Chapter 2
James spent the next few weeks getting up the courage to text the number on the ridiculously fancy card he’d been given.
TONY STARK
CEO, STARK INDUSTRIES
ENGINEER, ENTREPRENEUR AND ALL-ROUND GREAT GUY
He had copied the number into his phone as ‘Crazy Tony’. Though it was probably him who was crazy for even considering contacting the guy. He couldn’t think of anything worse or more anxiety-inducing than having his arm prodded and poked by someone. It was highly likely that it would remind him of being tortured and he had no idea how he might react. He didn’t trust himself. Hydra hadn't succeeded with their plan, but they had done a damn good job on him. He was a weapon.
But it wasn’t just anyone, it was Ironman who would be examining him, which would be a hell of a lot safer than a normal person. Ironman could probably stop him if he lashed out and hopefully wouldn’t get injured, especially if James was restrained, which he fully intended to be.
The whole process would be unpleasant, but he was finally facing the necessity of needing to get the arm fixed. The malfunctioning seemed to be getting worse and if it broke, he would be completely screwed, weighed down by a useless hunk of metal.
Perhaps Stark would even be able to remove it altogether, if he couldn’t fix it.
James wondered how it would feel to lose the arm completely. Apart from a horrible recurring nightmare of a saw whirring and hideous screaming and glancing down foggily to see his arm gone, James had no idea what it was like to have nothing at all. But perhaps it would be better than having this monstrosity attached to him, drawing attention wherever he went and always reminding him of the horrors of his past. Perhaps he could even get a normal prosthetic, something that would pass at first glance, and people wouldn’t stare anymore.
Either way, Stark was probably the ideal person to help him. Perhaps the only person who could. Even after he'd escaped Hydra and returned home, he hadn't been fully open with anyone about what had happened to him. The army had interrogated him, of course, trying to find out if he'd learnt anything during his imprisonment, but he hadn't been able to speak at that point. They'd let him go, not realising he was potentially a threat, a weapon. They knew Hydra had experimented on him - they'd given him an amazingly advanced prosthetic arm - but no one had understood why. As far as he could understand from whispered conversations over his bedside while they thought he was unconscious, they'd assumed that it was something Hydra had tested on a prisoner first because they thought he might not survive and they didn't want to take that risk on one of their own. No one knew the full extent of his Winter Soldier training and abilities. And he would do anything to make sure they didn't. He couldn't bear to be a lab rat any longer.
So when the army released him, James had disappeared.
He didn't know if they'd looked for him, but with the first-rate spy skills Hydra had tortured into him he knew how to keep a low profile and had reached an understanding with Natasha that she would use his details sparingly - as rarely as possible - on company records and information. Having a proper job was a risk, but he couldn't spend his whole life hiding, especially since there probably wasn't anyone looking for him anyway.
He had never been to a hospital or medical facility of any kind after his release, because he could never let anyone examine the metal arm, for their own safety as well as his. But Stark was his opportunity.
He did wonder if it was possible Stark would rat him out to the government, if by any chance they were still looking for him. But from what he'd heard about the man it was highly unlikely. Stark didn't like the goverment and pretty much everything linked with the man was privately owned by him. If he had a medical facility, it would be private and safe. This might be his only chance.
There was another reason he finally decided to message, but he wouldn’t let himself think properly about Captain America’s blue eyes and the strange surge of interest he’d felt from the moment he’d first seen him.
James:
Hi Mr Stark, it’s James from the coffee shop. The guy with the metal arm.
It took him a long time to decide what to say, but ultimately decided he didn’t care if he sounded like an idiot. He had bigger things to worry about. After just a few minutes he got a long reply back.
Crazy Tony:
Greetings, Bionic James! I have been on tenterhooks waiting for your reply. Have you considered my offer? I’ll have you know I’m a very rich man. Name anything and it’s yours, just for an afternoon examining that delicious contraption.
PS. Your coffee was the worst thing I’ve ever tasted in my life and I’ve had Steve’s lasagne.
James couldn’t help laughing. The text sounded just like Stark’s voice. He felt a little pang at the mention of Steve. It was odd to think of him by his name, rather than as Captain America.
It was embarrassing really. Stark had joked about getting him a date with Steve without realising that James had never wanted anything more in his life. Obviously he wasn’t going to actually ask for that, and there was not a chance in hell that a date with Steve would ever work. For one, the man had to be straight. He was Captain America, for fucks sake. And two, literally every one of James’s problems with dating/functioning/general life would be made even worse if he went on a date with someone so obscenely good-looking.
But he couldn’t resist the weird pang of hope. There was a chance he might see Steve again at some point if he went ahead and made the appointment with Stark.
James:
I don’t need anything. The arm hasn’t been working too well so you’d be doing me a favour. However I have some conditions for if you are going to examine me.
Crazy Tony:
Well well, now I’m intrigued. Do go on.
James:
You need to restrain me during the examination and keep your Ironman suit easily accessible. In case you need to defend yourself.
There was a pause of several minutes before the next reply which was surprisingly understanding in its tone.
Crazy Tony:
I can agree to those conditions. Usually I would ask why but I imagine it might be part of how you got the arm, and I think that story would be best in person. Would you be more comfortable with others present? Captain Perfect is rather famous for his bedside manner.
James was torn. He couldn’t deny that part of him wanted to see Steve again, but he definitely didn’t want to see him while he was restrained and possibly freaking out. Even just Steve seeing his arm properly - see its freakish power and recognising him for the weapon he was - would be humiliating.
James:
I would prefer without others, if that’s ok.
Crazy Tony:
No problem at all, Jamesy. How does Monday suit you?
They agreed on Monday. James had work but Clint would be back by then and he knew Natasha would let him have it off if he told her he had a medical thing. She'd proably be over the moon, actually. They agreed James would come to the Avengers tower for 11am and Tony would meet him downstairs in the lobby so he didn’t have to deal with security.
James was terrified about the prospect of varying from his routine, but he knew it was time he pushed himself. Time to sort himself out.
He woke early on Monday, which gave him time to make sure he was clean-shaven, hair washed and generally presentable. He had made sure to wash all his clothes over the weekend and he tried not to overthink why he was pulling on his best jeans, a flattering button-up shirt and leather jacket just to lie on an examination table.
Checking himself in the mirror, he almost looked good. His face had lost the hunted, sharp look he’d had for months after escaping, now that he’d finally regained the weight he’d lost in captivity. Hydra had tried to keep him at a strong fighting weight when they were training him, but there was nothing like torture, imprisonment and mental instability to make the pounds drop off.
He was glad he’d tried to keep in shape during his recovery – though it had been for practical reasons rather than aesthetic ones, because his arm was heavy and increasing his upper-body strength helped support it - and he was pleased to discover that he looked broad and muscular now, even more so than back when he was in the army. Now his face had filled out more he looked older, but not in a bad way, he decided. Shame about the dark shadows under his eyes but there was nothing he could do about that. With his leather jacket and hair maybe he could pretend he was working the whole partying rock star thing. Ha.
He did like his hair, he decided. He had always kept it short before being captured, but by the end of his two years imprisonment it had reached jaw length and for some reason he’d kept it around that length ever since. It was kind of like the arm. Even though it had come from that horrific time and he’d had bad memories associated with it at the beginning, it was now starting to feel like him. He was working hard to reclaim those parts of him for himself.
Some things still couldn’t be reclaimed though. Like ‘Bucky’, the name he had gone by for his whole life, before. He preferred to be called James now. It helped him to think of himself as a new man, rather than constantly comparing him to the Bucky he used to be. The Bucky he'd lost and could never get back.
Despite dwelling on these thoughts, he still felt surprisingly good when he left the house at half past ten. He even felt relaxed as he made his way to Avengers tower through the busy city. It wasn’t far from where he lived or worked, but it was a different route than he was used to and on most days that would be enough to throw him into a panic. Today it felt interesting to actually look around at the landmarks and places he hadn’t seen for a long time. Probably not since he was a young man, before he joined the army.
Entering the lobby of Avengers tower, he felt mild stirrings of panic at all the security guards, but before he could worry there was a friendly face approaching and his heart jumped.
“Hi James,” said Steve Rogers with a big smile, stopping about a metre away. “I hope you don’t mind but Tony’s caught up in a phone call so he asked me to meet you.”
James found himself responding with his own smile and “that’s okay”. As usual he was surprised by how low and gravelly his voice was because he still didn’t use it very frequently.
He was baffled by the fact that Steve Rogers was looking at him and blushing. Wow. After smiling at each other like awkward idiots for a moment Steve seemed to pull himself together and took James to one of the private lifts. They didn’t speak again but James was comfortable in the silence and as the lift rose he kept feeling Steve’s eyes upon him. He supposed he looked a lot better than he had that day at the café, no greasy hair or scratched-up arm, at least.
When the lift stopped Steve politely gestured to James to get out first and he automatically shot Steve another smile in response.
Stepping out, he found himself in a penthouse that looked like something he had only seen in movies. There were huge windows with a view out over the whole city, white walls and a huge TV and just so much space everywhere. Usually he’d probably be freaked out, feel exposed, but now he just felt slightly in awe. He knew Stark was very rich but it was different to actually see it. This was some fancy shit.
Steve had stepped over to the open-plan kitchen, leaning on the island bar with his shirt sleeves rolled up and looking like a film star. Jesus, he was even more attractive than James remembered.
“Coffee? Tea?” asked Steve.
“Coffee would be great,” James said, looking in disbelief at the monstrous coffee machine on the kitchen counter.
“You’re welcome to make it yourself if you prefer,” Steve offered. “I'm sure you know your stuff more than I do, since you work in a café and all.”
James pulled a face in mock horror.
“I’m probably the worst barista in the city,” he laughed. “Natasha won’t let me near it unless they’re absolutely desperate. This wasn’t exactly designed with that in mind.” He waved his metal left hand vaguely, then immediately regretted bringing Steve’s attention to it. But Steve just glanced at it and laughed, not seeming weirded out by it. James supposed that Captain America had undergone a sort of body modification himself. Everyone knew the story of how small and ill Steve Rogers had been before he was given super soldier serum by the army back in WW2.
James knew the story better than most because Hydra had given him a lesser version of the same serum when they were experimenting on him. He wasn't the full super soldier that they'd hoped for, but in theory he was stronger, more durable than the average person. That was probably why he had survived the torture they’d put him through. It was probably how he’d managed to survive for two years and escape.
With an effort James pulled himself back in the present to find that Steve was saying something.
“Sorry?”
“I was just asking what you usually do at the café, if you don’t make the coffee?” Steve was still smiling but there was something sympathetic in his eyes, as if he understood what it was like to slip outside of yourself sometimes and need to be called back.
“I’m usually in the kitchen,” James said, leaning against the back of the sofa so he was still facing Steve. “I make the food… and the cakes and stuff sometimes.”
“So you’re a chef?” Steve was grinning now. “And a baker?”
“It’s just sandwiches and soup…” James admitted, “so I don’t think I can call myself a chef. But my cakes are pretty amazing.”
Steve laughed. “Okay, so you’re a baker! I’ll have to come back sometime and try those cakes.”
James smiled happily. Aside from Natasha and Clint, he had never had such easy interactions with someone – and even with those two, he’d probably only manage it signing. But Steve just treated him like a normal person and he kind of felt like that, for once. And it felt good.
“How do you like your coffee?” Steve asked. “And feel free to take a seat.” He nodded at the sofa James was leaning against. “I’m not sure how long Tony will be.”
“Just black is fine,” James responded.
“A man after my own heart,” Steve winked at him and something leapt in James’s chest. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining the flirty tone in Steve’s voice. He took a seat on the sofa to mask his confusion.
Steve brought over their drinks and sat on the sofa next to his and James racked his brain for conversation. How did normal people make small talk? Let alone make small talk with Captain America, who was probably the hottest guy he’d ever seen. He had spent so much time avoiding people he didn’t know how to act like a real person. Fortunately Steve seemed comfortable with the silence. After a few minutes he turned the radio on, fiddling until he got to a station that played music from the 1930s and 40s.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he looked at James almost shyly. “This was the music I grew up with. I can’t stand most of the new stuff. Can you believe there’s something called grime music?” James laughed at how horrified he sounded.
“S’fine by me,” he said softly. He wanted to say something witty, carry on the back-and-forth, but words were getting less easy and he couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety as he found himself glancing at the lift. He felt his heartrate increase, his breathing speed up. Tony was going to come down any minute. Maybe he’d made a mistake. This was a terrible idea. How could he let someone pin him down and experiment on him again? Steve was saying something now but James couldn’t hear him, couldn’t hear anything except the rush of panic in his ears as memories started to flood in like a dam had broken.
The soldier was pinned to a table, restraints barely holding as he thrashed and snarled like an animal, metal arm aching as he strained to burst free from the leather straps which bore into his naked flesh. Suddenly he was hit across the face and he fell silent.
"Soldier. Stop." That voice. The handler. He didn't even have to think about obeying; it was instinctive. He feared the punishment that he knew would come later.
He lay back, and was aware of more restraints being pulled across him, reinforcing the metal arm. Then there was pain, concentrated in his torso at first then spreading down, out towards his limbs. He couldn't think of anything but the pain, he couldn't make a noise, he couldnt even see -
“Hey,” Steve’s voice broke through his senses and so did the soothing music. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe.”
Focusing on Steve’s calm voice for a few minutes, James managed to push aside the panic, though it was quickly replaced by shame and embarrassment.
Sorry he signed frantically forcing himself to take regular breaths but still unable to meet Steve’s eyes. Steve was closer now, knelt on the floor in front of the sofa James was curled on.
“You’re okay,” Steve repeated. "You have nothing to be sorry for."
James suddenly noticed the gentle hand on his and jerked away before he could stop himself.
“I’m sorry,” Steve apologised, quickly leaning back to put some space between them.
James took another moment to breathe, eyes focused on his knees, before glancing up at Steve. He wanted to apologise again, to tell Steve he hadn’t done anything wrong, it wasn’t his fault. James was just messed up.
You sign? Was what he ended up asking.
“Kind of,” Steve said a little sheepishly. “I was partly deaf back when I was young, so I learnt then. It’s changed since back then but I started relearning last year. Seemed like a useful skill to keep up with. I’m better at understanding it than I am at actually using it.”
He was trying awkwardly to sign along with his words as he said them to emphasise this point. James couldn’t help the weird almost-laugh that escaped his mouth as he watched. He pulled himself to sit upright.
“Hey, don’t laugh at me,” Steve pretended to be upset, but James could tell he was relieved.
There was a pause as Steve sat back on the other sofa, picking up his coffee. As if sensing that James needed a minute to collect himself, he started to talk casually about how strange it was to go from living through the second world war to living in a ridiculous penthouse with someone as ridiculous as Tony Stark.
As if he heard his name, the elevator opened and Tony came charging out, talking as rapidly as usual.
“Can’t believe that went on so long, sorry I got caught up, I see Grandad’s entertaining you with his old-timey music you lucky thing, hope you’re as excited as I am about this whole situation -”
James tried to smile but it probably came out more of a grimace. He’d recovered from his panic attack but he hadn’t recovered his conviction that this was a good idea. Having a flashback about being restrained before he was even in there didn't bode well.
Can you ask if he’s still ok with the r-e-s-t-r-a-i-n-t-s, James signed to Steve, making sure to spell it out slowly. His words weren't back yet, which was pretty standard after a flashback. Steve translated this to Tony, who blinked but didn’t seem phased.
“Of course, Optimus Prime, but I’m thinking we might want Cap in there too if that’s alright with you. My ASL is pretty terrible. And by terrible I mean non-existent.”
James nodded reluctantly. This was definitely going to be awful. But there was no backing out now. He needed his arm fixed. And Steve had already seen him having a panic attack for literally no reason. It wasn’t like he could carry on pretending to be normal.
It was probably safer, anyway. If he went berserk, the combined forces of Ironman and Captain America would definitely be able to stop him. He didn’t need to worry that he would hurt someone.
Trying to keep that in mind, he followed Steve and Tony into the elevator.