Chapter Text
The apartment is homey, filled with comfortable furniture and oozing the comforting scents of happiness and mates . Bucky likes it here and he sips his beer, leaning back into the fluffy couch.
“You got any plans for the night?” Nat’s perched on the armrest, a perfectly shaped brow cocked at her question. Bucky looks at her, at her vibrant red hair and her stunningly beautiful face, and wonders how anybody in their right mind could ever think she'd present as an omega. Even when they were kids, she’d had the poise only Alphas possess.
Then again, everyone thought he'd be an Alpha, so there's that, too.
“Not really. Had a bit of a taxing day at work,” he replies. “Was thinking I'd just order in some Thai and watch crap television.”
“You should get out more,” Natasha says carefully. “Meet people that aren't clients. Get some fresh air. I don't know, live a little?”
Bucky looks down at his hands in his lap. The right one is curled into a loose fist, the left one still covered by a thin leather glove to hide the gleaming metal it's made of. “I don't need that to be happy, Nat,” he says quietly.
At the other end of the apartment, something clatters, followed by a curse so colorful it makes them both smirk. Clint’s usually grace personified, but sometimes he gets lost in his head a little and he gets clumsy. Nicknamed Hawkeye, you'd never guess that apart from his frighteningly accurate aim, he also has the tendency to stumble over his own feet when distracted. It's why he and Nat are such a great couple - she keeps him tight and he allows her to let go from time to time. Clint’s an omega, like Bucky, and like Bucky, you'd never tell on first glance.
Nat found Clint ten years ago, their bond instant and pure. Clint and Bucky became fast friends at their first meeting, their quick wit and matching sense of humor the foundation of a lifelong friendship. Nat had loved it, called them both her little family for a while. They stuck with him too, through... through the crap that happened after.
Bucky’s so happy for Nat, that she found someone to mate with so young. And knowing Clint’s not the perfect omega had at one point given Bucky hope there was someone out there for him, too.
Of course, that was years ago. He doesn't harbor any such petty fantasies anymore. He's learned the hard way to stop being foolish like that.
“Listen,” Nat says, pulling him back from his thoughts. “There's this guy, an Alpha. A friend of mine. His name’s St-”
“No,” Bucky says resolutely, interrupting her. He winces automatically, wonders if he should apologize.
“You should just meet him, Buck. He's so nice, not at all like -”
“I said no,” Bucky replies, voice a bit firmer now. He won't be able to actually raise his voice to Nat, since she's an Alpha and all, but they've known each other long enough and he knows how he can make his point come across. He can even interrupt her to some extent, if she's in a good mood and lets him. It's… freeing to be able to do so.
“Buck,” she says, almost pleading.
“Natashenka,” he replies. “ Njet .”
He tries to ease his rejection with a bit of a joke. They grew up neighbors, and they’d had the same Russian babysitter who’d taught them the basics. Both able to pick up languages quickly, they'd become quite good at it and they'd kept up the practice, even if just to annoy their friends by switching to a language nobody else around them can understand.
The Russian makes Nat smile, a little. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
Clint uses that moment to step into the room, looking groomed and smelling divine, even to Bucky.
“You about ready to go?” he asks Natasha, his face breaking open in the sweetest smile when his gaze lands on her.
“Been waiting for you, sweets,” Nat replies with a similar soft smile. “Your aids have fresh batteries?”
Clint nods. “Wouldn't miss it for the world.”
They're going to a concert, Bucky knows. He just hopped by after work to wish them a good night.
A concert isn't something that Clint thought he'd ever be able to enjoy again a few years back. They'd been on their way home from a visit to the fair, the two of them. They could go out like that, because Clint smelled mated and so they were both left alone, mostly. And Nat was awesome enough to let them go out together without wanting to follow them around to protect them.
They’d been on Bucky’s bike, as they usually were when they went out together. Bucky had saved up hard for it and he enjoyed the sense of freedom riding his bike always gave him.
Not that day. Going home, they’d been hit by a truck that came out of nowhere, catapulting them both away from the bike. When Bucky’d come to, he was already on his way to the hospital. He remembers vividly the blinding pain on his left side, but only after he woke up for the second time, when he’d come out of surgery, did he learn about the full extent of the damage.
The truck driver had been drunk. The bike was totaled, which wasn’t a surprise. Clint had lost most of his hearing on the impact. And Bucky lost his left arm that day.
He’d never driven a bike again, and only recently had he been able to let go a little of the crushing guilt he still felt when he looked at Clint’s hearing aids. Clint had forgiven him easily, though. As had Natasha. Said it wasn’t Bucky’s fault. The truck driver had been wrong, and drunk, and also an ass. Clint said he’d never noticed that truck, either. And if the roles were reversed, would Bucky hold a grudge?
Well, no, but that didn’t mean Bucky felt better about it.
At least his aids worked fantastically for him, and Bucky had learned ASL at the same speed as Natasha and Clint so they could communicate easily when Clint got tired and his brain couldn’t make sense of the sounds anymore.
But still.
He sighs, and looks up when Nat places a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back to the present. He doesn’t quite like the look in her eyes. She’s worried.
“You smell of sadness,” she says by way of explanation.
“Sorry. Just thinking.”
“Come on by this weekend,” she says. “We can go see a movie or something.”
“My heat’s due,” he murmurs, warmth rising to his cheeks. He won’t even be able to leave his place, let alone go somewhere as public as a cinema.
“Oh, right, you said. I knew that. But we need to go. Don't want to be late,” she says. “You got everything, babe?” she asks Clint, who nods and goes to get their coats. His tummy is just now barely beginning to show - at four months pregnant he’s glowing with health and happiness. Nat smiles at his back, then shifts her gaze back to Bucky. “You sure you don't want either of us to come with you tomorrow?”
“It's fine,” Bucky says. “But thanks.”
“Anytime. Call us to let us know how it went?”
“It's just a check up,” Bucky says, defensive. “It's not a big deal.”
“It's about you,” Nat says, in a voice that brooks no argument. “It's a big deal.”
“Just go enjoy your concert,” Bucky replies, getting up. He can drop by that Thai place on his way home, take the food to go.
Nat looks like she wants to say something, but decides against it. Instead, she opens the door and gestures for Clint and him to get through first. It's one of those quirks that helps Bucky remember not all Alphas are awful - Nat never lets her omega come second.
“Have fun,” Bucky says. He'd have joined them if he could stand being in a crowd.
“I’ll try to record that song for you if you want,” Clint says. Bless him for not trying to convince Bucky to join them anyway.
“That would be great, but you should really just enjoy the show. Don’t worry about me.”
Clint turns fully to Bucky and widens his eyes comically. “We always worry about you. And you let us know how tomorrow goes, or I’ll come haunt you for details myself.”
“I will,” Bucky says. He’s smiling now, pulling on his coat as Natasha locks up and they all pile into the elevator.
It’s chilly out, fall turning into winter slowly. It’s going to rain soon - he can feel it in his left shoulder. He walks Nat and Clint to the subway station and then takes a left into the direction of the Thai restaurant. If he’s quick about it, he can be home before the cold really settles into his bones.
Stark Tower is intimidating. Bucky steps through the big entrance and crosses the lobby just before 2 pm that next day, feeling as out of place as he always does. The floors are sleek marble and the ceiling is impossibly high. The people milling about are all wearing smart suits and shiny shoes. Bucky always feels as if people are looking down at him, and they probably do. He’s in his favorite red sweater today under his coat, and he’s wearing a baseball cap against the rain. He looks nothing like the groomed men and women here, but alas. At least he’s never had the desire to be one of them, either.
“How can I help you?” the female Beta at the reception desk asks him. She’s polite about it, but she’s new, and Bucky can tell by the hesitation in her eyes that she thinks he’s lost.
“I have an appointment with Tony Stark,” he replies. “Barnes. At two.”
She looks at him doubtfully, but to her credit, shifts her gaze to the computer screen and starts clicking. “Barnes, Barnes… I’m sorry sir, there’s nobody with your name in his schedule.”
Bucky frowns. “Can you look again? I’m sure it was today.”
She doesn’t even look at the screen, instead takes her time to look him up and down. His wet baseball cap, his long hair, his stubble. His worn but well-loved boots. She doesn’t see a man. She sees an out-of-place omega and she’s not inclined to help out at all. Her face changes as her distaste makes itself known.
“You must be mistaken,” she says with an air of satisfaction. “You can’t have any business here.”
“Well, can you at least call Tony and ask him about it?” Bucky asks, starting to feel irritated.
“Sir,” she says, looking stricter now. “There is no way I am interrupting Mr. Stark. You have no idea how many people come by this desk daily with the same request as you. If you don’t have an appointment, you will not reach him. That’s how it works.”
Bucky nods once. He’s not going to win this. “Can I just make a phone call then?”
She’s done, he can tell. “You can use your own phone. Sir, if you don’t leave, I am going to have to ask security to escort you out.”
Wow, that went downhill fast, Bucky thinks. He steps back from the desk and pulls out his phone. He stays within her hearing distance, just so he can see her face when he dials and his call is answered.
“Tony,” he says when he hears the other man’s voice. “I’m here for our appointment but-” he checks the name tag of the woman behind the desk - “Naomi here won’t let me up. Did you forget about me again?”
She looks up sharply at the mention of her name, and then picks up her phone. Calling security, probably. Bucky has approximately twenty seconds to get this sorted or there will be a scene.
“Oh Jesus,” Tony says. “I’m so sorry. Didn’t I tell Jarvis to write that down and get it sorted?”
I did schedule an appointment for Mr. Barnes and you, sir, the AI says in the background. I just checked and it is definitely booked, but I put it down as JB as per your request. There might have been a mishap there.
“Well, there’s that,” Tony says. “Did you hear that, Buck?”
“I did,” Bucky says. “Can you help me out? I think security is on its way to show me the exit.”
“Oh for crying out loud,” Tony mutters. “Sometimes it really sucks to have staff that actually tries to do their job. Jarvis?”
On it, sir.
Two security people, Alphas by the smell of them, are already on their way over to Bucky when both of them reach up to their ears simultaneously, pressing against the radios to hear the message better. Their expressions change from hostile to friendly in a heartbeat. It’s almost funny. When they reach Bucky, the left man smiles at him. “If you would follow me, sir. Mr. Stark asks that I personally escort you up to his floor.”
From the corner of his eye, Bucky can see Naomi’s jaw drop. He can’t help but stick out his tongue when he follows the security guard to the elevator. On his way over, the second guard walks over to the desk. He's saying something to the receptionist Bucky can't quite hear. From the way her expression changes, she just got fired.
Bucky can’t find it in him to care.
The guard in the elevator punches the code that will give them access to Tony’s apartment. The ride up is swift, but even in a Stark elevator it takes a while to get to the top floor.
“Sorry about that situation downstairs,” the security guard says quietly. “Sometimes we get overeager staff. We deal with a lot of nut jobs on a daily basis, claiming that they’re Stark’s personal friend or that they have business with them.”
“But I was in the schedule,” Bucky says, just as quietly. The guard is keeping a respectful distance, but Bucky doesn’t like being in an enclosed space with any Alpha. The man’s scent is subdued but still overwhelming to Bucky, and he takes shallow breaths. He clenches his fists and wills himself not to panic.
“And sometimes we get idiot staff,” the guard says. “I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I?”
“I’ve been around,” Bucky says vaguely. His heart nearly skips a beat in relief when the elevator dings and the doors slide open. “Thanks,” he says over his shoulder when he steps out. Tony is waiting for him, typing away on his phone.
“Naomi has been reassigned to archive duty for a while,” Tony says by way of greeting. “Until she can learn how to read.”
“Sure she meant well,” Bucky murmurs.
“Sure. But looking down on omegas is a capital offense in my book. A book she read when she got hired here, I might add.”
Bucky smiles softly at that. Tony Stark is famous for his relentless efforts in achieving equal rights and treatment for omegas. His staff is trained to treat everyone - workmate and client alike - equally. Naomi messed up, not only by looking down on Bucky for being an omega, but also because she refused to verify the appointment and therefore deciding for Tony that he shouldn’t want any business with him.
“Anyway,” Tony says, “next time you can just go around to the private entrance and ring there, okay? Jarvis will know to let you in. You want a drink? Or do you want me to look at your arm first?”
“Let’s do that first,” Bucky says. He’s nervous and he knows it bleeds through in his voice.
“Sure,” Tony says. He starts walking, expecting Bucky simply to follow him to his workshop. It’s the smaller one, at the other end of the floor. Bucky peels off his leather glove on the way, stuffing it in the pocket of his coat.
His prosthetic was a gift from Tony. After his accident, insurance provided him with a plastic arm that couldn’t move, but at least gave him something to fill up his sleeve with. When he found Tony, or well, Tony found him, the Alpha inventor designed this metal arm. It’s a prototype, really, but Bucky’s couldn’t have been happier to act as a test subject in this case. The arm connects to his central nervous system and he can move it like it’s real. He can even write with it, and considering he was born left handed, Bucky literally cried when he discovered that.
Now he’s ambidextrous. Nine years without a working arm goes a long way in acquiring such a skill. It’s… pretty damn handy, actually. Pun intended.
“All right,” Tony says when they arrive in his working area. There’s desks littered with tools and prototypes lining the walls, and screens everywhere - both real and holographic ones. Tony’s tech is so advanced it’s like stepping into a science fiction movie. Bucky had nearly freaked out when Tony had brought him here the first time.
Tony is a genius, a mad scientist, an Alpha, but also a great friend. Even if he doesn’t do social skills, as he has claimed repeatedly. His mate, an omega named Pepper Potts, is also his personal assistant and Bucky would count her a friend too if he saw her more often. But she’s even busier than Tony, keeping his life on track, it seems.
The Alpha turns to Bucky and smiles. “Did I ask you how you’ve been? I didn’t, did I?”
“You didn’t,” Bucky says. “And I’m fine. How are you?”
“Good, good,” Tony replies distractedly. He’s already moved away again, calling up holographics and other data on Bucky’s arm. “How’s the arm?”
“Fine,” Bucky says.
Tony looks sharply over his shoulder at the answer. “You don’t smell fine when you say it’s fine. What’s wrong? You’re supposed to give me data on this.”
Bucky looks at his hands in his lap. Flexes the metal fingers and still revels that he can .
“I don’t want to complain.”
Tony scoffs. “I’ve known you for over a year now and never heard you complain once. But let me check you out. Want to tell me what’s bothering you now or are you waiting until I find out myself?”
Bucky pauses. It’s hard to tell Tony what’s been going on. He got the arm for free and there is no way he wants to be negative about this monumental gift. So he keeps his mouth shut and starts pulling off his coat when Tony tells him to undress.
He hates taking off his clothes for anyone. Hates it because he’s scarred and because of all the other crap that happened. And even though he’s done it in front of Tony countless times, it still isn’t easy to lift up his shirt and then his undershirt off his shoulders. It’s chilly in the room and he shivers, curving in on himself.
“”You know the drill,” Tony says when he wheels over a stool. “Lift your arms for me.”
Tony must notice his unease, must smell it on him, but he doesn’t mention it. He never does. He knows what happened to Bucky, knows he’s skittish around Alphas, but he’s always calm and collected, and baseline distracted when he’s with Bucky. And he smells decidedly mated, which helps Bucky a lot when it comes to his own comfort.
He moves his arms as directed, lifting them both and testing their range of motion. Tony checks for symmetry and fine motor skills and whatnot, and Bucky is able to lose himself a bit in the familiar motions of the check up.
“Let me see your back,” Tony says next, and that’s then Bucky tenses up again. Tony looks at him like he’s waiting for Bucky to admit that’s where the problem lies, but Bucky keeps his mouth shut and lets Tony wheel around him so he can check the omega’s back.
“Ah, think I found what you didn’t want to complain about,” Tony says quietly. “I’m going to touch you. Don’t panic.”
Bucky still flinches harshly when he feels Tony’s fingertips brush against what’s left of his shoulder. It raises a mad itch and he fists his right hand to prevent himself from reaching up to scratch.
“You’ve been working out,” Tony says, gently prodding and pushing. “That why it’s chafing. You’re getting big.”
Bucky blushes against his will. Yes. he’s been going to the gym. Being stronger helps him to feel safer. He can fight someone off now if they try something, and that feels… good.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” Bucky says. “It’s not like there’s something wrong with the arm.”
“No, but still it doesn’t quite fit you anymore. Does it hurt? Be honest.”
“... A little.”
“Seems like a next prototype should allow for some give, I think. I’m going to scan this, see what I can do. Or do you need to be somewhere?”
Bucky already took the entire afternoon off, so he doesn’t have to go back to work. He shakes his head.
“Good. Jarvis, can you get us both some coffee? And scan Bucky’s shoulder joint. Make sure you get a 3D rendering of his skin where it comes in contact with the metal. I need heat scans too.”
“Of course, sir. Would Mr. Barnes like to eat anything, too?”
Tony looks at him sharply. “Did you skip lunch again?”
“I’m just being polite, sir,” Jarvis interrupts. Saving Bucky’s ass. Again.
“Okay. Do you?” Tony asks then, repeating Jarvis’s earlier question.
“Sure,” Bucky responds. “If it’s no inconvenience.”
“It’s my pleasure, sir,” Jarvis says, and Tony stands back so the scans can be done.
Minutes later, Tony is pouring over the images while Bucky is munching on some scones. He’s put his shirt back on for the time being, and he looks around the workshop. Half-finished and forgotten robots are scattered around. There’s a working one around here somewhere, too, Bucky knows. It’s called Dum-E, and Tony has a soft spot for it the size of Canada.
An hour has passed and Bucky is engrossed in a movie on his phone when Tony finally pushes back from his desk.
“I think I can fix it. If you can spare another hour and you’re okay with me taking the arm to my big shop downstairs, I can do it right away.”
“Eh,” is Bucky’s eloquent reply. He doesn’t really like the prospect of taking off his arm when he’s not at home.
Alone.
In the dark.
With the doors locked.
Tony looks at him, thinking. “I can ask Pepper to join you for a while?”
Bucky still frowns. He’d have liked some time to get used to the idea. Then again, getting rid of the chafe and the maddening itch it causes might be nice, too.
“Jarvis,” Tony says, not breaking Bucky’s gaze.
“Already on it, sir. She will be here in five minutes.”
“Good,” Tony replies. “Take off your shirt again.”
Bucky sighs, the only defiance he dares to show, and reaches behind him to pull the fabric off his body. He looks away doggedly, gritting his teeth, while Tony unlocks the prosthetic limb and takes it out of the socket. Bucky lists to the right, off balance without the arm attached. What remains is the metal base connected to what’s left of his arm, a stub about four inches long. The metal is bolted into the bone, Bucky knows, but once that healed he never felt anything of it. Thankfully. It still looks like something straight out a horror movie, that’s for sure.
He’s uncomfortable, his scent coming off him in waves, he knows, but he can’t help it. He feels rattled just with his shirt off - without his arm he feels even more exposed. He’s shaking, a thin sheen of perspiration starting to cover his shoulders and chest. Tony walks off with the arm, quite oblivious (and Bucky still doesn’t know if he should be grateful or annoyed by that), and right at that moment, Pepper enters the workshop.
“Hey, James,” she says in her usual warm voice as she comes up behind him. Without preamble, she wraps a warm blanket around his shoulders, covering him up and taking his not-arm out of sight. He sags in relief, breath uneven, and she kisses his cheek.
Her scent is warm and earthy, comforting as always, and she simply hops up on the gurney so she’s sitting on his right side. “Tony being Tony again?”
Bucky breathes out a laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”
“He doesn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. He just doesn’t know how to put you at ease.”
“I’m so glad he’s helping me, though.”
“Doesn’t take away the fact that you don’t like being here. And that’s okay,” she says soothingly. “You don’t have to be brave all the time, you know.”
Her words stir up something deep inside Bucky’s gut but he pushes it down. He’s rattled enough as it is, no need to add any other emotions into that mix, thank you very much.
Pepper seems to notice his discomfort so she changes the subject of their conversation easily. What Tony lacks in social skills, she has in abundance. They talk about Bucky’s job and hers, about Tony’s latest experiments, and about the new law that passed that lowers income tax for omegas to the same level as Alphas’. It’s one of the final steps in achieving true equality, and while there are many people out there who still treat omegas like they’re less, at least omegas have more and more laws on their side. This new law means a significant pay raise for Bucky, too, for which he’s glad.
Time passes, and Bucky ends up wandering around the workshop and then farther into the apartment on Pepper’s invitation when Tony stays away.
“You should stay for dinner,” Pepper says when two hours have passed. “That’s the least we can do for making you wait so long.”
Bucky hums noncommittally. He doesn’t want to be a burden. He feels bad enough already that Tony is spending so much time on his arm. It’s not that the chafing was bad or anything. Just a little uncomfortable.
Instead, he looks around the apartment and his gaze falls to a painting that he didn’t notice before. It’s an explosion of color and his eyes are drawn to it immediately. He walks over to the painting, taking in the brush strokes, the weight of the lines.
That’s me , Bucky thinks. That painting is me .
“Do you like it?” Pepper asks, coming up behind him. “A friend of ours made it. He’s really talented, don’t you think?”
Bucky scans the bottom of the painting and finds the artist’s initials in the right corner: SGR. He hasn’t heard of the artist before, but he sure likes this piece.
“We have a lot of his paintings. You know that one of the dancing man in Tony’s shop downstairs? That’s from him, too.”
Bucky loves that painting. It’s one of the reasons why he actually prefers to go to the downstairs workshop for his checkups, even if it’s more impersonal. But that painting… It’s a drawing in charcoal with red accents, a nude without nudity, of a man dancing. Bucky can taste the emotion in that picture and more than once he’s wondered what it would take for him to take that painting home so he could look at it every day.
“Back!” Tony calls when the doors of the elevator open. He’s carrying Bucky’s arm, which Bucky hopes is good news. He walks over to Tony, gripping the blanket around his shoulders a little tighter as he prepares for what the engineer has to say.
“I altered the shoulder plate so it fits better now. If you keep building muscle, we’ll have to recalibrate again. I got some ideas to work something out so that it adjusts. People gain and lose weight all the time, if I want to make this a commercial product I’ll have to make sure it will always fit.”
He’s already walking off as he’s muttering. Bucky will never stop being entertained by his monologues.
“You coming?” Tony suddenly calls over his shoulder. “I suppose you want it back?”
Pepper shoots him an amused smile and together they walk back into the workshop. Tony is fixing up some last details while Bucky climbs back on the gurney.
“James really likes that new painting we got,” Pepper says. “He just saw it for the first time.”
“It’s amazing,” Bucky agrees. “All those colors… I can get into art if it looks like that.”
Tony shoots him a fleeting smile. “Not when it looks like this?” he asks, holding up the arm.
Bucky sputters, trying to save himself from that blunder, but Tony chuckles instead. “I get it. Let me fix you up.” Attaching his arm is a matter of seconds and when it clicks in place, Bucky’s entire body relaxes as it finds its balance back. He keeps the blanket close as Tony inspects the fit, but it already feels so much better Bucky can’t help but smile.
“That’s what I do this for,” Tony says when he faces Bucky again. “To see you smiling like that.”
That makes Bucky blush and he looks away, shy.
“I still can’t believe you’re doing this for me,” he says. “Seriously, is there nothing I can do to pay you back?”
The look that Tony gives him makes Bucky immediately regret that he asked.
“How about this,” he starts, and Bucky braces himself. “That painting you like? The artist has an exposition downtown. It opens tonight and I'm supposed to make an appearance. Pepper’s coming too. If you’re available, I'd like for you to join us there. You get to see his work. I can make sure you meet him, too.”
Bucky narrows his eyes. There has to be a catch.
“Also of course once were there, there might be a few people who'd like to take a look at your arm-”
“Tony,” Pepper warns. Bucky wants to hug her.
“What?”
“You can't put him on display like that. Honestly, what are you thinking?”
“Well, if you put it like that…,” Tony says, frowning. “But it's more like, maybe a peek at your hand? I'm not parading you around there naked.”
Poor choice of words.
A flash of a memory pops up in his mind’s eye. Eyes on him, cold, strange eyes, and he’s not allowed to hide or leave the room. He's soaked in sweat, his heat pheromones rolling off him in waves. No clothes to hide him. No prosthetic to make him feel at least a little human.
There's no air. Not enough air in the room and his lungs won't work. All he can smell is his own fear, all he can see the blinding light that's in his eyes.
“Jesus. Bucky?”
He doesn't recognize the voice. Doesn't know where he is. He's lying flat on his back. What the fuck?
“Bucky. James. Come on. It's Tony and Pepper here. You're in Stark Tower. You're safe.”
Safe? He hasn't been safe in a very long time. Any moment now the hands will come, hands all over his body, touching him where he doesn't want to. Teeth at the back of his neck but he knows the bite won't take, he knows that. At least he can trust that. He squeezes his eyes shut, wills it to be over soon.
“Bucky? Breathe with me. Slow down. Yes, there you go. That's real good, Bucky. Ssh.”
He comes back online slowly, his ears ringing, still panting like he ran a marathon but at least he's aware of his surroundings again.
“Christ. You back with us?”
Tony sounds really worried, wow. Bucky blinks and realizes he's curled up on the gurney, a warm blanket over him. Pepper is at his other side, wide eyed and pale.
“Sorry,” Bucky says. He tries to sit up and Pepper helps him, keeps him supported even when he's upright. “Jesus. Don’t know what happened.”
“Panic attack. Probably something I said. I'm so sorry,” Tony says, and as far as he usually steers away from any form of emotion, Bucky can see he's genuinely contrite. “You feeling a bit better?”
“Yeah,” Bucky lies.
“I'm going to get some juice and chocolate,” Pepper murmurs. “You okay here for a while?”
What she means is, are you okay staying alone with an Alpha for a while. They know what happened to him. What Alexander Pierce did. But he hasn't had a panic attack in a long time, and he never had one with Tony present.
He was doing better, dammit.
“I'm good,” Bucky says, more honest now. At least his brain can still differentiate that he's safe here. “I'm so sorry, Tony.” His own fear hangs around him, an acrid smell that takes over even the scents of worried and anxious that Tony is pumping into the air.
As Pepper hurries off to get Bucky some sugar and electrolytes, Tony smiles at him. “I'm the one who needs to apologize here. You feeling better now?”
Bucky’s heart is still hammering in his chest and he's shivering now that his sweat is cooling down, but he nods anyway. “Better.”
“Good. And I really didn't mean to upset you. There's really just one guy I want to show you off to. His name’s Banner. He's a Beta, and he's nice. If you don't want to, we can arrange a meeting here. He's a neuroscientist.”
Bucky chooses his words carefully when he speaks again. “You said the only one who was going to check me, was you.” He doesn't want to risk going against Tony. He doesn't want to risk him thinking he's not grateful for the arm.
He doesn't want to risk upsetting an Alpha, ever.
“I did,” Tony said. “And I will. I might be a mad scientist, but I'm not evil.”
Pepper returns with the snacks and hands them to Bucky. She's not even subtle when she scents the air around him, gauging his comfort levels. As Bucky drinks and eats, she has a silent conversation with Tony, filled wholly with looks.
Those two. The most independent people ever to set foot on the earth. Perhaps that's why their bond works so well.
Bucky sometimes wonders what it's like to have a bond like that. If it even would be possible for him to find someone who would complete him like that.
He wants to laugh just at the sadness of the thought.
“You know,” Pepper says when most of Bucky’s orange juice is gone, “you should just join us to that exposition. I'm going to stick close to you. You can leave any time, too. But you'd get to see more of those paintings, and if you decide then and there you're okay for Bruce to take a look at your hand, you can say so. If not, you just get to enjoy the pretty pictures.”
Her smile is disarming, and her scent is stable and comforting. Tony has calmed down too, the pungent musk of Alpha in distress eased back towards the darker spice that is his baseline.
“Okay,” Bucky says. “But I'll need to get home to change.”
“If you insist,” Tony says. “I'm sure I can get you something.”
“I'd like to wear my own clothes if that's all right,” Bucky says, quietly. “Okay?”
Tony's gaze softens into something that Bucky wants to shy away from violently. “Sure.”
Ugh.