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Bucky adjusts the lapels of his uniform, pins on his shiny new name tag, and tries to tame his wayward hair so he can wedge the peaked cap on his head as neatly as possible.
He stares at his own blue eyes in the mirror, squares his shoulders and turns to the door. His left arm still doesn’t feel right, but he’s exhausted his medical leave and he needs to return to work eventually. He’s thankful they’ve downgraded him from the high security prison he used to be at to this minimum security one. He was promised a light load with minimal physical exertion, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to that.
Even so, it doesn’t help the nervous jitters in his stomach. He’d been part of the team there, one of “the boys”. They watched each other’s backs, kept the inmates in line, lent a listening ear, and went out for a beer after a long shift together. Now he’s the new kid on the block, the damaged one, and he wonders if he’ll fit in here or he’ll stick out like a sore thumb. Bucky shakes his head and heads out of the locker room, heading for the admin office where he’s due to meet the rest of the team.
“Barnes?” a friendly voice interrupts his thoughts and he nods his head at the guard calling his name. “Right then, I’m Clint Barton and I’m in charge this shift. Nice to have you with us. Heard you came over from Indiana?”
“Yeah. I asked for a transfer out after the surgery.” Bucky can’t help being a little more gruff than he should, but it’s his nature, and he really hopes he isn’t giving the wrong impression.
“Ah, right, that’s in your file. Hope your surgery went well, by the way. Anyway, today you’ll be at the sally port doing the meet and greet with me, yeah?”
Bucky feels some of the tension seep out of his shoulders. That’s a fairly easy job and he’s thankful for that on his first day back.
Clint goes on with roll call and giving out instructions, and Bucky takes the opportunity to check out his fellow guards. There’s a tall fearsome black guy, a huge blonde beefcake who looks as though he’s just walked off the football field, a quiet looking dude who’d look more at home in a science lab, amongst others.
“Yo Barnes, let’s go!” Clint nudges his shoulder and gestures for him to follow him. “First, a tour of this place, then to the sally port. You okay with that?”
Bucky nods and follows him, his boots clacking on the cement floor as they make their way down the corridor and Clint pauses to open the gate that leads to prisoner dorms. “I’m sure it’s a massive change from Indiana for you. What we’ve got here are mainly the small time crooks, the petty offenders, the white-collar criminals. They’re mostly cowards, and you won’t be needing very much to keep them in line. They sleep in dorms and can wander around all hours before curfew. Most are here for short terms before they’re released back into the community. Sound good?”
“Very good.” Bucky huffs out a sigh of relief. He’s still battling nightmares from the riot and attempted breakout in Indiana that had led to him needing surgery for his left arm. “I’m looking forward to the change, I gotta say.”
Clint laughs and slaps him on the shoulder. “You’ve come to the right place.”
Once the tour is done, Bucky and Clint head down to the sally port, where they’ll receive all new inmates and discharge those done with their sentence. Pretty standard stuff, lots of paperwork and Bucky’s looking forward to doing boring things.
The intercom chimes, heralding the arrival of a new prisoner. Clint turns to him. “You wanna take this, James? The standard pat down, collection of stuff and getting them into the jumpsuit. Then we’ll walk them down the corridor and to the barber’s before going to the dorms.”
Bucky nods. He’s gotta start somewhere, right?
The doors slide open and the police officers bring in their newest convict, a dishevelled looking man with coffee stains on his grey slacks. He looks terrified, and stares at Bucky and Clint as though they’ll skin him alive and eat him for supper. Bucky allows himself a small grin, comparing him to the hardened criminals in his old place, with their scowls and vulgarities, some even trying a last minute escape at the sally port. Yeah, he could definitely get used to this.
**
The days roll by, and Bucky finds himself enjoying the change. The shift work is as unpleasant as always, but he’s making new friends, and starting to feel like he belongs, part of the team. The prisoners are a quiet lot, with a few playground fights here and there that usually end once the guards brandish their batons or sound the warning alarms. He’s actually started reading on shift, dropping by the second-hand bookstore on his way home to peruse their stocks.
He yawns and props his feet up on the table, opening his worn paperback of War and Peace.
“Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the company of intelligent women.” Bucky snorts into his coffee. “Well, I prefer intelligent men,” he mutters under his breath just as the intercom chimes. He quickly stands and closes the book as the police officers escort their latest perp in. He lazily salutes the police officers and radios for backup to the sally port before turning to give the perp a once over.
And tries not to drool openly as the police unlock his handcuffs and hand him over to Bucky.
Bucky knows he’s staring, but he can’t help it. This perp is different from the rest of the fidgety perps they get, he’s self-assured and seems to glow (or maybe it’s his golden blonde hair that seems to give him a halo). He hardly looks the sort to be in lockdown, but then again, looks can be deceiving.
One of the policemen hands Bucky a sheaf of papers and he swallows, brought back to the present task at hand. “Steven Grant Rogers?” The perp nods his golden head, and Bucky’s lost in his blue eyes for a minute. He has to swallow before he can speak next.
”Hands out and legs apart please.” The police officers make their move, calling out their goodbyes to Bucky as he contemplates Steven standing spread eagle in front of him. Be professional, his inner voice reminds him mockingly as his eyes trace the line of Steven’s muscles under his impeccable suit, from the pull of the fabric over his shoulders and biceps, to the way his pants hug the curve of his ass.
He begins his patdown, fiercely fighting back all manner of inappropriate thoughts in his dirty little mind, as he pats along Steven’s biceps (damn, those are some muscles), runs them down his sides (are those six packs he can feel?), down his legs, and back up to his inner thighs(oh fuck, fuck, think of cold showers, James Buchanan Barnes).
He looks up at Steve from his crouching position on the floor, the bare fluorescent light in the sally port casting a halo around Steven’s head as he meets Bucky’s eyes and offers him a hand. Bucky takes it, although he knows he’s not supposed to, he’s not supposed to show any sign of weakness that can be used against him, or to appear overly friendly and nice to the prisoners, or to leave himself open to attacks.
And it’s ridiculous, but something in him trusts Steven. Maybe it’s the all-american good looks, maybe it’s the fact that his brain is fogged over with lust, maybe it’s all the sappy romance novels he’s been reading or that he hasn’t had a relationship in far too long, and he knows he absolutely shouldn’t, but he trusts Steven.
“Thanks,” he says instead, brushing his hands on his pants as he taps the table. “Belongings here.”
Steven shrugs his shoulders and removes his watch and wallet, before digging in his pocket and pulling out a rosary. Bucky can’t help the surprised look on his face at that. Steven meets his eyes and grins, “ ‘M done.”
Bucky pushes the ubiquitous orange jumpsuit across the table to Steven, who eyes it with a little distaste, before he loosens his tie and shrugs off his jacket. “A little privacy?” he eyes Bucky hopefully.
“Nah, sorry pal, you know how it is in prison. Gotta watch your every move.” Bucky tries not to let the blush takeover his face as Steven shucks his pants and peels off his shirt, zipping up the jumpsuit and folding his clothes. Damn, this guy looks like every high school jock wet dream Bucky’s ever had. Be Professional, he hears the mocking voice in his head again. Where the fuck is his backup when he needs it?
“Right then. I’m James Barnes, just gonna put these cuffs on you for a bit while I go keep your stuff away.”
Steven obediently stretches out his wrists as Bucky slaps cuffs on as gently as possible, and ducks out of the room to keep his stuff in storage. When he gets back, he finds Steven staring at him with an odd look on his face as he unlocks the cuffs.
“Wassup pal? You afraid of what lies behind those doors?” he jerks his thumb towards the reinforced doors behind him. “Don’t be. This is minimum security. You won’t be needing handcuffs.”
Steven shakes his head. “Just thinking. Thanks though.”
Bucky walks him through the doors, sits with him as he gets his beautiful blonde hair buzzed off, and walks him to his bunk in the dorm. “This here’s your bed, Rogers. Role call at 530 am, lights out at 930 pm. Breakfast at 730, lunch at 1230, and dinner at 6 pm. You’re mostly free to do whatever you want in between. If there’s anything, give one of the guards a shout. If you hear the warning alarm, just drop on the floor, hands above your head. It’s usually just to quiet down a fight but we’ll take you down if we have to.”
“Got it, thanks. Are we allowed out to exercise or anything? Showers?”
“Yeah, y’all get all access. Showers at 7 pm daily. One a day.”
Steven grins. “Doesn’t sound too bad. Thanks.”
Bucky finds himself grinning back before he can help it. “First few days can be rough. If you need any help, just ask.” He turns to leave, but feels a tap on his shoulder. “Would you mind showing me the courtyard? Or something? I feel like I need a run to burn off the adrenaline.”
They end up in the courtyard. There’s group playing basketball, a group sitting over by the bleachers talking, and a few stragglers. Bucky spots Bruce keeping an eye on things, while having a conversation with a few inmates that involves lots of drawing on paper and gesticulations in the air. He catches the words “String Theory” and shudders. “Bruce over there’s in charge of the courtyard today. Be careful yeah?”
“’M always careful.” Steve laughs. “Well, probably not, that’s why I’m here.” His blue eyes crinkle slightly at the corners and Bucky’s not sure if he’s having a heart attack from the way his heart seems to have stopped dead in his chest.
His radio crackles to life, “Barnes, that toilet break has been entirely too long, we need you in the rec room stat dude.” He grins at Clint’s voice and heads off, but there’s a hand on his bicep. “Thanks. For everything.” Steven gestures at himself and around him, and it’s strange how devastatingly attractive he still is even with a buzzcut and dressed in a bright orange prison jumpsuit. Bucky swallows hard and nods.
**
Bucky spends the next few days on patrol duty in the courtyard. Steven’s usually running laps, or working out by himself, but he always has a ready smile for Bucky. He’s well-behaved and keeps to himself mostly, doesn’t pick fights or make trouble, adheres to all rules and regulations. His bunk is immaculately made with army corners daily, and Bucky has had to avert his eyes whenever he’s on bathroom duty and Steven’s in the showers (but he can’t help looking, he’s drawn like a moth to flame whenever Steven’s around, and he can’t help it if Steven’s very fine ass is in his line of vision).
He’s strolling around the perimeter, watching the basketball game out of the corner of his eye when he hears footfalls behind him. He turns and it’s Steven, flashing his usual sunny grin. His heart does that weird skip-a-beat thing it’s been doing a lot of lately, maybe he ought to get checked for an abnormal heart rhythm his next follow-up.
“Hey James! Good weather today, I’d say,” Steven’s looking warmly at him, and Bucky has to remind himself to reply, he can barely hear over the thudding of his heart.
“Hey Steven. Yeah, weather’s been nice. Nice day to be out.” He thinks he sounds like an idiot, stiff and formal, but it doesn’t seem to matter to Steven, who nods enthusiastically at him and falls in next to him as he carries on his patrol.
“By the way, it’s Steve,” he says suddenly as they round the corner. Bucky starts a little, and looks at him. “Steve. Not Steven. Only my teachers and the nuns called me that.” He does a little sheepish shrug.
“Ah. And it’s Bucky. Not James.” Bucky feels an accompanying grin crawl across his face in response. He doesn’t know why it’s important that Steven, no, Steve, call him Bucky instead of James, but it just is. Just like it seems to be important that he calls Steven Steve.
They walk around the courtyard in companiable silence, occasionally interrupted by short questions. He finds out that Steve is a Brooklyn boy just like him, loves reading almost as much (but historical novels instead of overwraught Russian epics), has a special weakness for fancy coffees and is passionate about art. Bucky feels good in an odd way, like he’s alive, and the pain from his left arm doesn’t bother him quite so much any more. In this bizarre reality, he’s doing alright.
The dinner bell sounds, and Steve turns to Bucky. “Thanks for the company.” Bucky wants to say “No, thank YOU,” but he just nods and goes to round up the stragglers in the courtyard.
He’s joined by Bruce, who gives him a quizzical look. It’s well accepted that sometimes the prison guards and prisoners can become friends, especially in a minimum security prison such as theirs. The prisoners tend to be more docile and fairly well-educated, eager to serve their time with as little trouble as possible and to get out.
“He likes you.”
Bucky shakes his head vehemently. “Nah. I think he just sees me as a kind soul. I was the first face he saw in prison.”
Bruce scoffs lightly. “You need to open your eyes and look at him, dude. He’s got an eager puppy expression every time you’re around.” Bucky opens his mouth to issue a denial when they’re both interrupted by Clint calling them to the office for their end of shift debrief.
**
They’re in the locker room changing out of their uniforms when Bruce, ever persistent in his own quiet way, nudges Clint in the shoulder and says, “One of them’s got an eye for Barnes.” Clint’s head jerks up faster than a bullet ricochets off a tree and he stares in Bucky’s direction with glee.
“Spill, Barnes! We need deets.” He’s now surrounded by Clint, Bruce and Thor. Definitely outnumbered. He sighs and plops down onto the bench. “It’s nothing, I think I’m just the first friendly face he saw when he got here, y’know?”
“Stockholm syndrome?” Bruce suggests cautiously.
Clint’s face pales a little. It’s something they all try to avoid, and can have devastating consequences. Bucky shakes his head again. “Doubt it. We hardly abuse the inmates, we’re more like their class monitors or babysitters, y’know what I mean? Maybe back where I came from, it’s a very real fear, but here? Nah.”
“So, not likely Stockholm, then. But what’s this about eyeing you?” Clint leans in to peer at Bucky suspiciously and suddenly jerks back, eyes widening. “Was this why you were so flushed on shower duty that day? ‘a bit warm in here’, my ass!” he jabs at Bucky’s chest accusingly and Bucky can’t help but flinch.
Thor chortles, the sound deep and rich. “I do not know why you are afraid, Bucky. These prisoners, they have committed minor crimes. We even treat them like our friends, sometimes. Surely you will not discriminate someone because of a small misdemeanour if they have changed their ways?”
“Have you even any idea what his crime was?” Bruce chimes in in his understated way. “See the file when you brought him in?”
Bucky feels like hitting his head on the nearest hard surface. In his lust-filled panicking, he hadn’t remembered to check the crime and sentence.
Clint grins. “’S okay man, there’s only enough blood in your body for one brain at a time.” Bucky glares balefully at him, but can’t quite run away from the fact that it had indeed been his screw up.
Bruce returns with the file and flips it open with great fanfare.
“Steven Grant Rogers. 32 years old. No prior criminal record. Crime: Unarmed aggravated assault. Sentence: 2 weeks in minimum security.”
Thor wrinkles his brow. “Unarmed aggravated assault sounds pretty minor to me. 2 weeks might be overboard?”
“Apparently the other dude is in hospital with multiple facial fracture and a brain bleed.” Bruce notes wryly from the file. Bucky swallows. He hadn’t pegged Steve to be that sort at all, had him figured for more of the money laundering or white collar criminal sort based on his expensive suit.
“Well Barnes, it sounds like you oughta talk to this perp and see what’s happening. There’s a chance he might be a decent guy under it all?” Clint swats him lightly across the shoulder.
“Yeah, I should.” He stops short when he realises that they’ve tricked him into answering their unspoken question and groans, putting his head in his hands. Clint cackles with glee, and shepherds them all out of the locker room to head for supper.
“Pancakes will always make you feel better, Bucky.” Thor’s comforting hand on his shoulder helps Bucky feel a little better about himself as they leave.
**
Bucky spends the next few days working up the courage to ask Steve about his crime, but things conspire against him. Once, when he thinks he’s got the right moment, he’s interrupted by a prisoner charging across the courtyard asking where Bruce is, to explain String Theory. Steve just looks on bemusedly with Bucky curses a blue streak internally.
He’s learned to appreciate Steve’s sunny good nature, surprised that Steve isn’t put off by his sullen stormy moods, and somehow, seems to still want to be his friend. He shakes off the thought of anything more, reminding himself to be professional, he’s got a job he loves and he isn’t throwing it away for nothing.
Apart from an incident in the showers (it wasn’t his fault Steve stepped on a soap bar and fell down, and it was his duty to ensure Steve was okay, but being confronted with a naked, wet, Steve seriously threatened to short circuit his brain), things between Steve and him are friendly and light. There’s no inappropriate touching or words, no fodder for gossip.
When he next gets back to the prison after 2 days off, he’s too busy breaking up a fight, dragging the prisoners off to medical to get their wounds checked, and then dragging them back. He’s exhausted by the end of it all and just wants the day to end so he can go home and curl up with War and Peace on his couch.
It’s only when he’s changing out of his uniform that he realises he hasn’t seen Steve at all. Bruce comes over and hands him an envelope. “Rogers got an early release yesterday, on probation. He wanted you to have this.”
Bucky’s mouth drops open. Steve has been released and he wasn’t there when it happened? What if he never gets to see him again? He’s gotten used to seeing him around almost daily, used to that sunny smile lighting up his face and their easy conversation. Now it seems there’s a hole where his heart used to be. No more skipped beats or palpitations.
“I think he wanted to say goodbye but you weren’t around. So he wrote you something. We told him we’d make sure you got it.” Clint’s looking at him with sympathy.
Bucky hugs the envelope to his chest, murmurs his thanks and turns to leave.
“If all else fails, we can dig up his number from our records!” Clint shouts from behind him. That puts a wry smile on Bucky’s face as he waves to them.
**
He’s curled up on his couch, staring at the envelope. It’s a plain brown manila envelope with his name written fairly neat cursive. Trepidation roils in his stomach as he takes a deep breath opens the letter to read.
**
So it turns out that Steve was in prison for protecting some lady from being robbed, and he hadn’t realised how hard he’d been hitting the robber in his blur of rage. He regrets being so harsh, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat “because it was the right thing to do”.
Bucky lets out the sigh he didn’t know he was holding in, and reaches for the phone. It rings a couple of times before someone picks up.
“Hi, Steve Rogers speaking.” Bucky feels a smile tug on the corners of his lips at the sound of the familiar voice.
“Hey. It’s me. Got your letter.”
They make arrangements to meet for coffee after Bucky’s shift the next day, and Bucky’s grinning so hard his face hurts when he finally puts down the phone after multiple attempts to say good night.
**
When he sees Steve at the coffee shop, standing there like he belongs, confident and self-assured, Bucky’s heart starts doing the weird skipping-a-beat thing again. But this time, he doesn’t worry about it, he’ll be happy for it to keep on doing that if it means he’s happy to see Steve.
“Hey Bucky!” Steve greets him with his usual sunny smile.
“Hey yourself, pal.” Bucky can’t help the answering smile that spread across his own face in return. No, he wouldn’t mind at all.