Steve Rogers has long, tattooed fingers, shaking hands of every suit in the building who’s clamoring for his attention. Bucky Barnes smirks to himself and takes a sip from his drink. He’s sure half of the suits are just desperate to take Steve home with them, no matter how great of an artist the kid is. He has a head of blonde hair that Bucky could tell had been carefully gelled and combed to look effortless. He’s wearing thin wire frame glasses on a slightly crooked nose that told Bucky he had gotten in at least one too many fist fights. Steve was wearing a dark navy sweater with a button-up shirt just sticking out of the collar, and when he turns to point at one of his paintings, Bucky can see the ink that dips below Steve’s collar bone and down his chest. Bucky doesn’t dare let himself think about what else is under Steve’s shirt. For very long at least.
“Excuse me, everyone!” Bucky turns to look up into the loft of the building to see Carol Danvers. She’s dressed in a black pants suit and white blouse with a bright red lip. Simple, but commands attention of the room.
The two have been acquaintances for years. She’s on a slightly straighter path than he is, but she always accepts the donations Bucky gives. It’s no secret where they’re coming from.
Even though Bucky found the business part of being a mob boss the most boring, deep down in his frigid little heart, this was his favorite part. He didn’t need a closet of Tom Ford suits, or a two-story penthouse suite. What kept him going was his boys’ charity work. They donated thousands of dollars a month to the underprivileged communities of New York. Between bailing shady cops out of gambling debts, and providing security to crooked politicians, funneling money into more philanthropic efforts through Carol was a drop in the bucket.
“Good evening, everyone. I want to welcome you all, and I think you for attending the grand opening of The Danver’s Gallery. I believe we’ll be introducing a wave of new talent to the art scene here in Brooklyn.” She’s given a brief round of applause before she looks out towards the slender blonde across the way and he quickly makes his way next to her. Carol links her arm through Steve’s as they lean against the banister. “I am pleased to introduce you all to our first featured artist. He just walked across the Pratt stage less than a year ago, and I believe his work will be in very high demand all around the world. Steve Rogers.” Carol begins the applause for Steve as the room follows and his cheeks blush a pink that Bucky wants to photograph and keep forever.
“All of Steve’s work here tonight is for sale, and I’m sure that he’d be happy to hear any commission offers on the table.” Carol looks over at Steve for confirmation, and he gives a shy nod to the audience. Bucky can’t tell if Steve is shy because of the crowd or if he’s just genuinely modest, but he adjusts his leather jacket in the crook of his arm and begins making his way towards the staircase so that he can grab Steve’s attention before he’s swept back up into a sea of horny business people and art collecting snobs hoping to come in early on his work for a good price.
Before he can get a hand on the railing and introduce himself to Steve, his phone vibrates in his pocket, and the notification appears across his watch, and is one word from one of his men, Sam: URGENT.
Bucky looks up, but Steve hasn’t noticed him yet, so he spins on his heels to the nearest exit to the lobby, moving away from the loud indie instrumental music that’s floating through the building.
Sam answers on the first ring, “This better be good.” As Bucky speaks into his phone, sliding his arms back through his jacket. He slips from the main gallery into the lobby and kicks the doorstop with his heel so that the door shuts behind him.
“There’s something you should know. Barton think he got followed today.”
Bucky leans in the doorway, looking out through the front glass windows of the building. He pulls a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with the yellow Bic lighter he carries for good luck.
Since Bucky had inherited the Commandos, he had grown it into something that his dad probably rolled in his grave over. They could almost pass for legitimate. They didn’t steal from anyone, who didn’t deserve it. They didn’t hurt anyone, who didn’t deserve it. They were feared, and so they were respected. George Barnes would never have been seen in public at an art gallery opening, let alone one he had fronted the costs for. He wouldn’t have paid three month’s of rent for a rent-controlled building so that it’s residents would have a roof to weather the New York winter. The Commandos didn’t have problems, and the clients they were responsible for didn’t either.
Clint Barton was a lawyer, and client of the Commandos. While Bucky and his men made their money in security (and some gambling), Barton had made a name of putting drug dealers and pill-pushing doctors behind bars. Bucky would have given him protection for free.
“Barton will be fine. Set him up with a meeting with me tomorrow and I’ll ease any of his worries.” Bucky takes another drag of his cigarette before walking to the main door of the building, opening it just enough to flick what’s let of it into an outside ashtray before retreating back away from the chill.
“In the morning.” Sam says, Bucky can hear him crank his car in the background.
“In the morning.” Bucky affirms before hanging up. Other than Carol, Sam is one of the closest people that he would call a friend. Considering their line of work, they don’t say goodbyes to one another.
As he’s getting ready to head back inside, a small figure quickly pushes through the door and slams it shut, putting both of their hands on the door. At closer glance, Bucky realizes it’s Steve. He’s breathing heavy, and tremors are wracking his slim frame.
“Steve..?” Bucky’s voice is soft, but Steve still turns around quickly in a fright. Bucky holds his hands up, palms facing Steve as Steve puts a hand over his own chest and tries to steady his breathing.
“S-s-sorry. Didn’t… Did-didn’t know.. Someone… Was out here..” Steve takes shaky breaths between his words.
“That’s okay,” Bucky tries to keep his voice gentle. It’s a definite change of pace from the tone he usually uses in his line of work. “Try and tell me what’s wrong.” Bucky takes a few test steps in Steve’s direction, but Steve steps backward and closes the gap between himself and the door so Bucky doesn’t come any closer.
“You don't have to,” Bucky lowers his hands and puts them in his jacket. “I’ve got all night.”
“Fuck, I’m so… s-sorry.” Steve stutters and Bucky notices that tears are welling in his eyes, making the blue even brighter as the whites of his eyes turn red.
Bucky offers a sympathetic smile and takes a seat on the window sill, trying to keep space between himself and Steve. He looks behind him and clears his throat, pointing to the small diner across the street. “See that diner across the street?”
Steve looks up where Bucky’s pointing, a confused look on his face as he takes in more shaky breaths, “Yes, why?”
“Can you see the girl at the bar?”
Steve gets himself up and goes to stand next to Bucky. “What about her?”
“What’s she wearing?”
Steve still looks confused but he shakes his head as he tries to focus on the woman across the street. “Looks like a denim jacket from here.” His voice is soft, but he’s breathing more steadily now.
“What color is her hair?”
“She’s a red head,” Steve looks up to Bucky, “Why are you asking me this?”
“Grounding technique. Take your mind off what’s causing your panic attack. If you focus on something else around you, you can take yourself out of your head.” He gives a sad smile to Steve.
Steve wipes his eyes. “My first show and I can’t handle it. ‘M not cut out for this.”
“Hey, now..” Bucky croons, “You’re perfectly fine. I see what you’ve done in there, and you’re very talented. You aren’t a bad artist because you have social anxiety.”
Steve doesn’t say anything, but he does let out a cry from deep in his chest that breaks Bucky’s heart. Closing the gap between them, Steve shoves his face into Bucky’s jacket and cries. Bucky is scared to touch him for fear of scaring Steve, so he places his hand in between the younger man’s shoulder blades and rubs his back there.
It doesn’t mean anything, Bucky knows. Steve is just having a bad night. Carol said he just graduated a year ago, and Bucky guesses he’s around twenty-three. It’s a pretty packed house for his first ever art show, and Steve is feeling overwhelmed. They stay like that for awhile, Bucky silently reveling in the way Steve is tucked into his chest. He’s only about three or four inches shorter than Bucky, but he fits perfectly.
Steve sniffs and awkwardly pulls himself from Bucky’s arms running a hand through his hair. His face is blushed from crying, and probably a little embarrassed that he just cried into a stranger’s arms at his first art show. “Sorry about that. Don’t think we’ve met yet. Steve.” He holds a shaky hand out to Bucky, which Bucky takes and gently rubs a finger along his knuckles.
“Bucky.”
“Barnes? Bucky Barnes?” Steve asks, and pulls his hand away from Steve.
“Guilty.” Standing this close to Steve, he can see the hilt of a dagger that’s inked on Steve’s chest, thorny vines curling around it.
“Wow.. I guess I have you to thank for this opportunity then. Carol said this was all your doing.”
Bucky smiles and pushes his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Hardly, Carol’s the brains of the operation. I’m just the bank account.”
Steve gives a small smile, and Bucky feels like a dick. He’s seen people showing off their money to Steve all night.
“Not that I’m like, just paying her off or anything.” Bucky stumbles over his words and Steve raises an eyebrow. “You know, it’s just like… an investment. For a good cause.” He can’t remember having went this gaga in the brain over a person since junior high school.
Steve smiles bigger at Bucky this time, and Bucky believes that he’ll see the corners of Steve’s eyes crinkling every time he closes his own from here on out.
Steve reaches his arm out to Bucky. “Well, I’d love to show you some of my favorite pieces if you aren’t sick of looking at art for the night.
Bucky loops his arm through the younger blonde’s, leading them back through the door.