Jane was frustrated. The machine had been working before she went and got her father. She was sure of it. Her father was many things, patient was not one of them. Even now as they both frantically tried to work out a solution, he was wearing on her nerves. "This damn thing was working ten minutes ago, dad. I don't know what's happened."
"Try pushing the blue button again," Tony took an amused sip of his coffee. Dealing with his daughter's chaos was always better with a little coffee. She was much like him in many ways. He briefly wondered if this was what his dad felt like dealing with him. Briefly. But he quickly pushed that thought away. He never worked with his father in that way. Never had that sort of relationship with him, that he had with his own daughter. A working relationship with the daughter he watched grow up. He was just so damn proud of her. And while Jane was always frazzled around him, she wanted his support. He was always willing to listen and give it to her. She just had to work for it first. She learned better that way.
Jane rolled her eyes, her annoyance getting the best of her. "I've already pushed that one."
"I know. That's why I said, again."
"Dad!" She begins hitting every button with such a force, he's surprised that it's coming from such a small body, when a light begins to fill the room.
"Jane," he watches in stunned amazement as the light gets bigger, and blacker, and he's racing to his daughter's side to try and pull her away. "JANE STOP! MOVE AWAY!"
"It was right here dad! It worked," she bites her lip in frustration, when the tingling of her skin begins, and her dad's frantic face and wide eyes fills her mind. "Dad what?" And the light engulfs her. "DAD!"
"Jane!"
"You need to eat, Punk," Bucky put a plate of oats on the table in front of him. "Not going to win any fights, looking as scrawny as you do." He runs a caressing finger across Steve's eyebrow, where the cut was slowly on the mend. "It's not infected. Thank God. God Steve, What were you thinking?"
"I had 'em on the ropes."
Bucky rolls his eyes with a fond smile. "I know you did." He sits down with his own bowl. "Steven a lot is about to change. I'm not always going to be around to drag you out of things. Things are changing. A lot of things. The world isn't the same place it was two years ago."
Steve knew. He did. The frustrating thing for him was wanting to do something about it, but not physically being able to, and now this. His boyfriend, was shipping out to training camp in a few weeks, leaving him here to fend for himself, and for what? Doctor's afraid he couldn't physically stand the test of battle. So what? It was his life, right? What right did they have to deny him, if he wanted to volunteer himself? "I know Buck, I do. But I have a right to fight."
"You have a right to stay here and be healthy. How can I be out on the fields, and worry about you at the same time? I need you here, Steven. Safe. Rebecca will be here. She'll hel-," he was cut off by Steve throwing his bowl across the room, and he understood Steve's frustration. He was sick. All the time. Some days he couldn't even breathe. These days his attacks were longer. Worse. Some days he worried that Steve wouldn't even wake up. Those were the worse.
Steve lived with his sickness. And that was tough. But he didn't have to live with the fear that his loved one's carried of never being able to see him again. And it took all of Bucky's willpower not to give in to him. To not give Steven anything and everything he ever wanted. He loved him so much. And he prayed to God everyday, that one day, when everything was all sorted that they'd be able to settle down.
One day. When the war is over, I'll never deny you a single damn thing, again. Steven Grant Rogers.
Steve's tirade of banging dishes around, and throwing a fit was interrupted by a quiet kiss, and hug, and all his anger melted. This wasn't Bucky's fault, and he allowed the taller man to pull him into his arms. "Man I'm sorry, Buck."
"Don't say it. I kn-," Bucky's response was cut off with a gasp, when a single light, brighter than either of them had ever seen was in the middle of their tiny living room. They shielded their eyes, as the noise got louder. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!" The noise was deafening, sounding like a radio that lost it's connection with the static. They watched as the light got brighter, and brighter.
"MRS. MARTIN MUST BE CLEANING AGAIN!"
And then the noise was gone, and the light was gone, but not before the whole building shook with a boom that Bucky thought might bring it down. "What the hell?"
The woman lying on the floor in a heap, could be beautiful, if they could only see her face. Her head was faced down with a mass of long, dark hair hiding her face. Her arms, tiny, had tiny singe marks up and down them. And the denims she wore on her legs had holes in them at the upper legs and knees, had Steve grabbing his hand tightly. "Is she dead?"
Before Bucky could step forward and investigate fully, the woman lets out a groan and rolls over, eyes blinking at the dim light in the the apartment. "Son of a bitch, that hurt." Bucky lets out a grin, that has Steve rolling his eyes. "Push the blue button, my fucking ass." She sits up, looks around and stares. "Oh."
Bucky makes his way first, to help her stand up and then two pairs of blue eyes, find large, brown, unblinking ones. "Where am, I?"
Steve runs a hand over his reddening face before responding. "Brooklyn, Ma'am. Are you alr-,"
"Brooklyn? This doesn't look like Brooklyn."
Confusions fills their faces as they look at her in concern. "Are you alright, Ma'am?" It's Bucky now, that helps assist her to the couch. The woman looks sick. "Steven get her a rag or somethin'"
"Why are you guys dressed like that? Who are you? Where am I, really?"
"These are the clothes we can afford, Ma'am. You're in Brooklyn. And that's Steve Rogers. I'm James Barnes."
Her eyes widen impossibly more. "He's Steve Rogers? You're James Barnes? Bucky Barnes?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Do we know you?"
Her eyes wander around the room in recognition. "MOTHER FUCKER!"