The first thing Sam heard Tony Stark say in real life was, "It's fine, Romanoff, I don't even have to check with Pepper unless there are at least six zeros." And then Iron Man was in his damn kitchen, and Sam just...didn't have anything left to boggle about that with. His ability to freak out had gotten kinda dented by randomly meeting Captain America jogging and took a serious hole in the fuselage when two Avengers showed up asking for his help, and the arrival of the Winter--of Barnes basically shot it out of the sky entirely. So: Iron Man, in his kitchen. Moving on.
"Speaking of it's fine," Stark continued, "why the hell didn't you morons call me?" He completely ignored Barnes, who stood against the wall with his arms crossed, looking exactly like the most dangerous person Sam had ever even thought about meeting. Even in skinny jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, both of them (naturally) black. The metal hand looked like a weird glove.
"Two reasons," Natasha replied. "One, SHIELD-slash-Hydra was watching you like a satellite-assisted hawk in one of the most surveilled cities in the world." Stark opened his mouth to object but Natasha overrode him. "And yes, you're good, but you wouldn't've know we were coming and they might have been able to get onto us before you could lock down. Two," she smiled grimly, "you helped with the Insight design, Tony."
Stark looked taken aback, which was something Sam suspected didn't happen very often, and seemed to actually think about it--likely even rarer. Sam knew the type, so smart that it never occurred to them that they even could be wrong unless it was rubbed in their faces. In Stark's case, rich-kid syndrome certainly didn't help. "OK, that's--actually fair," Stark said. "In my defense, the design of those engines was, like, migraine-inducingly bad. I couldn't let them exist in the world, it was an offense against nature. And engineering. Tony Stark," he said, turning to Sam and sticking his hand out with no warning at all. Sam, who worked with people for whom mood whiplash was par for the course, took it.
"Sam Wilson, nice to meet you."
"When we have two minutes, you and I need to talk about your awesome jetpack," Stark said.
"My awesome jetpack is at the bottom of the Potomac," Sam said. The wings were, at least. He thought the backpack part was probably buried in the ruins of the Triskelion.
Stark rolled his eyes. "No, that was your regular jetpack, I'm talking about the awesome one I'm gonna make you."
"Um. Great?" Sam said. Maybe his ability to boggle wasn't completely used up after all.
"It will be," Stark said, with breathtaking, totally unconscious arrogance. "Who's gonna introduce me to our friend here?" His hand went into his pocket--of a suit that looked like it cost more than Sam made in a year--and Sam wondered if he even noticed the way Barnes tensed until it came back out holding a foil package. Of dried blueberries.
"Barnes," the man said.
Stark paused in the act of ripping the top off his package and looked up, his brown eyes sharp and intent. "You know, that's really interesting, because wasn't Capsicle's best buddy named Barnes? Back in the war I mean."
"James Buchanan," Barnes said expressionlessly. "Don't call me Bucky."
"Huh," Stark said. "And you're the last person to see him, right?"
"Yes."
"Great." He put his briefcase down on Sam's kitchen table and snapped it open. "Let's start with that."
Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 3/?
"Speaking of it's fine," Stark continued, "why the hell didn't you morons call me?" He completely ignored Barnes, who stood against the wall with his arms crossed, looking exactly like the most dangerous person Sam had ever even thought about meeting. Even in skinny jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, both of them (naturally) black. The metal hand looked like a weird glove.
"Two reasons," Natasha replied. "One, SHIELD-slash-Hydra was watching you like a satellite-assisted hawk in one of the most surveilled cities in the world." Stark opened his mouth to object but Natasha overrode him. "And yes, you're good, but you wouldn't've know we were coming and they might have been able to get onto us before you could lock down. Two," she smiled grimly, "you helped with the Insight design, Tony."
Stark looked taken aback, which was something Sam suspected didn't happen very often, and seemed to actually think about it--likely even rarer. Sam knew the type, so smart that it never occurred to them that they even could be wrong unless it was rubbed in their faces. In Stark's case, rich-kid syndrome certainly didn't help. "OK, that's--actually fair," Stark said. "In my defense, the design of those engines was, like, migraine-inducingly bad. I couldn't let them exist in the world, it was an offense against nature. And engineering. Tony Stark," he said, turning to Sam and sticking his hand out with no warning at all. Sam, who worked with people for whom mood whiplash was par for the course, took it.
"Sam Wilson, nice to meet you."
"When we have two minutes, you and I need to talk about your awesome jetpack," Stark said.
"My awesome jetpack is at the bottom of the Potomac," Sam said. The wings were, at least. He thought the backpack part was probably buried in the ruins of the Triskelion.
Stark rolled his eyes. "No, that was your regular jetpack, I'm talking about the awesome one I'm gonna make you."
"Um. Great?" Sam said. Maybe his ability to boggle wasn't completely used up after all.
"It will be," Stark said, with breathtaking, totally unconscious arrogance. "Who's gonna introduce me to our friend here?" His hand went into his pocket--of a suit that looked like it cost more than Sam made in a year--and Sam wondered if he even noticed the way Barnes tensed until it came back out holding a foil package. Of dried blueberries.
"Barnes," the man said.
Stark paused in the act of ripping the top off his package and looked up, his brown eyes sharp and intent. "You know, that's really interesting, because wasn't Capsicle's best buddy named Barnes? Back in the war I mean."
"James Buchanan," Barnes said expressionlessly. "Don't call me Bucky."
"Huh," Stark said. "And you're the last person to see him, right?"
"Yes."
"Great." He put his briefcase down on Sam's kitchen table and snapped it open. "Let's start with that."