Anthony Edward Stark

"You can sit back against the cushions," he adds as he relaxes on the couch. He watches Bucky more than the films. He's seen them all several times. He waits until the end of one to offer the bowl.

"Popcorn? Soda?" he asks the other man when he asks JARVIS to pause in his play-through. Steve is avoiding asking the question he really wants to know which is whether any of this is familiar.

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He doesn't want to sit back. He wants to see, to experience, and though his eyes are perfectly capable of seeing and experiencing from half a foot further back, he doesn't want to. He gives Steve a defiant look, and stays where he is.

The films play, one after the other. First it's the propoganda war films, the sorts that they showed in the cinemas at home. Next...the extra footage. There is just so many of him and Steve laughing...

And that woman.

Bucky stands up. "Is she dead too?"

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It's fine by him that Bucky doesn't scoot back. It's his choice and that's what is most important. It makes Steve a little sad to see the other man laughing with him. Things are so different now. He's missed Bucky so much. He's just a ghost of what he used to be now.

Steve is quiet for a moment before he says, "No, but she's old now. Old like we're supposed to be." He rubs a hand at his face, "She... has a disease that deteriorates a person's memory."

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"Good." Cruel. Bucky realizes that almost immediately. Steve had cared for her. He knows this in his bones, not just because he sees it in the films, but because he remembers. He remembers disliking her, though she'd been very likable. Pretty. Smart. Deadly.

He looks away before he can see the expression on Steve's face and changes the subject.

"There's no such thing as fate. We are who we are. Not because something had a plan for us."

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His expression falls slightly at the comment. He knows, at least a little, that Bucky hadn't liked her but that's not a disease he'd wish on his worst enemy. He's pretty sure his old friend wouldn't have said that about her if he'd been himself.

"No, but people grow old," he responds with a frown. "People don't get frozen and wake up a century later. That's not what people expect from life."

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Bucky had been just a little luckier than Steve. Being woken up from time to time and reprogrammed with the technology of the day, Bucky didn't have and still doesn't have the culture shock that Steve still struggles with. It may be the only boon left to the poor man. He's quiet for some time and sits down.

"Have it played again."

Bucky will watch these videos for as long as Steve will allow it. Over and over, yes, but focused primarily on the ones he and Steve are in together. From time to time there are even tears in his blue eyes.

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"You can ask for specific ones yourself, you know," Steve tells him after watching everything through again. He thinks tears are good things but he can't be sure. The only way to find out is to ask.

"Are they helping?"

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Why can't he actually remember any of this? It's his face. It's his smiles. This is like watching a twin in a film. Save for a few moments of memory. There's no connection between the memories, however. Nothing makes sense.

The glass of the coffee table is the first casualty of this frustration. He slams his cybernetic arm right through it before he stalks out of the room and back to his bunk.

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He'll take that outburst as a no. He watches Bucky walk off with a small concerned glance and decides to give him a few moments.

"Jarvis, keep an eye on him alright? And tell Tony we need a new table."

Steve moves to pick up the glass that's now all over the place. Sure, Tony could send someone up to do it but it's a little therapeutic and it gives him an excuse not to hover over Bucky.

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Broken. He's so broken. Broken and alone. His new handled isn't a handler at all and no one will tell him what to do other than to remember. Remember... But only some of it. None of the nightmare, only the good. Forget the electroshock therapy, forget the missions. Remember the time he'd been happy. Remember how he'd been friends with Steve Rogers.

Little Steve Rogers. Scourge of Brooklyn with a trashcan lid.

Bucky grabs his head. There will be some dents in the walls to go with the table soon until he evens out.

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Steve knows logically that you can't get one without the other. The bad always comes with the good. There's no avoiding it. Friends just have to help you rise above the bad. Bucky can be happy again. It's not going to be an easy road but it's one Steve is going to be there for.

He hears the banging that sounds suspiciously like a fist hitting the wall but he doesn't go look. Let him work it out. They're high enough up that he can't go anywhere and JARVIS would know if he had anyway.

He just wants Bucky to figure out who he is again without the training, without Hydra and that's all.

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Steve's a whole lot more patient than Tony is. Once again, he finds a way to brush by Steve, this time in the kitchen. He and Bucky had been watching movies for hours and now-- Now it's late. Late and his perimeter alarms are going off.

He got blown up in his home not too long ago, Steven. Tony is a little...beside himself, all right? This tower is his baby. His second baby. The first baby he destroyed. And that hurt, okay?

"Each punch is about 10k worth of damage."

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He's patient because he'd been there after Bucky had been tortured the first time. He knows what his friend is really like, what he's capable of and that, without a doubt, Bucky is still in there somewhere. It's not going to be exactly the same but he needs to know where he'd come from before he can figure out who he's going to be.

"So send me a bill," he responded. He quietly didn't ask where Fury was getting the money to keep paying him but SHIELD was getting back on its feet so there was a backer somewhere. The last thing he was worried about was a few holes in the wall anyway. It was rough on him to see these videos of them and know that Bucky didn't remember hardly any of it. "Or I'll get some drywall spackle and fix it myself."

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"Now that I might pay you for!" He doesn't mean to flirt so openly but Steve is probably the straightest guy he knows and he never gives in. It makes Tony need to do it, if only out of curiosity for the outcome.

The look on the blond's face, however, was almost devastating. Tony didn't quite draw back, but he couldn't keep from frowning.

"What can I do to help? In case you've forgotten, I'm pretty well off and important." Please Steve. Let him help

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"I don't need paid for it," he raises an eyebrow at the comment and he's a little confused about why but he can tell the tone is flirtatious. Steve, actually, does not restrict himself one way or another but Tony wouldn't know that because he hasn't actually asked.

Steve shakes his head and throws up one hand, "I don't know. I don't even know if I'm helping."

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"Do you think you are?" If one person should trust their instincts, it's Steve Rogers. Tony would bet his entire fortune on it. Tony leans against the door and keeps his arms crossed. His eyes trail from the blond to the sound of the muffled, growling sobs coming from the other room. "Is it more than just what you're hoping for?"

They could take to Bruce. There had to be some therapy regimen for this that doesn't include beating down his tower.

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He thinks about the question for a moment, "I think so? It's hard to tell. He doesn't say much unless I encourage him but I still think he's keeping a lot to himself."

Steve gives the other room a sad look. "I just want him to remember so he knows that Hydra hasn't been his whole life. That there are other things, better things to do with himself than the next mission. It's no way to live."

His shoulders slump, "I hope that still includes me but if he can't... I understand. I just want him to realize he's more than a weapon and be able to make decisions himself."

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"Huh. That's just sappy enough to be believable," Tony says, though it has nothing to do with being cruel at all. He has little against Steve, minus the size of his fucking arms, and they've worked together here and there...enough that, perhaps, they might call each other colleagues. If not friends.

He lightly pats Steve on the shoulder and then gives him a shove that likely won't move the blond.

"I think in this case you should keep pursuing. Eventually he'll be rubbed down to nothing and then you can work your insanely not-as-handsome-as-me-but-still-up-there charm."

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He shoots Tony a look. He had meant it, sappy or not. If his friend doesn't want him in his life after he remembers, he'll probably be heartbroken but as long as he's back to making his own choices, Steve really will leave him alone.

Steve doesn't move at the push but his expression does get more resolved and he nods, "It might mean a few more dents in your wall."

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"Do you think you can have those dents down in the gym? I reinforced it specifically for that reason. Or use the swimming pool. It's almost Hulk proof!" Tony just wants to get the Hulk in swim trunks, all right? He just wants...he wants Steve to smile again.

Without waiting for a reply, Tony leaves. He's done the best he can being a friend. The rest is up to Steve.

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Steve considers for a moment, "I'll try to direct him that way. You might have more sandbags to replace but I guess that's better than the wall."

He probably won't be smiling for awhile Tony. This process is going to be hard on them both and for different reasons. He's about to say thank you when the man walks out and he shakes his head, then goes to quietly knock on Bucky's door.

"There's a workout room downstairs. Tony reinforced the sandbags so I could take my feelings out on them. I'll show you where it is if you're interested."

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There aren't even bruises on his knuckles, not because he'd used the metal arm to shove his anger through the drywall, but because of what science could do. Science, so much like Tony's science. Or Bruce's. And yet, this time around, it had been used to turn a man into a living weapon.

When Bucky answers, he just looks sad. Confused. And very red eyed.

"Yeah...yeah actually... Want to spar?"

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Honestly, he hadn't expected bruises. Steve knows what it's like to be turned into a weapon, at least partly, though his had been completely voluntary and he had control over who he worked for. Bucky had neither and now he's directionless.

He looks a little surprised at the question but he nods, "Sure, let me change into something better real quick." Khakis are not sparing clothes.

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Bucky is brutal enough to make Tony get to his feet twice. Steve more or less can hold his own, they're so equally matched, but Bucky looks like he wants to kill something and in all honesty, Tony isn't wrong about that observation.

Bucky slams Steve into the wall as many times as he's able, panting heavily, breathing into his face. Blue eyes so close gave Bucky pause. His lips part. Steve smells familiar.

Tony gets up for the third time when a slam into the wall turns into what looks like two men trying to bite each other's faces off. Both dark eyebrows raise. "J-- Record."

"Of course, Sir."

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