justakidfrombrklyn (
justakidfrombrklyn) wrote2014-04-13 11:41 pm
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At the door of Stark Tower
He doesn't really have a phone anymore, at least not one that isn't a burner on the end of it's life, and that phone never had the number he needed in it, so he didn't call ahead. Instead, he's just there, heading for the front desk to see if perhaps, just maybe, he has a friend here. Or at least an ally.
"Steve Rogers for Tony Stark, please?"
"Steve Rogers for Tony Stark, please?"
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"Oh, you know. Same-old same-old. Inventing, dodging assassins, defending the free world, you know, the usual. You?"
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Tony refrains from giving Steve a friendly thump on the shoulder as the elevator comes to a stop, merely gesturing for him to follow out into his penthouse.
"Okay, so, this floor is totally secure these days," he comments as he heads behind the bar. "Just so you know. Did a complete refit during repairs, you know, about the time Fury chatted me up for some shiny new Starktech for those flying fortresses of his."
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"I'm assuming it's secure FROM SHIELD as much as anything else, right?"
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"Really Steve, this is me we're talking about, you think I'd let them have any backdoor I didn't already know about? Of course it is."
He gestures to a barstool, pours himself a couple fingers of whiskey, and something a little... stronger. For Steve.
"Give that a try. Me and Bruce distilled it ourselves."
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"How's Bruce doing? I'm assuming he's been here working with you."
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Tony sets the bottle (okay, okay, repurposed flask, complete with masking tape and Bruce's handwriting in green sharpie, because he has a sense of humour) next to Steve's glass.
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"I uh... well, I really hate to ask this, but given the current situation" and the fact that he can't remember anything but watching Fury die on his living room floor, "I'm kind of out of an apartment. And a job, I'm sure you've noticed. So I was wondering if you... might have a couch or two I could crash on?"
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"I could definitely use a bed."
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"So... how much do you know about what happened, if you don't mind me asking?"
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"Enough. I know enough."
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"Do you know about what I'm doing now?"
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"Do you know about Bucky?"
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"Your BFF from back in the day, right?" he asks. Only he's not stupid, farthest thing from it, and the way Steve reacted... "Except there's something more going on, I'm guessing, than a trip down memory lane."
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"They... the things they did to him. I read the whole file and I almost puked. He looked into my eyes and he didn't even know me."
Except for when he'd looked into his eyes and HAD known him and both had been more painful than the bullet wounds ever could be.
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"Hold on a sec, are you saying he's still alive? Because I could've sworn you were the only successful super-soldier type to come out of that whole mess."
Tony takes another sip of his drink, and raises an eyebrow at Steve. Because, really?
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"He's alive," he said, voice firm, "and he was being used by HYDRA as an assassin."
He breathed out and ran a hand through his hair before rubbing at his face. This whole thing.
"Apparently, something Zola did to him before I got him out back in the war helped him survive the fall. He was picked up, fitted with a new arm, brainwashed..."
He pulled up his bag and held out the folder ever so carefully.
"My Russian's not great but it's all in there."
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Tony's own drink is forgotten for a while, as he works his way through the file. It's. Bad. And the little wrinkle of concentration between his eyes from reading handwritten Russian slowly morphs into a frown line, until he has to put the file down, and knock back the rest of his drink in one go. And then pour himself another, fuck.
He knocks the second drink back, and runs a hand through his hair, before turning the page. It's horrible, and fascinating, all at the same time.
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"They called him the Winter Soldier. But it's Bucky. I know it is. Some part of him still knew me."
Even if he almost killed me.
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