WinterIron one shots

Like a Dream

Word count: 1430

Summery: the soldier was sent on a mission, and some how remembers the youngest pupil to ever attend MIT during an encounter.

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2313.

Forty-seven minutes until the traitor arrived to meet secretly with his friend, the professor, and hand over the stolen experimental data.

The Soldier's primary objective was to recover the data before it fell into the wrong hands. The secondary objective was to dispose of the traitor, preferably without drawing undue attention.

The Soldier walked into the building, pack slung over his shoulder, as he had observed students walking around the campus earlier. The building was unlocked. Academic buildings had lax security. The professor's office was locked, and should remain so in order to avoid causing suspicion, but would be easily accessible through the crawlspace in the ceiling.

The easiest access point for the ceiling was in the lab on the next hallway. The Soldier went to the lab.

The Soldier stopped as he entered the large white room illuminated by the brightest white lights : there was a student there, against expectation. The student was slumped in a seat, head pillowed on folded arms, a black cloud of short, messy hair curling against the student's fingers. There were several books open on the table, and a scatter of pieces from some partially-assembled object.

The student appeared to be sleeping. The student might continue to sleep while the Soldier climbed into the ceiling. Or the student might awaken and witness unexpected activity.

The Soldier had been instructed to avoid drawing attention. It would be best to deal with the student before commencing the mission. The Soldier consulted the clock: 2327.

The Soldier hid his left hand in his jacket pocket, then put his right hand on the student's shoulder and shook gently. "Wake up."

The student made a noise expressive of displeasure. "G'way, Rhodey."

"Wake up," the Soldier repeated, slightly louder. He shook the student again.

The student made another noise, and rolled his head to the side, the messy hair falling over his face, unheeded. The student was significantly younger than most of the other students the Soldier had observed. His features were round and soft, facial hair sparse. The student's eyes opened, dark and bruised with exhaustion. He blinked at the Soldier, then lifted his head and smiled. "Well, hello there, hot stuff."

What a cutie!

The Soldier froze. That thought had not come from him. Had it?

Look at those lips. Bet he kisses like a dream.

The Soldier did not evaluate attractiveness. Or desirability. Neither had any bearing on mission parameters. The Soldier looked at the clock: 2334. "You should go home," the Soldier said.

Those (kissable) lips stretched into a smile that looked somehow familiar. "You gonna come with me? Make sure I get tucked into bed?"

The Soldier did not have desires, and so the Soldier did not want to tuck the student into a warm bed, or curl around him protectively. The Soldier did not want to bury his hands in that messy hair to soothe the student to sleep. The Soldier most certainly did not want to kiss the smirk from the student's mouth, or try to find out what the student sounded like when—

"Go home," the Soldier said, more sharply than intended. "Go to sleep."

The student sighed and started shoving his half-assembled machine and his books haphazardly into a bag, pouting and mumbling something about 'hyper-vigilant TAs.' The Soldier did not know what a TA was, but given the lax security of the building, he thought that someone certainly ought to be vigilant.

The Soldier kept his face impassive as the student finished gathering his things and slumped out of the lab, and then checked the clock: 2342. He would have to move quickly to be in position in time to complete his mission.

And when he returned to base, he would have to remember to report the strange voice in his head.

***

It was Natasha who met them when the elevator doors opened, and Bucky relaxed, just a little. He knew Natasha.

"Glad you decided to come today," she said, and offered her hand. "Let's go meet everyone."

Bucky liked that she hadn't asked if he was ready to meet them. Natasha rarely asked questions that didn't have answers. He considered taking her hand, but then decided against it. He had Steve at his back, and the whole point of this farce was to show the team that he was standing on his own feet again, right?

Natasha accepted the shake of his head with a slight nod, then turned and led the way into — oh, God — a large, open room that seemed full the the brim with noise and color and people.

Steve had shown Bucky pictures and even movies so he could learn their names, but mere pictures had not prepared him for the reality that was the Avengers. Bucky stopped dead in the doorway, barely able to resist the urge to cling to it for dear life. Thor and Barton and Col. Rhodes were playing a video game and loudly berating each other. Dr. Foster and Dr. Banner were leaning over a tablet, head-to-head and arguing vociferously in language so jargon-filled that it might as well have been Martian. Sam and Ms. Potts and a slender, dark-haired woman that Bucky couldn't identify were at a side-table, discussing what appeared to be takeout menus with a vehemence that rivaled some Bucky had witnessed over battle plans. And in the far corner by the floor-to-ceiling windows, Stark was standing with his back to the room, a phone held to his ear with one hand and the other gesticulating emphatically, as if whoever he was talking to might be able to see it.

Steve put a hand on Bucky's shoulder and squeezed. Bucky was grateful; the touch was grounding. Natasha just watched him, waiting, and he was grateful for that, too. After a moment, he gave her a nod and she slipped sideways into the room, easing effortlessly into the noise and movement like a diver sliding into water. Bucky followed with far less grace, his every step causing a splash and a ripple.

Natasha was leading him toward the group at the table, Bucky thought, and that was good. He already knew Sam, and he thought he might have met Ms. Potts once before, though his memories of his first weeks back were uncertain and foggy.

"—not going to go down there and do their jobs for them!" Stark growled into the phone, waving his free arm angrily. "And you can tell them I said that!" He stabbed at his phone with one finger as he turned back toward the room. "I swear, I don't know if I need to fire the entire—" His eyes lit on Bucky, and he paused in surprise.

So did Bucky. "Hot stuff," he murmured, and his eyes widened as he realized he'd said it aloud. He almost apologized and took it back, except—

Well, he was. Not like Steve, who was almost cartoonishly good-looking with his enormous muscles and fierce eyes and square jaw, but in the way of a man who was easy in his body, loose-limbed and wiry, balanced on the balls of his feet but relaxed about it. There were callouses on his hands and a bruise on his cheek and slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes; he was a man who knew how to work and how to fight and how to laugh. His eyes were dark with secrets and bruised with exhaustion. Tony Stark was achingly beautiful.

Bucky had to remind himself to breathe.

Natasha was watching him with just a hint of a smile. "Come on," she said, changing the angle of her trajectory. "Let me introduce you to Tony."

Bucky followed helplessly in her wake. Steve was saying something to Natasha, but Bucky wasn't listening. He couldn't take his eyes off Tony.

Tony couldn't seem to take his eyes off Bucky, either. But if he recognized Bucky from that late night nearly three decades ago, he didn't mention it. He offered a hand for Bucky to shake without a hint of hesitation, and when Bucky took it, his eyes lit up with his smile, and his touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary.

***

And after a few months of late night trips to the lab Bucky barns finally made a move on the genius.

It turned out that Bucky had been right, all those years ago.

Tony kissed like a dream.