Hazards

Sam did a sweep of the townhouse, his fellow agents checking the perimeter.  James, for his part, planted onto the couch with a beer.  He didn’t seem to care at all they were going through his home.  If their roles were reversed, Sam would cause a ruckus.  He savored his privacy, James didn’t even try.

The townhouse looked proper enough, staged like the homes he saw on tv.  It was cold.  The evidence of James living there was faint, a pair of shoes in the corner, toothbrush in the bathroom, but not a photograph or knick knack in sight.  It felt like a hotel room that James was occupying, rather than his permanent residence.  Sam didn’t linger on it.  He had a job to do, make sure the windows were all locked up tight and close the blinds.  

None of the interior doors had locks.  Sam stood in the bedroom, eyeing the door to the bathroom.  The doorknob was new, a faint line of dirt where it had recently been replaced.  He checked the bedroom door leading into the hallway.  New knob, no lock.  Odd.  

Sam made his way back out to the living room.  James was watching tv.  The news.  He had a beer in one hand and his phone in the other.  It was still early in the afternoon, too early for a beer in Sam’s opinion, but he didn’t say a word.  It wasn’t his place.

He would ask about the doors though.  “Did you change all of the doorknobs?”

James looked up from his phone, eyebrows furrowed.  “What do you mean?”

“While I was checking the locks, I noticed all of the interior doors don’t have any.  And all the knobs looked freshly changed,” Sam said, eyes narrowing at James’ confusion.  “And you knew nothing about it.”

“Hey, my house was prepared for me, right?  That’s what you said,” James said in a shortened, snippy tone.  His nose wrinkled.  “Of fucking course she took the locks.”

“Who?” Sam asked.

James’ jaw snapped closed.  His nose wrinkled into almost a snarl.  “Mind your own fucking business okay?  Yeah, I changed the locks.  It’s my fucking house!”

James rose to stand. the coffee table shifted as he plucked his resting feet from it.  He let out an irritated huff, but as his hands clenched into tight fists that trembled at his side.  Still, rather than approaching Sam, he was backing away.  His body weight leaned to the side and his eyes drifted away from Sam.  This was not a man looking for a fight, just a man angry.

Sam stood silent, letting James march around him, staying out of arm's reach, and went down the hall to his bedroom.  The door slammed shut hard enough to shake the walls.  Sam felt the vibrations of it in his feet.  The walls were thin, Sam could hear the floors creak as James paced the floors.  Sam let out a tired sigh, pulling out his phone.  He sent an update to the team, Winter was in the main bedroom.  They were to keep an eye on things on the outside, Sam was responsible for staying close.  Until his shift ended at least. The other half of the time, James was Natasha’s problem.  He made a mental note at James’ outburst, his irritability, the distance he sought when angry.  Sam was actually pleased with how that went.  Every rumor he heard implied that it would be a fight, a screaming match most likely.  Instead, James shouted and then fled, hiding away.  

Protecting James Barnes was different from his previous positions in the Service.  Instead of a forty hour work week he was up to seventy two.  Twelve hours, six days a week.  It sounded exhausting on paper, but Director Fury was adamant that James was to be home.  There was always a team in the surrounding area, but Sam was to stay close, check in with James every half hour if he wanted to be alone.  Sam was curious at the details, but knew better than to pry.

The house was quiet except for the soft creaks of the floor from James’ room.  A shadow danced under the crack in the door.  He was alive.  Sam would listen for anything suspicious, but he had thirty minutes to enjoy before checking on him.  Babysitter indeed.

Sam didn’t have to check in.  James emerged again in less than twenty minutes.  His t-shirt had been changed for a crisp button down, brown hair neatly combed back, and an unlit cigarette dangled from his lips.  He didn’t look at Sam as he came down the hallway again, he had his phone, the glow illuminating his face.  James turned into the kitchen and grabbed the coffee pot with his free hand.  James put his phone face down on the counter and turned on the water.

“They already know I’m out,” James said, watching the coffee pot fill.  

“Who?” Sam asked.

“Everybody.  It was on TMZ within ten minutes of us pulling out of the parking garage,” James said.  He sounded indifferent, like he didn’t really care even though he was the one to bring it up.

“Does it bother you?” Sam said.

James looked over his shoulder then, his face twisted in a soft pout. “No.  It doesn’t.  It’s just… weird!” He said with a low rumble in his tone.

It must bother him quite a bit.  Sam didn’t blame him, he couldn’t imagine not having any privacy during a medical emergency.  

“May I ask you a question, Sergeant Barnes?” Sam asked, still lingering in the entry to the kitchen from the living room.  Observing.

The coffee began to brew, the pot bubbling as it heated.  James looked at the coffee maker rather than at Sam.  

“I would rather you not call me that.  James is fine,” he said.  James leaned forward, resting his weight onto the counter, bent at the waist.  He turned his phone over to look at it.  “Go ahead.”

“If you don’t mind the press watching you, why did you bring it up?” Sam asked.  His eyes dropped down to the screen, but looked away before he had the chance to see anything. 

“Well, isn’t it your job to protect me from them?” James said.

“Yes, but not just from them,” Sam said.

“What’s that supp-“

The radio buzzed in Sam’s ear, ripping his attention away from the rest of James’ words, the President was pulling in. His back straightened, standing tall as he turned to scan the living room again.  The smell of coffee was already filling the small townhouse.

“Your mother is here,” Sam said.  

James stood up straight as well, his shoulders pulled back so he no longer slumped.  His hand lifted to comb back his hair.  He turned to face Sam then, the expression in his blue eyes were sharp.  “Oh yeah?”

Sam watched him, the way he picked at himself minutely to be more presentable.  “Yes.”

In less than a minute there was a brief knock on the door, it opened a moment later.  Sam stood at attention, aware it was the President, but ready in case it wasn’t.  She had brought her own security, more Agents assigned to her than to her children.  Sam nodded at them, they nodded back at him.  President Barnes came in between the two of them.  She was dressed in a pantsuit, her hair pinned up, and had a firm, commanding look in her eyes.

To Sam’s surprise, she looked right at him.  Typically he was invisible to them during the meetings.  Strikingly blue, just like James, but as she looked Sam up and down it felt sharper.  Her hummed, head tilted, and stepped away from her agents.

“Agent Wilson, I presume,” President Barnes said.  She extended her hand.  “Director Fury thinks highly of you.  

Sam took her hand.  “It’s an honor, Madam President.”

The woman hummed.  “I expect you to be professional, Agent Wilson.  Don’t disappoint me.”

“Mama!  Hey,” James said, coming out of the kitchen with a big grin, two cups of coffee in hand.  He held one out to her.  “Two creams and two sugars, just how you like it.”

“Trying to get on my good side?” The President said, her full attention turning to her son.  He took the mug, leaning in to kiss his cheek.  “After all this?  You’re lucky it's not an election year.”

They made their way down the hall to the bedroom to speak in private. Sam waited where he was.  He had half an hour before he had to check in with James again.