Chapter Text
The first time Bucky Barnes looked at the picture of his new assignment, the only thing he could think was What a fucking dweeb. He didn’t have anything against civilians (big or small, thank you very much) or pop stars or whatever else Steve Rogers was supposed to be. No, his problem was with the fact that he was the goddamn Winter Soldier and they wanted him to be a glorified bodyguard to this guy. Bucky hadn’t gotten free of HYDRA and its influence after all this time to play protection detail. He was an internationally renowned assassin, even if no one could prove he existed, so he should be able to pick and choose whatever assignments he wanted.
Now if only the gig didn’t pay so well and he actually could pick and choose instead of being voluntold what to do by his military doctors.
The second time Bucky Barnes looked at the picture of his new assignment, he’d taken the time to read the file. Steve Rogers had won the genetic lottery of bad luck, and it was a miracle the kid had been born now and not in Bucky’s time because he couldn’t imagine a kid that sick making it very far. Seriously, what wasn’t wrong with him? How did he even get onstage and perform with such a long laundry list of issues? All things considered, he looked pretty damn good in that picture. Really showed what money and a good team of wardrobe and makeup people could do.
Seriously, how was this kid alive?
The third time Bucky looked at the picture, he was trying to think of what might motivate a stalker to send this adorable little punk death threats. Seriously, he was disgustingly wholesome. The file had copies of some of the letters and emails, and Bucky was relieved to read that the stuff sent snail mail had been caught by a P.R. team and Rogers hadn’t seen it. The emails were bad enough, calling the kid a lot of degrading and sexual names, issuing threats of sexual violence. Bucky knew a lot of anonymous internet people said things they didn’t mean, but this one seemed pretty serious. The paper letters… those were going to give Bucky a few nightmares- and that was saying something because he had Seen. Some. Shit.
The file didn’t have much personal information on Steve Rogers, so Bucky took to the internet. He hadn’t officially accepted the job but between the lack of actual choice and his sudden desire to find the mind that wrote those things and crush it with his bare hands, he’d at least unofficially accepted. Googling Steve Rogers didn’t get him much more information. Skipping the YouTube videos taken on shaky cellphones and the various lyrics pages trying to sell him music, Bucky finally found a few interviews. No, that was a lie. He found a few paraphrases of the same interview. Pure sweet angel Steve Rogers (or at least that’s how everyone seemed to paint him) was raised by his mother who passed away when he was seventeen. Bucky couldn’t find any information on his father, so assumed the man walked out (or that Steve was a product of artificial insemination- a thing Bucky had been fascinated to learn about… Seriously! The science in the twenty-first century!) and not that he’d died. Bucky couldn’t even find any information on what had happened to Steve in the months between his mother’s death and turning eighteen. Had he just been allowed to roam around like an adult? Even with all of his health issues?
How was he supposed to work without any of this information?
With a put-upon sigh, Bucky delved into fan sites, eventually finding his way to one called Tumblr. It seemed to house the most enthusiastic and dedicated fans who would likely have done most of the legwork for him. He half-heartedly threw together his own profile (blog?) claiming that he was new to the Steve Rogers fan base and reblogged a few pictures of him and his guitar. That done, he went to some of the busier fans and sent them questions about his exes and just about anything else he could think of.
All of them seemed to be in agreement that Steve Rogers was a very private individual who kept his friends as far from the spotlight as possible. None of them knew if Rogers had ever had a girlfriend (or boyfriend) and encouraged him to stop asking because Steve didn’t like people prying into his personal life.
Well, at least Bucky would have some backup protectors for his assignment even if they were only on the internet.
When the day finally came to meet the pop star himself, Bucky felt woefully unprepared. Aside from the missives from the stalker, the sparse biography, and the apparent commonly-accepted fact that Steve Rogers was as pure and wholesome a cinnamon roll as there ever was, he knew nothing about the situation. He didn’t like knowing nothing about the situation.
“So before we have you sign anything,” the agent began smoothly, not bothering to introduce herself as she placed his contract on the table, her hand holding the folder shut so he couldn’t even start to read it, “We’re going to have Steve talk to you a bit, make sure you’re a good fit. Top of this file is an NDA which essentially says you won’t reveal anything about Steve to the press, fans, anyone without a matching signed agreement essentially. That is a thing you sign now, before we bring Steve in.”
Bucky only barely managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He held out a hand as if to say, hand it over, then, and she opened the folder and slid a very densely printed sheet of paper that he pretended to read for approximately two seconds before deciding he didn’t care enough. He wasn’t interested in spreading information that wasn’t his to spread. Bucky was here to do a job and apparently step one was to convince a pop sensation that he was qualified.
By the time America’s darling finally walked into the conference room, Bucky was seething. The agent seemed reluctant to leave them alone but Rogers only smiled brightly at the glowering assassin before saying, “Thanks, Nat,” and shutting the door practically in her face. He continued to smile at Bucky. Bucky stared back, attempting to reel in his glare. Why did he have to prove himself to this little punk? He was the goddamn Winter Soldier, Rogers should have to prove himself to Bucky.
Instead of acknowledging the brunet’s clear agitation, Rogers took the seat his agent had pointedly ignored in favor of leaning over the assassin with paperwork as if it were an intimidation tactic, and folded his hands casually on the table. “Hi,” he said, leaning forward with that apple pie smile. “I’m Steve.”
“Barnes,” Bucky replied gruffly. He was pretty sure his piss poor manners should put the superstar off, but it only seemed to make him more interesting to the blond.
“Barnes,” Rogers repeated, and in that moment Bucky knew he was one of those people who thought it was their mission in life to learn and remember everyone’s name they ever talked to. He was the kind of guy who would not only recognize a fan but stop them and talk to them and remember their name and to ask about their dog. He couldn’t figure out if he was impressed or disgusted. “So, here’s the thing. I’m not really sold on the idea that I need a bodyguard, but it’s not up to me. What the people up top want is for someone who is going to follow me pretty much everywhere except the bathroom, and all I could negotiate into there was that I get to talk to them first and make sure you’re someone I won’t mind having around twenty-four hours a day. So really… I mean, I know this is a job and it’s professional, but I’m not really good at treating people like furniture so it’d be good to know if we get along.”
Bucky should have probably listened to a song or two. Rogers had a deeper voice than he was expecting and the long monologue had really emphasized that for him. He was also a lot more confident than Bucky expected. To look at Steve Rogers, to read about his long list of ailments and the probable tragic backstory of his parentage, Bucky was expecting someone shy and soft-spoken. Rogers didn’t seem to be either of those. Well, if Bucky wanted this job (and, to his own distaste, he really did), he had to convince Rogers they could get along. Did he want a friend? Bucky should have tried to find more of Rogers’ interviews (not that there seemed to be any) to try to measure his personality better.
“Have to admit, reading your file, I was expecting someone quiet and mousy,” he admitted. As it left his mouth, horror filled him. That was a stupid thing to say, he was insulting the guy-
Rogers was laughing.
Oh.
Well…
Good.
“Yeah, I can see how you might expect that,” Rogers nodded, taking a few deep breaths that made Bucky involuntarily glance down at his chest as if he could see the lungs there and whether or not he needed to be worried about Rogers laughing too hard. Bucky didn’t know much about asthma, but the movies made it seem like something that happened any time you got a little bit too worked up.
“Makes sense, though. Don’t get to be a pop star if you don’t have a winning personality.”
Bucky watched as one blond eyebrow rose. “You haven’t actually heard any of my music, have you?”
Bucky felt his cheeks flush. “I’m not really a musical kind of guy,” he admitted and blinked forcefully against the memory of the doctor who’d worked on him after Zola, in the 90s probably, and his obsession with a song about being stuck in the middle with someone. He liked to play it while he carved Bucky up, possibly for science, but probably because he felt like it. His Winter Soldier triggers were gone as far as he knew, but that was one of the few psychological ones that could still bring down the fog and render him useless. Not that Rogers or whoever wanted to hire him needed to know that some stupid song from the 70s was his off-switch. “Then again, I ain’t here for my musical prowess. That’s your job.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed thoughtfully. Shit. Had he noticed Bucky’s momentary side trip down trigger lane? “So what is your job? Or what kind of prowess do you have, since it’s not musical?”
Bucky shrugged noncommittally and glanced away. He hated this part of getting the job. “Got my start in the army. Fought in the war as a sniper, but branched off into more specialized ops that I’d have to kill you if I told you about.” Steve laughed until he realized Bucky wasn’t going to laugh with him. Yeah, pal, I’m serious. He shrugged again and laid the perfect gem on top. “At the end of the day though, I’m just a guy from Brooklyn.”
To say that Rogers lit up wouldn’t be entirely accurate. No, Rogers went off like a firework, actually rising in his seat a little when he realized Bucky shared his hometown. “Me too. I mean, I’m from Brooklyn. Nothing more humbling than going back home where everyone still calls me ‘little Steve Rogers.’”
“Well, you didn’t exactly show them,” Bucky remarked, a wry grin twisting the side of his mouth. “Don’t they have vitamins to make you grow these days or did you just like the nickname that much?”
“Ha-ha,” Steve rolled his eyes. Good, Bucky had guessed right about Steve liking the type of humor where they insulted each other back and forth. “And what are you calling ‘these days,’ Grandpa?”
Bucky let out a punctuated chuckle. Hopefully Rogers wouldn’t read the nervousness underneath it. Jesus, Barnes, you are better than this. Keep your head together, the kid isn’t even really your type.
“Just remember Grandpa was a sniper in the war, so stay off the lawn,” Bucky teased. They both laughed a little and, to his own horror, Bucky was finding that he actually liked spending time around the pop star. He had to turn this conversation around to his own agenda fast. “So, Rogers, tell me about your stalker. The file was pretty sparse on your side of things. I’ve seen what they’ve sent you, but I want to hear it from you.”
“Honestly, it’s not as big a deal as the company’s making it out to be,” Rogers insisted. “And you can call me Steve.”
“Okay… Steve,” Bucky conceded, still trying to wrap his brain around this situation. “Why isn’t it a big deal? Those letters were pretty graphic.”
Steve sighed. “Look, there are sexual comments about me all over the internet- which is honestly baffling, I mean, have they seen me?- but this is more of the same. Just someone decided to track down my email instead of leaving it in a comment on a YouTube video.”
Bucky sighed. First of all, he had seen Steve and if it weren’t horrifically inappropriate, he’d at least think about sleeping with the guy. He was fucking adorable and Bucky really liked to see innocent guys turn into filthy-mouthed-
No. Shit. Fuck. Bucky was not going to think any thoughts like that, especially not in relation to a guy who was receiving the kind of threats Rogers was.
“Yeah, those emails you got are the tip of the iceberg, pal. Whoever goes through your mail is probably already in therapy over the shit this fucker is sending you.”
Rogers paled a little, but he looked more angry than afraid. Good, it’d make Bucky’s job easier if his charge didn’t need his hand held at the first sign of danger. “No one told me there were letters.”
“Yeah, they wouldn’t. Honestly, I’m not thrilled with the idea of being someone’s bodyguard, but after reading that shit, I showed up just for the chance to put this psycho in the ground.”
“Uh,” Steve swallowed a little. “You mean, like, stop him and put him in jail, right? We’re not talking about murder-?”
“Exactly,” Bucky agreed easily. He was a disgustingly good liar and was pretty certain he’d maintained his spotless record of unnoticed lies. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sound like a psychopath myself.”
It didn’t help that Bucky probably was one. The Winter Soldier trigger words might be gone, but he still had killer instincts that weren’t always at a socially acceptable volume in his head. HYDRA had fucked him up hard, so that the Bucky Barnes who’d joined the army decades ago didn’t even exist anymore. He was pretty sure they had never literally fucked him, but with his memory how it was, he couldn’t be sure of anything. Not that it would have made much of a difference with all the other Shit they put him through. It was a miracle Bucky was a functioning human being at all. By rights, his brain should’ve been fried decades ago.
Rogers was watching him thoughtfully and Bucky felt his heart jump at the thought that maybe when he went on these trips down Reverie Road his face was doing a thing, a very obvious thing, one that was going to be asked about eventually if he didn’t figure out what exactly his face was doing and how he could stop it.
“So uh, I guess my only other question is, how does this work? I know PR doesn’t want anyone to know what’s going on, which means you can’t be seen around me too much.”
“Well, I’m vetoing that rom-com thing where I pretend to be your boyfriend,” Bucky quipped.
“Um, I don’t…” Rogers was actually blushing and Bucky really wished he didn’t have an appreciation for the look.
“Relax, Rogers. I was joking. Besides, you have a reputation to uphold as the pop star whose personal life is so private that it might not exist. Even your fans are protective of it. Trust me, I tried to get it out of them, but they practically form a wall of ‘Steve doesn’t like people prying,’ any time I asked anything personal.”
“Ignoring the fact that I’m way too acoustic to be a pop star, you were asking fans personal questions about me?” Steve asked and Bucky realized he’d stepped in it. He blamed the blood that had so inconveniently found its way into Rogers’ face. Bucky couldn’t help it. He had a weakness for the flustered.
“It’s kind of hard to build a profile on a stalker when you don’t know anything about their victim,” Bucky tried to argue. It was weak. Even Rogers probably knew that the stalker’s behavior had nothing to do with the victim. And, now that he thought about it, he was a piece of shit if he let Steve Rogers believe his behavior could in any way fault him for some asshole who couldn’t keep his scary to himself. “Look, the truth is that you probably have nothing to do with this psycho or their behavior. I was curious. You wanted to know if we got along because of all the time we’ll be spending around each other. So did I. This was my version of the interview.”
“Oh,” Steve replied, but he didn’t look convinced.
Bucky sighed. How could he tell Steve he was the Winter Soldier without actually revealing he’d spent most of his life as an evil, cold-blooded killer? “Look, my specialty for a long time was… deep cover ops. Really deep. My job was to get it done without existing. Probably why your PR team wants me on you. But it’s also why my instincts are to research you without your knowledge, alright? If it bothers you, I’ll make sure to keep my personal questions strictly directed to you.”
That seemed to finally do the trick. “Okay,” Rogers finally agreed and Bucky felt something in his chest unwind a bit. He hadn’t realized how badly he wanted this job, and he still didn’t understand why. “I’ll get Nat.”
By the time the paperwork was all signed, Bucky was ready to crawl out of his own skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat still for such a long time and he was certain he was never going to look at his own copies of the documents. Protect Steve, be invisible, don’t tell anyone anything about him. The rest probably was all some variation or support of that and Bucky didn’t care. He knew what his current mission was and wanted to get on with it. By the time “Nat” finally told him he could call her Romanoff, he’d stopped caring.
“Thanks, Agent Romanoff,” he replied brusquely as she shut the folder with what was clearly their master plan to Bore Him to Death. She pursed her lips as if the title amused her and that wasn’t exactly his intent, but it was going to stick now. There was an air of something about her that made him like her more than the PR team that waded in after her, and it was more than just the fact that she didn’t at any point start touching his hair without asking.
Bucky wasn’t exactly obsessed with his own appearance, but he at least kept himself clean. He washed his hair every two or three days, kept his face shoven, and made sure he wore deodorant. The PR team seemed to want to make him into a fashion model and Bucky was fighting them every step of the way. “The point is for me not to get noticed!” he snarled out when one of them started to reach for the glove on his left hand. Seriously, had no one told these morons he had a fucking metal arm?
“But realistically, we have to entertain the notion that you will be spotted eventually and we cannot have the press speculating on why you are in Steve’s social circle.”
“If they haven’t managed to pin the Kennedy assassination on me by now, they aren’t going to catch me hanging around a pop star,” Bucky bit out. He had no idea if he was behind Kennedy, but people always seemed to pause and reconsider if he implied that he was. It was no different here. Every single one of them had some facial orifice opened wider than usual- either their eyes or mouth. The guy on his left had his nostrils flared like Kennedy’s assassination had been a personal slight against him even though Bucky was pretty sure he couldn’t even have been born then.
Finally, the leader of the team outed herself by stepping into the middle. “Okay,” she said, as if everything were about to be settled. “I think Sergeant Barnes has had quite enough fun with us for one day. The facts are that you accepted this job, you signed the contract, and your life now belongs to us. We’re going to decide what you wear and what you’re allowed to say to the press, should you ever end up in front of them. We decide what you post on social media, what-“
Bucky had tried his usual silencing glares, but none of them seemed to work on the redhead. “I’m not on social media,” he replied. It wasn’t technically a lie. BrooklynStevieFan wasn’t him in any way except that he ran the account- and there was no way in hell he was shutting it down when it was his best way of tracking fans and monitoring what was going on in that circle of Steve’s life. “And as for what I wear, I get final say. You all might be the experts on how to make a guy look acceptable, but I am the expert on how to make a guy look invisible- unless that’s not the goal anymore? What exactly was your plan if I was spotted? Tell everyone Rogers has a secret boyfriend?”
“Actually that could w-“
“No,” he interrupted firmly. “As I understand it, the goal is to keep Rogers safe without the public finding out he’s in danger. You give him a fake boyfriend, eventually we’re going to have to reveal it was a sham and then they will definitely know he was in danger.”
“Or you could just fake break up,” the red head suggested, but there was a little smirk on her lips that made him certain she didn’t like that plan either. He was going to need some more serious therapy when this was over. “Relax, Barnes. Your goals are our goals. We just need to do something about your enthusiasm for black.”
Bucky glared, but she was immovable. If he weren’t on the brink of panic, he’d probably be impressed that this slight red head was making his heart pound unpleasantly between his too-tight lungs. Every since she’d said Your life now belongs to us, he’d had a growing sense of unease that wasn’t helped by the two people now touching his hair and clothes like he couldn’t snap their necks as easily as think it. Being in a chair, even if he wasn’t strapped to it, while people did what they wanted about him as if they had no reason to be afraid of him felt too much like HYDRA and they were lucky Bucky had the kind of professionalism and self-control that he did or this conference room would be bathed in blood by now.
It went on for hours, them forcing him to try on different clothes, with him telling them in more creative and more profane ways that the shirts were too tight or the pants were going to sterilize him as soon as he had to kick someone. Not that Bucky ever planned on having kids, but it made his point nicely. It was hours later, when the sun had set, that they let Bucky go down to the studio where Rogers was wrapping up recording for the day. Bucky stood unobtrusively in the hall, pleased to note that, in spite of the maroon (red, bright, flaring, flashing, not black) cardigan they’d forced him to wear over a black Henley (his only victory), not even the sound technicians had noticed him yet. Bucky was pretty sure the boring, barely loose enough to move jeans they’d given him cost three if not four figures, and the plain black chukkas probably weren’t any better.
Steve had just packed up a guitar (of course it was a guitar, the guy screamed backyard picnic on the fourth of July) and headed out. He didn’t notice Bucky at all, which was a relief because he honestly preferred to be treated like furniture as long as no one actually asked him to be used like it. There was one handler in the 80s who enjoyed power trips and one of them was having Bucky on all fours while he used the Asset as a foot rest. Nostrils flaring murderously, Bucky realized he should probably attempt to rein in the bad memories the PR team had drudged up- especially as he followed Steve down the hall.
Suddenly it occurred to the pop star that he was supposed to have a protective detail and he stopped walking, glancing around nervously as if to ask why no one stopped him from simply walking away. He turned purposefully, probably to head back, when his eyes landed on Bucky. He stumbled back a step before recognition dawned in his eyes. Good. At least he was taking the threat seriously now.
“The PR team and I had a long fight about my clothes,” he offered in explanation. “I lost.”
Steve actually laughed, and it was a beautiful sound. It was a good thing Bucky was working for him because, in another life, he could see himself falling for this dweeb. He didn’t know if the Bucky Barnes from the 40s would, but who he’d been beaten into definitely could. Bucky wasn’t sure if he’d always been attracted to people regardless of gender, but he didn’t remember being attracted to any of his fellow soldiers. Then again, he’d always been good at compartmentalizing. They’d been at war. He probably wouldn’t have been attracted to anyone in that situation. Not that he could really remember the war clearly anyway.
Steve was blushing a little and Bucky fought down a smile. He’d have to work harder at compartmentalizing, but it was difficult when his mission wanted him to act like they were pals. “You look good though,” Steve assured him and Bucky felt a warm rush from the praise. “And I’m genuinely impressed that I didn’t notice you. I… tend to notice everyone.”
“Yeah, I’ve already decided your favorite pastime is learning the names of all your fans and their pets,” Bucky informed him in a deadpan tone. Steve laughed again and Bucky’s mouth did an embarrassing twitch that some might call a smile. “Don’t worry about your skills of observation, Rogers. The only time I get noticed is when I want to be.” Or when he was so distracted that he couldn’t function, but that was something for a later (never) conversation.
“Good to know,” Steve replied and Bucky realized he was waiting for Bucky to fall into step beside him. As soon as Bucky complied, the smaller man launched into another monologue and Bucky hated how much he liked listening to that voice. He could definitely understand how that voice had a music career. “So I’m not really sure what your social life is like, but mine is pretty much nonexistent. The guest bedroom is on the opposite end of the house though, so you don’t need to worry about me interrupting anything. Obviously whatever’s in the fridge…”
Bucky started to zone out. Was Rogers suggesting he would be fraternizing while on the job? “Hold on,” Bucky interjected, realizing belatedly that Rogers was trying to establish a shower schedule with him like they were college roommates or something and that he sounded a little angrier than any normal person should be. “Are you suggesting that I would jeopardize your safety by bringing someone into your house without a background check simply because I wanted to get laid?”
“Uh,” Steve uttered and Bucky only felt a little guilty for pointing out how terrible he was at thinking things through. “I mean… if you were coming home late, or- or-“
“One thing straight now, Rogers,” Bucky insisted. Someone else might have been amused to watch the guy stumble over himself to try (and fail miserably) to make his thought processes sound logical, but Bucky had a job to do and maybe Rogers’ ego had nothing to do with it, but there was something protective in Bucky’s chest that HYDRA had never managed to completely wipe out. “Your safety is my priority. That means I don’t bring strangers into your house. I don’t leave you for hours at a time over something as stupid as getting laid. If I’m out of protection range, I’m either dead or handling a threat. I take my job seriously, Rogers. I ain’t opposed to acting like buds, but don’t forget why I’m really here, okay? There is a scary motherfucker out there who wants to do all sorts of horrifying things to you, and I am not about to let him get within ten feet of you after the shit he’s written.”
Steve looked appropriately cowed, and then suddenly he closed off.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
How had Barnes screwed it up this time?
“Look, Rogers…”
“It’s okay, Barnes. I won’t forget why you’re here.”
Bucky sighed quietly. Yeah, he’d definitely screwed up and he had no idea how.