Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m not breaking up with you, Tony. I just––I just can’t be with you right now.”

It was stupid, but half of Tony’s brain was listening to Steve, and half of his brain was noticing there was a leak, somewhere in the shop. He could hear the water dripping. Maybe in one of the sinks.

He let five drips go by before he answered Steve. Because he’d known this was coming, but being braced for a blow didn’t always make it hurt less, and he kind of wanted to be a dick. “Right,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. He kept his eyes fastened on the schematics for the suit that were spinning slowly in the center of the workshop. “And why is that, exactly?”

“Bucky is... a mess,” Steve said, the little catch in his voice belying the multitudes contained in the word “mess.” Tony had a vivid imagination, though. He could fill in the gaps. “He’s going to need a lot of help. And I––I have to be there for him. I owe him that.”

“Okay.” Two drips. “And why does that mean you can’t be with me?”

He knew why, of course. But he was a little curious to see if Steve knew why.

“I’m––you––we’re a lot,” Steve said, with difficulty. “When I’m with you, I don’t think about much else. And I can’t––I can’t be thinking about you, about us, when Bucky needs me.”

“Right.” Tony wondered if that was supposed to be a compliment. “So... you’re not breaking up with me, but you can’t be with me, because we’re too much for you to handle while you’re trying to help Barnes with his recovery.”

“Yes,” Steve said, sounding relieved. “Yes. Exactly. But I don’t––I don’t know how long it’s going to be. The doctors say it could take... a long time. Or...”

Or never. Barnes was pretty fucked in the head. He wasn’t catatonic, and Tony had read the files, he had to give the man credit for that. But he’d need a lot of help, for a long time.

Tony just nodded. “So... do you want me to wait?”

Steve sucked in a breath like Tony had punched him in the stomach. As though Tony was the one hurting him, and not the other way around. “It’s not fair of me to ask that of you,” Steve said.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“Do you want to... see other people?” Steve finally asked, four drips later, sounding as though the words were choking him.

“Not really,” Tony said, trying to make the admission as nonchalant as possible. Even though he thought that ship had sailed a long time ago. No one who knew him operated under the delusion that he had any chill at all about Steve. Or that Steve had any about him, for that matter. “I think you know what I want. But it doesn’t seem like I’m going to get it, so I’m trying to figure out what the rules of this arrangement are.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said roughly. “This is so unfair to you. Maybe we should just––”

“No,” Tony said. He tore his eyes away from the 3D schematics of the suit and looked at Steve. “No. Look––I get it, I guess. You don’t know how long it’s going to take. And I don’t want to see other people, not right now. Maybe we just wait and see. And if I want to start seeing other people, I’ll tell you.”

Steve nodded. He ducked his head. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He sucked in a quick breath. “And it’s still okay for us to stay here, in the tower? I know you offered, but that was before––”

“The tower is your home,” Tony said, as gently as he knew how. “It’s Barnes’s home, too, if he wants it to be. I think you’re both safest here, anyway.”

Steve nodded. “Thank you.”

Silence. Tony listened to the dripping pipe. “Was there anything else?” he finally asked, after five more drips.

Steve swallowed audibly. “No, just. I’m sorry. I know this is painful. I wish I thought it could be any different. But I just––I let go of Bucky once before, and this time I––I have to hold on as hard as I can. And I don’t––I don’t think I can do that if––if we’re together, too.”

Steve’s wording there was telling, Tony thought. Steve had insisted that he and Barnes weren’t like that, but Tony had always suspected otherwise. And clearly there was some reason that Steve’s relationship with Tony and his relationship with Barnes were mutually exclusive in Steve’s head. Tony didn’t really buy that it was just that his relationship with Tony took up time and energy. It was that maintaining both at the same time didn’t seem possible to him. So Steve had to choose.

Tony wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that Steve wasn’t walking away altogether. In some ways, a clean break would be easier. But Tony had been telling the truth when he’d said that he wasn’t interested in seeing anyone else. Because––and this was what fucking sucked––he loved Steve. He loved Steve. And he couldn’t let go of the tiny bit of hope he had that someday, when Barnes was better, Steve might come back to him after all.

Tony lost count of how many drips passed before he finally spoke again. “I understand,” he said. “It’s okay.”

Steve sighed. “It’s not. But thank you for saying so.”

Tony didn’t say anything. Steve turned around and left the workshop.

Tony sat down heavily on a stool, feeling as though all his strings had been cut. “JARVIS, lockdown.”

“Yes, sir.”

He should get up. He should find the faucet that was leaking and fix it. It was a waste of water, a waste of resources. Starks didn’t let leaky faucets just... leak.

“Sir,” JARVIS said after a while, “do you want me to ask Dr. Banner to come down to the workshop?”

“No,” Tony said. He stood up, already reaching for a wrench. He was going to fix that damn leak. “No need. I’m fine.”

***

Tony was bone tired.

It’d been a long week––a long month, a long three months. After Steve had not-dumped him, he’d asked Pepper to keep him busy with Stark Industries stuff, and she had obliged. She ran the company, but his name was still on it, and sometimes investors liked to see him. “Just to confirm you’re still alive,” was Pepper’s standard not-quite-kidding line about it. Plus they had some new products launching, and the annual Expo. None of it was dying for want of Tony’s attention, but it made Pepper’s job easier when he showed up, and he hadn’t been showing up much recently.

So he’d done some globe-trotting, some glad-handing. Not much baby-kissing, thank God. Pepper was happy. The investors were happy. The board was happy. Tony was... well, truthfully he was fucking exhausted––and he still missed Steve like a shot to the gut every goddamn day. If he’d been hoping to get out from underneath the weight of that, then he’d failed. So, not happy.

Under those conditions, it was probably only a matter of time before his shitty immune system caught up with him. At least his body had the decency to wait until he was home to give out on him. He arrived back at the tower at 3AM, crashed for ten hours, and woke up feeling like hot garbage.

“Fuck,” he breathed, opened his eyes. His head was pounding. He buried his face in his pillow and groaned. “J, stats.”

“Your temperature is 101.8 degrees, sir,” JARVIS said. “Your blood pressure is a little low at 110 over 70. You are more dehydrated than usual.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. His mouth was desert dry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d drunk anything that wasn’t caffeinated. He coughed, curling up on his side. He ached miserably, and his stomach was not happy.

“My protocols indicate that I should contact Captain Rogers,”

“No,” Tony said, shoving himself up. “No, no. Not Steve. Override. Where’s––where’s Bruce?”

“Dr. Banner is away at a meditation retreat, returning in ten days.”

Tony groaned. “Of course he is. Bruce, you fucking hippie.”

“Agents Romanoff and Barton are both in residence, as are Staff Sergeant Wilson and Sergeant Barnes.”

“Yeah, no,” Tony said. “Tell ‘em––tell ‘em I’m working.”

“Sir,” JARVIS said reproachfully, “your symptoms indicate that you have the flu. While not yet serious, your condition could worsen without proper care.”

“I don’t need care,” Tony muttered. “I just need sleep.”

“You should have fluids before sleeping, sir.”

Tony knew JARVIS was right. He was thirsty, and the headache was probably at least partly dehydration. But getting up felt so hard, and the bathroom seemed so far away. He was so tired.

And he couldn’t help wallowing a little in imagining what might’ve been if this had happened three months ago, during one of the periods when Steve was at home and not out looking for Barnes. Steve would’ve been in Tony’s bed with him when Tony woke up, and he would’ve known something was wrong immediately. Tony wouldn’t have have even had the chance to hide it, because Steve would’ve seen it. And it might’ve been hard, because Tony wasn’t used to letting other people take care of him, but he thought he might’ve let Steve bring him tea and mop his brow. He might have even let Steve cuddle him and rub his back while they watched Tony’s favorite movies all day. Having the flu was never fun, but it would have been... not terrible, with Steve.

But that was then. This was now. And now was Tony alone in his room, with no one he wanted to ask for help in the tower.

“Sir,” JARVIS said.

“M’okay,” Tony mumbled, letting his eyes slide shut. “Don’t worry about me, J.”

“Would that I could do anything else,” JARVIS said quietly, but Tony didn’t hear him. He was already asleep.

He felt worse the next time he woke up. His head throbbed in time with his heart, and he was the sort of nauseous that made him think throwing up was inevitable. JARVIS was trying to talk to him, but he could barely concentrate. He lay very still, trying to convince himself he wasn’t going to be sick, but he could feel the burning in the back of his throat that said otherwise. He lurched out of bed and managed to stagger the distance to the bathroom. Fuck, why was his bedroom so goddamn big? And why had he put the toilet so far from the door?

Tony had an embarrassing amount of experience puking. He gave himself two points for not being in public, and two more points for not puking on the floor or in the sink or the bathtub, even though they were closer. He didn’t have much in him; he hadn’t eaten in at least a day. He’d meant to the night before after he got in, but he’d just been so tired. His stomach didn’t seem to realize there was nothing left to bring up. It just spasmed on nothing over and over again.

He did not feel better afterward. He felt sweaty and nauseous and shaky and weak, so horribly weak. He let himself fall back against the wall, barely able to hold his own head up.

“Sir,” JARVIS said, “if you let me call Captain Rogers––”

“No,” Tony mumbled. “No. Steve––Steve can’t. He told me. Bucky needs him more.” Tony swallowed. His throat was sore from vomiting, but that wasn’t why it suddenly hurt.

“Sir, there is an overwhelming probability that Captain Rogers will come if I tell him you’re ill.”

“No,” Tony said, shaking his head. “No. I can’t––if he doesn’t––I can’t, J.”

“Then allow me to call Staff Sergeant Wilson.”

“No.” Tony slid down to lie on the floor. “No. I’m okay. S’ just the flu.”

He didn’t quite sleep again after that. His stomach wouldn’t let him. He drifted in and out between bouts of puking, chilled and sweating and shaking by turns. He kept trying to throw up but mostly he just dry heaved. Painfully.

“J, talk to me,” he mumbled after bout number three.

“Sir, your fever is over a hundred and three degrees. Please allow me to call—”

“Talk to me about anything else.”

JARVIS paused. “Sir, you should know that Captain Rogers has frequently asked me about your well being these last three months.”

Tony managed to open his eyes. “What?”

“Good morning, JARVIS.”

“Good morning, Captain. It is the 23rd of April, 2017. It is currently 62 degrees and is likely to reach a high of 68, with rain possible after four o’clock.”

“Thanks. Where’s Tony today?”

“Beijing.”

“How is he?”

“Mr. Stark is well, though jet lagged after his overnight flight from London.”

“Five espresso day?”

“Perhaps even six or seven.”

Steve chuckled. It faded into another recording, from two days later. Tony had still been in Beijing, his throat bothered by the polluted air. Then he’d gone to Japan, where he’d met up with Pepper. He’d met with some partners, then spent a couple days at a hot springs resort.

“We talked about going there.” Steve sounded, even to Tony’s cynical ear, rather wistful.

“So Mr. Stark mentioned to Ms. Potts.”

Steve sighed. He didn’t ask for any other information. Probably he knew JARVIS wouldn’t give it to him.

Tony wasn’t sure how long he lay there, listening to Steve ask JARVIS about him. JARVIS always found something impersonal to tell him. It was always true, but never anything Tony would have objected to him knowing. It was soothing, at least until his stomach turned over. “Stop, J,” he groaned, rolling over to his hands and knees again. God, he was exhausted. He ached all over.

Tony didn’t ask for the recordings back, even once he stopped throwing up and crumbled down to lie on the floor again. He wanted Steve so badly that the recordings could all too easily become a crutch. That was the last thing he needed.

“Sir,” JARVIS said, sometime later. Tony had no idea how long it had been. He’d lost track of how many times his stomach had tried to wring itself out. “You are severely dehydrated. You need fluids.”

Tony wanted to answer, just as he wanted to drink a few glasses of water and put himself back to bed. He couldn’t get off the floor. He couldn’t even roll over.

An alarm blared. Tony’s body flooded with adrenaline and suddenly he found he could get to his hands and knees. He even managed to scramble to his feet. His head was swimming, and he had to cling to the door jamb to keep himself upright. He blinked, trying to think through the misery.

It was a call to assemble, he realized. Fuck.

“Sir, you can’t possibly think—“

“Suit, J.”

“Sir, Captain Rogers will never—“

“Suit, J.”

There was a brief pause. “It will be waiting for you in the Quinjet hangar.”

That wasn’t the usual protocol, but Tony was out of energy to spare for arguing with his insubordinate AI. He had to put one foot in front of the other. He had to get upstairs. To the Quinjet. To the suit.

Fuck it, Tony knew what he was aiming for.

He had to get to Steve.

***

Later, he didn’t even remember the trip up to the Quinjet hangar. He remembered dragging himself off the bathroom floor, and then nothing until he was standing next to the Quinjet, trying not to collapse. JARVIS was taking his sweet fucking time getting the suit to him. It was raining and cold and windy––it was always windy that high up––and Tony couldn’t stop shaking. He thought he might throw up again.

And Steve was there. Looking at him. Staring at him, actually. “Tony,” he said. “You look––you look terrible.”

Tony would’ve laughed if he didn’t think it would’ve made him double over in pain. It wasn’t what Tony had imagined hearing from him after three months of radio silence, but it probably wasn’t inaccurate. “Thanks, Steve.”

“No, I mean it,” Steve persisted. “Are you sick?

“I’m okay,” Tony said. “I just need the suit.” The suit would help with things like standing and walking, and if he puked in the suit––well, it’d be horrific, but at least no one would know.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Steve stepped closer, holding his hands out. “Are you running a fever?”

“No,” Tony said.

“Yes,” JARVIS said.

“Traitor,” Tony muttered.

“Mr. Stark’s temperature is 103.8 degrees, and he is severely dehydrated from sweating and vomiting.”

“It’s not that bad,” Tony said. “I just––I’m tired. Too much travel.”

“You’re not running a hundred and three degree fever and throwing up from too much travel,” Steve said. He was standing a lot closer all of the sudden. “How long has he been like this, JARVIS?”

“Nearly twenty-four hours.”

“Jesus, Tony.” Steve’s eyes were so blue and so worried, and Tony wanted to cry. He might have been crying. He couldn’t really tell anymore. “Why didn’t you have JARVIS call me?”

Tony opened his mouth to prevaricate and the truth fell out. “Wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Steve’s eyes widened.

“Shit. Sorry.” Tony looked away. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Steve shook his head. “Dammit, we can’t do this now. We’ve got Hydra to deal with. You are not coming,” he added, before Tony could say a word. “You are going to bed.”

“I can––”

“No, Tony,” Steve said firmly. “You look like you’re about to collapse, and you’re running a fever.” His eyes softened. “Come on,” he said, quietly. He stepped a little closer, and this time he reached out and grasped Tony’s arms. His hands felt like firebrands against Tony’s skin. “You know you’re not well enough to come. You’d be a danger to yourself, and the rest of us would be so busy worrying about you that we wouldn’t be able to worry about the mission.”

Loath though he was to admit it, Tony knew he was right. He nodded.

“Good.” Steve stepped away, taking his heat with him. Tony sucked in a breath, feeling the cold all the more acutely. “Bucky!”

Tony’s head came up. He hadn’t even noticed, but the rest of the team currently in residence was in the hangar as well––ostensibly doing pre-mission checks but probably listening to his and Steve’s little melodrama. That included Natasha, Clint, and Sam, plus, off in the shadows, James Buchanan Barnes.

“Bucky, this is Tony. Tony, this is Bucky.”

Barnes was wearing all black, some sort of tac suit. His hair was a little too long, but his eyes were less crazy than Tony had expected. They flicked over Tony, assessing. “Stark,” he said.

“Barnes,” Tony replied, warily.

“Okay,” Steve said. “I have to say, this was not how I pictured this going, but I guess we’re gonna make do.” He shook his head, then drew a deep breath. “Bucky, you’re not coming. Don’t start,” he added, when Barnes opened his mouth, clearly ready to argue. “You’re not ready, and you know it. What I need you to do is stay here and take care of Tony.”

“What,” Barnes said.

“What?” Tony said.

“Please,” Steve added, looking mostly at Barnes. “You used to take care of me all the time. Do you remember that?”

Barnes looked momentarily lost. “I... I don’t know. I remember... boiling water and worrying.”

Steve looked inordinately pleased by this. “Yeah, you used to make me tea. And you’d bring me hot water bottles if it was cold. You were good at taking care of me.”

“I don’t need to be coddled,” Tony said.

Steve didn’t appear to be very impressed by that argument, which, Tony had to admit, probably wasn’t supported by his... anything. “JARVIS just said you were severely dehydrated. The only reason you’re on your feet at all right now is that you’re stubborn as a mule. Not that I have any stones to throw there,” Steve added, saving Tony the trouble. “You’re sick, you need someone to look after you. This mission could take a couple of days, and I want you in one piece when I get home.”

Tony sighed. “Why do you care?”

Steve’s mouth twisted unhappily. “I hope that’s the fever talking.” He stepped closer. “When I get home,” he said, so quietly that Tony didn’t think even the nosiest of their nosy friends could hear it, “we’re going to talk, all right? Until then, please let Bucky look after you. Consider it me looking after you, through him.”

Tony didn’t know what to say to that. He was still staring at Steve when Clint yelled, “Cap! We gotta get a move on!”

Steve leaned in and pressed his lips to Tony’s forehead. Then he grabbed his shield and swung himself up and into the Quinjet. Seconds later, the engines fired, and they lifted off.

It was still cold and windy and pouring rain. Tony felt sick––and confused, but mostly sick, now that he didn’t have anything distracting him. He was suddenly dizzy and nauseous. Getting horizontal seemed like a good idea. The ground seemed nice. It was harder than his bed but also much, much closer.

“So,” James Buchanan Barnes said. Tony tried to get his eyes to focus on him. “You’re the great and powerful Tony Stark.”

“That’s me,” Tony said, right before his legs went out from under him.

Chapter Text

So this was Howard’s kid. He didn’t look like much. Of course, Bucky reckoned most people didn’t look like much when they were halfway crumpled to the ground.

Fortunately, Bucky had gotten there in time. He’d shoved a shoulder under Stark’s arm and gotten his metal arm around his waist. Stark’s head was kind of lolling like he couldn’t hold it up properly, but Bucky didn’t think he was actually unconscious. Still, probably good to ask.

“Stark, you with me?” he asked.

“Nngh,” Stark moaned.

“JARVIS?” Bucky said.

“Mr. Stark’s blood pressure is low. I suggest laying him down and elevating his feet. It would also be beneficial to get him out of the wind and rain.”

“Right,” Bucky said, only now noticing the weather. He didn’t really feel weather, as such, unless it was very cold or very hot. He reached down and scooped Stark up, ignoring his half-hearted, mumbled protest.

The team’s common area was down a short flight of stairs from the Quinjet hangar. There was a sofa there, and a kitchen off to the side. He laid Stark out on the sofa and put a couple of cushions under his legs. He was startlingly pale.

“Sergeant Barnes, one of the end tables has a cabinet underneath that contains a selection of throws. Could you retrieve one for Mr. Stark?”

Blankets. Right. Bucky had a memory, vague and hazy, of piling all the blankets they owned on Steve’s bed in the winter, because he had a harsh cough, and Bucky was afraid it was going to turn into bronchitis.

The blankets in the cabinet were of different weights, but all of them were softer than anything Bucky thought he and Steve had owned in their tiny apartment in Brooklyn. He chose one with incredibly soft––and probably artificial––sheepskin on one side, and draped it over Stark. Stark’s eyes opened briefly and he blinked up at Bucky. Then he closed his eyes and turned his face toward the back of the sofa.

Boiling water. Bucky wasn’t sure what he was going to use it for yet, but it was something to do in the kitchen while he talked to JARVIS.

“JARVIS, I’m gonna need you to walk me through this,” Bucky said, while he was watching the kettle. “I know Steve said I’m good at it, but I don’t remember a lot about what I did. And I’d guess a lot has changed, anyway.”

“I suspect you remember more than you think you do,” JARVIS said. “Mr. Stark is ill but not dangerously so. He needs to be kept comfortable and hydrated. I believe that is well within your current skill set, Sergeant Barnes.”

And that, that, was why JARVIS was Bucky’s favorite person in the tower, aside from Steve. He never offered false assurances or glossed over the shitty parts of Bucky’s recovery. He was never frustrated with him or guilty about what had happened to him. JARVIS had intervened before when he thought Bucky was about to do something ill-advised, and he doubted that JARVIS would risk Stark’s life just to spare Bucky’s feelings. If JARVIS thought Bucky could do this, then he was probably right.

“Okay. He’s comfortable enough for now, I guess. So, hydration. Does he need an IV line?”

“It may be a good idea, as he hasn’t had anything to drink in nearly twelve hours, and he’s been losing fluids the entire time.”

There were medical supplies stashed in just about every bathroom in the tower, including IV lines, saline, and collapsible stands. Bucky set one up next to the sofa. It made a certain amount of noise, but Stark didn’t stir until Bucky crouched down and touched his arm over the blanket. “I need to put an IV in you,” Bucky said, when Stark turned his head to look at him.

“I don’t need one,” Stark said roughly.

“JARVIS thinks you do,” Bucky replied. “If you say no, I won’t force you. But you’ll have to drink a shit-ton of tea to make up for it. You think your stomach’s up for that?”

Stark didn’t look happy. “No,” he admitted. “Fine. If you’re going to be reasonable about it.”

Bucky had to smile. “Hard to argue with JARVIS.”

“Mr. Stark makes a valiant effort,” JARVIS said.

Stark rolled his eyes, but he looked marginally less miserable. He watched like a hawk as Bucky put the line in. Dehydrated as Stark was, it took Bucky a couple minutes to be confident that he’d found a vein, but he got the needle in on the first try. He uncrimped the line and checked the flow, nodding in satisfaction.

“Thanks,” Stark said, watching him.

“You’re welcome,” Bucky said. “You warm enough?”

Stark nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t feel like you have to hang out.”

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. “Steve told me to take care of you.”

“Yeah, well, Steve likes giving orders. That doesn’t mean you have to follow them.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m all in favor of insubordination, but I try not to be a dumbass about it. The others are going to be gone for probably two days. Let me make you tea and fluff your pillows so I don’t drive myself crazy worrying about Steve.”

Stark sighed and looked down at the blanket, picking at some fuzz. “Fine. If you insist.”

And maybe, at some point, Bucky thought, Stark would tell him what the fuck was going on with him and Steve. Forehead kissing was not a thing between friends, even seventy years in the future. What the fuck.

***

Stark drank most of the tea, but he vehemently rejected the toast that Bucky made at JARVIS’s suggestion. Then he fell asleep under the fuzzy blanket. Bucky debated taking him upstairs to his bed in the penthouse, but he looked comfortable enough, and JARVIS said sleep was more important than anything else.

Bucky walked the perimeter of the common area, checking air vents and other weak points for signs of incursion. There weren’t any, of course. The tower was possibly the safest place in all of New York, unless it happened to be attacked by a god.

“Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS said, “it has been five and a half hours since you last ate.”

“Oh,” Bucky said. “Thanks.” Now that he was paying attention, he could feel the gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach. He glanced at Tony and wondered if he should try and make something they both might want.

“There is some chicken soup in the freezer,” JARVIS said. “You could heat it up and make a sandwich for yourself, and that would be enough food for both you and Mr. Stark, if he wants some when he wakes.”

It was a good plan. Bucky got the soup heating up on the stove and made himself a turkey sandwich. He ate it standing up at the kitchen island, watching Stark. Stark was twitching in his sleep, and there was a line between his brows. He’d broken out in a fine sweat all over.

“JARVIS, his fever––”

“It’s no higher than it was earlier, but I do believe he’s having a nightmare.” JARVIS paused, hesitating, if Bucky wasn’t mistaken. “If you could––”

Stark awoke with a gasp. “Steve!” he cried out.

“Stark?” Bucky said, stepping around the kitchen island.

Stark stared at him in confusion. “Where’s Steve?”

“Steve’s out on a mission, remember?

“Oh.” For a second, Stark looked crestfallen. Then what little color remained in his face seemed to drain right out of it. “I feel sick.”

“You are sick,” Bucky said.

Stark shook his head. He dragged himself upright and put his feet on the floor. “No, I––I feel really sick. Like I’m gonna—” His mouth snapped shut, and he started to try and shove himself up.

“Oh shit,” Bucky said, and lunged for a bowl sitting out on the counter. He shoved it into Stark’s hands, pushing him back down onto the sofa at the same time.

Stark didn’t throw up, but he looked like it was mostly through sheer force of will. “God, what is that smell?” he grunted through gritted teeth.

The soup on the stove. Bucky bolted back into the kitchen and turned it off, then covered it with a lid. JARVIS turned the fan on, to start clearing the smell out. Bucky stayed in the kitchen, where he could keep an eye on Stark, but where Stark might feel less surveilled.

His phone, left out on the counter, lit up with a text from Steve. How’s it going?

In the living room, Stark retched. Bucky grimaced to himself. Could be better. Or worse, I guess.

Sorry for throwing you at each other like that. I didn’t have much time.

You’re a punk but it’s fine. JARVIS is helping.

Good. We’re about to go into a communications blackout. It’ll probably be at least 24 hours before I check back in. Maybe closer to 48.

And Jesus Christ, did that make Bucky twitch, knowing that Steve was walking into danger without him. No programming Hydra had ever done to him had managed to completely eradicate his instinct for watching Steve’s six. Nothing to be done about it, though, and Steve had given him his orders before he’d left. Ok. Want me to pass along a message to Stark?

There was a significant pause. Finally Steve said, Tell him I’m looking forward to talking when I get home. And that I hope he’s feeling better.

Got it. Don’t do anything stupid.

Love you, too, Bucky. Rogers out.

Bucky set the phone on the counter and looked at Stark. He was slumped over on the sofa, still holding onto the bowl.

“Better?” Bucky asked.

“Not much,” Stark said without opening his eyes. “God, this is humiliating.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, coming to take the bowl away so he could rinse it out. “You’re sick. Can’t do anything about it.”

Stark didn’t look at him, but he did let Bucky take the bowl. Bucky rinsed it out and set it nearby. He checked the bag of saline on the IV stand; it was nearly depleted. He should probably hook up a new one, but he thought he might try to move Stark up to the penthouse, so he didn’t. Instead he got a clean dish towel and ran it under the tap.

He thought he remembered this, too: Steve, sick in the summer, running a fever when the air was hot and sticky; Bucky, trying to cool him down with wet cloths while he protested. Steve had hated being sick, hated the weakness of his body.

Bucky wasn’t sure, but he thought he remembered not hating it. He thought he remembered liking that he got to touch Steve, even sleep with him sometimes, when he was sick. Intimacy, he thought. He’d liked the intimacy of caregiving, especially when he’d had to be so careful the rest of the time not to let on how he felt about Steve. And he’d probably felt guilty about liking it, though he didn’t remember that part.

“Barnes?” Stark said, tentatively.

He’d been standing at the sink with the water running for God knew how long. He turned the tap off and twisted the towel out.

Stark was all twisted up on the sofa like he’d just flopped over and run out of energy for anything else. Bucky lifted his feet onto the sofa, straightening him out, and then crouched down beside him. He wiped Stark’s face, pressed the towel to his pulse points. “JARVIS?”

“103.2, Sergeant.”

Heading in the right direction, anyway. Bucky folded the towel up and draped it over Stark’s forehead. “Steve texted,” he said. “Said they’re heading into a communications blackout, but he’s looking forward to talking when he gets home. And he hopes you’re feeling better. I told him he was a punk,” Bucky added, thinking Stark might appreciate that little detail.

Stark smiled. “He is.”

“Yep.”

Stark kept looking at him. “Call me Tony,” he finally said. “Not Stark. Every time you do that I think my dad’s around here somewhere, and I’m gonna blame the fever, but it’s seriously fucking with me.”

Bucky nodded. “Then you call me Bucky.”

“Deal,” Stark—Tony—said.

“You want to move to your bedroom?” Bucky asked.

Tony sighed. “Yeah. Okay.”

He insisted he didn’t need to be carried, however much easier that would’ve been. He did let Bucky basically hold him up on the slow shuffle to the elevator. He leaned against the wall for the ride up and nearly fell over when he went to try and walk out. Bucky did pick him up then, and Tony didn’t even protest.

The bed was rumpled, the blankets all tangled up. The sheets were stiff when Bucky touched them, like they’d dried after being sweat through.

“Um,” Tony said, when Bucky laid him down on the sofa in the corner. “What’re you...”

“Changing the sheets,” Bucky said, stripping the blankets off the bed. “Steve always liked a fresh bed when he was sick. ‘Course doing the laundry back then was a pain in the ass, not like now.” He got linens from the closet and dumped them on the mattress. Tony was staring at him from the sofa.

“Sheet in or out?” Bucky asked.

There was a beat of silence. “Out,” Tony said.

Bucky nodded and left the top sheet untucked. He spread the comforter out on top of it, and then added one more blanket for good measure. Then he stripped the pillowcases off and changed them all out for new ones.

“There you go,” Bucky said. “You want fresh pajamas to go with the fresh bedding? You could even rinse off in the shower.”

Tony sighed. “Being clean sounds nice but also like a lot of work.” He closed his eyes. “Let’s just do new pajamas for now. I can shower later.”

“Sure,” Bucky said. Tony clearly wanted to argue when Bucky actually helped him change, but he didn’t. Progress, Bucky thought.

Tony sighed with relief when Bucky finally got him into the bed. He barely twitched when Bucky reconnected the IV line. Bucky set the trashcan close to the bed, since it’d be hard for Tony to get into the bathroom while tethered to the stand.

It was only when he had a moment to pause that Bucky realized he hadn’t been thinking much at all while he was doing it, just going through the motions. And while he’d certainly been remembering, he hadn’t felt crushed beneath the weight of an onslaught of memories. He’d been able to keep moving.

Tony was asleep, it looked like. Bucky made himself move from where he’d been standing by the bed, picking up the discarded bedding and taking it down the hallway to dump into the washing machine. “JARVIS?” he said. “That was... that was all right, wasn’t it?”

“That was definitely all right, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS said. “That was very well done. I am not sure you appreciate how difficult it is to get Mr. Stark to do what is in his own best interests. You’ve been extraordinarily successful.”

“Yeah, well, it helps that I apparently have a whole bank of memories about what it was like taking care of Steve before he got the ironclad immune system, and he was at least as stubborn as Tony is.” Bucky paused. “Wait, is there even a washing machine in the penthouse?”

“I’m afraid not, Sergeant Barnes. But there is a laundry shoot in the cabinet to your right. If you send the linens down, they will washed along with all the other linens for the tower.”

That made sense. Just as it made sense that Steve wouldn’t be comfortable with other people doing his laundry and would insist on having a washer and dryer in his apartment. Bucky wondered how much of an argument that had been, between Tony, the unstoppable force, and Steve, the immovable object. He almost wished he’d been there.

“JARVIS,” Bucky said, once all the laundry had disappeared, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” JARVIS said. “I cannot guarantee my ability to answer.”

Bucky nodded. “Steve and Tony,” he said, and then stopped.

“Ah,” JARVIS said.

And there was the answer to the question Bucky hadn’t asked.

“When did it end?” Bucky asked.

“It hasn’t, technically,” JARVIS said. “If you want more information, I suggest you speak to Mr. Stark or Captain Rogers about it.”

Bucky frowned. Steve hadn’t said anything about it, which meant he didn’t want Bucky to know, but Bucky could piece things together. He’d seen the two of them together for less than five minutes up in the Quinjet hangar, but Tony had had jilted lover written all over him. And Steve had looked guilt-stricken.

He wasn’t sure Tony would tell him anything, but it would be worth asking. Maybe Bucky was wrong. Maybe Steve hadn’t been that much of a dumbass.

But he knew Steve Rogers, and he suspected that Steve had been exactly that much of a dumbass.

Chapter Text

Tony woke slowly to the sound of pages turning. He kept his eyes closed at first, hoping he might fall back to sleep. His whole body ached, especially his core, and he felt weighed down by a bone-deep weariness. He hadn’t felt this bad since the palladium poisoning.

Unfortunately, he had to pee. He supposed that was a good thing; it meant he was reasonably well hydrated. But he really resented having to get up.

Bucky was reading on the sofa. He’d swapped out the black tac suit for pajama pants and a Hulk shirt. He looked relaxed, but something in his posture made Tony think he already knew he was awake. “Hey,” Tony said quietly.

“Hey,” Bucky said, setting his book––an actual book, of course, because he probably shared Steve’s irrational annoyance with e-readers––aside. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been run over,” Tony admitted. “What time is it?”

“About four in the morning. Steve and the others have been gone for just about sixteen hours.”

“Have you slept at all?” Tony asked. He was a little unnerved by the idea that Bucky might’ve been awake and watching over him the entire time.

“A little. I don’t sleep much.” Bucky sat up, bringing his feet down off the sofa. “What do you need? You should drink something.”

“I, ah. I need to pee.” Tony looked away, embarrassed by his own weakness, but Bucky didn’t seem fazed at all. He helped Tony to his feet and supported him as he shuffled into the bathroom. He sat him down on the toilet because there was no way Tony could stand up to pee, then closed the door most of the way and waited outside.

Tony wondered how many times Bucky had done this for Steve, once upon a time. He got the impression that most of what Bucky was doing for him, he’d done for Steve at one time or another. And wasn’t that a mind-fuck. It made Tony wonder just how much of what Steve had done for him was stuff he’d once done for Bucky.

“You want to shower while we’re in here?” Bucky asked through the door.

Tony wanted to curl up and go back to sleep, but he supposed he should. “Yeah, okay.”

Bucky had the water running by the time Tony came out. Tony shed his clothes, and Bucky prodded him into sitting on the bench in the shower. Tony had had it installed because Pepper had complained about giant showers with no good place to rest her foot while she shaved her legs. He and Steve had mostly used it for shower sex. Now Bucky pushed him down to sit on it while he helped Tony rinse off two days of dried fever-sweat.

It felt good, Tony had to admit. Bucky wasn’t overly personal in how he touched him, but he was gentle and... kind, Tony supposed was the word. If asked before this, he would not have placed Bucky Barnes in his top one hundred for either “People I Want to See Me Naked” or “People I Want to Hold My Hair Back,” but it wasn’t nearly as awful as Tony had expected it to be.

“How’s your stomach?” Bucky asked as he aimed the spray at Tony’s hair.

“Okay for now,” Tony said, tipping his head back and closing his eyes against the spray. “I’m just achy. And tired.”

“You should drink something before you go back to sleep. I took your IV line out because JARVIS thought we were out of the woods, but that means we have to make sure you get enough to drink.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Tea sounds okay. Just don’t make me eat anything.”

Bucky frowned at him. “I’m gonna put honey in the tea.”

“I can probably handle that,” Tony conceded.

Bucky brought Tony a set of clean pajamas while he was toweling himself off. Then it was another slow shuffle back to the bed. He crawled back under the covers; Bucky pulled the blankets over him and smoothed them out. Tony managed to keep himself sitting up, propped against a small mountain of pillows against the headboard, while Bucky went to make tea.

“J, what’s my temperature?” Tony asked.

“102.8, sir. That is half a degree higher than it was an hour ago, but fluctuation is not unexpected.”

Tony made a face. He still probably couldn’t really claim to be on the mend. “This sucks.”

“Indeed, sir. But Sergeant Barnes is doing, by my assessment, an admirable job of looking after you.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Not sure I’ve ever heard you say that about anyone before.”

“It is rarely true.”

Tony supposed he had to give him that. Mostly it wasn’t other people’s fault. Mostly Tony did exactly what he’d done this time when he got sick and hid himself away, so that other people didn’t have the chance to step up and take care of him––or fail to. If they didn’t know he was sick, they didn’t have the chance to bail on him. The exception to this rule––as he was to most of Tony’s rules––was Rhodey, but Rhodey was hardly ever in the country these days.

Tony had thought, for a very brief time, that Steve might become an exception, too. Steve positively oozed reliability, and Tony knew he liked to take care of people. But then Steve had bailed on Tony to take care of Bucky, and that was that. Or so Tony had thought.

Their little song and dance on in the Quinjet hangar was pretty blurry, but Tony was pretty sure he remembered Steve saying, Consider it me looking after you, through him. As though looking after Tony was still something Steve wanted to do.

Bucky returned with two mugs of tea. Tony was about to protest that he didn’t think he could drink both, but then he realized that one of them was for Bucky himself. “Thanks,” he murmured, accepting the mug. “You need to change your clothes?” he asked, realizing that Bucky was looking a bit damp around the edges from having helped Tony with his shower.

“Nah, I’m okay,” Bucky said, settling back on the sofa. “I was able to do most of it with the arm, and it dries fast.”

Tony blinked. Somehow he’d almost forgotten about the arm. It wasn’t actually cooler than skin-temp to the touch, which was... interesting. Tony eyed it. In having split so soon after Bucky’s arrival, he’d deprived himself of the chance to study it.

“Yes, you can look at it,” Bucky said, before Tony had the chance to ask. “Later. Consider it incentive for getting better.”

“I don’t need incentive for that,” Tony said. “This is not my idea of a good time.” Though it was less terrible than doing it on his own, he had to admit.

They were both quiet for a while. Normally, Tony would’ve filled that kind of silence by talking––any kind of talking, about any subject. But he was tired, and his head hurt, and it was taking everything he had just to drink his tea.

“Can I ask you a question?” Bucky finally said.

“Pretty sure you just did,” Tony said, because he wasn’t so sick that he couldn’t be a low-level dick.

Disappointingly, Bucky didn’t react. “What happened between you and Steve?”

Tony was abruptly a lot more nauseous than he had been. He lowered his mug of tea to his lap and swallowed. “What did he tell you?”

Bucky shrugged. “He said that you were close friends, but you were traveling for work. That he was looking forward to us meeting, and he thought we’d like each other. He said you were brilliant, but that I shouldn’t take anything you say seriously for at least the first month, because you have trouble letting people get close and you run your mouth.”

Tony looked away. “Sounds like he told you a lot, actually.”

“Sure, except for the minor detail that you two were sleeping together. You were, weren’t you?”

It was funny. Tony would have expected Bucky to sound accusatory. But he didn’t. He just sounded... gentle. Like he knew that this was hard for Tony, and he was almost sorry to have to bring it up.

“Yes,” Tony said. No point in lying when Bucky had clearly figured it out. “We were. Are, I guess. We haven’t officially broken up, mostly because I’ve been out of the country.”

Bucky made a thoughtful noise. “And when did this not-break-up happen?”

Tony did look at him then. “The night he brought you back.”

Bucky sighed. “Goddammit, Stevie. You are such a self-sacrificing asshole.”

Tony had to laugh. Then he had to wince, because his stomach muscles still hurt like a bitch. “He said he felt like he couldn’t be with me and be there for you the way you needed. And he didn’t know how long your recovery was going to take.”

“I’m told I’ve been improving much faster than anyone expected,” Bucky said absently. “Doesn’t feel like it, but I guess––I guess my brain is just as resilient as the rest of me. Not that I’m not still fucked in the head, but I think the docs told Steve it was going to take years.” He frowned down into his tea. “But none of that really makes sense. Steve and me––we weren’t ever like that.”

Tony looked away. “Did you ever want to be?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

“Yeah,” Tony said after a few seconds. “I think Steve feels the same way. I think it wasn’t just that he needed all his time and energy for you, it was that in his head, it was being... unfaithful. Though I’m not sure which of us he was being unfaithful to.”

A wave of exhaustion crashed over him. He suddenly couldn’t even hold his head up. He let it tilt back to rest against the headboard.

The mattress dipped. Tony opened his eyes and saw that Bucky was sitting on the bed beside him, hip pressed against his. “C’mon, finish your tea before you sleep,” Bucky said. He held Tony’s mug to his lips. Tony sipped. “There.” Bucky watched him carefully. “Does Steve know how much he hurt you?”

Tony looked away. “Don’t know. Probably wouldn’t matter. You two are... epic. I mean, you’re the sort of romance epics are written about. I can’t compete with that. Don’t want to.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said sadly. “Two more sips, Tony.”

The tea got sweeter at the bottom of the mug. The last sip was mostly honey, and Tony grimaced, feeling his stomach turn at the too-sweet mouthful. For a few unpleasant seconds he thought he might be sick, but he breathed carefully, and his stomach settled.

“Sorry,” Bucky said. “I’ll make sure it’s stirred in better next time.”

“S’okay,” Tony said blearily. “I’m just... really tired. And kind of woozy.”

“Here.” Bucky helped him lie down and pulled the blankets up over him. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Tony closed his eyes. “It’s okay, y’know. The two of you. Steve and I never... we never made sense.”

Tony felt Bucky smooth the hair back from Tony’s forehead. He thought it was the metal hand, but he couldn’t be sure. “I think the two of you make plenty of sense,” Bucky said. “And he was a jerk for doing that to you. He and I are gonna have words.”

Tony smiled weakly, or thought he did. He might’ve been asleep by then.

***

Tony woke hours later feeling chilled to the bone from a nightmare about deep space. He was shivering uncontrollably and felt very, very sick.

“Aw, I was hoping we were past this,” Bucky said. He felt Tony’s forehead and tsked. “You need the basin?”

Tony had just enough wherewithal to be embarrassed. “Yeah. C-cold.”

“I know, doll.” Bucky pushed the basin into Tony’s hands and left. When he came back, he was carrying the comforter off the bed in the guest room. He spread it out over Tony. “Do you think you could keep some ibuprofen down? JARVIS says your fever is climbing, that’s why you’re chilled.”

Tony shook his head, curling tighter around the basin. He thought about throwing up the tea and honey he’d drunk so painstakingly earlier and gritted his teeth. “It’d just come back up.”

“Okay.” Bucky didn’t push it, thank God. Instead he sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed Tony’s back. “Were you having a nightmare? You seemed like maybe you were.”

“Yeah,” Tony admitted. “It was... vivid.” He felt blurred around the edges, exhausted and wrung out. Even now, everything felt a little surreal, brighter than it should have been. Tony didn’t feel like he could be quite sure this was reality. Bucky was the biggest clue that it was, he told himself. Why would he have dreamed up Bucky Barnes to comfort him?

He finally stopped shivering under his layers of blankets, and the nausea abated enough that he let Bucky take the basin away. Normally he’d have resisted falling back to sleep, but he didn’t have much of a choice in his current state.

The thing about nightmares was that once he started, it was awfully hard to stop. Tony supposed that was doubly true under the influence of a high fever and persistent worry about his teammates. The nightmares all sort of melded together into kaleidoscopic review of horror, Afghanistan melting into the wormhole melting into missions gone wrong, dead civilians, dead teammates, dead Steve. He slipped fitfully in and out of them, barely aware that Bucky was there with him each time he woke, reminding him of where and when he was, much like JARVIS usually did.

The next time he surfaced properly, it was with a gasp and a cry from a dream that had somehow been about the wormhole and Afghanistan at the same time. He couldn’t have said how they crossed over, only that he’d been both freezing and drowning. He wondered if that was how Steve remembered the ice and shuddered.

“Hey, Tony, you’re okay,” Bucky said, resting a hand on the side of his face. “It’s just after three o’clock, and you’re in Avengers Tower in New York.”

Tony blinked rapidly, trying to clear the water from his eyes. His face felt damp. “Steve?” he managed.

Bucky shook his head. “No news yet, but we’ve crossed the twenty-four hour mark. Soon, I hope.”

“Soon,” Tony mumbled, feeling wretched. His hand found Bucky’s and gripped it. Bucky laced their fingers together and held on just as hard.

He woke in the evening feeling a little better. His head felt clearer, even if his body still felt like it’d been put through the ringer. He turned his head and saw that Bucky had fallen asleep on the sofa, book open on his chest.

“Stats, J?” he croaked.

“Your fever is 101.9, sir, and your blood pressure is normal.”

Tony sighed. “Thanks.” He tried to roll onto his side and groaned. He felt like he’d been beaten. He could barely move. And he was desperately thirsty.

Bucky stirred on the sofa. “Tony?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Can I have some water?”

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky said, sitting up. “You okay?”

“Sore,” Tony said. “And thirsty. But J says my fever’s down.”

“Good,” Bucky said. “That’s––”

Bucky’s phone went off. Bucky stared at Tony, then lunged for it. “Steve,” he reported to Tony, and answered it. “Stevie?” Tony held his breath and only let it out when Bucky relaxed. “Hi yourself,” he said. “Everything go okay?” He paused, then gave Tony the okay sign. Tony let himself go limp and loose against the bed. “That’s great, Steve. You coming straight home?” Bucky sighed in relief at the answer. “Good. We’re looking forward to seeing you. Speaking of which––you want to talk to Tony?” Tony started to shake his head, but Bucky just ignored him. “Here he is,” he said, and shoved the phone at Tony. “I’ll get you some water,” he said, and got up and walked out.

”Tony? Tony?” Tony could hear Steve saying tinnily through the phone’s speaker. Tony grimaced and put the phone to his ear. “Your... Bucky is an asshole.”

Steve laughed. “Didn’t take you long to figure that out. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got run over and then they backed up over me a couple times for good measure,” Tony grumbled. “But, um. Bucky’s taking good care of me.”

“Good,” Steve said in a low voice, sounding pleased. “Everyone is in one piece on this end. We should be home in about four hours. I already told Maria that I was going to file my report from the tower.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut. “You meant it about talking, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Steve said. “I’ve missed you, Tony. I think I’d been suppressing just how much until I saw you.”

Tony swallowed. “I miss you, too.”

“That seems like a good place to start from,” Steve said.

“Yeah.” Even if Tony had his doubts that it would be enough, it was something.

“We should wait on the rest until I get home,” Steve said. “Feel better, all right?”

“Will do. Bye, Steve.”

“Bye, Tony.”

The call cut out. A few seconds later, Bucky appeared with a tall glass of water in his hand. “Everything okay?”

“You’re a jerk,” Tony said, passing his phone back to him.

“No shit,” Bucky said, handing him the glass. “Steve has a type, apparently.”

Tony blinked at the joke, then smiled kind of ruefully. “I guess so.”

The water tasted good, clean and cold against his abused throat. He still hurt everywhere, but his head felt better. He wasn’t ready to eat anything yet, but he could imagine that he might be, eventually.

“You look better,” Bucky said, apparently agreeing with Tony’s own assessment.

“I’m feeling a little better,” Tony said. He took a long swallow of water. He wasn’t sure anything had ever tasted better, not even that cheeseburger after Afghanistan. “Steve said they’d be back in about four hours.”

Bucky nodded. He was quiet, sitting on the end of the bed. Tony drained the glass, and Bucky took it to refill it. He brought back not only the glass but a pitcher with ice cubes floating in it.

“Don’t drink too fast,” Bucky said, handing him the glass.

Tony made a face, but he knew Bucky was right. His stomach still felt delicate, and drinking too much all at once probably wouldn’t go well for him.

He was nursing his second glass when Bucky spoke. “You don’t have to worry about me and Steve. We were never like that—and we never expected to be. We both liked women well enough. And it was so hard, back then.”

“It’s different now, though,” Tony said. “You could. Some assholes would pitch a fit about Captain America being gay, but they can go fuck themselves. We’d hire you the best PR pros available to tell them so on your behalf.”

Bucky smiled. “I appreciate that. But I saw the way Steve looked at you.”

“Have you seen the way he looks at you?” Tony returned. “Seriously, Bucky, he couldn’t think about anything else while he was trying to bring you in. I think me trying to get in the way of that is gonna lead to nothing but misery for everyone.”

“Whereas taking yourself out will just make you miserable.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s acceptable to you?”

Tony didn’t know what Bucky wanted from him, and he was too worn out to try and guess. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Tony sighed. “Because I love Steve. And because I’m used to not getting what I want when it isn’t something I can outright buy.”

“Yeah, that’s crap,” Bucky declared. “No, it is. Christ, you’re both self-sacrificing assholes, God help me. Because I know Steve, and I know me. We were gonna love each other our whole lives while loving other people, too. If we’d survived the war, Steve would’ve married Peggy Carter, but he would’ve kept on loving me, too.”

Tony shook his head. “I don’t...”

“Steve would’ve loved me,” Bucky repeated, looking at him. “And I would’ve loved him. And we would’ve never touched each other. But now... it doesn’t have to be that way.”

“I know,” Tony said wearily. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“No, doll. You’re not listening.”

Tony blinked. “What did you call me?”

Bucky ignored him. “Steve loved Peggy. If he could’ve had me, he probably would’ve loved her anyway. I don’t know what we would’ve done then. But now... I’m not totally caught up on this century yet, but there doesn’t seem to be much you’re not allowed to do anymore.”

Tony swallowed, his mouth dry despite all the water he’d drunk. He didn’t quite dare to hope Bucky was suggesting what he thought he was. He was still feverish; he didn’t think he was delirious, but he supposed he wouldn’t, even if he was. “Bucky, are you... are you talking about polyamory?”

“Well, I didn’t know there was a word,” Bucky said. “Didn’t used to need a word for it, but I guess we also didn’t talk about it much. Stevie and me never did, or if we did I don’t remember it. We just knew.”

“Naming things is important,” Tony said, distantly. “Makes them real, helps you set parameters.” He rubbed his head. It was all too much to think about. It would’ve been a lot when he was at his best, and he was a long way off of that. “I’m too tired for this. Too... cloudy.”

Bucky looked repentant. “Sorry. You should lie back, get some sleep before Steve gets home.”

Tony drained the last of his water and set the glass on his nightstand. He was quiet while Bucky helped him lie down and get comfortable. At the last moment, just as Bucky turned to leave, Tony reached out and caught him by the sleeve. “I’m interested. I don’t know what Steve’s going to think, but I—I’m open to it.”

It felt like leaping off a cliff and hoping that Bucky Barnes, a man he barely knew, who was three months out from being a brainwashed Hydra assassin, would catch him. But after the last couple of days, Tony almost believed he would. Believed it enough to jump.

Bucky nodded. He touched Tony on the cheek with his flesh hand, just a brief caress. “Get some rest. I’ll be nearby.”

Chapter Text

Tony was deeply asleep when JARVIS let Bucky know that the Quinjet had landed. Bucky thought about waking him, but he needed the uninterrupted rest, and it was probably better for Bucky to get to Steve first. Feed him up, lay the groundwork, get him over the initial shock of the idea.

He’d spent the last four hours reading everything JARVIS sent him about polyamory. Jesus, the future was incredible. It seemed it wasn’t exactly socially sanctioned but it was common enough for there to be a ton of websites and forums devoted to ethical non-monogamy. There were lots of ways to do it, apparently. Some people had sex with a lot of people, some only with exclusive partners. Not everyone in a relationship had to sleep with each other. He thought that would be easiest at first; he and Tony both loved Steve. He was the lynchpin, the center, the star around which they both orbited.

What he didn’t know was whether that would continue to be the case. Tony hadn’t been at his best the last couple of days, but Bucky still liked what he’d seen. He just had no idea how they’d all fit together. Maybe they wouldn’t.

But he thought it was worth trying. Because unlike those two idiots, he was not a self-sacrificing asshole. He’d had more unhappiness in his life than anyone should, and while it was tempting to think that he didn’t deserve to be happy because of all the terrible things Hydra had used him for, he knew his therapist would disapprove of that thought. And it wasn’t right to create more unhappiness for others, either.

He went up to the Quinjet hangar to meet everyone. They tumbled off the jet in various states of exhaustion and disarray. No one was hurt, aside from Romanoff’s sprained wrist and a lot of bruises. But none of them had slept or showered or eaten anything hot yet.

Steve didn’t look like he was any better off than anyone else, but of course he had to make sure his people were okay before he’d take care of himself. Or let Bucky take care of him.

“Tony doing better?” Natasha asked, catching up with Bucky on her way out.

“Yeah. Still not great, but better.”

“Good.” She glanced back at Steve, who was speaking with Sam. “Think you can get him and Cap to stop making each other miserable?”

Bucky nodded. “I have a plan.”

“A cunning plan?”

Bucky grinned. “Not by your standards.”

She laughed. “Make Cap get some rest, all right? And ten thousand calories, minimum.”

That was going to be interesting, given that Tony still hadn’t eaten anything. But Bucky would manage. He nodded, and Nat headed out, Sam close on her heels.

Steve turned to look at him. “Hey Buck,” he said tiredly.

“Hey.” Bucky accepted the hug Steve gave him, though it went on about five seconds longer than he thought strictly necessary. “How are you?”

“Tired, hungry, sore, and in need of a shower. I feel like I’ve been gone at least a week. You and Tony did okay?”

“We did okay,” Bucky confirmed, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist and starting to steer him toward the elevators. “He’s still pretty under the weather, but he’s better than he was. And I think we found some common ground.”

Steve faltered minutely. “Oh?”

“Yep. You’re an idiot, did you know that?”

Steve didn’t even bother to pretend he didn’t know what Bucky was referring to. He was silent as they got in the elevator and JARVIS whisked them up to the penthouse. “How angry is he?”

“He’s not. He should be, but he’s not. I’m pretty pissed at you, though.”

Steve raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Buck. I can’t really explain it. I just––I couldn’t do it any other way at the time. I tried to explain to him that we weren’t breaking up, but I didn’t know how long it would be––and then he just left. I knew then that I’d fucked up somewhere along the line, but you needed me, and Tony didn’t, really.”

“He does, though,” Bucky said quietly. “You get that, right?”

Steve nodded, silently. The elevator came to stop and the doors opened. Bucky gestured Steve out. He went and poked his head into Tony’s room. He was still sleeping soundly, curled up in the center of the bed. Bucky shut the door.

“You can use the guest bathroom,” he told Steve. “So you don’t wake Tony up. JARVIS, are there towels in there?”

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes. Welcome home, Captain Rogers.”

“Thanks, JARVIS,” Steve said. “Buck...”

“I’m going to make us some food,” Bucky said, “and you’re going to get clean and change your clothes. And then we’re gonna talk.”

“That’s ominous,” Steve said, watching him. “Just how mad are you?”

Bucky shook his head, eyeing Steve with a certain amount of helplessly fond exasperation. “You’ve been a self-sacrificing punk since 1919, I don’t know why I thought anything would’ve changed.”

Steve’s face crumpled. Bucky gave in and hugged him. Steve buried his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck briefly. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

“I know,” Bucky said quietly, and swept a hand down Steve’s back. “I know, doll. Go get clean.”

Steve went off to the bathroom with a backwards glance at Bucky. Bucky went into the kitchen to take stock of the fridge. “What do you think, JARVIS?” he asked, staring into the refrigerator. “What does Steve like after a mission?”

“Captain Rogers likes breakfast at all times of the day,” JARVIS said. “But with Mr. Stark’s stomach still being somewhat uncertain, I would advise against actually cooking anything.”

Bucky recalled the chicken soup debacle and grimaced in agreement. “Sandwiches?”

“There are also the ingredients for fruit salad,” JARVIS said. “And I would recommend Gatorade to replace lost electrolytes.”

Bucky got to work slicing, dicing, and chopping. By the time Steve emerged from the shower wearing sweats and a threadbare MIT sweatshirt that was big on Steve and had to positively dwarf its original owner, he’d assembled four enormous turkey sandwiches and a fruit salad without bananas, which tasted like shit now, or melon, which Steve didn’t like. Bucky took one of the sandwiches and a smaller helping of fruit salad for himself, since he hadn’t eaten since lunch, and left the rest for Steve.

“Sorry it’s not hot,” Bucky said. “Tony was really sensitive to food smells earlier.”

“It looks great, Bucky, thanks,” Steve said, and fell on the food like he was starving.

Bucky kept his trap shut for a bit after that. Steve inhaled two of the sandwiches and most of the fruit salad, as well as one of the Gatorades. By the time he started in on the third, his color was much better, and his eyes looked brighter. Bucky nudged the second Gatorade in his direction, and then retrieved the tablet he’d been reading on earlier from the sofa.

“So,” he said, “I’m going to show you something, and I want you to read it, and I want you to not comment until you’re done.”

It was possible Bucky had deliberately waited until Steve had a mouthful of turkey, tomatoes, and cheese. Steve couldn’t do much except make an inquiring noise. Bucky made sure the page with the most helpful and least overwhelming information on polyamory was queued up and handed it to him.

Steve’s eyes widened. He swallowed a little too quickly and had to clear his throat with some Gatorade. “Polyamory?” he said slowly, as though sounding out the word.

“No comments until you’re done,” Bucky reminded him, and wandered off to clean up the kitchen.

Steve took his time reading it. Bucky glanced over after a few minutes and saw that he was deeply absorbed. Possibly reading it more than once, or reading some of the other pages Bucky had left up. Bucky wiped the counters down and kept one ear turned toward Tony’s room.

Finally he heard Steve sit back and let out a long breath. “This is really something people do?”

“So it seems,” Bucky said.

“And they... talk about it?”

Bucky snorted. He pulled up a chair at the kitchen island beside Steve and leaned on his elbows. “It’s the twenty-first century, Stevie. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but these people talk about everything.”

Steve gave a rueful laugh. “True. I just... it never occurred to me that it was... an option.” He glanced at Bucky. “You’d be okay with it?”

Bucky leaned in and bumped Steve’s shoulder with his own. “Things had gone differently, you’d have married Carter. Would that mean you’d’ve loved me less?”

“No, Bucky, of course not,” Steve said, looking faintly appalled. “I would’ve...” He paused, swallowing. “I would’ve loved both of you. I did love both of you.”

Bucky nodded. “This isn’t any different to me. Except that now, you and I get to have what we couldn’t before. If that’s what we want.”

Steve nodded. His eyes, when they met Bucky’s, were a little wet. “It is. It’s... I didn’t want to break Tony’s heart, so I tried not to think about it. But trying not to think about something is actually kind of impossible, it turns out. Especially when you were right there, and you were... you. You were so much more you than I’d ever hoped for.”

Bucky couldn’t look away from Steve’s eyes. There was a tear clinging to his lashes. “You don’t have to break anyone’s heart.”

“I’m starting to realize that,” Steve said, and kissed him.

For all that they had loved each other, they had never kissed before. Steve’s hand came up to cup Bucky’s cheek, steadying him. Bucky held onto Steve’s hip with his metal hand and buried his flesh hand in Steve’s hair. They fit together perfectly, and Bucky could feel a long-forgotten heat stirring in him, even at the exchange of soft, almost chaste kisses. Then Steve’s tongue swiped at his bottom lip and Bucky gasped, opening his mouth and letting him in.

Steve pulled away and rested his forehead against Bucky’s. “I always wondered. What that would be like.”

“It was nice, wasn’t it?”

Steve nodded minutely. “I still can’t quite believe we get to have this. Can’t believe the world has changed so much, or that we both survived long enough to get here.”

“Me neither,” Bucky said. He nuzzled into Steve’s neck, breathing him in. He smelled like modern deodorant and shampoo and clean skin. He pressed a kiss just below Steve’s ear. Steve shivered and his eyes fluttered shut. Bucky kissed him again. Steve deepened it almost immediately this time, tightening his hold on Bucky. There was something determined and defiant in the gesture, as though he was daring the world to try and take Bucky from him again.

The bedroom door opened. Steve started to jerk away, but Bucky held onto him firmly. There was nothing to be guilty about here.

“Hey,” Tony said, sounding like ten miles of bad road. He leaned in the doorway, almost casually, except that he let his head rest there, too, like he was too tired to hold it up. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t.” Steve pulled away, and this time Bucky let him go. He pulled Tony into his arms, wrapping him up. Tony stood stiffly at first, but Bucky was watching for it, and he saw the moment that Tony gave it up, melting into Steve’s embrace, pressing his forehead to Steve’s shoulder. Steve swept a hand down the back of Tony’s head and rested his hand on the back of Tony’s neck.

“Welcome back,” Tony said, muffled.

Steve pressed his cheek to the top of Tony’s head. “Good to be back. How’re you feeling? You still feel warm to me.”

Tony turned his face. “J?”

“Mr. Stark’s temperature is hovering at 101.5 degrees and has been for the last few hours.”

“Still too high,” Steve said with a frown.

“I would suggest ibuprofen,” JARVIS said, “though not on an empty stomach if at all possible.”

Bucky rested a hand on Tony’s shoulder, rubbing lightly. “Think you can eat something?”

“Maybe,” Tony said dubiously.

Bucky caught Steve’s eye and nodded toward the living room. “Go lie down with him, I’ll fix him something to eat.”

Normally Bucky thought Tony would’ve objected to being talked about in the third person while he was standing right there, but it seemed he was groggy enough not to care. He let Steve herd him over to the sofa, while Bucky went into the kitchen. “Toast, J?” he asked quietly.

“Yes. And Gatorade, if you can. The yellow flavor.”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s half-empty bottle and a full one of the “yellow flavor” (ugh, food in this century was not all better than it had been before the war). Steve had settled on the chaise part of the sofa with Tony cradled between his legs, curled up on his chest. It made Bucky feel all kinds of gooey to see them like that, but he managed to control his face as he handed Steve the two bottles, and then fetched a throw from the back of the other sofa for Steve to tuck over Tony. With any luck, once they got food and painkillers into Tony, they would both sleep for a few hours, maybe even until morning.

He made one piece of toast for Tony, and added some applesauce in a little dish on the side at JARVIS’s recommendation.

Tony looked at the food with grim determination. He sat up, still leaning against Steve, and bit into a piece of toast. He chewed it carefully and swallowed it. Then he sat very still, as though seeing what his body was going to do with it. But it must have passed muster, because after a few seconds, he took another bite. He got through half the toast and maybe three-quarters of the applesauce that way, slowly but surely, before he leaned forward to put the plate on the coffee table.

“You doing okay?” Bucky asked him as he settled back against Steve.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Ibuprofen?”

Bucky gave him two. He washed them down with the Gatorade.

Silence reigned for a few seconds. “I suppose we should talk,” Tony said, reluctantly.

“Actually, I think Steve needs to sleep,” Bucky said, glancing at him. He’d nearly nodded off while Tony was eating. He roused now at hearing his name, but he still looked completely worn out. “And you should probably sleep, too, give the medication time to do its job.”

Tony nodded, but he made no move to get up. He looked pretty comfortable where he was, and Bucky could appreciate being unwilling to give up his super soldier body pillow. But Steve wasn’t going to be comfortable on the sofa all night, even if he might have put up with it for Tony’s sake.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Come on, both of you, up. Steve needs to sleep in a real bed, and so do you, Tony.”

Tony flinched. It was a blink-and-you-miss-it movement, but it was definitely there. Bucky frowned, but Tony was already sliding to the edge of the sofa, outside of the cage formed by Steve’s limbs, to try and get up. “Right,” Tony muttered, not looking at either of them. “Yeah. Of course. Sorry.”

He stood up too fast and swayed dangerously. Bucky steadied him, but instead of leaning into him, the way Bucky expected, Tony pulled away as soon as he was stable on his feet. “Thanks,” he mumbled, still refusing to meet Bucky’s eyes. “I’m okay.”

He was not okay. Bucky couldn’t figure out what was going on; less than a minute ago he’d been cozy and comfortable on Steve’s chest, and now he was clearly distressed about something. It wasn’t until he realized that Tony was shuffling toward the bedroom as fast as his flu-ridden body would allow that he clued into what was going on.

Bucky glared at Steve.

What? Steve mouthed, looking as baffled as Bucky had felt.

Bucky jerked his head toward Tony, somehow trying to convey what he’d realized: that Tony thought he was going to be left on his own, while the two of them went off together.

Steve shook his head, apparently not getting it.

For fuck’s sake. How these two had managed to ever get it together enough to get together without him, Bucky didn’t know. “Hey, Tony,” he said, “you mind if Steve bunks with you?”

Tony stopped shuffling toward the bedroom and turned. “Um.” He looked from Bucky to Steve and back again. “I don’t... do you want to stay with me?” he asked Steve, looking like he was bracing for impact.

“I do,” Steve said, finally catching on. He stood up. “I do want that. If you’ll have me, and I understand if you won’t.”

“No, I...” Tony swallowed. “I want that, too. I just thought... the two of you, you should have some time together.”

“We will,” Steve said gently. He crossed to stand in front of Tony, and reached out to take his hand. “But I’ve barely seen you in three months. I’d like to catch up.”

“Oh,” Tony said, sounding lost. “Yeah, I’d like that, too.”

“Great,” Bucky said briskly, before either of them could find new and exciting ways to be an idiot, “come on, then.”

Bucky left it to Steve to wrangle Tony into getting ready for bed properly, including brushing his teeth and changing into fresh pajamas. He stripped the bed of fever-stained sheets again and replaced them with new ones. He was plumping the last pillow when Steve and Tony came out of the bathroom. Tony crawled into bed immediately with a happy sigh.

Steve kissed Bucky. “You were always such a mother hen,” he said fondly.

“Only because you never took care of yourself,” Bucky grumbled. He didn’t have to have all his memories back to know that was true. “I see it hasn’t changed. The two of you are going to be a full time job.”

“Excuse you, I’m a full time job all on my own,” Tony said sleepily. “Just ask JARVIS.”

“It’s true, Sergeant Barnes. I welcome the assistance.”

Bucky shook his head. “Good night, you two. If you need anything, just have JARVIS pass me a message.”

“You’re not coming back?” Steve asked, sounding bereft.

“Not tonight, doll. I need you two to sort your shit out. And you can’t do that with me here.”

Steve didn’t look especially happy, but he nodded. Bucky waited until Steve had gotten situated in bed, then leaned down to brush his lips across Steve’s forehead, just as he’d seen Steve do to Tony before he’d left on the mission.

“Don’t I get one, too?” Tony asked, sounding half asleep already.

Bucky had to kneel on the bed and lean across Steve, but he managed to kiss Tony’s forehead. Tony gave him a long, slow blink, not unlike a cat. “Good night,” Bucky told them, and left.

He waited until he was in the elevator before sagging against the wall. For all that he’d nagged Steve and Tony about needing to sleep, he hadn’t had much rest himself the last few days. He’d slept for ten or twelve hours at a stretch the first couple of months he’d been at the tower. He’d been sleeping less recently, now that his brain was starting to recover, but a few hours here and there on the sofa in Tony’s room weren’t enough, apparently.

“Sergeant Barnes, I suggest you take your own advice and get some sleep.”

“Yeah, J, I think that’s a good idea.” He drew a deep breath. “So how crazy do you think it is, what I proposed?”

“I’m afraid the ability to judge the ‘craziness’ of a plan is outside the parameters of my programming. However, it appears to be a reasonable solution to a vexing problem. I can foresee possible challenges, but they are neither inevitable or insurmountable.” JARVIS paused. “I judge it a good idea, Sergeant Barnes. But where human emotion is involved, my ability to predict the future tends to break down.”

Bucky nodded. The elevator came to a stop on Steve’s floor, and the doors opened. “Thanks, JARVIS. You’ve been on my six these last couple days. I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure, Sergeant.”

“You’ll let me know if Steve and Tony need me?”

“Indeed I will. Rest well.”

Chapter Text

Tony was aware first of being warm. Safe, the back of his brain told him. Protected. He sank into the feeling, not quite up to questioning it. But the next thing he was aware of was that he was wet.

He blinked his eyes open. Steve was wrapped around him, he realized, like a clingy super soldier octopus, which was why he felt warm. But his pajamas were soaked through with sweat. “J?” he mumbled.

“Your fever broke about half an hour ago, sir,” JARVIS replied quietly.

“Oh,” Tony said, relaxing. That was good. Kind of uncomfortable at the moment, but good. His head was pounding, and he was still achy and tired, but everything else was much better. He should probably get up and rinse off in the shower, but it could wait for just a couple more minutes.

Or would have, if the super soldier wrapped around him hadn’t woken up just then. “T’ny?” Steve mumbled.

“I’m okay,” Tony murmured, “go back to sleep.”

But it was hopeless. Steve was a terrible morning person, and once he was awake, he was awake.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked, lifting his head.

“Yeah, just sweaty and gross from my fever breaking,” Tony said, giving up on the idea of lying there in lassitude for a while longer. “Back in a sec.” He threw back the covers and went into the bathroom.

The shower felt good, and for the first time in four days he didn’t feel woozy and unsteady on his feet. He emerged in a cloud of steam to find Steve at the double vanity, brushing his teeth. “JARVIS said Bucky’s still asleep,” Steve mumbled around his toothbrush.

Tony glanced at his watch. “After ten hours?”

Steve spat in the sink. “He’s been sleeping a lot. Dr. Cho says it’s good for the synapses.”

Tony groaned. “That liar. He told me he didn’t need much sleep. And he says we’re self-sacrificing idiots?”

“Well,” Steve said with a small, sheepish smile in Tony’s direction, “we might be. But that doesn’t mean that he isn’t too, sometimes.” He splashed some water on his face and dried it with a towel. “You hungry?”

“Yes,” Tony realized with surprise. “And, ugh, caffeine-deprived.” There was a familiar fogginess about the headache throbbing in his temples. But even though his brain wanted coffee, his stomach clearly thought that was a terrible idea. “Tea, maybe?” he hazarded.

“Sure,” Steve said. “Tea and toast, coming up.” He brushed his lips across Tony’s temple as he left.

Tony decided to brush his teeth. If Steve was going to be all minty fresh, he supposed he should be, too. And it was nice to feel like a person again, instead of the puddle of misery he’d been the last few days.

He put on sweats instead of pajamas this time, including a Captain America t-shirt, and climbed back into bed. He stretched out, feeling the protest of his abdominal muscles less acutely. But even taking a shower and brushing his teeth was enough to take it out of him. He and Steve had to “sort their shit out,” to use Bucky’s phrasing, but there was definitely going to be a nap in Tony’s near future.

“Anything I should know about, J?” he asked around a yawn. “Wait, what day is it?”

“Saturday, sir. You’ve been ill since Wednesday. Ms. Potts would like you to call her, but she says it can wait until Monday.”

“Thanks, J. Remind me to do that Monday morning. And Bucky’s doing okay?”

“Sergeant Barnes is still sleeping soundly.”

“Good. Let me know if that changes.”

Steve pushed the door in, a tray in his hands. It had an actual teapot on it—had he owned a teapot?—along with two plates of toast and a giant smoothie. He poured Tony a cup of tea, added honey from a little jar, and handed it to him. Normally Tony took milk, too, but Steve didn’t offer it and Tony didn’t ask for it. His stomach was still too iffy for dairy.

Steve sat on the bed with his back against the footboard, his legs stretched out alongside Tony’s, touching through the layers of blankets. He balanced the tray on their legs so they could both reach it.

Tony took a couple sips of tea, clearing his head and his throat, and reached for a slice of toast.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. Tony jerked his head up and looked at him. “I hurt you. That wasn’t my intention, but I did it.”

Tony stared down at the buttered toast in his hand. “Thanks.”

Steve took a sip of his smoothie. Tony forced himself to eat a bite of toast and wondered if maybe it would’ve been better to have Bucky there after all. It wasn’t fair to make him their go-between, but Tony wasn’t sure they wouldn’t all be better off if he was.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t care you were sick?” Steve asked.

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know. JARVIS tried to get me to call you. I knew you’d probably come if I did. But all I could imagine in the moment was how it’d feel if you didn’t.” His voice cracked on the final word and he had take a sip of tea. “It was easier not to shove my hand in Schrödinger’s box and find out if I got bit or not.”

Steve nodded, looking down. “I really didn’t—I didn’t think of it as breaking up. I just needed time to—to get Bucky back on his feet.”

Tony sighed. “That’s what you said. Maybe that’s even what you thought. But that wasn’t really it. That night, you said that you couldn’t be with me, too.”

Steve blinked. “I did?”

“You did. Want me to play the recording?”

Steve shook his head. “I believe you. I just... really?”

Tony nodded. “Also...” He hesitated. In general, he wasn’t that mad at Steve––not as mad as Bucky was, to be sure––but there was something that upset him in retrospect. “You didn’t ask me anything. It wasn’t like we were making a decision together. You just declared it. And that—that did feel like a break-up. No, actually,” he corrected himself, “it felt like being dumped.”

Steve flinched. “Yeah. I understand that, I think. I wasn’t—I wasn’t right that night. Seeing Bucky like that, hearing what Helen was saying—the prognosis was so bad, Tony.” He passed a hand over his face. “All I could think was that I had to give him everything I could. I missed the catch, I let him fall, I let Hydra have him. I know, I know,” he added, when Tony glared at him. “I know that’s mostly bullshit. But that night––you didn’t see him.”

“No, I didn’t,” Tony agreed quietly. And that was something he regretted. “I should have.” Steve frowned in confusion. “That night, when they brought Bucky in,” Tony clarified. “I hid in my workshop instead of being there for you.”

Steve shook his head. “You had SI deadlines—“

“Like those have ever kept me from being where I wanted to be,” Tony scoffed. “No, I knew I’d lose you, and I thought hiding down there might buy me some time. It didn’t, of course. And I should have been there. Maybe it’d have helped if I was.”

“Maybe,” Steve said, looking as though he’d never considered it. He certainly hadn’t argued when Tony had begged off. He’d just nodded, as though he’d expected as much. He’d been wrecked by the six month search for Bucky––a search that Tony had mostly stayed out of, and Steve hadn’t asked him to join––and then wrecked in a totally different way by bringing him in.

Tony finished the half slice of toast he’d been holding for way too long. He eyed the second half and decided to let the first one sit for a bit first. He went for the mug of tea instead.

“If—if we’re going to do this,” Steve said, after a long silence, “I think it has to be different with us. I thought I was all-in before, but––but I don’t know that I really could be, while I was looking for Bucky.”

Tony nodded.

“But I want to be,” Steve added softly. Tony blinked at him. “It’s okay if you’re not there yet. You can take some time. If you’re... if you’re interested in what Bucky proposed. Or even if you’re not. He and I, we never––”

“I am,” Tony said. “I’m interested in trying, anyway.”

“Oh.” Steve paused, staring at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

Steve hesitated. “Just me, or... or Bucky, too?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Tony admitted. “I know he and I just spent two days together, but I was either asleep or running one hell of a fever for most of it. On the other hand, I did always have a thing for assholes, so I think the odds are probably in our favor.”

Steve snorted out a laugh. “Me too, apparently.”

“Yeah, we agreed that you have a type.” Tony smirked.

“Oh God,” Steve said, raising his eyes heavenward. “What am I getting myself into?”

Tony took a sip of his tea. It was almost gone, and he held it out so Steve could pour him more. “That’s a legit question, actually,” he said, once he settled back. “Do you know what you’re getting into? Is it something you really want?”

“Really want, yes,” Steve said. “Know what I’m getting into, no. I never imagined before today that it was possible. Leave it to Buck... he was always better at imagining the world could be be better than it was. Maybe it was because I never thought I’d live past thirty, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it.” He smiled at Tony, soft and almost without the melancholy Tony was so used to seeing in him. “The two of you. My futurists.”

There was something there, the possessive, maybe, that made Tony feel warm inside. He smiled at Steve, nudging him with his foot beneath the covers. Steve covered Tony’s foot with his hand, rubbing the arch with his thumb. Tony sighed. He cradled his tea against his chest and closed his eyes.

He felt Steve take the mug from him and heard him set on the nightstand. The weight of the tray disappeared off his legs. Then Steve had one arm around him and was easing him down under the covers.

“Hey, you, stay,” Tony mumbled, opened his eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said, and crawled back into bed on the other side. He manhandled Tony so that he was resting mostly on his stomach and pushed his shirt up so he could rub circles over his lower back. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Tony said into a pillow. “Keep doing that. Feels good.” Steve’s hands were warm and soothing against his skin. He was just barely pressing in, not really giving Tony a proper massage, mostly just stroking. Steve planted a kiss on the back of Tony’s neck, and Tony sighed. “Tell me about you and Bucky, before,” he said, after a few moments of quiet. “Before, before.”

Steve didn’t have to ask what he meant. “Before... we lived together. Not for very long. The war started and Buck enlisted, but for a year or so, we lived together in this kind of shitty one bedroom. We’d shared a room before then, ever since my mom died and I moved in with him and his family, so it wasn’t like that was new. But it was different, not having everyone else around.”

He fell silent, and Tony wondered what he was thinking about. His mom, maybe. Or Bucky’s parents, or his sisters. But when he spoke, it wasn’t about any of that. “I was sick all the time. That winter we lived together, I was just... I caught a cold in November, and I couldn’t seem to get well. I remember on Christmas, I had the flu. I was sick as a dog. I couldn’t keep anything down, I was burning up with fever. Bucky’d already had a doctor come ‘round, and he’d done nothing and charged us half of next month’s rent, so I wouldn’t let him call him again.” Steve went quiet again. His feet pressed against Tony’s. “On Christmas Day, I tried to get him to go to his parents’ house for dinner. I knew how much he was looking forward to it. But I couldn’t go, so he refused to leave. Climbed right in bed with me, and told me if I wasn’t going, he wasn’t going.”

Steve pulled Tony’s shirt back down, then ruffled his fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck, before starting to rub at the pressure point there. Tony’s headache suddenly eased. “Looking back,” Steve said after a moment, “I think he was worried I might die on him. I think he was afraid that he’d come home from Christmas dinner and find me...”

“Jesus,” Tony said, now thoroughly awake. Not even a back rub could make him doze through that.

“Sorry,” Steve said sheepishly. “That was supposed to be a sweet story about what a great guy Bucky is.”

Tony rolled over so that he was facing Steve and snuggled closer. “What’d you do? Instead of Christmas dinner?”

“He fed me soup,” Steve said, smiling, “and then he read to me. I think maybe it was The Invisible Man. He loved H.G. Wells. And I was pissed off, because I hated feeling small and weak, and I hated being sick. But I liked... I liked feeling cared for. And I knew that he didn’t think of me as a burden. He didn’t like me being sick, either, but he liked taking care of me. And I think we both liked that we had an excuse to be close.”

His voice faded out at the end. Tony looked at him. Steve’s eyes were closed, but tears were glimmering under his lashes. “I’m just so glad I found him again, Tony,” Steve whispered. “I’m so glad. And I’m so glad I found you, too, and I don’t have to choose...” He drew a hitching breath. “I never dreamed, not in a million years, when I was lying in bed in that shitty apartment, thinking I wouldn’t live past thirty... I could never have imagined this.”

He opened his eyes and looked at Tony. “It kills me that you thought I wouldn’t have come if you’d said you needed me. Wild horses couldn’t have kept me away if I’d known.”

“I know,” Tony whispered.

“Do you?” Steve replied.

Tony bit his lip. “Now I do.”

Steve didn’t look happy, exactly, but the worry eased a little from around his eyes. “That’ll do. And I’ll keep making the point, now I know it needs to be made. Bucky, too, I expect.”

“Not sure I like the sound of that,” Tony said dryly.

“What, the king of overbearing gestures doesn’t like when the tables are turned?” Steve asked, smiling for real this time.

Tony had to return it. It was impossible not to. “You caught me.”

“Yes,” Steve said, and tightened his arms around Tony. “I did. We did,” he corrected himself. “Get used to it, Stark.”

Tony thought he just might.

***

At some point during The Search for Spock––which Tony was appalled to learn Steve hadn’t seen yet––Tony must have fallen asleep. When he woke up, the room was dim and quiet, and there was a pair of super soldiers making out on the other half of his bed.

Not that he was complaining. He’d slept a lot the last few days. This was worth being awake for. He kept his eyes mostly closed, glad he’d fallen asleep facing the right direction, and watched the two of them through his lashes. Bucky was sprawled out on top of Steve, his flesh hand buried in his hair and his metal hand gripping his hip. Steve had one hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, and the other hand pressed into the small of Bucky’s back.

They were obviously making a valiant effort to be quiet, but Tony could almost pinpoint the moment a switch was flipped and they went from trading tender kisses to making out with intent. Probably it was the moment the hand Steve had on Bucky’s back slipped beneath the waistband of his sleep pants. Bucky had been totally silent, but he made a noise then, a sort of surprised moan. Tony had zero trouble imagining what Steve had done to make him make that sound.

Tony was still kind of sick, and his body wasn’t up for anything, but his dick definitely gave a twitch of interest. A half-hearted twitch, but a twitch nonetheless.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Steve whispered suddenly. “Shit, we shouldn’t be doing this in Tony’s bed.”

“Pretty sure he’s not objecting,” Bucky said dryly.

“Because he’s asleep!” Steve hissed.

“No, he’s not,” Bucky said. “He’s been awake and watching us for the last five minutes. Seriously, Stevie, what kind of super soldier are you?”

“What? No, he hasn’t.”

“Yes, he has. Haven’t you, Tony?”

Tony opened his eyes all the way and smiled at Steve, unrepentant. “Busted. The two of you were just so pretty together, I couldn’t resist. Besides,” he yawned, “not like I can do anything else right now.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, nudging at Bucky. Bucky sighed but rolled off Steve. “We shouldn’t have been making out in your bed without your permission.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Steve, what that you know about me––me, specifically––makes you think that would upset me?”

Steve opened his mouth, then shut it. “Still,” he finally said. “It was rude.”

Tony smirked. “It was rude, he says. Was it also rude for me to watch without saying anything, then?”

“Well,” Steve said, blush deepening, “I guess we kind of... asked for that. By doing it here.”

“True enough,” Tony said. “Let’s just call it even.”

Steve frowned, looking like he wanted to argue the logic of that. But he had Bucky plastered up against his back, and Tony slid over so that he was snuggled up against his front, and it seemed even his contrarian nature couldn’t survive that. “Menaces, both of you,” Steve grumbled fondly.

“You love us,” Bucky said cheekily.

“Yes,” Steve said. He reached back and pulled Bucky’s metal arm across his hip so it was pressed against his stomach, sandwiched between his body and Tony’s. “I do.” He brushed a kiss across Tony’s forehead.

“Ugh, Steve, you know feelings make me break out in hives,” Tony grumbled.

“Deal with it, Stark,” Bucky said with a remarkable lack of sympathy. “I say this with the authority of being the least emotionally constipated person in this bed, and that is saying something.”

“I’m trying,” Steve said, a little plaintively.

“I know you are, doll.”

“I’m... not,” Tony admitted. “But I could be.”

Bucky hooked his chin on Steve’s shoulder and looked down at Tony. Tony forced himself to meet Bucky’s eyes. He pushed a lock of hair behind Tony’s ear with his metal hand. “Good enough to be getting on with.”

“Yeah?” Tony said. “We’re really doing this?”

“You want a show of hands in favor?” Bucky asked. “It was my idea, so I’m onboard. Steve’s the filling in this sandwich, so he’s definitely onboard. That leaves you. You said you were interested, but if you’ve changed your mind––”

“I haven’t,” Tony said. He swallowed, looking up at Steve, at Bucky. “I haven’t. I just... I’m not sure you... the two of you don’t need me.” Surely, they would realize that eventually.

“I think you’re wrong about that,” Steve said. “But even if you’re not, that’s not the point.”

“The point is, we want you,” Bucky said. “Do you want us?”

Tony had to take a deep breath. His heart was pounding too hard, and his palms felt clammy. He was flushed all over, even though his fever had broken.

They’d caught him, he reminded himself, thinking of Steve’s little play on words. They’d catch him again, if he let them.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I do.”

Chapter Text

Steve was reading in bed when he heard the door of the apartment open and close. He closed his book, his finger marking his place, and listened. He didn’t hear Bucky taking his shoes off or coming any further into the apartment. Instead he heard a faint thump and a moan. Like someone being pushed against a wall.

Steve grinned to himself.

The date had been Bucky’s idea. All three of them had been spending a lot of time together in the week since Steve had gotten back from his mission, but Bucky and Tony had never had a proper date, and they’d yet to have a proper kiss. So Bucky had decided to take Tony out, without Steve, and see how things went.

It seemed things had gone pretty well.

Steve had never really had any doubt. Over the last week, Steve had found it touching and frustrating by turns to see how differently Tony reacted to Bucky than to him. Maybe it was the way Howard had used Steve as an impossible ideal throughout Tony’s childhood, or maybe it was that he and Tony had gotten off on the wrong foot when they’d first met, but Tony had always been quick to react defensively to Steve. Steve had figured out work-arounds for things like getting Tony to quit working and sleep or eat something, but he could never just tell Tony to do anything without running the risk of it ending in an argument.

Bucky on the other hand... Bucky could just walk up behind Tony, put his arms around him, and say, “Time for a break, doll, wouldn’t you say?” Bucky could just put a mug of soup in Tony’s hand and say, “Heated this up for you. Eat it for me, will you?” Bucky could hand Tony a glass of water and two ibuprofen and say, “That line between your brows makes me think you need this.”

But that was Bucky. Well, Steve reflected, it was mostly Bucky. It was probably a little bit the way they’d gotten to know each other. Tony had needed most of the last week to start feeling like himself again, and Steve had to admit that he was just a little jealous to see how easily he let Bucky take care of him. Tony softened for Bucky. But once Tony softened for Bucky, it was easier for him to let Steve in, too. They worked better with Bucky than they ever had on their own, and that was not something that Steve had expected.

So he wasn’t all that surprised that the date had gone well. But now he hesitated, wondering if he was allowed to greet them––or join in. After a moment or two, he decided that if they’d really wanted privacy, they’d have gone up to the penthouse.

The living room was dim, just the ambient light from the windows coming in. But that was more than enough for Steve to see the two of them, pressed up against the wall by the door. Bucky’s body was mostly covering Tony’s; Steve could pretty much only see Tony’s hands, splayed on Bucky’s back. Bucky had his metal arm braced against the wall, and his flesh hand...

Steve smiled. His flesh hand was cradling the back of Tony’s head, as though Bucky had used it to cushion the impact when he’d pushed Tony against the wall.

Steve leaned against the door jamb and watched Bucky kiss Tony. And kiss him. And kiss him some more. He was pretty sure that Bucky, at least, knew he was there; it was almost impossible to sneak up on him anyway––not that anyone dared try––and Steve suspected that his inate protective instincts combined potently with his ex-assassin paranoia when it came to Tony. He saw the small signs that the kiss was becoming more heated: Tony’s hands went from being splayed to clutching the fabric of Bucky’s shirt, and their stances widened, letting their legs slot together more intimately.

Steve was half-hard in his pajama pants just from watching them. He had never imagined this; literally, it had never occurred to him to imagine it, even after he’d become aware that his feelings for Bucky were more similar to his feelings for Tony than he had ever wanted to realize.

He expected things to heat up from there, but after only a minute or two, Steve could see that the kiss was gentling. He couldn’t tell who was slowing it down, but eventually Bucky broke the kiss and dipped his head to murmur something in Tony’s ear. It was below the level of even Steve’s hearing, but Tony lifted his head and caught Steve’s eye over Bucky’s shoulder, so it was probably Bucky telling him they had an audience.

“Don’t mind me,” Steve said.

Bucky turned and slung an arm around Tony’s shoulders. “Like what you see, Stevie?” he asked. It wasn’t really a question.

“The two of you are beautiful together,” Steve said, honestly.

Bucky rolled his eyes. Sap, Steve could hear him thinking. But Tony actually blushed. Blushed. Steve caught Bucky’s eye, and Bucky smiled––first at him, and then at Tony.

Steve pushed off the door jamb with his hip. “Are you two coming to bed?”

Tony glanced at Bucky. Bucky nodded.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Right behind you.”

Tony didn’t have pajamas in their apartment, but he borrowed a pair of sweats from Bucky. They were still too big, but they didn’t completely swallow him the way Steve’s would have. Steve climbed back into bed where he’d been reading. Tony hovered, obviously waiting for Steve to move over so they could put him in the middle again, but Steve caught Bucky’s eye and just waited, placidly.

“Your turn in the middle, doll,” Bucky said to Tony. “If you want it. I understand if you don’t. I don’t think I ever will. Too hot, and I couldn’t move if I needed to.”

“Oh,” Tony said, surprised. “I thought––Steve is––”

“Yep,” Bucky said. He put his arms around Tony and started walking him back toward the bed. Steve watched them, smiling to himself. “But it was our date tonight, and I want to spoon you. I get to spoon Steve all the time.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony said, eyebrows up. “Who’s the big spoon?”

“I am,” Bucky said.

“He is,” Steve agreed.

Tony blinked at Steve, and Steve shrugged. “He makes me feel small again.” Steve gave Bucky a sheepish half-smile. “In a good way. It’s like my body remembers sharing a bed with Bucky when I was half his size. I know it’s weird,” he added, when Tony kept looking at him. “But I kind of like it.”

“It’s not weird at all,” Tony said, eyes softening. “Makes sense to me.”

Steve nodded, relieved. He flipped back the covers on the other side of the bed, and Tony crawled in, making himself at home in the middle. Bucky climbed in on the other side and immediately turned over on his side.

“Wow,” Tony said, glancing from Bucky to Steve and back again. “This is... a lot of attention.”

“Didn’t think you’d have a problem with that,” Bucky said with a smirk.

“There are different types of attention,” Tony said, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s fine.” He rolled onto his side so he was looking at Steve, and then he closed his eyes.

Bucky moved in behind him, slowly. He slid his right arm under Tony’s neck, supporting him carefully, and then wrapped his left—the metal arm—around him, holding him carefully. Tony’s hand came up and covered Bucky’s where it pressed against his chest. He opened his eyes and looked at Steve.

“Oh,” he said softly.

“See what I mean?” Steve whispered.

Tony nodded. He looked almost dazed, and Steve was put in mind of how he’d looked in the Quinjet hangar the night they’d been called out and Steve had realized Tony was ill. Tony had been swaying, barely on his feet, his eyes glassy with fever. There had been an air of misery about him that made Steve himself feel sick to see.

Tony looked almost as out of it now, but there was a healthy flush to his cheeks, and nothing of the same air of misery. He looked... content. Steve didn’t think he’d ever seen Tony Stark look content.

Tony laid his hand, palm up and open, on the bed between them. Steve laid his on top and laced their fingers together.

Fin.