Hattie's Boys [Bucky Barnes/Avengers Fanfiction]

4

It was a Saturday night—and it was the first night in, shit, years that the Winter Soldier had come back.

Since Wakanda. And the war. And the five years he'd missed while hovering in that dark nothingness.

Bucky couldn't get out of his head. Everything was foggy, his breath caught in his throat, and the scars where his arm met his flesh burned. He didn't quite know what had just happened—only that there was blood on him, terrified men were limping away from the bar, and Sam was looking at him like...

Like he had just seen the devil himself.

Longing—rusted—seventeen—

"You sure you're good?" Sam muttered again as they hovered at the edge of the room, waiting for their "escort." Zemo was checking his phone, expression bored.

Bucky's heart was beating fast, too fast.

He didn't have control.

But he said, "I'm fine," again and went back to blankly staring at the opposite wall, thinking about all the lies he'd have to tell Doc when they got home. If they got home.

Movement caught his eye.

A man and a woman were making their way toward them. The man was tall and blond, with a muscular frame, his suit rumpled and face—

Bucky's stomach clenched. He'd—no, the Winter Soldier had—thrown him against the wall mere minutes ago. Fuck.

He took a deep breath, Don't break character, Barnes, and tried to remind himself that it wasn't his fault and the guy looked mostly okay, so it was fine.

He focused on the woman. She was wearing a dark green dress, cut low in the bodice and swishing with her hips as she walked. She looked confident, graceful, her dark hair framing a stern expression, limbs lithe. Beautiful, in a I-could-obviously-hurt-you-if-I-wanted way.

He realized with a start that she was the one who'd been staring earlier. The one with such deep, unrelenting fear in her eyes, who'd screamed when he'd thrown the blond man—but who'd looked ready to fight despite the terror.

Self hatred pooled in his stomach and his throat tightened.

"Your escorts," said the barman simply, and beside him Bucky heard Sam huff a disbelieving breath.

Zemo looked up and his gaze locked on the woman, then on the ruffled man. He smiled slowly. "A pleasure."

The woman shot a perfunctory glance at him, eyes flashing a deep caramel under the strobing lights—but her face was still pale. Shellshock, Bucky realized. Shellshock because of him.

The man extended a battered hand to Zemo, grin stained pink from blood. He was leaning slightly to one side as if he couldn't stand up straight. Sam's intake of breath was enough to make Bucky flex his trembling metal hand.

"Pleasure is mine," the man said, shaking Zemo's hand. "Name's Marcus. And this is my lovely partner Anna."

The girl—Anna—seemed to wake up again at the sound of her name, because she straightened and gave them all a dashing, if not slightly reserved, smile.

Bucky saw her tensed shoulders, the way she avoided his gaze.

Longing—rusted—seventeen—

"You locals?" Sam said, arms crossed.

"Somewhat," replied Anna, winking at him.

Zemo pocketed his phone. "Contracted to Selby, I assume?"

Anna and Marcus exchanged a quick look, then the man said with a forced smile, his cheek purpling from a bruise, "Of a sort."

"What—" began Sam, but saw the look on Bucky's face a moment later and quickly shut his mouth. The less questions, the better.

Anna nodded at the door behind them. "Selby's in an outlying corridor. Let's move."

Zemo and Sam parted to let the two escorts lead the way into the corridor—and as Anna passed, Bucky could smell something sweet, like wildflowers at night.

Perfume.

One of his handlers wore perfume.

His heart rate ratcheted up and he must've gone white from the effort it took to stay in control—onetwothreefourfivesix, count, Barnes, fucking count—because Sam nudged his shoulder as they passed through the door and said under his breath,

"When we're done with this hellhole, I'm killing Zemo and then sending you to a freaking yoga retreat."

Bucky almost laughed—and despite the fact that he still had to be the Winter Soldier as they walked down the dimly-lid corridor, the panic subsided, the control rushing back.

You haven't really laughed since Steve left, that voice whispered, and his scowl deepened. Shut up, brain.

Anna and Marcus walked side-by-side ahead of them. Their steps matched as if they'd trained together, lived together before, their movements relaxed but precise—but he could see a slight limp in Marcus' steps.

Daybreak—furnace—nine—he'd done that, he'd hurt—

The woman's swishy green dress caught the light, the flash breaking his train of thoughts, and Bucky could see Zemo glancing at her appreciatively.

A deep part of him roared in a way he hadn't heard before. He snapped the leash on himself again. What the hell was going on with him? He'd had missions ten times this distracting, this hard, this painful.

He hadn't cared for women since the 40's. Why should he start caring now, when he was more broken than before?

"What business do you have with Selby?" said the man as they turned left, Sam and Bucky walking close behind Zemo.

The German cleared his throat. "I'm afraid that's confidential, though it's safe to say that you're familiar with the genre of work."

Again, Anna and Marcus exchanged a look.

They reached the end of the corridor.

"Well," said the woman, pushing open a metal door that led into darkness, "Selby's through here."

The man gave them a small salute, eye now swollen shut. "Good luck."

Guilt flooded Bucky. He'd done that, he'd—

Zemo and Sam were already walking ahead through the door. Anna smiled at them as they passed—but there was still fear and anger beneath the pretty guise, secrets and darkness swirling. He'd spent enough years as the Winter Soldier to see through any mask.

She didn't smile at Bucky as he followed close behind.

He probably deserved it.