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It was late and Tony tipped his body into the sofa and let out a big exhale while landing half reclined. Toeing his shoes off next, he brought his feet up onto the seat cushion, flexing his ankles for the pleasure of the stretch. It had been a while since he’d spent so many hours back to back in the lab but his latest project had made time disappear, like all the best projects did. His body however was still governed by it and he decided to allow himself to lounge just a while longer before the need to find food took over. He’d just closed his eyes when the phone in his pants started to vibrate and he had to do some extra wiggling to free it from the pocket it was wedged in before he could see that Barnes was calling. He couldn’t help the feeling of pleasure he got whenever Barnes reached out to him. It felt like he’d won something. His trust maybe and it was nice.
“Hey Barnesy. What’s up?”
“Stark. I -.” Tony noted that he could hear Barnes breathing somewhat heavily. “I’m. Uh.” His flustered opener was so out of character that Tony couldn’t help but be alarmed.
“Are you ok?” he asked, concerned.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he said but there was the faintest tremor in his voice which had Tony alert and sitting up. “Broke part of your kitchen though, I’m real sorry.”
“What happened?” Tony’s mind raced through all the possible scenarios from Barnes being attacked by vengeful remnants of Hydra to being attacked by vengeful rabbits to nasty cooking accidents.
“I don’t know. What it is,” Barnes said and his voice definitely sounded shaky to Tony’s ear.
“Hey, it’s ok. Take your time,” he said, trying for a soothing tone. “Are you hurt?” He hoped to god Barnes wasn’t downplaying things while bleeding out on the floor.
“No, no nothing like that but I made a mess of your counter. I’m so sorry.” Barnes said something else but it sounded muffled like he was moving his phone around and Tony didn’t catch part of it. “-from the quarry Michelangelo used or wherever billionaires shop. Probably irreplaceable.”
Tony couldn’t help but laugh when he caught what Barnes was saying. “The counter? Pretty sure it was Home Depot. It’s replaceable, don’t worry. Want to tell me what happened? You really aren’t hurt?”
“No. Just my pride.” Barnes paused to inhale deeply through his nose and swallowed audibly. “The power went out and I was getting a lighter from the drawer by the sink when there was this, this sudden noise. I can’t even describe it. It was so... Loud. It sounded like guttural screaming and also grinding metal and all I could think was either my arm had gone rogue while it was attached to me or the kitchen was one of your robots come to life to take me down.”
“Huh. Pretty sure I didn’t make the kitchen sentient or murderous.”
“I know that now,” Barnes answered grumpily.
Tony thought for a moment, rubbing at the crease above the bridge of his nose. “Did the lights come on right after?”
“Yeah, they did.”
“And this sound came from the sink area?”
“Yeah, it did.”
“Ok, here’s what I think happened. The backup generator kicked in and things came online in sequence. I must’ve prioritized the STARKurator over the lights, I’ll have to fix that. Also, if you hadn’t heard it before, it might have been jammed or you haven’t sent anything solid down the sink. That could be why it was so loud; hasn’t been used in a while.”
“What? Why would I send anything down the sink except water? That’s how you clog your pipes.”
“Ah, but Mr. 1917, let me introduce you to modern technology. The STARKurator is an under-sink waste disposal unit. It grinds up organic waste and it’s routed into a proprietary composting system, state of the art. I’ve never actually used it myself but in theory, and according to the reviews it gets, decent soil is the result. Brings all the best worms to the yard.”
Tony heard what sounded like a pained groan on the other end of the line. “So, just to be clear on this point, because I really want to be clear,” he said, grinning now because he was a shit and because he figured a teased and grumpy Barnes was better than one on the verge of a panic attack. “The world renowned and fearsome deadly assassin formerly known as the Winter Soldier and Fist of Hydra, lost a fight with an under-sink composter. Do I have that right?”
“Fuck. You. Stark,” Barnes growled. “You didn’t hear it! My damn Hydra arm sounded like that after I wrecked it a couple of times. Was like one of my nightmares come true.”
“Aww, now I feel bad,” Tony said actually feeling bad. “I should have told you about it but I forgot it was there to be honest, or that it might be a thing.” He winced. He was still the top contender for most-terrible-host award it seemed.
Barnes sighed. “It’s ok. Well, not really. Give me a second.”
Tony could hear rustling and then the digital shutter sound from Barnes’ phone camera. Soon after he got a text notification. Clicking on it he saw what remained of the kitchen counter where the sink was. Where the sink had been. He could see a corner of it in the shot on the floor and the poor STARKurator in pieces nearby; wires and pipes and counter debris forming a halo of detritus around it.
“Yeaaaaah ok. I guess that’ll be a trip to Home Depot.”
“I’m really sorry. I’ll have the license and a car in a couple weeks and I’ll take care of fixing it. I’ll use the bathroom sink until then and you don’t have to worry about it. I just wanted you to know what happened in case it was something important.”
“Barnes, really, it’s fine. I’m just kind of in awe at how thoroughly you took the kitchen apart. I stand corrected. You definitely won the fight with the composter. No contest. Congratulations.”
After they finished up their call, when Barnes had sounded steadier and Tony decided which day he had free to do the Home Depot trip, he received another text notification. This time Barnes had sent a photo of himself. It was a little blurry but his murder scowl was clear enough to look properly intimidating except for the tiny smirk teasing one corner of his mouth. With one foot on what remained of the STARKurator unit, Barnes glared at the camera, arms raised and biceps flexed as he stood in a classic victory pose. Tony’s breath was momentarily taken away. “He jokes and he’s gorgeous,” he said to no one. He quickly decided two things; he was so very fucked and he was going to treasure this photo forever.
A week later, Tony returned to the cabin for the install. They’d already gone to the Home Depot in Utica four days prior and found a similar composite quartz product that matched the remaining counter. He’d had to negotiate the turn-around from three weeks down to three days out of Barnes’ hearing, sending him off to look for pvc pipe. That man was definitely still working through some inflation related sticker shock issues not to mention he seemed to get his back up about money, and even worse, having it spent on him. Tony thought that was a ridiculous position to take when friends with a multi-billionaire and he was unrepentant.
He’d had been pleasantly surprised to be treated to a lunch at Rockie’s afterwards. They had both ordered the Italian meatball sandwich and then sat hunched over their meals, trying desperately to keep the sweet pepper, mushroom and tomato sauce toppings in their sandwiches. It was a futile but delicious effort. Afterwards, he could only groan helplessly and clutch his expanded belly when Barnes cocked an eyebrow in question before going back to the service counter to order another.
Barnes had already repaired the framing and cabinetry while waiting for the countertop to be delivered so they were able to install it easily. All that was left was the hook up of a new STARKurator. Tony took care of that and was almost done with the wiring when he felt something brush against the hairs near his left wrist. Reluctant to let go of the wires, he ignored it until that something scurried up his arm, light and fast. Rearing back instinctively, he missed hitting his head on the underside of the sink, instead cracking it on the underside of the cabinet. He was unable to hold in a pained howl while rolling backwards out of the cabinet onto his ass, brushing violently at his arm.
“What happened?” Barnes asked, suddenly appearing in the kitchen.
Tony squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the bump on his head pulse as though it had its own heartbeat. This one was going to hurt. “Ow,” he said plaintively, wincing before opening his eyes to see a worried Barnes hovering over him. “It was one of those household centipedes. The ones with a million legs that look like false eyelashes.” He raised his hand to feel the bump but it was gently moved aside as Barnes kneeled down beside him.
“Iron Man huh?” he teased as he ever so gently parted Tony’s hair to presumably check for broken skin.
“I think living, running, carnivorous eyelashes win over composters if this is a competition,” Tony said testily as he held still. Still, he was losing his edge that was certain. Tony wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or hurt by this self-perceived final fall from superhero status but he was definitely something.
“Mmm,” Barnes hummed unaware or uncaring of Tony’s inner turmoil as he continued to inspect the wound carefully.
He was being so careful and so gentle with feather light touches to his scalp that it took a heroic effort not to lean into the lingering warmth left by his hands, seeking comfort. Tony realized they hadn’t touched all this time, not even a friendly arm bump or an accidental one. Not since running into Barnes in Cheektowaga, that is. There had been plenty of touching in Siberia. He rather wished what was happening now was under less painful circumstances because… It was nice. And it was probably inappropriate that he thought so. Tony wasn’t going to mess up their dynamic with unwanted interest. Barnes needed a friend, that’s all. Still, he wondered why it was that in the past he’d had few problems making a play and could usually remain unaffected if the interest wasn’t mutual. He realized he cared what Barnes thought of him. Quite a bit.
“I’m fine. It’s fine. You don’t need to fuss,” he said, half-heartedly batting away Barnes’ hands.
“Tony, there’s genius in there. We have to make sure you don’t have a concussion,” he said, sitting back on his haunches before getting up. “Doesn’t look like the skin is broken but you’ve got a pretty big goose egg. Why don’t you go sit down and I’ll get an ice pack together.” He offered Tony a hand up and only let go once he was steady and had braced himself on the island behind him.
“You called me Tony.” Because if he was being honest, that’s all he got out of what Barnes had just said.
“Is that ok?” Barnes asked, tensing minutely before turning to open the freezer and rummaging inside it.
“I’ve actually been referring to you as Mr. Bucky in my head all this time so maybe we make it official,” Tony joked.
“Nah, that’s FRIDAY’S privilege only. Just plain Bucky for you,” he said, pulling out an ice cube tray and turning to grin at Tony. “Or James.”
He liked the name James, obviously, even though he never called Rhodey by it. The name Bucky made Tony think of Steve (and he really didn’t want to) but it had come unbidden as a favourite and felt natural. He supposed that the association would change the more he used it and made it his own.
“Great. Buckaroo it is!” Tony exclaimed before wincing again from pain. Still, he managed to feel a twinge of delight upon seeing Barnes’ - Bucky’s resulting crabby expression, like he’d sucked a lemon. “No take backs.”
“Go. Sit,” Bucky ordered, shooting him one of those dark looks and Tony obeyed, shuffling to the couch before gingerly laying his head on one of the side pillows and stretching out.
Bucky brought over the icepack he’d put together and found a blanket and then, with only his special murder glare, successfully cowed Tony back into a prone position when he’d tried to get up.
“I know you’re not gonna like this but there’s no way you’re driving back tonight,” he said firmly, kneeling by Tony.
“But -,”
“If you have to go back, you’ll need to call a driver. And then have someone check on you.”
“But I’m fi-,”
“Tony, I’m asking you. Can you stay just one night? And let me cook you dinner? And make sure you don’t have a concussion? Am I allowed to ask you for that?”
Tony just stared at him as he processed being asked to stay as though he’d be doing Bucky some kind of favour.
“I know I already ask too much,” Barnes insisted through lowered eyelashes.
He was laying it on a bit thick. Tony narrowed his eyes and huffed. “Fine. Just don’t with the guilt. And the face.” It was entirely too effective.
And there it was. That slight shift into the self-satisfied expression, that one with the smug little curl at one corner of his mouth that Bucky sometimes fleetingly wore and let him see. Tony didn’t even mind the coercion as Bucky’s gentle hand smoothed his hair back before the coolness of the ice pack had him closing his eyes and surrendering to the moment.