tenuous wasn't the right word. the fragile truce between them was fickle, swaying under the weight of differing opinions and what bucky assumed was @styhrk's poor attempt at deflection. take the focus off the fact that, if no one looked too long, they'd think his hostility had simmered. that it didn't sit there, a third party in this room, staring him down with all the weight of two long buried bodies. but he has looked long. he's stayed alert.. focused. empty hands never made any man harmless and as sure as there sat a knife in his pocket, he knew stark had something equally heavy in his own.
" didn't plan on it, " he wants him to stay mad. an anchor for every life stomped under the soldier's boots, he wants that heat to stay under him. breathe new life into a hearth that, occasionally, imagines itself dormant. sees a future outside of bloodied hands and gunfire that rings on forever. he hears it now, in the shadow of tony's voice. squints while it reaches fever, then retreats. he'd hate to know how much he sounded like howard in these moments.
" they asked for my opinion, so i gave it. " not with a heavy tongue, either. exhaustion born not from lack of sleep but something much, much older, creeps between his teeth. colors his voice with an indifference he hopes will withstand the volleys to come. the fuzzy line between blame and accountability.
three windows, one door ; there's no ideal exit, but he'd determined one of the latter his quickest option. a fall from this height wouldn't kill him any more than it had the first time. not even under the glow of that name, high in the sky. one more ghost trying to haunt the conversation.
" if you had this figured out, i wouldn't be here. " and even then, it'd been steve who'd pushed him. framed the request as a suggestion to ease tensions that, for how tony'd reacted, were only torqued tighter. a noose to lift him off his feet — that ringing is back. it moves through the roots of his teeth. draws his jaw tight. bucky feeds off what scraps he's given and rakes restless fingers through hair already loose and battered. he'll cut it when he gets home, take it to the scalp this time.
" i won't beg you to let me help, " the hour for honied words was gone. he's not sure where the carcass lay.. if it's with the scraps of a forgotten arm or that wreck on the side of the road, but it grows colder the longer this drawls on. " but i'm going to. "
