Title: Fly On The Wings Of Love
Unofficially Adapted From: Joe Johnston & co's Captain America: the First Avenger, the Russo brothers & co's Captain America: the Winter Soldier., Jon Favreau & co's Iron Man 1 & 2, and Shane Black & co's Iron Man 3.
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: All of the above.
Characters & Pairings: Bucky & Sam & Tony & Natasha & Steve & Pepper
Summary: Bucky just wants to show his appreciation for everything Sam has done for Steve. Of course, Tony Stark's middle name is 'needlessly difficult'.
Author's Note: Sequel to Riviera Life (/s/10270645/), but can stand alone in a pinch. Enjoy!
Sam and Bucky sat, shirtless, on the balcony of Steve and Bucky's hotel room in Hammamet, a novel and a word sleuth book in their respective laps and their feet up on the chairs they'd levered over from Sam and Natasha's balcony, since Steve and Natasha were out shopping and didn't need them. Getting toasty was Bucky's favourite thing in the world after Steve these days (hence going down to Hammamet instead of straight back to the States when France got too crowded), but the heat of his metal arm left out in the sun was a nuisance, and nobody appreciated the way it always managed to reflect the light straight into their eyes. Bucky's left arm and shoulder were therefore wrapped in a flower-print shawl of Natasha's, held in place with nappy pins and camel-shaped magnets. There wasn't a molecule of intimidation left in the thing, until the person it was attached to suddenly jabbed it in Sam's face without warning.
In the days after Bucky and Natasha joined Sam and Steve on their not-a-vacation turned okay-kinda-a-vacation, Bucky had quickly developed a habit of announcing resurfacing memories out loud, technically addressing Steve but effectively for everyone to hear. He'd jump up and point at Steve like what he'd just remembered was "you still owe me twenty bucks, which was a fucking fortune in the forties" instead of, say, "I lost my virginity to Sadie Woodhouse", or "I fell asleep sitting up in the summer heat – were you sketching me?". Sam would have been flattered Bucky trusted him enough to casually share such intimate revelations in his presence, but he and Natasha had already started snickering into their cocktails about being invisible stowaways on the super soldier reunion broneymoon, and in all honesty, Sam suspected that when Bucky got like that he stopped really registering anyone but Steve as a fellow sentient entity. (And sometimes 'fellow' was debatable. Fucking brainwashing, man.)
Which is why it caught Sam off guard when Bucky was suddenly in his face, aiming a killer robot finger at him, exclaiming "You!"
"What?" Sam yelped, drawing his book to his chest like a shield. Which was a perfectly normal reaction, thankyouverymuch. Bucky was a nice guy and all, but unlike some people, Sam had a fully functional survival instinct.
"You were the man with the wings!" Bucky said, face an animated mixture of awe and bewilderment. "I didn't realise until now."
Sam's thoughts were a toss-up between oh, it's that time again and "Tunnel visioned my face right out, did you?"
'Tunnel vision' had become Bucky's shorthand for going through life brainwashed, because he found 'brainwashed' too science-fiction-y, like he'd only read about the Winter Soldier's actions in a book instead of experiencing his decisions and observations as Bucky's own – instead of making them. Now that time and superhuman healing had finally had the chance to reduce the constantly reapplied brain damage to the scabbed-over-and-itching-like-crazy stage, Bucky could explain his previous state of mind casually enough. He got a little twitchy when it came to concrete examples of how unreliable that tunnel vision had made his perception of the world, though, and the less said about the means it had taken to create and maintain it, the better.
For a man working in veterans' counselling, turning the tunnel vision thing into a quip just like that was perhaps not the best reflex to fall back on. "Uh, I mean –"
But this time Bucky just nodded and kept on visibly turning things over in his head. "I thought I'd killed that man."
Sam settled for pointing out, "Well, you didn't. I'm alive. Hurray!" and raising his fists in the universal sign of victory.
But Bucky's face fell into the most dismayed expression Sam had ever seen outside of an emoticon. "But your wings."
Sam blinked. "Yeah... they went down with the helicarriers. But I'm alive!"
"But your wings." Bucky's previous expression was no longer the most dismayed expression Sam had ever seen outside of an emoticon; his current one was. "I'm so sorry."
Sam probably shouldn't have found it so comical, but he did. He chalked it up to a belated victory high. The little sliver of vindication didn't help either. Not like Sam had been holding the lack of acknowledgement of their short, sorry scuffle against him when Bucky couldn't even remember Natasha's face after being dispatched specifically to kill her, or whether his lifelong best friend had broken his arm in three places while he'd tried to kill him, but detoxing from the adrenaline of flying got harder every time he had to do it. Still. God only knew how, but even Steve's 'kicked puppy dog' face paled in comparison to Bucky's.
"I was sorry to see them go too and I'm glad you care," Sam said. "But I'm the forgiving type and we both know you weren't in your right mind, so as far as I'm concerned there wasn't much to forgive in the first place. Just don't make me plummet to my death again and we're cool."
Bucky's expression barely relaxed until Sam bopped him on the nose so he'd finally take his robo-hand out of his face. "Seriously man, don't worry about it."
One corner of Bucky's mouth curled up minutely as he fell back into his chair. "Sam, don't take this the wrong way, but sometimes I really wish you guys would hold something against me and make me work for it for a change. It's either I get worked up over little things like this, or I try to sell my soul to a witch in exchange for a time machine so I can unshape the whole damn century and bathe in Zola's blood."
Christ. Sam would never stop being astonished at how lucid Bucky could be about his situation. "Gimme a minute, I'll unforgive you just as soon as I stop being dazzled by your wisdom."
The man's resilience was impressive all around, really. Sure, he needed an hour alone with Steve to boot up the right personality some mornings, and they set his bedtime most evenings to when his mental batteries ran out and the robotic emergency back-up generator kicked in. But he had yet to revert back to psycho killer mode even once, and whatever had caused him to say "Good thing you guys didn't see me two months ago, better for my dignity." that one time was still only an educated guess to Sam. He chalked that up as a small miracle.
Bucky's crooked smile grew a little bigger even as he rolled his eyes. "Compartmentalisation is what it's called, right? Don't tell Steve, I don't think he likes the word."
"That's just 'cause he's sore about one of the non-psychological definitions. It has its merits. Used right, it can help people immensely."
Bucky sighed and stared up at the sky. "Guess fishing your stuff out of the Potomac won't do the trick this time, huh?"
"And everyone I knew who could've fixed you up with a new pair is either dead or evil or both."
"If it's any consolation, they were government property. I got away with being seen using stolen equipment this one time because Cap and Natasha did the stealing and we saved the world and uncovered the biggest conspiracy in history and all that, but it would've been my swan song either way."
Bucky made a scandalized face. "What? What a load of crock."
"It is what it is," Sam said, shrugging a little easier for the vindication.
"I mean..." Bucky got a dreamy look in his eyes and sagged a little more bonelessly into his chair. "It must be amazing, to fly like that."
Sam couldn't not smile like a big softy sap. "It is, when nobody's shooting at ya. Sometimes even then. If I could, I'd never touch the ground again."
"No kidding. You make Iron Man look like a game of human kick the can."
"I'm serious, you have the best superhero costume I've ever seen," Bucky went on.
"I've never been called a superhero before." Sam may have preened a little. "That arm of yours isn't too shabby either."
Bucky didn't even protest being lobbed in with the superheroes. "The coolest combat gear I've ever seen, period. And believe you me, I've seen some."
"Oh, is it compliment back pay day? Do keep going. You wanna work for it? Then work for it, boy."
Bucky's grin was impish and his voice saccharine. "I bet it takes a heap of skill and practice, but you make it look so effortless..."
Sam could see why Steve liked the guy so much. His sides ached for hours.
One month later:
The intruder just materialized in his lab, thin air one moment and there the next, didn't have the decency to trip an alarm or kaboom his way in or anything. How was he even supposed to respond to that, other than by having a heart attack?
"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST."
"Tony Stark?" said the man, looking cautious behind the wall of holographic information projected over Tony's desk. Tony stared indignantly back at him. On the shabby side, but showing no outward signs of deranged lunacy. Could've been worse. Could've been armed, or smelly. This guy seemed reasonably well-groomed and rabies-free. Jeans, hoody, gloves, and a face like a boxer dog. Or one of those Snubbull pokémons, because in a world of aliens and super soldiers there was no reason pokémons weren't already a real breed of dog. Or cat-fox, or floating ice-cream cone, or whatever. Even Tony could grow the responsibility to take care of a pet if only someone would genetically engineer the right pokémon already, but he digressed, there were more important things than the intruder's ridiculous mouth-cheek configuration.
"Who the hell are you?" Tony said, because really? Really? Aside from the trespassing, he was interrupting. Tony was – rather obviously, he should think – reading. "How the hell did you get in?"
"I come in peace," the intruder said, and actually held up his hands. "We have an appointment."
Dressed like that? Tony thought. He banished the projected files by banging a hand on the desk and hit the Keep Calm My House Is Filled With Hyper-Advanced Body Armour button while he was at it. "I don't remember taking any appointments. Jarvis, who is this guy?"
"If you check your schedule, you'll find it's in there," the stranger claimed.
"Ah, that's your problem right there. I never check my schedule, so as far as I'm concerned this appointment doesn't exist."
"I've noticed." Tall Dark And Trespassing smiled a tiny, wry little bit. "That's why I decided to come to you instead of waiting any longer for you to come to me."
Tony blinked, waited for the guns to come out and/or the superpowers to manifest or the reinforcements with guns and/or superpowers to burst in through the walls, anything, blinked again, waited some more, thought: huh, and crossed his arms over his chest. "So subtlety isn't your strong suit, okay, I'll make it less subtle: go away. I'm busy nursing a wounded ego."
The SHIELD data dump had taken Iron Man from an exclusive club of six – and that was including Blonsky the fridged lunatic and Rhodey, who owed his membership card to Tony – and put him on an index of dozens. None of them anywhere near as impressive as Iron Man or the Hulk or Thor, or even boring old Cap – pyrokinesis guy sounded fun, but he was dead which meant he didn't count anymore, leaving mostly weirdoes who gave themselves lion's paws or other incomprehensible, amateur nonsense like that – but the principle of the thing.
This must be what it felt like to be boring and normal. No wonder he'd missed so much when he raided SHIELD's servers during the Chitauri invasion. He'd gone over it all again and again since the implosion six months ago and he still wanted to kick himself for not bothering sooner.
John Doe-eyes was only taken aback for a moment before he squared his shoulders and finally got to the point, taking a flash drive from his pocket. "Mr Stark, I wish to commission a piece of technology from you. I have the specs right here –"
"Is the fate of the world at stake?"
The man of mystery frowned. "No."
"Are you gonna use it to do something illegal?"
"Not... that I'm... aware of?"
Well, that was just too bad, wasn't it? Whatever it was the guy wanted, it couldn't possibly justify the lack of blowing shit up or attempts at blowing Tony up it would take to build it.
"Not interested. And didn't I just tell you to go away? Why do you think I would make something for you when I just told you to go away. Jarvis, who the hell is this?" Tony asked, raising his voice just in case the microphones had suddenly become hard of hearing.
"I disabled the sound system," No-Name said in an odd, almost apologetic tone of voice. "I'm very sorry, I promise everything else is intact."
Tony's mouth fell open. What?
"I will pay you, of course, the full and fair sum for your services. This is very important to me, Mr Stark. It's for a friend of mine."
"Is this your first... kidnapping? robbery? extortion? You know, the last guys who tried to force me to build something for them didn't fare so well, and they had years of practice," Tony felt compelled to point out.
The guy gave him a vacant kind of look, like he had no idea what Tony was talking about. Which, yeah right, Tony's ego was only exactly as big as was warranted. "That's... good? I'm not here to force you into anything. I come in peace."
No, seriously, what?
...the dude looked so hopeful.
"Don't take this the wrong way, I know a lot of perfectly nice hobos, but you don't look like you can afford me," Tony said in his best approximation of 'gentle'.
But the guy's eyes lit up. Right. No good with the subtlety.
"I know your fee," he said, picked up a sports bag Tony hadn't noticed him setting down against the desk any more than he'd noticed him come in, stepped forward – Tony stubbornly failed to wheel his chair back an equal distance – put the bag on the desk, unzipped it, and held it open to show Tony the contents.
It was filled to the brim with cash.
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "To rephrase; you don't look like someone who can afford to pay me using legally acquired money."
His friendly neighbourhood burglar's expression darkened, and for the first time, Tony felt like he might actually be dangerous and this encounter was finally starting to make sense. Then –
"This used to be Hydra's. I'm morally opposed to calling it stealing when the previous owner should never have had it in the first place."
– and wow, a self-righteous wannabe supervillain, talk about anticlimactic.
"I don't actually disagree, but see, this is what I mean. Blood money. Not a good thing to be offered. Not an indicator of your trustworthiness."
Burglar Babyface bit his lip, and if that wasn't the most unprofessional nervous tick ever for a criminal type, Tony didn't know what was.
"You can also have this," he said after a moment, and proceeded to strip off his gloves and his hoody and his shirt, and before Tony could so much as formulate a quip about it being five months late for a birthday stripper, his vision filled with smooth, sleek, gleaming movement, and hello baby, are you a gauntlet or a prosthesis or –
Ah. Scar tissue all around the shoulder. Good thing he hadn't asked.
The man attached to the silver beauty turned her this way and that, rotating the shoulder, bending the elbow, opening and closing the fist.
"Bulletproof, punches holes in concrete, sophisticated enough pressure sensors to weave daisy chains, better motor control than the real one," he listed. "Soviet design with several decades' worth of Hydra upgrades."
Tony's eyes snapped to his face.
"None of this was in the SHIELD data dump. I'll let you examine it, reverse engineer it, keep the tech." His mouth pulled into either a grimace or a grin, Tony couldn't really tell. "Hell, if there's a way to take it off, you can keep the whole thing."
Tony's insides had gone cold, but his brain was struggling to catch up. "If there's a way? It's your arm, shouldn't you know if there's a way?"
"That knowledge was need to know, and I never needed to know."
"Oh, Christ." Tony's brain caught up, but that proved less helpful than he'd hoped. There was a myriad of explanations for what was going on here, and none of them were nice, but none of them were exactly compatible with each other either. Confirming which was the right one also required straight answers he didn't seem likely to get, considering he still hadn't been told a name, so... "Fine, I'll look at your arm, whatever."
Tony reached out, but Cyborg held it behind his back. "In exchange for the wings."
"Wings? What wi– oh, that thing you want me to build. Show me the damn specs," Tony snapped. The flesh and blood hand held out the flash drive, and Tony snatched it, plugged it in, and gave the contents a cursory glance. "Oh, these. Old news. Saw them, improved them, got bored with them years ago."
Years? Months? Decades? Who cared. Time was relative, and the standard units of measurement meant shit-all, anyway.
"I'll have Jarvis whip you up a pair of my own design on the assembly line," Tony said, because why the hell not, it may or may not help but it definitely wouldn't hurt. "Got that, Jarvis? I assume you just said 'yes sir' through your sad deadened speakers. Oh, and while you're at it, run facial recognition and show, don't tell me, who the hell Fullmetal Alchemist here is."
The information lit up so suddenly it caused... Bucky Barnes? ...the Bucky Barnes? ...to startle back a step.
"The hell?" Tony said with conviction. "You better have a good explanation for this, Jarvis."
A window saying 'explanation/more information available' lit up, and offered up said info without prompting, key passages highlighted. The connections were tenuous – roughly coinciding dates, a file the Kremlin would nuke him for accessing that contained the phrase 'an American soldier of some symbolic significance', which probably sounded more professional in Russian, a SHIELD/Hydra patent for the alloy making up the arm, an urban legend that read like the Bermuda Triangle of the international spy scene... and a brief text exchange, not long after Insight Day, initiated in cryptic terms by Natasha Romanoff and quickly made painfully un-cryptic by Steve Rogers.
Tony shot the brainwashed superhuman assassin from the '40s an accusatory look.
Boogeyman Barnes held up his hands again, like when this farce of a conversation first started. "I come in peace. The wings are for a friend. He's a good man who looked after someone dear to me when I couldn't. I will pay you in full and I will let you dissect my arm."
"I heard you the first time. Thing is, the definition of 'peace' seems to have gotten awful broad lately. Hulkbuster, catch."
Barnes was fast. Tony's suits were faster. Within seconds, Jarvis had the suit across the room, and Barnes barely had time to turn towards it before it opened up, swallowed him whole, and locked.
"Facing this way Jarvis, come on, use the brain I gave you."
The suit turned obediently and then froze again. Only Barnes' face was still visible within, wide-eyed and appropriately frantic-looking. Hulkbuster was strong enough to wrestle Bruce's big bad alter ego, keeping a super-soldier restrained inside was only the logical flipside.
"I come in peace," Barnes said again. "I come in peace."
"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not entirely comprised of suicidally idiotic impulses," was all Tony had to say to that, fishing a cell phone out of his pocket. He dialled and hit speaker.
A female voice answered on the second ring. "Hello?"
Tony frowned at the phone. "You're not Steve."
"Oh, hey Tony. It's Natasha. Steve's taking a shower."
There was a moment of silence, then a rustle of static, more silence, and then the sound of a shower running. "Hey Steve, say hi to Tony."
"Hi Tony," said Steve's voice. "Natasha, get the hell out of my bathroom, that door was locked for a reason."
"Tony wanted to say hi," she said. "He still doesn't trust me."
"You can trust her, Tony," Steve said.
Tony rolled his eyes. "Well, that proves you're Steve alright."
"That all you needed him for, Mr Stark?" Natasha asked with an audible smirk.
"Maybe. Are you missing your Robocop by any chance? You seen that movie yet, Steve?"
It took a moment for Steve to answer that, during which Tony liked to think he looked adorably oblivious until Natasha, the eternal spoilsport, mouthed the answer for him.
"Bucky's with you?" was the end verdict. The shower turned off.
"Should he be?"
"Sure, why not. He didn't mention where he was going, but I'm not his jailor or anything. Say hi to him for me?"
Tony relaxed a bit. "You're on speaker, you just did."
"Hey Buck," Steve said.
"Hey Steve," Barnes answered, a little breathless.
"What are you doing at Stark's?"
"See, that's what I wanted to ask you," Tony said. "'Cause, funny thing, the first I hear about his very existence this side of the Second World War is when he waltzes into my workshop with no warning –"
"I made an appointment and everything, what more warning do you want from me?!"
"– and no indication of whether he's still a brainwashed murder machine of Hydra's, or gone on a roaring rampage of revenge against everyone associated with SHIELD, for which he certainly looks the part –"
"He's not," Steve and Natasha said in unison.
"Neither of those." (Natasha.)
"And could you be more insensitive if you tried, Tony?" (Steve.)
"Hey, I've been down and low and fueled by rage, I speak from experience."
"I'm not," Barnes groaned. "I come in peace." He was starting to look more than a little pinched. Tony spared a fleeting thought to wonder exactly how many inches the guy had on himself, the man whose measurements the suit was designed to.
"So I'm not about to be slaughtered like a pig?"
"If he wanted you dead, Stark, you'd be dead already," Natasha said, far too flippantly.
"He doesn't want you dead, Stark," Steve said. "Right, Buck?"
"You okay, pal? You sound a little funny."
"Just peachy," Barnes all but whimpered, eyes squeezed shut.
Tony was beginning to feel sorry for the guy. "Alright, one last thing I need you to confirm and then I'll let the justified paranoia slide: he says he wants me to build a pair of mechanical wings for a friend of his."
"Aww, really?" Natasha cooed. "That's adorable. Look, Steve, Bucky made his first new best friend too."
"IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SURPRISE."
"Don't worry, Sam's not in here with us," she said. "We won't tell."
So no being exploited for nefarious purposes either. Excellent.
"There should not have been a 'we' in that sentence," Steve grumbled. "Gimme the phone and get out."
"No, no, don't act all coy on my account. Enjoy your shower sex, I have to let Sergeant Barnes out of his cage now," Tony said.
"Cage?" Steve sounded alarmed. "Tony, what –"
The suit opened up and Barnes stumbled out.
"Okiedokie, now that we finally know you're not some kind of slow weirdo ax-murderer, let's have a look at that arm of yours," Tony said, cracking his knuckles. Then he hesitated. "Uh."
Barnes was on hands and knees, five seconds away from hyperventilating.
Forty-five minutes later, the thermostat in the lab was cranked up high and Barnes was huddled in a blanket with his organic hand wrapped around a cup of hot cocoa and little marshmallows. There were also platters of cookies, cake and little sandwiches set up on the workbench in front of him, as well as tea and coffee and cocoa refill. Dummy had gotten halfway through the high tea spread Pepper had stocked for tomorrow's bi-weekly tea party slash 'the world is full of superhuman boyfriends and down a superwrangling agency, now what' meeting with her new lady minions Hill and Foster, before he dropped the savoury snacks tray and the noise alerted Pepper. Who had taken Tony's panicked appropriation of her stash of comfort food and the presence of a half-naked kicked puppy killbot in the tower after hours like a champ. She was currently awkwardly patting a blushing Barnes' back and trying to explain the Bucky Bear nestled in the crook of his more interesting arm (her pristine back-up bear with the little plastic rifle still on its back and all the tiny buttons still attached, not the lovingly battered one she kept in her bedside table) in a way that didn't sound too much like 'you've been my dead celebrity crush since high school and the only reason I'm giving this embarrassing piece of merchandise to you instead of asking you to sign it is because my boyfriend just traumatized the hell out of you'.
It was what Tony imagined pyjama parties must be like when they didn't involve booze and strippers instead.
"See, the nice thing about modern technology –" Tony started, loudly enough to catch both Pepper and Barnes' attention and quell that little surge of absolutely-not-jealousy. "– is that there's no need for any invasive procedures just to get a good look at stuff."
He blew up the hologram of Barnes' arm with a wave of his hands, and it opened up like a masterful and deadly mechanical flower. He wanted to touch it. Wanted so bad to get his hands all over and inside of that (awful, invasive) work of engineering art. But this was not the time to let his inner mad scientist out to play.
Tony sighed and hoped it didn't sound too much like longing. "I would say this is a beautiful piece of work, but I'm morally opposed to complimenting my villainous colleagues."
"Is it bugged?" Barnes asked, voice still on the raspy side. "Rigged?"
Pepper looked horrified. "You've been walking around with a possibly rigged arm for how long?"
He shrugged his non-metal shoulder. "It took a while before the possibility started worrying me, and by then nothing had happened for so long I figured it could wait until I found someone trustworthy to take a look."
Jeeze. "I don't know why the radio silence, but you got lucky, pal. Yes to bugs, yes to being rigged," Tony said. "There's a 'stop working and use all power to electrocute the host brain' circuit, but it has to be activated remotely. Just not too remotely, it has a range of maybe thirty yards. A limitation offset by three different trackers, one in the arm, one in the shoulder base, and one in your other shoulder. No worries now, though, I'll have all that fixed for you before you can say 'fifteenth president of the United States'."
"Thank you," Barnes said quietly.
"No problem. I mean that literally, I could do this in my sleep, it's barely a challenge. I won't even charge you. Throw in a free set of wings for a friend of a friend, national hero, victim of entirely reasonable safety measures and all that."
One corner of Barnes' mouth curled up.
"Tony," Pepper said patiently. "His other shoulder is not made of metal. You are not qualified to perform surgery on a human being."
"I can get that one myself," Barnes said, immediately followed by an announcement from Jarvis.
"Sir, Captain Rogers has arrived, accompanied by Agent Romanoff and a Mr Sam Wilson."
Tony was glad he'd restored Jarvis's voice because it provided a distraction for Pepper, but then that distraction marched into the workshop and caught sight of the thing Pepper needed distracting from and the state it was in, and all of Tony's gladness left the building.
"Stark, what did you do?"
"He stuck me in an iron maiden-like hollow robot and said he'd cut me open with no medical training," Barnes reported blithely.
There was a moment of silence.
Then Cap's eyes went from comically wide and trained on Barnes to dagger-shooting slits boring into Tony.
"You lied to me," Tony realised. "All of you. Well, not you, new guy –"
Wilson raised a hand in greeting. "Hi."
"– but only on a technicality. You guys assured me he wouldn't try to murder me. This is murder by Steve Rogers. See, there he comes. Oh god, he's coming for me, Pepper, help me! They can't do this to me, I have audio evidence, this is a breach of contract. Pepper, call my lawyers, call my bodyguards –"
"Happy's my bodyguard nowadays, honey. You're fresh out."
Barnes pretended not to laugh evilly and only succeeded in choking on his hot cocoa.
Tony got off with half a lecture he would've gotten from Pepper anyway, quickly and without a shred of remorse deflected Steve's ire to Bucky by pointing out what he'd said about cutting himself open, which earned him a lecture from Steve and Pepper, and everybody forgot all about it once Jarvis announced the wing pack was done and ready for use.
Watching Wilson jump off the top of the tower whooping for joy was much more entertaining.
(Tony may, conceivably, have started drawing up plans for two extra Avengers floors then and there.)