The Boss [COMPLETED]

Safe

Bucky nodded, but didn't say anything else. He pressed the console button again, lowering the screen, and you got the sense that he wanted to wait until you were both at his. So, you didn't ask any questions. Instead, you used the drive to think of the questions you really wanted an answer to, and by the time he was opening his front door, you had a list in your head.

Bucky, of course, lived in a penthouse apartment. You walked into it in astonishment, your brain desperately trying to process the size, the luxury of it, the paintings, the marble and oak surfaces.

You vaguely heard him rattling off some information as he put your bags by the door - security cameras, guards, maid schedules, where the kitchen was, but you weren't really listening. You were too busy walking through, your hands running over the surfaces that probably cost thousands of dollars, your feet stepping on a wooden floor that was likely more than your apartment was worth. By the time you reached the lounge, a sunken area with dark blues, greys and black furniture, overseen by gigantic windows that looked over the entire city, you had finally taken it all in, and you turned round to face him.

"So, what's your first question?" He asked, with a slight smirk on his face. An arrogant smirk, because he knew that his apartment was impressive to you.

Instead of answering straight away, you walked past him, to where he said the kitchen was, and after a split second of glancing around the similarly luxurious room, you went to the wine rack and pulled a bottle from it. He had followed you closely, and was already at one of the cupboards getting two glasses out. You waited by the counter, uncorking it, and once he put the glasses down, you poured the wine out. You took a gulp of yours, your eyebrow raising at the smoothness of it.

"I should have guessed you'd pick an expensive one." He commented, and you frowned. He pointed to the bottle. "Musigny Grand Cru. It would take you a few months to be able to afford it."

You swallowed it in shock, then looked back at the glass. Looking back at it, some kind of pettiness took over you, and you reached for the bottle, filling your glass up a bit more as you kept his eye contact. Then you had another sip.

"Okay." You said as you put the glass down. "Questions."

"Go for it." He replied, readying himself by taking his jacket and his waistcoat off, and starting to roll up his shirt sleeves.

"Why did you kill Dean?" You asked, tearing your eyes away from the action that was apparently very attractive to you. He kissed his tongue to his teeth.

"He betrayed me." He decided to answer.

"How?"

"Luka.."

"You said I could ask questions."

"Okay. He betrayed me because...some people took some things from me. He was the one that told them where, and when."

"So Dean was working for the bad guys. Or are you the bad guy?"

"I'm not the bad guy."

"As far as I can tell, Dean didn't shoot anyone." Bucky gave you a look. "So if you're the good guys, why did they want to steal stuff from you? What did they steal?"

"Weapons." Bucky muttered.

"How are you the good guys if you have weapons?"

"Because, Luka," He groaned. "We take them from the bad guys, and we redistribute it where necessary. To the police, the military, the organisations qualified to handle them. Not these thugs. They didn't like it, and wanted them back. And like I said, Dean helped them."

"It still seems like a big jump from you being good guys, to shooting him point blank in your office."

"Well, the weapons are one aspect of what we do. We've been in the business a long time, and there's a lot of other things we do. None of it really allows us to make friends, but we make a lot of enemies. Especially one in particular. So, we have to defend ourselves."