Getting sucked up in work is the thing Tony is best at, and it's exactly what he does. The fact that it's been hours doesn't even consciously register beyond the increasing number of coffee mugs in the corner, and various aches and pains that snap him from his focus upping in frequency.
It's not unusual for him to be so absorbed he doesn't notice people entering his space, especially with his usual tendency of blasting music at full volume, but what he does usually notice is FRIDAY warning him. So when the Solider's voice is suddenly right fucking behind him, Tony makes a very undignified yelp and jumps, like, five feet in the air. (Not actually, but he startles rather spectacularly.) It's his gut reaction to make some kind of quip, no wonder you were a renowned assassin, or, fuck, we should get you a bell, but it dies on his tongue. Mostly because of the sharp jab of pain that runs through him, but Tony also needs to try and be more conscious than ever over his actions and their consequences. "Hey there, tall, dark and handsome. Didn't see you there," is what he lands on, which. Yeah. Probably the best Tony's gonna get in terms of censoring himself.
Between the pain that jostling his leg brings up, and checking around for the time, it takes a moment for the Soldier's words to sink in. He looks down, and, yeah, sure enough, "oh. I guess I am." It's easy to wave it off, though, because, "I've had worse. It'll be fine."
There's an awkward silence, thick with unease. If asked how he knew, Tony wouldn't be able to pinpoint it, but the Solider's giving off this tense and uncomfortable vibe. It might be more intuitive leap than any actual social cue, but whatever. Safe assumption. But it's fine. Tony can talk enough for two people.
"Welcome to my humble abode, Sarge!" He does a miniature sweeping hand motion, showing off the room at large. It's kind of a joke, because the place is far from humble, but most definitely screams Tony Stark. Disorganized chaos? Check. Projects and papers and scrap metal and wiring galore on every available surface? Also check. A surprising amount of Iron Man merchandise or memorabilia interspersed with nerdy decor or things so hilariously bad or cheesy that it can only be ironic? Yep. The couch more comfortable than it has any right to be, shoved in the first available corner and covered in pillows and blankets because Tony sleeps down here more often than he doesn't? Mmmmhm. There's also the kitchenette, but it's mostly used for coffees and smoothies than any actual cooking. Tony keeps it stocked like every other fridge in the Tower, but he usually only bothers with takeout.
Also, yes, the time away has made his decision firmly clear: business is as usual, water under the bridge. Tony doesn't really see any point in scuttling around the Soldier like an anxious mouse, seems like a recipe for making the guy more uneasy and on edge. Okay, granted, overly chatty and larger than life probably will also do that, but Tony doesn't exactly have an off switch for that. It also seems like a pretty good way to attempt to put all of his cards on the table, without sitting down and having to talk feelings. What would he even say? Actions speak louder than words.
(Although, it might come off as cockiness, or a taunt-- turning his back to this man, seemingly unafraid that the Solider will lash out because of FRIDAY. That sends unease through Tony, but he hasn't really come up with a way to convince the guy of the contrary. Maybe taking him out on missions? Though putting a gun in the guy's hands seems like an equally intense way of saying, I dare you to try it.)
"What can I do you for?" Instead of bothering (attempting) to stand, he shoves his little swivel chair across the linoleum, sliding smoothly into the kitchenette. "Oh, that reminds me. I should set you up with your own floor. Fri, babygirl, put it on my list?"
"You got it, boss. What orders should I put in?"
"Nothin' too fancy. Steve got overwhelmed when I went all out; Better to let Barnes decide for himself." Tony's been rummaging through cabinets and drawers as he talks. DUM-E moved the protein bars. Again. And the fancy little coffee pods for the ridiculously expensive coffee machine. Thankfully, he finds them, making a small, triumphant noise.
"Feel free to help yourself. If you aren't a coffee or tea kind of guy, there's a ton of shit in the fridge. I've got alcohol around here somewhere, but I don't keep it in the lab anymore." If he says so himself, Tony's getting pretty good at this sobriety thing. Sometimes all that keeps him on the wagon is pure fucking spite, but he does do it.
The protein bar is almost half inhaled when he has the idea to ask, "Fri, when's the last time I ate?"
"Over seventeen hours ago." Oh. She does not sound happy. No wonder he feels like death warmed over. Contrary to popular belief (or unpopular, really, because it's only himself that is so insistent), he cannot survive on caffeine alone.
The possibility of it being almost that long or longer since the Solider has eaten does cross Tony's mind, but it might be an awkward subject to breach. Well. Even if he has had something while he's been doing whatever it is since Tony last saw him, Steve could literally always go for more food, so it's safe to assume the Solider would be the same. Doesn't hurt to offer. Probably.
"You hungry, Sarge? Got a takeout preference?" Now he slides over to the other end of the workshop, ends in a sort of semi intentional traffic collision with one of the bots. Butterfingers beeps happily at Tony, spins in a little circle when he gives her a pet like a dog. She also seems content to be used as a cheek rest, and Tony doesn't say no. "If you're more about home cooked meals, any fridge should have what you need. I can't cook to save my life, so, you don't want me in a kitchen."
He's about to leave it there, but there's this way that the Soldier is looking at him now, has been ever since the Sarge's and the Barnes's, that makes Tony pause. He also remembers earlier, how the guy had said this Steve, like he didn't remember him at all. Tony was under the assumption that referring to him as the person he was before the brainwashing would be more humanizing, but maybe it's the opposite? He'd probably feel pretty damn disconnected from himself, too, if all he'd known for seventy years was being the Solider.
"Actually, is 'Barnes' fine? 'James'? 'Bucky'? That one feels a little personal, but you never know. I figured if we're going to be living together, I should at least ask what you like to be called. I'm definitely not calling you the Asset." A pause, Tony sitting back up, hand to his chin, considering. "Solider?" That might not be any better than the Asset, but it's also not exactly uncommon. Sort of like calling him Sergeant, really.
no subject
It's not unusual for him to be so absorbed he doesn't notice people entering his space, especially with his usual tendency of blasting music at full volume, but what he does usually notice is FRIDAY warning him. So when the Solider's voice is suddenly right fucking behind him, Tony makes a very undignified yelp and jumps, like, five feet in the air. (Not actually, but he startles rather spectacularly.) It's his gut reaction to make some kind of quip, no wonder you were a renowned assassin, or, fuck, we should get you a bell, but it dies on his tongue. Mostly because of the sharp jab of pain that runs through him, but Tony also needs to try and be more conscious than ever over his actions and their consequences. "Hey there, tall, dark and handsome. Didn't see you there," is what he lands on, which. Yeah. Probably the best Tony's gonna get in terms of censoring himself.
Between the pain that jostling his leg brings up, and checking around for the time, it takes a moment for the Soldier's words to sink in. He looks down, and, yeah, sure enough, "oh. I guess I am." It's easy to wave it off, though, because, "I've had worse. It'll be fine."
There's an awkward silence, thick with unease. If asked how he knew, Tony wouldn't be able to pinpoint it, but the Solider's giving off this tense and uncomfortable vibe. It might be more intuitive leap than any actual social cue, but whatever. Safe assumption. But it's fine. Tony can talk enough for two people.
"Welcome to my humble abode, Sarge!" He does a miniature sweeping hand motion, showing off the room at large. It's kind of a joke, because the place is far from humble, but most definitely screams Tony Stark. Disorganized chaos? Check. Projects and papers and scrap metal and wiring galore on every available surface? Also check. A surprising amount of Iron Man merchandise or memorabilia interspersed with nerdy decor or things so hilariously bad or cheesy that it can only be ironic? Yep. The couch more comfortable than it has any right to be, shoved in the first available corner and covered in pillows and blankets because Tony sleeps down here more often than he doesn't? Mmmmhm. There's also the kitchenette, but it's mostly used for coffees and smoothies than any actual cooking. Tony keeps it stocked like every other fridge in the Tower, but he usually only bothers with takeout.
Also, yes, the time away has made his decision firmly clear: business is as usual, water under the bridge. Tony doesn't really see any point in scuttling around the Soldier like an anxious mouse, seems like a recipe for making the guy more uneasy and on edge. Okay, granted, overly chatty and larger than life probably will also do that, but Tony doesn't exactly have an off switch for that. It also seems like a pretty good way to attempt to put all of his cards on the table, without sitting down and having to talk feelings. What would he even say? Actions speak louder than words.
(Although, it might come off as cockiness, or a taunt-- turning his back to this man, seemingly unafraid that the Solider will lash out because of FRIDAY. That sends unease through Tony, but he hasn't really come up with a way to convince the guy of the contrary. Maybe taking him out on missions? Though putting a gun in the guy's hands seems like an equally intense way of saying, I dare you to try it.)
"What can I do you for?" Instead of bothering (attempting) to stand, he shoves his little swivel chair across the linoleum, sliding smoothly into the kitchenette. "Oh, that reminds me. I should set you up with your own floor. Fri, babygirl, put it on my list?"
"You got it, boss. What orders should I put in?"
"Nothin' too fancy. Steve got overwhelmed when I went all out; Better to let Barnes decide for himself." Tony's been rummaging through cabinets and drawers as he talks. DUM-E moved the protein bars. Again. And the fancy little coffee pods for the ridiculously expensive coffee machine. Thankfully, he finds them, making a small, triumphant noise.
"Feel free to help yourself. If you aren't a coffee or tea kind of guy, there's a ton of shit in the fridge. I've got alcohol around here somewhere, but I don't keep it in the lab anymore." If he says so himself, Tony's getting pretty good at this sobriety thing. Sometimes all that keeps him on the wagon is pure fucking spite, but he does do it.
The protein bar is almost half inhaled when he has the idea to ask, "Fri, when's the last time I ate?"
"Over seventeen hours ago." Oh. She does not sound happy. No wonder he feels like death warmed over. Contrary to popular belief (or unpopular, really, because it's only himself that is so insistent), he cannot survive on caffeine alone.
The possibility of it being almost that long or longer since the Solider has eaten does cross Tony's mind, but it might be an awkward subject to breach. Well. Even if he has had something while he's been doing whatever it is since Tony last saw him, Steve could literally always go for more food, so it's safe to assume the Solider would be the same. Doesn't hurt to offer. Probably.
"You hungry, Sarge? Got a takeout preference?" Now he slides over to the other end of the workshop, ends in a sort of semi intentional traffic collision with one of the bots. Butterfingers beeps happily at Tony, spins in a little circle when he gives her a pet like a dog. She also seems content to be used as a cheek rest, and Tony doesn't say no. "If you're more about home cooked meals, any fridge should have what you need. I can't cook to save my life, so, you don't want me in a kitchen."
He's about to leave it there, but there's this way that the Soldier is looking at him now, has been ever since the Sarge's and the Barnes's, that makes Tony pause. He also remembers earlier, how the guy had said this Steve, like he didn't remember him at all. Tony was under the assumption that referring to him as the person he was before the brainwashing would be more humanizing, but maybe it's the opposite? He'd probably feel pretty damn disconnected from himself, too, if all he'd known for seventy years was being the Solider.
"Actually, is 'Barnes' fine? 'James'? 'Bucky'? That one feels a little personal, but you never know. I figured if we're going to be living together, I should at least ask what you like to be called. I'm definitely not calling you the Asset." A pause, Tony sitting back up, hand to his chin, considering. "Solider?" That might not be any better than the Asset, but it's also not exactly uncommon. Sort of like calling him Sergeant, really.