front. James’ eyes flicker over the fruit bowl, a forlorn cereal box that someone has left on the counter, before fixing on the empty counter of the island.
“No idea.”
Tony scoffs. “Come on, Snowflake, give me something. We’ve got a cornucopia of foods here, we need to narrow this down.”
Jame’s face twists in frustration before he shrugs and it smoothes out again, emotions hidden no matter how much the man might try. “I don’t know, Tony. I’m fucking useless at this,” he bites out, gesturing towards the kitchen and normal life in general.
Tony nods, his mind switching lanes as he takes in the new problem before him. Breakfast, not the most complicated equation he’s ever solved.
“Alright. Well, I’ll help you then.” James lets out a frustrated huff and nods. “Something wrong, Snowflake?”
“I—” James falters, and Tony leans against the counter, waiting for him to find his words. “I feel stupid.”
Tony holds on to the counter in an effort to stay where he is and not do anything stupid like taking the lost looking super solider into his arms. “It’s not stupid to struggle, James. Look, I–” He hesitates for a moment. Wonders if baring his soul and offering his weaknesses to the Winter Soldier, best friend of noted Tony Stark disapprover Captain America would be on Rhodey’s list of ‘Please, god, no, Tony’. Probably.
“I was waterboarded in Afghanistan, and I haven’t managed to take just a normal shower since then.” Saying it blunt as brick doesn’t alleviate the sting of the memory, but Tony has a point to make, so he bulldozes on, right on over his own stupid feelings. “It’s been catwashes and half full baths for me, or just… being stupidly careful around a shower. It sucks, it fucking sucks, but you figure your way around yourself.”
He shrugs as if that would make the conversation less heavy and gestures towards the kitchen. “You’re allowed to have a hard time, this normalcy stuff, it takes getting used to just like everything else. So enjoy the benefit of having me as your guide, and stop beating yourself up.” He winks and watches a complicated set of emotions cross James’ face before he resolves them with a nod.
“Alright. But you don’t have to. Just food is good.”
Tony grins. Give him an inch. “No can do, Snowflake. I do not pay to have this kitchen stocked with everything a human or asgardian heart could desire to end up on ‘just food’. We’ll figure this out. So, for starters. Coffee or tea? Hot chocolate is also an option, but I will be passing this information along to Peter and Bruce. They need more people in their corner.”
James shifts, his eyes flitting from the coffee machine to the kettle, back to Tony. “Coffee.”
Tony beams. He’s found a systems. He’s figured out the solution to the problem. Time to iterate and improve. “Welcome to the dark side of the force, Mr. Barnes. You leaning more strong, milky or sweet?”
Again he gives James space to think and work out an answer, and the super soldier looks a little less nervous this time around, taking a moment to think before he answers. “Not sweet, but milk is nice.”
“Excellent.” Tony pushes himself off the counter and heads towards the coffee machine, taking his own cup of strong black goodness and setting up a cappuccino for James. “We’ll give this a try then and you tell me what you think. Take a seat, order will be right up,” Tony instructs, realising that James isn’t going to move otherwise. He brings the cappuccino to the island where James has taken a seat on a barstool and runs through the cupboards and drawers mentally.
“Okay, so you feeling more liquid or solids for breakfast. Light, or something to bite your teeth into?” At this point Tony is just running James through the questions he asks himself when he knows he should be eating after a three day workshop stint, but has blown past hunger hours ago and can’t quite figure out what he can stomach.
James watches him wearily, but seems to be getting used to the game. “Solid. Carbohydrates and protein.”
Tony shakes his head. “I asked you about what you want James, not what you need to function. But okay, let’s roll with it.” Tony watches carefully, but James doesn’t seem to take the admonishment to heart, his eyes on Tony’s face as he gestures and talks. They continue the back and forth for a while, Tony offering options and James picking, narrowing down the giant list of options to an omelette with veggies and potatoes on the side.
Once that’s decided, Tony nudges James to actually drink the cappuccino before him, hopping off the barstool to start making some food. Contrary to compound wide belief, he can actually make food. Or rather, as Rhodey likes to call it, sustenance. Tony has made it a skill to combine whatever he can find into something edible as efficiently as possible so he can get back to his workshop.
Living int he compound he’s learned to actually cook some basics of normal food, now that he’s making food for other people, people who aren’t as resistant to his food combinations as he or Rhodey are. And now he’s trying to cook for James, and somehow that raises the stakes even further.
“Hey, Fri,” he mutters quietly while he is clanking around with pans and pots. “Thanks for keeping the kitchen clear.”
Because the kitchen is never this quiet. There are always Avengers, staff or friends and family loitering around here and the adjacent common room. Friday doesn’t respond, but he knows she’s heard him when the coffee machine lets out a chime, letting him know that it’s ready an operational.
“Well, don’t mind if I do.” Tony slots his cup underneath the machine and the thing begins the process of producing Tony’s ambrosia all by itself.
It’s a peaceful moment then, Tony cooking and sipping at his coffee, constantly feeling the presence of the silent soldier behind him. At some point he continues his explanation of the compounds facilities, and while he’s at it, comparing them to what’s at the tower, just to fill the silence. He listens intently for any sounds of disapproval, any signs that he should shut up over the sounds of frying eggs, but there is nothing. And eventually, when he’s moved on to explain how the Arc Reactor is powering both facilities, how he’s thinking of building one for the city at large, an experiment in green energy, he does hear James.
“It produces no waste?”
Tony flips the omelette, making sure to keep moving and not let it show how his heart is stumbling over itself. It’s been years, but he’s still so trained on the reactions of the old Avengers. Keep the science to yourself, Tony. I don’t get it, am I supposed to care about this? What the hell are you talking about, Tony, this isn’t useful.
Sure, it’s different now, he has Bruce and Vision to bounce ideas off of, even Peter and Harley when the kids around. But still. He can hear the genuine curiosity in James’ voice, proof that the man has been listening, has not just been letting Tony fill the silence.
“Nope,” Tony starts cheerfully, and then dives right back into explaining how the Arc Reactor converts energy, the improvements he’s made from the tower to the compound, what he’s thinking about changing for the city one he’s planning.
When he turns around to deliver their food to the island, James’ brow is furrowed in the effort to follow along, to actually understand the technobabble Tony is talking in, and Tony can’t help his grin. The conversation quiets down while they eat, but James isn’t out of questions yet, and Tony happily lets his own stack of pancakes grow cold while he explains, relishing the feeling of James’ eyes on him.
And well, isn’t that a dangerous realisation.
Before Tony can crash down from his high into this new anxiety spiral, Friday chirps from the ceiling, projecting a video from one of the outside security cameras onto the counter beside Tony.
James, who’s been relaxing over the course of eating his food as well as some of the fruits Tony had placed between them, grows still as a star, his eyes fixed on the image, and Tony realises why as soon as he looks down.
“Mr. Rogers is at the front gate, Boss.”
And Mr. Rogers looks pissed. Tony sighs, looking back up at James who is watching the video like a gun pointed at him.
“He can’t get in. He’s been here on and off over the last month, I think at this point he’s convinced I have you in some underground torture lab, enacting wicked revenge on you.”
Not to far from what had actually happened last night, but Tony decides to ignore that.
“But he’s not getting in here.”
James shifts, is burning blue gaze on Tony, and Tony wonders what he’s thinking. How long James can keep still like this. For how long his body can sustain the adrenaline.
“What does he want?” James’ voice is cold and lethal, nothing like the quiet questions he’s been asking before.
Tony knows. He’s been here before, on a biweekly basis. “He wants you back. Says I kidnapped you, that I’m hurting you, that you don’t deserve it. That you’re innocent, that I should set you free.”
There is almost no reaction, only a twitch of James’ brows that Tony is sure would have been a frustrated grimace just minutes ago. “That’s wrong.”
Tony doesn’t have time to wonder what exactly James is referring to.
“He is issuing threats, Boss.”
Eyes on James, Tony reaches towards the video, tapping the volume button to unmute the footage. He’s not sure if James will be okay hearing this, but if Captain America is threatening him, Tony needs to know. He needs to keep his family safe.
“-- cruel. I knew you were petty, Tony, but cruel? Nat knows the compound, if you don’t release Bucky we will come and get him. I don’t want to do this either, Tony, come on. Just because you can’t keep up your relationships, doesn’t mean you have a right to ruin mine. I–”
Tony mutes the footage. He’s pretty desensitised to hateful vitriol at this point, he’s been dealing with it since he was six, younger than that even. The insults slide off him like water off a duck, none of them can strike deeper than he can. He parses out the information he needs, mainly that there is no real plan yet. They’ve got nothing, only Nat waiting in the lobby for an hour, last year. Tony is sure the Black Widow was able to glean plenty from an hour of observation, but right now that isn’t the problem.
James has gone pale, his still form trembling, and his silent breaths are coming faster and faster. Another panic attack. Tony’s heart sinks and he once again has to kep himself from reaching out.
“James? James, listen to me, you need to breathe.” He starts to count, slowing his own breathing to the rhythm he’s setting, and it’s doing jack shit. A part of him, the part that knows where to jam the butter knife into the plates of James’ arm to hit the wires connected to the nerves, the part that knows the voltage of the electricity currently not running through the gate Rogers is kicking, that part watches with morbid curiosity.
Because this was fast, really fast. Tony knows triggers, he knows panic attacks really really well, inside and out. It’s always been a coping mechanics, diving head first into whatever is happening to hum, understanding panic attacks, palladium poisoning, concussions and repeated concussions and bone breaks. He knows so so so much about how the human body can break. And still, this is really fast.
James’ eyes are still fixed on the feed, his body trembling against the hold he must have of it, and Tony tries to calculate what this would look like if James wasn’t keeping himself together, if this wasn’t the biggest panic attack Tony has ever seen, inside or out, fighting against the best conditioned soldier in the world. This isn’t just James, it can’t be.
Tony snaps himself out of it. Doesn’t matter what this is, James is hyperventilating, and with how he’s swaying in his chair, holding on to the counter until the wood groans under the super soldier’s grip, he’s about to pass out. Tony swipes the feed of a furious Steve looking like he’s contemplating leaping over the gate off the counter and gets up.
“James, come on, try to breathe. I– can I touch you. James?”
There is no response. James has let go of the counter in favour of wrapping his arm around himself, his fingers digging into much more durable material there. It’s going to leave bruises.
This is stupid, very stupid, ‘Not taking the humvee with Rhodey’ stupid. Tony reaches out puts a hand on James’ knee. The super soldier doesn’t react at all to his touch, swaying harder, and Tony is getting actually worried. Throwing all caution to the wind he uses his newfound leverage to turn James around until his back is to the counter, then pressing his hand against his chest. A tactic that of course doesn’t work for Tony, but variations of it do. The pressure helps, the warmth helps. Tony can feel James’ heart race beneath his touch, James’ hand immediately flies to his wrist, the Winter Soldier’s wide eyes finding Tony’s face.
“You have to breathe, James. Slowly. Push against me, come on.” The grip on his wrist is almost painful, but Tony doesn’t relent, doesn’t flinch, pushing his body weight against James. He can feel James’ chest heaving beneath his touch, his heart race. But the breathing slows. Tony looks up and James’ eyes are little clearer, still scared, still wide and blue, but there is recognition in them.
“Good, keep doing that, keep breathing. We can go somewhere else, James, wherever you feel safe. Steve can’t get in here, he can’t reach you.” Not if Tony has anything to say about it.
James nods, forcing himself to draw a deep breath against Tony’s weight, failing to match Tony’s much slower pace, but it’s something.
“The workshop,” James grinds out, mechanically removing his hand from Tony’s wrist. Tony smiles and nods, standing back and surveying James critically, trying to ignore the warmth in his chest.
“You good to walk?” To the workshop, Tony’s safe haven. The safest place James can think of.
James nods, the Winter Soldier control settling over him steadily, shutting down his panic and any other emotion until Tony doubts Friday could read him.
“Okay, then lets go. It’s a good idea anyway, I don’t think we can hog the kitchen for much longer. And I don’t want to fry your circuits with the onslaught of weird that we house here.” Tony just talks, an endless stream of words while they walk. He talks in the elevator, all the way to the doors that open automatically for him, all the way into his sanctuary. Tony leads James to a chair without thinking about it, getting him a glass of water before the adrenaline of the situation runs out and Tony is stranded before the question of–
“What the fuck was that?”
James says it first, his hand carefully wrapped around the glass so as not to break it. He sits hunched over in the chair, his body still shaking with tremors that make the water in the glass shudder. Tony can tell he’s more himself again, mostly because he can see the signs of frustrations on his face again.
“Well, not just a panic attack, that’s for sure,” Tony huffs. James sets the water down to run a hand over his face.
“Can’t even break down normally.”
Tony hums, acknowledging that he’s heard, his brain racing in three different directions at once.
“No, doesn’t seem so. This is… I have some ideas, but we can talk about that later. Right now, tell me how you’re feeling.”
James draws in a deep shuddering breath, and Tony can tell that the exhaustion is setting in. “I don’t know. On edge. Slipping. Like I need to stay in control, or I’m going to wake up with someone’s blood on my hands.” James cringes, sitting back into the chair before flinching away from the backrest as if it was made of glowing hot metal. “Sorry, fuck, I didn’t mean–”
“Would you rather sit on the couch?” Tony bites his tongue immediately, he doesn’t want to interrupt James, but that reaction, that flinch, and he realises the parallels between the chair James is sitting in and the torture device Tony knows how to build, courtesy of detailed Hydra file keeping. He’s not sure how James can think of anything else.
James looks at him confused, then glances down at the chair, seemingly realising the same.
“No, this is fine, sorry. Just on edge. It’s getting better. Just– can I stay here for a bit? Just to calm down? I don’t want to hurt anyone.” And he doesn’t trust himself not to. Tony swallows down the sorrow that comes with that thought and nods.
“Yeah, sure. We can be here for a bit.” It’s Tony’s favourite place to be. Even the silence and sitting still isn’t as terrible when it’s in the workshop. “I’m flattered, by the way.” James looks up at him. “That you like being in the workshop. I’m sure it’s not all– positive connotations for you.”
James looks around, taking in the workshop again, hand settling on the armrest of the chair. He leans back slowly, deliberately, as fast as the chair will let him. He looks like he did when SHIELD had him, in that glass box Tony had built for something completely different.
“It wasn’t that bad, that chair you had me in, in Germany?” Tony nods, trying not to let the guilt show on his face. The cube had been a Hulk prototype, it was never supposed to hold a human, never supposed to hold James.
“Didn’t lean back, and it–” James chuckles, his hand running over the leather of the armrest, feeling the seams there. “You’d think I’d hate the restraints. Fuck, seeing Steve, it broke something, until Germany I thought– I actually thought it would hold.” James swallows and Tony furrows his brows, trying to follow. “I’m strong, the arm is monstrous, but you built it.”
So James had known. Tony opens his mouth, wants to apologise, but James keeps talking. “From all I knew, what I remembered and then now, here, that counted for something.”
“It should’ve,” Tony admits quietly. A smile plucks at James’ lips, and Tony suddenly wonders what that would look like if it wasn’t self-deprecating.
“It’s sick, but it was nice, in a way. Knowing I couldn’t get out of there. I couldn’t do any damage in there, hurt anyone.” The smile drops. “‘Till Zemo.”
“You broke out before he even finished.”
James smiles, again such a bitter thing, and Tony still can’t help but find it so so beautiful. “I know the cell maybe could’ve held me. But not like that. Not as the Soldier.”
The sharp part of Tony’s brain quirks up then. “Didn’t know there was a difference?”
James shakes his head. “The serum, it heals. Even in cryo. Stick me in with broken bones and I come out just fine. Never mattered how damaged the asset returned, as long as it returned.” Tony’s heart sinks, his mind racing ahead to the conclusion of this thought. “A person can’t punch as hard as a machine. Too afraid we’ll break, too afraid of the pain. As the soldier, I’m not afraid. The pain doesn’t matter, if I can function it doesn’t matter. I just need to be able to get back. The cell could never have held that.”
Tony sits there in horrified silence, listening as James lets out a shaky breath, his hand dropping into his lap.
“I’m sorry. It’s pretty fucked. I’m pretty fucked.”
Pretty is right, Tony’s mind unhelpfully supplies before he shoves the thought aside.
“You might hold the record, Snowflake, but you’re not the only one keeping scored. We’ve all been through shit here, and we’re all trying to deal with it best we can. Say, how about we finish the tour of the compound? I wanna show you the garden, we’ve even got a lake if you like swimming in non-chlorinated waters. Friday just alerted me that the all american menace out there has buggered off.”
James’ eyes light up at the suggestion and Tony can’t help the grin the spreads over his face. “And maybe later, if you’re up to it, we can figure out what the fuck that was.”
James nods, his eyes and smiles glued on Tony, and Tony really shouldn’t be feeling this happy about that. He can’t have James following him around like some duckling, James needs help, he needs resources and friends, not just Tony.
But all that later. For today Tony is not going to share.