for @magicadraconia (who I can’t link to apparently) Winteriron, the lower your self-esteem the quieter your voice is
Tony spun into the room with a small fleet of caterers behind him, each one immaculately clad in white. Each carrying a tray. Like little soldiers, they placed the items on the buffet table, removed a spoon or serving implement from their apron pockets and put it in front of the trays. Perfectly timed.
Bucky could have hummed a marching song and they would have synced up.
“You get used to it,” Steve said.
“Liar,” Bucky murmured. He couldn’t imagine ever getting used to Tony’s flamboyance.
Which wasn’t to say he didn’t like it, or that he didn’t appreciate everything Tony did. He did. But he wasn’t going to get used to it, and he didn’t take it for granted.
Natasha and Bruce hadn’t even stopped talking long enough to look up while the caterers came in.
The food under the covered silver dishes smelled amazing. Bucky wasn’t even used to that. Back in the forties, they boiled everything. Mashed potatoes with beef gravy was filling, but it wasn’t delicious. Particularly after the fifth time that week. Waste no, want not.
“Can’t you ever just cook?” Clint wondered, grabbing a plate and lifting. Asian cuisine.
Team dinner. Once a week, rotating who provided food. Like Clint had any room to talk. They usually got take out pizza whenever it was Clint’s turn. Which was also fine, Bucky liked pizza.
Bruce often went all out; last week he’d made bangers and mash, with leek soup, which had been filling, even to a super soldier apetite.
Steve brought in slow-cooked ribs -- Bucky hadn’t even known he could cook -- which had been messy and tasty.
“Your turn, next week, snowflake,” Tony said, rubbing his hands together. “I can’t wait.”
“Mm,” Bucky said, because he never could figure out how to talk to Tony. Tony was amazing; rich and gorgeous, funny and intelligent, sarcastic and yet so full of hope for the future. He was also forgiving and generous, absent-minded and brilliant, flirty and funny.
Bucky hung back, the way he usually did. He didn’t like being crowded. He’d been free of the Winter Soldier’s programming, but he still had a lot of survival instincts. Someone could put a hand on him at the wrong time, or bump him. He wouldn’t mean to, but the Winter Soldier was fast.
“Here,” Tony said, nudging Bucky toward a chair. He’d already laid out a plate there, white rice in the middle and a spoonful of each of the various dishes spread around the rice like markings on a clock. “I didn’t know what you liked.” Tony himself had a collection of rice paper and he was rapidly rolling up vegetables, meat, and a purple sauce.
“I don’t like being handed things. Or getting water in my face. So, like. I know. You don’t like being crowded, so I sat you back here, next to me. Everyone else will sit on the other side of the table, so you’re okay.”
Bucky shook his head, not knowing the words. He had trouble with words, trouble talking. Trouble remembering how to be a real person. “No, why?”
Why you, why me? Why are you taking care of me? After what I did, after all the things I’ve done. How can you keep looking after me?
“You deserve it,” Tony said.
Bucky considered his food, managed to look through his thick hair at Tony’s face. Gone was the flamboyant showman mask, and there was just a man there. Earnest and a little nervous, with a tiny eager-to-please smile dancing along a mobile mouth. It was like looking into the sun. Beautiful, and too much,
He took a bite of something. Chicken and vegetables of some sort, in a rich sauce.
“It’s good,” he murmured. “Thank you.”
For a long time, they just ate together, letting the conversation of the rest of the team flow around them.
Just as dinner was closing up, although people would keep snacking through the movie they watched later, Tony made a little gesture that got Bucky’s attention; like saying ‘hi, here I am’ to make sure nothing he did was startling. When Bucky thought about it, he realized Tony had been doing that the whole time. Signalling his intentions. Making his presence known.
“I meant that, you know,” Tony said. “You’re welcome. You’re welcome in my house, you’re welcome to my food, my company, my tech. Whatever you need or want.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow at Tony, considering his words. Anything?
Tony shrugged, as if he’d heard that mental question. I guess we’ll see.
