It feels like her heart's hammering against the suit's torso, never mind her own ribcage. It does fucking flips when the fight spills over into the street.

Stane (because they're not on first name basis, she refuses to be on first name, never mind nickname basis, with a backstabbing bastard) has built his own suit. She'd recognise that metal plating anywhere, had spent hours toiling over it to get the thoughts of a car battery, of wandering hands and harsh voices and fucking water going up her nose- yeah. She'd spent what felt like eons working over the metal armour to escape her hell. She'd recognise it anywhere.

It is not a creation that belongs on the streets. On busy, populated streets where innocents are driving and there's fucking kids out here what the fuck is he playing at?!

"Miss, repulsors are at sixty-four percent-"

"Left hand!" Tobi thrusts the limb forwards, the blast of energy slamming into the beast of a suit (not her creation, more a Frankenstein monster made from parts of her baby, her baby broken after his first use and perfect for it) and sending it spiralling back. Toni pushes at the car she landed on, hoping they'll get the message that they need to get the fuck away from here. She jets up into the air, calculating all the while.

Fifty percent of the original fire-power of the Mark III due to the Nightlight (thank fuck Handsome thinks ahead and wanted to keep the old copy; she's gonna make six standbys if she survives this), the repulsors are only at seventy percent maximum power and using them at anything more than forty percent will keep eating away at her total power. A minimal percentage will be going towards keeping JARVIS running in here, while another five percent is geared towards keeping her body's temperature and human comforts in amiable conditions; she can knock that off if needs be. Then there's- there's Stane getting up.

"You can fly!" And isn't it sick, how fucking excited he seems? As if this is all a big show and dance of the latest Stark weaponry she's created; the armour has never been a weapon, it's protection, insurance, it's hope and Stane's fucking ruining everything why has it taken her this long to see his true colours-

"Well, I made some upgrades of my own!" And it's moving, shifting and changing and Toni keeps an eye on everything, taking note of all the faults and the weak points but she didn't include a small enough missile to target the specific points she can see, not one that won't lead to collateral damage anyway and who knows what is in that machine, who knows what it's running on and she can't say it won't blow sky high from even the smallest spark.

"It appears he can fly, Miss."

"Yeah, I got that, J." She knows her baby boy is only stating the obvious to force her into focusing but Toni would very much like to make it known she is aware Stane can fly. She's watching the metal engineering mismatch launch him up in a slow rise after her.

There's not steady control there, a wild exhilaration to Stane's voice; it's his first time flying in it. Of corse it is, he had to steal her reactor to power it.

She wonders if he fixed the icing problem.

Toni takes for the sky, heedless of JARVIS' warning about what will happen (she knows what will happen, she's done the maths; she's good with numbers and trusts her cave-tech arc reactor to pull through one last time)

She's gonna build Handsome as many Nightlights as he wants after this. Speaking of, she really wishes she could ring him right now. Wishes she could hear his voice, the accent that swings between emotionless with a Russian lisp, to full-force Brooklyn sex-in-the-sheets rasp. Last she heard, he'd been tearing up the drive to Stark Industries to get Pepper out. Pepper and the Agent that's been hounding her for an interview.

She trusts his skill set, but fuck if she isn't worried about him. Heh, never in her life did Toni think she'd ever have to worry about Bucky Barnes. Her Howling Commando fantasies as a child had been finding the Valkyrie and magically creating a machine that breathed new life back into a super soldier.

But that'd been the dreams of a little Annie desperate for paternal approval (now Toni's dreams alternate between waterboard torture, and a very different Howling Commando occupying her bed).

.

A hand clamps around her foot when they reach a few thousand feet, and Toni looks down into the frost-coated face of her old design frakenized. She'll destroy it after this, ensure no one else ever gets close to her creation. She'll use it to protect others (to protect herself and Bucky).

"Guess you didn't fix the icing problem," she snarks, hammering a closed fist down on the thing's head. The eyes go out, light's off even if someone's home and it starts falling.

Toni watched with an acute sense of detachment as the man who pretty much raised her, who held the company together between Howard's death and her ascension (the man who ordered her killed) falls.

He falls and falls and falls and it's only after Toni has managed to compartmentalise her feelings that she recalls there is ground somewhere down there and she has no assurances that the bestialised Mark I won't land on some unfortunate sap (if she were on the ground instead of up here, she's certain her shitty luck would have it falling on her).

It's also the time one of the thrusters gives out and JARVIS announces they're on four percent.

Shit.

.

Toni doesn't recall much of what happens on the roof. There's pressure on her arm (it's broken, her wrist is broken) and the thrusts on her feet are dead; the helmet's trashed. And there's Stane, bragging about how she's a golden goose laying eggs like he's been waiting for Easter all his fucking life. Her eyes are flicking around, spotting the arc reactor beneath the windows, glowing the same eerie blue as the light in her chest.

This is it. It will be Howard's creation that kills her, even if Toni's the one pulling the trigger. Fuck.

"Pepper! I need you to override the arc reactor!" She doesn't quite here what the other responds with, too focused on getting the fuck out of the way of the Mark I. She rolls, the armour clanking and cutting into her ribs something awful but she's long since turned the slight cushioning function off; she needs every drop of juice she can get her hands on. What the fuck is the point of creature comforts if you're too dead to enjoy them? And she'll die before she lets Stane walk away, before he takes her suits and sells them to the highest bidder and starts a new war in her name.

Fuck. He'd probably martyr her if she dies tonight. She can't die, won't die without taking him with her.

Toni throws up a forearm, the metal expanding outwards to shield her head from the rain of bullets. But the inbuilt targeting system (if he even managed to get it up and running in the Mark I) has long since given up the ghost. Her head is bullet free, even if half her forearm is now exposed, flesh pink and raw from the rub of metal against it.

If she survives, she'll need to invest in some long-sleeved shirts, anything to spot the pain that's radiating up her extremities.

"How ironic, Tony!" and the plating comes away, Stane's face there inside the Mark I that's bigger than her original design, that doesn't have the flexibility or mobility of the original and yet, is still dangerously close to killing her. He's always needed to brag when victorious, to coon over the stocks or the success of the latest sale. "Trying to rid the world of weapons, you gave it its best one ever! And now, I'm going to kill-"

Toni doesn't hear the gun go off, but she sure as fuck sees the hole that appears at the centre of Stane's forehead. Instant kill shot, the kind that tears through the brain and severs the spinal cord. No getting back up from that one.

The Mark I falls silent now that it's no longer being instructed, now that it no longer has orders. A chilling monument to her past; the last weapon to ever be produced by Stark Industries residing upon the rooftop until she can order it destroyed.

Breathing (breathing and breathing and breathing no matter how much her chest hurts with each deep inhale), Toni slowly rises from her crouch, lowering the arm that had been guiding her face.

Stane's dead. She can see it, can recognise the signs (lifeless eyes, face still frozen mid-brag because he'd died before he'd even realised it, blood trickling down from his temple), but it's still registering. The implications, the sure shot. A sniper's shot.

She turns her head, the suit groaning in protest (she's barely had it and the Mark III is already wrecked; she's got so many adjustments to make for the Mark IV).

Bucky's on the roof, one of the guns from her workshop in his frozen hand, his eyes sharp and still. It takes her a moment to register he's using the prosthetic, what with the skin cover he'd put on before leaving. How he'd managed to make a steady shot- well, it's what he does, isn't it? Even before maybe (probably, certainly looking like it) HYDRA had gotten their hands on him, he'd been a well-known marksman. A sniper from WWII, making impossibly shots that'd only gotten better after Captain America's first rescue… hadn't there been reports of soldiers disappearing during the camp? Something about experimentations; she needs to re-examine what she knows about HYDRA history. She's got a terrible feeling that it'll be useful in the coming months.

The arc reactor beneath the roof whirls.

Shit. Pepper had followed the instructions after all.

"Fuck, Bucky, get away!" Toni stumbles to her feet, heart thrashing against the cage of her ribs as she makes a mad dash for freedom. And stupidly (heroically, like something out of the history textbooks) he comes to her instead. Grabs her with the metal hand, pulls both of them along at a speed normal humans shouldn't be able to achieve outside the Olympics (even in the Olympics but she'd known there was something else lingering in his body, has known since the DNA search and she needs to find out what it is).

They're over the side of the roof next, Toni bundled into Bucky's other arm, no matter how heavy her armour or how much the crush of it must hurt.

The last she can remember is the terribly screech of metal fingers digging into the side of a building as she blacks out.

The Nightlight is off. The moon hangs in the sky, the building has exploded and he'd finished the awful descent from the side (the fingers have held together; the last time he did that, they'd had to be rebuilt and the bastards had made sure he felt the pain for it). Toni's on the floor; he's ripped the torso of the armour off (fuck being careful, she can build another, has the lesser version back in the house) to better look at the Nightlight that he'd thankfully hung on to from the moment she'd considered throwing it.

It's not glowing.

Fist hits the floor, doesn't leave a dent and a belatedly realisation it's the flesh hand; he doesn't dare try and force the Nightlight into working. What if it'll turn on by itself and he fucks it up and kills her?

The clatter of heels behind him; Pepper, the one with superior balance.

Fuck. Not Toni. Not the woman who's dragged him back from the pits of hell, not the one who's opened her home and made in an arm and has started putting him back together.

"Toni, come on Doll, please." He cups the back of her head, flesh hand to her nose to feel the faint puffs of her breath; steady, but weak.

Another glance down; the Nightlight shines again.

.

Laid across the sofa, Toni groans as she comes back to the waking world and Bucky's right there, placing a plastic bottle full of water in her searching hand, one of the sports drink bottles that she'd bought as a joke after realising just how much time he was spending in her gym (more like he'd taken up residency in there; it was probably easier to count how much time he'd spent out of it than in it). She groans again and Pepper races to her side.

The other woman had been terribly silent since walking into the house with them; she'd been driven up with Happy the driver and the Agent who'd been there; JARVIS had barred the Agent's entry and Happy had agreed to remain and keep an eye on him until his boss woke up. The agent had been staring at Bucky as if he recognised him from somewhere but was unable to place him; his face isn't known to Bucky, but that doesn't mean he isn't HYDRA.

It's why he's always taken the time to put the flesh sleeve over his left arm; anything to throw off the enemy. Only he shredded it from fingers to wrist with getting down from the building. It'd been lucky he had a set of gloves in his pockets, otherwise he doubts the Agent would have been so willing to wait in the car.

"Mmm, Bucky?"

"Here, Doll."

Her head tilts back when he speaks, lips twisting up as her eyes flutter shut. As if the act of listening to his voice is pleasant, something to relax to. He doesn't have a lot to say, but by god, will he try and fill the silence if it keeps that smile on her face.

"Bucky?" Pepper repeats, looking at him again now, confusion marring her brows as her eyes sweep over his features, followed by a slow, slow glow of recognition. "No way. No way- Toni. What did you do?"

"Er, saved his ass? And then Buckster here saved a lot more asses by taking out Stane? Look, Pep, I'd love to give you the low-down, but I really don't trust the Nightlight to keep me going for very long so I'll need to make a new mini arc reactor."

"The Agent wants to speak with you," Bucky reports, sliding himself onto the sofa as Toni sits up, freeing the space for him to sit beside her. He pushes her elbow, keeping the movement gentle, to direct the bottle back to her lips. She hasn't drunk enough; the dull sheen to her skin is a telling sign and remaining hydrated is important for recovery. That was what Toni had told him whenever he segregated himself in the gym for too long on a bad day.

"I- Right. I'll organise a meeting with Agent Coulson while you work on fixing your…" Pepper trails off, gesturing to her own chest as she looks at Toni. His eyes flicker to the Nightlight again, to the steady blue glow that is nowhere near as vibrant as it once was. Toni hums, ahs, agrees. He's too focused on the blue, waiting for any hint of a flicker, of a building dimness.

.

Pepper leaves through the front door and then Toni turns to him, eyes bright despite the pallor of her skin.

"Hey, Handsome. Handsomely Heroic? Heroically Handsome? Eh, alliteration's not really my thing, I guess. Anyway, be a star and help me down to the lab, please? Can I bribe you into doing my heavy lifting for this shit too? Just until the feeling comes back in my wrist?" Her wrist is broke; the feeling is gone because he'd hit a pressure-point he didn't know he knew until it was needed. It'll be back in the next hour or so and she'll need a professional splint, not the emergency one he'd fashioned from the mismatch of scrap metal he'd pulled off of her armour.

"I'll do all the lifting," Doll. He doesn't say it, doesn't feel right now that she'll paying him her complete attention. Instead, he scoops her up, lifts her and cradles her to his chest, keeping her head against the flesh shoulder, even if it means the flesh arm has to take more of her weight for it. She'll be comfortable, that's what matters.

"I've no problem with this," Toni mutters, her breath hot against his neck, one set of fingers residing over his clavicle thumb stroking back and forth in a way that would have distracted him back in the war. He's seen too much shit since then; now, he just logs the sensation, appreciates it, but continues with his purpose. "I've always said I need some muscle in my life, that it comes with such a pretty face is the biggest bonus. Hey, when you remember how to do the sexy smirk and bedroom-eyes combo, make sure you direct them this way, please? That was, like, one of the starring roles of my teenaged fantasies and I'm sure the real thing is even better. I've always had a thing for the oldies though, like James Dean… or maybe I just have a thing for James'? I mean, that's Rhodey's name too but he's more a brother… So yeah, oldies are goldies." She pats at his (her) arm, the clink her ring would make muffled by the sleeve of fabric and synthetic skin he wears.

"Sergeant Barnes, would you like a new sleeve of false skin ordering?"

"Yes-"

"Best get a couple, J," Toni interrupts shamelessly, wiggling to be free of his grasp once he reaches the centre of her workshop, "just like I am going to build another three or so arc reactors and give them to Handsome for safe-keeping."

"I am relieved to hear such a thing, Miss. I shall endeavour to have a new sleeve ready for you, Sergeant Barnes, by the time of your press conferences, due at one o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Miss Potts has arranged it and agreed with Agent Coulson of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division to craft an alibi for what you were doing today."

"Great, swell. Really looking forward to that one." Toni huffs, planting herself on her seat before twisting to look at him, smile warm. It's the same smile from months ago, back when he'd been a little less human but she hadn't treated him any differently for it. "You know, Handsome, I've been thinking over a few things. About how to handle you not living under a false name for years but avoiding the notice of the people who had you before. And I don't think it's possible to get both, not without, like, godly intervention. And I'm pretty sure God hates me too much to help a girl out. So, here's what I've got."

He listens, analysing the options with the Soldier's knowledge, with the Soldier's skillset.

And, for the first time in decades, it's wholly Bucky Barnes that smiles.

She's got the story, the one constructed by the Agent and Pepper. But Toni has long since discarded the thought. Here she stands before the cameras, about to announce to the world what happened last night. Her eyes linger at the back of the hall where Bucky's leaning against the door. Not that anyone has noticed him yet; it's what he does, blend in. Go unnoticed. Even with those blue chips he calls eyes and that cutting jawline. Speaking of cutting, he's trimmed his hair. Now, more so than ever, does he look like he stepped off the war reel. He's even put on the Bucky blue jumper she got him back when they did the clothing order. She's not really seen him in it since before then and it. Is. Distracting.

(Which is exactly what she needs right now, anything to forget that the man wo practically raised her in her later life is the one who tried to have her killed, who tried to do it himself last night).

"Miss Stark? You were saying?"

She turns her attention back to the reporters, the one who had just asked her if she expected them to believe it was a bodyguard in a suit.

She can't go with the story. If it were just her, just Toni Stark going it alone, she might have done. But she needs to make certain groups aware that messing with her is a very bad idea. That messing with her friends (those that are really in the know will recognise him, no matter how much he'd changed up his look) is a supremely bad idea.

Toni plucks the mic off the stand, making her way to the edge of the stage, sitting herself down. She waits until all the others join her in sitting back on their chairs, more flashes dazzling her. Damn cameras; is the lighting not enough in here for them? It's only just gone beyond midday, after all.

"I was given a story to tell you all. But… I've got another one to tell you. Yes, I built a suit of armour to escape my hostage situation in Afghanistan. And yes, the suit yesterday was me. I am Ironman." There's the roar of her audience and Toni waits. Is this what it feels like to be a school-teacher, waiting for the rabble of the class to quieten? Man, she's glad she never went into education, even if the career choice may have given Howard a stroke.

It takes two whole minutes for them to realise she's waiting for them, another one for them all to actually shut the hell up. All the while, Toni sits and waits, one hand in a real sling (not the Bucky-brand but she'd prefer that if it came with the amazing pressure-point pinch again) and the other loosely gripping the microphone.

"I'm telling you this story because I wasn't the only captive back in Afghanistan. I escaped thanks to the help of a man that is dead now… and one I landed on when escaping. Someone who's been held captive a hell of a lot longer than me. You know those cryo-chambers? Oh, you do, you like to whisper about how the dead bodies of celebrities are shoved in them for some miracle cure in the distant future. Well, this guy was stuff in one years ago. Fu- Hell, sorry, I'll try to control my mouth. Anyway, they shoved him in and kept thawing him out often enough to put him through shock therapy. You know, the correct name is torture, but a lot of different things fall under that. Anyway, he had no memories left by the end of it. And I'm pretty sure they'll try to take him back when they realise where he is."

"Miss Stark, are you implying you've built a suit for protection of yourself and this other individual?" The reporter sound sceptic. Toni can understand. Compared to the public persona she'd had prior to her captor, they' never have believed it. Hell, Toni herself would never have believed it if told a year ago. Not unless it was Rhodey or Pepper in danger. Maybe Happy. Probably Happy. Contrary to popular belief, she's not really a people person. Just good at manipulating the situation.

"I'm not implying. I'm straight to the point; it's supposed to be one of my redeeming qualities. Or so I'm told. Which is why I'm saying this." Drawing in a deep breath, Toni finds Bucky's gaze again in the crowd, watching the slow, agreeing nod his head. It's only a single dip, but it's firm.

"I don't know who kept this guy prisoner, not yet. But I know they'll want him back. So, I guess, this is me asking for your help."

Ripples run through the room, the novelty of Toni Stark asking for help. She's never done it before, not since she was a little girl, back when she realised Howard wasn't going to help her, no matter how much she pleaded for his attention and support. But this is bigger than her. This is about keeping Handsome safe. After six months in his company, six months of building each other back into a semblance of a thing that might come to pass as human (if with a little too much metal to them).

She'll do whatever it takes to keep him safe. She will.

One of them asks the question she's been waiting to hear; why is it so important they help this guy? And Toni goes to answer, she does. But, it would seem that Handsome had recovered a little bit more than she thought. That, or possibly-HYDRA-though-might-be-another-group-of-bastards hadn't been able to erase an appreciation for drama.

Because Bucky fucking Barnes makes his way down along the side of the room, walking along the front to hop up to sit beside her. He's so close she can feel the heat of him radiating through the thin gap of air between their arms, his right to her left. His legs are hella long; he's near a full foot taller than her. Only the towering heels on her feet prevent her from looking like a miniature model when standing next to him.

It's so silent she can hear the gasp of surprise (wow, someone's a history buff) that comes from the back.

"Yeah, I know it's no real funeral for Captain America like Dad promised… but we've got one living Commando we need to look after."

.

"They're still talking about it? It's been three weeks, how are they still talking about it? Surely other things are happening in the world, right?"

The swinging jazz of the sixties echoes through the lab (Bucky's choice, not Toni's, she's still clinging to her ACDC albums and they'll not even manage to pry them from her cold, dead fingers when her time comes) and she's doing her best to ignore the television. And the herd of reporters that are still at the bottom of her drive, even if their numbers have thinned over the weeks. On the muted television screen, they're still alternating between pictures of her own in the armour (some new ones now that she's got the Mark IV up and running; it'd been the pressure of seeing her fight with Stane again and again that'd pushed her into giving them something new to report on there) and pictures of Handsome from his glory days. Though, Toni would argue his glory days are now, what with his gorgeous face being plastered in HD across the world.

Oh, those fuckers that she's now relatively sure are HYDRA could try making a move for him, but they won't manage it in public. Not without blowing their whole operation. Given that Handsome has agreed to a JARVIS tracker in the arm, they won't get very far without a five-foot-one can of Ironman dealing out all sorts of whoop-ass on them. Toni knows all about the white-hot spotlight; this might be the first time that anyone trying to join Handsome in it will be a good thing, considering the burn they'll get.

"There's always things happening in the world." Her Fine Vintage is back in his chair, hunched over the touchscreen phone she's made specifically to work with his metal hand too. He's grinding away at Angry Birds, some new app that came out recently and the interest in it is sky rocketing.

"I agree. They should be reporting on that instead of the little snippet they manage to get of me or you. Not that your face isn't worth slapping across the front pages, Buckeroo. I'd frame that shit and hang it on my wall if I didn't have the real thing walking around looking so darn good already."

"The wider public are interested, Miss. The Howling Commandos are something of a legend now and Sergeant Barnes is now the only one that remains relatable to the public."

"The only one- hey, J, any of the other Howlies alive?" Toni tilts her head back, mind running a million miles, as usual.

"Both Private Morita and Jones are alive and reside within the United States, Miss."

"Wanna go out and see them, Handsome? Hey, we can even invite them down for Christmas Dinner, if you want. I know they won't be the same men you served with anymore, but if it might help?"

Bucky hits pause on his game, flicking his eyes up to look at her. Without the curtains of hair to hid behind, he looks even more shockingly like her dirty teenaged fantasies. Holy shit. She needs to get herself together, needs Barnes to get himself together and then, maybe, she needs to get them together. He's gorgeous, so very very pretty with those eyes that jaw and that smirk. Hey, that smirk.

"See something you like, Doll?"

"On, Babe, you know I like what I see. You make my tech look good instead of the other way around." Hey, doesn't matter that it's hidden beneath fake-skin, she knows it's there. Bucky could model, that's for sure. JARVIS says there's already been offers made to the company, asking him to come model.

That Bucky Blue jumper sold out in minutes after her conference was broadcasted.

"Christmas dinner."

"You don't sound so sure there, Bucky-Bear."

"I'm not," he confesses, turning back to his game, the sound of angry birds and their rightful vengeance (she thinks it is anyway) blaring back into the room. "But they'll be old and who knows what other opportunities I'll have? Besides, I remember someone saying you have to make yourself uncomfortable in order to improve." Huh. Is that a quote from her? She's not sure, though it does sound like some excuse she'd give for doing something she probably shouldn't.

"Speaking of uncomfortable, the press keeping spelling my name wrong, even though I put out an official statement. It's supposed to be (Fe), like the chemical symbol. So, it's pronounced Ironman, but it's spelt F-E-M-A-N, with parenthesis around the F and E."

"Not everyone is a scientist," Bucky grunts, another cheery tune echoing out to prove he's progressed to the next level.

Toni gives up the ghost, stops pretending like she's going to get any work done and makes her way over to Handsome. She lingers by his side, watching him power through three more levels before he seems to cotton on to the fact, she's waiting on him. Oh, he's known it since she got up, but he's stringing her along.

"You know, if you played with all the dames like this back in your day, it's no wonder you didn't have a steady gal."

"I could'a had a steady girl if I wanted. 'S a bit fuzzy, but I think there were a few dames I went dancing with more than a couple'a times."

"Sure sure sure… how long do you think until they realise you're here? I mean, you had the fake flesh over the arm, so maybe-"

"HYDRA'll already know. They'll have clocked on the second I put my face out there," Bucky says, turning off the screen of his phone to tilt his head back to look at her. It's not a vantage point she gets to enjoy often; he's just as good looking from this angle as any other, no surprises there. She focuses on the muscles of his neck, the bob on his Adam's apple. So attractive.

And he's finally confirmed it is HYDRA, though she's known that for weeks, has been certain and was just waiting on a name, on confirmation. She needs to crack on with finding an alternate power source for the new Nightlights, then she can get working on taking those bastards down.

Yeah, thanks for cleaning up the mess of your generation, Dad. Yet another issue left for her to sort out, HYDRA, Stark Industries' weapons problem, her daddy issues… Eh, one out of three isn't bad so far, is it?

"How you holding up?" There's no point asking if he's okay; it's clear he's not. Best of a bad situation, it seems. Toni hates it, hates that she can't make him safe like she's done herself. But HYDRA is a different beast from the Ten Rings altogether. She doesn't even know where the base is, where the organisation lingers.

(Operation Paperclip has her fucking worried though, especially now that she's seen the list of names).

"Alright. I got a swell Dame offering scaffolding for it all."

She laughs, head shaking and one hand running through the hair she's steadily growing out. Fucking terrorists and their fucking hack jobs. In reference to both her chest battery and haircut. Bastards.

"Doll is fine; Dame makes me feel thirty years older than I actually am. But you're hitting the bullseye with the rest of that statement. As long as I'm here, as long as Ironman exists, those fuckers won't be getting you back. I'll make sure of it."

Agent Phil Coulson has had three weeks to get over it, to accept the information he's been given but he's still stuck on it.

James Buchanan Barnes is alive. James Buchanan Barnes is alive and well in this century and doesn't seem to have aged a day since he fell on that faithful mission with Captain America. Bucky Barnes, the best friend of Steve Rogers, is alive and Phil has spoken to him. Even if he hadn't recognised him behind the mass of brown hair, leather gear and unconscious Antonia Stark.

And now, he's waiting for a meeting with the two of them alongside Director Fury. The Director had planned to go visit Stark right after the conference. Up until she'd marched out the Howling Commandos second in command. Without the whole picture, they'd retreated, done their own research, and got frustratingly nowhere.

SHIELD didn't know who'd had Bucky Barnes. And that's a problem.

Director Fury doesn't like problems and he's relatively sure that Stark knows more than she's letting on.

Stark's the first one to turn up, kitted out in full Ironman armour. Which, given she confessed that they don't know who was holding Sergeant Barnes, makes sense.

That someone had dared to torture a Howling Commando has his blood boiling but he keeps the aimable expression his face.

He's one of the best, after all.

Sergeant Barnes follows after her, dressed in what appears to be an updated version of his old army uniform. The 'Bucky Blue' jacket (Phil'd tried to get one of those jumpers when he'd first shown himself to the world, but he'd been too slow in his shock. They'd all sold out. Hill, bless her, had gotten him one; he owes her. Big) looks unassuming, but he'd bet any amount of money it's shock-resistant. At the least. Probably bulletproof and, given the company he now keeps, Phil wouldn't be surprised if there's all sorts of nasty tech hiding under there.

"Stark."

"Hi there," Stark's synthetic voice comes from speakers that he can't see, hidden somewhere on her new suit. It's slightly sleeker than the one he'd seen at the Duel of Los Angeles, as the media has taken to calling it. "You seem to know me, but I only know Agent here. Hi Agent Fanboy." Oh god. Of course, she's noticed, Antonia Stark is a genius, after all. He can only hope that Sergeant Barnes hasn't clicked on yet… ah, this is embarrassing. But he must remain professional.

"I am Director Fury, of SHIELD. You answered our questions, and now I'm here with an offer."

"Er, I'm gonna have to stop you right there, Davy Jones. You see, we don't know where our enemies are. Who they are. Only that they're there. SHIELD was my dear old Dad's side project, emphasis on 'side' there, given he didn't even manage to clear out the Nazi infestation that the government oh so foolishly welcomed into their secret organisations. I mean, how dumb can you get?" She shrugs, metal head twisting to look at Bucky Barnes. The Howling Commando's face is completely closed off; Phil can't get a reading in the slightest. He's nothing like the reels of film he's studied in his free time (and work time, more recently, as he scrambles to reassess and catch up with this new element).

"Stark. Do you mean to imply-"

"That I'm not working with you until this shit is sorted out? Oh yeah. Me and Buckeroo here aren't going anywhere unarmed or alone. Which, well, the former is understandable but saddening. After all, we've got a right pair of idioms, haven't we, Handsome?"

Then, Bucky Barnes smirks. It's the first time the emotion on his face has matched what Phil has seen before.

"Stark naked and buck naked."

"Oh yeah," Stark all but purrs, rocking back on her metal heels, "it's almost like destiny, isn't it? I mean, Stark and Bucky, though there won't be any naked, unfortunately. Can't afford to be caught with our pants down, right?"

"It's a shame, Doll."

"Back on track," Director Fury barks, reeling both their gaze back to him, even if one is hidden behind a metal visor. "Stark. Are you saying HYDRA is still active."

"From the blatant shock in your voice, face, and lack of attempting to rekidnap Barnesy-boy here, I'll assume you're clean. So, yeah. That's exactly what I'm saying."

Fuck.

Quick update is quick (don't expect another; back to work tomorrow). Wrote in 24 hours, so there'll be mistakes; be kind, m'kay?

Lots of love and stay safe,
Tsume
xxx