A/N: MISS YOU! by CORPSE is such a vibe for this brooding emo boy James.
~
Steve was leaned up against his Mercedes, waiting patiently as James was walked through the gates. The lapels of his coat popped up, to keep him warm from the chilly breeze. Winter was coming to an end, but the cold weather pressed on.
His head snapped over to find James stalking towards him. Wearing his ruined suit and jacket from the night of the kidnapping, all those months ago. Priceless fabric crusted with oxidized blood, turned black. With Maggie's blood. The thought of that night soaked deep into his clothing, forcing him into a haunted mood from the second he pulled them on.
Head held high for his first steps back into the free world, swaggering on the promise of life, but his face was unchanging. Expression made of marble like always. Like nothing could make a single muscle twitch out of place. Not even seeing his best friend waiting to take him away from the hellhole he had been locked in.
No matter how glad he was to be out, all he could think about was Maggie. She was the only person he wanted to see waiting for him.
"Hey, Buck." Steve greeted warmly.
James gave him a silent nod.
"How are you doing?" He inquired, eyeing him warily. Steve knew all too well how much prison impacted James' state of mind. Although it wasn't even close to as long as the last time he was locked up, he could tell he wasn't functioning normally.
"I could use a stiff drink."
Steve chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. "Come on, pal."
The two of them hopped into the car and Steve whipped away from the curb. He reached into the back seat, keeping his eyes on the road as he drove. Bringing his arm back around, he clutched a bottle, dropping it in James' lap. A Royal Salute scotch whisky. Roughly thirty grand if his memory served him well— which it did.
James yanked off the cork with a deep thunk, tilting it to his lips and chugging down a few pulls. Spicy burn, scalding the inside of his throat in the best way. He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth filling his belly. "Fucking shit, I needed that."
Steve laughed, slamming on the gas, picking up his speed as the engine roared. "Where to, Buck? We could do dinner if you want? A three star Michelin on me." He offered.
"I actually have some business to attend to."
He looked over at him in disbelief. "Really? You want to work your first night back? I've had things handled, Bucky. There really shouldn't be much for you to do."
"Not for Buchanan Barnes." He shook his head, taking another pull from the bottle. "Personal business. I have plans to see a friend."
Steve frowned, considering. "Do I wanna know?"
"Probably not." James said simply, staring straight ahead.
They zoomed across the river, winding through the city streets over to the Upper East side. Steve parked on the curb, following James into his house.
Taking his elevator to the fifth floor. Steve moved to the living room, while James hiked up to the master suite to take his first decent shower in months.
He stripped off his crunchy suit, tossing it straight in the garbage bin. He set the water as hot as he could, turning on the steam to the highest level. Lathering designer Jo Malone soaps over his tattooed muscles and greasy hair, washing away his time in the grime filled prison.
He closed his eyes, resting his hands on the cold tile of his shower, drooping his head down. Letting the scalding waterfall stream over his hair. Inhaling the scents of the fogged air. Replacing the stale breath in his lungs with designer fragrance.
Tortured mind swirling with thoughts of Maggie like always. No matter what he did, she was always there. Lurking in the back of his brain. Leaving a slight influence on all of his actions. She had imprinted on his soul, leaving him marked with her touch.
Stepping out of the shower, after a painfully long amount of time. Skin still scorching from the hot water. He moved to his closet. Dressing in one of his Armani suits. Midnight black. Just how he liked. Padding over to find the most expensive pair of shoes he owned. He wanted to feel himself again. Never wanting to wear another goddamn orange jumpsuit in his life.
His blue eyes caught on a pair of nude Jimmy Choos. A minuscule size thirty five. Maggie's size. The muscle in his jaw twitched. Staring frozen at the shoes. They were taunting him. Pushing him deeper into the dark mood he was in. Straw that broke the camel's back.
Letting out a heavy breath through his flared nostrils, he lunged over, slamming his fist into the wall. Crushing into the mahogany paneling. Splintering the custom crafted wood with his semi truck of a hand. He roared loudly, shredding his vocal cords, punching into the split wood again and again. Overwhelmed with pain. Trying to get rid of it the only way he knew how.
The closet door busted open as Steve stormed in. Grabbing James by the shoulders, he ripped him away from the wall. "Buck, calm the fuck down." He yelled, disappointed, but not surprised by his antics. He absolutely no stranger to how James behaved, but it still wasn't easy to see.
James stood there, glaring back at him. Eye twitching with the tension he held in his core. Trying to bring it to a low simmer.
"What's going on?" Steve demanded.
"I asked my assistant to get rid of everything Margaret had left here, so I wouldn't be reminded of her." He nodded to the small pair of heels sitting neatly among his shoes.
Steve followed his gaze, looking down at them. "Bucky, its shoes. Are you really getting that worked up over this?"
James let out a breath, fading out of his clouded rage. Pressing his palms over his eyes. "I know it's stupid. I just... haven't let myself fully process, I guess. I thought I did, but being out makes it feel real. I have to walk where she walked. I have to live where our relationship started."
"I understand, but tone it down, okay?" His eyes slid down to James' hand finding his inked knuckles covered in bloodied splinters.
"I'm trying." James asserted, running his hand through his wet hair. "I'm going fucking mad without her, Steve."
He crossed his arms, frowning at him. "Then call her. She's not exactly doing well either."
"I can't. We just can't be together anymore. It's too dangerous for her."
"Not anymore." He countered. "Loki's still locked up and Rumlow is dead."
James sighed. "But what's to say something like this won't happen again? We both know I have a habit of creating enemies everywhere I go. She'll always be my weakness if we get back together. She's who they'll go after— not me. If something were to happen to her, something irreversible..." His voice trailed off, not wanting to even think about her dying. "I'd never forgive myself."
"Okay, you shouldn't call her then. Just move on." Steve shrugged, knowing there would be absolutely no convincing him otherwise. He knew James well enough to know that once he set his mind to something, he never steered off course.
James' brows twitched. He didn't expect Steve to give up so easily. It felt almost like reverse psychology to him. Worst part was— it might've been working. Trust James to be the kind of man to do something just because he was told he shouldn't.
After Steve left, James continued getting ready. Combing through his damp, tangled hair until it dried and tying his favorite Stefano Ricci obsidian tie around his neck. Then shoving a few wide rings onto his fingers, before leaving his bedroom. Just in case, he thought to himself.
He hadn't worn them in years. Sporting them nearly everyday when he was with Hydra— something to make his powerful punches a bit more murderous, if he needed them to be.
He moved down to his garage, swearing to god he nearly started drooling when he saw his prized Aston Martin waiting for him. Slipping inside, he groaned in relief. Huge, inked hands rubbing over the steering wheel. The silver rings gliding over the sleek leather. Damn it felt good to be free.
Whipping around his neighborhood, deep into midtown Manhattan. Afternoon traffic was heavy. Cabs were smushed on every side of him. A sea of yellow with a single, shiny black spot. The sun was setting slowly. Not a single cloud in the sky, but it somehow made it feel colder without the coverage.
Bursting his way through the traffic, he parallel parked in front of the bar he knew so well. The one he would frequent during the dark time of his life. The one Alexander Pierce owned.
His first step inside and his tie felt much too snug on his overheated neck. It was dim. A few neon lights rested on the back wall beside the bar top. There were only a handful of men inside, sitting alone in the booths, clutching half empty beers.
Making his way straight to the bartender, he didn't recognize anymore. "What can I get you, sir?"
James leaned forward, resting his hand on the sticky counter, saying a single word. "Hive."
The bartenders brows pinched for a millisecond, before he gave him an efficient nod. "Follow me."
He led James to the poorly lit back hall. Walking in the path he had so many times before. The man hit a smart rap of knocks on the door at the end of the hallway. A gruff voice came from inside and he slowly pushed the door open. "Boss, you have a visitor."
"No, I don't." He stated coldly.
The bartender nervously looked at his feet. "Hive." He muttered.
"Excuse me?"
"I said Hive."
There was a long pause. "Bring him in."
He gestured for James to move inside.
The second he stepped into the back office, memories came rushing back to him. A hundred nights spent in this exact room. Planning moves, hits, and violence. Groups of men pulling guns on each other over meeting discrepancies. Bravado and hatred fueling the energy. Soaked into the walls.
In the center of the room held a wooden desk, Alexander Pierce sat casually behind it. Leaned back comfortably in his seat. James strode towards him, then plopped down in one of his leather chairs.
The door clicked shut, encasing them in a thick blanket of silence.
"Surprised you showed up." Pierce stated, digging through his side drawer.
"Why's that?"
He extended out a cigarette and lighter in his fingers. James grabbed them from him, lighting the stick between his teeth. "I didn't think you'd make it out so soon."
James took a long drag, pulling the cigarette between his fingers. "I have my ways." He said through a strained voice, holding in his lungful of smoke.
"Yeah, no kidding." Pierce chuckled. "I'm impressed you found a way to take Rumlow out."
James leaned back in his seat, exhaling smoke from his nose, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee. "That wasn't me. Some kid went crazy at Rikers." He shrugged, barely trying to fight the smug expression on his face.
Pierce hummed, pouring each of them a tumbler of cognac, then sliding one to James. Understanding the unspoken truth. "Well, he had been a bad apple for a long time. To be honest, I was planning to take him out myself."
"But he was still one of your own." James argued, flicking a clump of ash into the tray on his desk, then taking a sip of the drink.
"More or less. Doesn't change the fact that he went behind my back to go after you and your girl." Pierce countered.
"Why didn't you go for it?" James asked, interest peaked. "When Loki asked for your help."
"Because you're not a threat. You're smart enough to keep your mouth shut and we appreciate that."
James hummed through another puff.
"Also, that guy Loki seems like a rat. I didn't trust him from the moment he reached out."
James nodded. "I felt the same way when I first met him."
"That's why you made such a good killer, Barnes. You can read people like I can. Most people don't have that." Pierce smirked.
"I don't do that anymore."
"Yes. I'm aware," he smiled, "but that side of you doesn't just shut off. You still have it in you. I can see it." He gave him a knowing look.
James' eyes narrowed. "Why am I getting the feeling that there's strings attached to the service you provided me?"
Pierce sighed, shifting in his seat to lean on the armrest. "There's not. Your payment was more than enough and you took the fall for my men. If you feel inclined though, we'd love to have your help."
"I think I'll pass, thanks." James sneered, taking a long chug from his glass.
A loud laugh burst from Pierce's chest. "Figured you'd say that."
He grunted, playing with the cigarette between his teeth with his tongue. Anger starting to build in his chest. Pulling it from his lips, he took a breath. "So, about Loki..." His voice drew off.
"You want him hit?"
James considered, taking a long drag into his lungs. "I don't need him dead, but I'd love to see him horribly disfigured." Speaking through the smoke bursting from his lips.
Pierce grinned at that, crossing his arms over his chest. "Five-hundred."
"Done." James stated. Five-hundred thousand dollars was well worth knowing Loki would live his life looking absolutely demolished. "I'll have it brought by later today."
Happy with the deal, Pierce snickered to himself. He loved seeing the darkness still holding its place in James' heart. It warmed his soul, like a proud parent. He had always had a different kind of connection with him. Feeling more paternal for James, rather than a boss.
"Well, I suppose I don't need anything else from you, Barnes. We're happy to help. You've been very loyal to us, even since leaving and we appreciate that."
James eye twitched. Pissed at the inference. Ripping the cigarette from between his lips and slamming it down on the tray, extinguishing it. He slowly stood from his seat, glaring down at Pierce with a frigid look. "I'm not loyal to you. I'm loyal to myself."
Without another word, he turned from his seat, walking towards the door.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Barnes." Pierce called over, tone genuine.
He spared him a glance from over his shoulder. Giving him a single nod before stepping out of the office. Not looking back.
James sat into the drivers seat of his car, taking a moment to ponder over the talk with Pierce. The two of them always had an odd bond. Both of them ruthless in their ways, not using any kind of decorum with their practices, except with each other. It was a kind of unspoken deal from the moment they met. A gentleman's agreement of sorts.
He sped away from the bar, rushing to get home, so he could finally enjoy his alone time. No inmates, no officers, no counselors. No one to disturb him. Just how he wanted.
The traffic was lighter now, sky fading into a light lilac from the sun dipping under the horizon. Blue eyes scanning the road as he drove. Landing on a familiar mop of curly black hair, flowing from a walk of an even more familiar woman.
She wore a dress under her long coat, legs covered by a pair of thigh high leather booties. Every inch of the ensemble a rich black. He wasn't even sure it was her at first with how differently she was dressed, almost second guessing himself. Almost. But he knew that walk and that hair all too well to think twice about it.
James' stare moved back with her, as he drove down the street. Craning his neck as he stayed locked on her petite frame. Possessed by her presence.
A rough slam of his car, followed by a loud crunch of metal instantly ripping him from his trance. He let out a ragged breath, turning back in his seat to find his car crashed into a taxi. "Fuck." He rasped.
Slamming his head back in his seat, he groaned to himself. Ducking out, he looked over the hood of his car. Nothing major, but the front was definitely going to need to be fixed.
The cab driver hopped out of his vehicle, running his hands through his hair. Muttering distraught words to himself, before looking up at James. "Were you not watching the road, man? Come on."
James shot him a glare, rings on his fingers tightening as he clenched his fist. "Choose your next words wisely." His voice was gruff, menacing. Challenging him to say one more thing to him. Make his fucking day.
His eyes widened. "Uh, sorry, sorry. I'll grab the insurance information."
Letting out a sigh, James followed suit, leaning into his car to dig into the glove box. When he stood back up to his towering height, he looked down the street. Finding Maggie standing still on the sidewalk, staring right back at him.
Her curly hair was blown back by the wind. Close enough that he could see her shocked expression, turning into a cold scowl. Glaring at him, before turning back around and rushing down the sidewalk.
"Hey, here's the paperwork for the insurance. There should be a number for the company—"
James shoved his papers into the driver's hands, cutting him off , without looking away from Maggie. Not even listening through his distracted state. He sprinted after her, desperate to reach her. Dodging the taxis still rolling down the street, bounding to the sidewalk.
Pushing through the thick crowd of pedestrians. "Margaret." He yelled, halting her movements in an instant.
Running up to her, breath heaving. When she spun back to face him, her expression hadn't changed. Still completely saturated with hatred.
"What do you want?" She hissed.
His brows pinched, not even knowing himself. He looked her over. She looked so different. Still like Maggie, but something had changed drastically. Her clothes were so unlike her. Grown up and dark. It hurt to see for some reason, he knew it was his fault she had changed so much.
"I— I got out today." He felt so weak even trying so hard to talk to her. Running after her like some kind of child. He'd gone so soft at the sight of her.
She stared at him blank faced, so he added on. "Early, for good behavior." Like that would make her love him again. Like she would forget his transgressions and jump into his arms.
"Good for you." Her voice was frosty. Colder than the blistering wind whipping around them.
James nodded solemnly at her distant response. "Can we talk?"
Her head jolted back. "What is there to talk about?"
"Us."
Maggie outright laughed, not a speck of joy in the sound. It was filled with fury more than anything. "There is no 'us'. You made sure of that, remember?"
"I fucked up, Margaret." He shook his head to himself. "Please, can we just talk this out—"
"No." She snapped, cutting him off. "You broke my heart, James. You left me when I needed you most because you were scared. I knew what I signed up for and you acted like I couldn't handle it. You made the decision for me."
Her eyes were dry. Not a single tear welling behind them, making it clear just how far gone she was. She wasn't herself. It was a mask. Thing is, if you wear a mask long enough, you forget who's really underneath it. "I'm better off without you, James. Honestly, I've never been better." A lie.
His expression faded from determined to broken in an instant. She was right. He did make the decision for her. He didn't take any of her desires into account. It felt like the only option at the time, to absolutely ensure she was never in danger again, but now he felt nothing but the instinct to never leave her side and protect her forever.
He took a deep breath, brushing his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Margaret."
"You should be."
With that statement hanging in the air, she took a step back, pivoting away from him. Leaving him standing in the middle of a sea of people.
Watching her walk away.