Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Do you ever wonder,” Bucky asked from his place at the counter, “if the real reason we opened up this place was so we’d have a constant stream of coffee?” He was sitting on one of the barstools, a mug in his hand, while Steve idly cleaned the glasses behind the counter.

Steve laughed. “We’re in Brooklyn,” he pointed out. “There are easier ways to get coffee 24/7 than running a business.”

Normally, Bucky stayed busy back in the kitchen while Steve and their staff took care of the customers, but it was well past their official closing time. The fluorescent lights of the American Diner beat back the muggy, gray Brooklyn night. In the city, it never truly got dark, not with the level of light pollution. Instead, the stars were blocked by a layer of murky smog and cloud. Once, Steve had dreamed of seeing the stars. After years in a desert with a clear night sky and endless sand though, Steve was content to stay inside the four walls of their diner.

"Yeah, but not good coffee," Bucky pointed out.

When they had been younger, living together in a shoebox apartment in Crown Heights, they had learned that good food could satisfy both their bodies and souls. Bucky had learned how to improvise three square meals a day on their budget, while Steve had sat in the air-conditioned public library and learned how to bake pastries that could bring in some supplemental income.

Back then, their talents had been cobbled together for each other. It was Steve and Bucky against the world, and that was all that mattered.

It wasn't until they came back from the war, battered and exhausted to the core, that Steve realized that they had real profitable talents outside the battlefield.

The elbow grease and dedication required to turn the rundown building in the middle of Murray Hill into a functioning diner with a livable apartment on top had taken nearly three months, especially with Bucky still adjusting to his prosthetic arm, but by the end, the pair had a secure building, a workplace, and a home all in one.

"You're a coffee snob," Steve pointed out.

"Damn right," Bucky agreed, taking another sip.

It was nearly two in the morning, but neither of them suggested that they try to go back to bed. They had been friends for decades, and lovers for half that--at this point, nights like these didn't even require a discussion.

A knock on the door brought Steve's attention up from where he had been rubbing a cloth over a glass he had already cleaned twice.

The glare from the lights inside the diner made it impossible to see any details about the man standing outside, but the exhausted slump of his shoulders was recognizable even in silhouette.

Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance. After a second’s deliberation, Bucky shrugged, and Steve went around the counter to open the door. “You know, we’re technically not open,” Steve told the man, even as he stepped aside to let him through. Warm air swept inside with the man, but Steve firmly closed the door again. The summer night outside was hot and muggy, and Steve was glad that he and Bucky no longer had to rely on rattling fans to keep them cool. One of the main draws of the diner had been its old but functioning central air-conditioning.

The man was unsteady as he walked, but he didn’t smell like alcohol. “Coffee?” the man requested. Steve wasn’t sure how much he was processing of his surroundings.

In the diner’s light, Steve was able to see that the man was close to their age, possibly slightly older. If he hadn’t had the dark circles under his brown eyes and such a glazed expression, he would have been attractive.

Shrugging, Bucky leaned over the counter and grabbed a mug, filling it with the coffee pot he had kept sitting beside him. He set the mug in front of their customer at the bar seat two down, and he immediately snatched it up and drank half in one gulp. Steve returned to his place on the other side of the counter. Even if the man were drunk or on something stronger, Steve was confident in his ability to subdue him before anything bad happened.

When the man set down the mug again, it was empty and his eyes already looked slightly clearer. “Um, sorry,” the man said, looking around. “You look like you’re closed.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but Bucky cocked his head slightly and examined the other man. “Tony Stark?” he said incredulously.

“You know him?” Steve asked, surprised, but then blinked and looked at the customer. “Wait, weapons manufacturer Tony Stark?”

“I’m a lot of things,” Stark said. “But I’m not that anymore.”

“Right,” Steve said. Stark’s decision to shut down his weapons production had been the talk around base for ages. Stark weapons were expensive but reliable, and most of the guys had been sad to see them go. Steve, who had seen firsthand the kind of damage they could leave in the wrong hands, had been less saddened by the change.

Stark was looking around the diner with interest. “Wow, you guys really are closed.”

“I told you that,” Steve pointed out.

“If you said it pre-coffee, I can guarantee I didn’t hear it,” Stark said. “This place is pretty big for this city. Where are we, Brooklyn?” He looked at their faces, and said, “Oh fuck. I guess I went a little farther than I thought. At least tell me we’re in Williamsburg or something."

“Um, not quite,” Bucky said, shooting Steve a secret, amused look.

As long as he could make Bucky’s eyes crinkle like that on a night like this, Steve didn’t care that it was two in the morning and that Stark was possibly crazy. He was welcome in their diner.

"Like we could afford rent in Williamsburg," Bucky continued, shrugging. "We can barely afford it here. Not everyone's a multimillionaire."

Stark sighed. "I can't believe I drove all the way out to not-Williamsburg Brooklyn."

“Wait, you drove here like this?” Steve said. “Jesus, Stark, you could have killed someone.”

“What, Stark already? I haven’t even pissed you off yet.”

“Except for stumbling into our diner at two in the morning and drinking my coffee,” Bucky pointed out, but he was smirking.

Holding up a finger, the billionaire replied, “Fair point. I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you pour me another cup and call me Tony.”

"You don't have to--"

"Sold," Bucky said, picking up the coffee pot and refilling Tony's mug.

This time, Tony's eyes darted to the prosthetic left arm that stayed firmly in Bucky's lap, but he made no comment. Bucky had strong and steady hands, and didn't spill a drop even without being balanced.

Tony took a gulp of the coffee and sighed. "This coffee is actually amazing. I didn't really notice before because of the," he made a vague gesture to his head, "but this is good. Where do you get it from?"

"It's Bucky's blend," Steve told him.

Tony glanced over at the other man. "Your name is Bucky?"

"Problem?"

"Nope," he replied, eyes blatantly running from head to foot and back up again. Steve didn't know whether to laugh or slam Tony's face into the Formica countertop. "Ever thought about being a trophy wife?" Tony asked with a lazy smirk.

Laughing, Bucky said, "You couldn't afford me."

Turning to Steve, Tony said, "Well, now I'm offended."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Because he turned down your clearly heartfelt proposal?"

"Because I know his name, and you know mine, but you haven't introduced yourself yet."

"Steve Rogers," Steve said, holding out a hand to shake. Tony's grip was firm, and there were a surprisingly amount of calluses on his hands.

"Captain," Tony greeted.

Nearly jerking his hand back, Steve asked, "How did you...?"

Tony tilted his head toward the photo that hung on the back wall. It was of Steve, Bucky, and Peggy at the start of their first tour. They were all smiling broadly, squinting in the sunlight. Steve nodded, but the knot of tension in his shoulders didn't dissipate.

"So if Buck here makes the coffee, what's your job? To stand back there and look pretty?"

"He's good at it, isn't he?" Bucky said, smirking at the blush that spread over Steve's cheeks.

"Someone around here has to," Steve said, ignoring Bucky.

A loud grumble from the other side of the counter drew everyone's attention to Tony.

"Have you eaten tonight?" Steve asked, frowning.

"Um, what day is it?" Tony asked.

"Sit tight," Steve instructed, "We've got oatmeal on the crockpot."

"Bleh," Tony replied.

Steve ignored him, moving into the kitchen to fill a bowl for their wayward customer.

In the quiet diner, Bucky's voice was able to reach back to Steve even as the doors swung closed. "If you were here during our normal hours, you could get some real grub. We make everything fresh."

"You don't even have anything leftover?" Tony whined.

"Steve gives it all away when we close," Bucky explained.

Steve brought the bowl of steel-cut oats out to Tony, along with a small cup of heavy cream. "Just eat it," Steve said.

Tony raised his eyebrows, and then glanced at Bucky. "Is he always this bossy?"

"Usually worse," Bucky told him, and Steve glared. "You might want to eat before he kicks you out, though. We open again in four hours, so we don't have time to watch you waffle over eating."

"Shouldn't you be asleep then?" Tony asked before taking a bite of oatmeal. He glanced down at the bowl, raising his eyebrows, and then took another bite.

"Shouldn't you?" Steve asked.

"I was inventing. I just came out here to clear my head."

"You had to drive to Brooklyn for that?"

Tony shrugged. "I didn't come to Brooklyn on purpose. No one comes to Brooklyn on purpose."

"He's an asshole," Bucky told Tony. "I like him."

Tony scraped the bottom of his bowl clean, and then yawned widely. "Thanks for the company, fellas, but I should head home. I need to leave now to beat the early morning traffic."

With a glare and a shrug, Steve and Bucky reached a silent consensus. "You're not driving home," Steve declared. "I'm calling you a cab."

"You want me to leave my Bugatti parallel-parked on some side street in Brooklyn?"

"I'm sure you have insurance," Steve said, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"It's not like I'm drunk. I'm just tired," Tony said.

"There's research that shows exhaustion is just as bad for your focus as several drinks," Steve told him. "I'm calling a cab. What number should I call?" Steve continued, mouth downturned in thought. The last time he'd had to call a cab for someone had been before his first tour.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Steve, no one actually calls cabs anymore. I'll just use my app."

As Bucky typed quickly on his phone, Tony slumped so that his head was resting on the counter. "I was to keep arguing, but I think you put sleeping pills in that oatmeal."

"Having a full stomach is sometimes enough to make you realize how tired you are," Steve informed.

Tony hummed. "You could get a lot of money for kidnapping me," he noted casually.

Steve's jaw dropped. "We're not going to kidnap you. What is wrong with you?"

Shrugging, Tony grumbled something into his hands that sounded enough like "It's happened before" that Steve was suddenly wishing that he had his hands around someone's neck.

"It'll be here in five," Bucky said. "It charges my account directly, so don't worry about it once you get home. All you need to do is tell him where you live, and then not fall asleep in the car."

Tony lifted his head. "I'm literally one of the top five richest men in the world, and you just paid my cab fare?"

"I'm a gentleman like that," Bucky replied.

"Gentleman enough to give me another coffee for the road?"

"Don't push your luck."

"Besides, you need sleep," Steve pointed out. "Coffee's not going to help that."

Tony waved off his concerns with a lazy hand. "Coffee practically has replaced all the blood in my body. One more cup won't hurt."

"Cab's here," Bucky said, his phone dinging.

"Well, thanks for the...everything," Tony said, standing up.

"Go get some sleep," Steve said firmly.

Tony smirked and waved as he left the diner.

As the door closed behind him, Bucky said, "Weird guy."

Smiling, Steve said, "He's fun."

"Cute, too. He totally lied about the hundred dollars, though," Bucky added. He stood up, stretching his good arm over his head. "Bed?" he asked, coming around the back of the counter.

Steve nodded and pressed a casual kiss to Bucky's lips. "Bed," he agreed.

----

That afternoon, while Steve was chatting with the customers at table six, the phone out by the front counter rang. Trusting Bucky to answer it, Steve jotted down their dessert orders.

When he got back behind the counter, Bucky turned to look at him, and the pallor in his face made Steve's pulse jump. "What's wrong?" he asked. "No, let's dodge in here."

Sam was on shift and could handle the front without them for a while. It wasn't the first time one or both of them had had to tap out during a shift.

They drew to a halt in the back corner of the kitchen, where they had a clear view of both exits. "You okay?" Steve asked, searching Bucky's face. They both had dark circles under their eyes from the late night, but at least Bucky was looking more shocked than panicked.

"That was Kievsen," Bucky said, referring to their landlord. "On the phone."

Steve grimaced. "What did he want this time? We paid the rent on time this month."

Bucky spoke slowly, as though he didn't believe his own words. "Tony Stark just bought the building. He told Kievsen that he wanted to invest in the restaurant business...but that we won't have to pay rent."

Steve gaped. "You're serious?"

Bucky let out a shaky laugh. "His lawyer is supposed to come by later today to add us to the forms as co-owners."

"Why?" Steve asked. He's so shocked that he feels physically unsteady.

"I have no fucking clue. I think he thought you were hot," Bucky replied.

"No one buys buildings as a flirting technique," Steve said.

Bucky shrugged. "Maybe you do if you're Tony Stark. Besides, you are very, very hot." He looped his good arm around Steve's neck, grinning at him. Bucky's blue eyes, usually filled with pain or sadness, were practically sparkling with excitement.

"Not afraid I'll leave you for the multibillionaire?"

"Nope," Bucky said, leaning forward to kiss him. Thoroughly.

When they broke apart, Steve's panted and rested his forehead against Bucky's. "I love you," he said.

"Love you too, you big sap," he replied. "Do we have time for a celebratory quickie?"

"We don't even officially own the building yet. Let's not lose our business and get shut down on a health violation in one."

"It's slowing down out there," Bucky said, ushering Steve toward the back staircase that led to their loft. "And I promise we'll get out of the kitchen before I take off your pants."

Technically, Bucky didn't lie. They just only closed the door and made it up the first step before Bucky was turning him around and dropping to his knees.

----

Pre-dawn, summer in New York seemed bearable. There was a breeze off the East River, and the asphalt beneath his shoes kept him in the present.

There was a rhythm here in the pounding of his feet and the rise and fall of his breathing.

He was almost able to pretend he wasn't running from something.

"On your left," he said, slowing down to match pace with Sam.

"Hilarious," Sam said. He was jogging at a more reasonable speed than Steve's earlier sprint. "Get it all out of your system?"

Though Sam and Steve were morning workout buddies on the days neither of them opened the diner, they had learned quickly that Steve needed a chance to sprint and wear himself out before he'd be settled at Sam's speed. Steve had a lot of energy and needed to push it out in one burst to avoid being antsy the rest of the day.

"Yep," Steve said.

"You should take more mornings off," Sam suggested. "Being cooped up doesn't do you any good."

"I'll keep that in mind," Steve said wryly. Sam worked at the local VA, and couldn't resist giving advice to his friends.

"I'm serious. You know Darcy's chomping at the bit for more shifts while she's out of school for the summer, and you could use the breathing room."

"What, you don't want the shifts?"

Sam snorted. "I do just fine with the weekend slots," he said.

"If you ever change your mind, you know you've got a full-time job whenever you want it," Steve said. With his easy charm and complete reliability, Sam was an equally good employee as he was a friend. He never let the fact that Steve owned the diner stand in the way of speaking his mind, and it was usually for the best.

"Unlike some of you, I've got other commitments. You guys might do better having something outside that building too, you know?"

"Look, once this thing with Stark goes through, we should have the spare cash to hire more staff. Once that happens, I'll think about taking more time off."

"Steve..."

Steve glanced over to see Sam's jaw clenched tight. It wasn't a gesture he saw often, but it was the sign that Sam was working up to saying something Steve wasn't going to like. "What?"

Their pace slowed as Sam shook his head. "It all seems sort of hinky, doesn't it?"

"Stark seems like a good guy," Steve said.

"You mean, when he stumbled into your closed shop at two in the morning," Sam pointed out. "I'm not sure I'd want him controlling my income, you know what I'm saying?"

"He's not going to be controlling.... The lawyer said they would maintain the property while we ran the business and had our place upstairs. I won't let him change anything," Steve said firmly.

"What about when he forgets about us and suddenly you're paying mortgage on a property you can't afford?" Sam asked.

"It's not like we can buy it out from under him now even if we wanted to," Steve snapped, coming to a halt before the next crosswalk and facing Sam. "Can't you just trust that we can handle this?"

"I trust you," Sam said with simple confidence. "But I don't trust Stark, and I'm not sure you or Bucky needs the instability right now."

"I think that's sort of inevitable," Steve said through gritted teeth.

"Bucky's in a rough place. You don't have to spell it out for me to know that you guys still aren't sleeping."

Steve started forward as soon as the light turned. "I'm fine."

Sam scrambled to catch up. "Seriously?" Sam asked. "We're doing this now?"

With a heavy sigh, Steve looked away. "Sorry. It's just..."

"I get it. Things are tense. That's what I'm here for, though. You know you can talk to me," Sam said.

"I thought maybe having the diner more stabilized could help Bucky out. He's been back for six months and I have no clue if I'm making it better or worse."

"That man wouldn't know what to do without you," Sam pointed out.

"Having me around clearly doesn't help either," Steve burst out. "God, Sam, I knew getting him back wasn't going to be easy. He was with those, those people for months. I don't know if he's ever going to get past that. Some days he's like his old self, and some days it seems like he doesn't even recognize me."

Sam was silent for a long minute, and Steve focused on jogging. "I'll be real with you. You know I've worked with people in similar situations, and none of them are ever the same afterward. You just have to ask yourself; if he's not ever the way he was, do you still want to be with him?"

"I can't leave him," Steve said.

"I like Bucky, I always have, but you're my best friend, so I have to tell you that if you're going to be miserable with him, you don't have to stay."

"I'm not going to leave him," Steve said firmly, jaw clenching. "He's Bucky. Even if what he needs is for me to move out, I'm not going to drop him no matter how much effort it takes to stick around. Because nothing's worth the effort without him."

Sam nodded. "I'm pretty sure he feels the same way. He's lucky to have you."

"I hope you're not right that bringing Stark in will just make everything more complicated. We don't need anything else messing with our lives right now."

----

The next Tuesday, Tony breezed through the front door a solid hour after the lunch rush and took a seat at the counter. Steve, who had been manning the counter while Bucky took his own break and Natasha ran the kitchen, placed a menu in front of him. "Welcome back," he said, smile slightly tight. It'd been nearly a week since the lawyer had come by and made everything official, and this was the first time the billionaire had been by.

"I've been looking forward to that coffee of yours all week," Tony replied, glancing over the menu.

Steve filled Tony's mug with the omnipresent coffee pot that sat behind the counter. "So, you've come by to survey your new kingdom?"

Tony paused with the mug halfway to his mouth. "Sounding kinda resentful there, Cap."

Steve's jaw clenched. He should have gotten Sam to come in and take the floor. Diplomacy wasn't Steve's area of expertise. "I just thought you didn't much like Brooklyn, that's all." Luckily the diner was practically empty-- Steve didn't want to have this discussion in front of any patrons. Only Stan sat in the back corner, and few things fazed that old man.

"That's why you guys are still running it. I'm just here for the coffee," Tony said. He set his mug down firmly when Steve didn't reply. "Most people are happy when I do stuff like this."

"Stuff like what?"

"The money stuff," Tony said. "I just came out to have a good time and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now."

"What? I--"

"Figures you wouldn't be an Internet person. You've got your whole," he waved at Steve's entire body, "grandpa thing going on."

Steve looked down. Under the white apron, he was wearing his usual plaid shirt and khakis. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Everything is wrong with your clothes. God, do they not have a Big & Tall out here?"

Steve clenched the edge of the counter tightly and spoke as evenly as he could. "I... I'm not entirely sure what's going on here."

"You were just thinking that I'm a shark that bought you out so I could take over, and I was just wondering if you have several plaid shirts, or if you're literally still wearing the same one."

"Of course it's a different one," Steve said. "So you're not taking over?"

"What would I do with a diner?"

Steve held his gaze firmly. "That's what I've been wondering."

Tony shook his head. "Let's get this straight. I'm not here to take you over, or tell you what to do, or hold this over you. Just keep doing what you're doing, but without paying rent. It's not conditional on anything-- fuck, I'll probably forget I even did this by next month. Just, you know, don't tell the press and you can consider us even."

"Oh," Steve said, letting go of the counter and stepping back. "Um, good. Sorry."

"Most people don't look the gift horse in the mouth when this kind of stuff happens," Tony said, finally taking a drink of his coffee.

Steve shrugged. "I guess I'm not most people. You want to order some food?" he asked, extending the metaphorical olive branch.

"Is Bucky back there?" Tony asked, trying to look through the window into the kitchen.

"He's taking a break right now. Natasha Romanov is cooking now. She's the only one he trusts to cover for him."

"You're too sweet," Natasha said, leaning on the windowsill.

Steve, who had grown used to Natasha's stealth, didn't jump, but Tony did. "Let me guess," Tony said, sighing. "Another vet."

"KGB," Natasha replied drily. She gave Tony a long look and then declared, "You want a burger and a hot dog with cheese fries."

"Actually, I--"

Natasha raised her eyebrows, and Tony held up his hands. "You know what? That sounds good too."

Steve suppressed a smile as Natasha nodded sharply and slipped away. It was like she had a sixth sense for people she would be able to troll. That's probably why they were such good friends. "You made the right choice," he told Tony with a solemn expression. "She doesn't like when people disagree with her."

----

Instead of being scared away by Steve's suspicion and Natasha's intimidation tactics (though Tony did eat every bite of the plate she put in front of him), Tony became a regular fixture in the diner. The counter was his favorite spot, no matter who was taking orders there, but some days he tucked himself away with his laptop at one of the booths with an outlet.

Even if Steve hadn't enjoyed his company so much, Tony keeping his promise to stay out of the diner's business beyond paying for the building was enough to earn him a seat and complimentary coffee for as long as he wanted.

The rest of the staff of The American Diner felt the same, if their teasing was anything to go by.

Even when Steve was exhausted deep in bones from trying to hold himself and Bucky together through another long week, Tony's entrance made him smile.

"Refill?" Steve asked, stopping by Tony's table with a fresh coffee pot.

"Always," Tony said, and then looked up from his laptop, blinking. "You're not wearing your apron."

"I was," Steve agreed. "We closed ten minutes ago."

"Oh," Tony said. "I get so absorbed in my work, you know? Never mind, I'll get out of your hair."

"Stick around," Steve said. "It's just me cleaning up tonight. I could use the company."

Tony looked around the diner with more intent. "Where's Bucky? We were chatting earlier, but I haven't seen him in a while."

"He's, uh," Steve said, faltering.

"He's right here," Bucky said, entering the room. He was pale, and the set of his shoulders told Steve immediately that he shouldn't have come down at all. "I'll take the counters if you get the floors."

Steve glanced at Tony, who was still watching them, and then cautiously said, "Maybe you should take off tonight, Buck. I can handle this on my own."

"I'm not an invalid, Steve," Bucky growled, grabbing the Clorox and a rag in one hand, wincing as he moved but covering it with a scowl.

This was where most people would make their excuses and bow out. Tony, on the other hand, just peered over the back of his booth to watch Bucky clean.

"Is it the prosthetic giving you trouble?" Tony asked blithely.

As expected, Bucky tensed, and Steve followed suit.

Tony looked between them. "It's just, it looks mechanical? And you might not have noticed, but that's pretty much my thing. I don't have many tools with me, but I could at least see if there's something I can do."

Steve glanced at Bucky, whose jaw was clenched. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. Bucky could handle this himself.

After a long moment, Bucky slapped the cleaning rag onto a table and then approached Tony's booth, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand as he went.

Surprised, Steve stayed where he was at the head of the table as Bucky slid into the booth across Tony, pulled his shirt off, and then dropped his left arm on the table with a heavy clunk. Left only in a tank top, the metal arm was fully on display, as well as the mess of scars and metal that mixed at his shoulder.

Of course, Steve had seen the mechanical monstrosity that Bucky had been rigged up with, but only in the safety of their apartment. Seeing the rusted gears and metal plates out here, under their diner's fluorescent lights, was a jarring experience.

Steve loved every part of Bucky, but the arm...the arm was a symbol of their time apart that Steve could hardly stomach. Not because it was ugly--there was a raw beauty to the twisted metal-- but because he knew that it repulsed and haunted Bucky as surely as his other scars.

Tony, however, looked it over with the attention of an engineer. "This is..." Tony said. His hands hovered over the surface, not touching. While Tony stared at the metal, Steve kept his eyes on Bucky's face. The other man was tense, but he seemed fully present in the moment. "Who made this? Not the government."

"Not the American government," Bucky confirmed tightly.

Tony's eyes jumped to Bucky's face for a second, and then he nodded. "Well, offense intended, this is shoddy craftsmanship. The idea could be great, but it's like they put the plans for a StarkPhone in the hands of a caveman. Does it work?"

There was a tired whirr of gears as Bucky wiggled his fingers, but they quickly slumped back onto the table. "This is just, wow. No. Buck, how attached are you to this thing?"

Bucky glanced down at his shoulder, and then back up at Tony. "Pretty damn attached."

"Hm, that was clever. Are you sure they didn't replace your personality with a robot's too?"

Steve scowled, but Bucky snorted. "You're an asshole, Stark."

"That's because I've got a robot's heart," Tony said, tugging his own collar down so they could see a glimpse of metal embedded in his chest. "It'd be pretty invasive to put something new in here," he continued, letting go of his shirt and examining Bucky's arm again. "We'd have to redo some of the connections, do a full x-ray work up, and put you under."

"No thanks," Bucky said through gritted teeth.

Pushing through, Tony said, "I'll see what I can whip up. Now, until then, I could polish up what you've got there. Did you get any maintenance instructions? Not that I'll listen to them, but it's good to know any potential glitches before I start."

"No instructions," Bucky said. "I wasn't ever supposed to leave their 'care.' I'm not even sure if this thing was supposed to last more than a few months."

Tony's eyes darkened. Thus far, Tony had been an eccentric, but generally harmless, addition to the diner, but Steve was suddenly aware that there was more to Tony Stark than sass and caffeine.

"I don't want anyone else touching it," Bucky said after a long moment of silence, and the shake in his voice was enough to make Steve reach out and put a broad hand over the back of Bucky's neck. It was their spot, one that hadn't been twisted by months in captivity, and Bucky let out a sigh, leaning back into his grasp.

Tony tapped his fingers rapidly on the table. "Yeah, I bet. And you don't know me from the Marlboro Man. Still, I know a bit about people sticking their dirty, invasive hands where they don't belong. Getting rid of that, replacing what they did with something better, something that's yours, can mean a lot. Even just cleaning it up so it can function enough to hold its own weight would probably be a big help, right?"

Shoulders slumping, Bucky said, “Yeah, I guess.”

Steve frowned. “I thought you said it didn’t weigh very much?”

“It’s nothing I couldn’t handle,” Bucky told him.

“Is now good?” Tony asked, pulling his briefcase from under the booth and setting it on the table. “It should only take an hour or so.”

Bucky eyed the briefcase suspiciously, and then nodded. “I’ll have to cancel all of my very important plans, but I guess I can squeeze you in.”

Smirking, Steve gave Bucky one last pat on the neck before stepping back. “Can I get you guys anything? Water? Muffins?”

Bucky shook his head. “It’s almost time for the nightly giveaway,” he said. “You go take care of that. We’re good up here, right, Stark?”

Nodding, Tony looked up at Steve. “He’s in good hands. Probably the best.”

“Humble,” Steve said, lingering for one last second before moving back into the kitchen.

Every evening, Steve passed out paper bags with leftover pastries and sandwiches to anyone who needed them. Word had gotten around that Steve was giving away food in Brooklyn with no qualifications needed, and he had a steady group of people come by daily. Some were families who just needed a little something extra while they got their feet under them. Some were runaways who had ended up on the streets with nowhere to go. Most were veterans going through a hard time, mostly homeless, who found comfort in Steve’s nonjudgmental demeanor.

At first, he had wanted to do more, to give more, but people were proud. They would take his meals because he never asked questions, never asked for anything in return.

Steve's method of stepping back out of respect when people became too closed-off clearly wasn't always working though. He had thought that Bucky needed space to deal with the arm, the trauma--everything. But he had been in pain, and hadn't even given Steve a hint.

Some days, Bucky acted as though the past few years had never happened, like they were just two dumb kids who only had each other. Sometimes, though, it seemed to take all of Bucky's effort just to function.

Steve had tried to be there, to be what Bucky needed, but what if it hadn't been enough?

"Are you okay, Steve?"

Blinking, Steve looked up. Ezra, an older woman who came by at least once a week, was staring at him with concern. She had a sweatshirt on, despite the June heat, but looked more alert than usual.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Sorry.”

Even though the sun had set an hour earlier, by the time he got back inside Steve’s skin was sticky with sweat. He wiped his brow and chugged a glass of water in the kitchen before heading out to see how Tony and Bucky had fared without him.

“…and then he puked all over the sidewalk,” Bucky was saying when Steve walked in. “Oh, speak of the devil.”

Steve sighed. “The Coney Island story?”

“It’s a crowd-pleaser,” Bucky explained.

The plates of the metal arm had been peeled back to reveal an array of wires and gears. Tony had a q-tip in one hand, and a minuscule screwdriver in the other. He seemed to be cleaning each gear, if the shining silver of the rest of the arm was anything to go by. “It was a crowd-pleaser. I am very pleased,” Tony said without looking up. “Wiggle your fingers again?”

Bucky complied, and the accompanying thrum of mechanical movement was smooth and strong.

Tony hummed thoughtfully and then moved his attention to the next gear. "Steve," he said as he worked, "is it true that you used to be a shrimp?"

"I still could have kicked your ass," Steve said. Bucky tilted his head, and Steve slid into the booth beside him.

"You would have tried," Bucky corrected.

"Turn it a bit to the right," Tony said, tapping on Bucky's arm lightly with the screwdriver. Once he complied, Tony said, "I was a scrappy kid too. You don't skip five grades at boarding school without a few people taking issue with it. My dad practically funding the place didn't help my popularity much either."

Steve shrugged. "Then I probably would have been on your side. Never could resist an underdog."

"Yeah, the smartest, richest kid was definitely the underdog," Tony muttered.

"Bullies don't care who you are. They just care that you're different," Steve said firmly. "I can't stand bullies, no matter their 'reasons.'"

Beside him, Bucky snorted. "Careful, Tony. You may have just earned yourself a guard dog."

Steve nudged Bucky gently, making sure not to jostle his other arm. "Don't let him fool you. Bucky was always right there with me."

"Because if I hadn't been, you'd have gotten your face beat in even worse," Bucky grumbled.

Tony delicately snapped the metal plates back into place, and leaned back. "You two look pretty tough, but you can't fool me. I see your gooey centers now."

Bucky looked back down at his arm and raised his eyebrows. "I think it's clear that I'm about the opposite of gooey on the inside," he pointed out. He was smirking even though he was talking about the arm, and while part of Steve was jealous, he mostly wanted to offer Tony his job at the diner just so he could keep making Bucky smile like that.

"When I make a new arm for you, it's going to be nougat-filled," Tony replied, packing up his briefcase. In hindsight, Steve realized today was the first day Tony brought a briefcase in with his laptop-- he must have been planning to offer his mechanical services to Bucky for a while.

Snorting, Bucky said, "Yeah, like that's going to make me want to go under the knife for you. This arm is working fine." To demonstrate he lifted it in front of his face and waggled his fingers at Tony.

With a dramatic sigh, Tony said, "I can't believe you'd settle for shoddy tech when you're friends with, well, me."

"If you're so worried about me, why don't you upgrade my kitchen? That's where all the tech I actually give a damn about is."

Tony's dark eyes lit up.

"I'm going to regret saying that, aren't I?" Bucky said with a sigh.

"Yep," Steve and Tony replied at the same time.

----

“Okay, what’s going on with you?”

Steve glanced over at Sam as they jogged their usual route by the East River. “What?”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “You look pensive.”

“I’m just…thinking,” Steve said.

“That’s literally the definition of pensive.”

Steve reached over and shoved Sam lightly. “Why do I hang out with you?”

“Because if you need a token sane person in your life, it might as well be a handsome motherfucker,” Sam replied easily.

Laughing, Steve said, “True enough.”

“Wanna talk about what’s on your mind? You just listened to me gush about Natasha for the last fifteen minutes.”

He took a second to catalog what he was feeling. For once he hadn’t needed to sprint before matching Sam’s slower pace. That simmering tension that had been constantly underlying his actions for months had loosened, and he felt lighter on his feet because of it. “I’m just…happy,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Things are good right now.” He hesitated, and then added, “Thanks for sticking with me when they weren’t.”

“Hey, it was entirely selfish. You’re my friend. Besides, your kicked-puppy expression is enough to make a grown man cry,” Sam said. Growing more serious, he added, “I’m glad you’re settling in. I know it’s been rough. I think Tony’s been good for you, for both of you.”

“He has,” Steve agreed. “Despite your reservations.”

“Well, never let it be said that Sam Wilson can’t admit when he’s wrong about someone. He’s still rich and entitled, but he’s a good guy,” he said. “I think you guys are good for him too.”

Steve shrugged.

“Seriously, man. I don’t think he has many people he can rely on, but he seems to trust you two. It’s weird, but you three work together.”

“I like having him around,” Steve admitted, a smile tugging at his lips. “He’s funny, but also thoughtful. You saw what he did for Bucky’s arm. He’s…. Well, he’s a great guy.”

“Oh my God. Are you crushing on him?”

“What? No,” Steve said quickly, eyes wide. “I’m with Bucky.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re blind,” Sam replied. “I’m not accusing of cheating on anyone.”

“I don’t have a crush on Tony,” Steve repeated firmly.

Sam snorted. “Whatever you say, man.”

----

The Fourth of July dawned overcast and subdued, with a mist of rain obscuring the street outside. The sign on the diner's door was flipped firmly to "Closed," and Darcy had drawn up a cheerful flyer letting everyone know that the diner would open again for business on Monday.

Most people in the city who weren't planning on staking out a spot for the East River fireworks were headed out of New York for the long weekend, but Steve stood at the window of their personal kitchenette with a mug of tea in his hands, watching the sky. "You think it will keep raining?" he asked softly when he heard Bucky enter the room behind him.

"What happened to sleeping in today, birthday boy?" Bucky asked, pressing a kiss to Steve's neck and then stealing a sip from his mug. With Tony's help, Bucky was taking back autonomy over his arm, and there had been a correlating boost in his mood. "Decaf already?"

"I don't really need the edge today," Steve pointed out. He nodded toward the window. "So?"

"You know they haven't cancelled the Macy's fireworks in like thirty years," Bucky reminded him. “And nothing stops the people setting them off in their backyards."

“Yeah,” Steve said, sighing.

Bucky wrapped his arms, both of them, around Steve's waist and rested his forehead on Steve's shoulder. "It's not going to be like New Year's," he said.

They had gotten home just after Christmas Day. The icy wind that cut through the New York streets had felt like home, and they had found an apartment in Clinton Hill to sublet while they got their feet back under them.

They should have kept better track of the days, but at that point, it had been only weeks since Bucky had been recovered, and they had been attached at the hip from the second Bucky had gotten out of the hospital. All that had mattered was that Bucky was back.

And then the fireworks had started, and Steve was watching a missile collide with the helicopter carrying his best friend, lover, and soulmate. As the aircraft spun violently toward the ground, Steve's own helicopter had banked sharply, fleeing the area before a strike could catch them as well.

It had taken three people to stop Steve from diving out of the side of the helicopter.

It hadn't mattered that their sublet was barely fighting off the winter chill, or that Bucky was there, alive. All that had mattered was the sound of explosions and screams, and Steve failing to save the only person that mattered.

Steve's panic had triggered Bucky's raw defensive instincts earned from months of torture, and they had ended the night bruised, shaking, and exhausted. That was the point when they both realized that even though Bucky was the one who had been captured, neither of them had escaped the experience unscathed.

"I just..." Steve turned in Bucky's arms so they were facing each other. "I just need to know you're here." Cautiously, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Bucky's.

Over the last seven months, there had been more bad days than good. Figuring how they worked together after all they had been through was difficult. They both had new jagged edges that could cut if anyone got too close, and some nights it was easier for them to stay awake than even try to fit together again. When they were kids, Steve had dominated the physical side of their relationship, and Bucky had happily given him the reins. Now, though, the mere mention of restraints was enough to make Bucky freeze up or walk out. Sometimes, Steve couldn't bear to lose eye contact with Bucky in case it was all revealed to be a dream. Sometimes, Bucky would be so wrapped up in the things that had been done to him, the things he had done, that he couldn't stand meeting Steve's eyes.

When they worked, though, it was like coming home. Whether it was a rough fuck on the kitchen table or a slow, sensual attempt to intertwine together too tightly to ever be unwound, at their cores they were still Steve and Bucky.

Slowly, Steve deepened the kiss. Bucky must have sensed Steve's mood, or needed the same thing, because he let Steve back them into the bedroom. Bucky's familiar plush lips reddened under Steve's ministrations.

When they reached the bed, Steve turned so that he landed first, and then let Bucky crawl over him. They removed each other's clothes as they went. Luckily, neither had put on more than a shirt and boxers, so they were skin-to-skin quickly.

Steve arched against Bucky. He wanted Bucky underneath him so he could map out every inch and confirm that they had really made it out of the sandpit alive, but he kept his grip light in deference to Bucky's comfort level. As much as he wanted to see Bucky sprawled under him, wrists tied to the headboard again, he would happily forgo it forever if it made Bucky uncomfortable. Just like Steve couldn't stand blindfolds or anything that interfered with his view of his lover, Bucky had lost his taste for silk ties and domination across the sea.

Instead, Steve ran his hands in long, reassuring strokes down Bucky's torso, though even he wasn't sure if he was reminding himself that Bucky was alive or reminding Bucky that Steve had his best interests at heart.

Today was a good day, though. Bucky arched into Steve's strokes, encouraging him to increase the pressure, and he moaned when Steve's hands slid lower.

"I love you," Steve said, ducking his head to kiss Bucky's scarred collarbone. "I'm so glad you're here."

Bucky kissed Steve's forehead. "Nowhere else I'd rather be." He ran a hand down Steve's side. "What do you need?"

"I..." Even after years, it was difficult for Steve to articulate anything vaguely resembling dirty talk. "I want you inside me. I need to feel you."

With a small smile, Bucky kissed Steve's neck as he slowly moved down his body. "I was hoping you'd say that."

There was a distant crash outside, and Steve was already craning his head sideways to look before he realized it was just thunder. Bucky drew his attention back by licking a stripe just under his navel as his fingers traced light, teasing patterns up Steve's inner thigh. "Focus on me," Bucky encouraged him. "If I can't get you out of your mind for the next few hours, then I'm losing my touch."

----

That evening, Steve and Bucky curled up on the couch together as they ate pizza, went through the six-pack sitting on the table, and talked. Their radio, which was set to Bucky's favorite classical music station, drowned out the last of the rain outside.

True to his word, Bucky had made sure that Steve was exhausted and content. He could barely find it in himself to care that the skies outside were clearing up in time for the fireworks, since he had Bucky's arm around him.

"Maybe someday we should take a vacation somewhere other than our own apartment," Bucky mused, tracing a pattern lightly on Steve's arm with one hand while he ate with the other. The cheese pizza left grease smears on the silver metal, but Bucky just shrugged and licked them off.

Steve chuckled, leaning even more into Bucky's shoulder. "Dream big," he replied. He had to lean in so they could hear each other over the music.

"I said someday," Bucky said, but a glance at his wry smile told Steve that they were equally skeptical. "For now, I like what we've got."

Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky's neck. "I'm glad," he said quietly.

The sound of a door clicking closed made them both look over toward the kitchen. Their couch was set up so they could see both the window and the door leading downstairs, which was the only reason Steve didn't immediately jump to his feet.

"What the hell, Tony?"

Tony, who had just entered the apartment and was walking toward them, shrugged. "You weren't answering your phones, and I knocked for like two minutes." He blinked, stopping at the threshold of their small living area. "Are you two.... Am I interrupting something?"

Suddenly conscious of the fact that he was shirtless, Steve blushed. Bucky left his arm draped heavily over Steve's shoulders, so he wasn't going to shrug him off even though his blush was rapidly spreading from his cheeks down his neck.

"As a matter of fact, Stark..." Bucky said.

"I should have seen this coming. You're like the most codependent people I've ever met."

Steve raised his eyebrows, fighting the blush back down. "Are you insulting us because you didn't realize that Bucky and I are dating?"

"I knew you guys were together," Tony said. "A blind person could see the way you two orbit each other. I just should have known that you spend every minute away from the diner you co-own upstairs in a five-by-five room snuggling."

"Why are you here?" Steve asked.

Tony waved and took a step back. "Not important. You guys probably have plans for the Fourth or whatever."

Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance, and then looked back at Tony. "Grab a seat," Bucky instructed, nodding toward the empty space on the couch beside Steve.

"Seriously, I--"

"Sit down," Steve instructed, and Tony sat. "Eat some pizza. Drink some beer."

Tony took a slice, but paused with it halfway to his mouth when he saw the grease on Bucky's prosthetic. "You know," he said, gesturing to it, "the design I'm working on now will be stain resistant."

Bucky shrugged. "I'll polish it tomorrow. Grease is pretty inevitable in a kitchen."

"Exactly. You shouldn't have to worry about your arm looking like a fridge that's been grabbed by too many grubby hands."

Rolling his eyes, Bucky said, "Just eat your damn pizza."

Tony sighed dramatically, but did as instructed.

Turning back to Steve, Bucky asked, "When does Darcy head back to school again?"

Steve grimaced. "End of August. I don't know what we'll do without her."

"Probably get drunk a lot less," Bucky said. Darcy did love to drag the staff out for bar nights. "And hire a replacement."

"I don't think there's anyone else like that girl in the world," Tony commented, having finally relaxed back against the couch. "Did you know she asked me to be her sugar daddy?" At Steve's concerned glance, he added, "In a non-romantic way. She said having sex with me would be like banging a tacky version of her father. Which, rude, I'm eccentric, not tacky."

"What did you say?" Bucky asked.

"That I wouldn't want to sleep with her either. She's like a kid sister."

"Or daughter," Steve said with a snort.

"You know, you're kind of our sugar daddy," Bucky pointed out. "You pay for this place, and half the stuff in the kitchen is stuff you've snuck in-- we're basically your kept men."

"That's what Darcy pointed out. Said I hurt her feelings because I was playing favorites," Tony said, grabbing another slice of pizza.

"Don't let her get to you. If I had a dollar for every time I've 'mortally offended' Darcy, I'd be as rich as you," Steve said. "Just let her steal your fries sometime and she'll be over it."

"I'll keep that in mind for next time," Tony said with a shrug.

"Why, what did you do this time?" Bucky asked.

"Paid off her student loans," Tony said.

Steve and Bucky both turned to look at him. "You're serious," Bucky said, skeptical and stunned at once.

"It was only like a hundred thousand," Tony pointed out. "That's way less than this place."

Steve shook his head. "You're a good guy, Tony. Absolutely insane and completely irresponsible. But good."

"If you think that that was extravagant, I probably shouldn't show you what I got for your birthday."

"How did you know it's my birthday?" Steve asked.

"Darcy sent out a reminder. She said you guys were planning on bunkering down for it. I was planning on coming on Monday, which is why I don't have the gift with me, but I was...in the area."

"In Brooklyn," Bucky deadpanned.

Tony shrugged, losing the looseness of his posture. Steve hated seeing him sitting stiff and uncomfortable on their couch, like he didn't belong. "No offense to your birthday, but this isn't my favorite holiday."

With a laugh, Bucky said, "Maybe you didn't notice, but it's not exactly ours either."

"I mean, I love explosions as much as the next ex-weapons designer," Tony said, not making eye contact with them in favor of fiddling with the sticker on his beer bottle, "but I prefer setting them off myself."

"We're a country born in the rockets' red glare," Steve murmured.

"Bombs bursting in air are only fun and games until you're the one being blown up," Bucky said, his metal fingers clicking against the back of the couch.

"Tell me about it," Tony said, relaxing back onto the couch and putting his head on Steve's shoulder. "Damn, we're a fucked-up group." He took a swig from his bottle.

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look and shrugged. It wasn't something they could refute. Tony had made quiet references to whatever had happened to him in Afghanistan that had led to the metal embedded in his chest, but Steve never tried to prod for more information.

"You can sleep on the couch tonight if you want," Bucky suggested.

Steve glanced up at Bucky, hiding his surprise. They both had trouble sleeping, especially if there was a chance that their safety was compromised. Though Steve felt safe with Tony, he hadn't realized Bucky felt the same.

As the conversation moved to safer ground, Tony slumped further against Steve. Sandwiched between Bucky and Tony, Steve felt the last of his tension about the upcoming fireworks leaving his body. They were all damaged, but they were together and they were safe.

He took a deep breath, nose pressed to the top of Tony's head, lips brushing against his hair, and then stilled.

Suddenly, he was hyper-aware of the lithe body pressed against his side, and Bucky's broad arm around his shoulders. They were all loose and tipsy, and it would be so easy to tilt Tony's chin up for a kiss.

Fuck. Sam was right.

He exhaled slowly, willing his arousal to settle.

Even if he were attracted to Tony, Bucky was as important to Steve as the breath in his lungs and nothing was going to change that. He'd just have to ignore the attraction.

----

Tony took their offer to sleep on the couch, and didn't wake up until Steve was halfway through cooking the eggs and bacon.

He was sprawled with one leg and one arm over the back of the couch as though embracing it. Steve knew he'd woken up when Tony groaned and pushed his head into the cushions. With the curtains open, the light was bright in the living area and kitchen in the morning. The sun bathed the apartment in warm light. The storm and stress of the night before seemed like a dream in the peaceful morning.

"Whitishit?" Tony grumbled.

Steve laughed and continued to scramble the half-dozen eggs sloshing in the pan. "What?"

Tony tilted his head so he could be heard. "What time is it?"

Steve glanced at the clock over the stove. "Past 11," he said.

"Are you insane?" Tony asked, looking up at Steve with bleary eyes. His dark hair was a mess and there was an imprint of the couch's fabric on his chin. He looked adorable. "11 on a Saturday, and you're awake making breakfast?"

"Are you forgetting the part where I run a diner that would have been open for hours by this time?"

"You're not running a diner this second. Besides, I don't see Bucky looking so chipper."

"He's in the shower," Steve told him.

"That's a nice image," Tony said, but his sarcastic tone was undermined by the heat in his eyes.

"Careful," Steve said with a laugh. "That's my boyfriend you're talking about."

"Is that what you guys call each other?" Tony asked.

"Soulmate sounds a bit too Harlequin," Steve replied.

Tony sniffed at the air. "What are you making?"

"Just bacon and eggs," Steve said.

"Yeah, because who likes homemade bacon and eggs? It'll be such a hardship to eat them," Tony snarked. He rolled over so that he could see Steve in the kitchen, but didn't move to stand up. "You let me crash here and you're making breakfast? A guy could get used to this."

"You know you're welcome here anytime," Steve said firmly.

Tony stretched his arms out over the armrest, letting out a blissful groan. "Well, thanks," he said, eyes blinking open to look at Steve again.

There was no way Tony couldn't see the blush on Steve's cheeks. "I, um, right. Always welcome." He cleared his throat. "Hell, I'd give you the couch forever after what you did for Bucky's arm."

"Not because I bought the whole building?"

Steve shook his head, regaining his footing. So what if Tony was rumpled and adorable with creases pressed into the side of his face from the cushions? Still, Steve kept his gaze firmly on the pan in front of him. "The diner is important, but nothing's more important than Bucky. He was having a... well, a rough time. Having you around helped, even before you fixed his arm."

"You really love him, don't you," Tony commented softly.

"Always have and always will."

"You guys really are a great match. Codependent as hell, but since I once dated my personal assistant, I’m not going to throw stones. I mean, really,” Tony continued, “I’d hate to see anyone try to come between you two. You guys deserve each other.”

Steve smiled as he pulled the eggs off the stove. “You get sappy when you’re sleepy,” he commented.

Bucky emerged from their room in a t-shirt and boxers, with a towel draped around his neck. Steve’s smile grew as Bucky approached him and stole a kiss.

“Morning,” Bucky murmured. “You didn’t wake up again after we went to bed, right?”

Steve shook his head. “By that point, I think the rest of Brooklyn was actually asleep, so I slept solidly,” he said. They had stayed on the couch talking until past four in the morning, and a combination of fans and a white noise maker in their bedroom blocked out most ambient noise.

“Hey, Stark, get up,” Bucky called. “Breakfast is ready.”

Steve, who was plating the eggs and bacon, said, “It’ll be the first time you’ve had breakfast with us since that first night. Then again, it'll be even more like that first time if you sleep through it.”

Tony pushed himself off the couch, but he was shaking his head. “I actually need to get going,” he said, grabbing the jeans he had shed at some point during the night and pulling them on with his back facing the kitchen. “I’ve got work to do.”

“On a Saturday?” Bucky asked.

“I thought you said you weren’t even usually awake at this time,” Steve pointed out. “I’m sure you can postpone whatever it is until noon.”

"Sorry guys," Tony said, waving. "Duty calls."

"Tony--"

The door closed behind him, and Steve frowned. "That was weird."

Bucky shrugged. "He's pre-coffee. Who knows what he's thinking," he said, grabbing a plate and heading for the couch, which they used in place of a kitchen table. "I'm sure he'll be back later."

When Steve hesitated, still looking at the door, Bucky set his plate on the coffee table and leaned back, legs falling open. "But since we've got the place to ourselves..."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Yesterday was pretty tense," he said, striding toward Bucky. "We could both use a... release."

"You know puns are the lowest form of humor, right?" Bucky said.

Straddling his lap, but hovering just an inch above making contact, Steve said, "What was that? I'm a bit... hard of hearing this morning."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Surely there's something better you can do with your mouth right now."

Smirking, Steve slid to the floor.

----

It had taken Bucky identifying Tony as the Tony Stark before Steve had recognized him because Tony had been out of the news for a while at that point, and Steve didn't keep up with it much anyway.

When Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, strode into the American Diner, though, Steve nearly dropped the coffee pot he was holding. There wasn't a month that went by that her face didn't grace at least one magazine at New York's ubiquitous newsstands, from Forbes to Vogue. She was just as impressive in person as she was on TV, with three-inch heels and a white suit that was still pristine at seven in the evening.

She approached the counter and Steve quickly set down the coffee pot in his hands. "Steve Rogers?" she asked, stopping in front of the counter. In her heels, she was his height, and she met his gaze without hesitation.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Can I help you?"

Rolling her eyes, she perched on one of the bar stools. "I'm here on Tony's behalf," she told him.

"Is something wrong? Is he okay?" Steve asked immediately.

Tony hadn't come by the diner since he'd slept on their couch on the Fourth of July, but it wasn't unusual to not see Tony for a few days. In between inventing and business trips, Steve understood he didn't always have time to come to Brooklyn. Now, though, he was worried he'd missed something. What if Tony's experimenting had landed him in the hospital? Surely Pepper wouldn't look so exasperated if Tony were in actual trouble, would she?

"He's fine," she said. Her gaze sharpened. "Really, he's okay. He'll be less okay if you give yourself a heart attack right now, though."

Nodding, Steve asked, "Can I, uh, get you anything? We make a good strawberry shake. Tony said those were your favorite."

"That's because Tony is the actual worst at expressing his affection," Pepper said. "He always forgets that I'm actually allergic to strawberries, and he hasn't remembered my birthday a single time in the last decade."

"So, maybe a chocolate shake?"

Pepper hesitated and then nodded. "You know what, I think that's exactly what I need right now."

Steve set to work, worries continuing to filter through his mind despite her assurance that Tony was fine. He had rushed out before breakfast that weekend. Was he uncomfortable to hear how damaged his two newest friends were?

Even most people with war experience were overwhelmed by trying to deal with another person's problems, and Tony was just a civilian. Steve and Bucky had been lucky to find Sam and Natasha, but Steve couldn't expect Tony to be willing to put up with the baggage they brought to a friendship.

Shaking his head at his own thoughts, Steve reminded himself that Tony was their friend. No matter how flighty he was portrayed in the media, Tony wouldn't bail on them because he didn't want to have to deal with their problems.

Steve applied whipped cream to the top of the chocolate shake with a bit more force than necessary, and then slid the drink across the counter to Pepper.

"Has he talked himself out of coming here?" Steve demanded.

Pepper took a sip of the shake, but her eyes stayed on Steve. "Hm," she said.

"What?"

"Maybe this won't be a waste of time," she said.

"Excuse me," called another patron at the bar, beckoning Steve over.

Steve looked between Pepper and the customer, conflicted, but she waved him off. "I'll still be here when you get back. I'm definitely not leaving this shake unfinished."

"Give me one minute," Steve said. Once he's taken care of the request and topped off all the coffee mugs in sight, he came to a stop in front of Pepper again. "What's going on?" he asked her.

"You're pretty efficient," she commented, looking around the diner. "Have you ever considered a job in tech?"

"Not for a million dollars," Steve replied. "You going to tell me why you're here?"

"Sorry. I'm trying to decide the best way to say it. He'll be furious if he knows I came here at all, but that wasn't going to stop me. Tony... He's difficult to get close to and even harder to stay close to. But once you're in, you're in. Tony has a sense of loyalty strong enough that sometimes he can't read the people closest to him."

Steve nodded, teeth gritted. He'd heard enough bits and pieces to gather Tony's abduction in Afghanistan hadn't been coincidental.

"He's clingy all the way up until he's not. When he and I broke up, I had to corner him in an elevator to get him to talk to me again."

Though part of Steve was entertained by the mental image, he didn’t like the accusation Pepper was implying. “We didn’t kick Tony out. There’s no reason for him to think we don’t want to see him.”

“Tony’s gotten good at protecting himself. When he thinks that he’s more attached to someone than they are to him, he’s gone.”

“You were right. Tony would be furious to know you told me this,” Steve said. He couldn’t decide if he was angrier at Pepper for betraying Tony’s trust or himself for not showing Tony that he cared about him. “Why did you come here?”

“I’m here to warn you. If you don’t want to Tony around, back off now. If you keep pushing things, if you get his trust and then betray him, I will destroy you and everything you care about.” She smiled. Too many teeth gleamed for the expression to be confused as friendly.

Steve didn't doubt her for a second.

"If I did that, I'd deserve it," Steve told her. "Tony's done a lot for us. He means a lot to us. I don't screw over my friends."

"You might not do it on purpose--"

"I'd die before I hurt my friends," Steve interrupted.

She held his gaze for a long moment and then nodded. "I believe you," she said. This time when she smiled, it was warm and affectionate. "And I don't think you'll make me regret it. Thanks for the milkshake."

She left then, business apparently settled, leaving only an empty glass and a fifty dollar bill behind.

----

Are you coming by tonight?

That raspberry-peach cobbler you liked is on the menu today.

I'd be worried that your phone is broken if it weren't for the fact that you built it in the first place.

----

"Hey, Steve, have you heard from Tony lately?" Bucky asked during a lull before the lunch rush.

Steve shook his head. All of his texts had gone unanswered, and there had been no sign of the man in the diner. Steve was in the kitchen, sipping from a glass of iced tea and watching Bucky scoop cookie dough onto a metal sheet. Darcy was out front in case any customers came by, and Steve was once again struck with a pain of sadness over the fact that she was about to go back to school. "He's probably just busy," Steve offered uncomfortably, looking away. He hadn't told Bucky about his conversation with Pepper. After all, she might not have been right about why Tony was avoiding them. If she were, then it was Tony's choice to tell them about it.

"You like him, right?"

Steve's head snapped up so fast that he nearly got whiplash, but Bucky wasn't looking at him. "What?" he said. Had Bucky noticed his attraction to Tony?

"Tony's a good guy," Bucky said. "You don't mind having him around, right?"

"Of course not," Steve said. "He's great. I mean, you like him too, right? If having him around makes you uncomfortable, we can..."

"No, man, I like him too. He kind of reminds me of Peggy." Bucky had a wistful smile on his face, though his gaze was firmly on the tray in front of him.

"If they had ever gotten a chance to meet, I'm pretty sure they could have taken over the world. Can you imagine what a Carter-Stark team-up could cook up?"

Bucky laughed as he slid the cookie sheet into the oven. He leaned back against the wall and said, "It's a scary thought. And hot. Very hot."

Steve nodded, struck momentarily dumb by the mental image. Finally, he said, "I wish it could have happened. You know, her getting to meet him."

"I know, man," Bucky said, shaking his head.

Peggy had been killed in action a few weeks after Bucky had been shot down. Unlike Bucky, there was no chance for a miraculous return. Steve had carried her to the med evac, but it had already been too late.

Her picture may have hung over the register, but they rarely talked about her. Steve and Peggy may have met first, but she and Bucky had gotten along like a house on fire.

"I miss her," Steve said gruffly.

"Me too," Bucky agreed. "But, you know, we're here now. She would hate for us not to do what we want, even if she's not here for it."

"I know she would," Steve said with a smile. Peggy had never hesitated to speak her mind.

"Okay," Bucky said, nodding firmly. "Good."

Steve hesitated. "Is--"

Darcy rang the bell by the kitchen window, sticking an order slip inside. "Hook me up with two hot dogs and a basket of onion rings."

Bucky gave her a lazy salute and got to work.

Steve headed for the dining area to see if Darcy needed help, but hesitated in the doorframe. "Love you," he said.

"Love you too." Bucky's response fell easily off his tongue, but Steve felt like something important had just happened, something he didn't fully understand.

Then again, that's how most of his interactions with Bucky ended these days.

----

Tony, is everything okay?

Never mind, Bucky told me he saw you at that press conference on TV. Apparently Stark Industries is going into the kitchen appliance business.

Will syrup mess up Bucky's arm? Some spilled on it and it's making these weird noises.

"How the hell did you get syrup in your arm?" Tony demanded, striding into the diner ten minutes before closing on a Tuesday night. "I'm gone for two weeks and you start glitching like a Sim."

"I thought you were never coming back ever, so I panicked," Bucky deadpanned. He was sitting at the counter with a short stack of wait staff applications in front of him.

"Seriously, how does someone even do that?" Tony asked, taking the stool beside Bucky and putting his briefcase of tools on the counter.

Steve couldn't decide whether to be pissed or relieved that Tony had finally shown up so he kept his mouth shut as he carted a tray of dirty dishes back to the kitchen. The last customers had left only minutes before, and Steve wondered if Tony had deliberately planned his arrival for a time the diner would be closed.

"Hazard of working in the food industry," Bucky said. "Also, Natasha fights dirty."

Steve rolled his eyes as he returned from the kitchen. "She wouldn't have done that on purpose," he pointed out. Even if she were enough of a jerk to mess with Bucky's prosthetic, she'd have known that it would have been her last act as their employee. "She's sneaky, not malicious."

"How does someone accidentally pour syrup on someone else?" Tony asked. He pulled the metal arm across the counter toward him and examined it. "Especially this much."

"Natasha startled him into knocking a bottle over," Steve explained, shoulders loosening as he watched Tony. "It's good to see you again."

"I was getting worried you'd left us for some other diner," Bucky added. "Where were you?"

"Busy," Tony said with a shrug. "Billionaire genius stuff, you know how it is."

"I really, really don't," Bucky said. "What's that stuff you're using?"

Tony had taken out a clear vial, poured it on a rag, and was easily swiping the syrup from the metal joints and gears. "Think of it like Goo Gone, except not shitty. And without the overwhelming citrus smell."

"It's not going to rust my arm, is it?" Bucky asked, watching Tony's deft hands dance over the metal. Steve's gaze was locked there too. Tony's fingers were callused, but they moved with a deft assurance that was captivating. The artist in Steve recognized a person in their element. The man in Steve realized that Tony's hands were probably just as good at...other things.

Tony scoffed. "Like I would." He tapped on his chest where the mysterious machine was embedded. "I use this stuff on myself."

"Do you spill a lot of syrup down your shirt?" Steve asked as he wiped down the counter around them. He had already cleaned most of the diner as customers left, but at least it gave him the excuse to stop staring at Tony's hands.

"Only the chocolate kind," Tony said with a smirk. "Kidding. Sort of. I usually use it to clean off the plasma. It gunks up the wires sometimes. This stuff is my own invention-- it's not even on the market."

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "So I'm your guinea pig," he said.

"I'm my own guinea pig," Tony corrected. "Trust me, I wouldn't use this stuff on you if I didn't know it worked. It's just too expensive to be viable in the market."

"Careful," Bucky said. That was his flirting voice. Steve had heard him use it on countless people over the years, though Bucky hadn't used it on anyone but Steve since they started dating. "I'll really start to feel like your kept man if you keep spoiling me like this."

Steve focused on scrubbing one stubborn spot on the counter, trying to control his breathing. All he wanted was for Bucky to be happy. But watching Bucky watch Tony, to see that it was someone other than Steve putting that smile on his face, made Steve irrationally want to pin Bucky to the counter and remind them all who he belonged to.

He wouldn't, though. Bucky could make his own choices, even if that choice wasn't Steve.

"I don't know, Barnes. The line of people hoping to be my lovers is getting longer by the day. You'll have to take a number just like everyone else."

"Just like everyone else, huh?" Bucky asked, and Steve knew what was about to happen before Bucky leaned forward.

Tony, on the other hand, was caught off-guard by the kiss, but his momentary surprise was quickly replaced with enthusiastic participation.

Overseas, Steve had seen the painful, brutal aftermath of someone getting shot in the stomach. Still, it didn't feel like an exaggeration to say that he felt like he had been gutted. A noise escaped his mouth, something raw and pained, and Bucky and Tony broke apart.

"Sorry, I--" He was backing away, the cleaning rag still clutched in one hand.

"Wait, Steve," Bucky said.

Steve had never run from a fight before. As he turned and bolted for the stairs, he reminded himself there was a first time for everything.

Once he reached their apartment, Steve's hands were shaking. Was it even their apartment anymore?

He needed a punching bag. Maybe multiple punching bags. He needed to hit something until either it or he ended up destroyed. Without a bag handy, Steve turned and punched the wall hard enough to scrap his knuckles. He bet he could punch straight through the drywall if he focused enough.

There was a part of Steve that was trying to calm him down, remind him that his overreaction could hurt Bucky. In the decades they'd known each other, Steve had never had to censor himself around Bucky, but they were both different now since they'd come back from the war. The Bucky Steve loved had changed, and maybe Steve wasn't what he needed any more. If Steve couldn't make Bucky happy, he should bow out now. Besides, he liked Tony. If it weren't for Bucky, it might have been Steve downstairs kissing the inventor.

The rational part of Steve pointed out that if he really cared about Bucky and Tony, he'd let them be happy together.

A much bigger part of Steve wanted to go back downstairs and fight for what was his.

"Fuck," Steve said, running his hands through his hair.

The door opened behind him, and he whirled around. Bucky stood in the doorframe. "Well, if I needed confirmation that I completely fucked this up, hearing you cuss was it."

Steve averted his gaze. "I need you to leave," he said, voice firm and quiet even though he wanted to scream. He couldn't have this conversation right now, not while his hands were itching to destroy something.

"Steve, I thought we were on the same page here. I didn't mean to make you upset."

"I... I thought things were getting better. With us, I mean," Steve said.

"They were!" Bucky said, walking further into the room and stopping right in front of Steve, close enough to touch. "They are. Steve, you know I love you."

Steve snorted. “Right. That's why you--"

He was cut off by the other man leaning forward and kissing him. Jerking away and turning his back to Bucky, Steve said, "Don't do that. Don't make me think.... If I have a chance here, Bucky, I'm not going to stop until you're mine again."

"I am yours," Bucky insisted, moving so he was in Steve's line of sight again. "Til the end of the line."

It was their phrase. Bucky wouldn't throw it out to manipulate him. Shoulders slumping, Steve said, "What's going on here, Buck?"

"Remember the other day when we talked about Tony? I said he was hot, you said you loved having him around..."

"Spell it out for me."

"I still want us to be us. I never want that to stop. But I thought maybe we could be us, plus him."

Whatever Steve had thought was going on, it wasn't this. "You want to have a threesome?"

"Well, I think the term is polyamory for what--"

"You thought the best way to see if I was interested was to kiss him in front of me and hope I was on board?"

"In my defense, I thought you were already on board. I saw how you look at him, and how he looks at us, and I thought you knew you and me are solid." Bucky frowned. "I can't believe you'd think I'd do something like that."

Flustered, Steve ran a hand over his face. "I don't know," Steve said. Shaking his head sharply, he added, "I know you wouldn't."

"Then tell it to me straight. Is this something you want? Because Tony is still downstairs, and I'm pretty sure he's about to buy you the entirety of Brooklyn if you're still upset."

"You just left him downstairs?"

"I didn't think you'd want me to bring him up here, and I was worried if he left that everything would get even more out of control. Just answer the question, Steve. If you want him gone, he's gone. If you want him here, we can go get him." Bucky swallowed and then continued in a hoarse voice, "If you want me gone, I can go somewhere else for the night. Or longer."

"No," Steve said, closing the space between them again and kissed Bucky firmly. "For you, the answer is always yes. For Tony.... Maybe we should talk about it. All of us together."

"The voice in my head that sounds like Sam Wilson is reminding me that communication is important here, so let's do that. This is the problem with having a rational friend," Bucky said. He kissed Steve one more time. "Come on. Let's go see Tony."

----

When Steve emerged from the kitchen, Tony bolted up immediately from his seat at the counter. "Steve," he said, and then he fell silent, jaw clenched.

"Sorry to leave you down here by yourself," Bucky said, moving around the counter to stand beside Tony and nudging him gently with his shoulder. Steve was surprised Tony wasn't knocked to the ground, considering how off-balance he appeared. "Thanks for not bolting."

"I'm still considering it," Tony said. "Look, Buck, I... Well, obviously I liked the kiss because, you know, you're hot and a literally amazing kisser--congrats on that, by the way--but I can't be the thing that breaks you two up. I already have a one-way ticket to hell, but I'd probably end up in the lowest circle for that." His gesturing picked up enthusiasm as he spoke, and he shifted to put a barstool between him and Bucky. "You two are a package deal. I can't even imagine one of you without the other. Whatever is going on with you now, you guys will figure it out. I've never met anyone so obviously drift-compatible in my life."

"So what?" Steve asked.

Tony waved off the question with one hand. "This isn't the time to go into how utterly lacking your film repertoire is.”

“Let’s go back to how great I am at kissing,” Bucky said.

“Stop teasing him,” Steve instructed, but he was smirking.

Tony looked between them uncertainly. “You’re not mad,” he stated, eyebrows furrowed.

“I was at first,” Steve admitted. “You see, one guy I love kissing was kissing the guy I also wanted to kiss.”

There was a beat of hesitation. “I’m going to need that in English. Think confused math person who doesn’t understand words. Or emotions.”

“I’m not so great at those either,” Bucky admitted. “Be flattered that I’m trying. Steve and I love each other. We both also like you.”

“Okay, don’t hate me if I’m getting this wrong, but you want a threesome?”

Bucky sighed. “It’s called polyamory. Because there would also be dorky kisses and stuff. Why do you and Steve immediately think it’s just about sex? I mean, obviously sex is great, but—“

“So Steve didn’t know you were planning this. Somehow you thought the best way to see if he was interested was to kiss me in front of me and hope we were all on board?”

“That’s what I said!”

“Okay, so maybe I’m really bad at this,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, I thought the hang-up here would be Tony not wanting to get mixed up in all…this.”

“Have you seen 'all this?’ Because you two are gorgeous,” Tony pointed out.

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “There’s more to us than what you can see. It’s…. I think what Bucky means is that we’re not always the easiest people to have around. We love each other,” he added, looking at Bucky. “So much. But neither of us came back easy."

Tony’s awkwardness had morphed into something that had him practically bouncing on his toes. “I’m not easy either. I mean, I’m an easy lay, but if you listen to Pepper she’d tell you you should have gotten a prescription for migraine medicine before I ever opened my mouth. I can prove that thing about being an easy lay. Hey, look, the shop’s closed. We should go upstairs.”

“You seem…okay with this,” Steve said cautiously. “Do you honestly not have any hesitations about getting into a, a relationship with two vets?"

“Maybe you didn’t notice, but I’ve been drooling over both of you for months. Fuck, I even tried to stay away until I could get myself to stop drawing your names in freaking hearts, but then the syrup happened and I couldn’t not come back.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look, and it seemed like that they were finally back on the same page. “Upstairs?” Steve asked.

“Upstairs,” Bucky agreed. Bucky shepherded Tony behind the counter, but Steve stopped them before they went into the kitchen. “Wait a minute. This isn’t really fair.”

“Oh God, if this was all some trick to get me all wound up, well, it worked because oh my God,” Tony said even as Steve backed him into the wall.

He took advantage of the moment Tony paused for breath to press a kiss to his mouth. Tony’s lips were thinner than Bucky’s, and his goatee was scratchier than Bucky’s stubble ever got, and Steve couldn’t get enough. Once Tony got with the program, he wrapped his arms around Steve’s broad shoulders and clung to him, rolling his hips and caressing Steve’s lips in a way that drove Steve crazy.

He could have probably stayed there all night, but a graze of teeth on his ear made him pull back, panting. Bucky moved away from Steve’s ear and smirked at them both. “Now I see why Steve got jealous,” he said. “If I don’t get you both in my bed in the next five minutes, you’re both sleeping on the couch.” When Tony gave Steve a suggestive eyebrow waggle, Bucky added, “Separate couches. Or at least a couch in front of my bed so I can watch what happens.”

“I thought the goal was for you to do more than watch,” Tony pointed out. His lips were reddened, and Steve barely resisted the urge to kiss him again.

“Oh, it is,” Bucky said. “Now do I have to carry you guys upstairs, or can you manage it yourselves?”

In the end, it took another ten minutes to make it to bed, since none of them seemed able to go more than a few steps without turning to kiss or grope someone.

Steve had never spent much time considering the logistics of being with two people at once, but as they tumbled onto the bed, his only regret was that their bed wasn’t even bigger. If Steve could have Tony and Bucky spread out next to each other…

Tony was wearing one of his many band shirts, and it would have been easy to pull over his head if Steve hadn’t gotten distracted by Bucky working behind him to pull off Tony’s pants. Steve was kneeling beside Tony while Bucky maneuvered himself between Tony’s legs. When he finally got Tony’s shirt off, he was caught off guard by the light in the center of his chest. Over the past few weeks, Steve had caught glimpses of the metal device in Tony’s chest, but it was larger than he had realized. Spreading out from the metal circle was a web of scars not dissimilar to the ones on Bucky’s shoulder.

Clearly noticing his hesitation, Tony said, “I guess now you know why Bucky’s arm doesn’t exactly faze me. But, uh, I guess mine, the arc reactor, is more invasive. If it—“

Steve cut him off there by pressing a kiss to the top of the scar tissue. “Is this okay?” he asked against Tony’s skin.

“Uh, yeah, that’s…” Tony’s breath was coming faster, and Steve glanced over to see Bucky leaving a lazy trail of kisses upward from Tony’s knee. “If you’re good, I’m good. So good.”

Steve chuckled and then kissed his way sideways until he could swipe a tongue over Tony’s nipple.

“Shouldn’t, ah, you two be less clothed?” Tony asked. During the walk upstairs, Steve and Bucky had lost their shirts and pants, but were both still in their boxers (and, in Steve’s case, socks).

“You really want us to stop?” Steve asked with a smirk, moving up to kiss Tony’s clavicle.

Tony hummed contentedly at the attention before finally saying, “I just like the people I have sex with to, you know, get to participate. Have fun. And I’ll die if I can’t get my hands on one of you soon.”

“Does it not seem like we’re having fun?” Bucky asked. Whatever he did next made Tony gasp and then moan. “Let us have our fun,” he continued. “We get to have sex with each other all the time. Now we’re trying something else."

Tony was quickly coherence, but he managed to say, "I'm definitely okay with this, ahh, just don't stop. God, your arm."

While Bucky busied himself getting Tony off, Steve took advantage of the opportunity to watch Tony's face. From the moment he'd stumbled into their diner, Tony's expressions had been fascinatingly dynamic. Steve found himself itching for a pencil so he could capture his slack mouth and hooded eyes.

"Rogers," Tony said through gritted teeth. "If you don't kiss me right now--"

Unable to resist any longer, Steve leaned forward and captured Tony's lips. Still, Steve kept the kisses light and teasing until Tony whined. Obligingly, Steve kissed him more deeply and let his hand slide down to brush the sensitive skin around the arc reactor.

That extra bit of stimulation was all Tony apparently needed to crest over the edge of pleasure that had been building since Bucky first kissed him.

As Tony slumped back on the bed, expression dazed, Steve turned to look at Bucky. He moved away from his place between Tony's legs to kiss Steve thoroughly. He tasted like Tony, and Steve was more thrilled by that than he had expected.

Bucky pinned Steve by pressing his shoulders firmly backward until Steve was spread out beside Tony. Bucky immediately fell into a rhythm rocking against Steve, making pleasure thrum through his whole body.

Even though Steve had only kissed Tony so far, he was achingly hard.

"Buck," he said, head tossed back and eyes closed.

A callused hand ran through his hair and tugged gently, leaving his throat completely bare. Steve opened his eyes with effort and glanced over at Tony, who looked lazy and pleased even as he kept slight pressure on Steve's hair. The next moan Steve made was slightly questioning.

Tony, luckily, understood anyway. "You're crazy if you think I could resist participate if this is a thing that's happening beside me."

"You're awfully eloquent now that you're, ah, not the one under me," Bucky pointed out, voice shaky. His hips were losing their rhythm, matching Steve's own breathless movements. "Fuck."

"I've got the gift of gab," Tony told them, voice dark and heated. "I don't need much energy to tell you that I've been imagining what you two look like together since the first night we met. Spoiler alert: it's even better in person. You on top of Steve, taking and giving. Keeping him spread out underneath you. I bet Steve looks gorgeous when he comes."

"Like a fucking wet dream," Bucky agreed, voice ragged.

Tony's hand in Steve's hair tugged and twisted with a rhythm similar to their thrusts, and Steve was so close. "Don't stop," he managed. "Buck... Tony..."

"Come on, Steve," Tony said. "Let me see you."

The wave of pleasure that rushed over Steve started in his center and then burst outward, leaving his toes curling and back arching. He was so overwhelmed that he barely noticed Bucky coming as well. All he cared about was the aching pleasure, Bucky's body over him, and Tony's hand in his hair.

----

"Why didn't we do that sooner?" Bucky asked. They were in a pile on the middle of the bed, limbs and torsos taking the place of pillows. With Bucky on one side and Tony on the other, Steve couldn't imagine anywhere he'd rather be.

"Because we're apparently incapable of talking about what we want," Steve muttered, face pressed against Tony's shoulder.

"Tony didn't seem to have a problem with that earlier," Bucky replied with a laugh that vibrated through Steve's body.

"I'm a guy who knows what he likes," Tony said. "And I think buying the building was a pretty obvious declaration of affection."

"You know that we're not actually looking to be your kept men, right?" Steve confirmed. "We're not that easy."

"I'm easy, but not cheap," Bucky said. "There's a difference."

"Speaking of," Tony said, "I never did give you your birthday present, Steve."

"Speaking of cheap?" Steve asked, lifting his head slightly so he could smirk down at Tony. They were both still undressed, and Tony wore nudity as casually as he did his suits. There was a sated laziness in his eyes that made Steve want to lean down and kiss him thoroughly. Luckily, he didn't have to resist the urge anymore.

Once he pulled back, they were both panting slightly, but Steve's attention was diverted when Bucky let out a low whistle from his other side. "Next time, I get to watch you two," he said. "Because that was hot."

Steve's cheeks flushed slightly at the mental image of him and Tony together while Bucky sat back and watched. He had never considered himself a voyeur, but with Tony involved it all sounded thrilling.

"Next time?" Tony repeated.

Expression falling slightly, Steve looked back at him. "If you want," he said cautiously.

"Is that what you want?" Tony's expression was unreadable and it was driving Steve insane.

Steve glanced over at Bucky, who shrugged. "You know it's what I want. But it's up to you. We need to all agree on this."

"Bucky's my main guy," Steve said, testing out the words as he said them. Tony's expression stayed the same, but there was a flinch in his eyes. Steve got the sense that he had been expecting rejection, and that just fueled Steve's next words. "I was hoping you could be too."

"You know, I've done a lot of things in my day," Tony said, "but never did get around to dating two people at once. I guess if I'm going to settle down, it might as well be in a way that will deeply offend the press."

"I'll have you know that we are veterans and small business owners," Bucky said. "We're damn near respectable."

"Only to people who haven't heard you in the kitchen when something starts burning," Steve pointed out.

"Or in the bedroom," Tony added.

"You're one to talk, Stark," Bucky said.

"Does it always make Steve so flustered?" Tony asked. "This might have to become a thing."

"It's even better in public," Bucky told him. "He'll be pissed at you, but then rip your clothes off as soon as you're alone."

"What about--"

"You never did tell me what that present you got me was," Steve interrupted loudly.

"A vintage Harley with Stark upgrades," Tony told him. "Now hush. I'm conspiring with your other lover."

"This was a terrible idea," Steve said, shuffling so he was draped more fully over Tony's torso. "Bucky has a thing about his ears," Steve told him with a smirk. "Nibble them and he'll drop straight to his knees."

"Oh, this is going to be fun," Tony said, and Steve could hear the grin in his voice.

----

"I can't believe you replaced me. I thought we had something special!"

"We do, but--"

"Do you have no sense of loyalty? Does our time together mean so little to you?"

"It was only like six months, Darcy," Bucky pointed out from the kitchen window.

"And then you left us for grad school," Steve added, leaning against the counter. "Besides, Peter's a good kid. Punctuality isn't his biggest strength, though."

"Aw, thanks Steve," Peter said as he passed by with a tray laden with plates. He was tall and lanky, but stronger than he looked. He commuted down from Queens for work every day, so Steve never begrudged him for his tardiness.

Tony, who was sitting at the counter with a basket of fries and a vanilla shake in front of him, pointed at Peter with his straw. "I don't think that was a compliment."

"But you guys love me anyway," Peter called over his shoulder as he walked away.

"He's right," Tony said.

Darcy turned on him. She was wearing an oversized Georgetown sweatshirt, her large-framed glasses, and bright lipstick. There was mischief in her eyes, but she kept her voice stern. "Did you pay off his loans too?"

"He's only in high school," Tony said. "At least let him get into college before I start paying off his debts. He needs to suffer for his reward."

Steve turned to Darcy and said, "Don't let him fool you. He gave an 'anonymous' donation to Peter's aunt last month."

Darcy groaned dramatically and flopped in the chair beside Tony. Stealing a fry, she said, "I feel so betrayed. I thought we had something."

Tony pushed his basket of fries sideways, and Darcy pulled them toward her, anger apparently forgotten. When he turned to Steve with an impressed expression, Steve shrugged. "Told you. She's a sucker for free food."

"I'm a sucker for free anything," Darcy admitted easily. "You know, tomorrow's Thanksgiving. You could give me another present then."

"That's not how the holiday works," Tony pointed out.

"Also, you're already coming over for the free food, right?" Steve confirmed. They were hosting a private Thanksgiving potluck in the diner for their friends who didn't have somewhere else to be. Other than Sam and Peter, who had families expecting them, nearly all of their friends were planning to attend.

"I'll at least stop in," Darcy said. "It will give me a good excuse to duck away from Aunt Lisa's hundredth retelling of the Great Fryer Incident. Also, your food is bound to be better."

"The company's not bad either," Tony said, smiling at Steve.

Darcy narrowed her eyes, looking between them. "Wait, are you two...?"

"Looking particularly handsome today? Yes," Tony said.

"Banging?"

"That too," Tony replied.

"What about Bucky?" Darcy asked Steve incredulously.

"That too," Tony repeated with a smirk.

"Damn," Darcy said, letting out a low whistle. "Getcha some, Steve."

Steve couldn't suppress the slight blush that crept over his cheeks, and didn't even try to hide his smug smile.

A half-hour later, when Tony left to see (read: pester) Bucky in the kitchen, Darcy’s face grew more serious. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good,” he said.

“You sure? Because the Steve I knew didn’t exactly seem like the type to share,” Darcy replied, lips twisted in a wry smile.

“They’re good for each other,” Steve told her.

He could hear them laughing and talking in the kitchen behind him. In the past few months, Tony had become a fixture in their lives. When he wasn’t working, he was either in the diner or in their bed. There were still rough edges to smooth out. Bucky had dark moods that left him down for days. Tony got so wound up that every word he said was a snapping attempt to distance himself from everyone around him. Even Steve had days where the faces of the people he’d lost were waiting for him every time his eyes closed, and all he wanted was to run and run until everything was left behind.

At the end of the day, though, they had each other. Steve wouldn’t give that up for the world.

Darcy nodded thoughtfully. “And for you?”

“And for me,” he confirmed, ruffling her hair despite her squawk of protest. “We’ve missed having you around, Darce.”

She ducked away from his hand, grinning. “I’m glad you’re happy,” she told him. “You deserve it. Still, of everyone I know, I wouldn’t have pegged you for the polyamorous type. Maybe Sam, Clint, and Nat, but you always seemed like a one man kind of guy.”

“It might not be the most conventional relationship,” Steve admitted, smiling fondly, “but a fellow does crazy things when he’s in love.”