To Pass Among Them
Bucky
Everything hurts.
He doesn't really know what hurts is any more just that this is it and he can't remember a time before it.
He expects to feel angry or slighted or anything, but he can't feel anything except this sort of pain. He kind of feels like he's on an edge of something. He never goes over it no matter how long he's here, no matter how hard he tries to push himself, despite the pain. Like being suffocated with barely enough oxygen to breathe.
He's not in a room, he doesn't think, but then again, he's not entirely sure if he understands the concept of what a 'room' is anymore.
He doesn't remember his name. No thoughts form enough to become anything other than vague shapes and carnal understandings that he doesn't actually understand as anything other than what is or what has been.
He feels like an animal, almost, but he doesn't know what an animal is, exactly.
So there's that.
Tony
"If I said I was sorry for being late, I'd be lying." He announces his own entrance, moving to greet a rising Pepper with a kiss on the cheek. "I've heard you're taking it out on the woodwork."
Four mismatched agents move to get up, but Coulson halts them with a slight shake of his head.
There's a healthy beat of silence.
Coulson looks just past Tony with wide, mostly unaffected eyes. If there was a real-life example of someone almost drinking in a sight, it'd be Coulson, right now. Tony knows that he wants to get up, but he knows that he won't. He can see how much Coulson wants to move to him, like an impulse. To someone who knows him, Coulson's as transparent as the window sitting behind him, but that won't stop him from staying parked exactly where he is on Tony's couch, not looking at Tony.
Finally, Tony smirks. "Agent," he greets Coulson, nodding his way. Coulson nods back and looks away without saying anything.
He turns to the rest of them. "Agents," he says, going for the same intonation but not really making it. He doesn't know any of these faces. There's four of them, two men and two women. He'd venture to say that they're new recruits, but he also likes to think Phil is smart enough to know not to bring him fresh meat. "To what do I owe the intrusion?"
Again, Coulson says nothing. It's clear the other four are waiting for him to make some sort of move, but he doesn't even look at them. (Tony can't see his face, but he likes to think he's having some sort of paralyzing effect.)
Finally, a dark-haired woman steps forward. She reminds him of Maria a little, and he can't help but think it's on purpose. "This is a private matter, Mister Stark. Perhaps your associates could step outside?"
Oh, she's definitely new.
There hasn't been a whole lot of 'leaving Tony alone' and 'stepping outside' since Afghanistan. There's always a Happy, a Rhodey, or a Pepper trailing after him these days, and though he hasn't tested the theory, he's pretty sure they're all virtually unshakeable. Most of the familiar agents know this, and almost all of the underlings either recognize it or aren't dumb enough to say anything about it.
Seems he's met an exception.
"They're fine where they are, thank you," he says. "Whatever you need to say to me, you can say in front of them."
The dark-haired woman smiles tightly and shakes her head. "I'm afraid the information we have to share with you is classified, Mister Stark."
He raises an eyebrow. "Declassify it then," he challenges. "The only thing keeping me here is them, and I assume you'd like me in the room to recruit me or whatever." She tilts her head to the side, and he clarifies, "If they go, I go."
One of the men, the shorter of the two, steps forward and crosses his arms over his chest. "Who says we're recruiting you for anything?"
"You did," he says. "Just now. With your face and your body language and your 'look at us, Mr. Stark, we know how to use an unlocked front door'." He feels his face start to flush and his hands start to shake. He's not taken aback by any of this, and while he meant to keep his head throughout this visit, he's feeling more and more unraveled as time goes on.
Well, in for a penny . . .
He turns to Coulson. "What an intimidation tactic, Phil. You've really got me quaking in my boots with this goon squad." He turns back to the other agents who look completely scandalized. Yeah, I'm the only one who gets to talk to him like that. "Instead of J. Edgar Hoover-ing your way about my home, you could just try a simple 'please' and 'thank you' like every other normal human being during my consulting hours. Oh, and by the way, next time you want to ask me for a favor, you might want to try being nicer to my PA. After your fancy trick with the spider, she's my first line of defense."
Oh, yeah, I haven't forgotten that.
"I didn't authorize that," Coulson retorts, still not looking at him.
Tony snorts. "We both know that's bullshit. You think I let her go without figure out who held her leash?"
"Huh. You're . . . fired."
"That's not up to you."
Coulson sighs. "Tony, we didn't come here for a fight."
Tony rolls his eyes. "You didn't come here for a fight. I came ready and willing. I could do this all—"
"What Mr. Stark is trying to say," Pepper interrupts. "is that you clearly didn't come on a social call. What is it you want, exactly?"
Coulson seems to remember himself almost immediately. "Right. You're right, Miss Potts, as usual." He looks at her and they share a private smile. What the hell? "I came with an update from the Avengers Initiative."
The dark-haired woman clears her throat again. "Actually, we came here with one update, but we were notified of another shortly before you arrived."
"I was getting to that," Coulson says, not outwardly scolding her, but enough that she looks to her feet and mumbles an apology. "She is correct, however."
Tony surveys the faces in the room as they begin to set into varying degrees of discomfort.
"Well?" He breaks the silence with about as much tact as he does everything else. "I'm not getting any more interested." Another dollop of silence. "Would one of you spit it out already so we can—"
"We've found Captain America."
Coulson finally looks at him.
Phil's eyes are as clear and blue as he'd remembered them to be when he meets them. His irises were eerily gaunt in a way he never knew irises could be before. If he'd exuded a want to reach out to Tony before, it was something close to his entire being now. It wasn't a deep thing, really, but a habitual motion as natural as breathing.
Phil was suffocating his need, and Tony was the fist around the neck of it.
That, or it was the Captain America thing which . . . wow, okay. Aunt Peggy's and Howard Stark's final purpose in life just fell into his lap in the span of half an afternoon, and he hadn't needed to lift a finger for it.
Tony takes a centering breath and tears his eyes away from Coulson. "When's the funeral?" The questioning looks in the place of an answering date and time leave him oddly disquieted. "I mean, I know there were parades and shit for him after the crash, but it's about time we fill the plot in front of the headstone, don't you think?"
"Captain America . . . Steve Rogers is alive," the ginger answers him. "He was kept alive through suspended animation in his crashed plane in the Arctic." The man speaks slowly, aware of how this sounds and that he's not exactly Tony's favorite person right now.
Dude, I was kept alive in a cave in Afghanistan with a car battery. It'll take a bit more than that.
This is still . . . a lot.
He breathes in.
He breathes out.
"So, no funeral then?" He's running too many calculations in his head to worry about his joke not sticking. "Your second bit of news?"
Coulson shifts, pulling a flash drive out of his suit pocket. "A mission, actually. From the Avengers Initiative."
"I thought he wasn't a member?" Pepper interrupts, which, weird.
He never thought there'd be a day that he could completely space Pepper and Rhodey like that.
Blame it on the heavy metal poisoning. Get's 'em every time.
Coulson crosses his hands over his chest. "Desperate times, Miss Potts. We need all hands on deck for this one. Though to be clear," he says, stern in the 'I'm not your father, but you better believe I'll do my damnded to sound like I am' voice. "Mr. Stark will be treated as a civilian when not in the Iron Man armor."
Tony scoffs. "What? Are you going to make me debrief in the suit, too? Do I have to be wearing at least one gauntlet in the canteen?"
"Tony—"
"Can I at least have my faceplate down to brush my—"
"I'm serious about this," Coulson hisses.
"I bet you are." He turns to Rhodey. "I want it on record that I was a compliant and heavenly host." He feels something small and solid hit his chest.
He suppresses the wince and groan, and instead looks back at Coulson who's turned away, walking towards the elevators.
"Wheels up in two hours," Coulson throws over his shoulder. "I'll trust you'll know where to find us?"
Tony waves him off, making his way to a desktop to plug the drive into. "I'm sure I will. Don't let the door hit you, and all that."
"Don't be late."
"I will be."
The doors ping close just as the display shimmers across the countertop of the kitchen island.
He gets lost in the file. Or, files more accurately. He's got the most interesting team that he just can't wait to—
"Tones?" Rhodey pulls him back to real time, and he's concerned he's gone and made himself late.
That's twice now.
Pepper takes a step towards him. "What is all that, anyway?"
Tony smiles. "Aliens. Space cubes. Super-inclined band of previously dead or imprisoned misfits."
"Oh," she replies.
Tony nods, unplugs the drive, and jams it into his pocket. "Who else could use a drink right now?"
Steve
Right, right, left.
So, here's the thing:
Steve Rogers wakes up seventy (70) years in the future after napping in an iceberg with nothing but a magical serum and the will of pissed off God to keep him kicking.
Steve Rogers wakes up seventy (70) years in the future, all of his friends and family either dead or rotting in retirement homes and he only has a few laugh lines to show for it.
Steve Rogers wakes up seventy (70) years in the future, and so far, he's broken forty-three (43) punching bags to cope with it.
He thinks it's safe to say he's not impressed.
Left . . . left, left . . . right.
He thinks it's even safer to say that he's less impressed with Agent Romanov.
"If you're going to watch me," he says, sparing only a glance across the room. "Could you at least come out of there?"
There's a moment where nothing happens. (He considers going back to the bag, but his rhythm's already off and there's sand starting to trickle out of the bottom.) Then, the side door to the room behind the mirror opens and out slinks Romanoff with a marked manila envelope in her hands.
She looks a bit sheepish, and Steve doesn't know if it's social grace or a ploy. "Sorry about that."
He shrugs, moving his shoulders to make it look like he's getting his breathing under control. It takes a lot to actually get him winded, he's found, but it comforts others to watch him struggle with it a bit. "It's alright. I'm used to the curiosity. I just wish you people wouldn't sneak around so much."
"Us people? Do you mean SHIELD agents?"
You ain't no fuckin' SHIELD agent.
Watch your language.
Am I wrong?
"People from this time, I guess." He starts to unwrap his hands and looks up at her through the fringe of his hair. "That most of the people I've met from this time happen to be agents must be a coincidence."
They share a smile.
She moves to sit on the opposite bench. "You didn't have subtlety back in the '40s?"
"We called it being nosey, ma'am," he says. "I'm not a fan of the 21st-century version, either."
And he isn't. He's used to it, and he probably shouldn't complain as much. He's met most of the agents here, but he knows that there are still some who try to sniff him out, seeing if he lives up to the legend and all that.
He's Captain America here, he knows; SHIELD decided to leave Steve Rogers back in the ice.
What, and you held on strong to 'im or something?
Oh, yeah.
And that.
He doesn't acknowledge the sting of her words . . . or her evasion. (No one has been willing to talk to him much about his "internment" here. He knows, technically, there is no paperwork or law keeping him here, but he doesn't doubt the speed at which some could be drawn up.)
"I wasn't trying to snoop," she says, snapping him out of his own head. "This is an open gym, you know."
He chuckles and turns away from her, moving to unhook the bag to put it with the other (ruined) ones. "Behind a two-way mirror is behind a two-way mirror."
"I guess that's fair." She sounds like she's smiling, but he refuses to look at her again. "You can't deny that you put on a good show."
Steve shrugs. He supposes that, when it comes to people who haven't had to live with his body for as long as he has, that's true. He's still pretty new to it himself, but it's lost the grandeur that came with the fresh perspective.
There's a long stretch where Steve packs up and nobody says anything.
He almost forgets she's there until he turns to leave.
"Captain," she calls after him, unmoving from her spot on the bench, her red curls shift a little under the power of the air conditioner. "I'm sorry, I haven't exactly been honest with you."
Well, no shit, princess.
Stop that.
It's not my fault you attract trouble like this. You got yourself in this mess.
Steve clears his throat, hoping she's not noticing the lapses in his replies, but knowing she's probably already got them slid into his file somewhere. "What are you talking about, Agent Romanov?"
The sheepish look is back. "We need your help, Cap," she stands and makes her way over to him.
In the heels she's wearing, he's only half a head taller than her. (It's obvious that, without them, he would probably dwarf her.) Her hair kisses the tops of her shoulders, which is, on its own, is attractive. And in that, he understands how every part of her was designed to be alluring like this. How every part of her was meant to be able to be taken apart and marveled at as a unit and in context. There is not one inch of her, he's sure, that can't double as a distraction for another part.
He takes note of that and files it away for later.
She smiles at him, and it's almost a perfect example of what he had just considered. She holds out the envelope, seemingly happy to be rid of it once he takes it.
"Welcome to the Avengers Initiative, Captain Rogers. Here's your first assignment."